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sprout-gt · 8 months

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G/t Movie Night

giant lying down on the couch, tiny resting on their chest watching the movie displayed on the laptop like a theater screen in front of them. the giant, however, has a hard time focusing on anything but the way that their friend/partner rises and falls ever slightly with every breath they take

alternatively, giant sitting up on the couch facing a widescreen TV. to the giant, it isn't anything special, but to the tiny craddled in the crook of their shoulder, the screen takes up so much of their vision, the characters larger than life.

the giant scoops a handful of buttery popcorn, and without any thought at all plucks one out and raises it to the tiny on their shoulder, who accepts it with both hands.

maybe they're watching a cheesy romcom, and with each heartfelt confession from the screen, the tiny on their friend/partner's shoulder can feel a warm blush start to creep up under them. (perhaps mercilessly teasing them about it). maybe the giant hears a near imperceptable wistful sigh or squeeful giggle next to their ear, and has to focus very hard not to crack into a huge smile. (or maybe they also tease them about it)

maybe they're watching a tense horror movie, and with each dread built jumpscare, the giant can feel the tiny curl up closer to their neck. the giant has to be very, very careful of not startling too hard or they might send the tiny toppling towards the couch. in the end, the giant gently picks the tiny off their shoulder and craddles them in their grasp against their chest. when the tiny rests their head aganist their friend/partner's chest, they can hear their spiking heartrate (and you better believe they're teasing them for it)

after the movie is over, all the popcorn long gone, they both spend a long time talking about the bad script or outdated effects, until the giant leans back on the couch and their breathing begins to slow and steady, the tiny tucked against their chest falling into an equally comfortable sleep listening to their deep heartbeat

#g/t #g/t writing #g/t prompts #g/t scenario #sfw g/t #g/t fluff #giant/tiny #i am a SUCKER for wholesome/domestic g/t #this is toothache sweet i know #it just makes me happy :)#wholesome stuff is top tier #but add teasing on top of that and i am GONE ! !

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fiber-optic-alligator · 10 days

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Does the reader manage to get to Earth before Drift gets to them? Was Drift even aware that the reader was a sentient being, or did he think that they where a pet or a very intelligent animal?

Yes, the reader gets to Earth far before Drift can convince the entire Lost Light to change its course and head for the Milky Way Galaxy. He wasn’t aware the reader is a sentient being before the events of them escaping; I like to think the bots see us at this point like we see parrots, or elephants, or whales, or dolphins, even gorillas and chimps. We’re extremely intelligent sure. We can mimic their words and clearly display our wants, needs, and dislikes. But we can’t think on their level and we cannot be fully rational and sapient. Of course, this is clearly wrong, but if there have been any mechs who’ve done studies on humans and have found out we are intelligent life, then they haven’t come out with it yet. Drift saw you as a very intelligent pet who needed constant stimulation for the sake of your ability to thrive on the ship. He believed he taught you words the same way we teach parrots tricks and apes to use sign language. He had no idea you are on the same level of intelligence as he is…and now that he does know, you are long gone.

#gator answers #transformers #transformers g/t #drift x reader #first contact au #maccadam #desperation vs domestication

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gtzel · 3 months

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Snuggles 🥰 with Isaac

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homelanderbutbig · 3 months

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We Made It Together (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1780 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You teach Homelander how to make pancakes.

Homelander's been especially clingy this evening, requiring your undivided attention the second you got off work. When you walked out of the elevator and into his penthouse, you found him moping on the couch in his living room, gloves off, just wanting to snuggle his head into your lap.

You've been glued in this position for a couple hours now, and you are acutely aware that you've long since passed your regular dinner time. And if you're hungry, you know Homelander is too, even if he doesn't want to say anything lest your cuddle time ends.

"I'm starving. We should probably get dinner started," you reflect, lazily caressing his cheek with your palm.

"Just call the Vought chefs," he mumbles, turning his head over to look up at you. He doesn't want you to get up off the couch; he just wants to spend the rest of the evening in your lap.

"No, I wanna make us dinner tonight," you remark. "I think we both could use something homemade."

"Maybe… pancakes?" you ponder, smiling while you boop his nose with your index finger.

"…For dinner?" Homelander enquires confoundedly, lifting himself up to a seated position.

Ever since he was a child in the lab, he was raised to follow the three staple meal times set out for him. It's been ingrained so heavily into him, he has not once strayed outside of this routine. He's never even heard of something as ridiculous as eating breakfast foods for dinner.

He watches you silently as you slide off the couch and head to the kitchen. You shoot him a sly grin, giggling to yourself at seeing his baffled expression.

Once in the kitchen you get to work quickly, moving your stepping stool over to the fridge and the cupboards. You've gotten quite used to maneuvering around his kitchen, as everything had been built taller to accommodate Homelander's height. Pulling out the ingredients, mixing bowl and frying pan, you plant yourself at the countertop next to the stove. You've made this recipe so many times you know it like the back of your hand; nearly every morning at the penthouse consists of pancakes.

You are so focused at the task at hand you don't see Homelander get off the couch and saunter over to you, arms crossed behind his back. He is observing you intently while you sift your flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt together in a large glass bowl. When he leans down a bit lower behind your comparatively smaller frame, you finally take notice of his presence.

"You wanna help?" you ask, smiling sweetly up at him.

As if you posed a forbidden question, Homelander's eyes open wide. His mouth parts open, but it takes a few moments before he can force any words out.

"I… uh… I-I don't…" he stammers, straightening back up to his full height. Immediately, his eyes dart frantically as he feels his body become tense from your proposal.

While Homelander prefers to be seen as a perfectly capable man, a god who does not make any errors, he is ashamed to admit he has never cooked a day in his life. Growing up in the lab, all of his meals were made for him, and he was never taught how to prepare food. Despite his lack of knowledge, Vought built him a custom kitchen in his penthouse, one they knew he had no idea how to use. It almost felt like a cruel joke at his expense.

And now, here you are inviting him to cook with you. Although you have no hidden motivations, he is distraught over the possibility of making mistakes. Anything he can't get perfect on the first try is not something he even wants to attempt.

"It's okay, I know you can do it," you comfort him, giving him a gentle pat on his thigh. "Let's start slow. Pass me the milk, butter, and eggs."

Homelander swallows hard, but he resigns himself to his fate… he is going to cook. Out of anything else, he doesn't want to let you down by neglecting the tasks you've assigned him. Painstakingly, like they are made of bone china, he passes you the ingredients one by one. The carton of milk and sticks of butter are simple enough, but… then comes the challenge. Every single egg he picks up fills him with dread, knowing even the slightest twitch of his fingers could break their delicate shells.

But somehow he manages, spurred on by the small hits of praise you give him for every egg he passes into your waiting hand. Your bright smile and warm voice takes the edge off his nerves, allowing himself to get more comfortable. However, he gets a bit too distracted by your compliments, and accidentally cracks an egg in between his big fingers.

"I'm sorry," Homelander sputters instantly. "I-I-I'm sorry." He can't bear to look in your direction, afraid to see your disappointment. He knew this was inevitable; he can't do ordinary things like a regular human.

"Hey, hey," you say, grabbing a dish cloth to wipe the egg off his large hand. "It's okay hun, it was just an accident, right?"

Tentatively nodding, he looks down at you with his glassy eyes.

"Everybody has little accidents when they're cooking," you reassure him. "And this one is nothing to fret over, we have plenty more eggs."

Just seeing you be so dainty with him, cleaning his destructive hand without a sign of displeasure anywhere on your face… that brief spike on insecurity vanishes just as quickly as it came.

Recomposing himself, Homelander takes a deep breath in through his nose to reset his train of thought. He doesn't want to make any more mistakes, he wants to show you how good he can be.

With a renewed sense of purpose, he begins handing you the rest of the eggs, never taking his focus off them for even a second. It's a little funny to see the leader of The Seven acting so serious about eggs, but you know how much this means to him, being able to do something 'normal' with you.

"You did amazing! I'm so proud of you!" you cheer, your own excitement mirrored in Homelander's face. He soaks in your approval like a sponge, eager to begin his next assignment so you can keep being proud of his little achievements.

"I'm going to mix the batter up now," you tell him, grabbing the whisk off the counter. "Can you turn on the stove at about a medium heat? We have to warm up the pan before we make the pancakes."

While you beat the batter, Homelander goes over to the stove and twists the knob to a medium heat. Before he places the frying pan down on the element, he stops and stares at it in his hand.

Your head can't whip around fast enough when you hear the all-too-familiar sound of his laser eyes activating, shooting a low intensity beam at the bottom of the pan to pre-heat it to the precise temperature you asked for. You roll your eyes at your big dork of a boyfriend as he grins down at you, proud of himself for thinking of a more efficient way to cook. Why waste precious minutes of your life waiting for the pan to warm up, when he can do it in mere seconds?

"Okay, we're ready," you remark, holding the ladle out for Homelander. His grin quickly dissipates when he realizes the real gauntlet is about to begin. "Just put a scoop of the batter into the pan. I'll guide you through the rest."

Hesitantly, he takes the ladle from your hand and follows your instructions, pouring the batter into the pan. His eyes shift back and forth from you and the bubbling batter, waiting for your continued directions. After a couple minutes of silent yet intense staring, he finally sees you make a move.

"Alright, now flip the pancake over," you say, handing him the spatula. You reach over and bring the nearby serving platter closer to you. "Give it a few more minutes on this side, then take it out and put it on this plate."

Homelander follows your orders to the letter, keeping the time in his head down to the last second before he removes the pancake and puts in on the platter. He examines you with gritted teeth, filled with anxiety as you inspect his pancake, the very first thing he has ever cooked.

"I-Is it… good?" he asks you uneasily, like his life is on the line if he hasn't done it properly.

"It's perfect," you finally declare, looking into his nervous eyes while you give him a firm grasp of reassurance on his knuckles. "I'm so proud of you. You made a beautiful pancake. Are you ready to try another?"

A toothy grin spreads across his face at your encouragement, showing off his pearly white fangs. Your words of validation are like a drug to him, he can never get enough.

Homelander nods enthusiastically; he wants to make more.

The two of you continue this formula until the batter has run out, and you have quite a hefty stack of pancakes. At his insistence, you let him take the platter to the dining room table, along with two plates, utensils, a bottle of maple syrup, and two glasses of milk. You don't know how he managed to carry all of that without dropping anything, but he really is always full of surprises.

He picks you up and plops you down in his lap while he takes his seat. Filling up the two plates, he places your dinner in front of you. With a drizzle of maple syrup, you cut into a pancake and take your first bite. He waits before he starts eating, wanting to know what you think of your joint efforts.

"Mmm," you hum, savouring your food. Regardless of the recipe being the same thing you've made hundreds of times, it somehow tastes superior knowing Homelander helped. You look up at him, seeing his eyes soften at how much you are enjoying the pancakes. "See? I told you dinner would be better if it was homemade. Even moreso because we made it together."

Beaming at your neverending praise, he angles his head down for a kiss. Tasting the maple syrup and pancakes on your lips spurs something deep within him. A sense of accomplishment, knowing that despite all the ways those scientists in the lab tried to keep him down, he can rise above it all and be… normal.

Maybe he can try helping out in the kitchen with you more often.

#the boys #the boys tv #homelander #homelander x reader #g/t #size difference #my writing #your honour he can be domesticated

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afraidparade · 1 year

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world cold and hard... belly warm and soft

#lufa #oc: faust #oc: luka #g/t #giant/tiny #gt community #g/t ocs #doodles #g/t fluff #domestic g/t #g/t art #g/t drawing

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littlescaryinternetguy · 2 years

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Another Experiment

cw: adult language, a foot, denigration of T.S. Eliot

- Oh the sun shines bright on Mrs. Porter, said Milly.- And on her daughter, said Sam.

They were in bed at ten on a Sunday morning because come on: it was a beautiful January day out, very very clear, very bright, the snow having stopped sometime while they slept. Last night they went out in it, wrapped in so many scarves and layers, and took pictures of cars that looked like beluga whales, buried in the powder. And so now: to rest, to think about the day and the night.

- How is your mother, asked Sam. - She asked about you. - Oh did she. - She did. ‘Who is this mystery man.’ - Who indeed. - ‘What does he do? Who is his family?’ - I’d like to know myself, to be honest. - ‘I still haven’t seen a picture of him.’ - ‘Well, Mom…,’ said Sam, who had a strict “no photos” policy. - Actually, you have been in some photos. She just didn’t know it. - A face in the crowd. - A lump in my scarf, more like.

Sam made a small noise of dismissal, which was made smaller by the fact that he was two inches tall.

- That makes me sound like a tumor. - Cute one, though. - … why did they wash their feet in soda water? - Who. - Mrs. Porter. - You’d think he would have said something about it in the oh so helpful endnotes. - Lemme see if Brooker mentioned it.

Sam pounded on the screen of his notebook with a flat hand. Milly watched him, the small ever-present ember of amazement that a real person could be so little flaring once again. He’s mine, she thought. And then thought again. He’s my boyfriend. It took him forever, slapping the screen to type, but she was used to it. She killed the time by popping her knuckles.

- It’s from an old Australian song, he said. - Really? But there’s no kangaroos in it. - Maybe in the next verse.

Milly stretched, the shadow passing over Sam like the shadow of a pterodactyl. He looked up, more out of habit than anything else.

- That would be tickly, she said.

He didn’t answer. His eyes were closed, his eyebrows up, a dip of his head sideways. A shrugging expression.

- Only one way to find out, I guess, she said, plucking him up off of his pillow between two fingers, an intricate and difficult move to do without leaving bruises, and one which he and his bones had come to greatly appreciate. ***

- Why did we have this much soda water?, she asked as she poured another liter of Schweppes into the bowl. He sat with his back against a box of kosher salt. - I read that it was good for cleaning. - Was it? - You tell me, you’re the one who can wield paper towels. - No, I want to hear you say it.

He sighed. She wondered if she could really hear it or if she was imagining it.

- It was a waste of time. - Just like…? - Yeah yeah yeah. - Just like all the stuff you read on the internet. - I’m sorry, but it seemed to me to make sense. Also it was professionally laid-out and used expensive fonts. - How do you know they were expensive? - At my size, you get to get a real good close look at fonts. I figured anyone who would spend a couple hundred on a font would know what they were talking about in regards to cleaning hacks. - Fascinating, she said as she looked at the bowl full of soda water. She put the empty bottle to the side and looked at him expectantly. - Alright, get in there tiger.

He looked over at the bowl, then up at her.

- The fuck you say, he said. - Well I’m not getting in it! Do I look like I fit? - You don’t have to get in it! They only washed their feet in soda water! - Sounds tickly, she said. Nope. - This was your idea! he protested, backing away from her slowly advancing hand. - Fine, she huffed. We’ll both do it. - I don’t understand how I have been dragooned into this. - Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards, she sighed dramatically. She put the bowl on the tile of the kitchen. If I’d known I was going to be doing this I’d have chosen a bigger bowl, she said.

- Welp, looks like there isn’t room for the both of us, I’ll just take notes. - There’s room, she said. She scooped him up, gently yanked his pajama pants off, and covered him up in a kiss. As she dropped her hand away from her face she smirked lovingly at how easy it was to take his breath away. And then she bent down and dumped him into the bowl.

It did not take him long to surface.

- I don’t even like soda water! he yelled. Why couldn’t they have washed their feet in pilsner? - Room for me? she said in a bad Marilyn Monroe. He looked up at her slim foot, toe pointed down, lowering itself towards him. He knew that she had small feet, barely a size seven. He knew that she was, in fact, just a hair over five feet tall. He knew that. But he still had trouble reconciling that to the fact that he was a thirtieth of her size. So she was at once five feet tall and one hundred eighty feet tall. And her foot was slim, dainty, and enormous all at once. The fact that it was lowering inexorably down on him reiterated it. The water fizzed loudly as her foot dropped in, and the soda went over the sides of the bowl. Bubbles exploded up and scooted along his legs, popping under his groin, making him yelp and shiver. The depth of the water doubled and he was treading water.

- Ack! It is tickly! she giggled. - Right, another hypothesis borne out, let’s get this experiment over to peer review and… - Not so fast, she interrupted. - What? he moaned, having paddled over to the top of her foot and beached himself. - ‘They wash their feet in soda water’! - That’s the line, yes, he said, sprawled on her foot, face down, a stray bubble or two still tickling him from the waist down.

He felt her tendons flex and his ground shifted as she reached for and tore off the corner of a paper towel and scratched off some soap from a bar by the kitchen sink. He turned over just in time for them to be dropped onto his stomach. He opened his eyes to see her hand, retreating into the white sky of the kitchen ceiling, with Milly’s beaming smile and curly red hair and pale pale face hanging like a moon that loved him.

- Fuck T.S. Eliot. And you owe me, he said, turning to the end of the experiment as he felt, as well as heard, her giggle.

#sfw g/t #sfw giant/tiny #g/t #g/t community #g/t fluff #domestic g/t #slice of life g/t #g/t slice of life #I sincerely loathe doing all these tags

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withoutend · 6 months

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g/t pun 8

did you hear about the headquarters the borrowers set up in the nonfiction section?

it's based on a true story

#g/t prompts #g/t #gt pun #gt puns #story prompt #giant/tiny #domestic g/t #g/t story prompt #borrowers #library setting #their headquarters is located on top of a nonfiction book #g/t pun #pun #terrible puns #bad puns #puns

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perpetualexistence · 1 month

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A Small Matter of Planning

Alenoah Week Day 1: Proposal / First Date

Alejandro and Noah have finally decided they want to try out dating. They'd spent the past year starting off as friends, then rivals as Noah found out Alejandro's true colors, then back to friends with crushes on each other until others finally pushed them along to consider dating.

So now they just have to settle on where they want to have their first date. There's just one small, minor detail that makes planning somewhat difficult.

Noah's the size of Alejandro's hand.

This isn't anything new to them. Humans and tinies have been living with each other rather peacefully for quite a while now. There's infrastructure in place to help tinies get around without fear of getting stepped on.

Still, when it comes to relationships, there aren't many mixed-height couples. Partially because of the logistics. Partially because of conservative biases that no one talks about, but everyone knows exists.

As a result, despite talk of inclusion, most places are suited for either humans-only or tinies-only. Wawanakwa High is one of the few schools that isn't segregated, which is how Alejandro and Noah have gotten to know each other.

Combine this with the fact that Alejandro's a romantic and Noah isn't, and you have a recipe for planning for a first date to be a logistical nightmare.

Going to a cafe?

"The only cafe that'd serve both of us is across town. Plus, I don't want to deal with the stares."

Going to a new bookstore?

"It's not a date when it's something you'd do already. Let me treat you you stubborn perezosito."

With neither of them agreeing on more traditional first dates, they decide to try catering it towards something they can both agree with. Something that lets them both use their minds.

Doing an escape room? "We'd have to do one for humans. You'd have to carry me around because there's no way I'm scurrying around for clues."

Going to a game store? "The only ones with the good board games are ones for tinies. I will not degrade either of us with a party game."

It's pretty frustrating for both of them. They do want to make this work, but nothing about their relationship is simple. Still, neither of them wants to give this up. Alejandro because he's never one to back down for a challenge, and having an equal who makes him actually want to learn empathy is most certainly worth it. Noah because he never really feels motivated to do much of anything, but Alejandro makes him want to try, so like hell he's giving that up.

They take a break from planning and just hang out like they normally would. Meaning that they're hanging out when together, but both doing intense research on what to do for a first date. Alejandro actually brings himself to ask for help by texting Carlos, who's more than happy to help him bounce ideas back. Noah, knowing nothing of romance nor knowing anyone else who knows about romance, googles 'ideas for first dates' in incognito mode and double checks that nothing has been saved by the time he's done checking.

Eventually, the two do come across an interesting idea. The bookstore Noah was arguing for has a trivia night every Thursday. It doesn't require anything physical, which is great for Noah. There will be food, which Alejandro will pay for so he can still be romantic. And it allows them both to show off how better they are than everyone else work together rather than compete with each other for once.

It goes off without a hitch! They get a few odd looks. It's hard to say whether it's because of the size difference, how young they are, or the fact that they enter as a duo when most other teams have at least four people.

That quickly changes as they start destroying the competition. Everyone else is practically competing for second place.

Their victory comes as a surprise to no one. Regulars of all sizes immediately make their way towards the two begging for the teens to join their teams. Some of them do genuinely mean well and are excited to have new blood at trivia night. Others want to try to take advantages of the two. Alejandro happily jumps at the chance to deal with all of them.

Meanwhile Noah sneaks away to go collect their prizes (and not have to deal with the swarm of people). The prizes are relatively small since it is a weekly event. $25 gift cards to the bookstore. Or, if they do plan on becoming regulars, they can each start a tab. Noah takes one glance at his social butterfly of a boyfriend and tells the host that yeah, they'll start a tab.

So their date idea ends up becoming a new weekly tradition. The other regulars happily accept them among their ranks. They find a team that they will join on occasion, though for the most part they stick with being a duo. Once in a blue moon they'll even go onto separate teams. It's a perfect excuse for competitive, flirtatious banter.

Either way, it's still a delightful date night.

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