#his mind is all i need to vocalise my thoughts

[juanitasupreme]

Mike's Mic needs to do a Spice Girls deep dive for me

[sanatomis]

⋆౨ৎ˚ ──── 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐔𝐒𝐄.

it's been on your mind for a while now. and, even though he's a little confused at first, it takes satoru very little time to warm up to your enticing offer.

დ content. fr3e use kink, cursing, female!reader, fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, consensual somnophilia, deepthroating, cum-swallowing, mentions of satoru eating it from the back <3

დ notes. second attempt at posting this on tumblr, don't mind me. it's crossposted on ao3 bc my previous attempts at posting all failed miserably (it never showed in the tags ://)

Satoru is confused. It doesn’t take you much time to notice that your softly spoken words have him quite rattled, as the results of them can so clearly be observed on his face. There’s his nose that scrunches up cutely, and a little tilt of his head to the left which comes accompanied by a few snowy strands of hair shifting across his forehead. A small furrow of his brows, the soft gnawing on his bottom lip. He’s thinking about it; mulling over your offer. 

Three times, he tries to say something. His mouth opens once, twice, and it’s futile. Not a word escapes, and he takes a sharp intake of breath. You almost believe that, if you weren’t currently seated opposite him, he’d smack the side of his head a few times to make sure it’s still screwed on right. 

“So, I just. . .” The third time really is the charm, it seems. Though, he never quite manages to finish what he was going to say. 

“Just put it in, yeah.” 

You finish it for him, you’re sweet like that. It does really seem as if he could use the help.

“Wh—whenever I. . .” 

There’s a little voice in your head, chiming and chattering about how all of this is weird. It makes you nervous, and your fingers itch to play with your necklace to fight it. 

“Whenever you want,” you confirm. It’s as if your heart has suddenly moved to your throat. 

“Wha—what if you’re asleep?”

“I said whenever you want, didn’t I?” 

He almost lets out a little squeak at the words you so casually give him. They surprise him, as they do you. Your last sentence wasn’t one spoken by your mind, and you shift in your seat as if it’d shush the part of you that did. 

It’s as if you’re telling him what you’d eaten for breakfast this morning, not giving him permission to slip, bully and sheat his cock into your needy cunt at any given time of the day. Without needing to ask, too. Satoru can fill you up, stuff you full, and dump so much of his cum into you until you’re overflowing, and he can do it whenever he feels the need to—because he’s Satoru, and you love your Satoru.

“Are you sure?” He asks, a hint of apprehension laces his voice. Your heart almost swells at his concern, at his hesitancy and need to confirm your wishes; even if you’ve vocalised them so bluntly. “Maybe, think about it for a little long—” 

“I have,” you interrupt him. As gentlemanly as he’s being, there’s no mistaking the darkening of his eyes. The pretty, baby-blues making way for something sinister. You suddenly don’t feel so nervous anymore. “I have thought about it. Way too much, and for way too long.” 

A string of curse words tumble past his lips. They’re hushed, and quick, and from the way he, too, shifts in his seat you gather that he’s hard. Painfully so, if the bulge forming in his pants is anything to go by. Your relationship has existed long enough for you to know that drops of his pre-cum are staining the fabric of his boxers already—always so messy, your Satoru. The mere thought has you wanting to take him out, to put him in your mouth and lap at the sticky, white beads falling down his length. 

“Please,” you plead softly, and watch how he stifles a groan at the needy, saccharine sound of it. You want more, more of that sound. Right next to your ear, preferably. “Use me, Satoru.” 

There’s little you want more than that, little that arouses you more than that. The thought of Satoru taking you whenever he wishes, abiding by his whims and allowing him free-reign over your body—it instils a heat into your stomach, into your core. It makes you feel filthy, like a cheap whore picked up from the street; but you’d be his whore, and suddenly it all starts to feel like a dream. It’s Satoru. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. He’ll be gentle, and he’ll be kind, and he’ll stop as soon as you utter your safeword, and he’ll love you so much, even if he fucks you as if he doesn’t. 

You have half a mind to ask him again, to plead, to beg for it again, as it almost feels as if he didn’t quite hear you. But, as soon as you open your mouth to do so, he immediately latches his lips onto yours. It’s messy, and sloppy, and entirely fueled by the frantic state his mind is currently in—but you don’t complain, and never will. 

His hands are everywhere and nowhere all at the same time, and you feel him almost buzzing with excitement. Your teeth clash against one another at the force of the kiss, your tongues greedily seek the other out, and saliva gets swapped from your mouth to his, and vice versa. It’s dirty, and sticky, and almost brings you back to your high-school years, when he’d been all clumsy hands and feigned confidence on the night you’d lost your virginity to each other. 

Satoru pulls back from your kiss first, and a small smile falls over his lips when he notices you chasing him. “Wait a minute, sweets,” he murmurs, forehead against yours. His breathing is heavy, as is yours, and you don’t want to wait a minute—you want him, now, tomorrow, and each day after that. “Are you. . .” He chuckles when you kiss him again, and again, and again. You only stop when he holds your head in place. “Are you completely sure about this?” 

You blink up at him, eyes wide and lips swollen. “Mhm,” you hum, and caress his cheekbone with one of your thumbs. Satoru melts in your hold, as he always seems to do. “‘S you, ‘Toru. I’m completely sure when it’s you.” 

He lets out a shaky breath. There’s a storm of emotion behind his eyes, but all of them point to the same conclusion—he loves you. So much, you might even get sick of it one day; he’d told you as a joke, one born out of fear. But you won’t. You never will. And you think he’s starting to realise it, finally. 

“Okay,” he whispers, and kisses your forehead. 

It’s delicate, and loving, and so opposite from the way he buries himself into you over, and over, and over again a mere five minutes after that. Satoru’s needy, and impatient, and so pent-up from your previous conversation that foreplay gets thrown out of the window. 

He bends you over the couch first, that cute little ass of yours jiggling right in front of his face as he mounts you from behind. He slips in easily, with a pussy as wet as yours, and a cock as leaky and hard as his—the lack of foreplay almost goes unnoticed. Almost, of course, as the sheer size of him never fails to elicit a hint of a burn as he stretches you out. Nevermind that you take his cock daily, or that your walls are bound to carry his shape after the many years you spend with him. 

The sounds that decorate your apartment are filthy, lewd, and borderline obscene, but you’re thoroughly obsessed with them. The slapping of his balls against your ass, the squelching with each passing thrust, the deep groans and choked whimpers Satoru releases next to your ear just like you wanted. Even your own moans, your own babbles, and your own whines add to the experience; the combination of sounds. And you love it, because it’s you, and it’s Satoru—and it’s the two of you together. 

It doesn’t end after Satoru cums, nor does it after you do. The agreement between the two of you that was made tonight seems to have done a number on him, and he takes you a second time. On the balcony, where he puts you on display for the world to see as he fills you over and over again. And a third time, in your shared bed that’s never been safe from his affection and blatant desire towards you. And a fourth time, in the shower that was initially meant to clean you up, he decides to dirty you even further. 

If this is the reaction he gives to the mere idea of using you whenever he pleases, you long for the time that he actually does.

It’s well past midnight when Satoru finally decides he’s done with you. You’re curled into his side, a shirt that’s way too large for you (but one that you swore you didn’t steal from him) covers your figure. You’re asleep. Tired, exhausted, and completely knocked out. He smiles. You’re so cute. A love-sick expression is stuck to his face, and it may very well become permanent if he stays looking at you. 

One of his fingers reaches in-between your thighs, gently scooping up the remnants of his release. Satoru almost coos at the way your nose scrunches up cutely when he starts to finger it back into your pussy. It allows his digits to slip easily through your folds, and she sucks them in as soon as he reaches your hole. His cum doesn’t leak out this time. Not yet, anyway, but even if it does, he’s more than willing to repeat the process. 

He sighs. Mind full of thoughts, but at least his balls are empty now. There’s a little huff escaping his lips, and he’s amused at his own comment. Satoru shakes his head, but the small smile remains nonetheless. Strong, yet gentle arms pull your body tighter against him. 

You’re delicate, and sweet, and so precious to him; and he will do his best to take care of you. Use me, use me, use me. He kisses your forehead, his own eyes falling shut. 

He will most certainly try to. 

The very first time Satoru entertains the idea of indulging in your offer, is on a day where you’ve decided to wear his favourite lipgloss. It’s so shiny, such a cute shade, and makes you look so beautiful, but above all—it’s sticky. It’s sticky, and easily smudged, and he knows from experience that everything feels so much filthier when he steals a kiss from you with it on. 

Without meaning to, thoughts of you wrapping those glossed lips around his dick, creating a mess made-up of spit, cum, tears, and thus that delightful stickiness from your lipgloss, enters his mind. The coloured shade will leave a perfect ring around his length, there’s no doubt in his mind. Your pretty face will be all dirty, smudged stains near the corners of your mouth courtesy of his fat cock. You will be a sight for sore eyes. 

You’re talking to him, but Satoru can’t seem to listen. He’s enamoured by your lips, your soft-looking, plumb, and very glossed lips. He briefly feels pathetic, knowing that a mere make-up item has the ability to make his head spin to such a degree—but he doesn’t, as he quickly realises it only does so because it’s you that’s wearing it. 

Fuck, he really wants to stuff his cock into your mouth. 

Five, six, almost seven seconds pass before the realisation kicks in. If he wants to put his cock in your mouth, then he can. Satoru’s body moves on its own before he gets a chance to think about his actions, as is often the case with him, and it's not long before his large hand finds its new home on the back of your head. He falters briefly, watching how you quiet down, how your eyes widen slightly, but continues as he’s doing when you make absolutely no move to stop him when he gently guides your head down, and down, and down—until you’re right where he wants you. 

A small gasp leaves your lips when he puts you on eye-level with his crotch. It’s quiet, and he almost didn’t hear it, but it makes him pause nonetheless. The hand on your head loosens its grip, and he hesitates as he looks down at you. 

“Is this oka—” 

The sentence never gets finished, forever interrupted by a sharp hiss as you take his cock out of his pants with such unabashed eagerness. It slaps against his abdomen, leaky tip staining the fabric of his shirt. Your previous conversation is all but forgotten, it seems, as you don’t waste a second in taking his hard, aching length almost entirely into your mouth. It all happens so quickly, and Satoru’s mind almost can’t keep up. All he did was think about filling your mouth, and now he’s actually doing it; the fat tip prodding near the back of your throat. 

His hands are shaky, he notices, and so is his breathing as a small whine escapes when one of your hands goes downwards to play with his balls. “Fuck!” he curses, caught by surprise at the boldness with which you reached for that part of him. In his startle, his hands return to the back of your head, and your words make their impromptu return to the very front of his mind. 

Use me. 

He will, then. 

Satoru isn’t at all gentle when he does. His fingers tangle into your hair, and he pushes you down onto his cock until your nose brushes against the soft, white hairs near his pelvis. Your poor little mouth is struggling, he can see, but he can’t seem to pay much mind to it; the sounds of you gagging around his thick length are too much of a pleasure to hear. The way he pushes you up-and-down nears the realm of brute force, and still you eagerly suck, and suck, and suck. 

A particularly loud groan echoes through the room when he steals a glance at your small form kneeling between his legs. It seems he knows you well; you are a sight for sore eyes like this. There are tears in your eyes, and some of them have already fallen down your hollowed cheeks; hollowed, to make space for him. Your mouth is filled to the brim with his cock, and even though he can see you fighting for breath, you never make an attempt at catching it—as if you wouldn’t dare to deprive him of the please your throat gives him. 

Satoru catches himself falling in love all over again. 

He fucks your face harder, and harder, and harder the closer he gets to the edge. Deep groans, and slurred curse words join your symphony of muffled moans, and his hold on your head slowly starts to falter. 

“‘M close, princess,” he mumbles, but that’s about all the warning he gives you. A few seconds later, he cums down your throat. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t need to. Not because you’d given him permission to use you as he sees fit, but simply because he knows you’re utterly obsessed with him doing so. “Fuck, f—fuck, look a’you, hm? Gonna take all of it like a good girl? Don’t waste it, m’kay? S’all for, fuck, for you.” 

It’s something he’s done countless times before, but Satoru swears that each time he spills his cum down your throat feels better than the last. Thick, sticky ropes fill your mouth, and you hum around him when it keeps going, and going, and going. You’re struggling to take it all, and he huffs in amusement when bits of it start to drip down your chin. His thumb catches it, and he quickly places it back in your mouth, forcing you to open it wider to accommodate both the digit and his slowly softening cock. You happily do so. 

He pulls out of you shortly after, with his chest heaving as he recuperates. His entire focus is on you, you, and you as he watches you wipe your mouth and swallow the last of his seed. There’s a smile on your face. It’s kind, and gentle, and innocent; almost as if he hadn’t just fucked your mouth and dumped his release down your throat. Satoru is utterly bewitched as he watches you, captivated by all and every little thing you do, and he cooperates as you tuck him back into his pants. 

And then, as if nothing at all happened, you sit down next to him again—and you speak, you continue talking, finishing the story he’d interrupted with his need to be sucked off. Your voice is hoarse, and your cheeks are still stained with dried tears, but you pay neither of those facts any mind. It makes all of this look so. . . mundane. You were speaking, and then you were between his legs, and now you’re speaking again. 

Satoru’s heart starts to beat even faster for you. Fuck, that’s so hot. This time, he decides to try his very best to listen to your tale about some co-worker of yours that pissed you off this week. He pitches in every-now-and-then, adding a low ‘huh,’ or ‘mhm’ to keep you occupied, and he almost feels guilty—guilty, because all his adrenaline-filled mind can think about are the future possibilities of using you.

“And, wanna know what’s the worst thing about the situation? It was my idea to get donuts for everybody! That harlot didn’t even want them initially.” 

Satoru’s downward spiral is inevitable, and he finds himself falling victim to it more times than one would consider healthy in a mere seven days. He very quickly learns that he’s thoroughly obsessed with the notion that allows him to fill you up anywhere, and at any time. To him, it’s one of the highest honours. 

There’s such confidence, such unwavering faith encompassed in your view of him. There has to be, if you’re willing to allow him such a thing. Thinking about it almost causes a cute pink hue to colour his cheek. . .you really do trust him a lot, huh?

He’s never been able to tell you ‘no’ before, and he certainly isn’t about to start. So, he dutifully listens to you and abides by your delectable request. To satisfy you, of course. There’s absolutely no other reason for his actions, and the way he breaches your dripping cunt with his leaky tip, all while soft breaths leave your lips, and your pretty eyes are peacefully shut, is simply to indulge you. 

Use me. Use me. Use me. 

Satoru curses, the crude words that tumble past his lips being plenty colourful. One of his hands settles on your hip whilst the other hikes your (or rather his) shirt up to provide him with better access. It’s your fault, really, that he’s currently sporting one of the hardest boners of the century. You were waiting for him, weren’t you? Waiting for him to return and bury himself to the hilt in that sweet, sobbing pussy of yours. 

There’s no other reason for you to fall asleep with nothing but his shirt on. Not even panties covered your cute little cunt, your sticky folds fully on display and welcoming him home. Satoru wants to bury himself in it—in a multitude of ways if he’s being truly honest with himself. For now, though, he’ll stick to simply one. 

“Shh,” he coos into your ear, delicately rubbing soft circles into your upper thigh with his thumb. You whine faintly, feeling his cock fight its way past your walls. He splits you open, stretching you just wide enough to slip inside. Your nose scrunches up cutely, and he almost rouses you from your slumber.  “‘S me, really need you, baby.” 

And that’s all he has to say. It’s me. It’s your Satoru. A gentle whisper of those words, and he gets to use you as he pleases. All of his previous worries, all of the near-boiling anger he felt at his previous meeting with the higher-ups washes away as soon as he sinks himself balls-deep into your pussy. Satoru groans deeply at the feeling, and gentle, stuttered declarations of love are babbled into your ear with each slow drag of his cock along your walls. 

The garbled mesh of words that he deems too important not to say, even despite their poor enunciation, only ceases to exist a few minutes later—when he spills his heavy load into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. No, into that sweet cunt of his. Because, that’s who it truly belongs to, no? It’s his, to use, to spoil, to worship. You’d offered it to him so kindly, after all. And, well, Satoru has never been the type of person to turn down a gift. 

. . . You unknowingly create a monster. It seems that even the mere idea of being allowed to use you as he pleases has him tip-toeing around the line of borderline insanity. As each time he sees you, he wants you. . .and each time he wants you, you let him. 

It doesn’t matter what you’re doing at that moment. Even if you’re speaking, and he suddenly feels the need, no, the simple want for a blowjob. And even if you’re asleep, resting after what must have been a long day, you still allow him to slip his aching cock into you to satisfy the craving he’s had for hours. 

Even if you’re busy setting the table, you don’t push him away, and you still allow him to bend you over the wooden surface, to sink to his knees and lick, suck, and kiss around his pretty pussy with his tongue. Simply because he wants to do it, and you really do so, too. 

. . .And even now, when you’re cooking dinner. 

There’s a certain cuteness about the way your brows scrunch in concentration, about the way you gently bite on your bottom lip as you prepare the food for the two of you; it nearly makes him feel guilty for feeling the secret desire to ruin such a lovely, innocent view. The word nearly is important, however, as he’s acutely aware of your need for him to do exactly that—and so, any sense of wrongdoing melts away, similar to snow underneath the sun.

He’s not quite sure what it is that you’re cooking, but it smells delectable. There’s an array of spices, herbs, and vegetables strewn around the counter, and Satoru knows he’ll be eating like a King in a few minutes. As for right now, though, there’s a different craving, a different type of hunger slowly making its way forward. He fears it won’t be one that’ll be sated by your lovely culinary skills. 

“Smells good, baby,” he mumbles. It doesn’t take him long to settle himself behind you, large hands gently coming to rest on your hips. He sighs in the crook of your neck, and nudges the skin with his nose. “What’cha making?” 

You answer. He knows you do, as he feels the vibrations of your voice underneath his lips, the soft hum feeling quite soothing as he kisses along the column of your throat, but Satoru can’t find it in himself to focus on the words you give him. His ever-loose hands roam eagerly down your body, and the previous loving, and delicate kisses along your neck turn sloppy, wet, almost, as Satoru dips one of his hands underneath the waistband of your panties. There’s a grin forming on his lips, one entirely too big and full of confidence. 

“‘M startin’ to think you’re just always wet for me, pretty girl,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear, fingers entirely coated in your slick the second he’d sunk them into your dripping cunt. 

Your cheeks heat up, and you try to stifle a moan when he, so very, very slowly starts to move his fingers in-and-out of you. “I—I am,” you admit, and clench around his digits just as he’s about to take them out; as if it’s a last resort to keep them inside. “F’you, Satoru. Just for you.” 

“Hm?” He hums, and almost huffs in amusement as he sees you trying to continue what you were doing so desperately, as if you weren’t being fucked on your husband’s fingers. Just for that—he rapidly thrusts his fingers back into you, harsher, deeper, and so much quicker. “Just for me, yeah, princess?” 

“Y—Ah! Yes, yes,” you squeak, one of your hands seeking out some semblance of support from the kitchen counter.  “Only for you.” 

There’s an embarrassing sound hitting your ears, as each thrust of his absurdly long fingers is accompanied by your wetness squelching around them. You struggle to speak, to breathe almost, as he fucks you on his fingers. Satoru stretches you out, curling his fingers to find the spot he knows will leave you with those pretty tears falling down your cheeks, and to hit it over, and over, and over again. 

There’s such a heat gathered between your legs, such a pleasurable source of warmth, and Satoru suppresses a groan as he’s once again made very aware of that fact when your walls clench around his digits. His cock twitches, and he lets out a shaky sigh as he grinds it against your ass. “You are, aren’t you? Hm? C’mon, baby, don’t be shy. . .be a little louder.”

You aren’t shy. You haven’t been for a while now. There’s a certain hotness in the way you moan so unabashedly, so utterly shamelessly whenever Satoru gets his hands on you in such a way—it’s as if you can’t ever get enough of him. It never fails to harden his cock even more, to make his balls feel achingly heavy until he ultimately empties them inside your tight little cunt. And you know so, which is exactly why you do it. 

“‘M not,” you rasp out, one of your hands coming to rest on his wrist. The back of your head falls against his shoulder as you choke on a moan, seeking some very necessary aid to stay upright. “Please, I. . .’Toru, please.”

In all honesty, Satoru isn’t quite sure what you’re begging for. He knows it’s one of two options: either to cum on his fingers, or for him to push his thick cock inside your pussy already. There’s no desire to ask, however—he’d much rather make that decision himself. The hand that wasn’t currently burying three of its digits knuckle-deep into your pussy busies itself with his belt-buckle. 

There’s a pitiful whine falling from your lips, one that’s released immediately upon the removal of his fingers from your cunt. “Shh,” he coos in your ear, instantly soothing your upcoming tantrum. You stifle the complaint you’d prepared for him, the feeling of his fat tip prodding near your too-eager hole quickly puts an end to it. “S’okay, pretty girl, just wanna feel you cum around my cock, s’all. . .Think you can do that for me?” 

You nod, and rapidly so. “Mhm,” you hum, and open your mouth when he presents it with his soiled fingers. You clean them, suckling around them until each bit of your sweetness is gone. “Want to—really wanna cum around your cock, ‘Toru.”

“Of course, you do,” he breathes, and captures a quick kiss. And another. And another. And one more. It makes you smile, and that, in turn, makes him smile. When he does pull back, there’s as much love as there is lust dancing in his eyes. “Wouldn’t have expected anything less of you, princess.”

Satoru is often greedy. There’s no such thing as savouring something with him—if he’s enjoying himself, he’ll be as gluttonous as he wishes. The exception is you, of course, as you always are to him. There’s no greater feeling than savouring you. It’s why he, more often than not, decides to fill you up slowly. To let his cock drag along your walls, to let your soothing warmth engulf him inch, by inch, by inch, until his firm balls press up against your ass. He does so this time, too. 

Your long, drawn-out moan as he fills you up slowly sounds as if it were gifted to him by the Heavens, and Satoru’s cock twitches inside when he hears you mutter a soft fuck as you struggle to adjust to him. It’s certainly not the first time you’ve taken his cock, but the sheer girth of him still stretches you out—as it always does. Your husband loves you dearly, however, and waits. . .one second, two seconds, three seconds, and he doesn’t get any further before his self-restraint falters. 

Satoru nearly pulls himself out of your cunt completely, only for him to fuck himself back inside so deeply—it has you place both palms of your hands on the counter to steady yourself. It startles you, as he hears you choke on a moan, but he continues. His movements are quick and rough, animalistic even, as he pounds into your cunt. 

“Sa—ngh, Satoru, wait, I. . .” You interrupt yourself with a moan, the feeling of his tip near your cervix too sharp for you to properly finish a sentence. He’s so deep. It feels as if he’s in your womb, in your stomach—it feels as if he’s everywhere. “Fuck, I. . .f—fuck, ‘Toru. . .”

 “Hm?” He breathes out, a groan slipping past his lips. “Want me to, fuck, you. . .” His rapid movements dial down. The self-control needed for it is enormous, but you’d asked him to wait—so he will. Some beads of pre-cum drip into your cunt, as if his cock was upset that he’d suddenly slowed down. “Wan’me to go slower, baby?”

“No,” There’s a small whine near the end of your sentence. It’s the absolute last thing you wanted him to do, even if you originally asked him to wait. “No, don’t, please, keep going. Need—need more.” You feel Satoru wrap both hands around your hips, as if he’s preparing for something. “Harder, please. . .”

“Harder?” He asks, and you don’t need to see him to know there’s currently a sense of smugness ruining his pretty face.  “How hard do you want it, huh, sweets?” 

Little more than the tip remains inside you, and there’s not a moment for you to mourn the loss of his entire girth—as all air leaves your lungs when he immediately thrusts back into you with a newfound vigour, with such force that it has you bend over the kitchen counter. 

“Like, ah, like this, huh? That how you want it, angel?”

You don’t answer—you’re not able to, as Satoru uses the entirety of his thick length to steal your ability to speak coherently. Once again, you’re acutely aware of the sheer size of your husband. Satoru is tall, and big, and he likely isn’t even aware of it. It certainly doesn’t seem so, as he heads no mind to the way your feet are starting to lift off the floor. Each deep thrust has you inching further up the counter; his hands on your hips nearly holding you up and off the floor as he rocks into you from behind. 

There’s little you can do, except take it. 

The kitchen is filled with sounds that definitely do not belong there. Your wetness is prominent, the sound of it borderline embarrassing, and Satoru’s balls slap against your skin with each thrust. He’s relentless, and you want to cry. The good kind of crying; the kind that often comes accompanied with mind-numbing pleasure. You hiccup, and sniff, and try your best to stabilise yourself against the counter. 

Though, your efforts prove futile once Satoru brings one of his hands to your front. You choke on a whimper as he cruelly pinches your clit, toying with it, flicking and rubbing it in the way he knows will get you off. 

“T—Toru,” you warn him. “I—I’m. . .”

“Mhm,” he hums in acknowledgement, not letting up even for a second. There’s a featherlight kiss pressed to your shoulder. “Me too, princess. S’okay, let, shit, let go for me, yeah?”

And because he’s Satoru—your Satoru, you comply. It hits you all at once, and you’re suddenly very grateful for both your husband holding you upright, and your expensive kitchen counter for adding some extra support. You’re still breathing heavily, coming down from your high, when Satoru hits his own. It’s a familiar feeling, but one you’ll never grow tired of nonetheless. 

You sigh in content. His cum fills you up rapidly, and to the brim. It’s hot, and thick, and trickles out of you even with him still inside—simply because there’s so much of it. The both of you are out of breath, and because of it, choose to stay within each other’s hold for just a little while longer. 

Satoru could—and would—stay in this position for the rest of his life. . .but he’s quite sure that you’ve put a lot of effort in today’s dinner and he doesn’t want it to be for naught. With a deep sigh and a quick kiss to your cheek, he goes against every fibre of his being, and pulls out of you. 

A shiver trails down your spine when he does so, and you let out a soft sigh in content. You’re still recovering, he notices. There’s a trail of his cum dripping out of you, though he wastes little time to push it back inside. Satoru takes matters into his own hands, and decides to place your panties back into place for you, too. It gets soiled by his seed rather quickly, but that’s a problem for later. 

After smoothing down your skirt, he tucks himself back into his pants, as well. He’s by your side as quick as he can, and presses a sweet, lingering kiss to your temple. 

It’s only then that he properly takes notice of all the stuff that’s been thrown around the kitchen. Pots, pans, vegetables, spices. It seems you really were busy.

And, as if he hadn’t just finished fucking you silly, he smiles. 

“So, what are you making?”

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

[simpingland]

Heyy beauty!

Can i request a Harwin break my back Strong x wife Targaryen reader fic where he beats the shit out of someone who disrespects her. He gets out of it with no consequences, reader looks after him & it ends in smut💋

(I'd appreciate it if u could do more Harwin fics cause lord knows I'm thirsty for it😭)

How to fix an aching nose.// Ser Harwin Strong x Targ!Wife!Reader. Smut.

Summary: Harwin cant believe his luck, married to a targaryan princess, being completely in love with her, her being madly in love with him...Not many believe his luck neither. Only his wife can prove him that its all real.

Warnings: p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), a Lannister being punch.

Harwin was more than anxious to have you, his dearest wife, alone for more than the few moments you were allowed, to what extent could he reminisce about your wedding night? His mind was elsewhere during the hunt, listening only to his father's instructions, and ignoring the lords. Ever since he married you, he had felt the looks they gave him, full of envy of course. Few dared little more than stare, the stupidest could dare to vocalise it. And Lord Tyland Lannister was one of those fools.

"I see you are distracted, Ser Harwin," said the Lord with a mocking laugh as he watched the stag slip away from him at close range. "Marriage...always has the same effect on men."

He chuckled, a few laughed with him, but most gave him a dirty look, and Harwin set his spear aside.

"What effect do you mean, Ser Tyland?" he asked dryly.

"Well, the effect of women. They are a constant headache."

"I don't think you should speak so of wives when you haven't managed to marry a single woman since you've been at court, my lord." He wanted to leave it at that, but Tyland had taken offense.

"When one wields so much fortune, choosing a wife to entrust to him is a different task. I suppose you don't know what I'm talking about now, Ser Harwin."

Harwin walked toward him, towering over him. It clearly frightened him.

"I don't need to brag about money to show my wealth. And that I think if you are able to understand."

Tyland was silent for a second. Everyone had turned to watch the scene, except your father, the King, who was too sore to pay attention. None of them listened as your father asked for your presence to escort him to his tent without making a fuss. So Harwin turned to continue the hunt without being aware that his own wife was walking towards the scene. Neither was Lord Lannister.

"You certainly took a treasure for the little price you must have paid...you took a very possible wife from me." Tyland was whispering it to Harwin now, purposely irritating him. "Though...perhaps you did me a favor. A princess who chooses someone like you should not be driven by anything but lust and madness. Maybe your wife is a lot cheaper than we all thought."

Then Harwin exploded. With the first fist he knocked out two of Tyland's molars, and with the second he buried him in the mud. None of Ser Lyonel's orders were heard as he tore Tyland apart, only the insults towards you, raging. They tried to pull him away, but he was still there. And there you found him.

"HARWIN!" You shouted, running towards him. It took him a while to notice you, he looked at you, a little frightened that you had seen him be so savage.

"He insulted you" he said quietly, then looked at Tyland "YOU INSULTED THE PRINCESS!"

And he gave him one last kick before he was pushed away by the guards. He had to be pushed away until he was led out of the hunt, and he only looked at you, begging your forgiveness for the disturbance. Your father was disoriented, and only understood what was happening from the words of one of the guards. And you had to wait to get your father to his bed before you met Harwin.

"What happened?" you asked as you entered your tent. Harwin was waiting for you, on his back and standing. When he turned around you saw his nose was bleeding. You ran to wipe it. "Gods! Did Tyland do that to you?"

"He wishes it was him, my love...it was one of the guards."

"I suppose it's because you've hit him first, isn't it?"

He smiled, because he knew you as well as you knew him. And he watched your concern disappear with every second, seeing your smile again.

"I'm not going to let anyone walk all over me. Not me, not you," he said, kissing your neck as he hugged you, lifting you off the ground and pressing you against his chest.

"Oh, Harwin, and why do you say that?"

You wiped the blood from him as he told you the story. It was starting to bruise a little, but had stopped bleeding after he put a cold cloth on it, holding it patiently and letting it play with the ties of your dress.

"I don't want you to think I'm just a... a beast too. I hold my anger a lot more than you think. Only you make me feel at peace, wife." He ran his hand through your hair.

It certainly hadn't been easy to convince your father. The Strongs were beloved at court, but Harrenhal was not a place of good repute, and marrying the King's second daughter to a notorious brute like Harwin "Breakbones" Strong had caused much controversy. You succeeded after years of hiding in the corridors, and every night Harwin could only draw on his imagination to do more than kiss you, for he had always put your reputation and honour before his desires.

You had only been married a short time, but it had been a season since you two had spent time alone. Your elder sister Rhaenyra was keeping you by her side at night, uncomfortable with her first pregnancy, and in the mornings, Harwin was too busy catching up on his duties as heir to Harrenhal.

Still, it didn't take away a single ounce of excitement, you craved each other throughout the day, and Harwin always managed to pull you aside to talk or kiss you. Either was enough for him, but he really wanted you back in his bed.

"You don't look like a beast to me." You put your hands on his neck, sat on his lap, you could feel his bulge on your leg. "And even if you had looked like one, you forget I've never been the person who holds his reputation in the highest regard, remember?"

They smiled, Harwin remembered in fact, more than once he had had to push you out of his sight because you had guided his hand where maidens should not be touched, all before you were married. You kissed him first, and when he was training you watched him from your window, catching his eye and "accidentally" showing your breasts. In the dark of night he had to pick you up off the floor because you had knelt before him. And in between all those moments Harwin couldn't help but be captivated by you, begging the King for your hand.

"I remember everything. You are far more beastly than I, my wife..." His member began to grow as he remembered, your scent right there, he captured your lips.

"You have offended me," you faltered, pulling away from the kiss. "Show me who the beast is here, Ser Breakbones."

One swift movement and he unfastened the bodice of your dress, freeing your breasts, and brought one to his lips. And as it sank to your chest you giggled at his eagerness, enjoying the tingle that formed on your legs as you felt Harwin's saliva run over your tits.

"Do you find this amusing, my princess? Having me sit here?" He ran his hands under your skirt, stroking your pearl as if by accident, but you knew he wasn't, that he was doing it to ravish you.

"I do find it a bit funny, I'm afraid..."

He stilled your laughter by throwing you onto the bed they had set up for you. Remarkably smaller than the one in your room back in the Keep, but Harwin didn't plan to use it much. He removed what was left of your dress, leaving you now completely naked. Your body being a spectacle for him.

"Well I'm no clown, of the many tricks they know how to do, I doubt very much they know how to do this."

He rested one hand on the bed, circling you on top of you, and the other he used to turn you, your back, your ass facing the outside. He caressed your back, stroke both cheeck of your ass and finally touching your cunt. One finger entered first, stirring your discharge with your clitoris and eliciting a soft moan from you. He watched you watching him, mouth half open. He was so handsome, with his smooth coat but rugged features, Harwin was all man. He inserted a second finger, and the third was not long in coming. Then he began to shake his hand rapidly, lifting your entire pelvis to his rhythm. You couldn't help but cry out as you felt such continuous pleasure.

"No..." whispered Harwin, pulling his face closer to yours, "no one knows how to do this to you like I do..."

Pleasure engulfed you, and Harwin could see you come to orgasm, you moaned millimetres from his lips, which he felt as if it was feeding him. He let you rest, and before he could lick his fingers with your arousal, you took his hand to lick them for him. If he was already excited before, Harwin had to hold back a moan when he felt the friction of his own pants squeezing his erection.

"Now let me reward you, my Lord, for defending my honour..." you removed his shirt, and kissed his big abs. But you made him suffer as you reached for his trousers, unbuttoning them bit by bit, not until you had removed them completely did you focus on his member.

Fat and in proportion to your husband, his cock needed two hands to massage it well. First you gave him a little kiss on the tip, as if in greeting, and looked up at Harwin, who seemed impatient but loved your gaze as you knelt before him. You were beautiful from every angle, and your eyes sharpened from that perspective. He pushed your silver hair aside as an excuse to touch it, and he never pushed your head, you always managed to make him enjoy at your own pace. You licked the tip for a while, but before he could cum, you took as much of his cock into your mouth as you could, knowing which way to guide it so you wouldn't gag. You sucked slowly but intensely, using your cheeks to make your mouth tighter. You were just about to make him cum when Harwin decided to take the reins again.

He caught you by surprise when he pulled away from you to pick you up off the floor, placing you in his arms as he did when he rescued you from troubles you usually got yourself into. One arm around your back and the other around your legs, your hands resting on his shoulders and with the opportunity to kiss him right there. Indeed, you didn't need the bed very much. You didn't quite understand what Harwin was up to, but when you felt the tip of his cock at your entrance, your hair stood on end. He was moving slowly up and down you, preparing to bury himself all the way in.

"I am convinced that there is no better pussy than yours in all of Westeros, Princess..." his voice was husky, his scent captivated you, and he kissed you tenderly when he wasn't kissing you with tongue.

"So what are you waiting for to enjoy it?"

He lured you to his lips to distract you, but you finally felt him enter. Gently, but creating that special fraction you'd longed for for years before you were married. Harwin broke the kiss to moan, of course this was his favourite part of fucking. He didn't usually do it fast, he liked to pace himself, and for such a big, rough man, he liked to sink into your pussy delicately, whether it was his instinct to protect you, or his instinct to enjoy it. His hips set the pace, as he raised them, his arms lowered, and you felt his full length fill you. He began to speed up the rhythm, he had plenty of strength left, and when he increased you could hear him enjoying himself, making you enjoy yourself.

"I'm going to cum...I'm going to cum..." he announced.

Then he laid you back down on the bed. You had no plans to have children yet, so you liked to experiment a little. Harwin positioned your legs apart, and took out his cock to rub it against your clit, fucking your vaginal lips and causing you unparalleled pleasure. You had your second orgasm seconds before you felt Harwin's semen spilling out of your pelvis, with a sweet moan leaving your husbands lips.

He rested his forehead on yours, and you kissed his aching nose.

"Wow...you sure made me feel better, wife." He moved to your side, pulling a blanket over you both, cuddeling you in his arms.

"Yeah...I've missed you too."

"I meant the kiss on the nose...but the rest was good too."

You laughed before threatening to make it bleed again. Harwin was willing to take a million punches as long as his princess was there to kiss his wounds afterwards.

[ladycaramelswirl]

A Dream Like You

Female reader x Aaron Hotchner

A/N: I did something… hormonal 💀 may delete later

summary: you and Aaron share a bed on a case. oh, also you’re both in love with each other and totally oblivious. And sexually frustrated 🫠

cw: Idk how ratings work but I’m pretty sure this is explicit. (sm*t?) No mention of Y/N! Also quite a bit of swearing, which is unusual for me.

A/N (main): this is my first time writing anything remotely sexual. It’s short! I was writing something completely different but it ended up as… idk what this is. Also I’m sorry for any typos. Enjoy 💀

————————————

You wake up to the most perfect warmth enveloping you. And the delightful smell of soap and a citrus scented laundry detergent. You sleepily bury your nose into the smell. Except the source of the smell is Aaron, who immediately startles awake at your movement, only to go completely still when he realises you’re the reason for the wonderful warmth pressed against him. He tries to move away but you pull him closer, pushing your breasts against his chest and your leg between his thighs, dangerously close to his now extremely hard cock.

You move against him in your sleep, rocking against his sensitive underside, causing him to moan. This was bad. So bad. He really needed you to wake up. 

“Hey”, he whispers.

“Mmm”, you mumble into your bedmates neck. “It’s so nice here. Don’t want to get up”. 

God you were killing him. He tries to move away, not wanting to disturb your much needed sleep, but you just hold onto him tighter. Were arms supposed to feel this good?

“Please wake up”, he pleads. You needed sleep, but if you kept rubbing against him, he was going come, and then things would be very very uncomfortable. He tries to shake you awake but you rock your hips against him again. 

“Fuck”, he hisses, pleasure rushing through him. Your sleepy mind finds immense satisfaction at his voice and starts moving against him harder. 

“Oh God”, he chokes. 

“You feel so good baby”, you whisper in his ear. You throb with desire. “I need you”, you whine, the friction from your movement sending you into a state of bliss. God you’ve never had a sex dream this good.

Aaron feels his heart race with your movement but it’s your words that cause him to get harder. How was he supposed to forget how you called him baby? He tries to shake you off. 

“You need to wake up. I-“, his words are cut off by an uncontrollable gasp of pleasure that escapes him. 

You feel desperate for the feeling of him inside you. “Fuck me. Please fuck me”, you beg. It takes all of Aaron’s willpower to push you off of him and he jams a pillow between you. He immediately gets on his feet, needing to get away from you. You let out a disappointed whimper and that’s all he can take before he rushes into the bathroom. He turns the water on in the shower before stepping under it, trying to get the cold water to cool him off. But nothing is helping. He wraps his fingers around his hard shaft, slowly moving it up and down. He grits his teeth together, the memory of your words making it almost impossible to not vocalise his pleasure, but you were still asleep and if you woke up, he’d have to explain why he was so flushed. So he tries his best to be quiet. Your voice plays in his head - “you feel so good baby”. He strokes himself faster. “I need you”. His knees buckle in pleasure. “Fuck me. Please”. His mind goes blank as he experiences an euphoric climax and his legs shake as his gratification covers the bathroom tile. Fuck. He’s never got himself off that fast. Shit. He just fucked himself thinking about you. He immediately feels a surge of guilt. He is your boss. He is not supposed to feel this way about you. And you had thought you were sleeping. He has no excuse for his behaviour. He towels himself off and checks his watch for the time. 4am. It’s too early to get up but he cannot get back into bed with you there so he gets dressed. He leaves a note explaining that he’s gone to the precinct to work on the case and that you should join later with everyone else, then quietly slips out of the room.

The sound of the door closing stirs you from your sleep. You reach for your nightstand to check your watch, but find nothing. The panic of being in a strange room makes you sit up and you remember that you’re in a hotel room on a case. You reach to the right for your watch again only to realise you’re not on the side of the bed you slept on. And that you’re alone but you hadn’t been when going to bed. You notice the note on his nightstand. Of course he was already up at 4am. Unless you had kicked him out of bed by rolling onto his side? Oh God, you hope not. And why did you feel so… sensitive? You notice the pillow between your thighs. You recall your dream, and his sounds of pleasure, groaning in frustration and burying your face in the pillow. Only you’re overwhelmed by the smell of Hotch. It’s enough to have you throbbing again. You’d just had a sex dream of your boss. While in bed within him. Why couldn’t you be attracted to anyone else? It was so embarrassing. And completely inappropriate. You had to pull yourself together. But you felt a desperate ache between your thighs. And the smell of him was overwhelmingly good. Before you can really think about what’s happening you bring one hand to your breast, palming yourself through your shirt and slip your other hand into your sleep shorts, rubbing your sensitive nub. Were dreams supposed to be that vivid? The memory of his body against yours has you imagining your fingers are his. You slip one finger inside, then two. His would be so much thicker, so filling. You throb against your digits at the thought. You can almost hear his moans. You fuck yourself harder. God it feels so good. 

“Yes Aaron”, you pant, and you’re not sure if you’re thankful that he’s not here. You pinch your nipples as you swipe at your sensitive bundle of nerves and suddenly remember the sound of him whimpering. It’s enough to make you see white. Your orgasm rips through you and you’re soaked in sweat by the time you come down from your high. You stare at the ceiling, contemplating when you’ve ever had an orgasm that good. Never.

You were so fucked.

———

A/N P.S. : I hope you liked it! should I post the writing that inspired this? It’s pretty much the opposite of this - far away from smut land and very much the capital of pining city. It’s much more my usual style. Anyway let me know what you think :)

Masterlist

[gay-dorito-dust]

The raven came for Jace, bringing unfortunate news within the form of a small scroll that kept itself sealed shut by a bit of string.

The look that Lord Cregan Stark made his stomach drop, he didn’t need to for it to be vocalised that the raven had brought news many would find hard to stomach, so without an ounce of hesitation Jace found himself flying home to Dragonstone; fighting back the tears that threaten to blur his vision.

His brother was dead and he was too far out of reach to help him, and even if he did attempt to fly on dragon back and into Storm’s end, Jacaerys fears that he wouldn’t have gotten there quick enough for his liking in order to save Luke.

However thar didn’t stop the thoughts within his head that told him that he was failure of an older brother for not protecting Luke better when he should’ve. There were even minor thoughts that his own mother -the rightful queen- would blame him in a fit of grief and anger, that everyone back home would point the blame at him for living while his brother did not.

Jace even caught himself thinking what if you too blamed him? Condemn him for breathing the air that Luke now could not? His brother and Arrax’s remains were found in Shipwreck Bay but even with that in mind it was impossible to comprehend that his brother, someone he saw not too long ago alive and well, was now pronounced dead alongside his dragon with evidence to prove it.

Did you blame him? Jace wondered as Dragonstone came into view, his blood having been frozen solid the moment the news struck him in the chest, he could barely feel anything besides the aching pain where his heart resided and the urge to scream and shout the unbearably hurt he felt out of his body for good.

The rest of the day Jace has never felt more like a spectator in his own body as he watched himself walk through Dragonstone and stopping short when he caught sight of you near the fireplace, reading the same letter that he had moments ago and covering your hand over your mouth to muffle your own cries of pain over the loss. You loved Luke as though he was your own little brother and it hurt Jace just as much to see you in pain and suffering, unable to bring you comfort whilst dealing with his own grief and loss of his brother.

‘Jace?’ Your voice called out in the near empty room, broken but relived at seeing him alive after worrying yourself half to death over the idea that Aemond might’ve tried killing him too.

‘I’m-‘ Jace could barely speak a single word without his voice cracking under the grief he’s tried suppressing the entire flight home. ‘I’m-‘

You walked towards him slightly, opening your arms towards him in a sign that you wished to comfort him, Jace was quick to accept your offer with teary eyes and slam himself into your arms as he clung to you for dear life. The pain growing too much for him to deal with alone, rendering him afraid that it might break him should he try to upkeep his duty as prince, rather than feel his grief like he should.

‘It’s my fault.’ He cried into your shoulder as his fingers dug into you as though he was scared that you’d also leave him.

‘It’s not.’ You told him softly, rubbing his back soothingly as tears streamed down your cheeks silently. ‘It’s not your fault, we both know who’s at fault; Aemond.’ You reminded him as your hatred towards Aemond grew, you wondered whether the bastard even had a human heart to even feel an ounce of remorse for his crime, you prayed to the old gods and the new that they’d condemn him to a fate worse then death.

After all you’ve heard that Cannibal and Grey Ghost were still very much unclaimed and somewhere on Dragonstone.

Jace gripped you tighter as he cried the last of his tears into your shoulder, soaking the fabric but you didn’t care, all that mattered to you was bringing Jace off of the ledge he was hanging off of within his mind. ‘I can’t believe-‘ Jace couldn’t even finish his sentence without another wave of tears streaming down his face.

You pressed a kiss to his head as you held him close to your chest as possible, staring into the fires blankly. ‘It’ll be made right soon Jace, the greens will pay back tenfold by fire and blood I’ll make sure of it.’ You promised him, you might not have a dragon but soon enough you’ll will and when you do, the greens will witness your wrath firsthand.

[spencerreidsreads]

I’d take 100 bad days for this

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Summary: A bad day turned good by a stranger giving you his sweater

Genre: Fluff!

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Spencer is probably slightly out of character. I’m still learning and this is my first time writing for him so please forgive me.

AN: Once again not proof read as I’m still too embarrassed to read my own works. Please let me know if there’s any mistakes.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ♡꘎

With tears streaming down your face, you continue your walk through the streets. The barley there light flickering from the questionable lamppost above casts a slither of light to shine over your soaking wet form. Your tears mix with the raindrops to coat your skin and add to your already terrible mood.

Everything that could’ve gone wrong today, did. First of all, you’d had a terrible nights sleep. Coffee was the first thing on your mind when you woke up in the morning, but instead of starting your day with a warm vanilla latte like you had planned, you found yourself out of coffee. This was strike one.

Then, as you started your journey to work, hoping to stop off at your favourite coffee shop to try get your fix in, your favourite jacket that you had been wearing got caught on god knows what and ripped. The hole that now sat in the sleeve of your jacket mocked you as you lost the energy to detour for your morning caffeine.

Other small things continued to happen throughout the day to add to your sour mood. Someone shut the door on you as you were walking into the building, you realised you had forgotten your lunch and a colleague of yours spilled her coffee onto your recently completed paperwork.

The final straw, however, was when your boss called you into her office. This was never a good sign, you don’t get called into your bosses office unless it’s bad news. The eyes of the rest of your colleagues followed as you trudged into the room that was your idea of personal hell. As soon as you sat down opposite your boss, she explained that the design for a project you had presented had been turned down. They had gone with someone else’s.

This in particular broke your heart. You had been so passionate about it. So confident in your ability to make it work, so why did no one else see that? Add this to all the other small things that had happened that day, and it’s enough to open the floodgates.

As you exit your office and enter the street below ready to walk home, the sky matches your mood. Grey clouds and heavy rainfall are all you can see and hear. Well, you thought, at least it matches your mood.

You decide to take the train home, the quicker you get home the quicker you can drown your sorrows in ice cream. Once you get to the station with tears still spilling from your eyes, you’re happy to note the platform is completely empty. Except for one other individual, a tall man with longish hair, who looked just as soaked as you were. He stood, clutching onto the strap of his brown satchel as he looked around the platform.

His eyes locked onto you and he gave you an awkward smile. You reciprocated the smile and looked away. He didn’t look like the type of guy who would cause you any trouble, but you certainly weren’t in the mood to find out. Avoiding any more contact was the best option, you thought.

Though no matter how hard you avoided looking in his direction, you didn’t anticipate that he would initiate the contact with you.

“Excuse me?” you heard his voice. It sounded unsure and soft, yet friendly in it’s tone.

You turned to look back at the man with the satchel, your eyes asking the question you didn’t need to vocalise, “what?”

You look down and see he’s holding some sort of fabric in his hands.

“I just - uh, you looked cold and I have a spare sweater… if you’d like to put it on. Don’t think you have to! I just thought I would offer since you’re wet and well if you’re wet and cold for a prolonged period of time, it may negatively affect your immune system, making you more likely to get a cold” - he didn’t look in your eyes once whilst saying this - “so… yeah, I just wanted to offer”. You struggled to hold back your smirk, already feeling slightly better. He was a rambler for sure, you knew this much already. He also seemed terrified as he waited for your response. You got the idea he wasn’t the most confident guy in the world.

“Are you sure?” you asked the man. You were very aware of stranger danger and knew you most likely shouldn’t be taking this from him, but honestly you were absolutely freezing. The rain had completely soaked through your clothes at this point and had left your skin feeling the cold. Not to mention, the guy was cute and the idea of wearing his sweater made you feel slightly warmer already.

“Oh absolutely! I don’t need it, it’s just a spare I had in my bag. Actually you should probably take off your shirt before putting the sweater on. Wearing wet clothing in cold temperatures significantly increases the risk of hypothermia, as it rapidly removes heat from the body. The water in wet clothing quickly evaporates, taking heat away from the body therefore reducing the body's ability to maintain a normal temperature.”

You raise an eyebrow at his suggestion that you take off your shirt. He looked confused for a second before realising what he’d said. The man’s eyes widened in surprise and he began to stutter out an apology.

“N-no I didn’t mean that. Well, I did but not like that. I’m not asking you to take your shirt off. I- uh, I’m sure you’ll be totally fine if you keep your shirt on. In fact-“

You cut off his panic induced ramble with a laugh, he is absolutely adorable, you thought to yourself.

The stranger looked at you, his cheeks flushed, most likely out of embarrassment and slightly biting his lip. Like he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. You decided you’d help him out.

“That’s certainly the most creative way a guys ever hit on me. Asking me to strip on a train platform is a new one for me” you said with a smirk.

The man’s eyes widened in horror. “No, no - that’s not.. I didn’t..”

You once again cut him off with a laugh, louder this time. “I’m just messing with you, I know you didn’t mean it like that. Thank you, for the sweater. I really appreciate it. And your concern for my well being too, that’s very sweet of you” you spoke as you slipped the sweater over your head. You couldn’t help but softly inhale the light smell on the sweater, it smelt clean with a hint of warmth.

“Oh, yeah you’re welcome” he replied, still not making eye contact with you. He didn’t say anything else so you decided to try and continue the conversation whilst you wait for your train.

“So, do I get to know the name of my knight in shining armour who protected me from freezing to death on the train platform?” you asked, you’d made the decision that this man didn’t want to hurt you, so you wanted to get to know him a bit better.

“Oh I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid” he replied, finally looking at you.

“Well Spencer, Spencer Reid. I’m (y/n), I assume you’re waiting for this train?” and you pointed to the empty tracks where your train should be showing up within the next few minutes.

“Yeah, just heading home for the day” Spencer told you. “I’ve been out of town for the past couple of days so I’m excited to just get home and relax with a book”

At the mention of his idea of relaxing being a book, your eyes lit up. You’ve always loved reading, ever since you were a child. Anything you could get your hands on and you were grateful. Fantasy, romance, thriller, historical fiction - anything. You were an absolute bookworm at heart.

“What book are you planning on reading?” you asked.

“I haven’t decided yet. Though I’ll probably go for some light reading since it’s late, I have a few chemistry textbooks I’ve been meaning to read so maybe I’ll get started on those”

You laughed at his mention of chemistry textbooks being light reading, so he’s pretty and funny, you thought.

Until you looked at his face and he seemed utterly confused as to why you were laughing. Was he serious when he said that?

You halted your laughter and decided to get back on track with the conversation. “Well that sounds interesting, I tend to read romance or fantasy books when I’m feeling tired. They keep me engaged enough that I don’t fall asleep straight away. Though I’m currently rereading A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Housseini. I haven’t read it in years but came across it in the library recently and decided I wanted to read it again. It’s just as good and moving a second time”

Just as you finished saying this, your train started to pull up. The both of you moved together and approached the doors that were waiting to open. Once they did, Spencer signalled for you to enter first, thanking him you stepped onto the train and headed to find a seat. One sat, you saw Spencer who looked unsure. You guessed he wasn’t sure if you’d want him sitting with you, but just in the short conversation you’d had, he already decided he wanted to talk to you more.

Luckily you sensed his worry and patted the chair next to you; inviting him to sit. Spencer slowly approached and dropped down next to you, taking his satchel off of his shoulders and placing it on his lap. He turned to you and continued your previous conversation.

“You like to read?” he asked “that’s great, I love reading, I can actually read twenty thousand words per minute so I get through book’s extremely fast so I’d love to hear any recommendations if you have any”

Since he again, looked completely serious when he said this, you assumed he maybe wasn’t joking. A guy who can read 20,000 words per minute and enjoys chemistry textbooks in his spare time, what is he some sort of genius?

“Wow” you blinked. “ I’m lucky if I get through one book per month, I get distracted too easily. No matter how much I love a book I just can’t get through it in one go” you admit. Though not out of shame, you read for pleasure and getting through one book a month is working just fine for you.

Spencer smiled slightly at your words,

“but I’d love if we could trade book recommendations” you add on. “Though I’d prefer if you didn’t recommend anything to do with chemistry. Or biology for that matter, or physics. You know what, anything science based is just not my cup of tea.”

He laughed slightly at your request. “Deal” he said. “Are you more of a fiction fan?”

“Absolutely” you responded, “I’m good with any genre but it has to be fiction”

“Ok. I can do that, I’ve read plenty of fiction” he smiled through his words.

“I bet you have Mr twenty thousand words per minute” you giggled.

Spencer laughed along with you, he could tell you weren’t teasing him, it actually almost felt flirty. If he knew for sure Spencer might flirt back, or attempt to at least. But he doesn’t want to have got the wrong impression and make a fool out of himself. He was currently fighting an internal battle with himself.

Either act like this is just a normal, totally none flirtatious conversation and leave the train with a few book recommendations for books he’s probably already read and nothing else. Or, be brave and ask you out. Not only had the conversation you had been fun to him, but Spencer couldn’t deny, you were absolutely beautiful. Even soaking wet from the rain, your hair in ringlets and makeup smudged slightly on your face, Spencer thought you looked breathtaking.

Unfortunately for him, he would have to hurry up and make his decision. Because whilst he was in his own head, he hadn’t realised the train was slowing down.

“Well” you said as you begin to stand, “this is my stop”. You hadn’t even had the chance to exchange book recommendations. You were seriously hoping he would ask for your number. It was almost like your bad day hadn’t happened at all when you spoke with Spencer. He made you smile for the first time since yesterday and you really would love to see him again.

And Spencer was thinking the same thing. It wasn’t often he had to chance to have normal conversation like this. Especially about books. He mainly spoke with his team about serial murders and cases they were working on. It felt nice to leave work behind for a while and have a conversation about an interest of his.

Once he saw you stepping towards the doors of the train, he jumped out of his seat after you.

“Wait, uh (y/n)” he seemed nervous again. “We didn’t get to recommend books to each other.”

He seemed genuinely upset about this.

“You’re right” you replied. It seemed he may need a little push to say what he wanted to say. So you decided to help him again, you couldn’t wait all day, you needed to get off the train any minute now. “I wonder what we could do about that?” you posed like a question, giving Spencer the option to offer a solution.

And in an act of courage that he didn’t normally have around women, he offered one.

“Would you like to get a coffee sometime? With me, I mean”. You could almost hear his heart pounding with how nervous he seemed.

“You mean like a date?” You asked.

“If you’d like, I’d love to take you on a date. We can discuss books and drink coffee and hopefully we’ll be more dry and comfortable than we are now” he reminded you that you both were still currently soaked from the rain.

Your face showed a small smile, but on the inside you were ecstatic. You couldn’t believe after your terrible day that this gorgeous, sweet man was asking YOU on a date.

“I’d love that Spencer” you said earnestly.

You noticed the train doors were about to open, you needed to be quick as you had no way of contacting each other but you needed to get off if you wanted to get home any time soon.

“Uh, do you have a pen? Or your phone. I need to give you my number” you began to panic that you wouldn’t have time to exchange numbers. The doors had just opened.

“Just tell me it.” He stated.

“What?” You responded.

“Trust me” he replied, “I’ll remember it”

How could he remember a full phone number that quickly, after just hearing it once. But you didn’t have time to question it, you quickly relayed your number to him and went to step off the train.

“(Y/n)!” Spencer called your name.

Now on the platform, you turned to look at him, he stood there, looking at you with a smile on his face.

“I’ll call you. It was-“

Spencer was cut off my the doors of the train closing. You watched as the train pulled away, taking the handsome man with it. He awkwardly waved at you as he left.

You felt like a fool, of course he wouldn’t remember your number. Was he just playing you this whole time? Why did he ask you out if he had no intentions of actually wanting to do it?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing. This was just a coincidence. It was probably someone wanting to give you more bad news to finish off your day. You signed and started to walk whilst pulling your phone out of your purse.

“Hello?” You said into the phone, not even looking at who called.

“So when are you free for coffee? I can’t wait to hear those recommendations.”

You had to pause your steps you were so surprised. It was actually him, you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face.

You looked down at the sweater hugging your fame, the sweater that belonged to him. The man who was taking you on a date.

You’d take a hundred bad days, if it meant your evenings would end like this. Softly conversing with a gorgeous man on the phone, wearing his sweater and discussing when you were going to see each other again.

“Ah, Mr twenty thousand words per minute, it’s so nice to hear from you…”

Maybe your day wasn’t so bad after all.

[image-thot]

Throw Him Off His Rhythm: Mirage x Reader

Fandom: Transformers Rotb

Summary: After getting caught and subsequently losing a bet he made to his human, Mirage now finds himself having to follow through with his end of the deal.

Words: 1,517

Warnings: Masturbating, handjobs, Sub/Dom, orgasm denial

A/N: The reader is written as gender-neutral. I did indeed spend a little time today figuring out an average size estimate for how big a cybertrionians spike would be (more specifically Mirages) relative to them and their humans because I needed something to like visualise or something. Can’t lie I may be on my way to making a table of transformers and how big their spikes are, if you by primus wanna see that let me know XD

Enjoy the fic.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." The string of curses leaves Mirage's vocaliser as he awkwardly shimmied down the narrow alleyway.

"Why'd the perfect spot have to be so fragging, hard to get to." Mindful of his finish he carefully squeezes out of the alley into the outdoor courtyard. 

Sure it wasn't the nicest looking or biggest of hiding spots, but it was private and quiet. Panelling sliding open as he sits on the ground, leaning back against the brick wall he sighs in relief as his burning spike pressurises already dripping transfluid.

"Frag finally, for a second thought I was going to burst a line." Servo quickly dives down to wrap around his spike and he bites back a moan as his servo begins to stroke at a fast pace, aching to relieve the burning pressure.

"You couldn't wait until after the meeting?" Helm hitting the wall behind him as he groans, of course it couldn’t and you knew that all too well otherwise you wouldn’t have followed him out here.

Although amusing at the time making, a bet to see who could go the longest without needing to fuck or masturbate wasn’t his most brilliant idea. In his defence he thought humans weren’t capable of going more than a day let alone a week without having to self-service themselves, all but certain he’d have the win in the bag.

It didn’t help him that you’d poke and provoke his imagination, you’d butter him up with your sweet words which had done more than just stroke at his ego. Not-so-subtle innuendos had on more than one occasion almost had his interface panels sliding back, it’s a miracle he had managed to last this long.

“Obviously not.” Servo still stroking his spike as he speaks optics looking everywhere but your eyes, he doesn’t need need to look at your face to see the grin that spreads across it. “I can see that but aren’t you forgetting something?” Your words tease him as a huff of annoyance leaves his intake, slowly making your way over to him you lean against the wall next to him.

“Fine. Fine. You win. You a human can outlast me a cybertronian. Happy now? Cuz I could really use some help.” Continues to stroke his spike as other servo reaches out to grab you, when you quickly dart out of his reach a whined gasp leaves him.

"W-what? Come on you can’t be serious.” You chuckle at his needy response no doubt in your mind that if your roles were reversed he would have teased you.

“But didn’t you say the winner could order the looser around for an entire week?” Smugness dripped off your words as you watched his frame slump forward, a defeated sigh leaving him.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d just wanna be on top or something. Not like. Not like leave me hanging.” Sending the best puppy dog eyes he could muster your way, hoping you’d cave into his needs.

“Mirage. You wouldn’t be trying to go back on your word, would you?” A fake look of disappointment briefly covers your face as carefully move around his legs coming to a stop by his pedes.

“What!? Of course not! I mean, after so long I figured that you'd. You know, wanna fool around." Servos still as he watches you contemplate and tries to stop his legs from bouncing impatiently as he waits for your response. A devious look spreads across your eyes as you walk between his legs, hand coming up to trace between the seams as you move closer.

"I suppose, a little fun now wouldn't hurt. If you promise to stand by your word and do exactly as I say." Missing the dark edge of your words as he moans out a string of yes. Now standing in front of his leaking spike you give him a playful smile as you tap the servo that had slowly resumed its stroking.

"Servos by your side's big boy and no matter what. You don't touch me or your spike." Words are spoken as if you're sending him into battle, your hands gently caressing the metal and seams around his heated array.

"Sir yes sir!~" The chuckle he lets out after his own words are cut off by a soft moan and his servos drop-down like rocks off a bridge, digits grip the ground as your breath fans over his spike.

"Good." You hum as one hand trails up to his spike while the other continues to tease the wires between his seams.

Your eyes watch his faceplate like a predator, his optics offlining and scrunching up when your hand delicately runs up his spike. Shifting your gaze back down to his spike,  your fingers briefly graze over the tip blue biolights pulse at the touch and a gaspe escape his intake. Fingers move back down as your hand begins to slowly stoke easily gliding thanks to all the pre-leaked transfluid.

"Frag." A moaned whisper breaks from him as his hips twitch and he desperately holds back from thrusting them into your hand.

A chuckle escapes you, eyes moving back to his faceplate as they keenly watch him bite his derma as his helm hits the wall behind it. Digits dig into the ground below them, frame shifting uncomfortably as you barely increase the speed of your hand and a whine slips out and his optics online.

"Please baby. Frag you're killing me here." Optics looking down at you and he groans as a smirk briefly returns to your face.

"Aww, I'm sorry." A fake pout spreads over your face as your hand begins to stroke a little faster, eyes never leaving him as your mouth moves in closer to his spike.

"Would you like me to go a little faster?" The teasing words fan hot air over the sensitive tip of his spike and have his hips jolting up. Spike almost pushing into your mouth you move your head back with a chuckle and your hand speeds up.

"Yes! Please babes! Frag I wanna be inside you so bad!" Optics offlining as his words fall out along with his desperate moans as your mouth moves away.

Your other hand finally leaves the cluster of wires it had been teasing to wander to his spike, your thumb firmly runs over the tip and he gasps out. Frame shaking you can see the strain in his servos as he desperately keeps them from reaching out to grab you. Hand stroking faster as your fingers tease around his leaking tip, whined moans leave his vocaliser as he approaches his overloaded and you bite your lip holding back your own moan.

"Frag babes I'm so close! Frag yes. Yes." The words fall freely from him as his spike throbs, biolights pulsing quicker as he almost reaches the tipping point of his pleasure and just like that your hands pull away.

"What?! Frag babes you ok? I'm almost there." The desperation, confusion and slight concern are evident in his voice as his optics look down to identify the reason for your sudden lack of touch.

When his optics catch the devious smile spread across your face as your hands link behind your back, the realisation of your motives slowly comes to his lust-filled processor.

"No please! You can't! Babes come on. Just a little more! Don't leave me like this! I-I'm almost done then- you can ride my face place however long you want after! Please." Panicked and pleading for you to tip him over the edge, his legs shake and servos hit the ground in frustration but never make any move towards you or his spike.

The pleasure that surges throughout your body as you watch him in such a state of need and want, you almost want to jump on his spike then and there. Unlike your partner, you have a lot more self-restraint.

"I said I'd have a little fun. Nothing about letting you overload." You hum out enjoying the look of needy frustration that covers his faceplate.

"Come one. Babe's I've been good! I-I didn't touch-." His babbling words are cut off by your own stern ones.

"Good and you'll keep it that way." Smirk dissipates into your normal loving smile as you shift from between his legs.

"What no!" Shifting to his knees as you continue to walk into the small alley. "You can't leave me like this!" 

"I think I will." You muse out as you wave your hand for him to follow. 

"Perhaps I'll change my mind a little later. Until then we've gotta get back to the others." You call out from the end of the alley, not missing the small sob and whine that comes from him as you make your way back into the building.

"This is going to be so much fun if he can keep his servos away from his spike." You think to yourself as apologize to the others for your brief absence, trying to hide your smirk when a rather tense and twitchy Mirage tries to sneak his way back into the building.

[ghoultrifle]

There's a First Time For Everything Chapter 3 - Pleasure As It Was Intended

WC: 5k

Previously on FTFE: Dewdrop wants to try penetration. He has a few toys in mind but struggles to get the courage to buy them, fearing it will invalidate his gender. With Rain's support, he finally purchases the toys.

Summary: The toys arrive and Dewdrop gets to work, after a quick hyping up from Swiss

Notes: I am incredibly proud of this chapter and hope you all like it as much as I do. It's my first time writing porn with feelings so please hype me up :')

CWs: Sexual content, toys, gender dysphoria

And a big thanks to @v-ternus for being my sounding board <3

Read below the cut or on AO3

Dewdrop hears a knock, a brief rap on his bedroom door. He glances at the clock that sits crooked above his desk, mail time, he thinks. Peering through the peephole he can see Special walking away, making his way through the ghoul dorms, stopping occasionally to drop a parcel.

A small, nondescript box sits outside Dewdrop’s door. Imposing, menacing. It’s been carelessly thrown to the ground, evidenced by the rugged angle it sits at. He’s… angry. Angry that it’s been treated with such disregard; the contents of what must be assumed by Special to be another bong, or perhaps a new outfit, merely chucked outside his door like it has no significance to the fire ghoul.

The parcel quickly finds its way inside Dew’s room as he removes it from the doorstep with the same care as one might handle a bomb. He treats it like it’s a feral cat, holding it by the scruff of its neck lest it bite him. Inside the box, as far as Dewdrop’s concerned, are the items that determine if he’s worthy as a ghoul. That if they don’t end up inside him by the end of the day, he’ll be a failure.

Dewdrop decides he won’t let it get on top of him, he can’t afford to, doesn’t quite trust himself to sit alone all day with the parcel. So he throws himself into his duties. A couple of hours with Mount helping him re-pot his ever-growing plants. Lunch with Cirrus, Dewdrop laying in her lap as they watch some shitty reality show.

He spends the afternoon with Swiss, supposedly for band practice, but that never happens when it’s just the two of them scheduled. Sure, they do some practise but it’s mostly Dew dicking around with his guitar as Swiss vocalises with the disjointed sounds. They’ve been at it for a few hours when Dewdrop’s mind fades back to the parcel, still unwrapped, waiting for him on his bed.

“Howdoyouusesextoys?” Dewdrop blurts out.

Swiss isn’t sure he heard right, there’s no way Dewdrop doesn’t have a kinky treasure trove full of toys. “Woah woah slow down cowboy! What did you say?”

He’s met with another mumbled string of sounds that vaguely sounds like it mentions toys. It’s Dewdrop’s demeanour that leaves Swiss worried, though. The ghoul that minutes ago he was having to wrestle the guitar off as he played some shitty meme song, now taking shaky, uneven breaths and avoiding eye contact like Swiss is Medusa.

“Hey, droplet, I’m not teasing you, I just need to hear what you said… I can’t help you if I don’t know what you want,” Dewdrop opens his eyes, tries to take deep breaths. But deep breaths don’t help when it feels like he’s suffocating. He feels a grounding palm smooth over his stubble, sees those big golden eyes shining back with nothing but love for him, he remembers why he chose Swiss.

He inhales, looking away briefly to ask, “Bought sex toys for Rain to use on me. Dunno what to expect, I guess. Thought you might know,” the room is still as both ghouls take in what Dewdrop just said, before he remembers to clarify, “They’re uh internal toys like dildos ‘n vibrators ‘n shit. I’ve never put anything up there before, figured a whore like you would’ve though,” he chuckles, trying to lighten the mood as Swiss stares on in a mixture of confusion and offence.

“Ohh I see, come to the resident slut for advice? Well you’ve come to the right place. Whatcha worried about? We both know Rain’s been around, it’s not like he doesn’t know what to do.”

“No, I know Rain’s gonna be fine with it, it’s me that’s worried. What if it feels weird or if it hurts or if I like it so much I detransition?”

“What if?” Swiss poses, something Dewdrop hadn’t considered, what if? “You and I know full well Rain won’t do anything if you’re not enjoying it.”

“Swiss!” Dewdrop groans in frustration, dragging out the ‘s’ at the end of his name, “I just wanna, you know,” he motions vaguely at nothing with his hands, “get some pointers, some tips?”

“Well you’re right, they do have tips!” They both laugh at Swiss’ poor attempt at humour, “I do faintly remember the first time I used a dildo, if you wanna know about that?” he asks. It’s becoming clearer that Dewdrop just wants assurance that it’s going to be alright, even though he knows in his heart that it will be. The multi ghoul receives a sheepish nod in return.

“Alright, well I was on my own so all I had was ‘ol faithful to warm me up, get me nice and open,” he smirks, doing jazz hands showcasing his thick fingers, “I really took my time getting myself nice and wet. I was pre-T so there wasn’t much to get hold of but I did the best I could, really stroking myself until I was basically leaking. Then I just lubed Glenda up and put her in, wasn't much resistance. I played aroun-”

“Hold up, your dildo’s named Glenda?!”

Swiss scoffs, “What about it? I’m not the one that’s too scared to put Glenda in my pussy,” it’s all in good humour, they both know it. And hearing about Swiss talk so honestly about it has put Dewdrop at ease. He feels like he can laugh now, like he can breathe again, deep breaths full of all life has to offer. “Anyway, I played around with the angles until it hit that fucking dynamite spot, you’ll know it when you hit it,” Swiss promises, a smile creeping across his face as he reminisces, “and the rest was history. A lil bit of thrusting here and some stroking there and I came so hard I cried,” he deadpans, as if he’s not recounting a story of him masturbating.

“Seriously, spitfire, you’ll love it, I’m sure,” and it’s all Dewdrop can do to pray to Satan below that Swiss is right.

Dinner runs without a hitch, Dewdrop eats a respectable amount for a guy so nervous about his imminent gut-rearranging. And more importantly, he thinks he’s managed to keep it a secret, Rain still doesn’t know the toys have arrived. The water ghoul is living in blissful ignorance to the sweet, tender sex that will follow their usual post-dinner makeout session. That for the first time, Dewdrop will be an active recipient of pleasure, and he’ll enjoy it; at least that’s what he hopes.

It starts as it does most nights, Rain playing footsie with Dewdrop, sliding his scaly foot up and down the fire ghoul’s shin, making those dumb heart eyes at him. Dewdrop swears if Rain was a cartoon, his eyes would spend half the time booming out from their sockets in adoration for his mate, it’s endearing really. Following their adolescent flirting, Rain excuses the pair of them from the already emptying table; if the way Aurora looks at Cumulus is anything to go by, they’re not the only ones with evening plans.

They get as far as the dorm corridor before Dewdrop boxes Rain against the cold, stone wall. The taller ghoul freezes, a forward move from Dewdrop. He can’t quite bring himself to move when Dew begins to mouth at his neck, angling for Rain to bend down and kiss him. Instead he basks in the heat on his jaw as Dewdrop sinks his teeth into Rain’s pale flesh. He moans and the vibrations in his throat only further encourage the shorter ghoul.

“What’s gotten into you, spitfire? Normally you can at least wait until we’re back at yours,” Rain asks as he brings a hand down to knead at Dewdrop’s barely-there ass.

Between sucking and bruising the ghoul’s neck, Dewdrop speaks up, “Hyping myself up.”

“For…?”

“Toys,” Dewdrop whispers, seductive yet laced with a tinge of worry.

Before leaving that morning, Dewdrop had the foresight to at least unpackage and clean the toys, even he was smart enough to know that cleaning toys is a real mood killer, especially for a ghoul already on edge about the whole thing. If there was anything that Dewdrop could prepare for in advance, he was going to do it.

So, laying bare to the world on his bedside table were the toys, sitting proud. Rain didn’t notice them immediately, too focused on the fire ghoul attached to his neck, trying to manoeuvre them into Dewdrop’s room without either of them tripping or stepping on each other. They catch his eye as his mate backs him up towards the bed until his knees give, ungracefully stumbling onto the mattress. Hurried hands fly between them to undress each other. Dewdrop’s fingers filled with nervous energy, struggling with his jeans and Rain, the ever helpful boyfriend gently undoing the button and sliding them down, taking in Dewdrop’s form, just a binder and boxer briefs now. “Fuck he’s handsome,” Rain thinks, verbalising his thoughts to the grinning ghoul above him.

“Wanna use ‘em on me? Was thinking get the dildo out the way tonight?”

“Fuck can’t wait baby, gonna make you feel so good. How do you want to do this?”

Dewdrop answers with a gentle push to Rain’s shoulders, settling him down in the middle of the bed before shedding his underwear and climbing atop the water ghoul, back to chest. The weight of Dewdrop is really nothing to complain about, spread over Rain’s body, it’s barely uncomfortable, more of a weighted blanket if he had to compare it. Besides, if it’s what his droplet wants, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t give him exactly that.

With him, Dewdrop brings the toys, laying them carefully by Rain’s hip alongside a bottle of lube. Once settled, he takes a moment. What for, he isn’t really sure. Maybe to calm himself down, but he feels an odd sense of relief, of readiness. He isn’t scared anymore. He wants it to happen, he’s excited even. Perhaps that’s why he’s slowed down, to appreciate and bask in the feeling.

As he lays on Rain, his golden hair resting perfectly on the water ghoul’s neck, Rain lifts his head up to meet Dewdrop’s scalp pressing long kisses into it. “So proud of you baby,” he whispers between them, hand idly thumbing the silicone toy by his side. Rain was truly happy with the idea that Dewdrop would never try penetration, he was content to live out their lives as they were. With that, he could sense Dewdrop’s hesitation, how he became disengaged during sex if Rain’s hand ever veered too low. But the way he acted didn’t seem to be fear, no, Dewdrop’s face would turn pensive, as if he were pondering what if? A poignant question the fire ghoul now knew the answer to. Well perhaps not the answer, but he’s certain he’s explored his feelings enough to know he wants it and he wants it now.

The binder still clinging to his chest is becoming uncomfortable at best with how Dewdrop’s sweating at Rain’s sweet words of encouragement and that familiar cold hand roaming his stomach. It’s itchy and riding up at the bottom but he doesn’t care, he’s too caught up in the moment, something he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced. To not be hyper aware of every sensation but instead to be dialled in on a specific feeling, it’s bliss.

Against him, Dewdrop can feel Rain pulsing, leaking onto the small tuft of hair at the small of his back. It feels odd, to be the one selflessly experiencing pleasure, Rain gladly putting aside his own needs in favour of pleasing his mate.

“My sweet baby boy, I can feel you leaking, may I?” Rain asks, bringing deft fingers to Dewdrop’s entrance, hovering, waiting for permission. Dewdrop need only bring his hand over Rain’s before the water ghoul gently swipes over his folds, bringing his slick-soaked hand to his mouth. “Oh Dewdrop you taste divine. Thank you for sharing this part of you with me.”

It’s not even an attempt at dirty talk but it makes Dewdrop’s stomach jump nonetheless. He’s finally starting to believe Rain loves him as he is. While Rain is preoccupied salivating over the taste of the fire ghoul, Dewdrop flicks open the cap on the lube as he squirts a generous amount onto the head of the light purple toy

“Would you do the honour?” Dewdrop asks weakly, offering the slicked up toy to the water ghoul.

“Want to let you have this moment Dewdrop,” Rain replies, this is Dewdrop’s journey, he’s just along for the ride. Dewdrop teases his entrance, letting the purple head get even wetter as he drags it along his folds, collecting slick as small whines escape his lips. It once again surprises him how at ease he feels. After years of turmoil, worrying that he’s faking it all, he’s never felt as sure of his identity as he does in this moment.

“Whenever you’re ready droplet”, Rain coos, placing chaste kisses on Dewdrop’s neck. And with that Dew pushes in, slowly but steadily moving the toy until his hand lies flush with his skin. It’s an odd feeling, a completely new, foreign sensation but it doesn’t feel wrong. Far from it. It brings with it an overwhelming sense of familiarity too, an instinctual need. He knows exactly what to do. It’s not rocket science, Dewdrop knows this, but he’s still taken aback by just how easy it feels. It’s with that realisation he cautiously begins to pump the cock in and out of his dripping cunt.

As Dewdrop lay atop Rain, knees bent and feet planted on the mattress, the fire ghoul finds a respectable rhythm, butterflies in his stomach every time he thrusts the silicone deep inside him. He can’t believe he’s put it off for so long, denying himself divine pleasure. Filling the room along with the slick sounds of Dewdrop fucking himself are the sweet words of encouragement spilling from Rain’s lips like a burst dam.

“So proud of you, droplet, can hear just how much you like it.”

“That’s it, keep going, fuckkkk just like that.”

“Feel how hard you’re making me? Shit- that’s all you, spitfire. You and your insatiable body, such a good boy.”

The words imprint themselves on Dewdrop’s brain, burned in forever. Rain’s not telling him how pretty he is or groping his chest, he’s appreciating Dewdrop for exactly who he is, a man. And for once, he’s not jealous that Rain has a dick, doesn’t spite him for it. Because he, too, is experiencing pleasure and he got it all wrong, he doesn’t need a penis for that. Sure it would be nice but right now he feels pretty fucking incredible. Rain’s words have such an effect on Dewdrop that he’s becoming too worked up to keep a steady rhythm, the stimulation is too much to concentrate on keeping it going. He crooks his head back, asking silently, and Rain just knows what he wants.

The dildo changes hands, Rain now in charge of Dewdrop’s pleasure, entrusted with making the fire ghoul feel good, and boy does he deliver. Pressing pretty kisses to Dewdrop’s neck, his hand fumbles for the toy. The transition is near seamless and Dew melts. It felt good before but shit Rain knows what he’s doing, angling it just right to make Dewdrop cry out a choked moan- Swiss was right, Dew did know when he hit that spot. The spot that makes his stomach churn in the best way as he listens to the slick nosies and the sound of Rain’s skin slapping against his inner thigh as he pumps Dewdrop full.

He’s writhing on Rain’s tense body now, hips canting towards the stimulation, rocking into the water ghoul’s cock, smearing pre against the small of his back. Dewdrop can’t bring himself to care about the torture he must be inflicting upon his mate. He’s been so selfless all these years, he’s giving himself tonight to be completely selfish about his needs.

His orgasm starts to build and he vocalises, “Oh fuck I- I think I’m close fuck please don’t stop. Please. Keep going. Fuck. Rain. Ah. Keep-” Rain shushes him to give his permission. Not that Dewdrop needed it, but to let the fire ghoul know Rain’s not going anywhere.

“Lean into it darling, let go for me. Such a good boy, taking it so well. So proud of you, baby,” and with those words Dewdrop is clenching around the toy as his cunt spasms and he whines high and reedy, uncaring about pitching his voice lower, he doesn’t need to perform for anyone, not right now, anyway. Rain can feel Dewdrop’s release coating the toy in such copious amounts it’s running off and onto the water ghoul’s digits. 

Dripping onto his balls, Rain can feel just how wet Dewdrop is as slick gushes out of his hole. Rain wants nothing more than to gather his boy’s slick and jack himself to an almighty climax, but not tonight. There’ll be plenty of nights for that to happen. Tonight is all about Dewdrop. Rain would truly be happy to never cum again if it meant Dewdrop could finally live in pleasure instead of pain. Rain’s had his good times, he’s lived his life; Dewdrop’s is only just starting.

Dewdrop’s still in a state of awe. He did it. He got off. On just internal stimulation. A feat he truly never believed he’d be able to do, despite his years-long curiosity about it (okay, the base of the dildo relentlessly hitting his clit might have been part of it, but still, it’s all connected, right?). As he comes down from the first high of the night, Rain babbles nothing but praise, eager for his love not to drop after such an intense high. He knows how easy it would be- post nut clarity is no joke and Dewdrop’s worked himself up about this so much, it wouldn’t take a lot for him to spiral. To feel that shame creeping up, enveloping him in a thick coat of inescapable humiliation at him, a man, enjoying being fucked like a woman. So Rain doesn’t let it happen, showering him with enough praise to make anyone blush, rocking his dick against Dewdrop every so often to remind him that he’s desirable.

Hair sticks to Dewdrop’s face as he pants, still overcome with euphoria from the intensity of his orgasm. He suddenly feels himself clenching around nothing, opening his eyes to see the toy in Rain’s hand. Fuck- it’s dripping in cum and oh Rain’s bringing it up towards them, past Dewdrop’s face and he’s moaning as he takes it hungrily in his mouth, to the hilt, moaning into it. “Wanted to test the theory it taste even sweeter after the event, my love,”

“And…?” Dewdrop probes.

“What do you think, droplet?” The water ghoul smirks, brining the toy to Dewdrop’s swollen lips, “See for yourself.”

A tentative tongue makes its way to the tip of the dildo giving an exploratory lick. It’s not nice per se but there’s something about being able to taste his own release that makes it that much nicer. Still, he’s not sure it tastes divine but perhaps Rain is really that in love with him.

“Ready for round two?” Dewdrop questioned, a grin adorning his blissed out face.

“Fuck- really? Anything for you, Dewdrop. How do you want it? Want me to pump you full again, or I could eat you out? Perhaps you-”

“-m not ready for you to touch me there yet I don’t think, sorry,” he blurts out and Rain’s heart sinks. Not at Dewdrop’s sentiment but that he feels sorry for it.

“My spitfire, that’s more than okay. You don’t ever have to be ready, this is already more than I ever imagined we’d do together. Satan, I’m so lucky to have you. Want to try the vibe instead?”

And just like that, Dewdrop’s inspecting the vibrator, hands travelling over the plane of the toy, feeling the ridges before testing the mechanism. Slowly twisting the dial at the bottom, wondering if it’s broken until- buzz. It’s intense, the blood being drained from his fingers as the toy throbs in his hand.

“Easy, Dewbug, we’ll start off slow and build up to that. Trust me, I know what I’m doing,” and Dewdrop does trust him. It’s finally sinking in that Rain truly does have Dewdrop’s best interests at heart.

Dewdrop spreads his legs once more, cool air hitting his clit despite it being almost hidden beneath his curls. He clenches on instinct, cringing when he feels another glob of his release make its way to the pool collecting on Rain’s lithe body. It surprises him. He doesn’t feel disgust or shame at his body’s response to the fucking incredible action of Rain’s hand, he feels proud he was able to cum for Rain, to be a good boy.

“Fuck baby, still leaking, huh? So good for me,” Rain whispers.

With that, Dewdrop hears the familiar rumble of the vibrator. A sleek, black thing, phallic in size but not in aesthetic. The mechanical whir fills the room, though it’s not as overbearing as when Dewdrop cranked the dial all the way, it’s a more subtle hum.

Rain hesitates, bringing a hand up to rest on Dewdrop’s stomach, “Droplet, can I touch you?” he asks.

“You just fucked me silly with a dildo, of course you can do it with the vibe,” Dewdrop replies, enamoured by his mate but slightly confused nonetheless.

“I mean- your uhm chest, Dewdrop. Want to feel your heart beat as I take you apart.”

He ponders, the purr of the motor a backdrop to his thoughts. It’s not like Rain would see his chest, or even really feel it, hidden behind the thick wall of his binder. And thinking about it, even if he did, Dewdrop’s not sure he’d mind. Rain’s carved out their time together as a place for Dewdrop to truly be himself. The offer has always been there to not bind, to raise his voice back to its natural pitch, Rain made it unequivocally clear that he doesn’t mind. But Dewdrop always has, until now.

A small nod accompanied with a hushed yes is all Rain needs to start. After years of spending almost every waking moment together, Rain knows when his mate is being sincere. Enthusiastic consent is the only consent is a great general rule but their connection goes deeper. The non-verbal signs, the way Dewdrop’s breathing steadies when he feels safe and his eyes search for Rain’s to ground himself. The way his eyes scrunch and his lips curl up almost imperceptibly when he’s around Rain. It’s not apprehension, it’s nervous excitement about experiencing yet another new sensation, even if it is through the plate of his binder. And Dewdrop knows Rain would never go further than he wants, not without explicitly asking. So he lies there safe in the knowledge that creeping fingers won’t find their way under the hem of his binder, but will freely roam atop it, mapping out Dewdrop’s contours.

Whimpers accompany Rain’s renewed movement, vibrator making feather light touches to Dewdrop’s dick as his other hand plants itself over the fire ghoul’s chest, the wide span covering him almost entirely. It’s like being jacked off by The Flash, the plastic beating down on his clit with an unrelenting pace while Rain keeps his hand steady, letting the toy do all the work. Moans fill the room as Dewdrop squirms atop Rain.

“Does it feel good, baby? Yeah? Keep making those noises for me, fuck.”

All the apprehension, the years of turmoil, only for Dewdrop to be a whimpering, writhing mess within an hour of getting his (and Rain’s) hands on himself. It’s funny really, in hindsight. And he’s glad he can finally indulge himself in these fantasies, that his mind allows him to enjoy himself.

With that thought, Rain’s deft hand cranks the dial, the buzz turning to a roar as the vibrator near shakes under Rain’s digits. Bringing it back down to Dewdrop’s clit, the fire ghoul shouts, “Oh fuck Rainy- shit- I- awgh- so much- I,” he’s trembling under Rain’s touch, hips bucking into the vibe, desperate to get off on the stimulation that’s both far too much and not enough.

The hand on Dewdrop’s chest begins to roam, firm touches tracing his body, committing it to memory. The first time of many, Rain’s sure, if the wanton moans leaving Dewdrop’s lips are any measure to go by. His hands brush over the light smattering of hair on Dew’s stomach and Satan below Rain wants to worship Dewdrop’s body forever, remind him each and every time just how fucking hot he is. It would be an endless back and forth of Rain smothering him in compliments and Dewdrop not believing a word. But perhaps with enough time, he’d come around.

Rain’s hands continue their ministrations as the squirming ghoul above him becomes louder with each circle of the vibrator around his dick. The water ghoul is just about to check in when Dewdrop interrupts him, “Close! Ah- shit- I’m about to cum- please- don’t stop- just like th- ahh fuck,” he hisses. It only spurs Rain on, increasing the pressure and finally turning the vibe up to the maximum intensity. Drawing circles around his clit, occasionally dipping below to gather Dewdrop’s pre and cum from his first orgasm. The slick noises that fill the room, combined with the insane amount of stimulation Dewdrop’s receiving, have him spilling almost instantly with a cry, “-m cumming, fuck Rainy thankyouthankyouthankyou fucking ahh.”

A minute passes, at most, before Rain is turning down the dial and smoothing his hand over Dewdrop’s binder, fixing it’s twisted state on his chest. Sure that his mate is finally satiated, now is definitely the time to make sure his mental state doesn’t drop in that post-orgasm haze. Cum-drunk is the best way to describe Dew, a wide smile on his face, eyes barely open, and chest heaving as he recovers from one of, if not the most, intense orgasms of his life.

“How are you feeling, droplet? You were so good, took it all so well.”

“I feel… like I want to go again. Want you to fill me up, fuck, that was so hot. I think I said it a moment ago but thank you for indulging me Rainy, there’s no one I’d rather pump me with a toy,” he finishes with a kiss blown to his mate.

Rain giggles at Dew’s sentiment, ever the romantic, “Maybe not tonight, sweetheart, already gone stiff, not sure I could guide you through another orgasm. And wouldn’t want you getting greedy, hmm?” He jokes.

Stiff, Dewdrop thinks, shifting in place to confirm his suspicion, shit he’s still hard. “Wait, don’t you want to get off? Only feels right after what you gave me.”

“I’ll be fine, handsome, there’s always tomorrow.”

An idea worms its way inside Dewdrop’s mind, “We could use the vibe, could jack you off, make you fuck my fist?”

And how could Rain so no to his puppy-eyed boyfriend and his incredulously horny suggestion. Dewdrop sits up, kneeling over Rain’s legs. Vibrator in hand, he starts it up and closes his fist around Rain’s weeping cock. Rain shudders at the sensation, at finally having something more than the friction against the small of Dewdrop’s back. It’s intense, the fire ghoul wasting no time in jacking the vibe up to the maximum setting, hell bent on just getting Rain off, and he isn’t complaining. “Oh Dewdrop I love you so much, fuck- don’t know what I’d do without you in my life- ahhh keep going, ‘m already close,”

“Aww baby, can’t keep going just a little longer? No? I don’t blame you, the show I put on was fucking hot, wasn’t it?” 

All Rain can do is nod fervently in response to Dewdrop’s questions. His ruddy head sliding through the fire ghoul’s slick hand, sliding up against the hard plastic of the vibrator. The mix of hot and cold drives him crazy as he utters more confessions of love to his mate. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s said it, but it feels so much more real, knowing he’s seen this vulnerable side of Dewdrop. The smaller ghoul always feared that if he let this side of himself be seen, he’d be left, upset and alone for eternity. Seeing that Rain still loves him after tonight, well fuck if that doesn’t encourage him to make Rain scream his name.

“Wanna hear you,” he mutters.

“Oh yeah, baby? What do you want to hear? You’re being such a good boy for me, gonna bust all over your hand.”

“Want you to say my name,” Dewdrop says, unsure if it’s a question or a statement, but Rain knows exactly what to do.

Dewdrop braces himself on Rain’s chest and the heat of his palm pushes Rain over the edge, “Oh Dew, fuck you treat me so well my Dewdrop, I fucking love you, don’t you ever forget it,” he cries out to anyone who could be listening, and he’s sure there are people getting their fix on the sounds emanating from the room. Dewdrop keeps his hand steady as ever, watching Rain’s cock spurt thick white ropes, seemingly endlessly, twitching as the water ghoul cants his hips with an ever waning intensity.

“Fuck, I love you too, Rain.”

And Dewdrop means it with no hesitation. He’s not sure any other person could have made tonight as incredible as Rain has. He’ll never understand what he did for Satan to reward him like this, but he doesn’t need to know, just having Rain is enough.

[lady-october]

Pairing : Oli Sykes x Female Assistant Genre : Romance, Smut (18+ Only) Previous Chapters : Available on Ao3 & Tumblr

Story Content : Smut, Drama, Choking, Power dynamics, Romance, Rough sex, Sadism/Masochism, Dom/Sub, Mentions of addiction & self harm, Degradation, Praise kink, Exhibitionism, Orgasm denial, Breath play, Dirty talk.

Summary :

“Don’t you see what a dangerous game you’re playing? Why did you have to look so fucking delicious tonight, I couldn’t stop undressing you in my mind, thinking of all the twisted things I want to do to you.” She had only worked on the touring team for three weeks, but her mind had been hijacked by dirty thoughts of a man she barely even talked to. Sure, he was very attractive, but were there other reasons she was so uncontrollably drawn to him? This is a filthy story of pain, self discovery, and love.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Chapter 28: Oh, what a wonderful life

Chapter title is lyrics from “Wonderful Life” 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The first thing I noticed when I saw him was his hollow eyes. The exhaustion so present on his features that for a moment I struggled to remember all the things I needed to discuss with him. 

“Hi.” He breathed, leaning – resting – against the doorframe. The smile he aimed at me further showcasing how tired he must be. 

Come on, Alice, you can do this. 

Thankfully, I managed to centre myself before too long, “So, are you gonna meet up with her?” 

“I think so, yeah.”  

I shouldn’t be jealous, I shouldn’t feel insecure, but this is someone he’s explicitly expressed to be the love of his life; someone he considered a soulmate. 

Someone who was obviously still interested in him. 

And from reading their chat – specifically from seeing how Oli spoke to her – it was also obvious he still had some form of respect for her. Despite her deep betrayal. 

I’d been fighting the urge to look up his exes as soon as he’d vocalised being cheated on during the flight to America. But today those temptations had proven too much. 

That’s another problem with potentially dating a celebrity; their dating history is catalogued online, just a quick search away. All I had to do was type in ‘Oli Sykes girlfriend’ and I’d been flooded with images of her, showing how picture perfect she was, and how perfect they were together. Both so clearly from the same universe, dressed in alt fashion and covered in tattoos. 

Both also very clearly in love. 

And now I had the image of them wrapped up in each other’s arms, kissing, plastered in the back of my mind as an uncomfortable reminder of how out of place I am in his world. 

Oli took a quick glance down the corridor before returning his attention to me, “Can I come in?” 

Distracted by my intrusive thoughts, I simply nodded and stepped to the side. 

I’d expected him to walk into the room, maybe even make himself comfortable. Instead, he hovered next to me as I shut the door, not once taking his tired eyes off me. 

“I was gonna tell you last night that I’d been talking to her.” He said in a low tone, so close to me I could smell the energy drink on his breath. 

“Is that why you were unsure about us being right for each other?” I had to ask, had to know. It had been running through my thoughts for hours. 

Oli shook his head, “No.” He said, but his expression shifted, a grimace threatening to scrunch up his face, “I mean, yeah. But not the way you’re thinking.” 

As I felt a frown pulling on my eyebrows out of confusion, his hand appeared by mine, taking it gingerly in his – a silent question if this intimate touch was acceptable considering the current tension between us. 

Bewildered, I let our fingers intertwine, before he led us to sit on the end of my bed. 

After a deep breath, he told me why he needed to talk to Fay, that he wanted answers, that he needed to let go of the anger and the distrust she had caused in him – how it had made him not trust me.  

He also told me he’s been fighting the urge to use again, to fall into old habits with drugs, that things had been triggering him, just like things had been triggering me. And for a moment I thought to myself that maybe he was right last night, maybe we’re just not right for each other.  

Maybe we do nothing but pull at the strings of our pain, fraying the edges of the delicate fabric further. 

But then he began caressing my hand, holding it in his as if it was precious – as if it was made of glass. He turned it over in his palm, guiding it up to his lips in order to place a kiss on the soft pad of my thumb. Then he opened his mouth to say something that would make me see things from a different perspective. 

“I tried to strangle such a large part of myself the past year, I gave up on so many of the things I desperately want out of life because of how badly I got burnt with Fay; I gave up on love, something that – and I know this sounds cringe – but it’s as vital as air to me.” His vulnerable eyes fell to our hands resting on my thigh, before continuing under his breath, “It's like I've been a fucking zombie, Alice.” 

Silence fell between us for a beat as I tried to stay composed, hating how much I was relating to what he was saying. But then he continued, and I felt the familiar lump build in my throat. 

“Well,” He huffed out a breath, “Until you showed up." 

Large eyes returned to mine, and suddenly breathing no longer seemed to come instinctually, forcing me to focus on the otherwise autonomic function so I wouldn’t simply stop. 

“I was only able to start writing lyrics again after the first night I was with you.” He studied my face as he seemed to search for the right words, “I realise there's problems here, reasons for why we might not work out. But you have no idea how grateful I am for everything you've done for me.” 

Having never felt more alive than when I’m around him, I should see where he’s coming from, I should believe his words, yet I couldn’t help but think that he’s mistaken; that he was confusing me for someone who was special enough to evoke such things. 

“You've opened something up in me that's allowing me to love again, and honestly, even if we don't end up together, at least now I know that giving up on love altogether isn't the solution.” 

Panic set in as I was fighting to speak up, to let him know I also crave to feel. 

Crave to love. 

But the words were stuck in my throat, lodged so thoroughly I wasn’t sure I could say them even if my life was on the line. 

Does he sense my inner battle; can he see it on me? 

There is so much pity in his eyes. 

Or is it disappointment over the fact that I’m once again mute while he pours his heart out to me? 

But long before I got a chance to tackle my loud inner voices, the pity fell away from him, and you could tell by his darting eyes that he was mulling something over. 

“This is our last night here. I wanted to take you to the restaurant, would you like that?” He asked, an exhausted, sombre smile touching his lips. 

I forced out a smile and an eager nod, hoping it would convey at least a crumb of the thoughts I was currently unable to express verbally. 

“Great.” He added, so I stood up, but his hand didn’t let go of mine, nor did he move from his seated positioned at the end of the mattress, “Are we alright to just lay down for a minute first?” 

I shifted awkwardly, “Liam could come back any moment.” 

But I quickly realised his request hadn’t been sexual in nature from the way his sad gaze held mine. 

“I just want to hold you for a bit.” He begged under his breath, and my heart ached. 

“Okay.” I said in return, causing him to visibly relax, before he guided me around the modestly sized double bed, compared to his rooms large king.  

As I made myself comfortable on the plush pillows I’d cried into just an hour ago, he quickly wrapped himself around me, nestling his head into my chest, my chin coming to rest on the top of his head, right in the midst of wild locks that smelled so hypnotising.  

The embrace was unlike the ones we usually shared, he was making himself more vulnerable, turning the moment intimate in a brand new way, causing a storm of emotion to erupt in me. And right as I thought I couldn’t get more overwhelmed by it, his warm hand appeared on my thigh, pulling it over his waist, entangling us further before taking a deep breath, the warm air seeping through the fabric of my shirt, caressing my skin. 

“You always smell so wonderful, love.” He breathed into my chest in a low, rumbling tone, sounding as if he’s about to drift off. 

And your scent makes me wonder if home is a person. 

I swallowed, alarmed by my feelings and my thoughts, shoving them aside to stay sane, to stay in the moment without panicking. 

“That’s good,” I started, feeling unsure of myself, but curiosity got the better of me as it so often does, “You know, I’m having the hardest time placing your scent. What’s in your hair right now?” 

“Sorry about that. It’s just some shampoo I nicked from one of the venues back in the UK when I ran out of my usual stuff. Probably doesn’t smell that pleasant, but beggars can’t be choosers.” 

I couldn’t believe it, the mysterious aroma that had made me feel safe, that drove me wild, was just some random shampoo he didn’t even care for? 

“I– I actually really like it.” I said quietly, the heat of a blush spreading over my cheeks, feeling slightly embarrassed over having placed such significance on such a trivial thing. 

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll get some more then.” His words had come so slurred, the poor thing was clearly hanging onto consciousness by a thread. 

I was going to tell him – reluctantly – that he didn’t need to do that, that he can use whatever products he prefers, but before I got a chance, I felt him twitch, letting me know that sleep had claimed him. 

I sighed, torn between distraction, or allowing myself to indulge in his scent, in him. After a moment of looking at the unruly curls under my nose, I gave in, letting myself take a deep breath and savour the way he made me feel. Which was more than I cared to admit to myself. 

Having mostly focused on feeling as few things as possible for so long, it was no wonder such emotional highs that Oli provided caused fear to stir inside me. 

I was used to spending my days convincing myself that I was happy, that I didn’t want more. That I didn’t feel like I was slowly suffocating and dying inside from staying with someone who made me feel… absolutely nothing. 

You see, my ex was a void, and I simply orbited him, shaping my wants and needs to fit into his lifestyle in order to make things as simple and conflict-free as possible. 

One day we’d sat down in the living room to go through our finances. The TV had been left on in the background, auto playing some sewing tutorial on YouTube that I’d planned to watch at some point. But like all my attempts at creative hobbies, it fizzled and died before I’d even gathered the courage to purchase the supplies to try it. I was simply too good at telling myself that there was no point, that I’d probably be bad at it anyway, that it was a waste of money, or that my time could be spent doing something more productive. 

We were in the middle of deciding how much to transfer to our savings accounts this month, when my ex, Sam, had gotten distracted by the flashing lights caused by the next random video in the queue. 

“Annoying that. Do you like that stuff?” He asked, judgement in his voice, before reaching over to turn off the telly. 

I’d only caught a glimpse of it before he shut it off, but it had looked like concert footage, most likely recommended to me due to all the links Shelley had shared with me lately, to show me the upcoming bands she’d be working on tour with. I wouldn’t be able to recall what bands it had been, as I never much listened to heavier music, and the touring agency specialized in alternative music. All I knew is that it can’t have been Bring Me The Horizon, as this was years prior to her working with them. And years prior to her recommending me for this job. 

“Not really, but Shelley’s been sending me a lot of concert footage lately.” 

He shook his head, “You two have essentially nothing in common, I can’t understand why you’re still friends with her.” 

Shelley was my childhood friend. She was always the outgoing one, the daring one, while I mostly kept to myself. But for some reason she’d latched onto me the first day of school and told me we’d be best friends forever. And so far, she hadn’t been wrong about that. The only reason we hadn’t talked much lately was due to us both being on tour. 

He wasn’t wrong either though; we didn’t have much in common, but that never seemed to matter. We enjoyed each other all the same. 

But Sam and Shelley? They hated each other. Both insisting that the other was bad for me, or just bad in general. In fact, I’m not sure they’ve ever agreed on a single thing besides liking me. 

“You know why.” I muttered, keeping my head low, not wanting to have this argument again. 

“I just don’t get why she insists on pushing her tacky ways on you. You’ve got it all figured out; always the most beautiful girl in the room, got a great job, and a great boyfriend.” The last bit he’d said with a proud smile. 

I rolled my eyes at him, but he just laughed. 

I’m not sure Sam thought I was beautiful, or if he simply approved of my extremely non-offensive way of both acting and dressing, which he always commented on before showing me off to friends and colleges; I was the quiet, polite, smiling girlfriend, dressed to impress even the elderly relatives. Someone who was perfect to bring around to the office Christmas party.  

I also know he very much disapproved of Shelley’s work, always finding new ways of implying that she’s a slut, sleeping around with all the bands she worked with. 

Which, looking back, is hilarious, as I’m currently doing her old job, but sleeping with the lead singer. 

But I know Shelley wasn’t like that. She may come off as a flirt from first impressions, but she’s very happily married, and had always been extremely loyal. In many ways she reminded me of Liam, which explained why they got along so well. And why me and Liam instantly hit it off. 

But Sam’s dislike for Shelley ran a lot deeper than simply looking down on her lifestyle choices. 

The last time Shelley had visited she’d sold me on the idea of getting a tattoo with her. I’ve always liked them, but always been entirely too scared to consider one. Yet I had warmed up to the idea of a vine anklet – discrete, understated, yet pretty. It had felt right, but Sam had talked me out of it. Reaffirming my fears about its permanence, having me question if I would regret it. But he was still angry over the mere idea that Shelley had almost convinced me, as if my opinion on the matter hadn’t really mattered – as if I’m not capable of making an informed decision on my own. 

But considering how scared and indecisive I frequently was, I guess it was understandable why he would assume as much. 

After we were done with our finances, I’d caught myself in the mirror while getting towels for my evening bath. I was still in my work clothes, my hair neatly tucked into a low bun, not a hair out of place. I was the picture of palatable, pleasant and boring. 

It fed my numbness.  

I accepted it – it was comforting. 

Or so I told myself as I undressed, locking the door to the bathroom before getting into the hot, bubbly water, and having myself a silent cry like I did nearly every night before bed. 

I’d stare into my soothing lavender candle I’d lit to help me sleep better, working overtime to convince myself I was happy as the tears streamed down my face. As the walls felt like they were closing in on me. 

Then I’d dry myself off and crawl into bed to sleep next to my perfectly okay boyfriend, ready for my perfectly okay job in the morning. 

No wonder I’d agreed to Shelley’s suggestion of working on the touring team once I’d split with Sam. 

It was just crazy enough of an idea for me to act on in my desperate state, sick of hating my life so fundamentally. 

But I had my apprehensions. 

I’d found out fairly quickly that my first tour would be with a band called Bring Me The Horizon. 

Instantly I’d began researching them. 

The first time I saw Oli I’d pulled a face of disgust.  

He’d been flashing his old vampire fangs, bright coloured contacts, and his skin was more ink covered than not. I’d immediately heard Sam’s voice in the back of my head, telling me that ‘only convicts have face tattoos.’ 

And I’d agreed with him at the time. In fact, many of my close-minded opinions at the time were his. It was just easier to adopt them rather than argue. 

So, in an effort to be my own person, I rejected the notion that there was anything at all to judge about Oliver Sykes. 

But the judgemental thoughts hadn’t ended there. 

I’d read that he was a drug addict. Of course he was, he’s a rockstar. 

I shook myself, realising what I was doing, and moved on, once again promising myself to not judge a book by its cover. 

But I couldn’t seem to stop. 

I learned about his activism, his love for animals, how he’d started his own business alongside the band when he was just a teenager. I’d read over his lyrics and watch his interviews – all of which were riddled with self-criticizing commentary despite his numerous admirable achievements and skillsets. 

And yet I still found myself having judged him, as I’d been shocked to discover that he wasn’t just some lowlife, entitled, celebrity man-child as I’d initially expected. 

For days afterwards I’d kept looking him up, scrolling through pictures and videos of him, listened to his music, checking out his clothing line, perplexed both by him as a person, and why I was so seemingly enthralled by him. 

Do I find him attractive, or am I simply jealous of his bold ways of expressing himself? 

Immediately after that thought I’d texted Shelley. 

“Alice: Dress me like you.” 

It was something she’d wanted to do since we were teens, always insisting that my appearance never reflected how she saw me; telling me that my personality was far richer and exciting than how I presented myself to the world. 

While I felt more comfortable being silly around Shelley than anyone else, I still wasn’t sure I agreed with her opinion on that. 

But I did know she’d jump on the idea of giving me a makeover, and I was beyond fed up with my old ways. 

“Shelley: I’ll do you one better, I’ll dress you like YOU!” 

The next day she’d come over to my mum’s house which I was residing at after my breakup with Sam. She’d brought a mountain of clothes and accessories, both things from her own closet and items she’d picked up on the way here. The first thing she’d put me in was a dress so short it could have been a shirt. 

“You’re made for that.” She’d said without a doubt in her voice, “It’s perfect!” 

“You’re joking? A small breeze and I’ll be on a list.” 

“Who cares, you’re going on tour!” She exclaimed before collapsing into my childhood bed, which we’d spent many nights together in as kids, telling ghost stories under the covers when we were supposed to be fast asleep. 

“I’m not sure.” I muttered, pulling on the hem, attempting to magically make it cover more of my skin than it ever could. 

“Alice, I beg of you, bring it with you, just in case you feel up for wearing it once you’re there.” 

And taking inspiration from the boldness of Mr Sykes, as well as Shelley, I’d done as she’d suggested. In fact, I’d been brave and mostly packed things she’d brought over that day, only packing a handful of items from my usual wardrobe.  

And every time I see myself in the mirror after putting on something Shelley picked out for me, I’d hear Sam’s words in the back of my head, telling me I look like a slag, and I’d smile at my reflection. 

Cause who gives a rat’s arse what that man thinks anyway. 

But it quickly became evident that I cared about what another man thought of me. 

It also quickly became evident that my fascination with Oli wasn’t just jealousy over his daring nature. 

The first time I met him I swear my brain short circuited for a minute. 

“Hiya, love, you alright?” He’d asked with a flash of a smile. 

While I can’t recall what I said, if anything, I remember being in complete awe, convinced his eyes were looking right through me, as if he could tell immediately how my body was responding to his mere presence. 

It had taken me a couple of days to finally accept that I was in fact hopelessly attracted to him, and once I’d accepted that, I’d check him out every chance I got. And while I knew someone like me would never have a shot with someone like that, I kept dressing myself in less and less, hoping that against all odds he’d notice me eventually. 

Just a handful of days before we started the sexcapades in London was the only time I’d thought that maybe he’d actually noticed me in the same way I was noticing him. 

It was an early, gloomy January morning, and we were just about to leave a rented house we’d been staying at for a couple of days between gigs. Everyone was gathered in the living room, half asleep on the corner sofa, as we waited for the taxi to come collect us. Liam was still running around making sure we hadn’t left anything behind, and I was sat in a chair next to the sofa, mindlessly watching the morning news that Lee had left on the telly as everyone were either resting their eyes or on their various devices. 

In an incredibly modern, ugly, design choice, the whole wall behind the telly was comprised of large, black marble tiles, so glossy it acted as a mirrored surface. And every so often I’d let my eyes stray from the news to steal a quick, indulgent glance at Oli in the reflection. 

Only this time I noticed his eyes weren’t on the phone in his hands, nor were they on the big screen in front of him. In fact, it looked an awful lot like they were resting on me. And not on my reflection, no, his gaze was instead to his side, in my direction. 

And what is that expression on his face? 

For a moment I didn’t even dare think it, cause why on earth would he be looking at ordinary, boring Alice? But then I scanned my own reflection and was promptly reminded of how low cut my top was that day.  

In a daring move, I crossed my arms gently, which made my already provocative cleavage spill further. 

Immediately his eyelids grew heavy, his lips parting slightly as the grip on his phone tightened visibly, the veins on his hands becoming more prominent as a result, and I was suddenly very grateful that I was already sitting down, as I’m certain my legs weren’t functional in that moment. 

But while what he was looking at – and how he was enjoying what he saw – was undeniable, I still managed to talk myself out of him being interested in me. Instead, I’d just disregarded it as him not being immune to appreciating a pair of tits when they were presented to him. 

In hindsight, knowing more about Oli, and knowing that he’d been checking me out for a while, it was now clear that this had been a regular occurrence – he’d just managed to be quite stealthy about it. 

And yet… I can’t help but wonder what he could possibly see in me. 

The sun was close to setting as I stared out into the forest view of mine and Liam’s room, the sleeping man next to me breathing slowly and deeply against my chest. And even though he was continuously showing me how special I was to him, I still felt entirely too lacklustre to be loved by him. 

I was a common garden rock, in the arms of a rare gem, and no matter how much I want to open my heart to him, to accept that I was already attached or wanted more, my gut still told me he’d wake up one day, realise how wrong he’d been about me, and see me for the disappointment that I really am. 

... Subscribe to the story on Ao3 for future updates

[agentconniereid]

The F.B.I's Café

Chapter 1: Meet Cute

Pairing: Spencer x oc (Sasha Petrov)

Warnings: None! At least that I can think of...

She was a baker, he was an F.B.I agent. Can I make it anymore obvious?

Considering nearly every prediction of how that day could've gone, I truly should've been more excited. However, the only thing I felt as I woke up that morning, was dread. It was the day of the grand opening of my café, the one I'd been working towards my entire life. Well, maybe not my entire life. My first choice was to become a spy, but that's not quite realistic, is it? Damn you James Bond.

Despite the monumental gravity the day was supposed to hold, the dread I felt was supported by the equally monumental amount of work that needed to be completed. While opening a café theoretically seems like a tranquil practice, my life in recent years has been nothing of the sort. Lease agreements, contractors, licences, insurance, what am I going to do if the place burns down, my landlord's a dick. There were a million things going through my mind as I navigated the dingy metro system.

When I finally arrived at my café and started the gruelling process of getting the place ready to open, I couldn't help but notice something. Lia wasn't there.

Lia, my sweet, sweet, foolish assistant. She said she'd be there by 7.00 A.M, but as I looked down at my watch on the hand that wasn't putting cookies in the oven, I read 7.30 A.M. That girl is dead.

I baked what I had left in the refrigerator the night before. Cookies, pies, brownies, pastries. I then unloaded the sourdough bread and freshly baked desserts into the display case and shelves strewn across my bakery. All. On. My. Own. Once all the machinery and lights were on, the desserts and my precious bread delicately placed in their designated spots, I finally flipped the sign hung on the front door from closed, to open.

5 minutes passed, then 10, then 15. No Lia, no customers. I sighed, disappointed that Lia still wasn't there, but took the opportunity to relax a little before having to socialise. I grabbed a book from my bag, the one I decided would be most suitable this morning. Empty Planet, I loved it as a kid and wanted that kind of nostalgic comfort after such a stressful few months.

Not even a few lines into the book, I heard the bell I attached to the door ring, signalling someone had entered my cafe. I was anticipating Lia, I wanted to see her sweet face for me to scold. But I was met with a tall, bedheaded, tired looking man. He wore a brown blazer over a light coloured patterned button up and a crooked tie under a light grey sweater vest. As I said, his hair was messy, very messy. It was light brown, curly, and much longer than a guy would usually like it. As he approached the counter, I noticed the smaller details of his face. His scruffy stubble, his button nose, his dark purple eyebags that accompanied his brown honey-like eyes that seemed to shimmer in the sun.

"Um, hello?" his voice pulled me from my trance. Even his voice was sweet, like honey. "Oh, sorry. Hello, see anything that catches your eye?" I asked with a smile, trying to seem friendly despite the frustrating start to my morning. Y'know, as friendly as you can be while running on 3 hours of sleep and a missing assistant.

"Are those... Cookies?" he asked, his eyes fixated on the chocolate chip cookies in the display case. He was almost drooling. "Yeah, just baked them like less than an hour ago. I suggest you get them while they're warm." I chuckled, amused that my cookies had him so mesmerised. "Can I get six?" he asked, his eyes finally meeting mine. Six? Do they look that good? "Um, sure... They look good, huh?" I giggled as I grabbed a paper bag for his cookies. "Oh, no! They're not all for me! I'm buying some for my team." he blurted out, looking somewhat embarrassed. 'Team'?

"Team?" I vocalised my thought. "Oh, um- Coworkers." he stammered, like he said something he shouldn't have. "Right." I chuckled as I handed him his cookies. "Anything else?"

"Can I just get, um... Black coffee with as much sugar as physically possible?" the man hesitantly requested as he reached for the bag. I let out a soft giggle at his peculiar order.

"So... Coffee whithout the ghastly bitter taste?" I joked as I made my way to the little moka pot station I had set up. He returned my laughter. "You could say that."

I'm aware that such a method of coffee making seems rather lacklustre for a self-proclaimed café. However, I find that those irritatingly tricky espresso machines make the process of brewing coffee far too complicated. But, I also just find moka pots rather charming.

I finished up his drink and walked over to him. "A diabetes inducing black coffee for..." I trailed off with my hand outstretched to him for him to receive his affectionately named drink. "Spencer." he snickered as he took the it from me. "Spencer." I repeated. His name rolled smoothly off my tongue and rung comfortably in our ears, as if it was ment to be said in my voice. That's how it felt to me at least. He seemed to feel the same, as a slight tilt of his head accompanied the smile he already wore. "...This is usually the part where you'd say your name."

Oh.

"Oh- Sasha. It's Sasha."

(A.N. EEEEEEE FIRST CHAPTER'S DONE!!!! Not a lot of interaction between Spencer and Sasha, ik BUT TRUST ME! We will get our sweet sweet fluff eventually... But not without some angst.)

[katy-133]

Rick Sanchez Showing Signs of ASD for 30 Images

(Re-posting this from a previous reblog I posted in. For organisational purposes.)

(Using some notes from CDC.gov and NHS.uk)

“People with [autism spectrum disorder (ASD)] often have problems with social communication and interaction, and restricted or repetitive behaviors or interests. People with ASD may also have different ways of learning, moving, or paying attention. It is important to note that some people without ASD might also have some of these symptoms.” - Signs and Symptoms of Autism Spectrum Disorder, CDC.gov

Similar to the above quote, some of the below examples can be explained through Doylist (meta) explanations (for example, Rick usually wears the same clothes because that's a common trope in animation, due to asset limitations and marketing/merchandise reasons).

With that in mind:

Bad sensory, overstimulation: Rick preferring to eat just noodles (possibly due to texture/taste aversion), instead of having what everyone else in the family is having.

Getting very upset if someone touches or gets too close: Rick pushing Morty away when Morty runs up to hug him.

Stimming (repetitive performance of certain physical movements or vocalisations) by moving his fists in a celebratory shaking motion in multiple episodes.

Gets upset by minor changes. Rick getting mad at Morty for changing the position of his car seat, refusing to leave a dangerous situation until it's re-adjusted.

Rick: "Wait, did you f**k with my seat settings?!"

Having the same routine every day and getting very anxious if it changes: Rick being upset that Morty is busy and can't go on an adventure with him (like in a typical episode).

Gastrointestinal issues (for example, constipation). An episode focuses on Rick needing to go to a custom planet (that felt safe and secluded) to use the toilet and feeling great distress upon learning that someone else found the planet.

Has a safe food that is seeked out for comfort. Rick likes wafers. He's seen getting them from the kitchen in multiple episodes, Beth makes sure the house is stocked with them, and the Citadel of Ricks even has its own factory to produce them.

Referencing good sensory: Rick talking in detail about pancakes covered in syrup, not wanting the pancakes to go bad.

Rick: "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got pancakes back home with syrup on top of them. They're about to hit that critical point of syrup absorption that turns the cakes into a gross paste. And I hate to get all Andy Rooney about it, but I think we all like fluffy discs of cake with syrup on top!"

And Rick enjoying pancakes in S1E10 and S4E2:

Has obsessive interests. Rick becoming hyper-focused on giant mecha collecting and Morty reminding him to not go overboard on his new hyperfixation.

Morty: "Sometimes, enough is... ?" Rick: (Sadly) "Sometimes enough is enough."

Liking to plan things carefully before doing them: Rick keeping various helpful inventions in his lab coat just in case he needs them later (Vindicators episode).

Infodumping (to excitedly share a large amount of information about a highly-focused subject or passion at one time, usually in great detail and length).

Finding it hard to talk about feelings: Rick having hesitation in apologising and explaining his thoughts and feelings to Jerry.

Rick: "If I'm genuinely cool, I should be able to love you. Which I... therefore do."

Avoids or does not keep eye contact: Rick looking away or breaking eye contact with Morty. Image set of Morty calling him out:

Rick breaking eye contact while lying to Morty:

Having a preferred outfit to wear each day (can be cause of sensory issues). Rick wearing the same blue shirt for over 40 years (we see in flashbacks that it was brighter and has faded with time).

Unusual speech patterns, such as stuttering. Rick's stuttering decreases as seasons progress.

Vocal stimming (when someone repeats a specific sound or phrase to produce sensory stimulation). Some autistic children find it easier to make up their own words. Rick repeatedly saying, "wubba lubba dub dub." He will also repeat his own words (echolalia) immediately afterwards.

Delay edecholalia, scripting (when someone "saves" exact phrases and uses them later to make social situations easier). Rick (in The Ricks Must Be Crazy) remembers Morty's comment, "that just sounds like slavery with extra steps" and uses it later to try and win an argument with another scientist.

Not picking up social cues, finding it hard to understand what others are thinking or feeling. Rick making a joke and then realising the other person is in too much distress to laugh with him (has done this with both Morty and Jerry).

Rick: "You're not laughing?" (Expression changes upon realising) "Oh, right. You're dying."

Unconventional grief response, "inappropriate" facial expressions, lack of fear: Rick reacting to burying himself in a less uneasy way than Morty.

"To the point" style of social interaction. Rick often speaks bluntly and is seen as rude by other characters in response.

Rick: "Everyone, f**k off. Morty, I need your help."

Has a terrible memory but can remember ridiculously difficult information if it interests him. Rick forgets his portal gun and leaves it behind, but can remember the formula for various chemical reactions without using a reference (ending of M.Night Shaym-Aliens!).

And finally...

President Curtis referencing Rick's neurodivergency:

Rick's comment:

Rick: "I'm not touching that thing,"

Rick finding a roundabout way to let Morty know that he (Rick) also has ASD:

Rick: "Is this game popular with autistic people?" Morty: "Why would you say something like that?" Rick: "Because I'm starting to love it."

Wish I could have added more examples, but 30 images is Tumblr's current post limit.

(I understand that the potential meme joke by OP is that the "NOT YOU" image is of Rick from season 1, versus his markedly changed characterisation in season 5-onwards, that focused more on coding Rick as neurodivergent.)

I hope this has been in some part educational for a few readers. Happy Autism Acceptance Month.

But now for the disclaimer bit: Don't take it from me, learn more about ASD.

[gl1tchy-4rt]

I made a new AU >:)

(Digital and Tradicional drawing)

My brainrot...

got real~

and it combined two of my fav autistic video games >:)

So without further ado, i give you and AU that plagued my mind ever since January of this year...

My Singing Pizzers (Pizza Tower X My Singing Monsters)

them bois :)

Peppiruni the Spaghodeon:

He is just a simple (and kinda anxious) monster that owns a pizza place and is a retired member of the PizzaTime crew (A group of monsters that lead the way to escape routs in case of an earthquake)

His Kind makes sound by playing their tails like an accordion and making said noise from their mouths

Muushavo the Gnomshroom:

Peppiruni's childhood friend and co-worker, he is super friendly and he'll always help others in need, but don't disappoint him, he'll get back at you, the will always help Peppi when he gets overstimulated, having a panic attack or he is just not feeling good.

His kind makes sound by making trumpets, saxophones and flutes out of Mushrooms and Tree bark, Muushavo plays a Sax

Brikko the Drumdenia

Muushavo's other best friend! when they first met they didn't get along but after a bit of talk they became friends! Brikko is very talented, a jack of all trails and certified to treat monsters with atypical neurology, like Peppi!

His kind makes sound by playing their Bellies like a drum

But wait there's more >:)

The man Himself is also here!

Now, what he has to do with a handfull of musical and autistic monsters?

Time for Lore!!

Well... one day Peppino just wakes up in a cliff near the ocean with no idea of how he got there, he walked and walked and found a cave, he searched around, until in the darkness of the cave, he bumped into someone.

That someone was a Chinchilla-like creature that looked like him, "another clone" he thought but nop! despite of both being nervous, the creature brought Peppino to his house...

A pizzeria, inside two other monsters...they looked just like Gus and Brick...the creature and the other monsters spoke only in Musical vocalisations, but despite he does not understand them they do understand him, and eventually he opened up and talked about him and how he wanted to go home

And so Peppiruni and his friends decide to help Peppino to get back home, to do so they have to go the The Tower were the "Top Boss" monster lived and ask them for help, now they have to go through the entire island (with the help of other friends) so they can get Peppino back home

Will they make it?? Likely! Will it be a smooth ride?? Maybe not???

As i post more characters i will drop more lore...

See yall' !!

[ya-zz]

but can you imagine Ramattra getting repaired by reader and after she's done and he's all grumpy that he had to seek out help from a human, she just kinda gives him headpats and tell him he did good? AAAAAA

Ramattra is a big softie at heart, change my mind.

Thank you so much for the prompt! ♥ I enjoyed writing this one

Ramattra x Reader (gen)

Word count: 1037

“Will you just sit still!” 

“You are pulling at wires that should not be pulled!” 

“That’s not my fault. You just had to get injured.” 

“That is not my fault either.” 

“Oh really?” 

“Yes. Now stop talking and fix me, human.” 

You release a sigh, shaking your head.

“I will find someone else if you cannot do this.” 

“Who else would you find? You do realise I am the only one around here capable of fixing your kind, don’t you?” You pull on another wire, moving it out of the way. 

The omnic in front of you stays silent for a moment, his body jerking slightly at the pulled wire. “Get on with it.” 

The tone in his voice made you stop. 

“Please.” He turns his head slightly, optics scanning over you, slightly pissed off at the entire notion.

You smile before getting back to work, noticing the tension within him. 

The damage done was almost severe. Too many split wires, broken metal and debris stuck in the harder to reach places. A full disassembly may help, but you knew he wouldn’t let you go that far with him. Hell, he was reluctant to let you do this. 

He could feel your every touch, the small touching of wires as you moved them out of the way, hands grabbing at the larger cables as you push past them to pull out the broken parts of him. 

“Be careful.” He spoke out, body jerking again as you tug at him. 

“I’m being as careful as I can. You’re just sensitive.” You replace one of his larger cables, fingers pushing the connectors in place.

“I am not sensitive!” 

A small laugh escaped you. “Sure, whatever you say.” 

You heard him scoff as you stepped back, walking around the table and facing him before turning away and walking into the backroom of the workshop. 

He listened intently, hearing the rummaging and clattering. His optics stayed at the doorway, waiting for you to appear. Ramattra went into a small daze, mind focussing on cooling himself down, optics unfocusing as he thought about his situation. Being repaired by a human was something he never wanted to do. Filthy hands touching him, defiling his wires. He had to put some trust into you, though. He couldn’t repair himself, not this time. The damage done was to his back, and he wasn’t risking any of his brothers shocking him and putting him out of commission for good. 

Ramattra had nowhere else to go, the thought of even having a human touch him sickened him, however, after he had heard you fixed other omnics before, including Zenyatta, he gave in and sauntered into your workshop. When he saw the various spare parts and blueprints littering the floor and shelves, he felt somewhat at ease, but that hatred and unease for humans was still present inside of him. 

Another tug at his wires pulled him out of his mind, a static yelp escaping from his vocaliser as his head snapped to look at you. 

“Sorry.” You muttered, not looking up at him as you continued to work. 

He scoffed, head turning to face the workshop, optics looking around. “How-”

“As long as it takes me.” You mumbled, screwdriver in between your teeth. 

Ramattra seemed taken aback at the sudden response. “I did not even finish my sentence.”

“Didn’t need to. Lean slightly forward for me.” You place one of your hands on his upper back, pushing him down. 

He obliges, leaning forward on the table, arms resting on top of his thighs. 

“Thanks. Don’t move.” 

Ramattra stays as still as he can, feeling you inside of his back. Another wire was inserted, plugged in from the top and bottom. He saw his sensors come back online, slowly setting up from the last backup. 

You could hear the sigh he released, a small smile creeping onto your face. 

“We are almost done, if that makes you feel better.” 

He nodded, going through the files to distract himself from your touching. For once, he felt relief. The trust he had put into you was not misplaced and he gratefully appreciated the work you had done. You were competent in your abilities and he would thank you for that when this ordeal was over. 

Another half hour passes by and he feels his backplate being put on, the connectors snapping shut and a pat on the back gave him all the confirmation he needed.

“There. You’re fixed.” You place your hand on his head, patting him gently as you walk around him. “You did good.” 

The sudden touch made him freeze, his mind a static snow as he tries to comprehend what just happened. You did good. It replayed in his head, the warmth of your hand atop his head sending a new signal across his circuitry. 

As you walk away from him, putting the broken parts of him in a scrap box, Ramattra stands up, metal feet hitting the floor. 

“Thank you.” He mutters out, his tone different from when he first spoke to you, almost nervous in nature. 

You look up at him, smiling. “Anytime. Workshop is open all hours.” 

“I will be sure to visit again, then.” He pauses, seemingly shocked he said that. “If that is ok with you?” 

Standing up and brushing the dust off your pants, you turn and look at him, still smiling. “Of course. Company is always welcome.” 

He heard the happiness in your voice, and something inside of him looked forward to visiting you again. If it meant he got to feel the same hand on his head, he’d gladly keep coming back.

His untrust for humans dissipated ever so slightly. Despite the harsh tugging at times, he knew you meant well. You fixed him and made him better than he was previously, whether that was due to newer parts or just the trust he had put into you not being displaced, he was grateful nonetheless. 

Something inside of him changed, and one human managed to do that for him in such a short amount of time. 

You did good. It echoed in his head as he walked out of the workshop, a feeling of warmth spreading through his chassis.

[cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu]

The story of how Mordred called Merlin mom and then proceeded to call Arthur dad and now he's adopted into the family – part 2

♤•°•♡•°•♤•°•♡•°•♤•°•♡•°•♤•°•♡•°•♤

"Sire, the outer walls need repairs but I believe a new design for better structure and materials..."

Mordred had stopped listening an hour ago, he noticed he wasn't the only one as he saw Sir Gwaine wiggling his eyebrows at Sir Elyan who was trying not to snort at Sir Gwaine's ridiculous facial; Sir Lancelot seemed to be one of the few attentively listening when the conversation was interrupted by the King.

"Sir Mordred, what are your thoughts of bridging the gap between Camelot and the druids?"

'What...? When did the topic change?! I should've paid attention!'

King Arthur stared expectantly at him, they all did even Merlin which at this moment made him nervous and just a tiny bit giddy of receiving his Lord's attention that he was bound to say something stupid.

He did in fact, said something stupid.

And utterly embarrassing that he yearned for a hole to magically appear and swallow him up.

"I believe Momlin, I mean mum, er no, uh Merlin can help because we druids would follow Emrys...did I say I'm a druid?"

King Arthur's eyes widened in surprise and as Mordred took a quick peek at Merlin, he saw how much paler his lord looked.

'Oh Goddess this is my fault! I've ruined everything!'

"Mom I'm so sorry. I meant Merlin, I didn't mean to say mom but it's a habit now, an internal one." He nervously chuckled.

Mordred could hear Sir Gwaine laughing probably, maybe he could help Sir Leon tomorrow provided he doesn't die from embarrassment or thrown in the dungeons perhaps.

Of course he's digging his own grave.

Hands clenching he blurted out more treasonous words.

"Forgive me mum—Merlin—Emrys my lord! It's just your magic is beautiful—"

Percival the gentle giant whispered sincerely to Gwaine, "I never knew Mordred was Merlin's son, Merlin must've had him at a young age."

Gwaine loving the drama added his own to it.

"I knew Merlin had experience in being a mother. How else would he have survived years being Arthur's manservant? Aren't mothers great!"

Gwaine grinned and relaxed in his chair, this roundtable meeting has turned out to be unbelievably interesting and enjoyable.

Elyan pitched forward, voice soft and curious.

"Since when did Merlin have magic? Is that how he gave birth to Mordred?"

Mordred prayed for a miracle or for something to shut himself up from blurting out more ridiculous sentences; he would also appreciate it if someone could stop the knights from theorising whether Merlin was his mother or not.

Because that would be impossible. Maybe. Who knows? Magic is natural and weird.

"—which in turn brings out your ethereal beauty, not that I'm flirting with you because that would wrong when I see you as a mom and uh..."

'ABORT! ABORT! STOP!' His brain tries to tell him however his mouth is running on automatic.

"Sir Mordred—" Arthur began to speak when Mordred turned to look stiffly at his King before words rushed out of his unreliable lips.

"Sorry dad...Er I meant—"

'WHAT IN THE AVALON POSSESSED HIM TO SAY THAT!?'

Mordred felt sick.

Literally he wanted to vomit out his guts because first he called Emrys his mother than outed himself as a druid and pretty much told everyone at the roundtable about Merlin's magic! Then he called the King, Arthur Pendragon, his father...in what realm of unfortunate situations and unbelievable events made him call the King his dad!?

He has to do something to salvage the situation and hopefully in Emrys eyes he could be forgiven, maybe King Arthur would forgive both of them.

'Think Mordred, think! What can I do to change this around!?'

For obvious reasons, Mordred's brain refused to think, therefore it spewed out whatever thought was in his mind at that very moment and vocalised it to the world, or at least to just everyone sitting round the table.

"I AM A SORCERER!"

♤To be continued♤

Part 1

[lovesick-gxrls]

RESTLESS

7th may 2018, 3:28am

pairing: choi mari x kim seokjin

genre: fluff, angst

warnings: mentions of anxiety

description: mari finds herself unable to sleep.

word count: 712 (give or take)

mari had been staring at her ceiling for what felt like hours. she refused to touch her phone which was currently hiding on her pillow, she didn’t want to know what ungodly hour of the morning it was as her body refused to relax finally sleep. the idol always became an insomniac before a comeback, it was just over a week until the group would be back to promoting. the pit of anxiety sat in her stomach, her thoughts running at a hundred miles an hour.

she huffed loudly as she turned over once again, bringing her covers up to her chin as she closed her eyes and tried to slow down her breathing. sometimes this worked, but this was not one of those nights. the group had a full day of practice ahead of them and mari knew that she wouldn’t handle it if she didn’t fall asleep soon.

mari didn’t vocalise her anxiety often to the boys, she didn’t want to burden them which was usually the root of most arguments between her and the boys. them usually begging her just to talk to them but she would rather suffer in silence than admit she was struggling. tears stung her eyes, frustrated she groaned feeling helpless at the situation.

eventually the girl got up and threw on one of yoongi’s hoodies that he had left in her room. she quietly made her way through their dorm into the kitchen. mari worked quickly, filling up the kettle to make herself some tea in hopes to settle her anxiety. she leaned over the counter, her head resting on her arms as the noise of the kettle boiling filled the quiet kitchen.

“mari?” a tired voice called out. she turned round to see seokjin standing looking confused, with his eyes barely open. “sorry did i wake you?” she whispered. jin shook his head no before coming closer into the kitchen. “what are you doing up? it’s like three am,” he murmured. mari sighed shrugging her shoulders, focusing on pouring the hot water rather than eldest members concerned look.

“couldn’t sleep,” she murmured, cradling the hot drink in her hands. jin frowned slightly, moving next to the girl, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder rubbing her forearm comfortingly. mari sighed, her head rested against his shoulder as they leaned against the countertop. “i’ll be fine, go back to bed,” she said as she moved away. jin shook his head, he grabbed her hand and wordlessly dragged her towards his shared room.

yoongi was sleeping soundly on his side of the room when they entered. mari didn’t say anything, she just set down her half drunk mug and slid under the duvet of jin’s bed. he took the spot next to her, mari was quick to wrap her arms around his waist and let her head rest against his chest. one of his hands ran through her hair soothingly as they lay in bed.

“do you want to talk about it?” the eldest member whispered. mari grimaced, the lack of light hiding it from jin. “i’ve.. had this pit in the bottom of my stomach for a few days,” she hummed before continuing - “i’m just feeling the pressure now, and i think it’s finally caught up,” jin listened intently, letting the girl talk slowly as she went through her thoughts. he knew how she felt, they all did but jin and mari had another level of understanding one another.

both didn’t feel as if they belonged in the group when they debuted, they found themselves finding comfort in each other’s presence. she often found herself sharing a bed with jin when her anxiety got bad. yoongi was very understanding of course and encouraged her to come into their room whenever she needed.

“you know i’ll let you sleep here whenever you want,” he whispered. mari hummed, finally feeling the exhaustion catch up to her. “thank you,” she murmured before letting her eyes flutter shut and let herself switch off. the soothing feeling of jin running his hand through her hair kept her mind from creating disastrous scenarios.

jin waited till mari was fast asleep in his arms before finally letting himself drift off. he kept his arms around her, as she nudged her head closer into the crook of his neck. the pair stayed wrapped in each others arms for the rest of the night, mari finally getting a good nights sleep.

mari m.list | masterlist

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Sunday, 12-01-24, 7pm Pacific

'Evenin', everyone...Mr. Baggins here with your Sunday Serenade, some music to soothe your achin' nerves and help ease us all into a good night as we head into the new week. Let's begin this evening with a record that has been with me a long, long time. Here is Van Cliburn's classic recording of the Tchaikovsky First Piano Concerto, after winning the first Tchaikovsky Competition. Kiril Kondrashin conducts. This record became the biggest selling classical music album of all time. Recorded in 1958.

We turn to Mozart for our Serenade next, his "Haffner" Serenade in D-Major, KV 250, performed here live by Gürzenich Kammerorchester Köln, in a very spirited performance from April of 2023.

Now let's hear the next installment in our survey of the Beethoven Symphonies. Here is Lenny and the Vienna, from a live recording in February 1978, with Beethoven's Symphony No. 2 in D major, Op. 36

Let's hear Charles Munch and The Boston Symphony with their reading of Debussy's "La Mer". Another gorgeous RCA Living Stereo recording, from 1956.

We turn to music of Holst next, we hear his "St. Paul's Suite", performed here by Marriner/ASMF.

Let's listen next to Rachmaninoff's moody Etude Tableaux Op. 39, Nos. 1-9, performed by pianists Rustem Hayroudinoff, Nicolai Lugansky, and the legendary Vladimir Sofronitzky. Excellent notes on this in the video description, highly recommended reading. I had not heard of Rustem Hayroudinoff before. We might have to hear more of his Rachmaninoff. As for Lugansky, I had heard of him, just not heard his playing until this evening. And Sofronitzky was from another higher plane altogether!

I thought we might conclude tonight's Sunday Serenade with a bookend to the beginning, with another Van Cliburn recording. This time his Rachmaninoff Concerto No. 2 in C minor, Op. 18, with Reiner and The Chicago, in stunning RCA Living Stereo, from 1962. This is really to my mind definitive. I have heard countless others, including Rachmaninoff himself, and I always come back to Cliburn/Reiner. And given the distance of 50-60 years, we can now see it was a brilliant combination which yielded some of the best concerto recordings ever made. Their "Emperor" is also no slouch! [Edit: I found a MUCH BETTER clean version of the audio for this, and the link below is the right one. Refresh browser, etc. The first one was horribly distorted and said it had been "restored"...like this needed "restoring". Moron. Enjoy the link below!

And as a little encore to send us into dreamland, here is Sergei Rachmaninoff himself, conducting The Philadelphia Orchestra in the orchestrated version of his haunting "Vocalise", recorded on April 20, 1929.

That's all the time we've got for this evening's program, and I do hope you have enjoyed the selections, and possibly heard something new to your ear. Mr. Baggins signing off for the evening; I'll return at 8am Pacific with our Morning Coffee Music.

Until then, dream sweet dreams, babies, dream sweet dreams.

Baggins out.