#yes I know my workstation is a mess

[nevermore117]

figured I might talk a little about how I've been making soap so yall can judge my dirty ass workstation

I'm making a new batch this evening so it seems like a good way to show everything from the top. This is a long post, I just like sharing my hobbies and I think soapmaking is fucking cool ok

Part 1:

Essentially, when you make soap you're mixing sodium hydroxide (or another similar base like potassium hydroxide) with water and oils and blending them up. When mixed they go through a process called saponification, during which (from my rudimentary understanding) the fatty acid tails break off from the fat structure because the hydrogen atom in the NaOH (sodium hydroxide) really wants to bond in that spot instead. The Na is an ion and breaks off from the molecule in water anyways, and it and the remaining O bond with the fatty acid tail and make a soap. Don't ask me any more please I'm not out of gen chem 2 yet.

All that means is, you take some water and some oils and some sodium hydroxide and mix it together, let it react, and you get soap. The key is the ratios of oils, water, and sodium hydroxide.

The thing is, sodium hydroxide is a strong base. Which is kind of like a strong acid in how bad it is to touch. You don't want it on your hands, you don't want it in your mouth, and jesus fucking christ it WILL blind you if you get it in your eyes. So PPE (personal protective equipment) is a must. And not just some gardening gloves either, you need proper eye and skin protection.

I have latex gloves, a long-sleeved denim shirt I got from my old job for free, and some decent protective goggles. All of this goes on before the lye is opened and doesn't come off until I'm completely done with everything. PPE isn't a joke.

Anyways. When you're making soap you need stuff like measuring bowls of course, since like I mentioned it's the ratios that matter. I measure everything by the gram with a digital scale. Silicone spatulas are also a must, I have two.

I also have an immersion blender. You COULD stir by hand, but I'm not eager to splash 10M lye around willy nilly so I got the blender. It just makes it easier and gives a better final product. I keep my tools separate from anything I would eat with bc, yknow,

, so no smoothies for this bad boy. Not pictured are plain spoons for adding stuff to the measuring bowls. I use glass bowls bc the lye can corrode metal.

Once I measure out an oil/butter I dump it into a big glass measuring cup. I could use a bowl but the measuring cup has a handle and I'm gonna be heating it up later.

Did you think I was done fearmongeroing about sodium hydroxide? Nope! It isn't just bad to touch, it's also bad to breathe! And it generates heat when you dilute it! That's hardly unique to lye, but it's still a little scary and cool.

The lye comes in little round pellets that I have to dissolve into a specific amount of water to get the right concentration of sodium hydroxide solution, and while that's happening it gives off vapors that SUCK to breathe. Ask me how I know. It's not "gonna kill you, call 911 asap", but it's "OWCH my LUNGS". You know if you breathed some in, it stings for a bit when you breathe in like something irritated the lining of your esophagus. Because it did.

So you have to make soap (or at least dilute your sodium hydroxide) in a well-ventilated area. Hence why I do this in my dirty ass garage instead of a nice clean kitchen. I have a big fan set up right next to my water bath (for keeping the lye cooler as I dilute it plus emergency water for washing), and I open the garage door to get that shit out. No enclosed spaces for me, please.

Now... actually making the soap look and smell nice. I have fragrance oils I add, plus I can also add stuff like soap colorant (NOT FOOD DYE), clay (like a clay mask), exfoliants, etc. I just kinda fuck around with trying new oils together. The appeal of this hobby for me is trying new things and experimenting.

I'll update more with actual in-progress photos once I'm done. I took these after cleaning all my supplies, I have some work I have to do before actually making soap bc it takes a while to measure everything out. Hopefully I'll find some time later this afternoonnnn

[marlynnofmany]

Playing Translation Telephone

“Hi,” I said as the door slid open. “Captain Sunlight wants to know how your translations are going.”

Coals sighed. “They’re going. This one’s a mess.” He shook his lizardy head, brick-red scales dull in the light by the doorway. That part of the translation suite was always dim because Trrili liked looming in the shadows there.

But today she was at the workstation in the back, surrounded by glowing screens and a cloud of irritated hisses. “I think we missed a language,” she announced, snapping her pincher arms and angling her antennae into a scowl.

“What, really?” Coals asked. He ran a hand over his head, scales clicking quietly. “How many is that now?”

“Sixssss,” Trrili hissed.

Coals grumbled something I didn’t catch, and walked back over to the workstation.

Curious, I followed and let the door shut behind me. “What kind of project is this one?”

“Old records of a multi-species colonizing effort,” Coals said from his floating chair with the tail hole. “The originals are lost, and all that’s left is this jumble that’s been translated through a succession of languages, none of which they bothered to write down. And they want us to figure out what the originals actually meant.”

“Sounds tricky,” I said. Each of the screens held writing, most in languages I didn’t recognize. Some were notes in the trade language we all spoke, and I was amused to see how much swearing was in Trrili’s notes.

“It is very tricky,” Trrili agreed, jabbing a little wrist finger at the screen in the middle. “The grammar doesn’t match the words, and the idioms are an utter tar hole. It’s anyone’s guess what culture came up with some of these details.”

“I’m pretty sure the bit about rocks is a Strongarm saying,” Coals said. “It makes more sense than a Frillian interpretation.”

“Yes, fine, probably,” Trrili said with an irritated wave of her pinchers. “I’m stuck at this part that goes off on a tangent about the family arrangements of the wildlife. It’s clearly significant, and at least one layer of translation wanted to make sure the full interpretation was spelled out, but that just makes it more confusing.”

“How so?” I asked. I’d gotten the job on this ship because of my animal-care knowledge, so maybe I could offer some insights. I peered at the screen.

“This part,” Trrili said, “Is a recounting of a colonist’s experience in retrieving goods from a shuttle that crashed in a lake. The water creatures seem to have complex social arrangements, and somehow that relates to their behavior toward this particular colonist.” She folded her pinchers and leaned back, glaring at the ancient diary. “Of course this had to be written by someone disinclined to speaking clearly.”

“What kind of behavior is it?” I asked. “Are we talking mating advances, or aggressively protecting the young, or—?”

“Aggressive,” Trrili said immediately. “This word means mouth, possibly teeth specifically, and in the grammatical arrangement that it’s currently configured into, it has to be saying that the thing bit the colonist.”

Coals flipped through documents on another screen. “Do we know what the official name for the creature is?”

Trrili hissed. “Not even close. That’s what this whole tangent is: an attempt at describing it. I’d love to know if it was the original colonist or someone later who decided it would be helpful to tell us that this creature’s ancestors rejected social bonds.”

“Rejected how?” I asked.

Coals brought up another document. “I’ve got something on the legal system of the original colony. Sounds like there were multiple types of family arrangements at play. Possibly this colonist was just musing on a similarity to their own life.”

Trrili hissed. “How does that help us? I don’t see any accounts of this person’s family life, or even their species. We have no way to know if their own parents performed the socially-accepted rituals or not.”

“Wait,” I said. “Is this about the animal’s parents not doing a certain ritual? Like marriage? Is the colonist calling the fish a bastard?”

Both of my alien coworkers looked at me. Coals asked slowly, “That’s an insult in human circles, isn’t it?”

“Yes!”

Trrili threw her pinchers skyward and stalked away from the workstation. “Of course it is. You people are sentimental about everything, including reproduction. This would have been so much simpler if we’d known from the start that there was a human layer to this.”

“So what does it say?” I asked. “The colonist went into the lake to help with the crash, and got bitten by a bastard fish?”

Trrili was walking in circles hissing, so Coals scooted in front of the center screen. “Going by what we’ve figured out so far,” he said, “The colonist was trying to move salvage from the shuttle. Walking through shallow water. The water creatures were of many bright colors — it goes into detail about that, comparing them to refractive prisms and seaspray — but they kept their distance as long as the colonist kept moving. Pretty sure this part says one came in for a bite as soon as the colonist stood still. And that’s where we go off on an elaborate description of the creature’s family arrangements.”

I grinned. “‘Dear diary, today I waded through a lake and got bit by a rainbow bastard fish. Terrible experience; wouldn’t recommend.’”

Coals looked closer. “It does actually say something like that afterward,” he admitted. “There’s a suggestion that the next person to enter the water wear protective clothing.”

Over Trrili’s aggravated hissing, I said, “That colonist might have been a human.”

“Might indeed,” Coals said. He scrolled up through a page of notes. “That could actually shed some light on a couple other spots, now that you mention it.”

Trrili appeared beside us. “Bring up the part about the colony leader mating with someone’s mother.”

I laughed. “I can tell you right now that that’s an insult. The colonist is likely complaining about the boss, not describing something that actually happened.”

Coals looked at Trrili. “Told you we need an insult chart.”

Trrili tilted her head dramatically. “That’s so much work!”

“So’s this,” Coals pointed out. “How about you take another look at what we’ve got so far here, and I’ll start a list of common human insults.”

Trrili took a position in front of the screens, hissing quietly.

“I’ll be happy to help,” I said to Coals. “My people are very creative on that front.”

“So I gather,” Coals said. He scooted over to me, digital notepad at the ready. “And not one of those insults revolves around eggs. Mindblowing.”

“Well,” I said with a tip of my head. “There is the thing about teaching your grandmother to suck eggs. That’s kind of an insult.”

“What?” Coals said. “Never mind. I can tell this is going to be a long list.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Crush

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: Boss!Miguel x lab tech!reader

summary: You've got a crush on your boss. But it's harmless - doesn't mean anything. Until it does.

warnings: no warnings. just fluff :D

a/n: just a little something I wrote to take a break from the college au fic I'm writing. sweet and fluffy and happy bc I've put this poor guy through so much 😭

not proofread at all, my bad y'all

wc: 1.6k

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thinking about being Miguel's respite. His soft spot, a place to lay his head away from all the bullshit. you're not apart of the spider society, not strictly, just a technician that puts their head down and gets on with it. and sure, you've got a little crush on your boss, but who wouldn't? Miguel is smart, mostly calm, and surprisingly funny. whilst everyone cracks a smile at all the mile-a-minute jokes of the other spiderpeople; you find yourself laughing at all of your boss' little moments. dry, deadpan, humor - and he looks so, so good when he says it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You swoop in with the-" Peter B makes a swoosh sound, hand swiping across the air like a kid playing with toy planes. "And then I'll do a-" 

Thud. He brings his hand down to the table solidly, with some force. It makes the table shudder and your head pops up slightly from under a workstation, hiding a smile. With their backs turned, they don't notice you're there.

You've got a pair of pliers in one hand, and a mess of wires with the other. You don't see the both of them that often, preferring to squirrel yourself away in the labs, but you've been stuck here with system updates. Whilst you've drawn the short end of the straw, yet again, it doesn't feel like it; basking in the warmth of the two even from the opposite end of the room. 

Miguel gives him a look, eyebrow raised. Peter waits, expectantly. A beat passes. 

" Oh. Are you… is that the whole plan?" Poking ever so slightly out of the tangle of wires, you catch his facial expression and it makes you giggle. Fuck. You clamp your hand over your mouth and retreat back into the depths. 

Busying yourself with the work, you pretend not to hear them pad towards you. It doesn't last long, and you're met with Peter B's face: 5 o'clock shadow and a blinding smile. 

"Oh shit! You're the…. uhuhh… that technician that I…" He clicks his fingers towards you, calling out to Miguel. Embarrassed, you stand up, expecting a scolding. 

It doesn't come. Miguel says your name, and it surprises you. 

"They're not usually on this floor, though. Lab A118, right?" He turns to you, and you nod slowly. How… how does he know that? You can count the amount of times you've spoken to Miguel one-on-one on a single hand, and yet he can remember which lab you work in? There were dozens of labs, triple the amount of technicians, and even if he did-

" Great . You can tell Miguel it's a brilliant plan," Peter beams. 

"Uhhh…." Not knowing what to say, you fiddle with the pliers in hand. 

"You don't... You don't have to answer that."

"...she does if she thinks it's good, Miguel." He deadpans, and turns to you. "He'll fire you if you don't answer."

"¿ Qué carajo, Peter ? " He practically hisses. Hurriedly, he reassures you with a hand on your arm. His tone is warm, softer. " Seriously, you don't have to answer that."

Peter huffs, leading you to take a seat on the counter. And you do, as he pleads his case. 

The older man is animated, and the scene makes you laugh: Peter B in a robe and fuzzy slippers, telling a humble technician the intimate details of their mission. Miguel takes a seat next to you, thigh creeping closer to yours. You pretend not to notice, and focus on the man in front of you. 

"Our target is this freaky little guy-" 

"The Green Goblin." Miguel corrects

"Whatever. This freaky little guy from a medieval dimension. All hear ye, hear ye , and shit…. a freak with a bell on his hat and purple cape. Sounds simple enough, right?" 

"...right." Miguel answers, exasperated already. 

Peter makes the sound of a buzzer. " Wrong! His dimension is paper-based, meaning he's a slippery little shit otherwise. Doesn't adhere to our kind of physics," The man besides you prepares to interject, but is shut down by the wave of a hand. 

"More or less, Miguel, I don't care for the science - this guy is literally two-dimensional. So you ," Woosh. He makes the gesture from earlier on. "And I'll," Smack. He brings his hands together with distinct flair.

Your boss still has his brows drawn up in confusion, but something clicks for you. 

"Miguel….takes him from his blind spot," You copy the gesture, as they both watch. Miguel can see the cogs turning in your head, the little twitch of your lips and press of eyebrows. "...and you pin him down from above."

“Yes! Yes, that's exactly what I said!" He pumps his fist upwards, pulling you off the counter and into a bear hug. You're laughing, and you hear him from over your shoulder. "We stick him with a doohickey, and then he's jingling all the way back home. I'm a goddamn genius, aren't I?" 

Miguel scoffs, amused. It's a somewhat good plan, but he's even more surprised at you: half-strangled in the other man's arms, and smiling wide. 

When Peter finally releases you, with a sly middle finger to Miguel for good measure, he rushes off. He's…babbling on about how Jess is gonna love this , or something like that. 

You're left with Miguel, still on the counter, head cocked. He's looking towards the door, you think, until you meet his eyes and jump. They are a deep scarlet, framed by wispy lashes. Your boss is pretty; so, so pretty . Perhaps not the most appropriate thought, but it's all you can think about as he talks. 

"You speak Parker?" He says, and you laugh. It makes heat prickle in his chest. 

" No way, sir. I… I think that's a first for me." You put your hands up, shaking your head; the remnants of a giggle bubbling up. 

"Maybe you should be on strategy? I could… we could do with that kind of talent on the team." His face is steady, and unreadable. You swear you can see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but it's hard to tell. He's rubbing at his neck, carding through the hair at his nape. 

He seems… shy, for some reason. 

"I'm flattered, sir, really. But I'm happy with what I do in research."

He hums, a strange expression on his face. He's on his feet now, getting a little closer to you. The pliers are in your hand, and he picks it up in his wide palms. Your hands are soft, he thinks. 

The action makes you hold your breath, and all of a sudden you're looking at his lips. 

" This," He's perceptive, and ignores the way your gaze makes him feel; the heat of your body so close to his. "Is a bit too big for what you're trying to do. It's a bit of a struggle, right?" 

You nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady. 

He flashes a little smile and leads you back to the workstation. "The number 4, please."

You hand him the smaller attachment, shaking yourself out of a daze. Your fingers brush, but you force yourself to concentrate on what he does under the hood , so to speak. 

"A little pressure, right…" You put your hand on the spot, and he moves it with his own, ever so slightly. "... here. Pull, please."

You give a solid tug, and he pushes the tool into a junction at the wires. It comes apart much easier than before. 

"You felt it?" He says it lowly; and it makes you blink twice. " That's when you pull. When you feel that tension."

He nods, and you stutter a timid thank you. "T-Thanks, sir. You didn't have to, though."

"I wanted to. I basically built all of this, I know it like the back of my hand. So it's no trouble." From anybody else, it would sound like a brag, but from Miguel it's nothing but the truth. You're in awe of him. sometimes: everything he's built, everything he's achieved. 

"So it's your fault none of these wires are colour-coded properly?" You say with a  burst of confidence. "Why are the wires for electrics brown? And the hydro-pumps are… purple? Not blue, or–" 

It peters off when you see his expression, gaunt and serious. 

" Shit. Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to cross a line, or anything."

"Sure, I built it," He erupts into a smile, and it makes him laugh. God, you've made Miguel laugh . "But I never said I was good at it." 

It puts you at ease, and you're brave enough to give him a little smile in return. And he likes it: your eyes light up, and worry lines relax. 

"And you don't need to call me sir. It's Miguel." As if introducing himself for the first time, he stretches out a hand. You take it, and say your name. 

"I know." He says it gently, and your heart skips a beat. "You need some help with the rest?" 

Realistically, it's a one-person job; something you can do even quicker now he's shown you the right technique. But he's already so close, and you're hung up on the way he speaks to you: steady, patient, with the prettiest, plump lips you've had the pleasure of looking at. It's not helping you get over your inappropriate crush; and will absolutely feed into your delusion; but he offered , ever so sweet. 

"Yeah, Miguel." You take the tool from him and crane your head to the worktop's belly. "I think I do."

_

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Miguel taglist (1): @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

[barleyo]

Your Miguel x Reader fic was so freaking good!! I'd love to read more from you, especially Miguel x Shy!Reader (the personality of y/n kinda ressembles mine lol)! Anyways, thank you so much and keep up the great work!

Next Time.

(Miguel O'Hara X Fem! Reader)

A/N: Sorry, this is just a drabble and isn't nearly as long as my OG fic, but I hope you still enjoy it! Feel free to send a request to my inbox, as my requests are always open.

“No, no, no,” (Y/N) sighed, staring at the broken glass shards in front of her. 

She had been getting better, she really had. With careful supervision by Miguel and a steady hand, she had been able to limit her accidents. However, her clumsiness seemed to always lurk, waiting to strike at the most inopportune time. 

“Okay, maybe I can just pick them up,” she whispered to herself. Carefully, she wiped at the pieces, sweeping the smaller pieces into a nearby waste basket. 

“Everything okay over here?” He walked over, leaning onto her workstation just as she finished grabbing a final large piece of glass. She quickly palmed the piece, clenching it behind her back. “Thought I heard something break, no?”

“No, no, nothing is going on over here, just, uhm, cleaning up. I’m just about to pack up and head home for the day.” (Y/N) squeaked, feeling the shard slice her palm with a sharp sting. 

“Whatever you say,” he said. Unconvinced, Miguel turned around, pretending to walk away. 

Once he made it a few paces away, (Y/N) pulled her hand back around and paled at the blood dripping down her palm. The glass was lodged right in the middle of her palm, jaggedly stuck into it. 

“I knew it,” he groaned, snatching her hand away, “look at how bad that is. Are you kidding me? Come here.” He dragged her out to the hallway until she started to shake him off.

“You’re embarrassing me  in front of everyone, Miguel. Stop, I promise, it’s not nearly that bad, it’s okay! Promise!”

“If it’s not that bad, why were you hiding it? Why is it bleeding? Damn it, you have glass stuck half an inch deep into your hand. Come, now.” He gently swooped her up into a messy bridal-style hold, carrying her into the break room. 

He sat her down on the counter right next to the sink, legs hanging over the side. 

“Duck.”

She bobbed her head down in compliance as he dug through the cabinet behind her, pulling out gauze, tweezers, and disinfecting liquid. Taking the tweezers, he attempted to pull the glass out, wiggling it slightly until it dislodged itself for her palm.

“I just don’t get it,” he sighed frustratedly, “why wouldn’t you just tell me you got hurt?”

“I didn’t want to tell you, I don’t know,” she wiped her face with her uninjured hand, “I was just doing so well, and I messed it up when I broke that beaker.” 

“But why?” He opened the bottle and looked up to meet her eyes, “Hold onto my hand, this will sting.” He drenched the wound and (Y/N) squeezed down onto his hand, digging her nails into it. 

“I guess I didn’t want you to be upset with me, I thought you’d be mad,” she said through gritted teeth. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“No, claro que no. Well, no, yes, I am a bit upset with you. You hurt yourself instead of just telling me and letting me help. I would have cleaned it up for you, you know.”

“I thought you were tired of picking up after me.” 

Miguel wrapped her hand up in gauze, keeping it taut and compression-like. “I did say that, didn’t I? I lied.” He let go of (Y/N)’s hand, lifting the back of it up to his lips. “I’ve missed it a bit. My days feel empty when I do not have a little (Y/N) mess to deal with. Makes me feel useful. Feel better?”

“Yeah, I’m alright now. Thanks, Miguel.”

“Hmph,” he turned her hand around, now placing kisses on her bandaged palm. 

“What are you doing?” She giggled as his hair hit her arm while he peppered kisses over her hand.

“I’m just kissing your boo-boo, mi tesoro, let me work.” He smirked into her hand, knowing he was embarrassing her.

“You don’t have to– mm,” she hummed as he made his way up her arm with the kisses, stopping at her shoulder.

He pulled her shirt to the side, revealing her bare shoulder. He brought his mouth to it and teased his teeth over the exposed patch of skin, not quite biting into it. Miguel took (Y/N)’s face in his hand and kissed her, scraping his teeth against her bottom lip and nibbling on it. He slid his tongue over the raw lip, calming the sharp sting.

He baited her to open her mouth, wrapping his arms around her torso and grabbing her ass. She gasped into his mouth as he forced his tongue in, exploring it. 

“Fuck,” he broke away from the kiss briefly, “I can’t take it anymore, I’m gonna take you again in here, baby.” 

“But, people ‘re still in the lab, what if they catch us?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like that?” He pulled her pants to her ankles, working his hand past the band of her panties, and rubbed light, teasing circles on her clit. “Want everyone to watch me fuck you real good, don’t you?”

Her hips bucked into his whispering touches and she let out a guttural moan. “Nuh-uh, can’t let anyone see us, it’ll be embarrassing,” she gasped. 

“No? Then don’t let them catch us then. Keep quiet, muñequita.” He pushed a finger into her and curled it, chuckling at the choking groan she let out. “I know I make you feel good, but you don’t want everyone in the building to hear you, do you?”

(Y/N) shook her head and grabbed onto Miguel’s forearm while he drilled his fingers into her spongey g-spot. She felt his fingers leave just as warmth started to pool in her stomach, whining at the emptiness.

“Why did you take ‘em out?”

“Hey, don’t whine,” he shushed her, “I want you to finish on my dick, okay, baby?” He pulled her down from the countertop, flipping her around so that her ass pushed into his erection. He slipped his dick out of his pants and pulled her panties to the side, pushing his tip into her. “I don’t know if you deserve the whole thing yet,” he teased, “maybe I’ll make you finish with just the tip, hm?”

“No, please, will you please give me the whole thing? I promise, I’ll be good!”

“Oh, you promise?” He continued to slowly pump his cock’s head into her, inching in and out at a snail’s pace. “Gonna be a good girl?” Seeing the back of her head nod up and down, he pushed deeper into her, letting her walls envelope and suck his length in. “Aw, sweetness, I can feel you already clenching up. Gonna cum quick like a lil slut, huh?”

“Yes– God! Feels so good already, ‘m feelin’ so full now.” She rocked her hips, getting herself off on his cock. 

Pressing his hands into (Y/N)’s hips, Miguel took over and slammed her hips back and forth. Skin slapping and wet squelches filled the room. It drove him crazy.

“God, I can hear your wet little pussy so clearly. Mm, she’s talking to me, baby, saying how good she feels.”

(Y/N) threw her head onto her crossed arms, biting down on her own forearms to silence her ecstatic little mewls. “I’m so close,” she mumbled into her arms.

Miguel snapped her hips into her roughly and leaned forward. “Don’t give me that shy shit, speak up.”

She tried to repeat herself, only to find herself a babbling mess as she drenched his dick with her cum, legs shaking while they tried to support her body.

“Good girl, creaming all over my dick.” He groped her tits from the back, pinching them while she rode out her orgasm. “Mm, you gonna let me cum in you again?

“Yes– anything you want,” she arched into his touch, feeling him tweaking and twisting her buds.

He felt his pace become sloppy and rushed. He rutted deep into her heat and came, spurting his load right into her slick walls. “Fuck, ‘s so good,” he sighed, pulling out of her dripping cunt, watching a stream of his cum pool out of her. He picked her up, placing her back on her spot on the counter. 

“Still feel so good.” (Y/N) leaned forward onto his broad shoulder.

“Yeah? Bet I can make you feel even better next time,” he snickered right by her ear.

“Next time?”

“There’ll always be a next time with you.”

[raphaelsrightarm]

Hi ! can I request a (dating) Donnie x Fem!reader ? just a fluff one shot with the two doing something cute and wholesome up to your choosing such as a movie marathon, making brownies together, his comfort when you have bad cramps etc.

Breathe

Is this corny? Maybe. Actually yes it absolutely is. It's a selfish piece of mine and I make no apologies

Once again I apologize for a long wait and I have multiple old requests that I am still working on so stay tuned haha

My first Donnie fluff let's get it

Words: 2031

Warning: None

You were laying on his chest when you realized he would match your breathing.

It was a rare kind of morning when he had left his lab behind and joined you in his own bed.  He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close as he could. You folded into him so perfectly that it was hard for him to believe that there was ever another path for his life to take without you in it. 

There were times when he would tease you when the swirls across his plastron would put indents on your face, but not today. Today he ran the tips of his lithe fingers along your spine, your shirt pooled at the back of your neck. 

It was so rare to have these moments with him. To pull him from his desk and for him to let you do it, for him to leave behind his safe space. It wasn’t that he didn’t love these moments, he did. More than anything he did. But he was always worried about falling behind. His role was important, one that placed a weight on his shoulders that only you seemed to be able to free him of. 

He was trying to force himself to sleep, you figured out. He hadn’t spoken since he made his way in here to you, pulling you against him and enjoying how warm you were from being wrapped in his comforter all night.

You inhaled deeply against him, feeling him do the same. You had been rising and falling slowly against his plastron all morning, not yet noticing the synchronization. 

He didn’t seem to realize he was doing it, either. His rolling hand along your back had slowed to a stop, his eyes were gently shut. He had finally managed to fall asleep, his warm arm laying limp across you like a quilt.

His breathing had taken on its own rhythm then, but that didn’t stop you from attempting to further prove your theory.  

He appeared in your window the next evening as you were baking cookies. Everything was set out, scattered across the countertops. His eyes took in the explosion of baking supplies before him before finding you in the middle of it. Your expression a mixture of determination and frustration.

“You know,” He started, reveling in the smile you had when you saw him. “People say baking is supposed to be a relaxing activity.”

“Well, the people who say that are the people who are good at it.”

He moved closer to inspect your workstation, his finger running a line through a patch of what might either be flour or baking soda, both of which you had spilled. 

“I know it’s a mess.” You started, but before you could utter an apology at the state of the place, he smiled, shaking his head. 

“Who are these for?” He walked behind you, grabbing dirty measuring spoons and bowls and moving them closer to the sink. 

“They could be for you, if you clean up after me when I’m done.”

He made a show of looking around the kitchen, turning his head to the mess he had congregated to the sink, as well as the surfaces of the counters covered in powder. “I’m not sure I’ll be having any.”

You scoffed. “It’s not that bad.”

“Is this supposed to be on?” He gestured toward the oven, and only then did you realize you meant to begin preheating it when you started. The grin on his face meant he already knew the answer, so you turned your head back toward the bowl. Yet still grateful as you heard the oven beeping behind you as he set the temperature. 

After a few minutes the batch of cookies was in the oven, leaving nothing but 15 minutes to glare at the destroyed kitchen which, as part of the deal, Donnie had begun helping clean up. 

“I don’t understand how you can make a mess like this.” He said, picking up another measuring spoon, adding it to the pile of others to be washed. “Why did you need so many of these?”

“Need is maybe not the most accurate word.” You had the bag of flour in your hands when the possibility came to your mind. It was more of a thought that wouldn’t go away, one that you want to act out even though you knew you shouldn't.

Before you could stop yourself, you hand drifted into the bag, gathering up a small pinch of flour as you walked closer to him. He glanced up to you, unaware of what was coming, just before you flicked the flour toward him. 

You both watched as it barely drifted against him, yet the challenge that sparked in his eyes 

You made a useless attempt to save yourself. “That was an accident,” though saying it through fighting a stubborn laugh didn’t help. 

“I’m sure it was.” He took a step toward you, a smile pulling against his lips. You planned on sprinting around into your living room, maybe even making an attempt to lock yourself in the bathroom. You realized just a moment too late just how long his arms were, and they wrapped around your waist before you could register it. 

He practically tucked you underneath his elbow, freeing his other arm so he could, to your horror, reach his hand into the bowl of flour. 

“Don’t you dare.” You tried to make it sound like a threat, but your breath was short from laughter. Either way, it was a plea that landed on deaf ears as a flick of flour throughout what little space was left between the two of you. You clenched your eyes shut as it scattered across your face. He released you then, laughing so hard you heard him snort.  

You feigned offense, slowly reaching into the bowl yourself. You knew well that he could’ve been halfway across the room by the time you threw a handful of the powder back at him, yet he stayed where he was, the two of you laughing like children as the counters and surrounding floor became covered in a sprinkling of white dust. 

After a while, you doubled over, holding a hand on the counter as you tried to catch your breath. He placed a hand on your back, and slowly, suspiciously, you straightened out. 

You were greeted with a soft smile on his flour patched face, and you knew that if he had gotten hit that you must have been worse. He reached his hand up and ran a thumb across your cheek in an attempt to dust some of it off. 

“Have fun cleaning this up.” You said as he laughed again as he pulled you against his chest, your nose pressed to the underside of his jaw. 

“That could be a fun thing to do together.”

“Who said anything about us doing it together? We had a deal.”

“We never shook on it.” 

The two of you stayed in this moment, ignoring the chaos around you. You searched for it again then, taking in a deep breath, and feeling him do the same. Each breath he took a loving mimic. He felt you smile against his skin, and all he did was hold you tighter. 

It was a few days later  when you struck a deal with him that if he were to leave his desk behind he would be the one to decide what the two of you do. He had chosen movies, secretly because it meant he didn’t have to stray far from his work. 

Though, it wasn’t much of a secret anymore. There had been nights before when you thought you had been able to convince him to leave his lab to get some rest, only for him to sneak away the second you fell asleep. But tonight would not be one of them. 

The two of you had taken up the couch, his brothers making themselves scarce, which you were sure was Donnie’s doing, though you didn’t mind. He held you closer when no one else was around, his hands always absentmindedly massaging your skin.

He had decided upon the first Iron Man film, which was playing before the two of you. You were certain it was because he had seen it already so many times, and he would be ready with slipping back to his work. 

At least he thought he would be, until you decided you wanted to lay on top of him instead of next to him. 

It started with you draping your leg over his. Which he didn’t seem to mind, his hand going to rest easily on your knee. 

Then it turned into shifting to your side to place both your legs over his, hanging them between his knees. 

“What are you up to?” He whispered, his arm that was wrapped around you moving to run his fingertips across your shoulder blades. You shrugged at him, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced. 

The two of you stayed like this for a while, the movie half finished, before you flexed your knees, pulling yourself further onto his lap. He didn’t stop you, instead let out an amused sigh. You dramtically draped over the front of him, legs hanging over his, arms laying out over his sides. His hands went to their usual places on your torso as you felt him relax into the couch, resigning to his new fate. 

“You had this planned all along, didn’t you?”

Your smile answered his question.  “Now you’re stuck here.” You kissed his cheek. “With me.”

“I guess there are worse things.” His chest rising once again to match yours for a brief moment, his hands pressed to your ribs. “But not by much.” 

He laughed as you playfully swatted at his arm. 

His laughter had warped into a song to you. You blamed it on sleep deprivation and simply being wrapped up beside him for so long. 

He had texted you earlier that night to meet him on top of your roof and to bring a coat. When you had arrived, you saw how he had set up a little nest for the two of you. Blankets piled up beneath the two of you and draped over top. He had set up a projector, and the two of you watched a movie before turning attention to the sky, and what few stars you could see. 

The air had bite to it, and you pressed closer to him under the blankets than you were already. You were taking turns pointing out constellations for a while, before you began making up your own. Partly for entertainment, but mostly so you had more reason to stay out here. 

“That one looks like Elton John,” He said, pointing to a random cluster of lights in the sky.

“You’ve said Elton John already.”

“No I haven’t.” He traced the shape. “That’s his head, those are his glasses. Stars already.”

You laughed again. “Ok, that one looks bigger than the other ones, that one’s the north star.” 

“That’s not north.” He squinted. “And I think that’s an airplane.” 

“What?” You noticed then the blinking light tracing behind it, blaming your exhaustion on missing it the first time. “Oh.”

He laughed until he snorted, and you knew he must be tired as well. You found he laughed much easier when he hadn’t slept in a while. You knew the two of you should head inside soon, a safer spot to rest. But this night had been so nice, neither one of you wanted to mention the idea. 

“That one is Casseopeia.” You pointed to the same spot you had been pointing to all night, no longer even attempting to be correct. 

“Casseopeia also points north, dove.” 

“And that’s not north?”

He laughed again, tightening his hold around you. Your eyes became heavy, and you allowed yourself to get lost in the feeling of him so close to you. 

It was then you decided to confirm your theory once more, taking in a large breath of the chill air. He followed a second behind. 

You smiled, drifting off to sleep wrapped within the safety of his arms.

[odetolithium]

Roots - Snapetober Day 6

Harry is in detention, and Severus notices something is off.

Prompts by @superfallingstars

“Potter!��

The boy looked up from his station during detention, hand hovering with the pestle in his grip. He looked blankly at Severus, who was leaning across his desk. Glaring, he pointed to the weapon in Potter’s hand which had been in more contact with the sides of the bowl than the roots in it. Unsurprising to Severus that the boy couldn’t grasp the basics in preparation. “You have been grinding ingredients for five years, Potter. How are you so incompetent with something as simple as asphodel?” The boy blinked, not moving a muscle in his face.

Severus glided over from his desk to the first row of tables. Bearing down on the boy, he saw the distinct shadows under his green eyes. The usual brightness was dulled behind heavy lids. When their eyes met, Potter avert his gaze and stared into the mess of roots in front of him.

“This is how you need to crush them, Potter.” Snatching the pestle, Severus demonstrated with some force, how to prepare the asphodel roots properly. He applied pressure through his wrist and twisted the abrasive tool until the roots were a fine powder. “If the roots are not properly prepared, they won’t dilute with the wormwood,” he explained, transferring the dust to a large vial. “Continue,” he growled, returning to his desk.

“What potion is it used for?” asked Potter. Severus raised an eyebrow at the missing honorific. “- sir,” he hastily added.

“If you brew the powdered asphodel root with an infusion of wormwood, you’ll find yourself concocting a Draught of Living Death,” replied Severus, wearily. “You should already know this, Potter. I will be surprised if you manage to scrape an Acceptable in your OWL,” he sneered, dipping a black feathered quill into a bottle of ink. He glanced over from his marking and saw Potter’s face taught with concentration. The boy remained silent for the rest of the hour, focusing on his task.

As Potter was leaving, Severus strode over to his workstation and noticed a missing vial.

“Did you grind the roots with such strength that they’ve ceased to exist, Potter?” The boy slowly turned, hand grabbing the strap of his backpack. “Sir?” he replied, weakly.

“With the amount of asphodel roots I gave you to prepare, there should be three vials full. Where is the third vial?”

The boy froze. Severus approached him.

“Turn out your pockets, Potter,” he glared, holding his hand for the stolen ingredients. Potter reached inside of his robes and produced a small vial of powder. Severus snatched it from his fingers. “Explain,” he hissed.

“I wanted to brew the potion... the one you mentioned... the de- living one,” Potter explained, poorly. “You know, for my exam... to make sure I can do it,” he said.

“You honestly expect me to believe you - the boy who has shown zero interest in my subject - is willingly brewing a potion outside of his compulsory class?”

“Yes,” Potter replied, icily.

“Where do you expect to get the infusion of wormwood?” jeered Severus, “from my own personal stores, I presume?”

Madness was gathering in pools around them, so Severus took the plunge to rescue the child. No one had been there for Severus when he’d been so desperate to sleep. No one had held his head above the rapid currents, pulling him away from the tide he was desperate to drown in. No one sat him on the shore and comforted him until he was dry and free from dark thoughts.

“The side effects, if consumed against its intended use, are waking nightmares and sleep paralysis. You do not want to experience even a fraction of that terror, Potter. I assure you,” sighed Severus. “You do not want to do this.” Potter’s eyes were glistening, he hastily brushed an arm across his face and cleared his throat.

“Can I get a dreamless sleep, sir?”

“Yes, Potter. I will get you one.”

[gunbun]

FFXIVWrite2024 Day 3: Tempest

“Well. I have been asked to do a great many interesting things since joining the Ironworks,” Nero regarded Urianger and Tiona with a piercing blue gaze, stepping back from his workstation, “but my project manager and her husband has never been one of them.”

“Surprise,” Tiona was making a valiant attempt to look self-assured and unbothered, but she was blushing so deeply that even Nero noticed it under her brown skin and dark clan markings.

“Rest assured that we did, ah, consider the ramifications that such liaisons might impart upon said project. Thy continued work at our laboratory doth remain both desired and required for–” Urianger was no less flustered than his wife, pointy ears beet red and his silvery-blonde eyelashes fluttering against rosy cheeks.

“We're not gonna fire you if you turn us down or if it doesn't work out.” The viera's nose was twitching as she turned her bright red eyes upon him.

Once upon a time, Tiona Eryut was shell-shocked and thrown against the Empire's forces, and she had been a woman of few words and great feats of violence. Now, he looked into her eyes and saw a deeply curious and creative intellect. A woman who, by her own admission, wanted the best people at her side.

And Urianger? The man had a charming, witty whimsy about him, a knack for magitek programming, and was precisely the sort of beautiful, athletic man he'd conjure up for himself on lonely nights.

Everything about this proposition was equally thrilling and terrifying, like riding an airship through a tempest.

“Has your bedroom suffered so greatly from our work here?” A blunt enough question. “I've no desire to be either the cause of or solution to some marital problem.”

“Uri's got a bit of a crush on you and wants to mess around. And I'm willing to join in. It's not that deep. Plus, we've learned a thing or three about working conditions.”

“It had occurred to us both that it was likely thou wert lonely–”

“And our marriage is fine, thank you–”

Nero took a deep breath, scrambling to come up with some sort of smart-arsed retort to hide the fact that Urianger was remarkably and painfully astute about his situation. It's why he'd work until he was just about unconscious; it's why he'd turned his office in the Azem F-1 lab complex into a tiny home for himself.

He was lonely.

“Perhaps,” Urianger continued, “we merely want thee. A balm for thy loneliness and an adventure of a sort for us all.”

“And what makes you think this desire is in any way requited?”

“We don't,” Tiona’s voice was surprisingly soft. “But we figured we'd ask.”

“Gods, Eryut, you could at least take me to dinner, first.” Nero's sarcasm was biting, his last line of defense against all these damnable feelings they were making him feel.

“If that is what thou desirest, it is what we shall aim to give thee.” Urianger stepped closer to Nero and Tiona moved to the other side of the Garlean, hip cocked and resting against the edge of the workstation.

They were closing in on either side of him, but he was no means actually backed into any kind of corner.

“Just tell us yes or no first. So we know to leave you alone if that's what you want.” Nero wasn't sure if Tiona brushed her large and soft ears against the back of his neck on purpose, but her closeness as she spoke was curious and novel.

And then he would turn away from Tiona’s alluring brown curves only to be met with Urianger’s elegance and broad, tanned shoulders and he, too, was so close–

All Nero had to do was stand up and walk away, and they'd never talk about it again.

Tension hung in the air, even through the couple's easygoing smiles. They seemed to have made up their minds about it all, and the only thing left to be settled was his choice.

That he seemed to be their first choice wasn't lost on him.

“Yes,” Nero Scaeva said, changing everything.

[britt-kageryuu]

In a warehouse in New York, the Original Three Purple Dragons are moving boxes and equipment into their new work areas. Checking over the equipment to make sure none it was damaged in transit.

This warehouse is a new workshop for Genius Built, that Donnie is letting them have free run of, for the most part. The trio was still surprised that 'Othello' was letting them work for him, let alone work on tech he created and patented. But the alternative was probably them never being able to work in the technical engineering field ever again.

"Alright, let's get this stuff set up and organized, then check in with Othello on what our first job will be." Kendra ordered the other two while starting to set up her own workstation.

Jason, and Jeremy get to work on their own workstation, some small talk gets tossed around while double checking that the parts are not flipped the wrong way. The last time that happened things didn't line up right, and left quite the annoying gap where the alignment was off.

In the middle of all this a Purple Roomba started up, and moved around the warehouse. The trio don't notice until the Roomba started playing music first softly, then slowly getting louder and louder, until it's blasting at full volume.

They stop working to chase after the weirdly fast Roomba.

"WHO TURNED THAT ON?!"

"NOT ME, I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THERE WAS A ROOMBA HERE!"

"WHY CAN IT PLAY MUSIC SO LOUD ANYWAY?"

After about 10 minutes the Roomba stopped playing music, and returned to its dock in another room.

After catching their breath they returned to their work stations to find a mini Shelldon like drones on their work stations each holding a card that read, 'Sorry, not Sorry, wanted to mess with you a bit for all the trouble you caused me and SHELLDON in the past. -'Othello' Donatello Hamato & Shelldon'

They didn't know what to feel, but it was better to just get back to setting up, and getting to work.

They later noticed the break room had a huge TV connected to a computer that was playing a VOD from a past live stream of Donnie playing a Rhythm Game to techno music.

They still don't know what to think of their new boss.

Though Kendra did threaten to destroy Jason's workstation for a stray comment about her being Donnies Girlfriend.

--------------------

Masterpost

Yes this is part of my VTurtles! Universe. I have a couple of plans for the Purple Dragons, mainly as the future Event Tech Crew.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Turn It Up When You're Gone (2/2)

The conclusion... Or is it? Posting these has got my thots going again, so I may need to write another installment. UPDATE: I did it. Also, this chapter has one of my favorite lines I've ever written. Guess which one?

Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI

Pairing: Sev x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Summary: Delta Squad is back on board your Star Destroyer, and Sev is determined to make up for lost time. Reader is about to learn that commandos do it better.

Warnings: SMUT; voice kink, praise kink, body worship, facef*cking (but not like you expect)

Previous chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist

Delta squad is back on the Guarlara two days later. You know this because they stroll casually into the mess while you’re eating breakfast. You almost stab yourself in the face with your fork when the one with the blood-red paint turns and looks right at you. Your eyes widen, and you can feel the heat rush to your cheeks.

“Girl, you good?” Jeelee asks, noticing your agitation.

“Yeah, I just—uh, I realized I need to—I forgot, um—” you stammer.

You can practically see Sev’s smirk behind his helmet. 

Cocky bastard.

“I need to stop by the, uh, med bay before my shift starts,” you finish lamely.

“Are you all right?” Drinna asks, concern evident in their wide eyes.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just, uh, lady problems.”

“What kind of lady problems?” Draa asks, confused.

Jeelee and Drinna send pitying glances at the clone trooper. 

“Sorry, was that too nosy?” the clone asks with a sheepish expression. “I just don’t have much experience, is all.”

“That’s okay, Draa,” you reassure him. “You should ask the medic to explain it.”

You excuse yourself and make a beeline out of the mess. You’ve listened to Sev’s recording more times than you care to admit, and you aren’t quite prepared to face him in front of an audience of dozens of clones—not to mention the coworkers who already know about your crush.

When you reach your workstation, your message indicator light is blinking.

“Tactical, this RC-1207. Any trouble with those feeds?”

You record a response. “No trouble, 1207. Everything came through loud and clear. If you want to run another diagnostic, be sure to do it after 2100 hours when the feeds update.”

There. That ought to do it. Subtle enough not to raise any eyebrows if anyone overhears, and obvious enough for him to figure it out.

---

When you return to your quarters promptly at 2100 hours, Sev is already waiting for you, helmet and gloves removed and resting on the floor. He stands up from his seat on the edge of your bunk as the door slides open to admit you. You step inside quickly and close the door.

“Hi,” you say. You sound nervous, even to yourself.

“Hi,” he replies.

You’ve had all day to think about this. For hours, your mind has tormented you with erotic fantasies, heating your skin and leaving you drenched and slippery. You have imagined Sev’s large hands touching you everywhere, his talented mouth drifting over your body as he tells you all the filthy, delicious things he wants to do to you, the fullness of his cock as he stretches you out.

But now that he’s here, in the flesh, in your space, you feel awkward. He’s a big man, even bigger in his armor, and the small room feels crowded with both of you inside. You aren’t sure what to say, or what to do with your hands. They’ve taken on a mind of their own, fluttering in front of you, fidgeting with your cuffs, and finally wrapping around your waist in a self-soothing embrace. Sev also seems unsure what to do, and it occurs to you that you’ve invited a total stranger into your bunk. 

“I’m Sev,” he says.

“I know,” you nod. “I heard on the feeds.”

“Should I just call you ‘tactical’?” he asks. “I want to make sure I’m yelling the right name all night.”

You laugh and tell him your name.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you whisper.

You expect him to go straight for the goods, so it’s a surprise when he takes your hand and draws it away from your body. He strokes his thumb across your skin, across your fingers, across your wrist.

“I knew you’d be soft. Even softer than I imagined,” he says with satisfaction. He presses his fingers to the pulse point on your wrist. “Your heart is racing, little one. Are you sure you want this?”

“I’m sure,” you say. You raise your free hand to trace the lines of his face, and he leans into the contact, closing his eyes. You wonder if he’s ever felt a gentle touch before. You brush your fingers over his skin. Intellectually, you have always known what he would look like, but now you take in all the small details that make him unique from his fellow clones. The scars, the faint lines around his eyes, the slightly longer-than-regulation hair, the prickly scruff of a beard that hasn’t been shaved in three cycles. Deep circles under his eyes betray his exhaustion, and you feel a momentary twinge of guilt at keeping him awake after a mission.

“Do—do you?” you ask. 

His mouth twists in a half smile. “It’s all I’ve thought about for the last three rotations. I want this.”

He presses his lips to your palm, and then he reaches for you, pulling you into his strong arms, capturing your mouth in a kiss. His duraplast armor is hard and cool against you, and you scramble for purchase against it. 

“You taste amazing,” he says against your lips. His tongue brushes against you, and you part your lips to let him in.

Oh, damn, he’s good. He kisses you with an intense, single-minded focus, as though you—your mouth, your lips, your tongue, your pleasure—are the only thing in the galaxy. There’s no awkward, over-enthusiastic tongue thrusting; just slow, skillful movement that pulls you in and steals your breath. His kiss leaves you lightheaded and unsteady, and you’re grateful for the way he cradles your body in his arms, keeping you from melting into a quivering heap at his feet.

“Kriff me, did they teach you to kiss like that in commando school?” you breathe.

“Yeah, we learned it after hostage extraction and before demolitions,” he says, deadpan.

You laugh again, and he looks very pleased with himself.

“They also taught us how to take off our armor in under a minute,” he says. “Want to see a demonstration?”

“Will you do a sexy dance while you show me?” you ask.

“That might slow me down,” he replies.

“In that case, skip the dance,” you say. “What’s your personal best time?”

“Thirty-nine seconds. I was motivated,” he says.

“And are you motivated now?” you ask.

“Time me and find out,” he suggests.

“I’d rather enjoy the show,” you say.

“Don’t blink,” he says with a smirk.

He strips off his armor. He works efficiently, and you watch with interest. You’ve never seen a clone go through the process before. He starts with his vambraces, works his way up his arms, then removes the cuirass and proceeds down his torso and legs. Each piece is stacked neatly as he removes it, and you suspect the habit is so ingrained in him that he couldn’t leave the duraplast in a messy pile if he tried.

“I think I shaved a couple seconds off my best time,” he says once he’s stripped down to his body glove.

You remember the way he tallies his kills on each mission.

“You’re very competitive, aren’t you?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “How many times did you make yourself come to that recording?”

Your skin heats, and you aren't sure if you're embarrassed, aroused, or both. “Why do you want to know?”

“Professional curiosity. Also, I want to know how many to aim for tonight.”

“Uh, six,” you confess.

“That’s only two per day,” he says. “I’ll have to do better with my next recording.”

“It was actually three the first night and only one on the second. I was tired,” you explain, a little defensively.

“I hope you’re rested up,” he says, tugging you into another searing kiss.

You slide your hands up his back, feeling the hard muscles shift beneath the black fabric of his body glove. The man is massive, built like a tank, and if the bulge you feel pressing against your belly is what you think it is, he is proportionate all the way down. You grind your pelvis against him experimentally, and in response, he crowds you against the wall, growling into your mouth. 

Actually growling. Maker save you.

His hands settle on your hips as he pulls you against him. Yep, definitely proportionate, you think.

His kisses are hot and frantic now, and his hands roam possessively over your body. He moves his mouth along your jaw, down your neck, next to your ear. His warm breath whispers across your skin, leaving a thrill of arousal in its wake.

“Do you know how hard it is to stay focused on the mission when all I can think about is you, fucking yourself to my voice?”

“Tell me,” you gasp, needing to hear those obscene words from him.

“Almost got nailed by a vulture droid ‘cause I was thinking about these tits.” He slides his hand up the rough wool of your uniform to palm your breast. “Oh, kark, that’s good. So fuckin’ good. Let me see you.”

You start to unzip your uniform jacket, but Sev is impatient. He yanks the zipper down and shoves the jacket off your arms.

“How many kriffing layers are you wearing?” he demands.

“Only three more,” you laugh. “Let me help.”

You unbutton and remove your uniform blouse, then slip your undershirt off over your head and unclasp your bra as Sev unzips your trousers and tugs them down.

“Finally,” he says when you are fully bare. “Stars, look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He trails his hands reverently across your skin. His fingertips are rough and calloused, but they touch you with an aching tenderness that leaves you breathless. He drops to his knees, bringing his head level with your chest, and draws you to his mouth. The sensation is overwhelming. His busy hands touch you everywhere: fondling your breasts, sliding up the inside of your thigh to squeeze your ass, brushing across your clitoris to feel the dampness gathering there.

“Sev,” you breathe as he sucks your nipple into his mouth. His lips tug insistently as his tongue swirls over you again and again, and your body thrums in response.

“Fucking perfect tits,” he mumbles against you. “Even better than I thought. So soft. You look so good in my hands.”

You look down to see his large, brown hand on your breast, your flesh spilling out between his fingers as he squeezes you gently.

“You can be rougher with me,” you whisper, “if you want.”

His dark eyes snap to yours, and he pinches your nipple experimentally. Pleasure shoots through you, and you gasp, your head dropping backward to lean against the cold durasteel walls.

“Like this?” he asks, sucking your nipple into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth.

“Yes!” you hiss. “Harder!”

He groans and does as you order, finally giving you the intense stimulation you crave.

“Oh fuck, yes, just like that, don’t stop, keep going,” you chant.

His clever mouth is doing unspeakable things to you. Kissing, sucking, biting, teasing, worshiping. You are stunned to feel your orgasm building, and you wonder if it is possible for you to come like this. The tension draws tighter and tighter, but you need more. 

Sev releases your breast and kisses down your belly. He pauses when he reaches your hip, working over you with excruciating thoroughness. 

“Kark, I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks,” he says, his voice even deeper than usual. “I wanted you the first time I saw you.” He presses a hard, open-mouth kiss onto your hip bone, and his tongue flicks across your skin. “Jerked my cock to you every time I took a shower. I made myself come so many times imagining this beautiful little cunt.” 

He is still playing with your breast with one hand, squeezing and pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. His other hand grasps your ass roughly, digging his fingers into your flesh. His kisses are brutal, hovering on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain, leaving a stinging trail as he makes his way slowly—so agonizingly slowly—across your pelvis.

And gods, it’s so much. It’s too much, and you can’t stand it any more. You grab his head and shove him against your pussy, and his tongue flicks out to slide between your labia and swirl over your clitoris, and fuck that’s it right there just like that—fuck! Your orgasm takes you by surprise, slamming into you, wrenching his name from your throat in a ragged cry. Your hips buck against Sev’s face, and you would feel bad for using him like this, but he’s grunting with pleasure, and his mouth is on you and his tongue is inside you, and he’s grabbing your ass to pull you even harder against him as you fuck his face, and then your legs give out, and he catches you, supporting your weight with his strong arms as he sucks your clit into his mouth until he wrings out the last tremors of your orgasm, and then he eases you down the durasteel wall to rest on his thighs.

Your lungs heave for oxygen, and your forehead drops to rest on his shoulder. He’s still wearing his body glove, and the fabric is soft against your face. He wraps his arms around you, stroking the back of your head as he whispers the sweetest words in your ear: so good for me, so beautiful, taste so sweet, so pretty when you come, love to watch you lose control, so fucking sexy.

You roll your head to face him, burying yourself against his neck. He smells like salt and skin and battlefield smoke and bacta, and your tongue darts out to taste him, drawing a rumble of pleasure from his chest.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

He lets out a single, short laugh. “No, babygirl. You could fuck me into the ground, and I’d thank you for giving me a warrior’s death.”

You can feel his erection pressing against you, and you slide your hand down his body to stroke his length through the thin fabric of his body glove.

“In that case, I should probably take care of this,” you murmur. “Can’t fuck all night if we don’t start early.”

---

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul

[green-fifteen]

Day 4: Harry Du Bois Gets a Clue

Prompt: Learn Fandom: Disco Elysium Pairing: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi Word count: 796 Summary: YOU - Wait, you have a boyfriend? read on AO3 instead

for @fluffyfebruary

DESK OF HARRIER DU BOIS - Spilled coffee streams down the side of your desk, drips from paperwork that is due to be processed in only a few hours. The papers are fully soaked now, however. Along with your badge and the end of your tie.

PERCEPTION [Easy: Success] - There is someone standing behind you, watching the coffee spread over the floor.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Oh, nice. I was thinking your workstation was getting too neat. Only right that a fucking mess gets to wallow in his own disaster."

YOU - "You know what? This is the end for me."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Don't be an idiot. If you were going to die, you would have done it already."

YOU - "No, I really think this time is the one. Each day only brings new torment."

VOLITION - It does feel bad, but you might be exaggerating. You're already thinking about where you're going to find a mop and a cloth to clean this mess.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "No, absolutely. You're right. Just end it, Dick Mullen! It's not like your boyfriend would have anything to say about it-- then again I wouldn't put it past you to forget that when you take the shot."

LOGIC [Easy: Failure] - Boyfriend?

YOU - "Boyfriend?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "I am not doing this with you, you prick. Fuck off." He strides away.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - Since you've been back from Martinaise in one piece (minus some core memories), you might have laid it on kind of thick one or two times. Things like 'Jean, help me file these reports, I don't know where anything is because I have amnesia.' and 'Jules, can you call Requisitions for me, I don't know the number because I have amnesia." You suspect, no-- you know your amnesia is getting on everyone's nerves.

EMPATHY - He's a little worried about you, anyway. That's probably why he mentioned your boyfriend.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Challenging: Failure]- Wait a damn minute. Back to the boyfriend thing. Did you forget about him? Was he swept away in the flood of booze and amphetamines, along with everything else? You're getting a sick feeling in your stomach.

PERCEPTION - At that very moment, you see your partner. He just walked in from the snow, his hat peppered with snowflakes. He makes eye contact.

ELECTRO-CHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - Your stupid heart beats a little off tempo.

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success]- Kim always knows what to do. Ask Kim about this.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant comes closer, unwinding his long scarf and removing his hat. He gives you a small smile as he sits down across from you.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Good morning, detective."

YOU - "Good morning."

INLAND EMPIRE - You shouldn't rush into questioning him. Just be friendly, first.

YOU - "So, Jean said I have a boyfriend."

KIM KITSURAGI - "He did?" One eyebrow is lifted high on his face.

YOU - "I spilled my coffee all over my desk, that's why he brought it up."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Okay," he says, sounding unsure but still smiling at you. "I don't mind. I know we haven't talked about it precisely and 'boyfriend' is perhaps a tad puéril… but it's good enough for most people in relationships."

YOU - You have no idea what he's talking about.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - Don't you? Don't you feel that, champ?

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Challenging: Success] - Kim is looking at you with humor, seeming to expect you to take your time. Suddenly, it's very clear: Kim Kitsuragi is your boyfriend.

ELECTRO-CHEMISTRY [Medium: Success]- YEAH! YES! Holy shit, do you know what this means? Boyfriends make out, big dog! They do more than that. They touch each other, Harry. Tell Kim you want to touch him, right now. Maybe you can convince him to do it on your desk.

VOLITION - Do not do that. You're at work, don't embarrass yourself.

LOGIC - Your desk is covered in coffee.

DRAMA - But what if he said yes, my lord? Think of the spectacle-- the other officers would know then, wouldn't they? They would all know that Kim Kitsuragi belongs to you.

YOU - "Gah."

KIM KITSURAGI - He looks on the verge of laughter. His eyes are folded up in mirth behind his glasses.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Come over again tonight. I'm cooking."

ELECTRO-CHEMISTRY [Godly: Success]- Ask if you should bring your pajamas.

YOU - "Should I bring my pajamas?"

KIM KITSURAGI - He can't resist chuckling softly at the look on your face.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - You're certain you know the face you're making. It's a terribly fond one, with a heavy flavor of awe. You look like someone just handed you a warm puppy.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I would like that."

[fandomworld9728]

The Life of the Morningstars - Chapter 7:

"Maybe it's time."

"No."

"To ask."

"Don't say it!"

"Your dad."

What was this mess that Alastor had walked in on? The princess seemed to be lacking sleep and extremely stressed. The cork board a mess of ideas. Not to mention that odd reaction over asking the king for assistance. Was he that much of a neglectful father?

"Charlie, I know you don't want to. But we need every advantage we can get."

"But this is my project. I don't want to bother him with it. I know he said he'd help with whatever I need, but he's also been really busy since I told him about the Extermination Day move up. At least I hope he's busy with that and not having another bad episode... especially since this type of work involves him talking to Heaven. No. Wait! I can show him that I can be the best alpha for a pack ever! Invite him over and show him all the hard work we're doing."

"Seeing this place and all your effort might have him offering his help so you don't have to ask."

"Yes! My thoughts exactly Vaggie." Taking out her phone, Charlie hesitated to call him. She didn't want him to feel like she was coddling him. The alpha didn't need another stern but caring lecture about how he was the parent and was supposed to take care of her, not the other way around. But they had always taken care of each other. Even before mom left.

"What's the hold up? You got daddy issues?" Husk asked even though he could already see it in everything the princess did. It was like she had a neon sign following her around telling everyone about it.

"What? No. We just... He doesn't like when I try and take care of him. Even though he's been depressed since mom left and broke their mating bond. He throws himself into his work or passion projects so much that he hardly ever calls me. I'm usually the one to call and check in on him. Which scares me... I don't want a repeat of the last time." As she spoke, Charlie felt that nagging feeling in the back of her head telling her that something was very wrong. That she needed to rush over to the palace. Now.

"Daddy issues."

"Well, I'd like to meet the big dick in charge."

"The ultimate bad boy~ I bet he's scary."

Trying to ignore Niffty's manic laughter, Charlie finally gave in and hit the call button. "Please... please, please, please pick up."

~

Lying in bed, Lucifer shifted and groaned at the sound of his phone. How long had he been asleep? Why was it so dark? He could have sworn he had kept the light on to work. He didn't even remember crawling into bed. Maybe Beel or Ozzie stopped by and found him asleep at his workstation again. Grabbing his phone, he was surprised to see who was calling. "Daughter- daughter?! Daughter calling?! Oh fuck. When was the last time we spoke? Did I go too long without contacting her again? Oh, she must be so worried."

Quickly answering, Lucifer tried to make himself sound awake and perky instead of dead tried. No matter how much sleep he's been getting lately it never feels like it's enough. "Hey sweetie."

"Hi dad. I-Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Everything's fine. I just woke up actually. Uh... h-how did it go confronting that Overlord?"

"...It didn't go well- Dad is that the last thing you remember before your nap?" Fuck. She sounded worried. He didn't wanna lie to her...

"Y-Yes."

"Oh fuck..."

< Previous

Next >

[hobbit-historian]

All you had to do was stay pt2

Rooster x reader.

Not my gif

Second part to this story here.

Warnings: not much. Less angst than part one. Mentions of injuries and probably some incorrect military information.

Y/c/s - your call sign

Y/n/n - your name now

She dug through the pile of tools, muttering under her breath as she looked for the specific one that she needed. Finding it at the very bottom, she pulled it free and placed her other hand out to stabilize the pile. She really needed to clean her desk.

And it would get done.

Later.

Right now, she was working on an F/A-18, and she only needed this one tool.

None of the others littering the work station or the floor around the plane. If her CO found the hanger in such a mess, he would blow his top and she would be stuck doing whatever PT she could do for weeks.

So would get it clean. It would just have to be later, after she fixed the plane.

Scuttlebutt said that a bunch of Top Gun graduates were coming back in today and that the extra Super Hornets would need to be operational. She was to get them ready and then send them to be painted. The names were to updated for the incoming pilots, it seemed.

Further scuttlebutt implied that the great Captain Pete Mitchel would be coming back as well. She swallowed hard as his name crossed her mind.

Her dad.

Pete Mitchel was her dad.

But that was something else that she would deal with later, much like her messy workstation.

Much later.

So she fixed the plane, letting the intricacies of the work silence her mind. Grease coated her OCPs, her hands, her face. Her only focus was the piece of machinery in front of her and above her.

So when someone walked in, hollering her name, she jumped, sending her bad shoulder straight into the wing of the plane. She cursed the semi for a moment, wincing and rubbing at the sore muscle.

“Y/n/n? Is there a y/n/n here?” A male voice called from the other side of the Super Hornet, confusion laced through every word.

She sighed. The only people who didn’t know who she was were the haughty pilots who were here for the Top Gun program and then left, to parts unknown, to pass on their knowledge. She didn’t interact with the pilots much, no matter how nice any of them were rumored to be.

She didn’t trust them, plain and simple.

She had been one of them once.

Now she was a mechanic, living on borrowed time until the Navy found out that her medical records were faked.

So when she walked around the nose of the jet, she was expecting a pilot.

But she wasn’t expecting him.

Rooster.

He started, and then just… stopped.

She expected cursing, anger, for him to turn and walk away, anything.

Anything other than the silence and staring that was going on right now.

She stared right back, crossing her arms. Too late, she realized that grease was stuck under her fingernails in little halfmoons. She curled her fingers in, trying to hide them.

“Can I help you?” She snapped at him. She’s didn’t have time for the one person who had made her cry in public.

Rooster blinked, hard, and then swallowed.

“Y/c/s? Is that you?” His voice was quiet and choked. He cleared his throat and then motioned toward her. “I uh, heard about your accident. With the semi.”

She narrowed her eyes at the pilot and gave him a moment before she spoke.

“Yes. But two surgeries and almost two years of physical therapy and I’m here, alive.” She indicated the plane behind her and said “I’m a mechanic now. And I go by y/n/n.” She didn’t feel like telling him that she didn’t use the call sign anymore since she wouldn’t ever be flying again.

Rooster swallowed again, nodding this time. “Of course. Makes sense. I’m, I’m just glad you’re alive. And that you don’t look too…” he gestured across his body and face and then winced.

She stared. Did he really just say that? Did he really just comment on the fact that she looked mostly normal, after all that she had been through? She clenched her fists and inhaled. A count of ten and then she exhaled.

Her temper had been a lot worse since the accident. The doctors said that some things in her personality would be different - the trauma and PTSD alone would do that to the psche, let alone any actual damage to her brain that might’ve occurred.

And this encounter was going to call upon all of the therapy sessions she had gone to since the accident.

“Thanks,” she snapped.

“I, that’s not what I meant.”

“Of course not.” She sighed through her nose. “What did you want again?”

Rooster nodded. “They told me that you were the best mechanic they have.”

“And?”

“I need you to look at my Hornet. Felt a little off during training today.”

Training today? How long had the pilots been in for?

How long had her dad been here?

Later, she reminded herself. Much, much later.

She shook her head and looked back up at the F/A-18 behind her. “Going to be a while. Still finishing this one.” She jabbed her thumb at it.

Rooster nodded. “That one for Yale?”

She quirked and eyebrow at him and shrugged. “I dunno. All I know is that I was supposed to get it fixed before the lot of you got here and it seems like I’m behind. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to that. And then you bring me your Hornet and maybe I can take a look at it. Maybe.”

She didn’t even know why she was agreeing to this. Most likely, there was nothing wrong with the plane, and Rooster was just not flying how he needed to.

But she remembered what it was like being up there, feeling all of the pieces of the plane working together in a harmony that it seemed only the pilot could hear.

So when Rooster agreed and then turned to walk out of the hanger, she stopped him.

“When is your next training session?”

He squinted up at the sun and answered, “this afternoon.”

“Make sure you bring your plane over after lunch then. And you’ll need to stick around so you can figure out if I fix whatever is going on.”

He nodded. Rooster still didn’t look at her, glancing down at the ground this time.

“And Rooster? Don’t hate on my work this time, ok?”

The pilot looked up at her now, a smile ghosting his lips. “Of course, y/n/n. I’m sure you’re still the best there is.”

***

Rooster walked away from the hanger, still unable to believe his luck. He had thought about graduation every night since then. He had nightmares of y/c/s - y/n/n - staring him down and then leaving, tears spilling down her face.

He had showed up to the hospital once, as soon as he could get leave, to talk to her. He knew about the surgeries, knew about the rehab, knew about the broken bones. But he hadn’t been able to make it past the front desk once he found out her room number. Instead he had sent her flowers, a stuffed bear, and a card that merely said “get better soon.” He wasn’t surprised that when he had mustered up enough courage to try visiting again that he saw a little boy carrying that stuffed bear out and the wilted flowers sitting in the nurse’s station.

He hadn’t tried since then.

And honestly? He had pushed the thing so far back in his mind that his subconscious still thought that she was in the hospital. Not back at Miramar, working as a mechanic. And apparently a hell of a mechanic at that.

He’d gone in thinking “y/n/n” was going to be some gangly guy with glasses.

Instead it ended up being the worst mistake of his life.

But here was a second chance, a way to repair his busted heart and their relationship. Maybe it was beyond repair, but it was worth a shot.

A tug in his chest stopped him in his tracks.

What if…?

Not waiting for his chicken heart to give out again, he turned around and ran back into the hanger.

“Y/n/n?” He called out for her, hoping beyond hope that she would answer with a more pleasant expression than last time.

She poked under the plane, face hard. “Yes?”

“We’re going to the Hard Deck tonight for drinks. You should come.”

She considered for a minute.

Rooster’s heart beat in his ears, drowning out everything else.

She met his eyes and nodded. “Ok. I’ll see you there. Six sound ok?”

Rooster broke out into a grin. “Yeah. Six sounds great.

[lifetimeshipper]

Life's New Adventures and Secrets

Chapter 30

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Strongarm woke up feeling weird, she felt something attached to her aft but didn't know what. She reached down and felt a tail, but not Steeljaw's tail. With a yelp, she jumps out of the berth and looks to see she now has a tail, "What the..!?"

Steeljaw bolted up, "What's wrong?" He asked as he looked at her, "You have Wolf-Con ears."

"I do?" She asked as she felt her helm and felt a pair of ears up there, "What the frag? I got ears too?"

Before Steeljaw could say anything else he heard a high-pitched scream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Metalsound and Thunderhoof woke up to the scream, "Who screamed---what in the?!" Metalsound looked at Thunderhoof in shock, he had small wolf-like ears just below his antlers.

"What?" Thunderhoof asked feeling confused.

"You have wolf ears," she replied slowly, reaching up to feel his ears, "They're real and surprisingly soft."

"I do?" He asked as he reached up to feel his helm and felt the ears, "Eyo! Who gave me wolf ears!?"

"That's not all you have," she replied, pointing at his tail.

He looks down at his new tail, "I also have a tail!?"

"I think it looks nice on you," she smiled as she intertwined their tails together.

Thunderhoof felt it and smiled, "Maybe it's not so bad after all."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How the heck did I get wolf ears?!" Knock Out was outside running around the scrapyard in a panic.

Ratchet throws a wrench at him, "Calm down!"

Knock Out flinched as he fell to the ground. Optimus and Megatron both came out to see what was happening, "Does everyone have a tail and ears?" Optimus asked.

Everyone else came out, "Would appear so," Ratchet replied after seeing everyone.

"So, why do we have Wolf-Con ears and a tail?" Sideswipe asked in anger, his new tail lashed out in tune with his emotions.

"Not sure," Optimus replied.

"Maybe Shockwave will know," Knock Out suggested feeling annoyed.

"Where is Shockwave?" Steeljaw asked.

"Probably in his lab, follow me."

Steeljaw followed to see Shockwave. He walks in and finds Shockwave knocked out, "Shockwave!"

Shockwave slowly got up from his workstation, "What time is it?" He didn't notice the Wolf-Con tail or ears on him.

"Shockwave, were you in here experimenting last night?" Steeljaw asked him.

"Yes, I am still trying to figure out how I can revive the Predacons. The substances didn't mix and it made a small mess. Why, is something wrong?"

"Yes. But rather than tell you I'll show you."

"Alright."

Shockwave followed Steeljaw outside. Steeljaw had him look at the others with wolf ears and a tail, "This is what's wrong."

Shockwave circled Sideswipe, taking everything in, "This is very interesting," he muttered much to Sideswipe's discomfort.

"Why are you only circling me? There are others here you know."

"You were closer," he stated as he moved to look at Strongarm, "May I?" He asked motioning his servo to one of her ears.

"Sure."

Shockwave started rubbing her ear before he scratched behind it. Strongarm got into it before she pushed his servo away, "Wow. Now I see why you like being rubbed and scratched behind your ears," she said to Steeljaw.

"It feels nice, doesn't it?" He grinned as Shockwave examined Megatron's tail.

"It does actually," she replies with a bit of a blush on her faceplate.

"What happened, Shockwave?" Megatron asked a bit annoyed at the 'Con examining his tail.

"I am unsure," Shockwave replied as he examined his own tail, "I will have to look into this."

"Yes, you do that."

Shockwave retreated to his lab as Seajumper came out yelling for his mom.

"Right here, sweetie. Are you okay?"

"I have these things on my helm and butt," the sparkling motioned to his wolf ears and tail.

"Cool, everyone has a tail," Emberwing said as she looked at the adults.

Nightback runs up to his mom, " Mom, you have ears and a tail like Dad and me."

"Yes, we're not sure why though. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Yeah."

"OK everyone, let's get started on patrols," Bumblebee told them as he headed out on patrol with Drift and Grimlock.

"Nightback, your mom and I are going on patrol you be good, you hear?"

"Yes, sir."

~~~~~~~~~~

Steeljaw and Strongarm drive along the path, "I always wondered what it was like having a tail but I never expected to actually get one."

Steeljaw chuckled softly, "How long do you think it'll last?"

"Not sure, temporary I hope, feels kind of weird."

"I'm sure it is, I've had a tail all my life. I would miss it if it was suddenly gone."

"I'm gonna need to get used to maneuvering with it."

Steeljaw chuckled again, "Don't worry, I'll help you," he crooned.

"I hope so."

"Would you let me rub your ears as you do for me?"

"Maybe..."

"Please, after all of the rubs you've given me, I want to return the favor. Besides, it makes you look cute."

"I may let you if you can catch me," she says as she drives off onto a path leading into the woods.

Steeljaw quickly followed after her. You just love having me chase after you, don't you?

Guess I like the thrill of it.

Who knew you had a wild side? He teased.

All due to you. You're the reason I'm like this now.

I like having a challenge.

And that's why you had me start walking on the wild side?

Is that bad?

I guess not. Strongarm giggled as she kept driving. Steeljaw followed after her through the forest. He was suddenly reminded of their first race. Strongarm keeps driving through the woods trying to keep ahead of him. Steeljaw zigzagged around the trees trying to catch up. Losing your touch?

You'll see. He chuckled as he made a turn.

What? She asked looking into her mirror and seeing Steeljaw make a turn. Steeljaw floored it making his way past her. Slowly he made his way in front of her. Strongarm wanted to turn and go another way but there was no way, it was too narrow to turn around and go back. Steeljaw smirked as he transformed, quickly turning around with his arms spread out. Strongarm slammed on her brakes screeching to a halt, "Steeljaw, have you lost it!?"

"What? I thought you were going to transform like you did last time."

"You mean like this?" She says before she transforms and jumps over him. Steeljaw just smiled and chased after her.

What did I do the last time?

When I thought I had you cornered you jumped over me.

Oh, just like how I just did? She asked before she giggled.

Steeljaw chuckled, trying his best to keep up with her. It was odd seeing her with a tail but it made her look sexy. Strongarm keeps running through the woods, she makes a right turn going through the trees. Steeljaw was right behind her, hot on her tail. Suddenly her tail got under her feet and tripped her up. Steeljaw quickly caught her by the arm to keep her from falling.

They both went down and started rolling down a hill. Steeljaw pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her as they made their way down the hill. They landed on the bottom with him on top of her, "I really need to get the hang of walking and running with this tail."

"Yes. Are you okay?" He asked wincing a little.

"Yeah. Are you?"

"I'm alright," he assured.

"Well, you got me."

"I guess I did," he teased as he started rubbing and scratching her ears. She leans her helm into his touch, "Feels good?"

"Yes," she replies in a smutty whisper as she gives him a cute look, the sunshine is glimmering in her optics.

Steeljaw gave a throaty chuckle, "You are so beautiful," he whispered before kissing her passionately. Strongarm started blushing as she kissed him back. Steeljaw's servo started roaming over her body.

I hope you're not planning on having us do it right here in the open.

Why don't we find a place where we can continue this in private?

Why must these games always end in having sex?

I'm not sure but I like it.

Just this once, can we end a game without sex?

Yes. Steeljaw chuckled as he gave her a soft kiss on her forehelm.

"Thank you. As much as I enjoy it we don't need to do it all the time."

"I understand," Steeljaw says as he gets off of Strongarm and offers his servo to help her up. She took his servo and stood up. "Shall we head back?"

"I didn't say we had to head back."

"I know, but everything looks fine in this area. Unless you want to continue on the patrol."

"Actually, I had something else in mind," she said as she started walking back up the hill.

Steeljaw quickly followed after her, "What did you have in mind?"

"You'll see."

Steeljaw didn't say anything as he scanned through the radio stations, quickly finding their song. Their song started playing and Strongarm lost her footing and slid back down the hill right into him, her aft bumping into his interface panel. Steeljaw caught her as he slid back but kept his footing, "Are you okay?" He asked.

"Yeah," she replies feeling her faceplate heat up at the feeling of her aft pressed against his interface panel. Steeljaw's face also heated up as he held her close, "We should get going," she tells him as she tries to get out of his hold.

"You're right," he says as he releases her. They continued walking up the hill and soon made it to the top. Strongarm went down to the ground pulling him down on top of her, on her back, when she heard a noise, "What is it?" He whispered as his ears perked up for the sound.

"Humans," she whispered back to him, "Get down so they don't see you."

Steeljaw got low to the ground, keeping out of sight and the humans passed them. That was close.

Yes. You can get off me now.

But I like this position. He tells her as he wraps his arms around her, "I want to stay like this."

"Steeljaw, we need to get going."

"Alright," he says as he gets up. Strongarm got up as Steeljaw walked past her, popping her aft playfully. She let out a small yelp. Steeljaw glanced at her with a playful smile and Strongarm punched him in the arm. Steeljaw winced at the punch, chuckling through the pain. Strongarm just walked on.

"You still live up to your name," he chuckled as he followed her.

"Of course. You still want to head back?"

"Why don't we enjoy this beautiful day before we head back?"

"I agree, I actually want us to go to that one cliffside where you took me that one time."

"That sounds like fun. Do you remember which way to go?"

Strongarm stops and turns to look at him, "You mean you forgot?"

"No, did you?"

"No," she says as she continues walking. Steeljaw followed after her. She went right to the cliff, "Remember when we were last here?"

Steeljaw wrapped his tail around hers, "How can I forget? This was where I played our song for the first time," he replied as he held her servo.

"Yeah, it was," she said with a chuckle. He gently rubbed their helms together, happy to be with her and to have her as his mate. Steeljaw intertwined their tails together as he enjoyed the view. Strongarm leaned against his body as she too enjoyed the view.

After sitting there enjoying the view for some time, Strongarm speaks up, "We should head back now."

"Yeah, we should. Don't want them to start worrying because we didn't return at the time we were supposed to."

Strongarm nodded in agreement as she started walking and he followed close behind her, intertwining their tails as they walked. Strongarm giggled, "You love intertwining our tails together."

"And I'll do it as often as I can. But I prefer wrapping it around your waist," he chuckled as he moved his tail to her waist.

Strongarm just chuckled, "Actually, I much prefer that as well."

They get back to the scrapyard and get greeted by their son Nightback, "Mom, Dad, you're back! Have a nice patrol?"

"We did, and no there were no Decepticons," Steeljaw replied as he rubbed his son's helm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The GrimBee Story

Chapter 1

Next Chapter

[womanofwords]

Brown and Parker Decorating

Hobie squinted at the sheets of stickers in Mayday’s chubby hands. “What the hell are these?” he asked her dad.

Peter B. Parker made a face and jerked his head towards the infant girl. “Watch your language in front of my daughter!” he hissed.

Hobie kissed his teeth. “You do know that in my dimension, I lead riots against the police for fun? And I did tell you I wasn’t a role model. Now, what are those?”

“Those are fun stickers for children. Mayday really likes the glittery princess ones,” Peter said. A unicorn sticker was stuck to her forehead, and Mayday just laughed. Hobie shook his head.

“These stickers are part of a clever ploy by bourgeoisie capitalists to placate the masses and imprison them in restrictive gender norms,” he declared. Peter yawned.

“If you rein in the language, I’ll let you put them anywhere you want,” he said. Hobie looked at the stickers, looked at Mayday, looked at the man with the pink dressing gown sprawled on a sofa, and had an idea.

He waited until loud snores were coming from the dad, and he quietly stole away with Mayday. He had an establishment to mess with.

“Now, my little anarchist, this room is pristine and government property. What would you like to vandalize first?” Hobie asked. Mayday’s arms stretched out wide, and Hobie let out an appreciative whistle. “Everythin’? All right, guv’nor.”

They were halfway through pasting unicorn stickers onto the buttons when Miles, Gwen and Pavitr walked in.

“What are you doing and why do you have Mayday?” Pavitr asked.

“What are you doing here?” Hobie asked them.

“We asked you first. And we don’t have to tell you anything,” Gwen said, her arms folded.

“We’re looking for Pavitr’s missing bracelet,” Miles said. Gwen facepalmed.

Hobie looked at Pavitr’s wrists. One was missing a bracelet, so the story checked out. “Cool. I’m giving Mayday her first taste of anarchy by sticking these all over O’Hara’s shop,” Hobie said. “Gives it a bit of colour. And she just likes sticking them on places.”

Miles grinned. “I have some paints in my room in my dimension. I can help.”

“Yes! My guy, Miles! You do that!” Hobie grinned and threw up a peace sign.

Gwen grabbed Miles and dragged him away to the portal. Pavitr watched them, smiling happily. “They would go so well together, wouldn’t they?” he said to Hobie.

“Yeah, they would. Little rulebreakers, both of them.”

When Miguel walked into the room where it happened, he stopped dead in his tracks. It had been vandalized.

Glittery stickers all over his workstation, obscuring the labels on all the buttons with images of unicorns, fairies and rainbows. No consistency at all. The wall was graffitied with the silhouette of a very small figure. The words “The Future” were in large bubble writing above the silhouette’s head. The letters were a variety of colours in no particular order: blue, pink, silver, white, black, red, and gold.

“WHO DID THIS?!” he screamed. Meanwhile, Hobie, Miles, Gwen and Pavitr were walking around with Mayday and trying to hide the cans of spray paint.

“You did such a good job staying still, May-May,” Miles cooed.

“We should get away soon before Miguel finds out,” Gwen said.

“That won’t happen for a while,” Pavitr said.

“HOBIE!” Miguel screamed.

“We should run,” Hobie said.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

“Hey, how did you get back so fast? Does she need to be changed or something?” Peter asked.

“She . . . really wants her daddy, is all,” Miles said, everyone smiling. Mayday cooed and reached out for her dad, and Peter melted.

“Come here, little May,” he cooed. Miles, Gwen and Pavitr covertly sidestepped out.

“She’s going to grow up to be amazing,” Hobie said, looking down at May with a smile. “See ya, man.” He opened up a portal and fell backwards through it. Mayday giggled and pointed at it.

“Hobie’s nice, isn’t he?” Peter said. Mayday mimicked Miles’ spray can, tracing a person in the air. “What were you doing when I was asleep?”

Mayday simply smiled.

@spicy-apple-pie, I heard through the Tumblr grapevine that you wanted a fic of Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen and Miles babysitting Mayday, so I found this. Not sure if it’s specific enough for whatever you had in mind, but here you go. Somebody listened.

[aerospas]

can i request the grudge prompt please? you choose the characters :)

'GRUDGE person a holds a grudge against b for a previous mistake'.

it was a glaring oversight, one that leaves dr. mccoy inwardly fuming. he stares at the diagnostic readout on his screen, his jaw tight and eyes fixed on the fluctuating data. the mistake had cost them precious time, valuable time that they couldn't afford to waste on avoidable errors. mcccoy's mind replays the sequence of events, the misdiagnosis that had led to a delay in treating an ailing crew member. if only Spock had listened to his assessment from the beginning, they wouldn't be in this predicament.

mccoy clenches his fists, feeling the weight of his frustration and disappointment. he remembers the tension in sickbay when spock had questioned his judgment. mccoy had dismissed it then, chalking it up to Spock's unyielding reliance on cold logic. but now, as the consequences of that decision loom over them, mccoy can't shake the resentment brewing inside him.

spock, oblivious to mccoy's seething resentment, enters sickbay, his usual, calm demeanour only serving to infuriate mccoy further. "doctor, have you made any progress with the treatment protocol?"

mccoy's gaze snaps up, meeting spock's steady eyes. "progress? not much, thanks to your interference."

spock raises an eyebrow, the faintest hint of curiosity in his expression. "my interference?"

"yes, your interference, mr. spock," mccoy retorts, his voice laced with barely restrained anger. "if you had listened to me in the first place, we wouldn't be scrambling to rectify this mess."

spock's brow furrows slightly, processing mccoy's words. "doctor, i must remind you that my decisions are based on logic and data—"

"logic and data be damned, spock!" mccoy cuts in sharply, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "sometimes, you need to trust your colleagues and their expertise. but no, you just had to question my judgment, didn't you?"

spock regards mccoy with a measured gaze, seemingly unfazed by the outburst. "doctor mccoy, i understand your frustration, but emotional outbursts will not resolve the current situation."

mccoy scoffs, shaking his head. "of course, logic over everything, right?"

spock's lips tighten slightly, a subtle indication of his own internal tension. "i acknowledge the consequences of my actions, doctor. however, dwelling on past mistakes serves no purpose."

mccoy huffs, turning back to his workstation, his resentment simmering beneath the surface. spock's calm demeanour grates on his nerves, a stark contrast to his own fiery temperament. he knows he should let go of this grudge, but the wound is fresh, and mccoy isn't ready to forgive and forget just yet. as the tension lingers in sickbay, mccoy busies himself with the task at hand, determined to prove himself right in the end.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: GRUDGE prompt, is from this prompt list.

[theblackestnight-ffxiv]

[ffxivwrite2023] prompt 9: fair

“What’s got you so wrapped up in your thoughts?”

D’zinhla’s ears twitched as she roused herself. Airraim was looking at her, head tilted curiously, but her eyes betrayed concern. It wasn’t misplaced, she had to admit. Her thoughts had taken a rather darker dive from where they’d begun. Which made her rather reluctant to voice them. “Nothing worth the words,” she said, trying to project just a bit of levity. Just enough to lighten her tone, she hoped.

Airraim’s expression darkened, her brows knitting as she met her gaze steadily.

Ah, well then. That wasn’t going to work. Likely wasn’t ever going to work, really. Airraim knew her heart far too well to be misled, and was far too stubborn to be discouraged. She sighed, bringing a hand up to rub her eyes. “Nothing I want to put in words,” she amended. “I don’t…really want to talk about it.”

“Mmm.” Airraim hooked her foot around the chair at her workstation and dragged it close with a wood-on-stone groan. With the chair positioned closer, she sat in it again, crossing her arms and legs and giving her an assessing look.

She sighed, looking away. “It’s…hard, to talk about. And I don’t think I can put it into words the way I want to. I’ll sound foolish, or I’ll imply something I don’t intend, or-”

“You’re speaking to me, Zinhla, my heart. Since when have you feared I would follow a false implication?” She tilted her head, a ripple of motion that echoed in the fall of her night-dark hair. 

She was right, too. If she couldn’t trust her with her thoughts, who else could she trust? No one, really. Granted, that didn’t make her more inclined to share what weighed on her mind, but it did take the justification out of her fears. She sighed, tracing the grain of the tabletop with her fingertip. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. I just- it’s not a problem that can be fixed, or a misconception to adjust, it’s just. It’s a difficulty I must endure. So I’m reluctant to bring it up. I don’t… I don’t really see much purpose to speaking about it, I suppose. I don’t see what it would make better to do so, if it’s not something that can be solved just by getting a different perspective on it. It’s not a new concern, it’s not going to go away. So, well. I just. I’d rather not, really. And it’s no reflection on you, my love, it’s just…” She waved her hand weakly, then let it fall to her lap, staring down at the table.

Airraim was silent as she spoke, silent and patient as the night, sitting through her pauses as long as they stretched without finishing her thought or taking over the conversation. D’zinhla loved that she would wait like this for her to sort her words and get out the ones she wanted, but this remained a difficult topic, even so. Finally, as the silence extended, she spoke softly. “You’d rather not give it more realness by speaking it.”

“Yes,” she said, her ears drooping and her tail flicking restlessly. “Silly of me, I know, it’s hardly going to change how real it is. Just how…real it feels for me.”

“Because the less it’s spoken, the less you need think on it. I see.”

She let this silence stretch longer. Airraim understood her reluctance, and to speak more on it would be to continue to speak in circles, all the while making it a spiraling mess when it came to actually expressing her thoughts. At some other point she might have thought to do so anyway, to try to spiral it away from where she was, and onto other topics entirely. The thought of evasive conversing tired her, however. All of it tired her. The fact that this was caught up in her mind tired her. 

In the next room, the clock’s bell softly chimed the hour.

She sighed. “It’s not fair.” There.

Airraim didn’t speak. When she looked up from her hands to her partner’s face, Airraim was watching her, head tilted patiently.

She sighed again. “I never wanted to be…this. Any of this. I wanted to… I don’t know. My dreams were small, and they were mine. I thought they were lofty, and from where I was, they were, but after all of this…”

Airraim remained silent, watching her. 

“Warrior of Light, yes, you know that part well, what it’s done to me. But even more. The Echo, to get swept up in this. Being…being born here, on the Source, instead of a reflection. Being more important because of it. It’s- The reflections didn’t deserve it. They all tried so hard. Ardbert, and- and Renda-Rae, and Branden, Lamitt, Nyelbert. Cylva, and Unukalhai, Zero, all the memoriates. Why am I more? Why does it matter that I’m of the Source, possessed of- of more of a sundered soul than the others? Why? Why is it me who can win, when they couldn’t? Why me?” Her voice had picked up, gained heat, and then started to tremble over her words, and when she finished in a rush with her hands curling into fists, it was on a shuddering gasp of breath that she held, trying to fight back the tears threatening.

The silence stretched again.

Her voice was small when she spoke again. “It’s not fair. And I don’t know how I can ever make it right. I don’t know what it would mean to make it right. It’s too late, it’s too little, it’s… it’s not fair.”

A hand rested atop hers, fingers threading between her own, and she squeezed, reflexively. Airraim still didn’t speak. Because what was there to say?

As the first tears slipped down her cheeks, she shook her head and closed her eyes. Her shadow was silent, but right beside her.