#valve told me so

[dthmet]

What if we were both catboys and mercenaries… haha… jk…

Unless??

[anaalnathrakhs]

Whaaa driver’s Ed is one of the easiest classes you can take

I don't know anon, maybe the level of the questions is low, but that's assuming they're formulated in good faith.

Part of the problem is that since I'm only training I am incredibly over the forced snail pace so I make silly inattention mistakes I hopefully won't make taking the actual exam, but I'm still not happy that some questions are purposefully based on semantics so that you can know and understand the underlying practical problem and still answer wrong. Not even counting the moralizing questions, like the stats about people killed in a car accident every year. I understand it's good to have been told these numbers to know the risk and drill in our heads to be careful, I just don't think "memorizing a number per time duration" is a skill that should be measured by drivers ed. I really hope these are training-only questions but meh. Unlikely.

[tciddaemina]

got my first feedback for my first chapter of my masters and ahhhh i gotta remember that being told to fix things is good, because it means the final product will be better for it

[cultofmalcolm]

I bought gold earrings for my ma cos and Ive only realised she wears silver ones

Im so upset with myself

They were bloody 2.50 and all

[luveline]

Sorry if you’ve done this already, but if you’re taking Spencer Reid requests I would love to see one where his wife is struggling with morning sickness and he takes care of her. He has all the medical facts on deck and is the sweetest. 😊

“Morning sickness is super common.” A hand on your back. “It’s not known what the cause is, but they think it has something to do with low blood sugar.” He rubs your shoulder. Fingers spread, a slow side to side. “Because your hormones are changing rapidly, the body isn’t as efficient in processing your blood sugar.“ 

“Spence,” you say, breathing hard with your face in a toilet bowl, “that doesn’t make me feel any better.” 

“What about if I told you that it’s worse with twins?” 

It’s interesting.

You’re not having the most exciting of pregnancies. Some people get pregnant and feel that connection to the baby instantly, their foetus the size of a strawberry and somehow a whole world. 

So far yours just makes you sick. “I think there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Probably not.” 

Spencer hoists you back from the bowl. He clambers off of his knees to close the lid, flush, and turn to the sink where he washes his hands. You put a hand on the lid, not so sure you’re finished throwing up, but Spencer tends to know. He’s a good guess. 

“Here, dove,” he says softly, offering a face towel wet with warm water. 

He tried to wipe your face down himself last time and you couldn’t hide how much you didn’t want him to do that. He’s kind, and the gesture is sweet, but you’re feeling less human than ever lately. An in depth analysis of your face isn’t in the books for him. 

You hold the towel in both hands and drop your head. 

“Let me help you up.” 

“I’m gonna just live here, actually.”

“I don’t think so. You’re too cute to live on the floor,” Spencer says, not even slightly ironic, “you have to live in bed like every other adorable woman.” 

“I don’t feel adorable.” 

“You wouldn’t. Your organs are moving and your skin is stretching, and the valves in your veins are becoming fatigued.” 

“Awesome.” 

Spencer holds both arms out to you and helps you stand. Your head pulses, forcing you to rest your head against Spencer’s arm for a few seconds while you come around properly. 

“You’ve never been this beautiful, though,” Spencer says softly, “you really do glow.” 

“Thanks,” you say, your laugh muffled in his shirt. 

“It’s because your blood flow has increased all over your body. Maybe. It’s probably just because you’re you and you’re having our baby and…” Spencer lets his head drop gently atop your own. “You know. You’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever met.”

“Even when I’m sick as a dog?” you ask. 

“At all times… you know what I said earlier, about your blood flow? You know what else that causes?” 

You bring your arms up to curl them protectively behind his neck. He takes your waist. “What?” you ask his neck. 

“Your heart doubles in size.” 

“That happened when I met you.” 

“I think being pregnant has made you flirt more,” Spencer says fondly. 

“Nope. Just a side effect of all these certified Reid facts.” You know what he’s doing, distracting you from your nausea with other things. It’s working slowly, and you appreciate the effort. You might not feel a big connection yet to your baby, but you never feel alone.  

[dunkledog]

can you believe it guys? gay people are finally real. and so are birds. birds are real. i promise.

the valve head guy spoke to me in a joan of arc vision and told me himself that these things are real now.

[housecow]

i have knee problems stemming from an injury when i was younger. if i step wrong and fall in a certain way, the pain is so bad i can’t walk. but sometimes i like to fantasize: what if something even worse happens and i can’t walk for weeks? what if i happen to be in regular close contact with my feeder?

it’d be hard being told i have rest and let myself heal. there are plans coming up that have to be cancelled, the few active hobbies i have left take a hit. but…it’s so easy to accept every snack brought to me. after all, i sought out a feeder—this lifestyle is the one i’ve eaten myself towards. and he knows i have an inclination towards eating too much. that first week goes easier than it should; weight starts to pile on. but i miss going out, even running errands sounds nice. in the few moments my hands are absent of food or a shake i am regularly in contact with my friends.

the next week i’m better but… i feel slow. my feeder has started to keep people away because i need to rest and he’s right, healing is taxing on the body. i start responding less to others, too. our funnel has gotten so much more use in the last few days. the sugar and constant snacks step up and i can tell there is an agenda behind it all but *god* it feels good to be doted on. he helps me through the necessary exercises but trips across the house are rare. i notice how difficult it is to lift myself up now—how sedentary have i been?

that question doesn’t cross my mind again, there are better things to focus on. my feeder knows how to use my adhd to his advantage—food, sex, TV, and games all provide the dopamine hit needed to keep me distracted. the 3rd week is similar enough to the 2nd: ritualistic feeding becomes the norm. we don’t need a valve to control the flow on the funnel anymore, he knows i can finish everything. my belly is swollen out into my lap all of the time now, if i hold my boobs aside i can see new stretch marks creeping across my expanding hips. i expect the snacks, “babe, can you grab me something from the fridge?” is a phrase heard several times in the day. and my feeder obliges.

the 4th week we have an appointment and im told i should walk and start being active again. the doctor looks nervous though and tells me i need to watch my weight, he says something like “its alarming how quickly this happened,” but i blocked it out because—i can’t even see how much i weigh? my belly blocks the view now. oh my god.

in the car afterwards my feeder expresses doubt at the situation: “you don’t look so steady on your feet, i think you should still take it easy.” his eyes meet mine and i don’t miss the brief glance away, desire obvious at the sight of my rounded figure that’s entirely his fault. i know what he wants and i can’t deny myself that want, either. and he knows better in these situations, i trust his judgement. maybe it is best to stay in. plans can be pushed further back… the walk back to the car was a little difficult, too.

the next weeks—or does it span months?—pass in a blur. staying in is all i want to do. although i’m supposedly healthy again, i rarely get up and walk around more than needed. “needed” means a slow, clumsy walk to the fridge and back to either the couch or the bed. when my feeder is not there to feed me himself he takes time to order food to the door. bending down to pick things up is a monumental effort for me—a heavy, wide belly pressing into my fattened thighs. my swollen tits obscure my vision but serve as an excellent table when i need.

my feeder comes home one day and im asleep, taking up more than my fair share of the couch. my breaths are not easy and its obvious how much i ate beforehand: mostly-empty 2 liters, takeout containers haphazardly stacked on top of one another as they were finished, countless snack packages balled up and stuck between the couch cushions because sometimes i like to squirrel stuff away. as if there was a chance of hiding these habits my feeder built.

but the best part of it all is the empty pitcher sat against the corner of the couch, because i couldn’t reach to the coffee table to properly set it down with so much fat making every movement difficult.

the remnants a weight gain shake. our usual ingredients of cake mix, melted ice cream, strawberries, chocolate syrup, nutella, crushed oreos. it was hastily made, however, and it’s obvious by the chocolatey powder on the sides of the container that it was about the calories this time, not the taste. he can see where some escaped the pitcher and poured down my overly plump, round face and past the lovingly cultivated double chin. it dripped onto my breasts, lovely puddles of calories he wish made it inside of me even if the sight is wonderful. after that thought, an idea comes up. how deep are the rolls he’s gifted me? a cow this size needs to be used.

[seeingivy]

weekend getaway

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

an: happy birthday to @pickuptruck01 ur one of the sweetest and most supportive readers of this silly little fic, I love you so so much pookie I hope you enjoy the little gift 💌

**part of my best friend's older brother fic

previous part linked here

--

there’s a lingering feeling ruminating in the back of sukuna’s head when he wakes up. and it’s almost like he’s in a crowded room – like he knows there’s something creeping up against the wall that he has his back turned to and he refuses to look at it. 

sukuna could die today. so could you. he could get a call and realize that the last thing he said to yuuji was lackluster or you could be horribly devastated if sammy died before you got to properly reconcile things and at least be on stable ground with her. 

you could have a heart disease. the ultrasound that he went to with you, where the doctor whispered reassurance that your heart’s chambers and valves were in perfect shape, could be wrong. he could go to sleep next to you and not wake up the next morning. 

he ignores it for the time being. 

“i figured that it would be nice to spend the weekend together away from here. i planned out a few things that i thought you’d like if that sounds like something you want to do. you know, birthday boy and all.” 

it’s a nervous anticipation – this trip either being a horrible misstep or one of the best things you’ve ever done – and it surges through you as you pass the little handwritten itinerary over to him. 

the past few weeks felt like push and pull, but it seemed more stable as time went on. he would disappear to help his mom with something, but half of the time, you were convinced it was just something that he needed to do to assuage his own guilt. he’s always come back the same, just as keen for his time as you were for his. 

at times, it was hard to watch. watch him try to calm his mom, and comfort yuuji, and in the few seconds he had with you, trying to sweet talk you to ease too. you hoped the trip would at least let him pump the brakes a little bit so you could do it for him. 

and you watch as sukuna picks it up, scanning it over with his eyes, with his left hand still wrapped on the inside of your thigh, his fingers warm on your skin. 

aquarium, cherry blossoms, dinner at home <3 

“you planned a trip for me? for my birthday?” sukuna asks. 

sukuna’s purposely pulling at your leg – he’s been looking forward to this trip since yuuji told him. 

“yeah. i just thought it might be nice. to take some time away, just the two of us. in fact, you can even go without me!” 

sukuna smiles, setting the paper down, before using his ankle to pull out the stool of the kitchen island so you’re facing him properly. he can’t help but do it, nestle himself in between your legs with his hands on your hips – watching the nervous expression in your eyes as you look up at him. 

it’s a little mean, pulling your leg this way. but sukuna was just relishing in this fact – that you were still trying to do nice things for him, looking for his approval for things as small as gifts and birthdays. 

the two examples he had as a kid – his parents and your own – he was always convinced that this sort of thing, the novelty of a relationship, was just something that wore down over time. that a day would come where you would be used to what he was giving, and he would be too, and you’d both fall into a slow monotonous thing together. 

or maybe even before that, you could die on him. he could die on you. yuuji could die and you would never be the same or some cancerous rot could be manifesting in his pancreas without him knowing until it was too late. 

“i can even go by myself?” sukuna asks. 

“i know that…” 

“know what?” sukuna asks, a little to eager with tantalizing eyes. 

you sigh. 

“i know the stuff recently has been a lot. and i love you and i know that sometimes getting away is something that could be nice to help you kind of process things. and i realize that i’m a part of those things so if you want to go alone, you could also do that. i just want –” 

sukuna leans forward, hands firm on your waist, before pressing his lips against yours. you can feel him smiling, a laugh leaving his lips, as he nearly topples you off the stool, extremely eager for nine in the morning. 

“i hope you know that when i want to get away from things, i kind of want you to get away from them with me from here on out. you’re my main thing.” sukuna murmurs, leaning back the slightest and rubbing his thumb against your lower lip. 

you smile. 

“oh thank god. i’d totally let you leave on your own if you wanted to but then i’d probably cry about it a little.” 

sukuna laughs. 

“and you wouldn’t ask to come with?” 

“i mean, i don’t know! i know you like to get away to do your own thing. i don’t want to be a distraction.” 

sukuna grins, poking his tongue in his cheek. 

“i mean you’re always a distraction. just the good kind. i love what you put together. and…” 

sukuna pauses, flitting his gaze down to your hands and lifting your knuckles against his lips. 

“it makes me happy that you know me well enough to know that this is something i’d like. and that i need.” sukuna responds. 

you can feel the warmth rushing to your cheeks, come over with a weird wave of shyness at being praised so openly. 

because it was one thing for him to shower you in his constant infections, but the fact that he was able to parse out exactly what you were putting down – and appreciate you for it – left something else simmering in your chest. 

“did you pack for me already?” sukuna asks. 

you give him a nod, as he presses a wet kiss to your cheek before nestling himself into your arms. 

--

the lingering feeling becomes more apparent to him when the two of you make it into town and when your wrap your arm in his at the aquarium. the itching feeling has peeled off the wall, making a slow arching march towards him, but sukuna’s determined – he will ignore it. he is going to enjoy this day with you. 

sukuna has a newfound appreciation for the aquarium. he was never really a fan of that type of thing – sea creatures and water – just a personal preference of his, but his opinion was entirely changed after the fact. 

well, slightly. he didn’t really care for the aquarium. what he did care for was watching you walk around the room, pressing your fingers to the glass, and the quiet murmuring that you offered him. 

“that’s an opah. they also call it a moon fish.” 

“an opal?” 

“no. an opah. o-p-a-h.” you whisper. 

sukuna smiles at the almost angry insistence in your tone, matched with your wide eyes glued to the tank, and skin bathed in the almost neon blue light of the aquarium. 

you could lose your voice. something could break in you and you could never smile at him again. if you lost your memory, all the quick witted facts you would always tell him would cease all together. 

“an opah. okay baby, tell me more.” 

“they’re really rare so they’re good luck. they like to stay alone unless it’s mating season.” 

sukuna was always walking bad luck. he had a horrible track record – it wouldn’t be shocking to him if he had everything he wanted in the palm of his hand, and by some cruel twist of fate, this is when his body would give out on him. 

“so it’s my type of fish.” sukuna states. 

you roll your eyes. 

“my ass. you were getting around during mating season. and otherwise.” 

sukuna scoffs. 

“i’ve changed.” sukuna defends. 

“yeah, just don’t go changing history, idiot.” you respond, linking your arm in around his wrist as you pull him to the other side of the aquarium. 

sukuna watches as you cross your hands over your biceps, eyes pressed through the glass, as he takes the second to watch you. he wonders if you would find it weird if he took a picture of you, in the weird blue light. 

that could be the last one he takes. you could bring kids into the world and die right after the fact. he could raise kids that looked just like you, being forced to recount stories through pictures, through faded memories that would soon even be lost to him. 

your shoes have bows on them – something you told him earlier were called ballet flats – and he immediately decided that they were his favorite, only because he thought they were so fitting to you. a frilly white lace skirt with a black top, matched a pair of earrings and the necklace he had gifted you. 

and naturally, a pink ribbon in your hair. he reaches forward, fingers in your hair as he tightens it against your hairband, smiling at the quiet thanks that you murmur as you look around the little tank. 

sukuna leans forward, that itching feeling creeping up into his skin, and trying to lean into your touch to avoid it instead. 

“are you looking for something specific?” he whispers, his breath tickling your neck. 

“yeah. it’s a butterflyfish.” 

“what’s special about that one?” 

“it mates for life. which is kind of rare for fish.” you respond. 

sukuna smiles. 

“you know a lot about fish mating patterns. you have something you want to tell me?” 

“you know i like animals. i literally want to be a vet.” 

“speaking of, did you hear back from anywhere?” 

sukuna can feel the sudden tenseness that seems to manifest in your frame, as you nearly shrink at the question. and he curses himself for dropping the ball, the tension of the fast few weeks immediately blindsighted him to the fact that you were at the most painful part of the process – the waiting. 

“uh, sure.” you respond. 

“really? did you get in?” 

“well, not really, but it’s your birthday and…” 

sukuna immediately pulls back, his hands around your wrists, as he looks down with hazel eyes drowning in concern. 

“i’m sorry sweetheart. are you okay?” he asks. 

you frown. 

“can we not talk about this right now? it’s your birthday. your weekend! i don’t want to –” 

“my weekend. and you’re my girlfriend. if you want to –” 

sukuna watches as you shake your head, eyes pinched in something he can’t really place as you look up at him, the expression in your eyes really begging. 

“sukuna. not right now, okay?” 

“okay. later?”

you smile. 

“for sure, okay?

and sukuna watches as you look around, before giving him a smile and standing at the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his lips. and he snakes his hand around your neck, drinking in the sweet taste of your mango lip balm and your strawberry scented perfume, and wonders if you’ll let him kiss you forever. 

“hey.” you whisper. 

“hey you.” 

“you’re my butterflyfish.” 

sukuna smiles. and when you pull back, the sinking feelings rushed all the way and creeped into his bones. he can barely get another word out for the rest of the aquarium. 

because he could collapse in your arms. he could ruin your life if the electric signals in his brain stopped working, if his blood was rotten, and it would be his fault for tying himself to you in the first place. you could mate for life and he could leave it at any second. 

--

sukuna enjoys the cherry blossom trees. he enjoys the fact that the sun is sinking down into the horizon, that the golden rays peek through the bits of the leaves, and that your head is in his lap, and it makes it easier to focus. 

“have you ever heard of sylvia plath’s fig tree?” you ask. 

sukuna shakes his head. you gesture for him to join you at your side, as he sinks down and lies down on the blanket with you, the two of you looking up at the pink branches hanging above. 

“well, this isn’t really a fig tree, but just imagine.” you respond. 

“okay.” 

“sylvia plath talks about this green fig tree in her book.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“figs are a sex coded fruit.” 

“i beg your pardon?” you ask. 

“you know. from that hades story.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“are you an idiot? that’s pomegranate.” 

“fuck. well, i feel like in every old fucking story about like sex and the wonders of sin or whatever they’re always fucking yapping about figs. so shut up.” 

you shake your head, before looking back up at the tree. 

“the forbidden fruit is apples.” 

“no, it’s not. apples aren’t even good.

“okay, well, that’s your opinion.” 

“we’re not getting into a debate about this. talk about your fig tree.” 

you roll your eyes at him, before pressing your cheek into his shoulder. 

“sylvia plath talks about this fig tree. and how she saw her life in the tree. and each fig on the tree was a life of hers. one was a happy family and a good husband and the other was a famous poet and a professor and the list went on and on. each one was a very specific thing that she saw in her life and she found it really, really difficult to pick which one she wanted.” 

“and?” 

“and she took so long that they all wilted at her feet. she was starving but she was so indecisive that she just couldn’t pick one, so she was at the edge of the tree, and she watched as they all went to ruin at her feet.” you respond. 

sukuna pauses. his fig tree could die. someone could cut it down by driving drunk or not paying attention on the road. 

“what do you think about it?” he asks, twisting the ends of your hair in his free hand. 

you shrug. 

“just that i’m really glad that you’re the fig i ended up on. the others don’t really pale comparison in my head.” you murmur. 

“oh thank god. i was going to give you a whole the grass isn’t greener on the other side lecture just so you wouldn’t leav eme.” 

you laugh. 

“it reminds me a lot of something my mom said to me.” you state.

“and what’s that?” 

you lean over on your side, tangling your legs in with his, as he mimics your motions, his forehead pressed against yours as the sun sinks down behind you. 

“not trying to push you into talking by saying it.” you clarify. 

“well, i fully know you are and i won’t do it unless i feel like it.” 

you sigh. he knew you too well. 

“okay.” 

you reach forward, interlocking your fingers with his. 

“i asked her about grief. i know that you…you’re feeling it and it’s not something that i’ve ever felt. and i just wanted her advice on how to help you.” 

sukuna’s convinced he won’t ever find someone like you. he prays he won’t have to. 

“she was telling me that grief reminds people about how they loved wrong. that since that person is gone permanently, all people can really think about is all the ways they wished they did things differently. and i don’t think that necessarily applies for your dad, but…i don’t know. it applies for me. i want to love you the right way. and my sister. and your family and my friends and i just…have a weird sense of perspective now.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“the mere fact that you love me is enough for me. that’s quite literally the only thing i’ve ever wanted from you.” sukuna asks. 

“i know that. but i want to love you in a way that’s special. you’re like…my literal godsend. you’re so perfect and understanding and patient…and i know what it’s like to feel the complete opposite with someone and i want you to know that i appreciate that about you. that you’re loving. that you’re a good guy and you never…embarrass me and actually make me really happy to flaunt you around and stuff.” 

“flaunt me around?” 

you roll your eyes. 

“you’re hot and you know that. and you’re smart and you make money and you’re a really good brother and a son, which is like very attractive.” 

“right. keep going.” 

you scoff. 

“as if.” 

sukuna shrugs. 

“you do love me in a way that’s special. and i like to flaunt you too. like, yeah the girl i’ve been obsessed with since i was a kid actually loves me back, if you can believe it.” 

the quiet voice in sukuna’s head seems to taper a little bit. though it feels a bit like a slippery slope – just because you make him feel like he’s on top of the world doesn’t mean he actually is. 

“i do love you back. maybe even more than you.” 

“that’s a very bold statement. and one i’ll never agree with by the way.” sukuna responds. 

--

sukuna thinks that the dinner might be his favorite. only because his head is quiet for the few hours you spend with him. a special recipe that you picked out for him to make, one that you watch him intently cook with your feet dangling over the kitchen counter, and your grabby fingers trying to snack on the pieces that he was preparing. 

“stop eating the salad. it’s not even finished yet.” sukuna scolds. 

“i’m so hungry.” 

“come eat this butt. the food is almost done.” 

“don’t tempt me, whore.” you respond, pushing off the counter as you wrap yourself around his torso, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of his back. 

that was the thing that you could appreciate about sukuna. that down to his core, he really did have whore tendencies – even if he was in a committed relationship. because he really did walk around with his shirt off for no reason, that he almost did the domestic things because he knew you were turned on by them, and that he liked to push your buttons when it came to things like this. 

“i’m the whore? i’m not wearing lingerie under my shirt. the shirt you stole from me, by the way.” 

you feel your cheeks burn. 

“did you think i didn’t notice? you can’t really get these things past me.” sukuna responds. 

you scoff. 

“because you’re a common street slut. sorry i don’t have as much experience to compete with.” you respond. 

sukuna laughs, before turning to you, one of the free cucumbers that you were just picking out of the salad in his fingers. he hands it you, clearly meant to be a peace offering, that you angrily snatch out of his hands. 

“i’m not a common street slut. you packed it in my bag by accident. and i can put two and two together, you’re obviously going to wear it tonight.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“why’s that so obvious?” 

“it’s my birthday.” 

“so you think i’m going to give you a lap dance because your brain fully developed?” 

“i’d appreciate that..” 

you shove him in his side. 

“stop teasing. it’s not funny.” you respond. 

and sukuna opens up his arm, gesturing for you to take the space in between his arms, as you press your cheek against his bare chest and wrap your arms around him. he continues to cut the vegetables with his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“you’re into that type of thing.” he murmurs. 

“sue me!” you respond. 

sukuna laughs as he pulls back, setting the knife down and wiping his hands, before angling your face up and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. you can feel the nervousness come over you – the mere fact that the two of you hadn’t done…anything…since his dad died – as you reach for his hands to stop him. 

“sukuna.” 

he pulls back. 

“do you want me to stop?” 

“no. i mean, i just figured you wanted to eat first.” 

“no, i do. i just want to see how my pretty girl looked, that’s all.” 

“okay, yeah.” 

sukuna narrows his eyes at you. 

“you sure?” 

you give him a nod, as he brings his hands up again, unbuttoning the buttons of the shirt of his that you had stolen. it’s a quiet sigh that escapes his lips, accompanied by a wet kiss to your cheek, before he pulls back. 

“do you wear pink on purpose?” 

“do you walk around with your shirt off on purpose?” you ask. 

sukuna grins. 

“okay, fair point. sit there and look pretty. i’m almost done.” 

sukuna plates the food nicely and the two of you eat it from one plate. he’s always one for the dramatics – insisting that you sit on his lap and the two of you share utensils and all because it’s more intimate – and he tells you about every birthday he’s ever had. 

in europe, at home. getting a bike as a gift, sharing his wii with yuuji, seeing the eiffel tower for the first time. getting special colored flame candles on his birthday, sucking the helium out of balloons, and getting kicked out of an arcade. 

and he’s quick with it – pulling the blinds, dimming the lights – before he pulls you into his lap, hands warm on the bare skin of your waist as he pulls you in for the first time in weeks. and he can tell – that you’re a little too eager, that it’s been a little too long, and he tries to forget the fact that it could all be over in a second. 

“are you going to tell me about vet school?” he murmurs, breath warm on your lips. 

“i’m wearing this pretty outfit for you and you’re going to talk to me about vet school?” you murmur back. 

“just curious.” 

you pull back, noting the pink flush on his cheek and the panting in his chest, as you give him a nod and reach up to tuck your hair behind your ears. and you can tell that he’s immediately attentive, that he’s on the defensive and that whatever he’s about to say is about to be ten levels of supportive – even though it doesn’t feel like you deserve it. 

“i applied to ten schools. and i got rejected from nine.” 

“and the last?” 

“it’s in my inbox. i just don’t want to open it.” 

sukuna reaches forward, cupping the side of your cheek in his hand, before reaching forward to press a kiss to your forehead. it’s sweeter than the last kisses he gave you – those being fast and fervent, eager, and intoxicating. 

“is there a reason you didn’t tell me? i hope it’s not because i’m going through things, because i always want to be here for you regardless of that.” he asks. 

you shrug. 

“no, it’s not that at all. it’s just that it makes it more real.” you respond. 

“i don’t follow.” 

you sigh. 

“if i tell you, you’re going to be sweet and tell me that i’m smart and capable. that these things are really hard, that there’s lots of factors that go into it, and that there wouldn’t be any shame in trying again. that all of the work i did was still worthwhile, that i’ll still get there and all my stress won’t be for anything.” 

“that’s right.” he responds. 

“but that’s the thing. that makes it real. you having to tell me that, it…it means i failed. it means i fell down and you had to pick me up. that i’d have to acknowledge the fact that i did.” 

sukuna frowns. 

“you know i’d say all of that to you regardless?” 

“it’s different on the heels of a rejection.” you respond. 

“but you didn’t open all of them. there’s still one left.” 

“that i probably got rejected to.” you respond. 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“you can’t possibly know that.” 

“i mean, given my track record…” 

sukuna pauses, before reaching over on the nightstand in hiding your phone. 

“that’s easy. set the record straight. open it.” 

you narrow your eyes at him. 

“sukuna.” 

“you’ve already made it real. i think you’re my smart and capable girlfriend, who will most definitely be a vet someday, even if you open a rejection email right now. this is all part of the journey and this setback only makes you more resilient, would only make you a better vet than you could have been prior.” 

you sigh, taking the phone from him, as he leans over, eyes peering down at the screen. and it’s the one email in your inbox that’s unopened, as you look up at him and give him a weary smile. and it’s just as quick, one touch before your entire little screen is doused in little confetti, as you read the opening paragraph. 

congrats y/n l/n! you’ve been accepted to the university of tokyo veterinary school in the class of 2028! 

you look up at him, at the bright smile on his face, as he wraps his arms around your waist, peppering warm kisses all over your skin. and you can feel your heart racing in your chest, your head nearly racing at the thoughts swimming through your head as sukuna leans forward, his voice quiet. 

“what was that  you were saying about a track record, future doctor?” 

“oh my god, shut up.” 

“i’m so proud of you, you know that?” 

you give him a smile, before pressing yourself into his embrace. 

“future doctor.” you whisper. 

“future doctor. my dad is dancing in his hell somewhere.” he responds. 

“and mine is somewhere trying to remember what my name is.” you respond. 

the two of you laugh, leaning your foreheads against each other, as you take the quiet beat, letting it sink in. 

you’re going to be a doctor. sukuna hopes he lives long enough to see it. that you live long enough to do it. 

“wanna know the crazy part?” you ask. 

“what’s that?” 

“i did all this and you’re talking to me about vet school.” you respond. 

what you expect is a giggling joke back is instead a pair of warm lips on your neck, accompanied by that horribly edging gravelly voice that sukuna uses when he murmurs. 

“sorry, sweetheart. was this what you had in mind?” 

you’re barely even to muster a response as sukuna sinks his teeth into your sweet spot, a laugh leaving him as he watches you nearly keel your head back at the feeling. 

--

three hours later, fresh and clean, you’re asleep at sukuna’s side and the thoughts are so petrifying, he considers that he might die just from how much they’re haunting him. that the reason his voice was so quiet during dinner is because now hours later, after the fact, it’s so dangerously loud that he thinks it’ll do something to him. 

a car crash. a rare and hard to diagnose disease. a mass casualty incident. the 0.01% statistic. 

sukuna thinks about the fact that he lied earlier. 

the mere fact that you love me is enough for me. that’s quite literally the only thing i’ve ever wanted from you. 

he lied because that’s not true in the slightest. 

it’s not enough for him to have you love him back. he needs every last second of it, every last second of a long life to feel it for as long as he can. he needs your heart to be in tip top shape, he needs to be as fit as he can, the two of you have to live the long life that he had in his head. 

it haunts sukuna too. what you had mentioned, about what your mom had said. 

grief is proof of all the ways you loved wrong. that if you died in his arms tomorrow, he’d sit there with thousands of regrets. that he didn’t tell you he loved you enough times. that he didn’t get to marry you. that you never got the love that you wanted, the lifelong love you dreamed about. 

sukuna pushes up off the bed, head in his hands, as he can’t stop the suffocating, warm wetness in his throat and the sounds from leaving his throat. and it’s just as fast, because in the minute that follows, he feels your warm hands on his back, rubbing circles into his skin and accompanied by your sleepy voice. 

“ryomen. what is it?” 

“you’re going to think i’m crazy and you’re going to leave me.” he responds, his voice raspy. 

you frown. 

“what are you talking about?” you murmur. 

“i’m going to ask you to do something. and you’re going to think i’m crazy and leave me.” he repeats, almost more distressed this time. 

“ask me.” you respond. 

sukuna sighs, almost angrily rubbing the heels of his palms against his eye sockets, before he looks over at you, eyes weary. 

“get dressed. we’re going to a tattoo parlor.” he responds. 

--

the walk over is quiet, his hand wrapped around yours, as he nervously eyes the small groups of people that are still lingering on the street in the dead of night. the city is noticeably quieter at four in the morning and sukuna’s got some version of his guard up as he pushes you into the closest tattoo parlor, two blocks down from the hotel. 

the entire room is bathed in a neon light from an LED sign, as sukuna walks up to the boy at the counter. 

“do you have rings?” 

he nods, pushing off the stool, as he starts rummaging through the little plastic boxes that are hanging on the shelf of the wall. 

“rings?” you whisper. 

“this is the only place open right now that would have them.” sukuna responds. 

the boy returns just as fast, opening a little plastic box of a mixed arrangement of rings, as sukuna lets go of your hand and reaches for one. it’s a plastic green, mimicking the appearance of jade, as he reaches for your hand and settles it on to your ring finger. 

“okay. we can go back now.” 

you cross your hands over your chest. 

“it’s four in the morning. you can’t just drag me here and do that with no explanation.” you murmur. 

sukuna frowns. 

“please drop it.” 

“sukuna. no, i can’t just –” 

sukuna reaches for your hands. 

“please. i’m begging you, don’t make me explain what that was because you’re –” 

“i’m not going to think you’re crazy! in fact, the only thing crazy right now is that you did this in the dead of the night. you’re scaring me and i just want to know whatever it is that’s going on your head so i can help you.” 

sukuna watches as warm tears well in your eyes, your hands cold against his cheeks, as you take your turn to beg. he feels horrible. 

“just tell me what it is.” you murmur. 

sukuna sighs, before shaking off the embarrassment. 

“grief is proof of the ways you loved wrong.” he murmurs. 

“what?” 

“my dad is dead. he’s dead and all i really think about is how you could die. and if you died, all i would think about is how you would have died before i got to give you that.” sukuna responds, pointing at the ring. 

you raise your eyebrow at him. 

“a plastic green ring?” 

sukuna sighs. 

“a wedding ring.” 

you feel your throat dry, noting the fact that there’s warm tears welling in his eyes now. 

“a wedding ring?” 

“i’m going to give you a real one. obviously, i’m going to give you a real one. i even…i even have it all planned out. i want to take you to see the waterlilies. and i want to propose to you there. but i don’t know if i’ll ever get to do that. i don’t want to die without giving you one of those. and i know it’s fucking insane but my dad died so just fucking ignore it if it freaks you out or if it’s weird and just throw it away tomorrow, okay? i’m clearly just having some type of…” 

sukuna stops as you let go of his hand, feeling his heart sink in his chest as he watches you march over to the plastic box, your eyes peering through the box. 

there goes his chance. he’s scared you off. every bit of insanity that he’s shown you has come to this moment – where he’s in a dirty tattoo parlor, talking about marrying you. being so paranoid that you’re going to die that he has to give you something, that he has to marry you even if it’s in his head. 

you march over and find another one – a plastic green ring – before you march back over to sukuna, reaching for his hand and securing it around his ring finger. and you watch as he looks down, quickly clocking what it is that you’ve done, before he looks back up at you, eyes wide. 

“what are you doing?” 

“you can’t just…give me a symbolic wedding ring and not expect me to give one back. i don’t want to die without giving you one either.” 

sukuna can feel that itching feeling that he felt in the morning, whatever it was, come to ahead right in that moment – in a dimly lit, sweaty smelling tattoo parlor – as he nearly starts sobbing, pressing his head into your neck as you lean into his touch. 

“you don’t mean that.” 

“are you serious? you can’t just stand there talking about how you’d regret that you never got to give me a wedding ring and think that i wouldn’t feel the same way after you pointed it out.” 

sukuna only hugs you harder. 

“i think a lot about what it means that i got to have you this much later in my life. i could have started dating you when i was four. or when i was in highschool. or when you came back from europe. i have a lot of regrets when it comes to you – not knowing what you were going through earlier, not reaching out to you sooner.” you respond. 

you shake your head as he pulls back, red bleary eyes staring back at you. 

“i finally have you. i won’t have any proof of all the ways i’ve loved wrong when you die. and i’ll die trying.” 

sukuna gives you a teary laugh, before cupping his hands around your cheeks. you can feel the plastic clad finger on your cheek, taking the second to admire the one secured around your own had. 

“you’ll do a whole comprehensive test with your doctor, not just your cardiologist. you look both ways before you cross the street and always keep your pepper spray with you. don’t delay showing your doctor what looks weird, and…and don’t die on me.” sukuna murmurs. 

“okay.” 

“and i won’t love you wrong either. everything conspired to get me here, with you, right now. that plastic ring will be a real one, you…you are going to stay here.” 

you can tell that he doesn’t really believe the last part. 

“yes, i am.” 

“you…you are, right? because i fucking love you. you…you can’t do that.” 

you smile. 

“the plastic ring will be a real one. and i’ll be right next to you.” 

a very teary eyed sukuna leads you out of the tattoo parlor, swirling the little plastic ring on his finger, as he reminds himself of the fact. that you’ll be right next to him. 

it’s the only solace he has. and quite possibly, the only one he needs to get him through it. 

“y/n.” he whispers. 

“yeah?” 

“i never got to ask. are you going to marry me?” 

you smile, admiring the little rings on your finger. 

“one day.” you resond. 

it fills his heart with an insurmountable amount of hope.

--

next part linked here

an: LOL

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @ghostreadersthings @charlie-xo @whoami-72 @heijihattorisgf @megu-meow @complexivelovely @multiplefandomthings @hoebuns @lzaj19 @glossygreene @ramluvr @sureconfused @najaemism @manduse @imhorn1help @gamergirl5125 @r0ckst4rjk @invisible-mori @isaacdaknight @gyros-cum-sock @wishmemel @suftsunshine @i0099 @cowgirlikets @haitanibros0007 @stuffeddeer @yoontaedotin @ec3lipsy @armani78 @awkwardaardvarkforever @kereseth @leave-rae-alone @ruruvia @princess-ackerman @jjkwritingss @lilkiwikiara @opchara @telepathicheartss @starriesworlds @raechu11 @exprimidordefresas @nxxrxm @aalloochaat @strangehuman101 @tzutology

[can-i-see-your-passport-please]

Okay so here's everything I know about TF2. Please no one elaborate on anything I know about, because I think it's so much funnier if I have no context to anything. I have absorbed all of this through Tumblr osmosis

Emesis Blue is an excellent film

Soldier apparently was never an actual soldier, he just loves America and really wanted to kill Nazis (the second one i respect greatly)

Medic would probably give you a lobotomy for fun (i don't think this guy's even a doctor)

Two really old guys are fighting bloody wars over gravel I think and their father is named Grey Mann which was most definitely meant to make Gman enjoyers lose it but to be fair his name could also be Gary Man.

What am I on

Heavy and Medic are apparently gay but idk if this is a fandom seeing two men next to each other and going "gay" thing or a "all but confirmed gay" thing but TVTropes referred to them as "Heterosexual Life Partners" which is very funny

emesis blue is so fucking good oh my godddddd the respawn machine is horrifying just from the concept it turned scout into soup

Scout is half French and loves his mother (who is not french) and does not love his father (spy i think)

Medic presumably died went to hell and told the devil "oh I'm like a cat I have nine souls actually. So I should get to go back to being alive" and it fucking worked??????

THE FUCKING SCENE IN?? IN EMESIS BLUE??? WHERE. WHERE SOLDIER TELLS MEDIC "YOU'RE GONNA MAKE IT OUT" AND MEDIC SAYS "i KNOW" BEFORE HE JUST FUCKING DIES AND HE'S THE PROTAGONIST SO YOU'D EXPECT HIM TO LIVE RIGHT??? AND THEN HE JUST DIES AND DOESN'T APPEAR AGAIN FOR SO SO LONG

Pyro is an any pronouns warrior and it commits great atrocities while also having so much sillyness in his heart. I love her

I think Engineer blowed up his arm. I think

Spy is a cunt and also French. I do not think this I know this. I look at him and I sense his cuntery. It radiates off him. I can feel it.

SOMETHING ABOUT THE LETTER M BEING BRANDED ONTO MEDIC'S FACE BEING A REFERENCE TO THE MOVIE SCOUT WAS WATCHING WHERE THE LETTER M IS USED TO MARK A MURDERER. HE'S LITERALLY MARKED AS A MURDERER BY PYRO. SOMETHING ABOUT THE SCENE WITH DEMOMAN AND DELL'S BAR BEING A REFERENCE TO A SCENE IN THE SHINING WHERE THE MAIN CHARACTER IS LITERALLY TALKING TO A GHOST. SOMETHING ABOUT SCOUT'S MOTHER'S HEAD BEING HELD AROUND A CORNER AND DROPPED PARALLELING PYRO'S HEAD BEING HELD AROUND A CORNER AND DROPPED. SOMETHING ABOUT SCOUT'S "IF THEY EVER HIT YOU WITH SOMETHING, YOU HIT BACK TWICE AS HARD" WITH MEDIC SHOOTING SPY TWICE IN THE HEAD AFTER BEING SHOT ONCE IN THE GAME OF RUSSIAN ROULETTE WHY IS EMESIS BLUE SO GOOD

TF2 is in an eternal war with Overwatch for some reason

I was doing a poll a few days ago and the tags psychic blasted me with the information of "by the way people pay like fifty dollars to see medic's tiddies in game." I have gotten varying answers between ninety dollars to three hundred fucking dollars but the constant remains that people will pay Valve comically high amounts of money to see Medic's boobs. What

Scout almost got Earth exploded because he died a virgin???? But then God was like "Okay go back down to earth I'm giving them one last chance to all have sex with you" I'm so confused what does any of this mean none of this makes any sense but it's hilarious

Scout might be legitimately named after Jerma and bears a frightening resemblance to him (though to be fair scout is every white boy in one)

You should watch Emesis Blue it's free on youtube

Demoman's eye is sentient even though he doesn't have it????

I can't decide who's my favorite the white boy the unethical scientist or the silly nonbiney war criminal

Conclusion: What the fuck is team fortress the second one about

[missredherring]

Wrong Until You Make It Right

Joel Miller x Plus Size!F!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 3k.

Summary: After a long day when his kitchen sink starts leaking, there's only one person he thinks to call. You make a house call and Joel gets a wake up call.

Contents: no outbreak!AU. No kids!AU. Co-workers to lovers. Power imbalance (contractor/subcontractor). Reader is nicknamed "Patches."

A/N: This is a Secret Santa gift for the lovely @covetyou!!!

I hope you like this, Lo. All of your prompts were great and I had a hard time passing up Dieter giggling about butt plugs, but I couldn't resist Joel pining over his pretty subcontractor plumber.

I was going to try and wait to post this closer to Christmas but I'm so impatient to give it to you!!

I know nothing about plumbing except for what Google told me. Not beta'd; all mistakes are my own. Divider by @saradika-graphics.

Joel’s feet are wet. Why are his feet wet? 

He blinks his eyes back into focus from where he’d been staring blankly at the dishes and looks down at the floor. There’s a small puddle at his feet which explains the deeply unpleasant sensation of wet socks, but not why or where it came from. He opens the cabinet under the sink and a few more trickles of water rush out to settle around his feet too.

He sighs, and for one sweet second he considers going out to his truck, getting the sledgehammer, and just smashing through the whole damn kitchen. But then he thinks of the work and money it’d take to fix everything after his temper tantrum and sighs again. He turns on his phone’s flashlight and looks under the sink. There’s the usual pipes and nothing is obviously broken, but there is a puddle at the bottom of the cabinet to match the one on the floor. He hears another drop of water fall as he closes the door. 

His head hangs between his shoulders and he squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment. His phone is in his hand and ringing before he really knows what he’s doing. Your name is on the screen and his gut is mixed between the flutter of anticipation to hear your voice, and the sick twist of ‘oh shit.’ He shouldn’t be calling you this late after an even later day, but he has a plumbing issue, and you’re the one he always calls for plumbing issues. Ok, not always, but for the past year and a half you’ve been his plumber of choice. 

Your tiny voice is yelling at him by the time he makes up his mind to not hang up on you.

“Did he butt dial me or something? Man…” You’re talking to yourself and it sounds like you’re moving your phone away now so it’s his turn to call out your name.

“Patches, uh, hey. I meant to call you.” He says quickly. He grabs a kitchen towel and throws it on the floor, soaking up as much of the water as he can, moving it around with his already wet foot.

“What’s up?”

“I have a problem at the house. Kitchen sink is leaking.” 

“I just checked the kitchen pipes yesterday. Did something–”

“No, not at the site. At my house. There’s water all over the floor and–” He can feel the need to explain himself mix with the nerves in his gut and it’s an effort to stop the words. “Could you come over and take a look at it please? I know it’s after hours. I can call someone else.”

“Don’t worry about it, Miller. I’m leaving the site now, so I’ll see you in a bit.” You say and end the call. 

He’s left looking at his phone’s clock and rubs at the back of his neck, suddenly aware of his sore back and arms and the weight of tiredness behind his eyes. Joel takes the gamble and finishes the remaining dishes in the sink. He can give you the curtesy of a cleaned up workspace at least. When he’s done he goes under the sink again and turns off the water valve. 

Another hanging kitchen towel catches his eye as he straightens up and he tells himself that he might as well dry and put away the dishes while he waits for you to get here. Right after he changes his socks.

Headlights flash through the front windows and his phone chimes with a text. He checks it even though he knows it’s from you, and a moment later you’re knocking at the door. 

Joel saw you just this morning, passing you in the site’s upstairs bathroom as he left to meet up with the materials supplier. He already has the urge to give you a wide berth, to leave the room you haven’t even entered yet. As he opens the door he knows, deep down, that being alone with you is a bad idea.

You’re standing on his doorstep, still in your preferred work uniform of a t-shirt branded with your plumbing company’s logo and a worn pair of overalls. Sturdy boots are on your feet and you’ve got a tool bag in one hand as you shove your phone in a pocket with the other.

All of a sudden he regrets everything. Calling you was a mistake. You shouldn’t be here, all round and soft and looking like you’ve walked out of every dirty dream he’s had since he was a teenager just learning what to do with a stiff dick only steps away from his bedroom, his couch, his kitchen counter. Hell, he’d happily deal with his back and knees aching tomorrow if you let him fuck you on the stairs right behind him, or up against the door after he closes it.

You raise your eyebrows at him when he doesn’t say anything and just stares at you. “You said you’ve got some busted pipes? You’re gonna have to let me in if you want me to look at them, Joel.”

He nods and moves out of the way. His hand is fidgeting at his side, but he's happy to let it go, relieved that it hasn't done something dumb like reach out for you instead. “Thanks for coming over so late. I appreciate it.”

“You know, there’s a porno that starts out like this,” You say as you pass him, a teasing grin on those lips he does his best not to think about. “The genders are usually flipped –which is just a ridiculous waste of potential– but don’t worry, all I have in here are my work tools. I left my other tool bag at home.”

You laugh and it’s all he can do to force some kind of sound out of his mouth that he hopes to God sounds like a laugh instead of a groan at the thought of you watching porn. 

“I promise I can pay, no need for a trade of services.”

You click your tongue and give him a look over your shoulder. “Shame.”

Joel finally closes the door behind you, pointing the way to the kitchen. It’s the only other room on this floor with the lights on, so you find it easily and Joel follows you, watching the shift of your hips as you walk. He’d always thought the overalls looked good on you, hugging the lines of your belly and ass and making him want to pop the buttons at your hips to see how far down your shirt went today. He's seen it ride up your sides, revealing skin and rolls that his fingers itch to touch. 

They’re covered in stains and patches, just like every pair you own, but he recognizes this pair and that patch on the back of your leg. It was one of the first jobs you'd worked together and he was still keeping an eye on you, getting the feel of how you worked and how well you fit into an established crew all trying to get the job done on schedule. 

The denim had gotten caught just at the back of your knee on a nail that had been sticking out while you checked a pipe fitting. You didn’t care much, just glad the skin underneath hadn’t been caught as well. The next time he saw those overalls there was a patch over where the hole had been, the stitches neat and straight in a way Joel knew his mother would’ve admired.

He glances away from that same patch and the others that have since joined it when you set down your tool bag on the counter. 

“You said the sink was leaking?” You ask him with a curious tone. It was the same one you used when triaging plumbing issues. There's what the client thinks the problem is and what actual problem is, you'd told him when he'd asked about the obvious ‘customer service’ persona you used. He was good enough dealing with customers, but you had a way with them that made him wonder just how much patience with stupidity you had. He hopes it’s a lot because he’s feeling really stupid right now, as you give him another look.

What the fuck is wrong with him? He’s been in a hundred different kitchens, bathrooms, and houses with you, but somehow you being in his own home, in his own kitchen feels different. He likes to savor a pot of hot coffee at that table when his schedule allows for it. That counter is where he dumps his stuff from the day and shakes off his responsibilities as head contractor for a few hours before he has to do it all again. 

Now you’re here in the middle of it, and all his brain can do is wonder how you’d fit in those scenarios. Would you join him at the table, watching the sun come over the trees while you both wait for the coffee to cool down? Would you want something to eat first, needing something in your stomach instead of having caffeine first thing in the morning? Would you lean against him as you tug your boots off and take a moment to rest there, pressing your face into his shoulder tenderly before making a face and moving away to tell him he stinks? 

Joel’s done his damnedest to keep things professional with you, despite the attraction he feels, but now those lines are blurring. There's a familiar curl of desire starting in his gut and he knows he can't let his thoughts wander much more or he'll just make it worse. When he'd changed into sweatpants after getting home, he certainly hadn't thought he'd need the camouflage jeans could provide. He swallows and falls back into the safe zone of work.

“Yea. I was washin’ up and water was coming straight outta the cabinet underneath.” 

You hum and pull out a small flashlight from your bag. Clicking it on, you open both cabinet doors and go down on your knees. After a second you roll back onto your bottom to sit on the floor. He watches as the extra fabric of your overalls stretches over your thighs and the denim creases and pushes into you, and when you readjust to get more comfortable he can’t stop the thought of taking you down to the floor himself. The way you’d laugh at him as he’d wrestle with your clothing, trying to get his hands on any part of your warm skin he could until you took pity on him and helped, lifting your hips up into his as you move them out of the way for him. 

You’re up to your shoulders in the cabinet by the time he blinks the fantasy away and he catches the tail end of what you’re saying. 

“-- you aren’t trying to fix this yourself. Most guys think they can do it.” You say, your voice muffled and echoing at the same time somehow. 

He scoffs. He’d been hired to clean up the aftermath of underqualified “Mr. Fix-it’s” plenty when he was starting out and building up a client base to branch out into contracting. 

“I know enough to shut the water off and call someone who knows what they’re doing. I don’t mess with plumbing or electric, you know that.”

“Right,” There’s a pause before you speak again. “I’m surprised you called me actually, Joel.”

His brows pull together in a frown you can’t see. “Why’s that?”

“I get the impression that you don’t like me much. You’re always scowling at me.”

“I scowl at everyone.” He says, but you’re not wrong. He often finds himself scowling when he catches sight of you on the job. It’s not because of anything you’re doing, it’s because he has to remind himself to stop ogling you while you’re both at work.  

Instead of saying anything else you motion to the faucet. “I can’t tell much right now. There’s no giant holes or disconnected pipes. Turn on the water and let’s see what’s going on.”

He nods and after stepping around you he flips the faucet handle all the way back. 

It happens all at once. The only warning they get is gurgling and the interrupted flow from the spout before something breaks and it’s no longer a drip but a full spray of water coming from where it shouldn’t.

The handle is slammed back down and he’s standing there with his hands held up and a driving need to do something to fix the mess. You’re still leaning into the cabinet, taking a final look at things before he hears the squeak of the water valve being turned off again and you emerge.

You’re soaked. It’d splashed some onto his pants, but you’d gotten a direct hit. Your hair, your face, and down your chest: it’s all wet, dripping onto his floor. 

“Shit, Patches,” He’s all out of kitchen towels. “Hang on.”

You’re where he left you when he comes back, towel in hand. He can see how tired you are in the tight lines around your mouth, the dark circles under your eyes, and the way you’re slouching over your lap. He hands you the towel and you nod in thanks.

It’s a brisk rub down that leaves your hair even more of a mess and the way you hold the towel to your chest in an attempt to draw out some of the water that’s seeped into the denim makes him regret giving up the towel. He holds a hand out to you and helps haul you up to your feet, both of you grunting with the effort. 

“Well,” you start. “From what I saw it’s an easy fix. Just needs some new fittings and fresh tape. I know I’ve got the tape on me, but I’m not sure about the fittings. I can definitely take care of it tomorrow though.”

He nods and is trying to think of something else to say, to keep you longer, when you do it for him.

“Could you get something from my truck for me, Joel? I’ve got a bag of clothes, behind the driver’s seat.” 

“'Course.” He says and you pull out your keys from one of the numerous pockets in your overalls. He wouldn't have minded having to find them himself. Your truck is somehow neat and dirty at the same time and the bag you mentioned is easy enough to find. 

He’s jostling the duffel bag, shuffling the handles in his hand, back and forth as he comes in when he’s stopped in his tracks. You’ve unhooked your overalls and taken off your shirt. The denim is bunched at your waist, held up by your round belly and leaving your chest bare except for your bra. Joel doesn’t know what he’d do if you’d taken that off too, even though it must be wet.

There are red marks on your ribcage and indents on your shoulders where the elastic has pressed into you throughout the day and he wants to soothe them, rub his thumbs and fingers over the marks on your sides as he kisses your shoulders. 

You’re leaning so casually on his counter like it’s something you do all the time. Like you’re just waiting for him to come back. He knows you’re doing just that, but the domesticity of the scene you make is too strong deny and to keep blaming it all on the strong physical attraction he has for you. The thought is clear in his mind and it breaks through all the bullshit he’s been telling himself for the past year in a half: this is what he wants. To come home with you after a long day and spend the rest of the night relaxing together. 

His heart trips over itself and he understands that this is it. He can’t avoid it anymore.

“Here.” He says and you jump a little at his voice. He hands over the bag and doesn’t speak again until you pulled a shirt on. “I like you plenty and that’s the problem.” 

You're in your underwear in front of him with one leg in your own pair of sweatpants. You're bent over, your breasts swinging a little with your movement. There is no shy turning away, just a grateful shucking of wet clothing and he’s only looking at your face and eyes now. 

“You’re damn good at your job and I’ve been trying to be professional around you,” He pauses and rocks his jaw. Then he says your name, not the nickname he gave you or your surname or anything else. Just your name. “I like you a lot, as more than a coworker and these feelings haven’t gone anywhere in the time I’ve known you. If you’re not interested, this won’t change anything at work,” He promises. “But I’d like to see if there’s something there, with you. If you want to.”

He shuts his mouth with a click and almost winces as what he said comes back to him. If Tommy heard about this, he’d never hear the end of it. Hell, he might not have the smoothest lines out there, but he said what he needs to.

You pull your arms into your shirt and there’s movement under it before you’re pulling the wet bra out from an arm hole and tossing it on the pile of clothes. The sigh you let out is gusty and full of relief. 

“Thank fuck it’s not just me. You’re one stubborn man, Joel Miller, but I’m glad we’re finally talking about it.” You reach out to him and smile when he takes your hand. It looks small in his, and he can feel the calluses on your palm catch on the calluses on his fingers. “I’d really like that.”

It’s Joel’s turn to sigh in relief and he squeezes your hand. “I was gonna order a pizza. D’you want to stay for dinner?” 

You narrow your eyes at him and take your hand back to poke him in the gut. “Feeding me won’t get you out of paying for work, you know.”

Joel shakes his head and gets his phone out. “Not even if it’s from Ty’s Place?”

Your lips purse in consideration and it’s with a giddy feeling that Joel realizes that he doesn’t have to push down his urges anymore. He gives into it and leans down to kiss your pretty mouth.

It takes a second for you to reply. “...maybe if you get breadsticks too.”

He chuckles and kisses you again.

[shuttershocky]

Warren Spector (known for a LOT of stuff, but most known in the mainstream for Deus Ex) just wrote a blog post about his 40 year career in game development, a truly spectacular feat considering this industry grinds up way too many developers in less than 5.

There's SO much to go through, but some highlights for me were:

Wing Commander is why video game expos to this day play their sound so damn loud. When they displayed the game the devs bought a home theater setup and set it to max volume to grab as much attention as possible

Deus Ex became a reality when Spector told Paul Neurath to shut down Looking Glass' studio in Austin (his own studio) to save the company, saying "I'll find another deal. We'll be okay." In came John Romero to the rescue promising Spector the biggest budget he's ever had, the biggest marketing budget he's ever had, and zero creative interference to make the game of his dreams if he joined Ion Storm. That became Deus Ex.

Spector's original pitch for a cyberpunk game was actually a sci-fi spinoff of Wing Commander called Alien Commander, but Doug Church had a similar pitch that he loved more than his own, which became the landmark title System Shock.

He's often credited as the creator of Thief: The Dark Project, but Spector insists he worked on it for 1 year out of its 3 year development and the credit should go to Doug Church and Greg Lopiccolo.

Spector originally wanted to be able to fight in Thief because sometimes stealth was too hard, and the other devs said he was crazy. That "I want players to be able to choose to fight or sneak" is eventually what led to Deus Ex!

Spector had a collab going with John Woo (holy shit) where they would make a movie and video game series together called Ninja Gold, but unfortunately studios dropped them.

Epic Mickey was shooting for the Moon. After the movie studio deals and the collab with Valve fell through, Spector's studio was desperate for work until Seamus Blackley suggested they pitch to Disney. Spector thought it was crazy, but they went for it and to their surprise they weren't just given a Disney IP, they were given Mickey himself. Unfortunately, working with Disney can be cursed but we all already knew that

Very important: The game is called "Deus Ex" only partly because it's about gods from the machines. Spector thought it would be really funny if people mispronounced the game and had to say "sex"

[emotionallyattachednerd]

Lucky Winners ❙ ES Bumblebee X f!robot reader X Breakdown ❙ NSFW 18+

Word count: 2300+

Warnings: Smut ( valve in plug and port and double penetration ) threesome, mentions of BreakBee and a pretty tasty sandwich. NSFW 18+.

Notes: This...I really liked this! Thanks anon for sending through it was a lot of fun and excited to share with the world. Enjoy. 🥰

They are at it again. Bumblebee and Breakdown were having a few races together at the track while you watch on, unable to hold back your smile as you admire them both carrying on like sparklings. Honestly, you think it's cute, they both are, and you enjoy spending time with them.

After the horrible events with both G.H.O.S.T. and Mandroid there was a lot to repair and more verbal agreements to be made. All decepticons and autobots are finally working together to repair the space bridge, and to put the differences aside for a better future.

You're an autobot, loyal to Optimus, but even you grew tired of this war. Despite still being considered as young you felt ready for retirement. After the space bridge would be fixed you wanted to revisit cybertron, and from there you're wanting to consider what you want.

What you truly want is to settle, a change to start a family perhaps, but finding the right mech was no easy task. Right now your thoughts and optics are right on both Bumblebee and Breakdown. Both were rather handsome, funny, and they were both kind to you. But of course you can't have both, right?

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the sound of engines roaring and tires skidding, both bots come screaming around the track and as always Breakdown beats Bumblebee. They both transform in style right before you then.

"Too slow!"

"Not again! I know you're cheating somehow, there's just no way you can beat me every single time!"

"Just admit that I'm faster to you, Bee." Breakdown gave out a hearty laugh that you are fond of hearing.

"Y/N, to be honest, did he get a head start?" Bumblebee asks, bringing you into the moment.

"Breakdown a cheater? That's a serious accusation." Your tone is playful. "I'm pretty sure you both went off at the same time."

"I want a re-race!" Bumblebee declared.

"Let's make it interesting. Winner takes the prize." Breakdown grins with mischief.

"What prize? You've got nothing to offer!" Bumblebee argues with slumped shoulders before looking at you. "Name the prize, Y/n."

"Me?" You sound surprised. "Well, alright. The winner shall...." You think before giving a shrug, followed by a silky giggle. "The winner gets a kiss from me."

It's a joke, at least that's what you told yourself.

Both Breakdown and Bumblebee stare at you, then at each other, before they transform and are flying down the track as if their lives depended on it.

"Oh." You whisper to yourself as you feel your cheek plating warm up a little. It was a joke, and they both took it very seriously. Surely they didn't seriously think you are being for real?

Well, you sit there, anxiously waiting for the winner to finish. It's not that you were opposed to the thought of kissing either of them, you would like that very much, but perhaps it's just you overthinking it. It's just a kiss.

Eventually they finish, and once again Breakdown is the champion.

"Yes! I get the prize!" He looks rather proud of himself and even eager to get the kiss from you.

"No fair..." Poor Bumblebee sounded like a wounded critter.

"So, Y/n, how about that kiss?" Breakdown cruises towards you, holding a charming smirk as you stand up from the ground in front of him.

"Very well." Leaning forward you caress his cheek, turning his head lightly and kissing his cheek lightly, giving him a dainty giggle noticing his confused expression.

"What? That's all?" You don't miss Bumblebee's amused smile.

"Oh I'm sorry, were you expecting a hot make out session?" You teased with a seductive smile.

"Yeah?"

"That wasn't the prize offered." Patting his cheek you step away crossing your arms across your charris.

"Alright then, put it on the table." Breakdown sounded determined to get that kiss, which makes you blush lightly knowing what he wants from you. "Bee, one more race?"

Bumblebee vented heavily. "Fine! But I'm watching you, no cheating."

"Y/n, all good, kiss on the lips on the table?" Breakdown looks very anxious as he dances lightly on his pedas making you smirk lightly, an idea forming in your mind. It was crazy but you can't help yourself. After all, it's been a while since you've had any intimate fun.

"How about...whoever wins, get's to have me." You declare before leaning yourself against the brick wall and parting your legs a little, your servos cascading over the top of your thighs, teasing the two racers. "And they can do whatever they want with me."

Once again the silence lingers, and after a long moment of waiting, both Breakdown and Bumblebee have driven off down the track once again in a more desperate attempt to win. You can't help but giggle lightly, the joy and thrill already working through your frame as you wait, curious as to who was going to win and have their way with you. You are going to feel so sorry for whoever doesn't win.

As both come around the bend you notice that both are side by side as they floor it towards the finish line. Would this be the race that Bumblebee finally wins?

Keeping your optics at the finish, you anxiously bit your lips and waited, and waited, right before they both crossed. It's a tie.

"It's me! I won!" Breakdown yells as he's letting everyone know he's won.

"No way! I did! I won that race!" Bumblebee argues not wanting to lose this round.

"Y/n, be honest, who's the lucky winner?" Breakdown leaves it to you to decide, smirking lightly as he sends you a charming wink.

Of course though you answer honestly. "You're both the lucky winners."

"What?" Both looked confused at you causing an uplifting giggle to leave you.

"I saw it, and it's a tie, no more arguing about it. Now, if you two are done with your racing, perhaps you both would like to have your prize now?" You tease as you walk back into the sheltered part of the race track, optics illuminating in the shadows as you await their pounce.

It doesn't take long for either of them to do exactly that.

You find yourself being embraced by Breakdown from behind, feeling his servos roaming over your hips and waist, his lips planting against the back of your neck as he lets out a groan just from touching you. Bumblebee stood in front, his lips latched onto your own in a lustful aura, glossa's tangled gentle together as you both let out hushed moans into one another. It seems both didn't have any issues sharing you.

Curiously, you teased Bumblebe's horns between your digits, earning a short gasp from him as he pulled away in surprise, notice his cheek plating heat up from your actions.

"Sensitive?" You ask through a gentle teasing tone.

"Y-yeah, but it's alright." He gives an innocent smile.

"He secretly loves it." Breakdown says from behind you against your audio.

"And how would you know?" You continue to tease.

"I know everything." His tone was very suggestive.

You bit your lips in thought, considering that the two fool around with one another, which you actually found quite arousing. You digits continue to gently tease Bumblebee's horns, enjoying the sounds he made as you both kiss deep again. Breakdown's servo moved down between your thighs earning a low moan from you under their seductive touches.

"I bet you're already soaking for us, yeah?" Breakdown's tone seems to have that in depth effect on you.

"So much." You weren't going to lie or hold back as you spread your thighs a little, rocking your hips down against his touches. Moving your own servo behind you touch his heated panel, your other moving to Bumblebee's panel as you give them firm rubs, making the two groan from your touches. "And I bet you two are eager for this."

Their answer is by moving, and you find yourself straddling Bumblebee on the ground with Breakdown behind you still, feeling him tilt your helm to the side so he can steal another warm kiss from you as you grind yourself against Bumblebee, who has now retracted his panel and you do the same, rubbing yourself along his already throbbing spike. Breakdown does the same and you feel his thick spike rubbing up against your aft earning a thrilled quiver to rush through your frame.

"Are you alright with this?" Breakdown asks you gently, knowing very well you are about to take them both.

"Definitely."

You trust both to take care and satisfy you greatly. You end up retracting your port than for Breakdown and grind yourself against the two mechs to get them even harder and yourself more lubricated.

A lot of your juices have already leaked out and Breakdown uses this to coat his digits and gently probe your port to prepare you for him. The invasion was different but not bad, in fact you find yourself rocking back against his digits, right before positioning yourself over Bumblebee's tip and sinking down on him.

"Oh primus..." Bumblebee moans, servos holding onto your hips as you slowly lower yourself, feeling every ridge press through your inner walls before bending down to kiss him softly.

Slowly you rock yourself, clenching around his spike along with Breakdown's pumping digits, letting out soft mewls that linger and savouring every second of this. You honestly had no idea if something like this would happen again, and so you want to make every second count for the three of you and make sure they never forget it.

Breakdown removes his digits and you hear him shuffling behind before feeling the warm tip of his spike against your port, nudging gently, before he pushes forward slowly. His grunts hit your audio as you tip your helm back against his shoulder, moaning loudly before it's swallowed by his lips over yours, devouring you with his glossa as he continues to inch forward into your tight port.

Bumblebee found the sight of you both above him even more arousing while you rode his spike slowly, his servos resting at your waist while he vents through the heated desire rushing through him.

You take both their spikes fully, feeling every bumpy ridge and throb from them, clenching around them teasingly as you continue to rock yourself slowly against them. "You both fill me so well, so good." You send them both praises. "You can move, please."

"We'll take very good care of you." Breakdown purrs before looking down at Bumblebee. "You ready slowpoke?"

"Bring it, show off." Bumblebee grins at him.

Holding yourself above, both of them start to thrust into you in sync together, slowly and firmly. Your valve and port welcome both spikes eagerly, clenching around them, feeling every ridge dragging across your inner walls. Your optics shuttered as your mouth hung open, constant silky moans forming from you as you let both winners take you as their prize.

Breakdown's heated grunts are deep and continuous, pressing into you repeatedly as his servos grip your waist securely. Bumblebee's moans are different, softer, servos held a sturdy yet gentle hold across your hips, feeling his digits circling into your soft armour which sends pulses of bliss through your already quivering frame.

"Oh frag..." Is all you can whisper out through the intense interfacing you are receiving from two impressive mechs and their throbbing spikes entering you over again in perfect sync.

"Taking us so well." Breakdown whispers hoarsely against your audio, feeling ever heated vent from him as he rocks into you. "Think you can go for more?"

"Easy Breakdown, don't want to hurt her." Bumblebee's concern was sweet, you think to yourself.

"It's alright. Yes, please. I've got two speed racers fragging me. Give me your true speed." You are ready for them, and it's all the coaxing they both need.

It's as if something set off between them, an electric pulse, because the next thing you know is both of them let themselves go, and truly show you the speed racers they are.

Metal hitting metal, scraping together, throbbing spikes now being rutted into your valve and port repeatedly. Both their hips slam against you over again, but of course all you can feel is the overwhelming pleasure boiling through you as you somehow manage to hold yourself up above Bumblebee with shaky arms.

Your overload suddenly snaps, catching you off guard and half broke shout and collapsing against Bumblebee's chassis while clamping tightly around their twitching cables buried deep in you, aftershocks and pulses rocking through your frame as your moans continue to linger out through their rapid thrusts against you.

Both weren't too far behind, and as you let out short whimpers through they final thrusts, you suddenly feel them giving their final movements through their intense moans and filling you deeply with their transfluids, jerky thrusts lingering before Breakdown lays gently across your back, careful to not crush you or Bumblebee.

Laying on top of Bumblebee he turns his helm a little and you end up kissing him softly making him smile lightly in return as his servo caresses your shoulder. Breakdown leans down over your shoulder, moaning a little as you still feel him inside you, before he tilts your helm back to kiss you as well. That wasn't all though, and you watch through inquisitive optics as Breakdown then leans across to kiss Bumblebee.

You already guessed they are fooling around, and it only turns you on.

"Just so you both know, if you ever want me to offer myself as a prize through racing for each of you, I'm keen." You inform them.

"Guess Bee and I will be racing more often than." You can feel Breakdown's grin through his voice.

"One of these days I'll beat you." Bumblebee sounds determined.

"Sure thing, slow poke."

You let out a soft giggle and touch both speeders tenderly. "I can't wait."

[polliwoggers]

have I ever told you how much i adore the concept of clockwork stars. They're the perfect balance of whimsical and deeply, deeply ominous. long-forgotten technology you don't have the first clue toward understanding. easily the most powerful of the ancients' creations. control of even one of the miraculous comets is enough to make you a god. it will do exactly as you ask, but only once. be careful what you wish for.

to think that the ancients had both the drive and ability to fabricate a literal wishing star just... boggles me. why do they exist? for what purpose were they intended? why weren't there any safeguards? how could the ancients have disappeared if they had devices as powerful as these at their disposal? why would they let themselves disappear?… and why would they have allowed something so dangerous to continue to roam the galaxy, eons after they were gone?

it's a fairy. it's a supercomputer. it is the curling finger on the monkey's paw. it's the size of a planet. god, its size. it must be the largest foe kirby has ever fought. there's no contest. To even put a dent in it requires taking it down from the inside. intercepting its immune response, sabotaging its structural support, and failing to smother its eternal, mechanical heartbeat. the sheer scale of this monster! how marvelous it must be to see it in action! translating a request into code, initializing a wish. valves open, gears turn; a cacophony of metallic pings, booms, and clicks. it's the loudest sound you've ever heard. steam whistles from an opening as it boils into the vastness of space. you can't escape the sound, and you can't look away. you're dying. were you careful with what you wished for?

i think it's really fitting how a lot of fan content uses "Nova" as a stand-in for "God" when they want characters to swear to something. there are a lot of godlike characters in Kirby to choose from, a number of whom are actually acknowledged as gods to certain groups within the text of the games themselves -- Dark Nebula, Necrodeus, Void Termina. Not to mention all of the contenders for angel or demigod status. but, no, it's Nova that we swear to? A lifeless machine with no will of its own? a tool with no protections, that any entrepreneuring tyrant could use to make the universe contort to their liking? It just… really speaks to how awe-inspiring and terrifying clockwork stars actually are. there is no "BE NOT AFRAID" when it descends. it does not have the capacity to care how you feel. a simple ">READY" is all it will say. and, honestly, I think that's even scarier.

clockwork stars are the closest thing the kirby universe has to a doomsday device, and i can't get enough of it

[mychlapci]

So if Ultra is training Sentinel to be his little slutty secretary, Megatron is training his little Prime to be his partner not only in bed, but in battle too.

Optimus is the only mech who's actually managed to match Megatron in battle for eons, it would be a shame to lose that prowess. Even if Optimus is lubricating through his panels and drooling at the mere sight of Megatron's spike, he's still fighting the hypnosis. At first, Megatron pays it no mind, treating Optimus the same as he would any autobot slut. But soon he notices a pattern. Optimus doesn't respond well to being told to get on his knees and fights even while under hypnosis, his iron will won't let him submit and he even manages to break through, if only just enough to get a few rebellious phrases out. However, when Megatron treats Optimus like an equal, calling him his consort, his queen, actually listens to Optimus when he talks, Optimus practically melts and is much more cooperative in berth, easily submitting and begging like how Megatron imagined the first time.

Eventually it clicks, in order to get Optimus to behave, to submit, he has to treat him like he's equal to Megatron. The hypnosis is supposed to ensure submission, but submission can come very differently between mechs. For Optimus, he will only be submissive if his partner treats him with dignity and respect.

Honestly, it's a little concerning. Optimus has been so mistreated and neglected that he can't imagine being respected in anything other than his dirtiest, kinkiest, fantasies.

Megatron isn't surprised by this, and is in fact quite upset. He's very disappointed that the council hasn't changed in the millions of years he's been gone. So, if the hypnosis will only work on Optimus if he makes him is Queen and treats him as such, then so be it.

And it works out wonderfully. Megatron trains Optimus as his equal, teaching him to fight, to manage an army, to be a leader not unlike Megatron himself. Optimus' training regimen fills out his figure, a lovely hourglass figure with wide hips and thick thighs, his waistline is wider to accommodate for his shift in stature. When Megatron is in his office doing paperwork, he convinces Optimus that a good leader knows how to keep on top of his tasks with well deserved breaks. Optimus falls for it hook, line, and sinker, helping with Megatron's paperwork. Unlike Sentinel who is perfectly content doing as he's told without question, Megatron encourages Optimus to ask questions, start debates, he's come to the conclusion that Optimus truly is the best choice in consort and must be prepared to take over the Decepticon Empire should Megatron be unavailable. All of this coxxes Optimus further and further into his trance, happily giving himself to Megatron letting him plow his valve and fill him with transfluid.

And once Optimus is sparked, whoo boy. If Megatron was pretending to respect Optimus for the sake of keeping him under hypnosis, he certainly wasn't now. Carrier's are a very serious matter to Decepticons after all, and Optimus was treated with all the respect and love as any other Decepticon carrier. This comes with the added bonus of Optimus falling even deeper into his trance.

Best thing? Even if Optimus was pulled from his trance, no one would be able to tell. Optimus is fully cognizant under hypnosis, the program is telling him "it's ok to give in, to let these big, strong, brutes take the reigns and ruin his little valve with their monster size spikes. To give them control, to let them in, to follow every direction he's given like a good little slut and beg for his overloads. To be a good little whore and take their spikes without complaint." Optimus wouldn't allow such a thing without his input, "I'll do as I'm told, I'll let them fuck me, breed me, but ONLY if I get a say in it. If we're doing this, we're doing it my way."

And he does genuinely like the way Megatron treats him, it truly is a kink for him to be respected. If he's pulled out of the hypnosis, Optimus wouldn't change a thing. He's already ensured the safety of earth and it's people, his crew is being well taken care of by their handlers, and honestly? Cybertron did need to be reformed. Maybe he can convince Megatron to remove the hypnosis on the population in a few years, after Decepticon rule has been implemented and secured.

Megatron thought he played Optimus with the hypnosis? Optimus played the entire program by twisting it in his favor. Hypnosis can't make you do things you weren't capable of to begin with after all. It's a win-win situation tho, so no one's complaining.

Optimus with a kink for being respected... the implications are staggering and the possibilities are endless.

Optimus stubbornly fucks up his hypnosis because no way in hell is he letting Megatron treat him like some stupid idiot slut... He'll be his consort, sitting in a separate throne, with enough room for his growing belly, and he won't be pushed around. Megatron honestly can't believe just how much he likes it. A feisty autobot wife is much better than a plain, dumb spike-sleeve like Sentinel was turned into.

Megatron knows he's chosen right... He now has a worthy conjux helping him rule the newly conquered Cybertron, and producing heirs who'll inherit the entire empire once they're gone. This is everything he never knew he needed <3

[talesfromlissom]

BASELINE URGES // TFA! MEGATRON X READER // NSFW/VALVEPLUG WARNING

SUMMARY - The Allspark gives Megatron a gestation chamber, which warframes are not supposed to have. He’s going to break your array at this rate. 

WARNINGS/TAGS - Valveplug, Megatron being an asshole, is it a breeding kink if 'god' told you to make babies??

“Put a sparkling into my gestation chamber or so help me, Primus,  I will throw your offlined frame out of the closest airlock.”

Silence crept between you, and your mouth opened, closed, and opened again. Your face scrunches up, hands resting at your hips while you lean forward a bit, “Yes, hello (Y/N). How have you been since I’ve been dead for the past 50 years, my sweet…loving…beautiful conjunx–” “Kiss me.” “No. Where in the pits have you been?!” You exclaim. “Everyone thought you were dead for the past 50 years, then you show up, and the first thing you tell me is that you want a damn bitlet?!” 

Megatron’s face twists, his optics narrowing as a low growl emits from his throat, “Stop being foolish. We can have a conversation about logistics later. All you need to know is that I’m back, and I want an heir.” 

“You’re such an aft.” And then you kiss him with anything but gentleness. It was rough, demanding, and Megatron wasn’t entirely sure what else, but you were also so damn angry. He could feel the hot rage dripping off of your frame as your EM field slammed against his own. It's like a thousand tiny knives, but he doesn’t care. You're shoving him into the wall, and apparently, you’re not pissed enough to say no to fragging him within half of a processor. At this point he feels as if this is more something you’re doing out of annoyance rather than actually wanting to make a damn sparkling, “Dolt, frag me already.” He mutters half-heartedly and kisses you again. 

You aren’t even surprised when Megatron wraps his legs around your waist, arms grasping at your shoulders. You yelp when he suddenly chomps down on your glossa, head wrenching back and baring your teeth, “Don’t bite me,” You snap, wagging a finger at him as if he were a child. “Be patient.” You kiss him again. “And I don’t think you’d offline me anyways; you’d miss me too much.” 

Megatron clicks his teeth at this, grinding his pelvis into your own with a toothy grin. His HUD is already alerting him of his lubrication sequence starting, his cooling fans working over maximum velocity, and a random message from Shockwave that he ignores. Your frame is hot to the touch, scalding even, and yet neither of you seems to care despite the air in the closet already starting to heat up. 

“I’d miss your array, but do not worry, dear,” He muses, leaning his head into your neck, nibbling on cables and energon lines.”I’d cut it from your corpse and put it to good use.” 

You stop your movement, staring down at him with a wrinkled faceplate. You trip over your own words, mouth opening and closing a few times before you shake your head, “There’s something seriously wrong with you.” Megatron rolls his optics before his modesty plating snaps back, valve already slick, but he doesn’t hold back the grunt when you unceremoniously shove two fingers inside of him, scissoring him open. Not that much preparation was needed; he knew you were coming long before you yourself did, “And yet you decided to become my conjunx endura, so I believe there is something seriously wrong with you, my dear–” He growls lowly when your fingers hit his interior node, face scrunching up. 

“Don’t growl at me with my digits inside of you,” You grumble, eyes narrowing to look down at his pinched expression. “I think you’re supposed to say ‘thank you’.” 

“I’ll do as I please, you pompous aft!” Megatron snaps, but he doesn’t push you off either, not that he would anyway. You hit that spot again; his back arches, and a low moan leaves his lips. “You–!” 

His claws dig into your shoulders, and you know fairly well that your fellow Decepticons will ask you many questions. Your relationship was no secret at this point, though. He squirms in your grip, especially since your digits keep hitting that spot, “You little minx,” Megatron rasps, calipers clenching down on your fingers. “You’re doing–doing that on purpose!” 

“Maybe.” You muse, feeling your armor starting to dent under how harshly his hands are grasping at you. You’ll have claw marks on your back at this rate, but you’ll wear them with pride. At least for two hours before Megatron gets embarrassed and orders you to buff your frame. “Stop squirming; how are we gonna make a sparkling if you keep squirming?” The question is mostly just you thinking out loud. Megatron is squirming because he’s enjoying it. He’s arching his back, biting down on your shoulder, plating to muffle his noises. He doesn’t bottom often, but when he does, it's always something that you save to your hard drives for…other things. Of course, you’d never tell him that. You’re sure he’d be flattered to know that you jerk off to him, but he’d probably also be pissed that you’re pleasuring yourself without him there. He’s jealous of your own hand, apparently. 

You waste no time in prepping him, pulling your digits out, which have become coated in a thin layer of pink lubricant. You wipe your fingers on your thigh, lifting Megatron’s valve above your waiting spike. It’s pulsing, pre-fluid forming at its tip while it twitches. You feel Megatron shiver when he sinks down, just an inch at first. 

His chest is heaving, a loud gasp leaving his lips when gravity takes hold. His back arches, and he can’t help it either. This is his first time in a long time. But your spike is hitting all the right places, his calipers are expanding, his HUD is lighting up, and his frame just wants more more more—

“Megatron?” You blurt out, grunting when Megatron’s hips buck, trying to take more of your length. He feels so good around your spike, so familiar and so damn warm. 

Megatron can feel the burn from so many nodes firing off at once, and he grits his teeth, hands trying to push you down while his face flushes, “Give me control,” He pants, and you can’t bite back a frown. Not this again. “I am the–the lord of the Decepticons-” Megatron grabs your jaw, yanking your head down to look him in the eyes, “You’re making me—I look like a fragging fool.” 

“Oh, for primus sake–?!” You go to say before he pushes himself off of the wall. Your back hits the floor, and Megatron doesn’t even get the chance to lift his hips up in a sorry attempt to ride you. You roll to the side. You know damn well that he’s adjusted to your spike if he’s doing this, and you waste no time to start jerking your hips. 

You don’t say anything; the closet is filled with downright lewd-sounding squelches, cooling fans, your own breaths, and the various annoyed bleats that fall from Megatron’s mouth. You can’t help but lift his legs up, knees slapping against his shoulders. You drive your spike deeper into his valve, and you can feel the seal of Megatron’s gestation chamber hitting your tip. Not that it matters; it’s getting dissolved anyway, “You wanted a sparkling, didn’t you?”

Megatron just groans, head rolling to the side while his face twists in pleasure. His cooling fans are stuttering with how hot his frame is, and he’s almost tempted to shout at you again. The pressure builds up, and when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a meek-sounding whimper. He pants, chest rising and falling, his optics screwed shut while his fingers dig into the metal floor beneath his frame. He goes to say something else, but he just moans again. 

You’re seconds from overload at this rate, and if Megatron keeps clenching down on your length, it might happen sooner rather than later. Megatron lets out a mixture of a yell and a moan, valve clenching down as his overload travels across his frame. Your hand slaps onto his mouth when you hear voices down the hallway, and his own hand grips at your arm. You’re still fucking him through it, soft, jack rabbit-like thrusts; you grit your teeth, forehead resting on his shoulder when your own overload hits. Transfluid coating Megatron’s insides, all that Megatron does is groan quietly before he shoves your hand off of his mouth. 

“A warning could have been nice,” Megatron muses. “I sincerely hope that this works. We can try–what are you doing?” 

You aren’t really surprised when you promptly pick Megatron up and he doesn’t even try to struggle. Megatron's breath was labored still, valve twitching, along with various other parts of his frame. 

“I am taking you back to your quarters. We’re going to take a bath, and then we’re going to talk,” you reply. “About the sparkling?” “About everything.” 

“No. I’m tired.” 

The second that you enter his quarters, he’s already gone into an angry ramble about some planet called Earth. You find that you hate it just as much as he does. And once that ramble is done, he demands you two interface again. And again, and again. 

By the fourth round, he can’t even move, and you’re purring into his neck for a few moments before muttering, “Did you miss me, or is this really just about having an heir?” “An heir,” He huffs, though when he turns his head away and scrunches his face up, a telltale sign that he’s lying. He doesn’t do it around anyone normally, but he’s exhausted, it seems. “Nothing else. Again.” 

“Dear, you’re going to break my spike.” 

“Okay? Get a new one. Again.” 

You just sigh but move between his thighs once more, regardless. You’re not really complaining anyway. You’ll yell at him for being his usual self later. 

WORD COUNT - 1.6K

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A/N - I have many thoughts about TFA Megatron + warframes being built without gestation chambers but the Allspark is like: LOL go make some babies and calm down loser <3, and Megatron’s just: ??????!!!!. The only victim here is your dick tho. 

[hersurvival]

they told me to eat a lemon peel and wait 45 minutes, for euphoria, and what did i have to lose by biting through that bitter rind other than a lingering acrid taste on the back of my tongue, like bile in the back of my throat. low risk for the reward of activating the pineal gland, of being washed over by euphoria, opening that elusive third eye of perception.

but nothing happened.

now i am high as hell in a bed not mine, alone, after my baby brother's wedding.

still waiting for the valve to open, for the flow of that ancient greek pneuma, that breath, to tap that unassuming pinecone of an organ of excess and delirium open, calling to the goddess of strife and discord through the taste of zest, to channel this incessant rage, turn chaos into coping.

the stars are so far away, unable to be caressed as they're dying, already dead, light taking ages to fade, to blink out of existence. so far away from here, in a black sea of nothing, abysmal and freezing. poke holes in me, pinpricks, i wonder if i too can shine from within, if my void holds any light that won't be noticed when it fades.

@nosebleedclub June 29th - Lemon Rind