"You've opened my eyes to a sensation I never knew.."
The way he takes Shirase's hand to his cheek and gently rubs his face against it. My boy letting someone touch him for the first time and liking it🥹
These two were so sweet💕. I'm such a sucker for these kinds of stories where one of the MCs has never experienced the touch of another person because they hate it and then the other comes and changes everything for them. Instant connection, no usual negative, defensive reaction of the body to their touch, instead they find themselves drawn to this person..
I always self-insert hard in them even when I try not to because I suppose as someone who doesn't like physical touch myself and has no romantic experience because of it, there's still a part of me that hopes I get to find that special someone too one day. My exception.
I’m really trying to learn, so please be kind with your words. (´；ω；｀) 🎀🤍
Crossover thoughts: Will Graham 🤝 Fluttershy. I needed a soft-dark comfort pattern today. (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡🩹
(Goddamn, we had a crisis in the sala while editing. A cockroach touched my neurodivergent sister’s hair (she has intense tactile sensitivity) and we both melted down. 🦟🚫 It was devastating chaos until my cousin saved us! Hehe).
(Apologies for the blurry quality of Will, my app is struggling today). (ᗒᗩᗕ)
🩹✨ STRICTLY INTERACT IN THE NOTES! NO DMs! ✨
Let’s keep our patterns kind and public. ( ◜‿◝ )♡
it was confirmed that Leola was autistic. Autism is a spectrum, and seeing as autism is prevalent around me, I'm going to attempt to analyze hers.
My brother is autistic, but also has a learning disability. Meanwhile, I may be atypical autistic. I've also been to autism walks.
My brother likes to jump in place and kick out his legs at times. I stim on what's in my pockets (a smooth button, and a ball of colorful thread) and occasionally I flap 1 of my hands.
Autism you like to fixate on something, my brother it's large animals, for me it's storytelling.
We are both sensitive to loud (in my case also sharp) noises. My brother would occasionally sort beads, movies, his Figurines, etc. When I was younger I arranged all the picture books in front of me, to see and feel them all, I also sorted my fake food into groups, my lego into colors, my barbie objects into groups.
Details need to be exact, my brother (thanks to his learning disability) a fact is a fact, an opinion is an opinion, and it never changes. For me, things have to be done a certain way. If someone gets a detail wrong for something I like I get upset, and if something isn't done how I usually do it I get irritated (applying to protocols at work).
There's also when we get overwhelmed. I have an anxiety disorder, so normally when I'm very stressed I can't breathe and I clench up. My brother when gets frustrated or stressed he folds his ear. I feel calm when i muffle my ears.
There's a difference between high and low functioning autism, as well as male and female autism. I'm high functioning, but my brother has a learning disability. I've seen lower functioning autistics who can hardly talk, and higher functioning ones who choose not to.
I'm sensitive to certain things touching my skin, and I'm not sure about my brother. I don't like jewelry at all, meanwhile my brother seems to not like tight clothes or hair on his limbs. He prefers sandals, but wears boots when he feels he should.
That's all I know about Autism. There's Leola...
She had many friends, which is not easy for autistic people to forge bonds. However, she is female autistic, and they are more in tuned with their right brains (feelings and creativity), hence why my focus is storytellingand my cousin's is art. Girls are prone to be more emotional beings, so that might explain why she is so loving and accepting.
My brother only takes hugs because he was conditioned to be okay with them, meanwhile I love hugs. Which is probably why Leola sought physical comfort.
If I had to guess, Leola is a standard autistic, not atypical. She was also feminine autistic, so she's not closed off. Her focus maybe was on the stones of magic. When it comes to what we fixate on, we tell everyone we can about it. My brother loves spouting facts on large animals, I love sharing knowledge of stories as well as my own with others, so if her focus was the primal stones and how they connect to magic, of course she'd share it with humans. She'd want to share it with everyone.
Warnings: fluff, slight misunderstanding, autistic traits, aversion to texture, exposure therapy, hugs and kisses.
Summary: Tech loves you. That much is clear. However, he doesn’t hesitate to let you know that he doesn’t particularly care for some of the anomalous fabrics you decide to dress yourself in. Upon further investigation into this aversion, you explore Tech’s tactile sensitivity and how to either remedy or overcome these personal hurdles.
Read on ao3 & wattpad - little over 1.5k words
Masterlist - My kofi✨
“Hey, you’re back!” The ever familiar and long-awaited gait resounds closer and closer to you, and you can pinpoint exactly where Tech is despite your back being faced to him. Having returned from a routine flight lesson with Omega, you notice that Tech’s cadence of breath is somewhat accelerated; more so than usual. “Have fun on your joy ride?”
Tech settles into his comfort zone by blissfully enveloping his arms around you from behind, careful and delicate so as to not disrupt your own tinkering operations as you calibrate your recreational datapad to be in sync with his. The idea was suggested by Tech due to his want to share his own insider encryptions with you, so of course you had to humor the idea. He is warm, the torrid heat of the outdoors following him inside as he wraps you in his amorous blanket. “I find it difficult to find anything ‘joyful’ about nearly suffering from deathly collisions at speeds exceeding a thousand kilometers per hour.”
“Oh, come on. She’s still learning, and you’ve proven to be an exemplary teacher. Plus, it’s good to get the blood pumping every now and again. In your case, breaking the sound barrier can do exactly that.”
“That’s not the only thing that proves effective in getting my blood pumping.” Tech remarks to you lowly and with an inviting timbre as he settles his face onto your shoulder. With a pause, you look down and notice him roguishly peeling the lived-in gloves off his hands. This practiced exchange comes as routinely as the sun rises and yet it overwhelms you with fluttering diffidence every time. He yanks on each finger’s tip, loosening the accessory only to slip it off in a single orderly motion. Repeating this process, he discards the second glove and sighs into finally grasping your midsection at last. Although, as soon as his palms lay over your stomach, you feel their hastened recoil followed by a startling backstep as Tech immediately releases the hold he barely placed around you. He reacts with great haste and with a response that prompts your assessment.
“Tech? Is something wrong?” You pivot on your heels in surprise, not privy to a reason for the sudden distance.
“I don’t- that shirt.” Tech’s hands are no longer welcoming your form. They’re clenched into fists inches from his chest, and you’re disheartened by his defensive reaction. You read his facial expressions and notice that he’s wrought with confusion and discomfort. “I don’t like that shirt.”
Assessing your clothing, it’s not unlike anything else you’ve ever worn. You reach for the bottom seam and draw it away from your person, inspecting the textile and you can’t help but be offended. “I can uhm... Do you want me to go and change?”
“Yes. Please.” Tech’s short yet assertive affirmation worries you, but you sheepishly depart in pursuit of your personal wardrobe for a different article of clothing to bedight. Finding a worthy replacement after some searching, you change and prepare to face him again, taking a breath to reset.
“There. I hope you don’t think I look hideous in this one too...” You announce while walking back into his presence. Tech’s eyes widen with concern. Guilt. Shame.
“What would ever make you believe I think you look hideous?” His upward inflection broadcasts his burden loud and clear.
“What was that just now?” You raise your voice slightly. “You requested that I change for no reason.”
“My darling, come here.” Tech apologetically hums at you with a thoughtful arm outstretched. He pulls you into his space, without interruption this time, and fully succumbs to the delightful serenity that is you. It takes a bit more for you to let go of the tension, still rigid and resistant in his grasp but you breathe through the phases of your own annoyance in order to hear him out. “It was nothing you did that caused me to behave in such a way. It’s my fault for speaking to you so bluntly. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“What was wrong with what I was wearing? Did you not like how it looks on me?” Still thinking this issue lies in your unaddressed offenses, your inner insecurities have your mind catastrophizing the worst.
“Nonsense.” He disagrees. “You look phenomenal in everything you wear.”
“What’s the problem then?” You anxiously blurt, impatiently wanting to know what you did wrong.
“I just- Something about that fabric didn’t feel right. Wearing these gloves all day, I have a constant buffer between myself and the unexpected. And that garment was... definitely unexpected.”
At this revelation, you feel silly for taking anything he said personally. You should have known the issue stems far beyond superficial assumptions, but how could you? The skin is the largest organ of the human body after all, and with a hypersensitivity like his, it’s understandable that Tech would have a distaste for specific textures.
“Wait here.” You wiggle out of Techs grasp and he’s left lonesome and waiting. Upon walking back, he notices you’re holding the other shirt you previously had on in your hands. Tech clenches his teeth at the sight of it, remembering how unpleasant it felt. “It was this right?”
“Urgh.” He grumbles in confirmation with a wound-up look in his eye. “Indeed.”
“What turns you off about it?” You ask curiously. “Here, hold it.”
“In my hands?” He snappily recoils once again, as if to save himself from the tainted object.
“Yes, Tech. In your hands.” You reach for his wrist and unfurl the clamped grip in Tech’s palm, slowly placing just a portion of the fabric on his skin beckoning him to take it.
“I don’t necessarily want to.” He denies through a muted retch, allowing you to maintain this connection but not following through with the rest of the expected procedure.
“You mean to tell me you’re unquestionably fearless when it comes to charging into the heat of battle, but you draw the line at a designer blouse?” Your oversimplification of his turmoil brings him to shake his head in dismissal before courageously taking the top away from you as an act of defiance.
“This blouse is threatening in a different sort of manner.” He declares, shaking it in his fist like a curse upon the galaxy. “An attack on my psyche, if you will.”
“In what ways? Elaborate for me.” You ask, interest wholly piqued.
“Well, for starters, the pattern layering the surface throughout is... sticky.” Tech uses the thumb and middle finger on his opposite hand to subtly pinch the eccentric pieces of structure, then running the same hand over the smoothness of his own shirt as if to rid himself of any vestiges of the sensation.
“Sticky?” You repeat his selective choice of descriptive terminology.
“Yes. It clings to me almost like an industrial fastener would. Rather unsavory if I am completely honest.” He passes the shirt back into your possession, unable to stomach its contact any longer and you understand this ‘clingy’ feeling he describes upon further inspection. The shimmering print has an infused ink that gives the clothing its shine, but it’s also risen a significant distance from the fabric itself to add definition and dynamic. The futuristic designs are what drew you to purchase it, but the manufacturing left much to be desired on Tech’s end.
“I see.” You mutter, pondering if Tech has any more triggers to this sensitivity. “Are there any other things that bring on these, how did you put it, psychological attacks?”
“Why, I fear I would bore you with the subject.” Tech deflates.
“Tech, how long have we been together?” You ask blatantly.
“Is this a rhetorical question or are you looking for an estimate? Because my calculations indicate-”
“It’s been a while hasn’t it, Tech?” You interrupt. “And in that time, have I ever demonstrated a disinterest in your long-winded estuaries of information?”
“Erm...” His own gears begin to turn. “No. I suppose not.”
“Then tell me. What else is a no-go in Tech’s book?”
Tech subtly smiles and squeezes you a little harder. It is not often that someone willingly picks his brain like this. He is forever fortunate to have you in his life to explore these things with. Your prying benefits him in a sense that he gains a greater understanding of himself in the long run. “Certain elemental hurdles such as sand or remnants of moisture lingering in the suit beneath my armor are some of the most common sensory hindrances that plague me. There’s a reason my brothers and I despise swamps and jungles and it’s not just the trepidation from the menacing flora and fauna.”
“No, I understand that. Sand is a fickle thing to get rid of. And humidity makes it feel like the air is thick and confining. Suffocating.” You shudder at the thought, appreciative of the drafty breeze passing through at all times.
“Yes, precisely.” He thinks for a bit longer on what else to share. “Sometimes... these irritabilities make themselves present at mealtimes. The way something hits my teeth can be so repulsive,” He stops short, contemplating sharing this bit of information with you in fear of judgement. “I’ve no choice but to spit it out. It has next to nothing to do with the flavor itself. For all intents and purposes, it’s not unsavory at all. The consistency alone is enough to deter me. Isn’t that shameful? Not to mention it’s without a doubt incredibly wasteful...”
“Shameful how? There’s nothing wrong with being sure in what you prefer.” You set the blouse down beside the datapads you were tinkering with and decide to cleanse your skin’s memory of that off-putting fabric, replacing it with the sacred smoothness of Tech’s face. He sways into your hands, closing his eyes and savoring the way your palms caress his jaw.
“If there’s one thing that I am sure about, it is that I prefer you over everything else.” You’re Tech’s focal point of grounding; the anchor that stabilizes him when he’s letting his mind wander.
“I prefer you too.” You’ll never tire of the encoded, non-traditional ways you say you love each other. He descends into your eyes like they’re an eternal resting place reserved just for him. You and Tech share secrets in each kiss that none have the blueprints to decode. Every day by your side brings a new discovery to embark upon, lifting him out of his own skin, freeing him of all his vexing inhibitions and doubts. Your assessments, regardless of their uncomfortable trajectory, always come to a rewarding conclusion.
like seriously there's a fucking Word for it. lights too fucking bright? hyperesthesia. sounds too loud but nobody else seems to hear them? hyperesthesia. smelling things really strongly but they're apparently not there? hyperesthesia. hurts to be touched but nobody's really touching you and it's just your clothes rubbing against your skin but it feels like you're burning? hyperesthesia. what the fuck this has a NAME
Hey y'all with sensory issues and tactile sensitivity, have you guys ever experienced unexplained worsening of your sensory issues?
I've been sensitive to certain fabrics and textures my entire life but up until now, it's always been very manageable.
these past few months, my tactile sensitivity has gone through the roof. It's gotten to the point where even hearing fabric rustling together is too much
