#Complex Medication Schedules | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keferon · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

��I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

#maccadam #tf mecha universe #blurr #Swerve #mecha writing #mecha kef writing #mecha bs writing #if you saw any mistakes - no you didn’t #it’s six am I need to go to bed but I wanted to post it before my brain shuts down completely #mecha pilot jazz au #jazzprowl #jazzprowl happens on the background lol #Swindle #two nano seconds of Vortex #Shockwave #Pharma

2K notes · View notes

rxmye · 1 year ago

Text

" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 "

𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 — you're his entire world, his only thought, the very illness that has corrupted his mind and body . . .

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / mentions of sleep medication / pathetic yandere / suggestive content / a character slightly aimed towards people with a savior complex

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: edited, Lucas first fanfic is out !! . . click here to read it !! <3

He was someone with fleeting attraction—yet a hopeless romantic, who'd spend most of his class time doodling away in his notebook instead of taking actual notes, writing these scenarios that played out in his mind—tired hazy doodles of small characters, blurry lines of writing, scribbled out text, as he struggled to stay awake—

He had never had a proper sleeping schedule, and if he did he'd never stick to it, a night owl who often faced the consequences of his own actions, sleep medication was something he was all too familiar with, the feeling of being restless without sleep, his nerves always on edge, dark circles under his eyes made him feel insecure, and alarmingly out of character.

He felt something touch his back, he froze, nerves all over the place, a pit growing in his stomach as he turned almost instinctively to face whoever touched him, pushing their hand off harshly . . . "Hey Yoichi . . what's up with you man, why so aggressive?!" Lucas asked . . and then he froze, letting out a nervous and rather embarrassed chuckle, "Ah—um . . sorry Lucas . . just feeling a little tired that's all", he replied softly, voice barely coming out.

To be quite honest, when he first saw you, Yoichi thought nothing of it, he sat at the very back and you for some reason, sat in front of him, not that he minds, you're presence covered him from the teachers eyesight, which allowed him to do whatever he wanted, he was even able to drift off to sleep during that period.

However, it wasn't until he found himself, drawing tiny versions of you in his notebook, little doodles, pink ink staining the paper as he hearted your initials together—his name then your last name . . your name then his last name . . . names of future children—that he realized he was crushing on you . . . big time.

His emotions was fleeting, it had always been, he didn't think much of it . . it was just a simple crush, everyone has one of those, and they go away with time.

Yoichi was a punctual student—and a well organized one—he'd rarely forget his books, much less the notebook with his embarrassing doodles of him and you, it would ruin his image to be quite honest . . yet for some reason he had forgotten it in class today, it could've been his ever-growing restlessness due to a lack of sleep, or maybe the caffeine that's been fucking with his head since early in the morning—he sighed—knocking himself out of his own thoughts, as he twisted the doorknob, hopefully the teacher left the class unlocked.

The door was open, to his utter relieve . . . wait . . . "y/n?", he spoke, taken aback—you were soundly asleep on your desk—you looked so at . . peace . . . calm? . . . Nothing could describe the emotions he felt as he approached you, slowly reaching over to his desk and grabbing his notebook, quickly stuffing it in his backpack—he should go . . , that would be the best course of action . . .

Yet he couldn't . . . he knelt down on the floor, leaning his head on the desk, starring at your face, looking into every curve and line, in his eyes every imperfection just made you even more perfect, the pattern of your breath was soothing to his otherwise restless mind, a soothing scent radiated off of you, and for the first time in months, he felt sleepy . . . like he could sleep without a care . . . everything felt so right. . .—nothing felt displaced or disoriented.

That was the day that started it all, it seems, Yoichi had started forming something that was akin to obsession, he couldn't sleep at all without you—a piece of you—something that reminded him of that calming scent that he felt that day, you calmed his overdriven nerves, you halted his troubles for more than a fleeting moment.

Yoichi knew what he was doing was odd, especially when he found himself picking up the wrapper you threw out, and taking inhaling it, his eyes growing half lidded—he felt like a drug addict—drunk off of you . .

Fleeting touches would tick off his ever delusional mind, a small compliment could set him on overdrive and in the back of his head he knew he was growing addicted, a pit in his stomach grew as he felt slightly disgusted with himself, with the obscene and rather degrading things he'd do, just to get something touched by you.

Lucas stared at his friend, who seemed no better than dead, "Are ya' okay?" he asked, looking him up and down, "You look like a train-wreck", he stated half out of concern and half out of clear disdain and possibly curiosity, "Is it normal?", Yoichi spoke up, taking a gulp of air as he continued, "to want someone so badly that it's hard to explain—like—a part of me feels obsessed, like I feel like carving my own heart out and showing them just to prove my love wont be enough—they could claw out my fingernails—and from where I'm standing, I'd still look at them with only love . . . but at the same time I feel disgusted with the feelings I feel—", Yoichi kept blabbering on, until his friend shushed him, taking a sip of his drink as he jokingly replied, "I mean . . if you love them that much, then their clearly the one . . ."

Yoichi blanked out, as Lucas chuckled, he has no idea how much of his teasing words Yoichi would take to heart that day nor of it's lasting consequences . . .

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

6K notes · View notes

creepyscritches · 6 months ago

Note

I read your post about open enrollment for the ACA and was hoping you might expand on why you believe it would take years to dismantle. I've been terrified that with a Republican house/senate, Trump could just snap his fingers and make it go away within months of taking office. I'd love some reassurance that that's not possible.

Hiya, sure I can share some thoughts on the matter! First, it's very important to understand the ACA is a huuuuuuuuuuuuge system with subject matter experts in dozens of places throughout the process. I'm one of those SMEs, but I am at the end of the process where the revenue is generated, so my insight is limited on the public facing pieces.

What this means is that I am professionally embedded in the ACA in a position that exists purely to show what conditions people are treated for and then generate that data into what's called a "risk score". There's about 6 pages I could write on it, but the takeaway is that the ACA is

1) intricately interwoven with the federal government

2) increasingly profitable, sustainable, and growing (it is STILL a for-profit system if you can believe it)

3) wholeheartedly invested in by the largest insurance companies in the country LARGELY due to the fact that they finally learned the rules of how to make the ACA a thriving center of business

4) since the big issuers are arm+leg invested in the ACA, there is a lot of resistance politically and on an industry level to leave it behind (think of the lobbyists, politicians, corporations that will fight tooth and nail to protect their profit + investment)

The process to calculate a risk score takes roughly 2 years. There is an audit for the concurrent year and then a vigorous retro audit for the prev year - - this is a rolling cycle every year. Medicare has a similar process. These are RVP + RADV audits if you would like the jargon.

Eliminating the ACA abruptly is as internally laughable as us finishing the RADV audit ahead of schedule. If Trump were to blow the ACA into smithereens on day 1, he would be drowning in issuer complaints and an economic health sector that is essentially bleeding out. You cut off the RVP early? We have half of next RADV stuck in the gears now. You cut off the RADV early? No issuer will get their "risk adjusted" payments for services rendered in the prev benefit year (to an extent, again very complex multi-process system).

The ACA is GREAT for the public and should be defended on that basis alone. However, the inner capitalistic nature of the ACA is a powerful armor that has conservatives + liberals defending it on a basis of capital + market growth. It's not sexy, but it makes too much money consistently for the system to be easily dismantled.

Or at least that's what I can tell you from the money center of the ACA. they don't bring us up in political conversation because we are confusing to seasoned professionals, boring to industry outsiders, and consistently we are anathema to the anti-ACA talking points.

I am already preparing for next year's RVP for this window of open enrollment. That RVP process will feed into the RADV in 2026. In 2025, we begin the RADV for 2024. If nothing else, the slow fucking gears of CMS will keep the ACA alive until we finish our work at the end of the process. I highly doubt that will be the only reason the ACA is safeguarded, but it is a powerful type of support to pair with people protecting the ACA for other reasons.

I work every day to show, defend, and educate on how many diagnoses are managed thru my company's ACA plans. My specialty is cancer and I see a lot of it. The revenue drive comes from the Medical Loss Ratio (MLR) rule stating only 20% MAX of profit may go to the issuer + the 80% at a minimum must go back to the customer or be invested in expanding benefits. The more people on the plan using it, the higher that 20% becomes for the issuer and the more impactful that 80% becomes for the next year of benefit growth. It is remarkably profitable once issuers stop seeking out "healthy populations". The ACA is a functional method for issuers to tap into a stable customer base (sick/chronic ill customers) that turns a profit, grows, and builds strong consumer bases in each state.

The industry can never walk away from this overnight - - this is the preferred investment for many big players. Changing the direction of those businesses will be a monumental effort that takes years (at least 2 with the audits). In the meantime, you still have benefits, you still have care, and you still have reason to sign up. Let us deal with the bureaucracy bullshit, go get your care and know you have benefits thru 2025 and we will be working to keep it that way for 2026 and forward. This is a wing of the federal government, it is not a jenga tower like Trump wishes.

#Creepy chatter

1K notes · View notes

saynotononsense · 7 days ago

Text

My Girls

The one where I try my hand at writing a fic, because I forgot how much I love Noah Wyle until I binged The Pitt.

This one is: Dr. Robby x Wife!Mom!Dr. Reader ft. a cute baby girl (bc Robby is a girl dad, sue me)

No content warnings, just straight fluff & likely medical/hospital inaccuracies

The late morning sun was bright in your eyes as you stepped onto the front step of your apartment complex. You adjusted the little bucket hat on your daughters head to shield her little face from the sun. She let out a little grunt in response.

“Are we going to visit daddy at work, baby?” You cooed, it was a rare day off in the middle of your week, so you were able to skip daycare today. Her legs kicked in response, a big, gummy smile stretched across her face. Robby was her favourite person, second only to you. He said it was luck, you knew it was all the time he spent talking to your baby bump after long shifts drained him.

After a quick stop at yours and Robby’s preferred coffee shop to pick a coffee for you and a lunch for him, the walk to the hospital was enjoyable. The early spring day finally warm enough to skip a jacket. It had been too long since you had a chance to have a slow day with just you and Miriam. Maternity leave was a fast three months before you were back into the regular rotation that the Pitt kept you in. Adjusting to a new schedule, on top of being deep in the throes of hormonal changes, returning to work was a challenge that you wished could have been pushed back another few months.

The staff entry door opened with a beep as you slid your key card back into your pocket. You stopped quickly in the break room to stash Robby's sandwich in the fridge and write a little note on the bag.

Walking through the hall, you could see that the emergency department was its regular flurry of activity with Dana leading the charge. She turned to see you and Miriam walk in coffee tray in hand,

“Well, if it isn’t Dr. Robinavich 2.0 and her mini!” She left her post to give you both a quick squeeze, Miriam letting out a little giggle from her carrier as the older woman tickled her foot.

“And you just keep getting cuter and cuter each time I see you!” Dana gently squished Miriam’s cheeks in her hands. Your daughter only giggled harder and kicked her feet.

“Heavier too,” you laughed, “I wish I could press the pause button though. She’s started trying to crawl during tummy time and my heart can’t handle it.”

“Isn’t that just the way it goes, one day they’re small, squishy and totally dependent on you, the next they’re off to college saying they know everything.” Dana patted your shoulder, “I take it you’re looking for Robby?”

You nodded, scanning the busy department for his familiar gait. Giving a quick wave to Collins, as she made her way to her next case.

“Yeah, Robby forgot his lunch this morning, and I figured he may need a pick me up after last week.”

“He was just leaving a room in South about five minutes before you walked in. Let me see if I can get eyes on him.” Dana started to walk to the south wing, while you pulled a chair up at the nurses station. Miriam fussed a little in the baby wrap, and rubbed her eyes. You began to pat her back, hoping she’d settle.

“There’s my girls,” Robby’s warm voice pulled your daughter from her almost nap. Her brown eyes popping open looking for her dad. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead then the lips. His other hand came to Miriam’s back, rubbing softly. Miriam’s face broke into a heart melting smile.

“Can you take five?” You asked, “The sun is beautiful, and I think you may need to see it.”

Robby grinned, checking the board,

“I may have five minutes, Dana?”

The nurse turned to look at you both, shooing you towards the ambulance bay.

“Get out while you can, I’ve got it covered.”

Taking advantage of the reprieve, Robby linked his hand with yours and walked with you into the bright sunlight. It wasn’t often he was able to catch his breath during a shift, but with your constant encouragement, he tried to be more consistent in allowing himself moments to refocus.

“Oh! Almost forgot! I put your lunch in the fridge, you need to remember to eat more often, baby."

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” He asked, leaning down to kiss you. When you parted you answered,

“At least once or twice.” He smiled at that, eyes brown eyes warm and comforting. Home. You stayed tucked up against his side only shifting apart when an indignant cry from Miriam rang out. As you loosened the wrap, Robby supported Miriam’s little body as he pulled her into his arms.

“And what about you? Have I ever told you that I love you?” Robby’s voice slipped into a honey sweet tone he only ever took with her. Miriam giggled and blew raspberries, a string drool sliding down her chin. Robby kissed her cheeks, tickling her with his scruff. You watched with love and admiration, sipping your coffee and trying to take as many mental pictures as possible.

This is exactly what he needed. His two girls, a coffee, and a break in the sun. A reminder that life can be more than just despair and loss.

“Robby, MVA vic arriving in five, time to go!” Dana called out to the from the ambulance bay doors. Robby turned to you,

“Duty calls,” He said. He gave Miriam one last kiss on the head before he handed her back to you.

“Of course, it always does,” You replied, “Now, go! The sooner you go do what you need to, the sooner you get to come home to us, my love.”

Robby gives you a quick peck and a shoulder squeeze,

“I love you.” He was beside you then, in a blink he was at the doors of the hospital.

“We love you too,” you called after him. A raised hand and a smile let you know he was going to be just fine for the rest of his shift.

#dr robby x reader #dr robby x you #the pitt fanfiction #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #another peepaw to add to the list

528 notes · View notes

ctrl-alt-deleting-yr-face · 9 months ago

Text

well i might as well do one of these.. i guess. idk

if this post gets..

50 notes: i’ll post some of my complex edits from my PA account on here

100 notes: i’ll try to talk more about my ocs and be less nervous about it ^^

200 notes: i’ll get over my anxiety and write more (poetry, oc x canon oneshots, etc.) and post some stuff i make

350 notes: i’ll try and figure out what the hell is wrong with my mental health

450 notes: i’ll work more on coding

600 notes: i’ll work on fixing my god awful sleep schedule

800 notes: i’ll record a clip of me singing something and post it ehe

do your worst, loves <3

edit: HOLY CRAP WE HIT THEM ALL?? okay well shit.. i might make more goals. maybe. if i can think of some ^^

edit 2: okay so! because this actually didn’t take very long for people to hit the goals, i made a second, smaller batch of goals! no clue if we’re gonna hit em lmao-

950 notes: I’ll show my mom my essay i wrote on why i believe i need a proper mental health screening and medication

1150 notes: I’ll finally start working on making a list of new clothes i want/new furniture for my room

1350 notes: I’ll start trying to get a workout schedule

1500: I’ll start plotting my idea for a digital horror series/game ^^

edit 3: well shit okay then. uhhh. thank you everyone?? maybe i’ll make more goals. maybe. this is insane to me holy-

#cyrambles #i’m actually kinda nervous ehe ^v^

2K notes · View notes

utkuerdemozerblog · 20 days ago

Text

UTKU ERDEM OZER (2)

Welcome to our comprehensive guide on advanced orthopedic solutions, where we address some of the most pressing musculoskeletal conditions affecting individuals today. From Dupuytren’s disease, a condition that leads to the thickening of tissue in the palm, to the complexities of a distal biceps tendon tear, we provide insights on innovative treatments that restore function and quality of life. Additionally, we delve into the advancements in hip and knee replacement surgeries, which have transformed the landscape of orthopedic care. At Utku Erdem Ozer, our commitment to excellence ensures that you receive top-tier medical expertise combined with compassionate care.

Dupuytren’s disease

Dupuytren’s disease is a progressive condition that affects the layers of tissue beneath the skin in the palm and fingers, leading to the formation of nodules and cords that can limit hand movement. Early diagnosis and intervention are crucial in managing this condition effectively. At our clinic, we specialize in tailored treatment options that cater to the unique needs of each patient.

One of the key benefits of seeking treatment for Dupuytren’s disease is the restoration of hand function. This can significantly improve the quality of life, enabling individuals to perform daily tasks with ease. Our experienced team employs a combination of surgical and non-surgical techniques to ensure optimal outcomes, reducing the risk of complications.

We understand that navigating treatment options can be overwhelming, which is why we provide comprehensive consultations. During these sessions, we discuss all available treatments, including the latest advancements in care that have shown promising results in alleviating symptoms.

Take the first step towards regaining your hand’s full functionality. If you or a loved one is suffering from Dupuytren’s disease, contact us today to schedule a consultation. Together, we can develop a personalized treatment plan that helps restore your hand’s mobility and comfort.

Distal biceps tendon tear

A distal biceps tendon tear is a significant injury that can lead to impaired arm function and discomfort. This injury occurs when the biceps tendon, which attaches to the forearm bone, is either partially or completely torn. Individuals who engage in repetitive overhead activities or heavy lifting are particularly susceptible to this condition. Recognizing the symptoms early on can greatly influence recovery time and treatment options.

The primary symptoms include sudden pain in the elbow, a popping sensation, and weakness in the arm, especially when trying to lift objects. Swift diagnosis through physical examination and imaging tests is crucial in determining the extent of the injury.

Treatment options vary based on the severity of the tear. Minor tears may heal with conservative measures such as rest, ice, and physical therapy, while more severe cases might require surgical intervention to reattach the tendon. This is where the expertise of a specialized orthopedic surgeon comes into play, ensuring that the best possible outcome is achieved.

Rehabilitation following surgery or conservative treatment is an essential part of recovery, helping restore strength and flexibility to the elbow. Engaging in a tailored rehabilitation program can significantly accelerate the healing process, allowing individuals to return to their favorite activities in no time.

If you suspect you have suffered a distal biceps tendon tear or are seeking treatment for related injuries, it's important to consult with a specialist. Early intervention can lead to a better recovery experience and prevent long-term complications. Don't let an injury hold you back—take the first step toward recovery today by contacting our expert team for a thorough assessment.

Hip replacement

Hip replacement surgery is a transformative procedure designed to alleviate pain and restore mobility for individuals suffering from severe hip conditions. Whether due to arthritis, injury, or degenerative diseases, the hip joint can significantly impact daily life.

This surgical option involves replacing the damaged or diseased hip joint with an artificial implant, providing enhanced stability and reduced pain. Many patients experience remarkable improvements in their quality of life, allowing them to return to hobbies and activities they once enjoyed.

Furthermore, advancements in technology have made hip replacement surgeries more precise and minimally invasive. With shorter recovery times and less post-operative discomfort, patients can often begin physical therapy just days after their procedure.

If you are struggling with hip pain that affects your daily routine, consult a specialist today to explore whether hip replacement is the right option for you. Regaining your freedom to move could be just a conversation away!

Knee replacement

Knee replacement surgery is a transformative procedure designed to alleviate chronic pain and restore mobility for individuals suffering from severe knee conditions, including osteoarthritis and traumatic injuries. This intervention can significantly enhance your quality of life, enabling you to return to daily activities with greater ease and less discomfort.

At the forefront of advancements in orthopedic care, the techniques used in knee replacement have evolved, offering patients minimally invasive options that promote faster recovery times and reduced hospital stays. Not only does this mean you can get back on your feet sooner, but it also often results in less postoperative pain compared to traditional methods.

After undergoing knee replacement, many patients experience improved joint function and a significant reduction in symptoms associated with conditions like Dupuytren’s disease or the limitations caused by a distal biceps tendon tear. This surgery allows individuals to engage once more in physical activities they may have previously avoided.

Choosing a skilled orthopedic surgeon is crucial for achieving optimal outcomes. When considering knee replacement, trust in the expertise provided at Utkuerdemozer.com, where patient care and advanced surgical techniques come together to ensure the best possible results. Don’t let knee pain control your life—explore the possibilities of a knee replacement today!

357 notes · View notes

lockes-woods · 2 months ago

Text

2; Countdown

MDNI!!

Day 2 of Locke's 10-day countdown to the new year!

Prompt: Okay but how did this immediately click for me with the winter scenarios?! The reader's new year's resolution from the past year was to peg someone and they're trying to complete it before the new year. They think it's hopeless until sub Mihawk falls into their lap (figuratively/literally)

Requested by: @caffeine-cryptid-archives /Author's Choice

Taglist: @nocturnalrorobin

Warnings: Sub Dracule Mihawk, dom/sub, Dom!Fem!Reader, Strap-ons, Strapping, Medical AU, Modern Setting AU, Surgeon Mihawk, New Year's Eve, Pegging, Impact Play, Fight For Dominance, Anal Sex, Anal Plug, Anal Fingering, Mistress kink, size kink, bet, Platonic Boa Hancock

(Please let me know if I missed anything.)

A/N: I don't even know what to say *shoves fic at you and runs away*

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

If someone had told you, even a week ago, that you’d be Here. In Dracule Mihawk’s apartment. Straddling him as you shared desperate, almost violent kisses while fighting for control, you would have laughed in their face. It had to be a joke, right? There was no way you’d ever give the arrogant, “once in a generation talent”, the time of day. It’s not like it would have been one-sided. Outside of the few times your specialties overlapped, he’s never initiated any type of interaction with you. Despite constantly being in the same vicinity as each other you’d only talked when needed. Hell, the last time you talked was when one of your pregnant OBGYN patients needed surgery on a cancerous tumor and that was over a month ago. No, there was no way you’d ever consider giving the personification of a superiority complex the time of day. At least that’s what you thought.

It had all started a few days ago in the coed locker room when you were changing into your scrubs before your shift started. Boa had been rubbing your face the fact she was going to win the bet you’d have to go on whether or not you’d be able to complete your New Year’s resolution in time.

“I wonder what I’ll do with all that free time?” She said, smirking down at you. You’d wager covering her excess paperwork for a month if you weren’t able to peg someone by the end of the year.

“I have time!” you argued back slipping your top on.

“Oh please, New Year’s is less than a week away and your schedule is packed. When are you gonna find someone to fuck in time, let alone peg.”

“Plenty of men like being pegged!” you said back in a huff.

“Oh? If so many men are lining up to get pegged, why haven’t you done it by now.” Boa said, smirk widening.

“I have time!” you circled back, knowing she was right. The only day you had off the next week was New Year’s Eve. There was little to no way you’d be able to find/vet a guy to peg. Boa's smirk never left as she made her way out of the half-filled locker room. You made fleeting eye contact with Mihawk as you followed after her. You had no idea what would come of that look.

“Fuck,” he groaned, as you weaved your hand through his hair, jerking his head back. Kissing was getting you both nowhere, if you wanted to dom him you were going to have to try a different tactic. You began to kiss down his neck, your heart palpating. Losing to Mihawk was not an option. It was less than a few hours til New Year’s and this was your only hope of winning the bet. Just as your confidence began to dwindle you heard a light gasp, while he simultaneously bucked up against you. You smirked into his neck. You focused in on that spot, his breath stuttered as you began to suck on that spot. That wasn’t good enough.

“F-Fuck!” he shouted as your teeth broke the skin over that spot. He shamelessly attempted to grind up against you. Unlike any other of your sexual endeavors where you’d be nestled in their lap, you had to stand on your knees to get any leverage over him; his hips barely made contact. You stayed strong in your position, despite your desperate need for any stimulation of your clit. You gently laved over the bite mark as you began to unbutton his shirt. A surprised gasp escaped you when his hands found your hips and slammed you down onto his lap. He blatantly flaunted his physical advantage over you as he ground up into your core, focused only on his release. Your self-assured attitude wavered as he held you down. Every attempt to pry his hands from your hips was fruitless. He was too big and too strong to be taken down head-on.

Fuck, you hadn’t come all this way to back down now. You took a breath as he focused solely on his relief. You twisted your body as hard as you could to your left, throwing yourself down on the couch. Before Mihawk could react, you straddled his chest and wrapped both your hands around his neck, stilling his movement. You put just enough pressure on his throat to assert what you were capable of. If it weren’t for your thorough conversations about each other’s limits over dinner you wouldn’t push it this far, but Mihawk, as always, was a special case. You’d never been physical in this way with any of your past partners, outside of the occasional spanking. You were spurred on by the desperate look in his eyes as you pulled back your arm as far as you could and backhanded him with as much force as you could muster. His loud moan was a comfort to you as you questioned whether or not you had gone too far. You could feel his abs flex below you as he humped desperately against the air for relief. You gently cupped his face over the red mark where the back of your hand had made contact, while simultaneously stoking up and down his trachea with the thumb of your hand still wrapped around his throat. His eyes had lost their sharp edge; pupils dilated. You’d never seen his vision waiver before. You needed to jump on this opportunity before the small window closed.

“Are you gonna be a good boy? Or do you need another reminder of who’s in charge?” You asked, bracing your arm next to his head while the hand that was around his neck jerked his chin up, forcing eye contact. Your breath caught in your throat at the sound of a desperate whine sounded off from deep in his throat. Your grip tightened, as you tried your hardest to keep a straight face as your pussy pulsed in response. He continued to test your patience as he submissively sucked your thumb into his mouth and laved at it. You smirked down at him trying to contain your excitement as the air in the room shifted. You had done it, you made Dracule Mihawk submit. You only allowed yourself a moment to bask in the feeling before focusing back in on the task at hand. That, as exhausting as it was, was only the first step. You still had to actually peg him. He attempted to follow your thumb as you pulled your hand back, your other hand held his chest down, keeping your position.

“I asked you a question and I expect a verbal answer,” you said, squishing his cheeks together, “Are you gonna be a good boy?”

“Fuck,” he groaned, letting out a stuttered breath, “Yes”

“Yes, what?” you asked, not letting up.

“Yes, Mistress.” He forced out, face now red with a deep blush across the bridge of his nose and up to his ears.

“Good,” you cooed down at him, “Where’s your strap, love?”

“Bedroom,” he grunted, hands locked on your hips.

“Be a good boy and take me there.” You ordered. He sat up, causing you to slide down to his lap. He slipped his shirt fully off before wrapping his hands around you before standing up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, causing him to moan. His cock standing at attention in between you. You pulled him in for a desperate kiss that you dominated, as he kicked his bedroom door open. He sat you down at the head of the bed, leaning against his pillows. The harness and lube are positioned to your right on his nightstand.

Fuck, when you had accepted his offer, you never thought you’d make it this far. His offer itself completely blindsided you. Honestly, part of you thought he got hacked when he texted you out of nowhere two days ago. That was until he texted you back after you asked if he was sure, and in his response said that your looks were “adequate” and that you were “proficient” at your job. You didn’t need any more reassurance. It was him.

“Stop,” you quipped, as he began to work his slacks off. His hands froze instantly.

“Slowly,” you ordered. You locked eyes on him as he took his time unbuttoning his pants. He panted tugging his pants and boxer briefs down. You bit your lip as his cock strung out. It was pretty, just like he was, head already irritated a deep red color. If you weren’t so stubborn to winning your bet, you’d climb that tree and ride him until he’d be so overstimulated he’d be begging you to stop. You snapped back to the task at hand, ignoring the way your pussy pulsed in need.

“C’me here,” you ordered, shifting to stand on your knees, as you tugged your dress off and over your head. You sat back on your legs, now clad in only a pair of panties.

“You’ll only be able to cum if you earn it. Make me cum and you’ll be able to cum as much as you’d like; under my permission.” You said, parting your legs. His cool demeanor disappeared as he desperately crawled up the bed, baring his shoulders between your knees. You threaded your fingers through his hair and jerked his head up.

“Color?” you asked.

“Green, fuck,” he groaned, “Please Mistress.”

“Go ahead,” you nodded, keeping a firm grip on his hair as he dove in between your legs. You gasped as he licked up your seem through your panties. He moaned at the taste, tugging your panties to the side before breaching your pussy with a single finger, allowing you to adjust; lips sealed around your clit.

“Fuck,” you moaned, as he added another finger. You’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was fingering you better and deeper than some of your past partners cocks. You grinded up against his face shamelessly chasing your high. You knew there was no way you were gonna last. You’d been wet since you stepped foot in his apartment. You teased your nipples, losing yourself in your pleasure. As soon as he began to stroke your inner front wall of your pussy you knew it was over. It only took a few more swipes before you fell apart.

“Fuck,” you moaned, throwing your head back. He continued fingering you until you were borderline overstimulated; his tongue greedily lapping up your release. Your hand went limp in his hair as you fell back against the pillows taking a moment to recover. You could feel the hot pants on your clothed core as he looked up at you, waiting, desperate for your next command. You paused, debating whether you should put the strap on now or wait til he was fully prepped. Fuck, you needed to be quick. You had no idea how long he’d stay in this headspace without consistent domination.

You sat up and grabbed the harness. You let out a thankful sigh of relief after seeing it was the kind that you could slide on like panties and tighten to your size. You slipped it up your calves before standing on your knees to pull it up all the way. Without any prompting Mihawk stood on his knees, reaching behind you to secure your harness. You held in a moan as he tugged on the harness, making sure it was tight enough. The part that laced between your thighs now nestled up against your clit.

“Good boy” you praised, cupping his face and sharing a soft kiss. More intimate than you’d ever imagine he was capable of. He whined, trying to chase your lips as you pulled back. You had to press a firm hand on his chest to keep him still.

“Where’s your dildo?” you asked, glancing down at the empty silver ring where it should be secured.

“Top drawer,” he answered, shyly avoiding eye contact. You cupped his face, pulling his attention back to you.

“Color?”

“Gra-green” he stumbled.

“Are you sure?” you asked, your thumb stroking his jaw comfortingly.

“Yes,” he nodded firmly, “I-” he took a deep breath before continuing, “I’ve just had past partners leave when they see them.”

You nodded your head and smiled softly at him; you’d never seen him this vulnerable before. Your gut reaction was to make a joke if it was anyone else to lighten the mood, but you knew he needed to be handled with kid gloves right now.

“I can’t promise a response but let me take a look before we jump to any conclusion. ‘kay?” you asked.

“Okay,” he nodded, you slipped your hand away from his face and leaned over, opening the top drawer. You bit your inner cheek as you schooled your reaction. It was a lot. You could see how it may have scared off those who were less accepting or not experienced. Mihawk didn’t just like anal, he was a size queen. The smallest dildo was his size, and he was far from small. Fuck, he had a set of rainbow-colored dildos that got larger as they went, red being the smallest. Personally, you’d only be able to take yellow, and even then you’d have to be thoroughly prepped and relaxed. On top of their size, they had ridges, some of which mimicked different genital piercings.

“So, which one do you want?” you asked, quirking a brow at him.

“Y-your okay to keep going? It’s okay if you want to stop now, you can still tell Boa you pegged me.” He offered.

“Nah,” you said smiling up at him, “If you liked getting pegged it makes sense to experiment and have what you know feels good. If I’m being honest this tracts, I’ve never seen you do anything half-assed,” you laughed to yourself at your own phrasing, “pun intended,” you tacked on. Mihawk playfully rolled his eyes at your antics.

“So,” you start rubbing up and down the ridges of a dildo to your right, “What are you feeling?”

“Could you use the green one?” he asked, shyly.

“Sure,” you nodded at him, glancing at his alarm clock, “We still have a few hours before midnight, so there’s no need to rush.”

“In that case, -no never mind.” He said, stopping mid-thought.

“What is it?” you asked, lacing your right hand with his left and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’ve-I’ve never had anyone fuck me with the blue one yet.” He confessed, “I’ve taken it alone, but it’s,” he took a breath, “It’s a whole different experience to be fucked by someone else with it.”

“Okay,” you nodded, setting the green one back and grabbing the deep blue one featuring a Jacob’s ladder piercing.

“Really?” he asked, voice bordering on excitement. You couldn’t help but smile as he continued to surprise you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “You’re doing me a favor, so we’re even”

You purposefully phrased it this way knowing it’d be easier for him to accept and so that you could ignore the flutter in your chest from his reaction.

“Now,” you said clearing your throat, “Wanna help me with this?”

He immediately took the dildo from you, inserting and locking it into place. You playfully hip-bumped him so that he’d be back in your position from earlier, propped up against the pillows.

“Now,” you started, resting your hand on his inner knee, “Were you a good boy and prep yourself like I instructed?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, slipping back into his sub role.

“Mihawk,” you quipped, “Words”

His cock twitched when his name slipped out of your mouth. He’d never heard you refer to him with his first name.

“Yes,” he corrected himself with a whine.

“Good,” you said, placing a kiss on his inner thigh, slowly stroking down his thigh, encouraging him to part his legs.

“Color?” you asked, hand resting on his inner thigh, inches away from his weeping cock.

“Green, fuck please,” he begged.

You smirked in response, barring his legs open with your hips. He was now spread out enough to reveal a wine-red metal butt plug. You teasingly traced two fingers up from his asshole, up his taint, past his balls to the tip of his cock. You circled his urethra collecting some of his precum, before sucking your fingers into your mouth. He whimpered in response.

You. Made. Dracule. Mihawk. Fucking. Whimper.

You’d never felt more confident than in this moment, bowing down to take the head of his cock into your mouth causing him to moan shamelessly. You let your excess spit slide down his cock, as your left-hand stroke up and down his shaft while you teased his slit before you pulled off. You placed a kiss on the base of his cock as Mihawk’s eyes locked with yours. You continued to stroke him at a steady pace with your left hand as your right hand crept down and began to trace the outside of his butt plug before you gently began to work the plug out. Mihawk threw his head back as a moan ripped through him. You carefully tugged it out, mindful of the thickest part just passed his ring of muscles. Mihawk shamelessly rutted against your hand, while thrusting his hips into your fist. You jerked your hands back, releasing him the second you felt his cock pulse in your grip.

“No-I” Mihawk whined, barely able to restrain himself as your forearm barred down his hips.

“Baby,” you lightly scolded, “While you are allowed to cum you still have to ask for permission.”

“Fuck, can I? Can I please?” he begged.

You hummed in response, nipping his inner thigh, making him sweat.

“I’ll allow it,” you finally relented, your hand wrapped its way back around his base. That was all Mihawk needed to let loose, he easily thrusted up past your forearm’s restraint and began to fuck your hand. He whined as you began to stroke him in succession with his thrusts. You couldn’t look away as you sucked two fingers into your mouth. Mihawk was angelic. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat, his hair stuck against his forehead. The precum his cock was leaking only added to the lewd sound of him fucking your fist. While he was distracted you traced your spit-covered fingers over his asshole; lube from his prep already leaking out. When your first finger easily slipped in because of your size difference, you added a second and experimentally thrusted into his wet heat.

“Fuck,” he moaned, bordering on a scream. His hips stuttered as he came, coating his abs with his cum. You stroked him through his release before he fell slack against the bed. You leaned over to grab the lube off his bedside table, keeping your fingers in him as he recovered. If you wanted for him to be able to comfortably take you by midnight you needed to start now. Your thumb and middle finger just touched at the base of the green dildo. The blue one was not only bigger but had ridges you would have to keep in mind to make sure you didn’t overstimulate him.

“You, okay?” you asked, drizzling lube over your fingers and his opening.

“Mhm, yes,” he hummed, pushing himself up on his forearms.

“Do you need a break-”

“Please don’t stop,” Mihawk said, desperation clear in his voice.

“Okay,” you nodded, thrusting three fingers in. Mihawk whined as he fucked himself back on your fingers, taking you deeper. The tip of your middle finger hits the top side of his walls as you pull back.

“Fuck,” he moaned, “Fuck, right there! Please Mistress, please.” He begged, grinding back on you. You followed his direction, pasted the point of teasing him. His cock jerked back to life as you worked your pinky finger inside of him. You continued to thrust into him, just able to brush against his prostate.

“Mistress,” he called out, slowing his movement. You looked up as he locked eye contact with you.

“I can take it.” He started, “Please fuck me.”

“Are you sure, it’s so big,”

“Please,” he begged, “Just, fuck-, just go slow. I trust you.”

“Okay,” you nodded, he let out another delicious whimper as you pulled your fingers all the way out. You poured an excess amount of lube over the dildo before stroking it to make sure absolutely every inch of it was coated.

“Ready?” you asked, lining yourself up with his hole.

“Fuck, yes, please-” his own moan cut him off as you pressed the head gently in past his entrance, stopping immediately at the slightest bit of resistance. You paused, for a moment, before pulling all the way out and thrusting back in a bit past where you had been, the head of the dildo’s tip now fully seated inside him. You were only a fifth of the way in. Mihawk whined, attempting to thrust back against you. You put all your weight into your palms holding him down. His thighs were now pressed up against his chest.

“Who’s in charge here?” you asked, pulling back and pausing. Only a bit of the toy remained inside him. He just whined as he desperately tried to thrust down against you.

“Mihawk,” you said firmly, removing one of your hands from his hip and wrapping it around his cross necklace. You jerked it down, gathering all of his available attention. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, No-Please, please don’t leave.” He begged, eyes widening.

“Then you need to respect my decisions. I don’t want you to move until I’m fully inside you. The last thing I want is for you to take too much too soon and hurt yourself. Got that?” you asked, never breaking eye contact.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Yes, what?” you asked.

“Yes, Mistress,” he whined.

��Good,” you nodded, pressing a kiss to his inner knee as you released his necklace, and your hand returned to his hip. You methodically continued your entrance into him, adding lube when needed. You were going relatively fast, his lewd noises spurring you on.

“Color?” you asked once you made it just pasted halfway.

“Green,” he sighed, eyes beginning to unfocus.

“You wanna cum baby?” you asked, eyeing the reddened tip of his cock.

“Really,” he asked perking up.

“Mhm,” you hummed, “Why don’t you play with yourself til I fill you.”

Mihawk’s bottom lip found its way between his teeth as he began to jerk himself in time with your thrusts. You were surprised, with how desperate he was you would’ve guessed he’d be dying to cum.

“Fuck,” he sighed, teasing his tip. You were almost there. The base of the dildo took the longest for him to adjust.

“Such a good boy,” you praised, “taking my cock so well.”

“Mistress~” he moaned as you bottomed out, the metal of your harness touching his stretched entrance.

“Ready?” you asked, looking up at him with a cocky smirk.

“Fuck, please,” he begged, with glassy eyes, “I can take it, please, please I’ll be-”

You cut him off thrusting in before dragging the ridged cock out to the tip and thrusting it back in, building your pace as you slammed against that spot.

“Fuck,” he moaned, hand falling from the base of his cock as he fisted the covers below him. You were hyper-aware as you watched for any sign of displeasure as your speed continued to increase. The wet sound of your hips meeting his and his cock bouncing against his stomach with the force of your thrust filled the room. They harmonized with his moans. You held back your own moans as the fabric between your legs from the strap harness hiked up and rubbed roughly against your clit.

“Fuck, Fuck, please, please can I cum please” he begged.

“Go ahead,” you gasped, wrapping your hand back around the base of his shaft. He was caught in pleasure as he fucked your fist and ground down on your strap. He didn’t last long. His body seized, cum shooting up his chest, shouting your name, before he fell slack against his covers. You fucked him through his orgasm, before stilling your hips. You stayed seated inside him as he came down from his high. Once he had caught his breath you slowly began to ease out of him. He panted, chin tilted up as he began to reach homeostasis.

You loosened the strap and pulled it down your thighs along with your soaked panties. The strap dropped with a thud to the side as you crawled up to the head of the bed. You put your pleasure on the back burner as you embraced Mihawk’s spent form. His head rested against your chest, as you petted his hair, occasionally lightly scratching at his scalp. He hummed in response wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing more firmly into your chest. You had agreed to stay for a half hour after your session was over, to make sure he was good before being left alone. That agreement flew out the window as you allowed him to fall slack against you. You'd never seen him look so at peace, all the worry lines gone from his face. After fortyish minutes his head suddenly jerked up, and you threaded your fingers through his head back to your chest.

“Shh it’s alright, I’m not going anywhere.” You cooed down at him. He immediately dropped back into his position. You ignored the butterflies you felt when he let out a content hum. You could overanalyze that feeling in the morning. For now, you wiped up all the cum you could reach from your position with tissues from his nightstand, before allowing yourself the peace of sleep.

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

A/N: I hope you liked it? This was less planned out and more stream-of-consciousness than anything I've written before. It just kept coming. Thanks as always for taking the time to read 💛 I gotta go catch up on school work now 😫😒😭

PS: I may have to write a morning reaction blurb next time I have time to write. heh

Masterlist for Celebration : Here

Morning After: Here

#locke talks #one piece #dracule mihawk #cross posted on ao3 #one piece one shot #one piece smut #smut #oneshot #x reader #dom reader #sub!mihawk #warning in description #dom reader x sub Mihawk one shot #modern au #medical au #18+ mdni

114 notes · View notes

elodieunderglass · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you could help me out with a word I've forgotten? I'm trying to remember the name for a concept that (I think) talks about how people better understand or process Things once they have vocabulary to describe it - I've heard it talked about in regards to the colour orange, or coercive control, etc.

long story short i've just read a paper saying ancient Greeks and Romans weren't racist bc they had no word for racism and am trying to form an argument against!

(no worries if this is unanswerable, i'm aware its a bit of a long shot but you struck me as a person who Knows Things)

That’s extremely kind and funny of you. i don’t know much but i am ok at synthesis.

I think you might be thinking of the concepts loosely called the “Sapir-Whorf hypothesis”, which describes something called “linguistic determinism.” This idea has been “disproven”, as it is just too reductionist as a concept - people are clearly perfectly capable of having experiences that are tough to describe with words. There will be plenty of papers showing how this reasoning is applied.

but it is still commonly thrown around and still considered a useful teaching framework. That’s why you’ll see it referenced online as if it is fresh, new, and applicable - people learn about it every year in college. Also, elements of the framework are probably perfectly sound. It definitely seems to be the case that language shapes brains; it just doesn’t seem to be the case that humans who don’t have specific words for them can’t experience orange, or the future.

(Many things in college are taught using teaching frameworks that may not be, technically, true; the framework is intended to give a critical structure for interpreting information. Then, when we later find evidence that disproves the hypothesis, that single piece of information doesn’t destroy our expensive college education; what we paid for is the framework. This is mostly frustrating in the sciences, when fresh crops of undergraduate students crash around on social media, grappling with their first exposure to (complex concept) and how it’s DIFFERENT to what they learned BEFORE and their teachers LIED TO EVERYBODY and they’re going to save the world from POP SCIENCE by telling the TRUTH. You’ll notice that these TOTALLY NEW INFORMATION reveals map along the semester schedule. The thing here is that getting new information, or information being different from what you were previously told, does not cancel out the fact that you are getting what you pay for - an education. Learning new facts that change our relationships to hypotheses isn’t a ✨huge betrayal ✨ , but the expected process of academia. Anyway.)

You have an interesting response here, and can start by looking at the ways that Sapir-Whorf has been disproved. There will be loads of literature on that.

However, it would be interesting to look at the argument as an unpicking of the other side’s rather weird, ritualistic superstitious belief that a behavior doesn’t exist if the creatures doing it can’t describe it. It is not on the ancient Greeks and Romans to categorise and interpret their behavior for a modern educated audience. They do not have the wherewithal to do so. They are also fucking dead. We can name the behaviors we see, and describe their impacts, however the hell we like.

Sure, the ancient Greeks used “cancer” to refer to lumpy veiny tumors. We can infer that they still had blood cancer, because their medical texts describe leukaemia and their corpses have evidence of it - they just didn’t know it was cancer. But we do, so we can call it cancer. Just because Homer said “the wine-dark sea” in a flight of girlish whimsy doesn’t mean he was unable to distinguish grape juice from saltwater, which we know, because we can observe that he was an intelligent wordsmith perfectly capable of talking about wine and oceans in other contexts. We are the people who get to stand at our point of history with our words, and name things like “this person probably died of leukaemia” and “poets say things that aren’t necessarily literal” and “this behaviour was racist” and “that’s gay” and “togas kinda slay tho” despite Ancient Greeks having different concepts of cancer, wittiness, prejudice, homosexuality, and slaying than we do today.

Now just to caveat that people do get muddled about the concept of racism. Our understanding of racism from here - this point of history, with these words, probably from the West - is heavily influenced by how we see racism around us today: white supremacy and the construct of “whiteness,” European colonial expansion, transatlantic chattel slavery, orientalism, evangelism, 20th century racial science, and so on. This is the picture of racism that really dominates our current discourse, so people often mistake it for the definition of racism. (Perhaps in a linguistic-deterministic sort of way after all.) As a result, muddled-up people often say things like “I can’t be racist because I’m not a white American who throws slurs at black American people,” while being an Indian person in the UK who votes for vile anti-immigration practices, or a Polish person with a horrible attitude about the Roma. Many people genuinely hold this very kindergarten idea of racism; if your opponent does as well, they’re probably thinking something like “Ancient Greek and Roman people didn’t have a concept of white supremacy, because whiteness hadn’t been invented yet, so how could they be racist?” And that’s unsound reasoning in a separate sense.

Racism as the practice of prejudice against an ethnicity, particularly one that is a minority, is a power differential that is perfectly observable in ancient cultures. The beliefs and behaviors will be preserved in written plays, recorded slurs, beauty standards, reactions to foreign marriages, and travel writing. The impacts will be documented in political records, trade agreements, the layouts of historical districts of ancient towns.

You don’t need permission to point out behaviours and impacts. You can point them out in any words you like. You can make up entirely new words to bully the ancient romans with. You are the one at this point of history and your words are the ones that get used.

Pretending that “words” are some kind of an intellect-obscuring magical cloud in the face of actual evidence is just a piece of sophistry (derogatory) on the part of your opponent here. It’s meant to be a distraction. You can dismiss this very flimsy shield pretty quickly and get them in the soft meat of them never reading anything about the actual material topic, while they’re still looking up dictionary definitions or whatever.

627 notes · View notes

icycoldninja · 6 days ago

Note

hello!!! Dante or raiden (maybe both… but separately of course) dating a doctor???

Sure!

Dante + Raiden x Doctor!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Now that you are dating someone who heals at a surprisingly quick rate, of course you pounced on this opportunity to study him.

-Whenever he wasn't busy, you would try to take samples of his blood or his skin for future study, until you'd amassed a literal collection of his DNA. You'd better pray that no one ever goes into your closet.

-He appreciates how quick you are to examine, then prescribe treatment for any injuries he sustains during missions, but he really wishes you weren't such a worrywort when it came to him.

-Despite his protests because of how dangerous things are, you end up as a field medic for all your devil hunter friends, regardless of whether they have superhuman healing abilities or not.

-You're the first person he goes to when he's sick, and even though you tell him the same stuff everyone else does, Dante still only listens to you.

-Though it'll be a while before he admits it, he thinks you will be the one to fix him, both physically and mentally.

-Finds himself haunting the hospital/clinic that you work at, confusing the other staff, since the only thing that seems to be wrong with him is that he's lovesick and hellbent on saying hi to you at least once.

-Proudly introduces you to everyone he meets as "my doctor", and those who hear this immediately assume he's secretly wealthy, wealthy enough to afford hiring someone like you to be at his back and call. Wait until they find out the truth.

-Even though he doesn't understand all the jargon that comes with your profession, he doesn't mind letting you lie down in his lap while you ramble on about your day, all the things you diagnosed, all the things you'll need to work on, and more.

-He also tries his best to set you on a healthy sleeping schedule, but it's rather hypocritical of him to do so, because he goes to bed at 3 in the morning.

{ Raiden }

-Raiden admires you for the strength and intelligence you possess, as well as the sheer dedication and passion that drove you to become a doctor in the first place.

-The very fact that you're still functioning after working such long, demanding shifts makes him wonder if they made you into a cyborg too.

-He knows you want to examine him whenever he comes back from his long missions, but he's a cyborg, not a full human, so there's very little you could do even if there was anything wrong with him.

-He takes you to visit Doktor, who, as a fellow doctor, will try to educate you on the functions and complex science that makes up a cyborg.

-You end up spending more time with Doktor than your actual boyfriend and more all-nighters at cyborgnetic research compounds than the hospital/clinic you work at.

-It's not long before Raiden's asking if you want to switch specialties.

-Sometimes, when you're on a multiday work trip and Raiden is enjoying some leisure time at home, he will put on your coat and then stare at himself in the mirror for a few minutes before realizing how stupid that is and taking it off.

-"An apple a day keeps the doctor away", or so they say. Just keep in mind that if you ever make Raiden mad, (which is rare, but it can still happen) he will buy a whole bunch of apples and leave them on the counter, where they sit there until either of you eat them.

-Though he may not have any use for your medical prowess personally, he does know people who would. If anyone he's friends with gets sick, he calls you for advice.

-He also sometimes asks you for suspiciously specific advice regarding the locations of vital organs, important arteries that the removal of which would cause instant death, and where the brain stem is the strongest.

76 notes · View notes

eighttens · 5 months ago

Text

Elevatorcrush!Yunho x reader

Synapses: so… maybe you’re kind of a stalker, but who wouldnt be over a guy like that?!

Note: inspired heavily by Yunho‘s forehead, lord praise the stylists for letting it breathe this comeback!!!! I love it so much he looks too good im not normal about him at all. Hope you enjoy, please dont be a silent reader- share your thoughts and if you have ideas PLEASE REQUEST MY INBOX IS OPEN!!!!

You had a confession to make. You took the elevator in your apartment complex every chance you could get. Not for any medical or physical needs, not because you were too lazy to take the stairs, not because your bag is heavy, no. None of that. It’s all because of him.

The first few times you saw he didn’t really register in your brain. You only took in his towering height and slender form before focusing on whatever else was on your mind again. Probably because the first few times you really were always too tired to climb the seven flights to your floor.

You’ve taken notice of him again and again since then though. He looked to be a few years, three or four at most, older than you, and judging by the briefcase you thought he worked in some higher profession. The business casual style also doesnt stop your fantasizing, quite the opposite actually. You wont lie, you’ve imagined once or twice what he works as; a doctor? A lawyer? Dare you imagine, a professor? The thought alone makes your head swirl, so you’re quick to dismiss it every time.

Since you started paying more attention to the people (person) on the elevator with you, you may or may not have started to synch up your routines with a certain man your eyes find time and time again. You didnt know much about him, other than that he always got on and off the fourth floor, and the times he came and went.

It started with a simple coincidence. You left a few minutes earlier than usual because you had a project at Uni that required a lot of materials, prompting you to take the elevator for convenience. Lo and behold, there he was again, stepping into the elevator as it made a stop on the fourth floor. You nodded at one another, and he sent you a small, seemingly sympathetic smile as he eyed all the materials you were carrying. Since then you knew that he left for work at 7:15 sharp, and since then you’ve subconsciously started your morning 15 minutes earlier too, to match schedules, but he didnt have to know that.

In terms of the time of return, you didnt have to change much (not that you were changing anything in the first place, you told yourself). You simply had to get home a tad bit faster, and then take the elevator. There, you and him would shuffle into the small space and share a moment of silence before he would step off, leaving you to ascend further on your own.

Today was a day like most other, you made it though all your classes managed to hand in the work that was looming over your head, and your timing was right on the money to see a certain someone. You might be a little very exited to see him, you admit, but you allowed yourself the unsolicited giddiness that spread through your body at the thought of him.

Youre glad you were wearing a bit of a nicer outfit that day, because by some high heavens grace, something in his appearance had changed. You felt stalker-ish for noticing the change, but you couldn’t stop yourself from gushing over it. His forehead. Where normally the black bangs would lie against his skin, kissing his eyebrows, his hair was pushed back for a change.

Your reaction was very normal. Yes, you were feeling extremely normal about this change. Nothing like a man from the middle-ages seeing ankles for the first time, no, nothing like that at all.

You stood a little stiff in the elevator next to him, heels pressed against one another to keep you grounded as you practically buzzed where you stood. Oh my gosh girl get a grip! You wanted to curse yourself, but before any of the self deprivation could really start, the silence in the elevator broke.

He cleared his throat, hand coming up to shield his mouth as he coughed into his fist. Your head whipped over to his and you could see him glancing at you from the corner of his eyes. Never in a million years would you have expected to hear a noise from him, but you would have to thank the heavens later for the cold-seasons. You were content now, happy to have heard his voice.

He really threw you for a loop when he spoke again however, leaning down to match your height, probably make you a little more comfortable. „This might be a little out of nowhere, and i hope i dont sounds really weird and creepy but your perfume is really nice.“ his voice was low, as not to disturb the silence in the apartment complex.

Before you have time to soak in his words, even less to think of a response, the elevator has already reached the fourth floor. He‘s swift in his exit, leaving you reaching out for him dumbly, scrambling to think up some words. No success, so you just watch his leaving form with an open mouth.

Once his words sink in though, your face starts warming, your stomach spinning and your knees becoming embarrassingly weak. „Thanks…“ you say to no one in particular as the doors open again: on the seventh floor this time. You float to your apartment, unlocking the door with a wide smile on your face. What was the chance of something like this happening? Slim to none at all, you think as your smile widens again (if that’s even possible).

Was this the start of something? Only time could tell… well, ten hours and nineteen minutes, but you weren’t counting…

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez x you #ateez yunho #yunho x reader #jeong yunho #yunho #yunho fluff #yunho ateez #yunho atz

93 notes · View notes

rottenpumpkin13 · 3 months ago

Note

When or even if ever you're up for it:

What's the dumbest and/or most gullible thing AGSZC believed for a significant length of time?

What and/or who made them learn the truth?

How did they react to learning the truth?

Are they responsible for anyone else believing in that particular falsity?

What is the superior chicken soup; noodle or rice?

Angeal: Spent two whole years of his early SOLDIER career lovingly maintaining the "exotic flora" in the SOLDIER floor lobby. They were plastic. He watered them, whispered encouragement, even wrote a maintenance schedule. Lazard found him at 1 am before he clocked out, giving an impassioned speech to a dusty plastic fern about "persevering through the harsh Midgar climate." Tried arguing that Lazard just didn't understand "specialized horticulture" until Lazard physically unpotted one to show him the made-in-Junon sticker. Still mortified, but his legacy lives on. Zack gifted Aerith a succulent that "Angeal said is a rare desert species that only needs water once a month." She didn't have the heart to tell him it was plastic.

Genesis: Absolutely convinced that Sephiroth's hair used to be black and turned silver from the stress of war and training, based on a 47-page theory he read on "SephirothSecrets.com" at age 15. He held onto this belief for years, confidently citing it during casual conversations like it was common knowledge. The illusion shattered at age 22 during a heated argument, when Genesis dramatically pointed at Sephiroth mid-debate and yelled "At least your hair figured out how to cope by going silver before you did!"

Sephiroth, visibly perplexed, simply responded "…It's always been silver."

Genesis stood frozen in silence, reevaluating his life choices, before spending three days writing a scathing takedown of the website and drafting increasingly unhinged legal threats. But the damage was done. Zack casually told Angeal he'd found a single silver strand in his hair, grinning as he said "Guess you're turning into Sephiroth! One day, you'll be just as cool as him!"

Sephiroth: Read exactly one (1) friendship magazine article not long after befriending Genesis and Angeal. Became convinced that best friends regularly break into each other's apartments to deep clean as a sign of affection. Angeal was too polite to comment the first time he came home to find every surface sparkling and his socks arranged by color and thread count. Genesis was no stranger to nightmares, but nothing could have prepared him for the 3 am domestic terror of finding Sephiroth a 6'7 humanoid cryptid perched on a ladder, gently buffing lightbulbs. Then Sephiroth, utterly unfazed, glanced down and said "Your dim lighting is a disservice to our bond." Genesis hasn't slept right since.

Genesis and Angeal have tried to tell him how the magazine article was nonsense, and probably written by interns, but Sephiroth's reasoning of "I see no flaw in their logic" means he will keep doing it.

On the bright side, since befriending Sephiroth, Zack now thinks his dishes are self-cleaning.

Zack: Fully believed that SOLDIER members had to maintain their mako glow by "charging" under fluorescent lights, standing perfectly still, for at least two hours daily. Kunsel pranked him hard by convincing him it was "standard procedure" during his first week. Spent six months finding excuses to stand perfectly still under office lights until Angeal found him in the elevator, furiously doing squats, his eyes twitching as he muttered "I don't care if the glow is fading. If I don't move I'll die." Angeal calmly called for a medic to have Zack sedated. Kunsel still can't look at Zack standing under fluorescent lights without losing his shit.

Cloud: Arrived in Midgar absolutely certain that city folk communicated primarily through elaborate hand gestures, based on his mom's friend's cousin's description of "those fancy Midgar people." Spent his first year responding to everything with increasingly complex hand movements until Zack finally asked why he was "doing interpretive dance in the cafeteria line."

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #zack fair #cloud strife #crisis core

73 notes · View notes

puddles-and-pebbles · 1 month ago

Text

How about a mentally ill doctor that commits malpractice on a daily basis and gets away with it, basically on drugs, has absurd methods of curing patients (one being to keep the patient awake just to talk to them but I think the doc does it for fun) uhhh, gay for their coworker +slight denial, plays an instrument because they have nothing better to do, shoots a body for "scientific" purposes and refuses to elaborate on why, hmm... shitty sleep schedule, maybe. oh! And a big god complex, iffy about if they believe a god even exists but they would think they're better than him due to illegal medical practices and some cocaine.

Oh, right.

#tf2 medic #team fortress 2 #house md #gregory house #tf2 heavy #james wilson #just a thought

45 notes · View notes

jumpingjoltiks · 2 months ago

Note

Happy New Year I hope you had a great day and I have a request, you can refuse it if you want, I couldn't help but think what would happen if the reader had an accident or was attacked by someone obsessed with sugar daddy!submas or another situation, one day reader show up with some bandages all over their body?

Have nice day!

A very late happy new year and a happy early valentines day to you too! <3

TWs for sugar relationships, medical settings and practices, car crashes, and an attempted assault.

You’ve had an accident.

You wake up a little dizzy and weirdly numb. Wherever you are isn’t a very comfortable place to be laying down. The lights above you are a little much to be looking into, and you have to blink a few times before you adjust to it. The smell of bleach and other chemical cleaning products stings your nose. Your back can feel the frame of the bed through the thin mattress. A heavy cast is over one of your legs, which is elevated and hanging from a sling above you. Everything is a sterile white.

You look around and try to get your bearings. A hospital room. How did you end up there?

The last thing you remember was dodging out of the way of a bicycle as it came around the corner toward you.

You’d stumbled into the street.

A loud, blaring honk.

You’re lucky to be alive, you think.

The fabric of the bed is soft against your fingers as you stretch them, trying to determine how much range of motion you have. You lift your arm and reach for a remote that has a single button on it labeled “nurse”. Your chest hurts like hell when you do, but you manage to grab it and press down.

A very worried-looking woman rushes into the room almost immediately, her pink hair spilling over her shoulders – a Nurse Joy. She fusses over you for a moment before settling down again.

She explains that you were rushed to the hospital after being hit by a car. You looked a lot worse than you were, but you had a complex fracture in one of your legs, two broken ribs, and a mild concussion.

You’d been delirious with pain when the paramedics wheeled you in, and they’d had to administer sedatives in order to set the bones and start repairing the damage. You’ve been asleep all night.

She assures you you’ll make a full recovery, but that they’ll be keeping you for a day or two more to keep an eye on you.

You don’t have any emergency contacts formally listed, but someone among the staff has recognized you as the Subway Bosses’ partner. Nurse Joy asks if you’d like them to be contacted. You give assent, and consider putting them down as your contacts, but thinking too much makes your brain feel fuzzy – like the conclusions you want to draw are just out of reach.

Ingo and Emmet are there within fifteen minutes.

While you’ve been getting patched up by the doctors, they’ve been beside themselves with worry.

You were scheduled to have a call with them the evening before. You never let the phone ring more than once or twice, so when you didn’t pick up after several attempted calls and a half dozen texts, they decided to swing by your apartment… just to make sure you were okay. Of course, you weren’t there.

They spent the night wandering town, looking for you in every spot they could imagine. They contacted everyone they could think of to see if anyone had seen or heard from you.

So now Ingo and Emmet perch, relieved, at your bed-side, thankful that they didn’t have to file any reports with the police. Each holds one of your hands as they go over everything that’s happened with you.

Emmet assures you that they’ll take care of everything – the bills, the paperwork, whatever you need. All you have to do is rest and get better.

Ingo’s thumb gently brushes over the back of your hand. He’s unusually quiet, but as he looks at you with misty, silver eyes, you understand. There is so much he wants to say, but he can’t. At least, not right now.

They leave late that evening, and only when insistently ushered out by a very bossy chansey, with many promises to visit you again tomorrow.

A pair of large bouquets are brought in first thing in the morning, one black and one white, and are placed on the two bedside tables at either side of your head.

They’re delivered with a new cell phone (you notice appreciatively that it's the newest model), as yours was shattered in the accident. Ingo and Emmet’s numbers are already put in. They’ve each sent you a handful of texts, assuring you that they’d be visiting in the evening and updating you on the early morning events in Gear Station. Emmet has sent you a selfie of himself, Ingo, archeops, and haxorus that you immediately set as your background.

You rest easy the remainder of the day, knowing that Ingo and Emmet will be back again to see you when work ends, and that they’ll be escorting you home. Everything will be okay.

Somewhere, in another universe…

It’s a big night for you and the twins – you’ve been invited a charity gala.

You slip on the sparkling black outfit that Ingo bought for you the last time you went out together. You admire yourself in the mirror; turning this way and that, smiling as the shimmering garment catches the light like a thousand stars.

When you exit the room, both of the twins’s gazes fall to your figure.

Ingo is locked in place, staring, his mouth slightly open. What a vision you are.

Emmet smiles, but narrows his eyes. Next time you go clothes shopping, he’ll make sure you’re on his arm instead of Ingo’s. As nice as you look, you’d look even nicer in white.

---

The paparazzi are taking photos of you when it happens.

You haven’t even entered yet. You’re standing between Ingo and Emmet – each of them with an arm around you. You smile warmly to the crowd, waving as you pass.

Time slows to a crawl. A figure shoves their way to the front.

Someone jumps from the crowd and rushes toward you. Gasps and shouts ring out as they lunge toward you, a huge hand reaching directly for your neck.

A pair of security guards are on them immediately. The attacker is on the ground and pinned before they ever reach you.

Emmet has pulled you behind him, putting himself between you and the attacker, with Ingo covering your back. Both of them have a hand on the pokeballs at their waist. You’re shaken nonetheless, and who wouldn’t be? You’re all ushered quickly inside.

The incident was only a few seconds long, but it felt so much longer. Your heart pounds in your throat as you cling to Emmet’s sleeve and Ingo wraps his arm steadily around your waist. They’re silent as you three walk into the foyer, two stone pillars keeping you together.

You’re quickly directed to a private side room. Ingo holds you while Emmet has some very firm words with the organizer at the door.

After a bit, you pull yourself together. You assure them you’re okay, but that you’d like to go home. Ingo and Emmet nod in agreement. The night is completely ruined for all three of you.

The organizer has already prepared a small handful of security guards to escort you to the back entrance. You’re back in your limo within a half hour of arriving, never having even seen the inside of the gala. You sit comfortably snuggled between Ingo and Emmet; their arms are wrapped around you, trying to bring some sense of comfort and safety back to the world.

You spend the night at their place – none of you want to be apart from each other right now. Ingo puts a movie on and Emmet pulls out a huge, fluffy blanket that he wraps around all three of you as you settle onto the couch.

It’s the middle of the night when you feel yourself coming out of a doze. Your head is on Ingo’s shoulder. Someone’s hand is soothingly rubbing your back. The brothers are speaking softly to each other, as though trying not to wake you. Something about hiring personal security guards…

Whatever it is, you can’t find it in you to worry right now.

With someone you care for on each side of you, you feel safer than you ever have.

#ingo #ingo x reader #emmet #emmet x reader #submas x reader #submas #x reader #mailbox💌#my writing #sugar daddy submas #a nonny mouse

45 notes · View notes

yokohamapound · 5 months ago

Note

This is very silly - but what would the reactions be of the ADA to you, a friend, abruptly crashing through the ceiling?

“Hey, Ron.” “Hey, Billy.”

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Kunikida Doppo, Nakajima Atsushi, Izumi Kyouka, Tanizaki Jun'ichirou, Edogawa Ranpo, Yosano Akiko, Fukuzawa Yukichi

Contents: gn! reader, falling through ceilings

Dazai Osamu

Dazai does a credible job of masking any surprise when you come collapsing through the ceiling. Do you know why? Because he isn’t surprised at all. He’s sitting on one of the green couches in the reception area, his headphones cupped over his ears, when the ceiling splits open and dumps you into the office.

His eyes flicker open briefly as your form rushes past him to tumble to the floor at his feet in a cascade of insulation and plaster.

You’ll never know whether or not he deliberately loosened that board in the loft before he sent you rooting around up there for whatever obscure object he wanted from storage, but you have your suspicions, and he knows you have your suspicions.

“Nice of you to drop in. The vacuum’s around here somewhere. Best not leave that mess or Kunikida will go through the roof, and then we’ll have a skylight.”

Kunikida Doppo

Kunikida is just trying to get through his day, to follow his schedule, and make sure that all his paperwork is filled out correctly and on time.

Imagine his despair when you crash through the ceiling tiles and land on his desk. He stiffens, then expels a deep, bone weary sigh as plaster dust settles on his shoulders and hair, making him look like he’s turning prematurely grey—which he might, at this rate.

He removes his glasses and takes out a small cloth to polish the dust off them, before placing them back on his face and pushing them back up the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.

“I presume you’re not injured?” When you assure him that you’re winded but nothing’s broken, he nods. “I’m going to have to fill out another purchase order for building repairs. I really don’t have time for this.”

Nakajima Atsushi

Poor Atsushi. He’s just minding his own business when you come crashing through into the office. His jaw falls open, but he’s only shocked for a moment. His hero complex kicks in and he throws himself forward, slamming into the ground a moment before you do and letting his own body break your fall.

Martyr much, Atsushi?

“Are you okay?” he babbles, when you roll off him.

He’s fussing like an old woman, trying to pat you down to make sure nothing is broken.

“Do you need to go to the hospital? What happened?!”

Yosano Akiko

Yosano’s been with the Armed Detective Agency for long enough that she’s seen almost everything in her time. You stepping on a busted floor panel up in the lift and falling ass-over-teakettle through the ceiling?

No biggie.

She emerges from her medical room, already snapping on a pair of latex gloves with alarming efficiency. Her eyes glint.

“Oh, dear. That looks like it hurts. Shall I make it better?”

“No! No, I’m fine, just winded!”

“Now, now, you might have broken something…”

Izumi Kyouka

For all her apparently stoic, emotionless demeanour, Kyouka hasn’t lost her startle reflex. When you come tumbling in from the loft, she immediately suspects it is some kind of targeted attack from the Port Mafia, the Guild, the Rats in the Hall of the Dead, the Hunting Dogs (dude, the ADA has got to up their life-insurance policies), or even some new threat.

She launches Demon Snow into attack mode, only to realise it’s you face-planting amidst a snowdrift of broken plaster and crap from storage.

“...”

Kyouka stares at you.

“You should be more careful.”

Gee, thanks, Kyouka.

Edogawa Ranpo

Ranpo’s been waiting for this to happen to someone ever since he noticed the hairline crack running along the ceiling plaster. The second he heard someone tell you to go upstairs and rummage through those boxes of old files, he’s been counting down the moments.

“Five, four, three, two, one…”

On cue, you come tumbling down from the attic.

He pops a chocolate truffle into his mouth and looks over at you from his desk, where he’s lounging back in his chair with his feet up on the wooden surface.

“Hey, now you’re down here, could you get me a soda?��

Tanizaki Jun’ichirou

It takes Tanizaki a little while to notice the ceiling bulging. He yelps when you come tumbling through, scattering paperwork and Naomi and pens everywhere.

Another graduate from the School of Martyrdom, Tanizaki’s solution is to fling himself forward to try and catch you. With mostly ends up with getting in your way and sending you to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Naomi, seeing this, immediately rushes up to the attic to have her turn.

Fukuzawa Yukichi

I don’t know why, but I feel like Fukuzawa is highly attuned to the sounds around him, down to the vibration of the air. He’ll feel a disturbance (in the Force) before the ceiling cracks open. Perhaps a few grains of plaster dust will trickle down and alert him to the impending disaster.

His head jerks up. He knows you were sent up into the loft/attic of the office building on some errand. It doesn’t take even his honed instincts to put two and two together.

In a blur of motion, surprisingly fast for a man of his years, he springs forward and extends his arms, snatching you from mid-fall before you can splat on the office floorboards. He holds you aloft, a stoic expression on his face as a piece of ceiling tile lands on his head and cracks apart.

“Are you well?” he asks, stern, followed by: “Did I not tell you to watch your step up there?”

#yokohamapound #bungo stray dogs #bsd headcanons #bsd imagines #dazai osamu #kunikida doppo #yosano akiko #nakajima atsushi #edogawa ranpo #izumi kyouka #tanizaki jun'ichirou #fukuzawa yukichi

75 notes · View notes

delirious-donna · 1 year ago

Text

A Spider's Web [Geto Suguru]

an: an entire rework of a story written way back in '22. I've changed a few things and tightened it up a little more. Sometimes I can't tell if I'm into Suguru or not... he is very compelling.

pairing: Geto Suguru x female reader

warnings: dark content, kinda yandere Suguru, corruption, abuse of power, doctor/patient relationship, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, handjob, messy first blowjob, pussy fingering, pussy eating, unprotected sex, cumshot, cum eating

Masterlist

Depraved, vile and manipulative–all accurate. Suguru should feel some semblance of shame, or at the very least guilt, but not even an ounce of it existed in the twisted labyrinth of his mind.

He was well aware of the superiority complex that plagued him, which was why he had found himself in the medical field and was the reason his private practice was considered the top in his specialty. Geto Suguru was considered the best psychiatrist in the city, perhaps even one of the top in the country.

From his position of power, Dr Geto should be helping you overcome your issues in a healthy, sustainable manner as he did for his other clients, but instead, he was trying to use your insecurities to crawl inside your pants.

Depraved.

A thick finger dragged across the loose-leaf papers that made up your file, eyeing the snapshot of your shy face that was clipped to your introductory questionnaire. He smiled at how you made reluctant eye contact with the camera, a camera his secretary had held aloft in the sanctity of the waiting room whilst he watched from the doorway to his office.

You were the perfect embodiment of a people pleaser, a diagnosis he had made within the first two minutes of meeting you. A meek flower that would only open like an exquisite rare bloom under certain conditions and Suguru was more than a little obsessed.

It was child’s play to identify the toxic trait in himself, the dark urge within his psyche that drove him forward and overrode the sane part of his brain that warned him to stop. To stop before he took it too far, stop before he did something he might regret.

It was too late for that.

The second he had checked out your social media pages, he had edged his toe over the line of professional decency; after that, he had tumbled headfirst down the rabbit hole and there would be no saving him.

He knew all the people you called friends, and the family members that you worked so hard to keep in touch with despite how sick it made you feel when that enthusiasm wasn’t reciprocated. More so, he took note of the men who were desperately trying to pursue you even though your complete naivety towards them and their attempts kept them at bay.

Of course, you spoke about many of them in your weekly sessions, but you didn’t know that he had clicked on every profile available to him. Admired the photos and saved his favourites on his personal computer. Dr Geto had an entire file on you that had nothing to do with your patient file…

Fisting his cock he pumped in steady but quick pulls, tugging himself closer to the brink of ecstasy whilst he imagined you kneeling beneath his desk. Batting those innocent doe eyes as if you didn’t know how fucking pretty you were. Wearing those perfectly decent, ‘I’m a good girl’ skirts and always ensuring you tucked the material tight against your thighs when you sat on his plush couch.

Would your skin burn with heat when your lips wrapped around his swollen tip? Would you grimace at the salty taste of his arousal on your tongue?

Vile.

Suguru’s head rolled against the head support of his chair at the thought. The idea that he might convince you to relieve the sinful ache in his heavy balls was a heady one. The product of weeks of planting the seedling and watering it with more and more inappropriate chat and suggestions.

There were only minutes until your session was scheduled to begin, it was a race against the clock. A sprint finish to release the demons burning their hellfire in his soul and to ensure that he remained merciful for at least another week.

It had become a game to him, this little charade of fucking into his fist mere minutes before you arrived to quell his desire to see you broken by his will. He could do it, it would be nothing to him and that was why he had to deter those whims. He pictured the filthy acts he would coerce you into doing with the faintest shift in his tone and that was enough–for now–it had to be enough.

Suguru rocked backwards, a slight squeak from his desk chair and his hips drove up to meet his hand. His palm twisted atop his weeping cockhead, and his sensitive skin twitched from the sensation. He was so close. He bit down on his lip until there was a tang of iron on his tongue, all whilst an image of your tear-filled eyes flitted across his mind's eye.

The intercom on his desk blared to life and midnight eyes snapped open in an angry startle. The breathy voice of his sickly sweet and simpering receptionist announced your arrival and he cursed beneath his breath. Fuck!

Ire exploded through his body, filling him with potent venom as he tucked himself back into his pants and fixed himself to hide the painful erection. Growling the instruction to send you in, he cleaned his hands and threw the used tissue into the trash. He knew that events would not unfold well for you today, this extra session that you had implored him was absolutely necessary earlier in the week was about to turn into something altogether wicked and it was your fault…

Manipulative.

You couldn’t deny how a sense of calm descended upon you the very moment you stepped into the softly lit office. The smile of the receptionist was genuine, the abundance of plant life in the waiting area and the low melody of music settled your nerves just as you had hoped.

Dr Geto was a genius, a prophet, a God.

His every word, you hung upon with a fascination worthy of a disciple. You had a crush on your psychiatrist–no–that wasn’t right. This was no crush, it was a deep infatuation and there was no cure. The real problem was that you didn’t recognise that you were obsessed with the clever man and that made things all the more dangerous.

Sure, he was attractive.

A little older than you were but he maintained a youthful physique and there was not a single line or wrinkle on his sharp, angular face.

You had often wondered if his hair would feel as soft and silky as it looked, the vast length more often than not tucked up into a top knot and you itched to touch it one day–to run your fingers through it even.

Yet, what attracted you most was the brain behind the looks, the insights and the words of advice that always hit their mark. Dr Geto was a genius and you revered him as a God.

The problem was, that he knew it...

Why did you need this extra session? You stumbled to remember the hastily fumbled words from the telephone conversation earlier this week. Something about your manager, something clearly trivial if you had already forgotten but you were happy to see your handsome doctor so soon after your last visit.

There was a sense of something different in the air this dark stormy afternoon. Rain lashed the windows that lined his snug office, the vibrant orange leaves of fall dulled by a persistent gloom that fell over the skies like a heavy woollen blanket. Even the eyes that observed you when you entered his room seemed distant, unattached and cool.

It made you frown. Your lips tugged down in one fell swoop and a lead weight filled your stomach. You failed to notice that your frown had brought a hint of a smile to his lips, those sweeping lines curved into something sinister but you were too busy trying to figure out how to lift his mood to realise that you were already doing so.

The normal routine of your session began in earnest, recapping the last visit and going over the small tasks he had assigned as ‘homework’ along with the results and observations.

Speaking to Dr Geto was always nerve-wracking, you worried you’d say something wrong, that he’d think you dumb or inept but you stumbled on because he wanted you to. Everything that you did, every word or confession you spilt and every action you took outside of his office was a direct response to his wishes.

Sure, it was meant to be for your benefit but the euphoria that laced your blood when he offered a genuinely pleased smile was enough to make you feel drunk. The biggest rush of endorphins filled your head when you received that hit of pleasure from his happiness, but that was the problem. You should be finding pleasure in your happiness and not in others. Wasn’t that one of the reasons you had started therapy?

“Why are you here today?” He asked and the abruptness of the question knocked you sideways. Your fingers twisted into the pleats of your skirt, inadvertently raising the hem and gifting your dutiful doctor a rare glimpse of the tops of your thighs.

“I-I don’t really remember the reason, it seemed so crucial at the time but now that I’m here… I’m sorry. I’m wasting your time, aren’t I?”

It was a statement you made with alarming regularity, never believing yourself to be worthy of someone’s time and attention even when you were paying for it. You expected the normal reassurance that he was here for you, that you were his patient and he was in no way imposed by your requirements, but it didn’t come.

“Yes, it seems that way.” His cheek rested against his fist, a mean smile dancing on his lips despite the air of stiff indifference surrounding him and it sent you reeling.

Reeling to fix your mistake, to please him, to make it so that you weren’t wasting his time. Anxiety turned your blood icy, the slosh of it burning your veins and bringing tears to your eyes. This was your worst nightmare come true. You were a burden. A troublesome woman who couldn’t go two minutes without reassurance.

The wobble of your bottom lip and the way your fingers fidgeted quicker and quicker in your lap, it was enough to make him want to push you back against the sunshine-yellow couch you sat upon. To pull you down and straddle your chest just to watch your eyes turn wide when he pressed his aching cockhead against those plump, wobbly lips.

Schooling his features, Suguru sighed—deep and heavy—his eyes stared towards the ceiling whilst he did his best to ignore the pitiful display you were putting on. The wringing of your hands and your knees that bashed into one another as you squirmed like a worm caught on a hook. It was an apt metaphor, he certainly was baiting you, you simply didn’t know it.

“Funny isn’t it?”

“What is?” you squeaked in response, your voice high and needy.

A finger idly traced the open page of the notebook he always held on the arm of his chair. He waited until your gaze fell on his wandering digit. Snaring your attention with the slow methodical movement, as if he were tracing lines of text when in reality the page was naked.

“Hm… this persistent need to please others, the desire that you feel to ensure that everyone else is happy even at your own expense, and you don’t show me the same courtesy. Me your ever-dutiful doctor.”

“I-I don’t—” you managed to stammer, floundering in your thoughts. You silenced abruptly when the man you usually looked up to as a genius snapped his fingers.

“I am still talking and you are listening,” he stated coolly.

He paused for a second, testing to make sure you understood. “Not only are you encroaching on an afternoon that I had planned to keep free, but you are also five minutes early and I didn’t get to finish.”

Every synapse in your brain fired at full tilt, scrambling for context clues as to what he possibly could mean by ‘didn’t get to finish’. What on earth could that possibly mean?

Your heart sank into your toes. Your eyes swivelled the width of his office but nothing seemed out of place. The space was uncluttered as usual, only then did you notice the open manila folder on his desk, a photo that appeared oddly familiar barely visible from this angle.

“It’s your file, I was perusing the contents before I was so rudely interrupted,” Dr Geto explained, noticing your squinting eyes and the crane of your neck towards his desk. Somehow the word ‘perusing’ did not sound as innocent as it should and you squirmed further in your seat.

“Should I go?” you asked timidly, yet every part of you screamed to stay. You would be miserable if you were to leave here with things unresolved, with someone unhappy with you–how unthinkable!

The good doctor smirked behind his hand, eyes remaining cool and unreadable as he fixed them on your agitated posture. If he asked you to kneel on the floor and then roll over like an obedient puppy, you would do it without question. It was a euphoric feeling, the power he wielded over you, and his tongue swiped a path across his lower lip in anticipation. The heaviness in his balls urged him onward, but this was not something to be rushed, he would savour corrupting you wholly.

Ignoring your pathetic question, he posed his own. “Tell me, have you ever orgasmed from sex? Did you stop seeing that man we discussed previously?”

You slouched on the couch, fingers still nervously fidgeting and your brow lowered whilst you attempted to keep up with this erratic session. It was like nothing you had ever experienced, but you couldn’t help but bask in the knowledge that he remembered discussing your ex, even though it was his job to do so.

“Uh, well… no. Never with someone, but I don’t know what that has—”

His teeth clicked in annoyance, a warning shot in your direction, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “I’ll be the one asking the questions, and I don’t believe you’ve answered one of them…”

“I'm not seeing him anymore,” you murmured into your chest.

That’s what he wanted to hear, the unfettered joy that burst in his chest at that knowledge only adds fuel to the fire raging in his mind. No one other than he should be allowed the divine right to your pleasure, that was his job and he wanted to praise you. To tell you what a good girl you were for listening to his advice. Advice that had been for your benefit, if you squinted, but was more a selfish desire of his own.

Suguru’s already straining cock thickened upon hearing the news, the expensive slacks digging against his sensitive shaft and he wanted badly to release some of his pent-up frustration and discomfort.

“Come here,” he demanded with the merest flick of his finger. His voice softened, a reward for your answers and for following his guidance. You were so very affected by speech and he adored that about you.

You were a foal walking for the very first time as you stood and took the three shaky steps it took to stand before his chair. Under the change in his tone, you bloomed, heat caressed your smooth skin and he let a low hum of appreciation puff through his lips.

Dressed in his usual black pants and black dress shirt, you tried not to admire his physique but it was an impossible feat. He was your psychiatrist, it was not okay to lust after a man who was a care provider as well as being likely a man with a loving partner at home–not that you had ever dared to ask.

Shocked was a pale comparison to how you felt when the man shrouded in the shadow of your body, slid his hands to the belt around his waist. He unbuckled it with deft fingers which you watched in riveted fascination whilst your nerves ratcheted up to a new level of anxiety.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Showing you my cock, little one. I know you’ve seen one before. That you’ve felt one between your legs. You told me that man made you touch him, didn’t he?”

The words were said so matter of factly, as if this were some standard practice and for a brief moment you wondered if it was and that you were the one being weird for freaking out. How twisted around his pinky finger you were…

He sighed when the cool air kissed his weeping cockhead, the relief of freeing himself from the pressure of his clothes was intense and he gave one lazy pump of his length whilst he waited for your reaction.

Your eyes were as big and round as dinner plates, transfixed by his cock and that only stroked his ego further. The angry purple tip looked almost painful, veins thick and stark on his tawny skin and the weight of him pulled his dick down to smack against his thigh.

“Dr Geto…”

“Suguru. Right here and now, I’d like for you to call me Suguru. Do you understand?”

Blinking rapidly, your gaze rose from the sight of what could only be described as a fearsome-looking cock, and met eyes of potent liquorice. You tested the name in your head, Suguru, it sounded so fitting and at long last, you knew his given name and had been given–no–commanded to use it.

“Su-Suguru.” Despite the stammer, it sounded like perfection to his ear. He couldn’t wait to hear it from your sweet lips when he made you cry it out in ecstasy. He’d purr like a contented cat, and he would but later.

“Good girl,” he soothed. His free hand coiled around your wrist, tugging it away from the pleats of your skirt but his motions were gentle, testing.

“Did you fist his cock like this? Did you feel how hot and heavy the skin down here is? How the veins pulse as a man nears his peak?”

Your head shook, once then again.

In truth, you had been afraid that your then-boyfriend would be mad at you. Only giving the most cursory of touches to his far less impressive dick before he had taken over and you had simply watched. It had been fascinating at the time, and yet you hadn’t felt the inclination to join in. It was the same during intercourse, you were a participant but never felt actively there. There was no lack of consent to speak of, but a piece of you had remained locked behind an iron gate, unable to enjoy the act and only faking the noises you had heard from lacklustre porn.

Suguru pointed to the spot on the floor between his thighs, spreading himself wider in the chair and rolling his hips forward. You were kneeling before you even realised you were complying with the silent order, every inch of you shivered in anticipation of what he was going to do next.

Thick midnight hair fell most beautifully, the top knot pulled free and his hair draped over his shoulders. Transfixed by the lopsided grin and the calculating eyes that held you fast, you hadn’t noticed that he was wrapping your fingers around his erection.

Heat, heavy and decadent seared your palm. You gasped at how velvety soft his skin felt under your touch, how prominent the veins were against your fingertips and how he twitched when you tightened your grip almost involuntarily.

Suguru fought against his desire to let his head drop back, for his neck to roll against the back of his chair at the simple act of you touching him like he had envisaged a million times prior. With his lower lip trapped by his teeth, he helped you find a slow rhythm. Giving you ample opportunity to explore him like he was some intriguing science experiment.

Dark laughter rumbled from his chest when you gasped at the sensation of the sticky silver strands that leaked from his slick-coated tip to your fingers. It was the first sign of you stopping, perhaps coming to your senses that this shouldn’t be happening and he couldn’t have that.

“You'll taste it, won't you?” he grunted with a pout on his lips, daring you to even consider disobeying his wish. He was a monster for acting like this, to make you think you were bad for not considering his happiness.

You did indeed grimace at the bitter taste, two fingers pressed down on your pretty pink tongue and sampled the arousal that continued to leak from him in pearled beads.

The longer you savoured his unique flavour, the more you grew accustomed to it. Certainly, it wasn’t some delicious taste but saliva pooled in your mouth, ropes of it connected your lips and fingers until they broke apart like spider webs under too much tension.

“You’ve no idea how damn attractive you are. I can barely stop myself from forcing those pretty lips open with my cock, to fuck that cute mouth until you’re gagging on it.”

Big doe eyes were his reward, your entire posture straightened as if you were lit up from his words, lewd though they may be. His hand stroked at the back of your head, brain running a mile a minute as he changed tack and fixed you with another slight pout.

“You’ll take care of me, won’t you, little one? My good girl is always so willing to make me happy. That’s it, baby. Just… like… that. Fuck.”

He guided your head down as he spoke, bending you to his will with effortless ease. Your mouth parted much like he knew your thighs would do soon enough and he groaned in delight the very second his aching tip grazed against a tentative silken tongue.

As much as he might want to see you ruined, mascara tracks down your cheeks mingled with fat tears, that would have to wait for another time. If he pushed too much you’d run and where would the fun be in that? He wished to corrupt you, sure, but he wasn’t prepared to downright force you if you were unwilling.

It appeared that Dr Geto had some semblance of morals after all, twisted though they might be.

You’d seen this act performed in porn and knew the mechanics of how it worked but it was quite different participating. Mere minutes into your first-ever blowjob and your jaw ached. Saliva escaped the sides of your mouth, and loud slurping noises made your skin heat up as your watery eyes strayed up.

His gaze was hooded, lips parted with pants of air passing through them every few seconds. When he locked eyes with you, he licked those devilish lips with a feline smile offered along with a soft groan.

“Oh, my darling girl, you’re a natural. Don’t fight it, relax. Let me feel your throat.” The praise was hissed through clenched teeth.

You fought down the instinct to reject the intrusion as it neared your throat, the muscles worked furiously and caused you to gag around him.

Shifting on your knees in discomfort, you blinked, letting the tears fall from your eyes. You gripped the base of his cock, squeezing roughly and heard him curse under his breath from the pressure. The nails from your free hand found purchase in the expensive material covering his thigh and bunched it in your frantic grip.

“Fuck. Oh, sweet fucking Jesus. Sweetheart, stop. That is enough!”

Suguru was practically yelling as he ripped your mouth from his saliva-drenched cock, the wet disconnect of your concaved cheeks followed by your rasping breaths filled the silence that followed.

A mixture of your saliva and his precum dripped to his tightly drawn balls, a wet stain spreading on the chair beneath him and his cheeks flushed in reaction.

It took a moment to find composure. Idly he stroked your hair to ensure you knew he wasn’t mad or displeased by your efforts, far from it. His palm traced your cheek, wiping away the remaining tears with his thumb. Gentle and reassuring, as if he weren’t breaking every code of ethics going.

“I think this is the first session where I have said more than you, my dear. I’d like the chance to make you feel good, will you let me do that? It would make me so very happy...”

Subconsciously your face had come to rest against the side of his knee, enjoying the soft petting and whispered words of praise more than you thought you ever would. Your dark God wanted to make you feel good, who were you to deny him that want? You were his disciple after all.

“I don’t feel worthy…”

He snorted. “Nonsense. I’ve wanted to take you to hell before gifting you heaven since the very first moment you walked into my office.”

What an honour, to have been regarded so highly by the genius that was Dr Geto, it spoke to that part of your psyche that you were meant to be working on. It filled you with warmth, that deep-seated desire to feel wanted and needed. This was far from healthy, anyone would see that but you didn't have the luxury of that insight.

“I’d like that… Suguru.”

The smile he flashed at you was like staring at the devil himself. Shame, it was tinted by your reverence.

You could only watch as he slowly undressed, standing for a moment to step out of his pants and underwear before kneeling in front of you. His face was so close, reaching out for you and admiring your features with a reverential eye. His thumb stroked your jawline, ending with it dragging your lower lip down and you dared to nip at the rough textured pad.

Inching closer, warm breath that smelled faintly spicy and laced with traces of tobacco fanned your cheek and you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. There was a tsk of admonishment followed by a gasp, your head tilted back with a sharp yank on your hair and you met the blazing stare of the man before you. Emotions were swirling in those polished obsidian irises that you couldn’t begin to fathom, the serpents of his wicked intent but to you, they were pretty star-filled skies.

His mouth hovered above yours, waiting, ever the patient man and giving you this one final chance to push away. To come to your fucking senses and run for the hills. You should. You really should get out before it was too late. There was time… if you kissed him now, it was game over.

Yes, you held his cock in your fist and had taken him into your mouth but if you kissed him your fate would be sealed. Suguru conveyed this without saying a single word, he radiated his warning and demanded that you heed it.

You were the metaphorical shiny red apple, so perfect looking yet you were slowly rotting on the inside. The worm had found its way inside and was slowly eroding your purity, replacing it with sinful intentions and indecent thoughts. Who would have thought your handsome and prolific psychiatrist would be capable of such wickedness?

Time suspended when your lips met at long last, all soft touches at first, but quickly they turned heated and carnal. Suguru let you lead for a time, responding to the dance of your mouth but finally, he swept you into his arms on a whimpered sigh from your throat.

His strong arms pulled you closer, palms flush against your back and you could feel his slicked-up cock press snugly against your stomach. You only parted long enough for him to help you remove the sweater that covered your pretty dress, the straps of which were shoved down your arms until you could feel the cold air on your skin.

Suguru chased the chill from your flesh, his touch ignited every part of you he touched and there was a deep part of you that longed to push your fingers into his hair. Never one to do something purely for selfish means, you were emboldened by the lust that washed through you, the knot of tension that tugged behind your navel and you dared to do it. Your fingers speared into the masses of his thick raven hair, nails scratching against his scalp and you were pushed to the floor as he groaned into your mouth from the unexpected sensation.

A palm spread your thighs apart and you squealed into his mouth at the first touch of his hand against your underwear. Your cotton panties were drenched and you were beyond mortified. His tongue flicked lazily against the front of your teeth before retreating.

“Is this all for me? I’m honoured.” Suguru traced the edge of your panties, hooking his thumbs behind the flimsy elastic band and tugging them down in swift movements. He knelt between your spread thighs and heat burst along your skin.

You covered your face with your palms, biting down on your fingers as the dark-haired male teased a sole finger along your slit. No one had touched you here like this other than yourself, you hadn’t allowed it. Plenty had wanted to, but something always held you back, it never felt right. This shouldn’t feel right, yet it did.

Strands of sticky arousal caked his finger in an instant, your hips rolled against the plush carpet and you watched through your fingers as he sucked that sticky finger entirely clean. It shouldn't make your insides squirm like a pit of writhing vipers, should it?

“Knew you’d taste sweeter than cream, you're gonna let me taste you properly, yeah?” he asked with a rasp, already lowering himself so his face peaked up from below the bunched skirt of your dress.

A quick nod and your back arched so high that you thought your spine might break clean in two. The fat stripe he licked along your folds curled your toes and your hands flew to his hair once more. Dark irises studied your expression, watched for every telltale sign of what you liked and stored it away for future use.

Your skin tasted more delicious than anything he had ever sampled, his nose nestled against the short curls at your mound and pressed against your bundle of nerves. He alternated between short sharp strokes of his tongue and long languid licks from below your clenching entrance right to your throbbing clit.

Suguru eased his fingers into your tight pussy, braced on one forearm that hooked around the outside of your hip. He held you down as best he could whilst you bucked and writhed as new sensations assaulted you from every direction.

You whined at the stretch from his digits but he refused to relent, knowing how much more the burn of his cock would feel without this much-needed prepping. How you managed to engage in sex without these pleasures was a mystery to him. No wonder you never enjoyed the experience.

He refused to acknowledge the warnings in the back of his mind, the way that he was becoming addicted to your scent and taste. He ignored how fucking amazing you made him feel every time you tugged on his hair or called his name out when you experienced something new. You were so responsive to his every touch, you were made for him and he would make you his before the day was out.

“Don’t hold back, darling, cum for me. You can do it, just let go.”

Suguru quickened the thrust of his fingers, curling them further to press down against the spot that was swelling from his expert attention. The very second his lips attached to your clit, you exploded like the most magnificent firework.

Never had he heard such colourful language from you before, the cacophony of curses mingled with his name and the offerings to a God he did not believe in. His fingers were practically thrown from your pussy, the walls clenching down so tightly and the slippery release enough to make his eyes momentarily widen before he could compose himself.

What a sight.

His innocent patient lying spread out on the floor of his office, hair fanning your head like an angel’s halo and your breasts close to spilling over the soft cups of your bra. Translucent arousal covered your thighs, the skin shiny and he had half a mind to simply lick you clean, but there were more pressing matters to attend to first.

It was evident you were still riding your orgasm, lip tightly tucked between your teeth and each gentle touch of his hands made you whimper and jerk. Suguru kissed a path up your torso, leaving sticky patches of your essence on your collarbone and neck as he lowered himself atop you.

His cock slid with ease along your messy folds, toying with you for only long enough to steal more kisses and interlock your fingers beside your head. This was the moment he had waited for, had hoped would come and after nearly a year, you were going to be his.

“Will you let me fuck your cute pussy, sweetheart?” he asked and almost immediately balked at himself. Why the fuck was he giving you an out, now? He should be splitting you open like he needed to, not asking for your fucking permission.

Suguru breathed a sigh of relief as you nodded shyly, gazing at him softly from below your lashes. You had just cum all over his face and fingers and yet you still looked like the most timid little flower—perfection.

Without a second's hesitation, he pressed forward, the pressure against his thick tip enough to make him grunt like an animal. He rocked himself back and forth, opening you further with each new thrust of his hips. You whimpered, whined and pressed your face into the crook of his neck with every stretch of your tight cunt.

How it burned, the sensation of being split apart was enough to bring fresh tears to your eyes and oh fuck, did you want to yell at him to stop. To stop moving, to pull out and let your thighs come together. The fear of his response stopped you, the familiar tingle of wanting to please filled your chest and your brain and all you could do was breathe through it.

It was different before. They were never as big or domineering as the cock currently carving you open. Suguru was moulding you to his length, demanding that you fit him like a silk glove.

You only half heard the whispered words of praise that he lavished upon you, every further inch that he bullied into your tight cunt resulted in more and more messy, open-mouthed kisses. You thought you might die or at least pass out. Stifling a sniffle, you tightened the fingers that laced with his own.

Suddenly, it stopped.

The agonising pain of accepting Suguru into your body ceased, a warm feeling flooded your abdomen and you blinked up into a face twisted in pleasure.

“You’re so tight, I might not last…”

His voice was hoarse, strangled with the tendons on his neck on prominent display. Your hips pressed together, his cock so deep in your body that you were truly worried that he could rearrange your guts. When he pulled back, you moaned and it sounded like the most filthy noise you had ever made in your life.

Suguru gasped in reaction, obsidian eyes boring into your skull as his pace picked up. You could feel every part of him, your walls hugging and contoured to accommodate him to sheer perfection.

You were made to take this man, this darkly handsome man who manipulated you into this situation and used your weaknesses to his advantage. He was no God, he was the Devil and you had sold your soul to him. Signed your name in blood and there wasn’t a hint of regret in your mind.

The longer he stroked his cock into your pussy the bolder you became, you were the one to kiss him and suck on his swollen lips. Your tongue twisted around his and licked against his teeth. You arched your back, lifting your hips and shifting the angle of his cock to press just right on that special spot he had found earlier. You groaned in his ear and whispered for him to go faster, harder.

All he could do was everything that you asked of him. He had fallen hook, line and sinker for you. How things had twisted up in the jumble of lust.

For a second, Suguru frowned as a fleeting thought crossed his mind. Had you wanted this all along? Had you played him more than he had played you? It was gone in an instant as your head tipped back and you chanted his name in blind reverence.

“Suguru. Suguru! Oh fuck, Suguru!”

Once again, he felt your precipice and quickened to send you careening over the edge. Your thighs tightened around his lean hips, the pressure in his balls close to exploding when your walls milked him.

You fell first, but you were bringing him with you this time. Clinging to him like he was the only anchor in a stormy sea, the knots within your stomach released all at once, and then you felt the white-hot heat of thick ropes of cum splashing against your thighs. When he had pulled out, you didn’t know. All you did know was that there was a faint tremor of disappointment that he had running through your mind.

For the longest time, you simply stared at one another, both coming down from your respective highs and not daring to look away.

The smile you gifted him was new. It made his head tilt whilst he observed you from above. After a long moment, he returned the smile and let his head sink against your heaving chest.

Who had corrupted who? Did it really matter when you both got exactly what you wanted?

#delirious writes #suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto x reader #suguru smut #geto smut #tw yandere #tw corruption

325 notes · View notes