#robo why cant u just make normal valve

[robolvrr]

Hi I just finished reading your Pharma fic and I must ask for more like this but maybe some more torture? If that makes you uncomfortable then feel free to not do it!

debt collector. *. * ·

pharma x reader warnings: nsfw. mentions of medical torture. dark content. a back-alley doctor of all trades gives you deals too good to be true.

three knocks.

do you have a death wish?

the silence makes you wince. this night is bitter and your nose is ruddy, two moons overhung in the black beauty sky. gloved hands gingerly rub for friction, last ditch effort to gain some comfort. you know once this rusted door slides open, you won't be at ease and he will be there, watchful as a vulture's vice.

there should be no surprise when your miracle doctor is summoned, though you suppose the sizable difference in height and build is a factor. his smirk is a permanent fixture and what he lacks in pupils he offers in personal intrusions, crowding you inside with a croon of baritone greetings.

several mechanisms relock themselves. the mask covering the lower half of your face rolls down your chin, his colossus hands so precise, so tender, slipping your limbs free of a winter coat.

"my favorite patient. i do hope those.. prescriptions i've suggested you have been doing the trick."

originally, you had come here for the medical services. simple check-ins, an health examination every once in awhile. his rates were cheap and you had no insurance, so knowing a cybertronian of all things - billions and billions of years old no doubt with just as much field knowledge - quelled most of your concerns.

most of them.

pharma was an interesting mech. if he were a man, you're sure you'd fumble your tongue more. he has a funny way of getting you to agree with him.

"dear. i do adore our shared moments of silence just like any other, but i asked a question. how else am i to know my efficiency if you get all shy on me, mm?"

his grin tears some more seeing you squirm, mumbling an apology and turning your head as if he won't catch the warmth on your cheeks in the opposing mirror.

"sorry, pharma. to be honest.."

"yeees?" pharma sounds like he knows exactly what is bothering you.

"the medications.. they've been making me anxious. i think. i see things more than usual out of the corner of my eyes. i hear a thump and suddenly my heart is racing."

"no better than an alley cat, it seems." a grumble leaves your pout and he, still smiling wide and knowing, tuts in false concern.

"doctor, please. i know you told me these methods of yours were experimental. i'm organic. our biology is different, at its core. but i just need to sleep. that's all i need."

"all you need?"

his digit slips something gritty and round in your mouth. you swallow like the good patient you are, even though the flavor cakes your throat and makes you gag. it helps when he cups your throat, tickling the column of your neck.

he has such a way with touch. you forget you're frustrated.

"yes. i just want to sleep."

with a note of finality, his servos clap together, urging you to stay still. it may have been a few minutes, or hours, though it's unclear. there are no clocks down here. your head feels so heavy.

with a thunk, you are falling and with a grandiose hum, he is catching, placing you atop his table like a frankenstein doll.

sluggish muscles make way for well-crafted pins. acupuncture just edging discomfort, or is the fuzziness at the trim of your blank expression a sign of the end?

"then sleep you shall."

his voice echoes loud and glorious. an angel's choir - an angel of death.

the drilling pain kisses you again, fleets. you whimper, but he doesn't miss the jolt of your legs, or the shaky breath you gift his audials.

"i can gift you peace, sleeping beauty. i promise. however.. the subject of payment has been on the table for too long. i must collect."

schlick.

squishy and wet. hardness swelling where it shouldn't, nestled in your praising stare. lashes graze metal.

"speechless? you'll feel better after, sweet thing." in a corner of your mind dozens of atmospheres away, your sense of survival is thrashing in fear. it is not strong enough to pierce this hypnotic veil.

"in fact, you won't feel much at all."

pnk!

-

this room is warm and this table is cold and his hands, his hands, so big and perfect and familiar.

pharma's thumb slowly drags up along your cheek, before escaping back into his intake for him to taste-test. you think wearily that it's bright and tangy, just like the hues of his opulent frame.

"that's it. sink."

you smile.

a/n: thanks for the request! if i did get into darker stuff, like descriptive gore, i'd end up making a sideblog. also a giant prose writer so i like to leave things to the minds eye so to speak. if you can't tell, pharma and his versions of "romance" aren't sweet. will u match his freak? ;)