#holy shit not doing stuff rules

[andhumanslovedstories]

Writing prompt: death wants to retire

Thanks for the prompt! This sentence is a link to a video where you can watch me write it in real time!

I thought it'd be fun to record myself writing. Partially to keep myself focused, partially because I watch a lot of people play video games for background sound and I was like, "I can do that but nerdier," and partially because I thought other people might like writing along. We can all do one big asynchronous writing sprint together. It's available for free over on the Cracked Spines patreon, which seemed like the least intimidating way to post a 45 min video of me, alone, doing a creative work. It's like a lofi ASMR video. I talk very softly. I cannot stress how asleep everyone else in the house was while I did this.

I wrote the story below in about fifty mins. I wrote most of it by hand in thirty minutes. That's the video. Then I typed up what I wrote here, did some minor edits, and then actually tried to reach any conclusion. The ** below marks where the writing originally ended. I tried to stay true to the idea of free-writing by hand, so I just put down words and powered ahead.

First there was nothing. Then there was something. Then there was Brittany. In the name of efficiency, I am skipping over a few eons between my creation and Brittany's.

She wasn't a bad person. People who believe certain people should die young wouldn't have said she deserved such a fate. No one deserves anything. I am not a matter of morality. A quick survey of any tragedy will tell you such, and there has never been any shortage of tragedy to study.

She died in her bathroom. A lot of people die in the bathroom. That sounds undignified to those who care about such things, but I personally find the concept of dying at all anywhere from anything mortifying. It has never seemed to make much a difference what room of your house sees your end. Still, we must cater (or at least, I occasionally chose to cater) to the tender sensitivities of mortals. Especially those who have just learned how mortal they are.

"Can I please just pull up my pants?" what remained of Brittany asked me. The container than had once enclosed her was slumped face-down on the tile floor. The position looked like it would feel uncomfortable if the body had the capacity to feel.

"No," I said.

"Please?"

"It's not a matter of permission. I have no power to affect the physical world. Neither do you."

Brittany bent down and passed her hand through her corpse a few times. Humans never just believe you. "What if my unfinished business leads me to become a ghost? Do I get ghost powers? Can ghost powers do anything here?"

"There is not such thing as ghosts."

For the first time since I informed her that she was dead, Brittany looked surprised. "Then what am I right now?"

"A soul."

"How is that different from a ghost?"

"The idea of a ghost is that after a person has left their body, something of them remains behind."

"Which I am, right now," she said.

"You're not. I am getting you. After this, I will take you. There can never be such a thing as a ghost because I do my job."

"Every time?" she asked.

"Always."

"What about everyone else who died at the same time I did?"

"I am talking with them as well." I paused. "Most of them have already moved on."

"Sorry that my death is slowing you down." She did not sound sorry. Humans say things like that sometimes.

"It is not. Nothing slows me. Nothing stops me. This moment between us will never be longer than a moment."

Through force of habit, Brittany tried to check her phone. Because the habit was so deeply ingrained, she succeeded. Now separate from the imposed frame of the physical world, everything she was and had right now was whatever her mind could conceive it to be. "When did I die?" she asked, looking at the clock.

"You didn't at the precise moment that we are talking. You will never get another moment."

She kept looking down at her phone, though she didn't seem to see it. "I guess that's okay," she said at last. "Who wants to see their roommate find their dead body? God, do you think she'll even be sad?"

Insomuch as I can, my form being what it is, I shrugged. I did not have experience with aftermath. By definition, by the time it arrives, I am gone. "Come," I said.

"Hmm," she replied. "What if--hear me out--what if--"

"There is nothing you can do to rearrange your corpse."

"That's not what I'm asking."

I knew that. She was making her boring request. I received it more often than a human mind can conceive, and each time the person requesting it thought they might be the exception.

"No," I said.

"C'mon."

"Compelling argument."

"I'm not saying forever!" Brittany protested. "Just--not right now. A little more time."

"You may remain in this moment for as long as you see fit," I said. "Then, you will go."

"Do you stay with me the whole time?"

"Yes."

Brittany made an expression that a less detached manifestation of the universe might have found insulting. "So I can spend forever in this exact unchanging moment in time, stuck in the bathroom where I died on the toilet, with the Angel of Death who keeps tapping their foot and checking their watch."

Reader, I possess neither feet for a watch. This is one of the many ways in which Brittany Park misrepresented the situation.

"You are dead," I reminded her.

"But I don't want to be!" She threw up her hands. They were already less hand-shaped than they'd been when we'd first started talking. She was forgetting the shape she used to inhabit. It would not be long now.

"Please," she asked.

**There is no construct in all of creation that has been pleaded to more than I. Once--when I was just formed and new to the concept of myself, when the something that came out of the nothing had just realized that everything eventually ended--begging affected me more. You cannot let such appeals hold sway. As I told Brittany, this was not a matter of permission. She was asking gravity to not pull her down to earth. If gravity felt guilt, what use did that serve anyone?

"No one escapes death but Death," I told her.

She brightened up suddenly. "Okay! Then how do I become Death?"

No time passed in the forever moment we inhabited. If time had passed, you could have said there was an inordinately long pause that followed this statement.

"I am Death," I reminded her.

"Sure," Brittany said flippantly. "But like, forever?"

She completed the dying process shortly after this conversation. It was inevitable. Liquid water does not hold its shape when the vessel that contained it breaks. When she forgot herself entirely, when she could no longer conceive of the division between that which was her and that which was everything else, I swept her gently into my coin purse. Across the world, across the universe, across a vast endlessness that ate even now at the nothingness from which everything had emerged, I performed the same function for uncountable organisms on every scale of existence. I reaped a microbe. I reaped a star. I reaped Brittany. And the work continued, unchanged, as it had been unchanged since the beginning, as I had been unchanged since the distant agony of my first death, when I decided what I did could never again be allowed to hurt so deeply.

And yet I keep hearing the question: forever? She had said it the same way she had said, "C'mon." An appeal to my reason. Asking me to admit what we both knew was obvious, what we both knew was ridiculous. Forever? I am what I am forever?

The answer is in the affirmative. Anything else would be impossible. Humans enjoy pondering the counterfactual. I have never seen any reason to concern myself with more than what is. I will forget the words in time, as I have undoubtedly forgotten others like it. If the thought seems to linger, then there has simply not been enough time. I can wait. I have forever.

[gibbearish]

btw similar to the whole "if you try adderall at a party and it calms you down, get an adhd test" thing, if at some point in your life you try microdosing shrooms with a friend and end up feeling like a functional person for the first time in your life, get tested for depression. like yeah hallucinogens come with elation so youre probably gonna have some "this is the best ive ever felt in my life" vibes regardless, but like. if that in and of itself feels like finally breathing in for the first time in years, thats for sure a sign that something is up with your ability to process serotonin most of the time. feeling better than ever before should be a nice bonus, not a crushing weight off your chest

[turnedpalefromlackofsun]

i love making guides but dawg i hate writing guides

im making a guide as a personal project and its eating me

[byanyan]

love when i get followed here by blogs that exclusively do ship/smut threads

[signofthestriking]

Live footage of me trying to write anything

[skrunksthatwunk]

ARMY OF THE DOOMSTAR KAIJU BATTLE?????????????

[mycological-mariner]

Film night last night and I decided to watch Jaws. I haven’t seen it in years but oh boy was it a formative film. Goddamn was that stressful. I’ve always loved sharks and where I used to live had an average of 5 shark attacks a month (only like 1 or 2 deaths a year but still). And this film just reminded me of the fact that “Oh yeah, humans just don’t change when something is so clearly dangerous but fun.” About 45 minutes up the road was this old rickety pier where fishermen would throw chum into the water in hopes of catching I guess sharks and other creatures? Well that pier was a really popular swimming and surfing spot and guess where most of the attacks happened. And these weren’t tourists! Most of the time they were locals! But they still went out swimming in chummy water! Why! If they just drove like a mile down shore they’d be in the clear! That pier wasn’t catering to tourists at all! Anyways, 10/10 to Jaws for realism

[bom-bombon]

I should never underestimate my powers when I'm so locked into things that I like

[imwritesometimes]

I have to submit a list of every item I want to sell & an ingredient list for each item to the county for my cottage food license 😵‍💫

[keferon]

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.”

[cryptotheism]

How do you come up with all of the weird races and techno-babble for Amber Skies? There’s so much of it and I could never keep track

A lot of them are based on existing historical stuff. Like the Lwes-Atalan are based on some shit I read about the similarities between native Caribbean politics and the mercenary city-states of the holy roman empire. I really like how island nations tend to have these very complex networks of power based on control of shipbuilding and fresh water. It's all simultaneously insular to the island but interconnected to the others like how every little Italian dutchy was it's own little kingdom.

So I liked to imagine an ithsmus nation of a 100 little royal families ruling over their own little Venices. They're all constantly hiring each other to steal each other's land, and the whole thing is held together by a quasi-religious legal system that had its origins on who gets to irrigate their crops and when. And also they're big clam people.

[leriexoxo]

Across The Window

Felix x Reader (enemies to lovers)

Tags: Explicit sexual content (18+), Voyeurism, Mutual masturbation elements, Semi-public indecency (curtain window stuff), Accidental penetration, Power play / light degradation (verbal), Strong language, Dom-ish Felix, Light dubcon vibes from tension but fully consensual, unprotected sex, breeding.

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: You’ve hated Lee Felix since the day he moved in across the courtyard from you—loud music, cocky smirks, and a window that just so happens to face directly into yours. The loathing has been mutual. Until one night—one very late night—you wake up to get a glass of water and find his window open for once. And Felix is in bed. Laptop open. Hand around his cock.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

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

Felix Lee lived directly across from you.

Not down the hall. Not upstairs or next door. Across the narrow alley that separated your apartment building from his, fourth floor to fourth floor, window to window.

You didn’t know him when you moved in.

But you learned fast.

The first time you noticed him, it was because he noticed you first—a sharp glance through the glass, eyebrows raised, like your very existence was offensive. Like you were the one invading his space, even though it was your first night and you were just trying to figure out the light switches.

After that, it became a thing.

You’d catch him watching whenever your lights were on and your curtains weren’t fully shut. Not creepy watching—just… lingering. Judgy. Disapproving. And when you caught him doing it, he didn’t look away.

He smirked.

Like he wanted you to know.

You flipped him off that night. He responded by slamming his curtains closed.

From there, it escalated.

Petty window wars.

Matching scowls.

Drawn blinds. Slammed shutters.

Occasional glimpses that left you just curious enough to keep checking—only to pretend you weren’t.

You didn’t speak. You’d never actually met. But the hatred was mutual and unspoken, hanging heavy between the glass like fog.

It didn’t help that he was attractive in the worst possible way.

Blonde hair, always messy. Pierced lip. He dressed like a delinquent and moved like he knew he was hot, and god, it made you hate him more.

Felix Lee was your most consistent irritation.

Until 3:07 a.m.

When you got up to get water.

And saw something you definitely weren’t supposed to see.

You hadn’t even fully woken up when you padded barefoot into the kitchen, hoodie sliding off one shoulder and eyes still crusty from sleep. The apartment was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of your fridge light as you grabbed the glass you kept on the counter. A sip, a sigh. Your body was already turning back toward your bedroom when something… off caught your eye.

Light. Across the alley.

His light.

You froze mid-step.

Felix never kept his curtains open at night. That was one of your only mutual rules in this silent, window-fueled cold war. If one of you was home, the curtains were shut. It was petty, unspoken truce. Or maybe a game.

But tonight?

His window was glowing.

Wide open, lit up like a stage.

Your heart jumped before your eyes even found him—because part of you knew something was off. Something wrong or strange or—

Holy shit.

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

There he was.

Felix.

On his bed.

Pillows messy. Legs spread. Shirtless.

One hand splayed lazily over his chest, rising and falling with every breath. The other was wrapped around his cock, slow and steady and completely unbothered by the fact that his window was wide open and you could see everything.

The laptop beside him glowed faint blue, casting porn shadows across his wall—but your eyes weren’t on the screen.

They were on him.

His head tipped back, lips parted, hair falling into his eyes. His chest arched as his grip tightened, jaw clenching like he was chasing the edge of something deep. His thighs flexed beneath the dim light, muscles tense with the kind of effort you’d only ever imagined before.

You should’ve looked away.

You tried.

But your body didn’t listen.

Not when he looked that good.

Not when you could hear his muffled groans through the paper-thin gap in your window.

You’d seen Felix angry. You’d seen him smirking, annoyed, smug, wet from the rain, shirtless once or twice from a distance on a laundry day.

But this?

This was different.

Raw. Beautiful. Unfiltered.

And then—

As if summoned by your stare—

His eyes opened.

Right to you.

And he froze.

Your heart launched itself into your throat, panic flaring as you realized you were standing at your window, fully visible, hoodie half-falling, staring directly at him like some thirsty creep. But before you could move—

Felix’s gaze dropped.

To your lips.

Then lower.

And then… He didn’t stop.

Didn’t close the laptop.

Didn’t cover up.

Didn’t even blink.

He just kept going.

Eyes on you.

Like he wanted you to watch.

You should’ve looked away.

Any normal person would’ve.

But you weren’t normal around Felix.

He made you reckless. Stupid. Curious in ways you weren’t proud of.

And now?

He was watching you watch him.

The air felt thick between the glass, like it carried something hotter than heat, heavier than tension. Your hoodie slipped further down your shoulder, but you didn’t move to fix it. Your lips parted. Felix’s eyes tracked it—subtle, slow—and his hand never stopped moving.

If anything… it got bolder.

Longer strokes. Tighter grip. His head tilted just a little, lips curling into something dark, daring.

Like he was saying: Go ahead. Look. You want this, don’t you?

You didn’t even breathe.

You stood there, transfixed, thighs clenching as you watched the tension build in his body. Every muscle flexed. His jaw locked. And when his hips jerked and his lips parted on a soft, filthy moan—so quiet you barely heard it—you knew.

He was coming.

And you watched it happen.

Hot. Shameless. His gaze never once leaving yours.

It wasn’t until his hand finally slowed, resting limply over his stomach, that you moved.

Your fingers twitched. Your breath trembled.

And then—with the kind of delayed panic that hits after the damage is done—you grabbed your curtain and pulled it shut, heart in your throat.

This time, you didn’t stand there.

You ran to your bed, threw the blanket over your face, and cursed the way your body ached.

Because Felix had just cum for you.

And you liked it.

—

You didn’t sleep much.

Your bed had never felt smaller. Your skin had never felt hotter. And the worst part?

You couldn’t stop seeing it.

The way his chest moved when he came. The twitch of his fingers. That look on his face—half smug, half lost, all heat.

And those fucking eyes.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

So no, sleep wasn’t an option. Not when Felix Lee had jerked off with the window wide open and turned your brain to static.

By the time morning rolled around, you were feral. Restless. On edge.

And you knew exactly how to get it out.

You grabbed a thick sheet of white poster board from your closet—a leftover from your “I Hate Everyone” art phase—and a black Sharpie that bled like hell.

In huge block letters, you wrote:

“Are you INSANE or just a NARCISSIST?!”

Underlined it twice.

Taped it to your window.

And waited.

It took a few hours.

But eventually—after a few dramatic passes back and forth through your apartment—you saw it.

A fresh sheet of paper.

Handwritten. Slanted. Arrogant.

“If you have a problem, say it to my face.”

Your jaw dropped.

He did NOT just—

You stormed to the window for a closer look, just in time to see him walk into frame. Felix. Hoodie half-zipped, hair still wet from a shower, jaw tense like he was barely keeping a smile down.

He saw you reading the note.

Saw your reaction.

And smirked.

Then—without a word—he shut his curtain.

You stood there, stunned.

Heart thundering. Face hot. Hands clenched at your sides.

Your phone buzzed, but you ignored it. Your brain was already racing. That wasn’t just an invitation—that was a challenge.

And you’d never backed down from Felix Lee.

Maybe it was time to go to Building B.

It started with pacing.

One lap across your room. Then another. Then four more, fast enough that your socks started slipping on the floor.

You couldn’t let that little red sign go.

“If you have a problem, say it to my face.”

Who the hell did he think he was?

Felix Lee, the pretty little punk across the alley, with his smug smirks and his reckless ego and his dick in his hand like he owned the world. You hated him. You hated him.

And that hatred was currently pulsing between your thighs like an electric fence.

You grabbed your hoodie.

You didn’t even think about it.

Your brain was a thunderstorm of curses as you stomped down the stairwell and out of your building, hoodie flapping behind you like a battle flag. The spring air hit your face, as you crossed the narrow alley between your buildings and reached the entrance to his.

“Don’t chicken out,” you muttered to yourself.

Your legs carried you up the steps before your brain could catch up. Floor one. Floor two. Floor three. You weren’t going to yell. You weren’t going to scream. You were going to knock on his door and tell him, calmly and clearly, that he was the worst thing to ever happen to your life and you wished you’d never moved into this stupid building across from his stupid face—

You stopped in front of 4B.

Hand raised. Knuckles inches from the wood.

Your heart pounded.

Your brain screamed, what are you doing??

And then the door opened.

You hadn’t even knocked.

And there he was.

Felix.

Shirtless. Again.

Towel slung over his shoulder.

Hair still damp, curls clinging to his forehead.

His eyes raked over you once, slowly—down your body, then back up—and a lazy, dangerous smile pulled at his lips like he’d been waiting for this.

“Well,” Felix drawled, arms folding over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe, towel still hanging off one shoulder. “Took you long enough.”

Your mouth opened—then shut—because goddamn it, he was even hotter up close.

He smelled like citrus and clean sweat, fresh from a shower, his chest still glistening in places like he hadn’t bothered to dry off properly. And that towel? It barely covered the waistband of his low-slung sweatpants.

You forced your eyes back to his face. Mistake. The cocky smirk there could ignite wars.

“You think this is funny?” you snapped.

Felix tilted his head. “A little.”

“You left your window open on purpose.”

“You looked.”

You took a step forward. “You were jerking off at three in the morning with the lights on like you were filming a damn OnlyFans—what the hell did you expect me to do?!”

His smirk widened. “Close your eyes? Maybe say thank you?”

You made a strangled sound of fury, hands clenching into fists. “You’re such a narcissistic, arrogant—”

“Cute when you’re angry,” he cut in, voice lower now, rougher.

Your pulse stuttered. He stepped aside just a little—door wide enough to let you in, body still blocking half the frame.

You hesitated.

He saw it.

“What, scared?” he said, voice dipping into something darker. “Big words from the girl who couldn’t look away last night.”

Your breath hitched.

Something in you snapped.

You shoved past him into his apartment.

Felix blinked, just once, before he shut the door behind you. Soft click. Thick silence.

The room smelled like him. Looked like him—messy, lived-in, warm. His laptop sat closed on the bed, probably hiding whatever filthy tab he’d left open.

He turned to face you, arms crossed again, eyes raking down your body with zero shame.

“Alright,” he said, casually, like you hadn’t just stormed into his home ready to rip his head off. “You’re here. Say what you need to say.”

You spun on him, heartbeat banging in your ears. “You don’t get to act like this is normal.”

“Never said it was normal.”

“Then why are you—why are you smiling at me right now?”

“Because you’re standing in my apartment,” he said, taking a step closer, “in that little hoodie that barely covers your ass, cheeks red, voice shaking… and you’re fucking hot when you’re mad.”

Your lips parted. Words didn’t come.

He stepped closer again.

“You didn’t look away last night,” he said softly.

You swallowed hard.

Maybe you hated him.

But maybe you hated how right he was even more.

The air between you crackled.

Felix was close enough now that you could feel the heat rolling off his bare skin. Every inch of him radiated this lazy, infuriating arrogance—like he knew exactly how far he could push before you snapped.

And he was aiming for the edge.

“I’m just saying,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing, “you didn’t seem so bothered last night. You could’ve looked away. Closed the curtains. But you didn’t.”

You folded your arms, fingers digging into your sleeves, willing your voice to stay steady.

“That doesn’t mean I enjoyed it.”

His eyes glittered. “Didn’t say you did. But you watched.”

You scoffed. “I was shocked.”

Felix took another step closer—his body barely an arm’s length from yours now. “You were curious.”

“I was horrified.”

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “Your thighs were probably clenched.”

Your breath caught.

“You’re imagining things,” you said, but your voice cracked just slightly.

He heard it.

He leaned in—not touching, not quite—close enough for his breath to ghost against your cheek.

“I think you liked it,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I think you liked seeing what you do to me. Even if you pretend to hate me.”

You could feel your pulse thudding in your throat. Your body screamed to react. Push him. Kiss him. Slap him. Something.

Instead, you straightened up. Turned your head. Met his gaze—unflinching, fire meeting fire.

And then you said it.

“You want me to watch again?”

“Fine.”

“Then show me.”

His smirk vanished like a light switch flipped.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Then his lips parted, and for the first time since this little game began—Felix Lee looked stunned.

“Yeah,” you said softly, lifting your chin. “Didn’t think so.”

You turned on your heel, heading for the door with your blood screaming in your veins, adrenaline sizzling like lightning in your fingertips.

But before your hand touched the doorknob, you heard it—

The quiet sound of breath.

And then:

“Don’t move.”

The words curled in the air behind you—low, sharp, bitten off like they’d escaped his mouth before he could cage them.

You froze.

Not because he said it.

But because part of you wanted to listen.

And that pissed you off more than anything.

So you didn’t move… but you didn’t stay still out of obedience.

You stayed still because you were calling his bluff.

You placed your hand on the doorknob. Deliberately.

“You gonna show me or not?” you said, voice calm, cool, razor-blade smooth. “Or is all that cocky attitude just for the window?”

Silence.

No footsteps. No breath.

Then, the faintest rustle. Like he shifted. Like you’d just kicked the legs out from under his control.

“I mean,” you continued, twisting the knob slightly, “I could always go home. Maybe next time I’ll have popcorn ready.”

Still nothing.

And then—

“I said don’t move.”

You turned your head just slightly, still not facing him. “Then make me.”

Another heartbeat of silence.

And suddenly he was there.

You felt it before you saw it—the shift of air, the heat of his body, the way your skin prickled like the storm had finally rolled in.

He didn’t touch you. Not yet.

But his voice was right behind your ear when he said, “You really wanna play this game?”

You smiled.

“You started it.”

You turned.

Slowly.

Like you had all the time in the world, like your heartbeat wasn’t a goddamn war drum in your chest.

And there he was.

Felix, standing barely a breath away, eyes dark as sin, mouth parted like he couldn’t quite believe you were still here, still pushing, still daring him.

Your gaze dragged down his chest—tan skin, droplets of water still clinging to his collarbone. The towel over his shoulder had shifted, forgotten. The waistband of his sweatpants teased a V-line so sharp it looked like it could cut glass.

You looked up into his eyes.

“I’m waiting,” you said.

His jaw flexed.

Then a hand—his hand—lifted, slow and deliberate, settling gently on your waist. Not possessive. Not rough. But confident. Heavy with intent.

You didn’t flinch.

You held his gaze and raised your chin. Challenging him.

“What do you want to see?” he asked, voice barely a whisper now. Not cocky. Not smug. Just low. Hungry.

Your fingers gripped the edge of your hoodie, knuckles white. You could feel the heat of his hand through the fabric, feel the storm inside him rising to meet yours.

You let your lips part.

And then, softly—

Deadly.

Like a secret meant for sin.

“Everything.”

His hand rested on your waist—firm, unmoving, fingers splayed wide like he wanted to mark you.

You held his stare.

Said it again, breath softer this time. “Everything.”

And for a second, Felix didn’t move.

Then his hand slid away, slow, like he was peeling himself off you before he did something reckless.

He stepped back.

And smiled.

Not the cocky, smug kind from earlier.

This one was darker.

Tighter.

Like he’d just made a decision that would ruin you.

“Alright,” he said, voice dipped in something molten. “You want a show?”

You didn’t answer.

He tilted his head. “Then make me hard.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“If you want to see it—” he moved back toward the bed, sitting down, legs spread just enough to make your stomach flutter— “earn it. Get me hard. Then I’ll show you everything.”

You stared at him.

It was a bluff. You knew it was a bluff. He didn’t think you’d follow through—probably expected you to roll your eyes and storm off.

But that’s where he fucked up.

Because now it wasn’t about teasing. It wasn’t even about winning.

It was about breaking him.

You stepped forward slowly, watching his brows tick up in surprise. He didn’t move—just watched, waiting, lips twitching like he still thought he had the upper hand.

And then—

You dropped to your knees.

Right there, between his legs.

Without touching him.

Felix’s eyes widened. “What are you—”

“Shh,” you said, voice calm. “I’m thinking.”

He didn’t breathe.

You leaned in, slow, deliberate, so close your mouth hovered just inches above the outline in his pants—but never made contact.

Then you whispered, “Close your eyes.”

He blinked, throat bobbing. “Why?”

You smiled. “So you don’t cheat.”

For some reason, he did it.

And that’s when you leaned in even closer—lips ghosting over the waistband of his sweats. Still no touch. Just your breath. Your presence.

You whispered.

“You think I need to touch you to make you fall apart?”

His whole body twitched.

And when you pulled back just slightly to look up at him, his eyes cracked open and dropped to your face—and the noise he made?

Not a sound you’d ever forget.

Low. Raw. Desperate.

His cock was hard.

Already.

You stood up like nothing happened.

“Looks like you owe me a show,” you said, brushing imaginary dust off your hoodie.

Felix stared at you like you were made of fire and bad decisions. Like you’d just rewritten the rules of your war.

And he was fucked.

Felix didn’t speak at first.

Still seated. Still rock hard. But now—eyes blown wide, pulse ticking in his throat, jaw tight like he was hanging onto the last frayed thread of his control.

You’d gotten to him. You knew you had.

You took a step back, slow. Smug. “Looks like you’ve got something to show me, Lee.”

He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs. The tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled—he looked like a wolf about to pounce.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his lips curled into something low and sharp. “Sit down.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You earned a show, right?” His gaze flicked to the chair by his desk. “Then sit. You want to watch, you watch properly.”

Your throat went dry.

But you moved, slow, and dropped into the chair—legs crossed, arms folded like you weren’t falling apart inside.

He stood.

And when he tugged the towel off his shoulder and let it fall, there was a second—just one—where you swore he was nervous.

But it passed.

His fingers slid under the waistband of his sweats, slow, taunting, and he dragged them low enough for you to see the start of the promise underneath—

Then you moved.

Not to stop him. Not even to leave.

Just slightly. Shifting in your seat.

But Felix’s eyes snapped to the motion, and something changed.

The tease dropped.

The room crackled.

And in the next second, he was in front of you.

His hands gripped the armrests of your chair, boxing you in, and his face was so close you could see the way his pupils swallowed his irises whole.

“You think you can pull that stunt,” he growled, voice low and tight, “and walk away like nothing happened?”

You opened your mouth. You weren’t trying to leave though.

But you didn’t get a chance to speak.

Because he leaned in, nose brushing yours, lips barely touching.

“I don’t strip for free, sweetheart,” he whispered, and then—

He grabbed you.

In one sharp, fluid movement, he lifted you out of the chair and tossed you onto his bed. Not rough—but fast enough that your breath left in a sharp little gasp.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed, half-shocked, half-high.

Felix stood at the edge of the bed, panting, sweatpants dangerously low now.

“You want everything?” he asked.

And you—voice barely there, already trembling—said:

“Yes.”

The air felt thicker on his bed.

Heavy with sweat, tension, and the taste of something forbidden brewing between your thighs.

You sat up slightly, breath shallow, heart pounding against your ribs like it was trying to escape. Felix hadn’t touched you again—not yet—but the heat of him standing at the edge of the bed was a presence all its own.

His eyes locked on yours.

Then he lowered his sweats.

And fuck.

He was already so hard. Thick, flushed, the kind of cock that made your mouth go dry and your mind short-circuit. Your thighs clenched without permission.

Felix let out a breathless laugh. “You look surprised,” he said, wrapping a hand around himself. “You did this.”

You swallowed.

He started slow. Long strokes, fingers curling just enough, the tip wet and leaking as he dragged his hand up and down. He kept his eyes on you the whole time.

“You wanted a show?” he murmured. “Then watch.”

And you did.

Because how could you not?

He stood there—shoulders flexing, hips rolling with each stroke like he was fucking his own fist, his abs tightening every time his hand reached the base. The sounds—soft wet slicks, the hitched breath in his throat, the whispered curse when his thumb brushed the tip—it was too much.

Your hand gripped the sheets.

Your chest rose and fell, and when you bit your lip to keep a sound in, he saw it.

His jaw twitched.

“You like that?” he asked, voice hoarse. “You like watching me stroke my cock thinking about how good your mouth would feel on it?”

You whimpered.

He groaned—louder this time. “Fuck. Say something.”

You couldn’t.

You were frozen. Staring. Melting.

And that’s when it snapped.

He lunged.

One second, you were sitting up, the next, he was crawling onto the bed, towering over you, cock still in his hand as he shoved his knee between your legs and hovered over your body.

His lips ghosted your jaw, hot and trembling. “You wanna touch?”

Your voice cracked. “Y-Yes.”

“Then do it.”

You reached between you.

And when your hand wrapped around his cock—hot, heavy, real—Felix hissed through his teeth like the contact shattered him.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed.

You started stroking. Not shy. Not hesitant. You gave it back to him just like you watched—slow, firm, precise.

He dropped his forehead to yours, lips barely grazing. “Just like that, baby.”

Then he grabbed your hand—keeping it there—and rolled his hips into your fist.

The moan he let out?

Filthy.

He pulled back, looked down at you, face flushed, chest heaving.

“You wanna see everything?” he asked.

You nodded, mouth parted, dizzy with want.

Felix smirked.

“Then don’t stop.”

Your hand stroked him slow and steady.

Confident now. Addicted to the way his breath caught in his throat, the way his thighs tensed under your touch. He was trembling—Felix, trembling—with his head tipped back, mouth parted, eyes squeezed shut like he couldn’t fucking believe how good it felt.

“You’re gonna come like this?” you asked, voice low, taunting. “Just from my hand?”

“Fuck,” he groaned, hips twitching into your grip. “You’re such a—”

He didn’t finish.

Couldn’t.

You gave him a twist on the downstroke, thumb teasing the head just right, and that was it—his whole body jerked like he’d been shocked.

“Fucking hell–”

He looked down at you, wrecked and wild, and that was the moment he snapped.

He yanked your wrist away and tossed your hand to the side, eyes blazing.

“No,” he growled.

And before you could breathe, he flipped you.

Fast. One hand on your hip, the other braced beside your head, and suddenly your back hit the mattress and his body was everywhere.

He was on you.

Over you.

Breathing hard, flushed and leaking and furious.

“You think you get to do that,” he muttered, grinding down against your thigh, dragging his cock along the soft skin there, teasing you with it now, “drive me insane—then sit there all proud and fucking smug?”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Was I smug?”

His hand slid under your top, up your ribs, finding the curve of your breast and squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

“Smug as fuck.”

You smirked—couldn’t help it.

But it vanished when he leaned in, nose brushing your cheek, lips grazing your ear.

“You wanna make me come?” he whispered, grinding harder, slower, “Then lie there and let me fuck your thighs until I do.”

You gasped.

And Felix? Felix smiled.

Dark. Dangerous.

“My turn.”

“Felix—wait—”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. Weak. Breathless. A protest in theory only, because you didn’t actually stop him when his fingers hooked into your waistband and dragged your shorts down—slow, torturous.

He paused, just for a second, eyes dark and unreadable as they flicked down between your thighs.

And then he saw.

Your soaked thong.

A dark patch clinging to your center.

His breath hitched.

“You’re already wet?” he asked, like he wasn’t expecting it—like it genuinely short-circuited something in his brain.

You swallowed. “You’re the one who started—”

“Don’t care.”

He yanked the shorts off completely, tossed them aside, and pushed you down again with a hand firm on your thigh. Then he settled between your legs, rough palms gripping just above your knees and spreading you.

Your breath caught.

And when he lined himself up—not with your entrance, but with the plush, slick space between your thighs—you whimpered.

“Wanna feel it,” he muttered. “Wanna feel you like this first.”

And then he pushed in.

Slow. Deliberate. Letting his cock slide between your thighs, trapped tight with your soaked panties still clinging to your cunt. His cockhead brushed the slick heat of your folds, dragging over your clit just enough to make your back arch.

You weren’t supposed to get off like this.

But the friction—his grip, his deep voice, the sheer heat of it all—your body betrayed you.

“Felix—fuck—” your hands gripped his arms, trying to ground yourself as the pleasure built, relentless and filthy.

“You like this?” he asked, thrusting harder, faster, his cock slick now from you. “Fucking hell—you’re dripping—”

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”

You came. Without warning.

Legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry, thighs squeezing tight around him as your cum slicked the space between you. Felix cursed—loud, desperate—his rhythm breaking.

And then it happened.

He slid forward.

Too fast. Too deep.

And right into you. Slipped right into your cunt.

He stilled.

You both froze.

The sound that left him—low, raw, like a fucking growl—was followed by a whisper of your name, choked and sinful.

“Shit. I didn’t mean to—”

But neither of you moved.

Because he was inside you now. Bare. Thick. Hot.

Your pussy clenched around him involuntarily.

His jaw clenched.

“I’ll pull out,” he managed, voice shaking. “Just—”

“Don’t.”

Your voice was wrecked.

Ruined.

Fucked.

His eyes snapped to yours.

You reached up, cupped the back of his neck, and pulled him closer.

“I don’t want you to.”

And with that, he started fucking you.

Desperate, slick, buried to the hilt and already seconds from breaking. The sound of skin slapping skin, the way you whimpered every time his hips snapped forward, how wet it was from your orgasm—

He didn’t last long.

With a guttural moan and a full-body shudder, Felix came inside you, deep, heavy, his cock twitching as he spilled everything into you, no barriers, no filter.

When he finally collapsed beside you, panting, flushed, and fucked-out, neither of you spoke.

Because there was nothing left to say.

Just the sound of your breaths, and the weight of everything you just became.

For a full minute, neither of you moved.

The room was drenched in silence. Sticky, humid, fucked-out silence. You were both staring at the ceiling like you’d just been struck by lightning. Not touching. Not speaking. Just… processing.

Felix’s chest rose and fell beside you, still rapid.

Your pulse was in your throat.

Your thighs were wet. Your panties were ruined. You could still feel him—his cum, the ghost of that final, frantic thrust. It should’ve been horrifying. You weren’t even sure what the hell you were now.

Then he breathed.

“…Sooo.”

You blinked.

He turned his head, slowly, and smirked like he just won a championship game.

“Still mad at me?”

You let out a breathless laugh. “You came in me.”

“Correction.” He propped himself up on one elbow, totally shameless. “Slipped inside of you.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“Because you made it that wet,” he added, gesturing vaguely to your thighs like he was proving a point.

“Oh my God.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged, smile smug. “If anyone’s fault it was, it’s yours.”

You grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it.

He took the hit, laughing through it, already reaching to pull you back.

Felix’s laughter slowly died, and for a moment, there was nothing but the soft hum of the room settling, the air thick with the aftermath. He was lying back, eyes half-lidded, his chest still rising and falling quickly, but there was something different in the way he looked at you now. Like the animosity that usually swirled between you both had… loosened a little.

You rolled onto your side, your eyes narrowing as you stared at him. “So,” you said, teasing but with that edge of sarcasm you couldn’t shake, “I guess we’re like enemies with benefits now?”

Felix smirked, a lazy, smug expression creeping onto his face as he met your gaze. “Seems like it, yeah.”

You let out a slow, contemplative breath, staring at him with that familiar mix of annoyance and… something else you couldn’t quite define. “You’re still really annoying,” you muttered, but your voice wasn’t as harsh as it would’ve been before. Something about the situation had shifted.

Felix’s grin widened, and without missing a beat, he leaned closer to you. His breath was warm on your skin as he whispered, “Same to you.”

But there was no sting in the words. Instead, there was a softness to his tone, a kind of understanding you hadn’t expected.

And before you could stop yourself, you spoke again, the words slipping out with no filter. “You’re a really good lay, though.”

Felix chuckled under his breath, leaning in just enough for his lips to hover over yours, his smirk never leaving. “I know,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

For a second, neither of you moved, the tension lingering like an electric charge in the air between you.

And then, you did it.

You pulled him in, just enough to make his lips crash against yours, rough and demanding. It was different from the last time—messier, more heated. The kiss was filled with a strange mix of passion and frustration, the kind of frustration that came from a desire you didn’t want to admit was there.

Felix groaned low against your mouth, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him kiss you deeper, the taste of him filling your senses, your body responding before you could even catch your breath.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, he gave you that smug, knowing look again. “Still mad at me?”

You wiped your lips with the back of your hand, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the smirk tugging at your mouth. “Oh, I’m definitely still mad at you.”

Felix raised an eyebrow, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

You sighed dramatically, trying to hold onto some semblance of your old annoyance. But deep down, something had shifted. You weren’t even sure what it was anymore. “I swear, Felix,” you muttered, half irritated, half… something else entirely. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

Felix’s laugh was soft but self-assured. “Doesn’t mean we’re enemies either.”

You huffed, turning over to face the other direction, your back to him, but there was a warmth in your chest that you couldn’t ignore.

Felix’s voice broke through the silence once again, teasing, but this time there was a softness to it. “So, what’s next? You gonna keep staring at me from across the windows, or we got more sessions planned?”

You rolled your eyes again, but the playful smile on your lips gave you away. “Maybe,” you said, leaning back slightly so you could look at him over your shoulder. “But don’t think you’re winning me over anytime soon.”

Felix raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Sure,” he said, like he was more than happy to play this game. “You just wait until the next time I slip in again.”

And just like that, everything felt… right. Or, at least, it made sense.

Enemies with benefits.

Maybe it didn’t have to be more complicated than that.

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

Authors note: Felix has really been wrecking me lately so here’s the nastiness my horny brain conjured up 😍 youre welcome!

Also guys I’d really appreciate it if you left more notes on my fics for encouragement, i love writing and i love it when people enjoy it so please leave a like for me and REBLOGG

[lexirosewrites]

Would you maybe possibly consider writing a ballet au? With Eddie as a powerful crimelord - maybe some smutty power dynamic stuff? 👀

https://www.tumblr.com/laughconfetti/774022134731259904?source=share ( saw this post and i could just picture it 🥵)

I don’t quite have it in me to write a whole fic right now, but I can make you a moodboard and write you a ficlet!💛

If Eddie was supposed to be looking respectfully, he had already failed.

There was no way he could control the powerful reaction his inner alpha was having to such a beautiful ballerina.

The most stunning omega dances his way gracefully across the stage as if his very existence hasn’t changed Eddie’s permanently.

While he’d never considered himself to be an expert on the arts or theater, Eddie can appreciate talent. Truthfully, he hadn’t even wanted to come tonight. Ballet isn’t something he needs associated with his name.

Eddie Munson isn’t soft. He isn’t known for his kindness or his mercy on others. He’s in charge of a massive organization that moves between the shadows.

He’s killed before and fools have tried to kill him in return.

There’s no reason for him to be at the theater if not for one man’s insistence that a deal be struck up over drinks and entertainment.

Eddie had been feeling generous enough to agree. He could use a night out on the town and perhaps the ballet would make his business counterpart more amenable to striking a deal.

“Steven has caught your eye, eh?” Richard asks, his tone unreadable. “He’s a beauty. That boy dances like a fish swims, effortlessly. Shame he’s an omega, but at least he’s good for something.”

Eddie isn’t sure what to do with that. Whatever Richard is insinuating with his almost fond rambling makes Eddie feel protective of the ballerina.

Richard is far too old to be looking at him, but Eddie isn’t much younger. It’s wrong for either of them to be looking.

“He is beautiful,” Eddie agrees, taking a drag from his cigarette thoughtfully. There’s a no smoking rule, but they’re in a private box and rules don’t apply to him.

Richard gives him a scrutinizing look.

“Allow me to be direct here, if I may: he’s for sale, Munson.”

For sale? Well, now that is interesting information. Why does Richard know that? And are they speaking of the same matter?

“His contract or…?”

Richard smiles in that particularly sleazy way of his.

“Even better. His marriage contract. He’s on the market for a mate and I happen to have quite a lot of influence over the matter. That is… if you’re interested.”

Eddie glances back towards the stage where his beautiful ballerina is taking a bow and waving at the crowd with a bright smile, catching flowers that are thrown in his direction.

Jesus, he’s precious.

“I might be interested,” he confesses hesitantly. It’s bullshit. Eddie’s so interested that he’ll die if Steve isn’t his. “What sort of sway do you have over his mating and why?”

Richard nods his head smugly.

“I’ve heard you have a particular taste in omegas, Munson. Knew you’d take one look at Steve and open your wallet,” he laughs.

Eddie is not amused. If this is the sort of attitude Richard has, Eddie will be dealing with Steve’s seller directly. Whoever is managing his sale has to be more tolerable than Richard.

“Listen, you piece of—”

The door to their box swing opens and snags both their attentions. It takes about half a second for Eddie to realize that Steve has changed out of his ballet costume and into something softer and looser.

The young omega has bundled himself up in pastel colored sweats that match the sweet scent wafting from his form.

“Oh. Hello there,” Steve greets him with a cheery smile.

Holy shit. He’s even prettier up close.

Richard springs from his seat and places an arm around Steve’s shoulder. Eddie almost growls at him for touching the omega.

“Allow me to introduce you to my pride and joy, my beloved son, Steve.”

Son. Eddie might be fucked.

“One million dollars,” he tells Richard confidently.

Steve looks adorably confused, but Richard looks like he might just pee himself like an overexcited dog.

“Steve, come meet your new alpha, Eddie.”

It occurs to Eddie too late that Steve may not be aware of his marriage contract being on the market. The hurt look in Steve’s shining eyes certainly says so.

[petew21-blog]

Friends with benefits

Two long time friends Trent and Brett. A classic story. Met in kindergarten and have been friends since. Grew up together. Spent their holidays together. Graduated together. But then stopped seeing each other as often. Why? Because adult life ain't easy. Brett had to find a job while Trent got into college, graduated and on top of that became a fitness influencer. Brett started his Twitch account and became a gamer, which he had time for, cause how he was constantly doing a different job, depending on what he could find. But both of them always took some time off for a beer with their buddy.

This is Trent

Although he doesn't appear like that, he is a 24 year old male with young looks

On the other hand Brett is also young, but his looks are a bit more mature. Maybe it's because of all the hair

This is Brett

So hairy.

Normal guys, right? Well something was about to change very soon

Friday, August 2nd, 5 PM

Brett:"Hey, dude. Wanna grab a beer later tonight?"

Trent:"Yeah, sure. I am down. Is 8:30 ok? I gotta finish a video"

Brett:"Oh yeah, totally fine. See you then"

Friday, August 2nd, sports bar, 8:33 PM

At the bar Brett waits patiently, only his leg is slightly shaking. Trent comes in through the door. It's kinda funny, cause Trent used to be really insecure and not confident. Now he looks basically like a god. But still, he has this cute shy looking guy whose face doesnt match his body and the fact that he's 24. Brett was kinds jealous, most of the people that didn't know him always thought he was older because of his looks. Trent had the opposite problem. Always had to show ID whenever he went. Yet Brett was probably more jealous about his life in general. He finished school, took great care of his body, which now could help him hook up with anyone he would set his mind to.

Brett:"Hey, maaaan. How are you doing?"

Trent:"Heyyy. Yeah good. You know, single influencer life, haha"

Brett:"The ladies must be driving you crazy"

Trent:"If only it were just ladies. Haha. You should see the messages some of these gay dudes keep sending me. It's insane"

Brett:"You tell me. They always send random shits to my chats while playing. But it's mostly dumb kids."

Trent:"I think we should find you a date for tonight"

Brett:"Nahhh, fuck it. I'm not in the mood. I just wanna chat with my bro."

After a few beers

Brett:"Shut up, you did not!"

Trent:"I swear. She came on to me without a word."

Brett:"So what did you do?"

Trent:"You think I put up a fight? Haha"

Brett:"Maaaan. I want this stuff to happen to me to. That's so hot"

Trent:"Come with me to the gym then, I bet more chicks woukd be into you if you would gain some muscles"

Brett:"You calling me fat?"

Trent:"No, just saying that all that body hair would be good to match with a good body. You're just a walking gorilla right now"

Brett:"Oh shut up twink! Haha"

They finished their drinks, said their goodbyes and went home.

Brett felt amazing. He really needed to get a beer with his best friend. He came back home, sat behind his computer and searched Dark web. He already knew what he was looking for. He wanted to mess with Trent. Just a another one of his pranks. All he needed was Trent's personal item. He found the body swapping website. He read the rules and conditions and filled out his and Trents name. The only next step he had to follow was to go to sleep. And so he did. Only taking off his shirt in the process and collapsing on the bed. Not even brushing his teeth

Brett woke up feeling better than ever. He was used to have a hangover by now, but today he felt great. He opened his eyes and immediately noticed the different sheets. He looked around. This is Trent's place.

Brett:"Trent?" he said, but he heard Trent's voice.

He turned around to get up

His body. He has a different body

Brett:"Holy shit. It worked" he said amused. He looked down at his now soft chest. He got up

Brett:"Oh wow. getting up is so different when you have these hard muscles"

He went to the nearest mirror. And there he was. Trent in his glory. Brett was so happy right now. His prank worked. He is now inside of his best friends body. And the pranks probably won't stop there. Now he can mess with him all he wants. But not now.

He looked from top to bottom how tall and slim his body was. "Almost no hair anywhere. Lucky guy"

He took Trent's phone and snapped a photo to send it to Trent in his body. He knew it would take a while for Trent to wake up so he proceeded in his exploration.

He felt his curly hair. "How come you don't even have widow's peak? So unfair" He traced his jawline, now with tiny baby hair that Brett wouldn't even call a beard. But his sight was now caught by those nice Calvin Klein's. He looked around as if there was someone in the room with him who would judge him. He pulled on the waistband

Brett:"Just as I thought. Also shaved" he grabbed his new dick, that was getting harder and harder by the second, when suddenly his phone received a notification. he let go of his dick

It was Trent. Brett:"Haha, this is gonna be good"

There was a photo of Brett's body, observing his hairy armpits in shock

Trent in Brett's body:"Hey. Got any idea why I am a gorilla now? And why that gorilla looks exactly like you?"

Brett:"Surpriseee. And fuck you"

Trent:"So this is your doing?"

Brett:"Yeah, I kinda wanted to prank you somehow for all the pranks and the gorilla jokes. Joke's on you ape man"

Trent:"Fuck you. So this is reversible?"

Brett:"Sure, man. No worries. We'll meet tonight at the bar again and chat how our day went?"

Trent:"I don't know how to feel about this, bro"

Brett:"Just try enjoying being another person"

Trent:"Do you realise there are some no go things including intimate stuff and hygiene?"

Brett:"Sure I do. I'm already holding your dick in YOUR hands right now"

Trent:"Dude! Not cool. I meant more stuff like shitting etc. But yeah, this too."

Brett:"I gotta say Trent. You have a very nice dick"

Trent:"I'll comment on your size when I find it in the bushes I guess. Have you never heard of trimming?"

Brett:"Keeping it natural, baby face"

Trent:"Fine, let's see each other tonight at 8, ok?"

Brett:"Enjoyyy" Hangs up

Trent:"Jesus, this guy. I hope he doesn't fuck up something or someone"

Starts observing himself. "I must say, It feels good to look like a mature man and not a teenager. All of this hair. And the moustache is hot too. I could never grow this thing"

Trent looked down and had a mischievous thought. "Well, Brett. Since you have already held my dick, I think it's time to step it up. Gonna see if you can last longer than I do" Trent said with a smile and whipped out his new hard hairy dick

Saturday August the 3rd, bar, 8:04 PM

Brett is sitting amused in the bar, eating chips on the table and drinking beer. Winking at the ladies looking at his direction.

A waitress came by his table:"Want another?"

Brett noticed his old incoming body:"Sure, and another one for my friend who just arrived. Thank you, sweetheart" he said as his flirtatious look almost seduced the local waitress

Trent:"You need to stop!"

Brett:"What? I was just flirting"

Trent:"Not that. Stop eating those chips. God knows how many calories you ate already"

Brett:"So you don't mind that I was flirting with her?"

Trent:"Nah, I don't care. I jerked off your dick for like the fifth time half an hour ago"

Brett:"What? You beast. I would have never expected that. Cool. You have a really good dick to jerk off too. I didn't expect to shoot so far tho. Made a bit of a mess"

A couple off bikers started eavesdropping to their conversation and turning heads

Trent:"You might want to quiet down, or we're gonna get beaten up for mistakenly speaking like gay guys"

Brett:"But you gotta admit that my body is not so bad, right? All the hair and everything. You like it"

Trent:"It's not bad, but I prefer being in my own body. I'm used to it."

Brett:"Ok, I'll pretend I didn't hear the part before about masturbation. But what do you say? We didn't even have enough time to see what the life is like in our new bodies. It's only been a day"

Trent:"And your point is?"

Brett:"Let's stay swapped for a while. We can swap back anytime we want. It's reversible. We know almost everything about each other, so pretending to be the other one will be easy. You'll just teach me your workout routine, I'll show you... what games to play and how to set up a livestream and we'll figure it out"

Trent:"Livestream? That's all you got?"

Brett:"Come on, man. We got nothing to loose"

Trent:"I don't know man. It's gonna be complicated. I agreed to leave for a few weeks to work at one of our gym branches in another city. And now you'll be the one that has to go. I think now is not the best time"

Brett:"So? I can update you about everything. We can chat all the time. We can call. And I got nothing to do. Actually, you might need to find some job for those few weeks. And there's never gonna be a better time then now. We're single, ready to mingle. So let's enjoy that month"

Trent:"You wanna stay swapped the whole tíme I'm gone?"

Brett:"Yeah, I'll be a fitness instructor/viral star and you'll ne enjoying my chill life"

Trent:"Chill life. Man, you won't even recognise your life when we'll swap back"

Brett:"So you agree?"

Trent:"Yeah, what the hell. I'll be a gorilla for a month"

Brett:"Deal. Now, let's see if you'll have a better game in finding a hookup then me"

Sunday, August 4th

Brett sends a text to Trent:"Why do I feel like my body still hasn't gone through puberty?"

Trent:"Piss off. Yours looks like it went trough yours several times."

Brett:"Nah, gotta be honest. I'm really enjoying this lean figure and hairless body"

Trent:"And my dick..."

Brett:"Haha, yeah and your dick. How are you doing in my body?"

Trent:"Feels pretty weird to be so hairy, but gotta admit it's a nice change. Like... feeling so manly"

Brett:"Yeah, but tip for that hairy stomach. Don't cum on it. It's really irritating to get cum from it"

Trent:"Never had the issue in my body, so yeah. Thanks for the tip"

Brett:"No problem. I had to try it out in yours haha"

Trent:"Doesn't this feel kinda gay to you? All the dick and jerk off talk. Appreciating each other's bodies"

Brett:"Nah. We're exploring, man. Who knows if we ever get that chance. Gotta enjoy it"

Wednesday August 7th

Trent:"How are you settling in?"

Brett:"Yeah. Pretty great. I just jerked off to some porn"

Trent:"Ew. I mean the appartement"

Brett:"Whooops. Sorry. Right. Yeah it's nice. Very clean. Very modern"

Trent:"It's yours only for a month so don't destroy anything there"

Brett:"It's kinda poetic right. New appartement, new body, new job"

Trent:"I don't see anything poetic about me playing games in front of a camera"

Brett;"Dude you have to. My fans are gonna wonder what happened to me"

Trent:"Fine. I'll log in tonight. By the way. Dude your feet smell so much when you work out."

Brett:"Work out? You took my body to the gym?

Trent:"Yeah. I had to show off these bushes somewhere, right?"

Brett:"Ahhh thanks man. Looking good"

Trent:"And I think oke girl was checking you... me out"

Brett:"If you can score than go for it. I'm actually late for a date. Or... how do you call it if you're just gonna have dinner and fuck?"

Trent:"Standard hook up man. Please be safe. Wear a condom. And watch our foe those carbs, man."

Brett:"Sure thing, bye"

Monday, August 12 th

Brett:"Dude do you like ever have to shave your face?"

Trent:"Sure I do. I just don't have to do it so often as you. Btw can I please shave off this moustache?"

Brett:"Absolutely not. You'll learn to love it and appreciate it. Just like I will your baby face"

Saturday, August 17th

Brett:"I have to admit I really love showing off your muscles man. I have been doing it constantly at every occassion. So many people turn their heads to take a peak"

Trent:"Yeah I get it. It helps with the confidence a bit"

Brett:"A bit? I feel like I can beat any fucker whk crosses me"

Trent:"Brett, please don't beat anyone in my body"

Brett:"Just kidding, man. How have you been"

Trent:"Well I tried being consistent with the gym. I think your body is doing pretty well"

Brett:"Daaaamn bro. I look good. You really do take care of my body really well"

Trent:"I was actually thinking I could offer this for money. Swapping with people, doing their routines and then swap back. But that's a talk for another time after we swap back"

Brett:"Yeha, sure. Cool idea. Anyway... how was the streaming?"

Trent:"I don't know, man. I think they are desperste for me to say your catchphrases, but they are so cringe."

Brett:"Nah, you have to do that. That's how you get into Tiktoks and become viral"

Trent:"Honestly. I can't wait to get back to my body and to my life back. So we will swap on September 2nd?

Brett:"Yeah. I suppose. Depends how the work will be etc. Anyway I gotta go man. Talk soon"

Trent to himself:"It feels like he's avoiding me with amswering more and more. Trent rubbed his hairy chest, recalling his sweet soft pecs that he missed.

Thursday, August 22nd

Trent:"Hey, man. How is it going?"

Friday, August 23rd

Trent:"Hey. I just wanna know if you're ok. I just wanna talk about the reversal."

Saturday:"please call me back as soon as possible"

Sunday, August 25th

Brett:"I'm ok"

Trent:"What the hell happened?"

Brett:"Nothing I just felt like I needed a break from phone and that stuff"

Trent:"Brett you didn't answer the phone for 4 days"

Brett:"Ok, I was avoiding you, cause I kinda fucked up and was afraid to tell you"

Trent:'What did you do? Is my body ok?"

Brett:"Yeah your body is unharmed. Nothing that bad. We just had a party in the appartement. Broke the TV and... I had unprotected sex with one girl. She didn't know if she was pregnant or not. So I was waiting. And congrats. You're not gonna be a dad"

Trent:"Brett..."

Brett:"I know. I'm so sorry. Won't happen again. Promise. I just got drunk once and it led to this. I'll be good now"

Trent:"Please, don't do anything anymore. I want to switch back"

Brett:"Nah man. We still gotta week to finish. You said until September 2nd."

Trent:"I didn't know you'd do something like this"

Brett:"Please Trent. I'm begging you. Just that one week"

Trent:"Fine. But don't do anything else!"

Sunday, September 1st

Brett:"Hey. Are you packed yet?"

Trent:"Hey. Not really. I planned on packing tommorow. You can come and help if you got time"

Brett:"Sure. I'll come by"

Monday, September 2nd

Trent arrives to the appartement. Brett is on the couch playing video games

The TV is new and there is a PlayStation on the table

Trent:"You didn't tell me you got back into gaming and that you bought all this."

Brett:"Yeha, I missed it. I thought to myself that you'd like it too. So I bought it. By the way. You should see how the fans dig it"

Trent:"Fans? You're live streaming in my body?"

Brett:"Yeah. The gamers are so into it when I'm flexing in the spare time. I even got a viral Tiktok already!"

Trent:"I think we should swap back, Brett. My life is out of your control now."

Brett:"I'm just using all the goods, man. You don't like my body anymore?"

Trent:"Stop changing the subject. I want to swap back"

Brett:"Ok... but on one condition"

Trent:"You want money?"

Brett;"Nah I want to have sex with my body. I want to have sex with you."

Trent:"You have lost your mind"

Brett:"Oh come on. Admit it, that you thought about it. Who gets the chance to fuck their body? To watch their body in the most animalistic moments from somebody else eyes?" Brett flexes his biceps to let Brett watch

Trent:"Brett..."

Brett stands up and goes towards Trent

Brett:"You know you want to kids thus face. To suck this hard dick" he says holding tightly his hardening bulge

Trent:"I... I do. I want to suck my dick"

Brett:"Atta boy"

They begin making out. The fast movements heading towards the bedroom could be described as chaotic, but for them it was a dance of passion. Brett was ripping his old clothes from his old body was all over his body, kissing his neck. Sucking each part of his skin

The kissed even more

Brett began to be more dominant. He gripped Trent's now receding hairline and pushed him down to suck his dick. Trent was choking. But did his best to swallow most of the shaft he now had. He had his dick in his mouth. He couldn't believe it. He is straight and he is sure of that. But this is absolutely different

Brett took his old body by the neck, choking him. "Say you love being in my body"

Trent:"Brett I can't breathe"

Brett:"Fine, let's do this the hard way"

He turned him around. Trent now on all fours. He knew what was coming, but he wasn't ready

Brett spit in his hand and spread it all over the head od his dick. Ready to penetrate his old hairy hole

Trent:"Brett wait... I... Ahhhhhhhh". Trent screamed in pain

Brett:"Yeah. Sorry about that. I'm just so horny. I love your body, Trent. I love every inch od it. Admit you like mine"

Trent:"Brett, please slow down"

Brett:"Naaah, you'll get used to it in a sex"

Trent:"Please, get lube or something"

Brett spit again to where his dick was penetrating Trent's ass. Brett:"Should do it"

Trent was still in pain, but now a new feeling was making him feel better. The pain was now... pleasant? He wanted to feel more. With every thrust from Brett. He felt like shitting himself and cumming at the same time

Brett:"Admit it. Admit you love being in my body" he sped up. Thrusting painfully.

Trent:"Yeah.... yes..."

Brett:"Louder"

Trent:"I do... I love your body. I love being you"

Brett:"Ahhhh. I'm gonna cum. Turn around. I want to cum on your chest"

Trent turned around. He could feel cum leaking from his dick. And now he saw his old face like he never did before. Brett was so into it. His face was full of lust, rage and mischief.

Brett:"Ahhhh. I'm cumming!"

The cum shot all over Trent. Not only on his chest, but also on his mouth and face

Trent watched in awe what just happened.

Brett:"Whew. That was a ride wasn't it? First gay sex. Am I right?"

Trent:"Brett... I?"

Brett:"Oh sorry. I have to catch my breath. You look so funny with my cum all over you. Haha. By the way. I'm glad you love your new body. You get to keep it"

Trent:"Brett, you said we would swap"

Brett:"Yeah I did. That's true. But after this little 'cum over your face' and 'dick in your ass' we made it permanent"

Trent watched in shock as his old body was still standing on top of him. Breathing rapidly and laughing.

Several months later

Hi my name is Brett. Welcome to my only fans channel. If you got any hairy request, hit me up

Brett in Trent's body:"Well this is just pathetic. Man, I knew you'd crumble. But this just seems you lost your mind"

Trent's massive colleague came next to him:"Hey, bro. What are you looking at?"

Brett:"Just looking how one of my friends threw away their life, kinda sad. But whatever. Their life, not mine"

Friend:"Hey, wanna grab a beer later this evening?"

Brett scanned his friend from top to bottom and smiled:"Sure thing. Be there at eight"

Brett thought about switching it up a little. That body would be amazing. But then he turned around and looked at himself in the mirror. And flexed

Brett:"Nah. I'm Trent. And I'm keeping this body"

A request from messages (another one who waited for a LONG time, sorry guys) for @swappwas

Hope you like it :)

P.S. written late at night on a phone with a very irritating autocorrect, so please excuse the mistakes

[futbolfatale]

Injury

Pairings: Leah Williamson x Reader, Katie McCabe x Reader, Kyra Conney-Cross x Reader

Tags: Broken Bones, Minor Angst, I think thats all

Summary: You convince your partners to come to the trampoline park only for there to be a "minor" injury.

WordCount: 1.0K

It’s taken months of constant nagging to get all of your partners to agree to go the the trampoline park together. You hadn’t been since your childhood but when one opened up down the street from you it was almost certain you would be going. “These waivers are intense.” Leah scrolls through the paragraphs of rules for her to sign. “But it will be so worth it just think of all the fun.” Leah rolls her eyes but signs the waiver. “Alright let's do this.”

“Come on Ky let's go” You snatch Kyra’s hand and the two of you race off towards the trampolines. There are rows and rows of square Trampolines. You jump onto the one closest to you and let out help as Kyra joins you. “Ky that’s against the rules. You're gonna get us kicked out already” You laugh as you too jump in Union. “They aren't even watching” Ky gestures to the teen who is supposed to be keeping an eye on you but instead has an earbud in and is mostly likely watching TikTok. “Hey, what do you suppose you're getting at? Follow the Rules” Leah gives you her signature captain glare and Kyra quickly moves to the trampoline next to you.

“Look they have a fucking rock wall we have to go and try” You jump off the trampoline and run to the wall but quickly slow to a jog after yet another warning look from Leah. “Katie I bet I can get across before you” You tease sticking your tongue out in a way that you know pisses her off.” you two have to go one at a time,” Leah calls after you. “Will you at least time us” You can’t help the annoyed look on your face she is kind of being a buzz kill. “Yes let me get it pulled up.” Leah smiles and god your heart melts a little. Maybe she isn't such a buzzkill after all. You press a kiss to her cheek before hurrying to the rock wall. “Do you want to go first” you question Katie. “I'll wait I want to find out what the time to beat is” She teases. “You ready” You nod in confirmation. “Ready, Set, Go”

The rest of your hour there passes in a blur of laughter and light scolding from Leah. “Five minutes then we need to get going so we can pick up our takeaway.” Leah reminds you. “Thai” you question as you head over to the question. “Yep, I going to go and order it now”. ‘Have I told you how much I love you?” you press a light kiss to her lips. “Not today”. You yep as Ky pulls you back to the square trampolines. “ Hurry we only have five minutes left”

Yet again Kyra is jumping on the same tramp as you but this time her logic is that Leah has gone to the waiting room to order your takeaway. It only takes one wrong-timed jump and suddenly you are lying on the ground clutching your ankle in pain. “Holy Shit are you okay” You can’t bring yourself to respond as a wave of pain washes over your body. You let out a scream as Ky kneels down next to you. “ We were gone for bloody two minutes what happened” Katie shouts the anger clear in her voice. It only stresses you out more and you let out another cry of pain. “Shitttt Leah is going to hang me” Katie pushes the hair from her face before kneeling on your other side and gently prying your ankle from where it was clutched in your hands. A whimper escapes you as she prays away the sock to show your already swollen ankle. “That's really bad” You cry out throwing yourself back into the ground. “ Girls What is going on” Leah shoots the urgency in her voice clear. “It's broken” Katie explains. “You two were fucking jumping together after I told you not to weren’t you.” Ky at least has the good sense to look sheepish.

“Okay, I will pull the car around Katie carry her outside gently. Kyra go get the last of our stuff and meet us at the car.” Leah orders before taking off. “Here Babe” Katie leans over scooping you up and effortly standing up. It’s so annoying how strong she is but good it's also so hot. “Do you think we can still pick up dinner?” You ask as Katie carries you out of the building. “I doubt Leah would go for that.”. “Do you think if I started crying more she would say yes” You question watching as Leah pulls up in front of the building. “You can try” Katie laughs

So there you are lying in a hospital bed eating thai food and about to get a cast on your ankle. Katie sits next to you on the bed playing some dumb YouTube video on her phone while Leah’s dragged Kyra out to the Hall to lecture her about rules or something.  You can’t help but giggle as the girl on her phone pushes herself down a flight of stairs in an attempt to make an at-home roller coaster. “Hello, they” The doctor startles the both of you so badly that Katie nearly falls off the bed. She lets out a muttered “Bloody hell” before standing up. “Good news it's a clean break and it should heal in the next couple of months as long as you stay off of it.” The doctor explains their eyes barely leaving their clipboard. “ How much longer till we can go,” Katie asks her annoyance quickly growing. “At least an hour possibly two depending on how long it takes to get the cast on. I have to get going know so many patients and all. If you have any questions feel free to ask the nurse.” they leave as quickly as they came.

Three hours later you sat in the car driving home. The air is so thick you could cut through it but you're too hopped up on pain meds to really care. “Soo… Can we get a milkshake on the way home?” You ask. “Are you sure that's a good idea? The doctor said you shouldn’t have milk for a couple of hours.” Leah reminds you from the front seat. “Fuck that doctor let's get milkshakes” Katie pipes up. “Ya milkshakes” Kyra shouts pumping her fist excitedly. Maybe the day wasn't a total disaster after all.

[itsmarsss]

stupid. [Peter Maximoff x Reader] (X-Men)

[~from the vault~]

Friends kiss all the time, right? Right?

Word count: 2,062

Warnings: none i don't think i even use the word fuck here like who even was i this is just fluff

[. . .]

“Okay, truth or dare?” Jubilee asked Peter, an unmistakably mischievous look on her face. 

It was funny, actually, to think that a group of mutant teenagers with unimaginable powers would be spending their weekend doing such mundane things, such as throwing a party and playing truth or dare like a bunch of seventh graders, but the truth is that none of you ever really had the chance to have that before, most always too weird to be with the normal kids.

So, truth or dare on a saturday night in the middle of the woods it was.

And of course you knew how this was going to go. You didn’t even have to be his best friend to know what he would pick without a hint of hesitation. 

“You know it,” Peter replied with a signature smirk.

Scott let out a groan. “There’s not even anything for you to do anymore!”

“There’s still plenty of stuff for me to do!” Peter defended himself, a hand over his chest feigning offense.

“No, he’s right! You never pick truth!” Warren joined Scott in complaining.

“Because I’m not boring! You guys are just laaaame.”

“I don’t know, lick that tree over there or something,” Jubilee murmured, uninterested.

“What? That’s all you got? Come on, you can do better! Dare me to run to Hawaii or something!”

“How would we know you actually went to Hawaii?” Kurt asked, and Peter tilted his head to the side, realizing what he said made sense.

“Just pick truth already!” Jean exclaimed, clearly annoyed at the amount of time his turn was taking. 

Peter put his arms up in surrender. “Okay, fine! But it’s gonna be lame.”

Jubilee quickly seemed to gain her excitement again, smiling as she thought of what to ask, snapping her fingers as she finally landed upon a question. “Okay! Have you and Y/N kissed before?” 

He seemed to be taken by surprise, shifting in his seat, and you felt your own cheeks burning, hoping the lack of light would hide it. Of course she would want to ask something like that. 

“C’mon. Something not so lame. What are we, 12?”

“Answer the question!” Scott egged him on, and Peter looked at you, silently asking you what to do. You didn’t even say anything, but you assumed he noticed how flustered you were, as he decided to spare you and lie.

“No. Happy?”

You thought they would let it go, but got confused when everyone other than you and Peter turned to Jean, who, after a moment, spoke up. “He’s lying,” she affirmed.

And then it was chaos. 

“Oh my God! When?”

“I knew it!”

“Holy shit how was it?”

“Stop reading my mind, witch!” Peter yelled. You knew him. Usually he’d be pretty proud to talk about how he 'got with the girl' or whatever. But Peter also knew you, and you both knew that you had specifically agreed to not talk about this. So he tried to change the subject. “Okay, okay, that’s not how this works. You have your answer, now spin the bottle again.”

“But-” 

“Those are the rules, Scotty.”

Annoyed, Scott reached out to spin the bottle again, and Peter winked at you. You smiled at him in return, thanking him silently. You were smart enough to know they would bug you about it later but at least you were fine for now, with enough time to come up with some bullshit excuse before you got bombarded with questions.

“Y/n it’s your turn.”

Well, maybe not so much time.

You were taken out of your thoughts by Jean’s words, averting your eyes to the bottle in front of you. Fair enough, it landed on you. Such luck.

“Truth or dare?” Scott asked you, unable to hide a grin.

“Come on, Scott.”

“You gotta choose!”

“Truth?”

“Tell us how that kiss happened.”

“Dare.”

“I… dare you to tell us how the kiss happened.”

“That’s not fair-”

“Those are the rules,” Warren intervened, repeating what Peter had said earlier, and you shot him a death glare. 

“You know I could kill you right?”

“You like me too much,” he smiled, and you sighed. You considered leaving the game, but you knew they would just annoy you until you talked.

“Fine. It was nothing, okay? We were on a mission and we had to improvise, that’s it.”

Scott’s eyebrows were furrowed together. “Wait it was for a mission?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed.

“But then it doesn’t count!”

Warren chimed in again. “What? Yes it counts-”

You looked over at Peter while all your friends debated the validity of your kiss , but he looked confused. “What?” You mouthed to him.

“That wasn’t our first kiss,” he blurted out, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world, very clearly not thinking before he spoke. Everybody else went quiet.

Warren was the first one to break the silence. “First kiss? Wait, how many times have you kissed?”

“No- it was-” Peter tried to save himself, but it was way too late. Now they wouldn’t leave you alone.

“You have to tell us!” Kurt exclaimed, and you almost felt mad at him. Almost.

Peter cleared his throat. “It was uh- when we were kids? Cause I told you I’d never kissed anyone?”

“Oh but if the mission one doesn’t count then that doesn’t count either. We were like ten!”

“What, were you not a person at ten years old?”

“Come on our real first kiss was that night at the movies wasn’t it? With the… the werewolf movie.”

“No cause that was after the one at the diner.”

“No it wasn’t! It was that one, then the time in your basement, then the diner.”

“But it doesn’t make-” Peter stopped and looked around. 

“What?” You did the same, only to see your friends look like they’d seen a ghost. They were all wide-eyed, either looking at you and Peter or at each other, trying to process the conversation the two of you were having. Okay, so maybe you got a little carried away accidentally.

“Uh-”

And then chaos again.

“You’ve kissed how many times now?”

“Are you sure you’re not together?”

“We’ve been trying to get you together for months! Months! And you tell me this?”

“But we-” you started, but what were you really gonna say? You were the one to talk too much.

Peter stood up. “We… are leaving.” He held his hand up for you to take, and you did so, standing up too. In no time you were in his room at the school, and things were awkward.

You sat down on his bed while he sat down on the chair by his desk, both in silence for a while, neither sure what to say. It was pretty common for you to do that, ignore this kind of thing. As you’d just talked about, you’d had those kinds of moments quite a few times before, but you always ended up unspokenly agreeing to not talk about it after. But it seemed that this time there was no choice.

“Um so.”

He lifted his gaze from the floor to you. “Yeah.”

“I uh. I didn’t realize uh. How many times we’ve- you know.”

“Yeah.” He was fidgeting with his fingers, looking at his hands instead of at you. You were kind of thankful for it.

“You think they’ll be too annoying about it?”

“Have you met them?”

You laughed. “Yeah. Maybe we should have just not played the game.”

“I’m sorry. Or whatever.”

“For what?”

“For bringing it up. It just… came out, you know how I speak without thinking-”

“It’s fine. We’ve kissed a few times, so what?”

“Yeah. Right. It’s what friends do! Right?” He finally looked at you.

“Yes! Platonic friends kiss sometimes. It’s normal.”

“Yeah! Totally. Totally.”

There was silence after that. One that indicated how incredibly not normal it all was.

“Can I ask you something?” Peter blurted out, out of the blue.

“Okay.”

“Did you… like… kissing me?”

“What?”

"Huh?"  He pretended he hadn’t said anything, immediately regretting saying it.

Silence again.

You thought for a moment. “Yeah.”

“What?”

“I liked it. Did you not?”

“I don’t- I-” He stood up in superspeed, but stayed within distance from you. “Yeah. A- a lot.”

“Does that- I mean that’s still like. Normal right?”

“Yeah I mean who- it’s kissing right? Why would- why wouldn’t we like that?”

“Right. Right. Yeah, of course.”

“Would it be that bad?”

“What do you mean?”

“If we were like- you know- not… friends.”

You quirked an eyebrow, and his eyes widened. “Not like that! I mean if we were like, more.”

“Like… if we dated.” It was a statement, but a question too. Were you getting this right?

“Wuh- Yeah. I guess.”

You had no idea what was going on now. After a long time of getting teased by your friends to no end about the blurry lines of your friendship with Peter, you learned to scold yourself when you caught your thoughts drifting to that. After all, you couldn’t- it would just ruin your friendship, and you didn’t want to lose your best friend. 

But now here he was, right in front of you, asking you if it would be so bad if you dated.

…would it?

“Why?”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I just wanna know why you’re asking!”

“Well cause maybe I’d like it if we were dating!” 

“Yeah sure,” you let out a laugh.

“I’m.. not joking.”

You went quiet.

“I know I’m not serious about… well anything I guess,” he let out a small laugh, “but I’m being like 100%, totally for real with you right now.”

“So you have… feelings for me. That’s what you’re saying.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re not joking.”

“No! Why would I joke about that?”

“We joke about that all the time!”

“Not right now!”

“You know I’m 100% kicking your ass if you are, right?”

“I… am pretty aware.”

“Okay.”

He looked at you expectantly, but you didn’t even know what to think about this situation, let alone what to say. 

“Okay? So?” Of course, this was still your Peter, extremely nosey and incredibly impatient.

You took a good look at him. Did you like him the same way he apparently liked you?

Peter was annoying. He was loud and a lot of times way too much, and he always ended up getting you into embarrassing situations. If you ever got in trouble, it was pretty safe to say it was probably his fault. He was stubborn and cocky and annoyingly good at making things play out his way.

But he was your best friend. And he was wearing his stupid silver jacket that matched his stupid silver hair and a stupid graphic shirt with a stupid bear that wore sunglasses on it and the stupid Star Wars pin that you gave him for his stupid fourteenth birthday. He was so utterly and completely stupid, and it was stupid to think this could work.

And maybe you were stupid too, because it seemed that you liked him, a stupid amount. 

“Okay, don’t get too cocky, now.”

He kept staring at you, expecting your next words. 

“I like you too.”

“As in... more than a friend?”

“No I’m actually friendzoning you.”

Finally he opened a grin, relaxing as he caught on to your teasing tone. Now that looked more like him. “Are you? That’s good. I was actually gonna tell you I changed my mind.”

“You did?”

He walked towards you, in a normal speed for once. “Yeah. I think we should stay friends.”

You nodded. “Yeah me too.”

“Friends kiss, right?”

“Platonically.”

“Yeah, platonically.”

You laughed at how ridiculous that excuse sounded now. “We’re so stupid.”

Hee shook his head. “I don’t know what youre talking about.” 

You didn’t have time to keep the joke going, as he finally pulled you closer and leaned in.

You’d kissed a good amount of times before, but this time was different. It wasn’t impulsive, and you weren’t going to regret it after. You wouldn’t have to pretend it didn’t happen when it was over, and you really, really liked the thought of that.

But, of course, you did live with your really, really nosey friends, who you hadn’t noticed had been standing by the door.

“You guys are so confusing!”

Okay, it would be really stupid to think you would ever be able to live this one down.

[. . .]

A/N: treating you guys to these cute little oneshots today past mars was such a cutie i was gonna say i miss her but i dont really