#Sensor Bulb | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nemo-writes · 23 days ago

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𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter three

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: a terrifyingly familiar presence breaches your last safe space, and now a simple and heartfelt gesture becomes a violation. in the aftermath, fear finally makes you reach out for help.

⤿ warning(s): stalking, panic attacks & unhealthy coping mechanisms.

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 2.7k

The day begins the same way the last three have: 05:30, kettle on, one level tablespoon of Assam spooned into the infuser. While the water climbs toward a boil you unlock your phone, already braced for what waits. A fresh number—there is always a fresh number—has delivered its dawn bulletin:

Left at 05:01 yesterday.

Early bird. Porch light flickered twice—loose bulb?

Navy coat looks sharp against the fog, pretty girl.

They never mention the hospital, never a word about ORs or co-worker names. The watcher keeps to the edges of your private life, and somehow that makes the trespass worse. You capture a screenshot, block the number, and delete the thread. The image joins dozens of others in the hidden laptop folder named Archive—date‑stamped, time‑stamped, waiting for the moment you finally believe the police will do more than shrug.

Four‑minutes steep exactly. Mug warmed. First swallow. Routine: a ladder you climb every morning. Eggs scrambled ninety seconds, plate rinsed, shower seven minutes. Before dressing, you check the tiny motion‑sensor camera you mounted inside the apartment entryway two nights ago; its LED blinks a steady red reassurance. The matching camera on the fire‑escape window does the same. No motion alerts overnight. Still, you test the deadbolt twice and angle the hall chair beneath the knob until you return.

The drive is identical to yesterday’s and the day before—same streets, same mirror checks at every light. No car follows twice, but you look anyway. At 06:50 you badge through the employee entrance. Stepping into hospital feels like sliding into armor: fluorescent lights, antiseptic bite, the hum of vents. The messages have never followed you here.

You adjust your usual gray scrubs and square your clipboard. Pre‑op checklist in your left hand, suture cart in your right, you call out “sponge count zero” with the same crisp authority as always. But small hesitations creep in: rereading the cefazolin vial, tapping the clock twice to verify time‑outs.

Margot’s eyes track each pause. She eventually corners you by the blanket warmer.

“Nightmares?” she asks, voice low.

“Just the usual insomnia,” you answer, pinching your lower lip. A nervous habit. Your smile feels brittle, but it holds.

Fin notices too; his jokes grow louder, as though volume can fill the quiet shadow clinging to you. Jules slips extra Hershey Kisses into your scrub pocket. Even Dr. Garcia joins in by firing off sarcasm like covering fire whenever an intern looks as if they might ask why your phone stays face‑down on the desk, silent yet weighty.

Slowly but surely, the afternoon bleeds into evening.

You finish vitals, sign the narcotics log, and at 19:04 bypass the stairwell that leads to the roof—no silhouettes against twilight tonight. Instead you head straight for the lot, head down, keys ready.

The cameras in your apartment greet you with their steady red eyes when you arrive. Door locked, sweep performed—closet, shower, under bed—all clear. Only then do you change into a soft purple T‑shirt and loose pants. You have long since stopped parading around in your underwear.

The phone buzzes the moment the fabric falls over your head. New number:

Purple again. My favorite.

You freeze. Curtains closed, lights low—and still they see. Screenshot. Block. Delete. You drag the dining chair beneath the doorknob and place the kitchen scissors back on the nightstand, steel glinting like a talisman. Then, a mug of valerian tea, strong enough to taste like soil, goes down in three determined gulps.

Lying in bed, you count the protections: two cameras, one chair brace, scissors within reach, every screenshot archived. Routine is armor. Repetition is a prayer. You breathe in for four, out for eight, the same cadence you teach anxious PACU patients, and tell yourself that as long as the messages stay outside the hospital walls, the armor will hold.

Sleep comes in splinters, broken by phantom creaks and imagined footsteps. At 02:47 you wake up, heart sprinting, and check the camera feed: empty hallway, silent fire escape. Dawn is only a few hours away. Soon the kettle will hiss, the tea will steep for exactly four minutes, and another text will arrive—about a porch light or the time you start your car—but never about scalpels, never about sponge counts.

Despite the hour, you’re halfway through wiping down the already‑clean kitchen counter—busywork to quiet the apartment’s hush—when your phone vibrates. For once the screen doesn’t show an unknown number.

It’s Jack.

Haven’t seen you on the roof in a bit. Everything okay?

The text lands like a gentle hand on your chest. You swallow against the sudden tightness in your throat, thumb hovering. Finally you type back:

I’m alright—just busy. See you tomorrow?

Three dots pulse, then: Works for me. Sunrise tea?

He doesn’t mention anything about the hour or how you should be asleep and not messaging back. You’re grateful.

Sunrise tea, you confirm, and set the phone facedown.

Pacing the kitchen, you notice how full the fridge is: a dozen nearly‑dated eggs, chicken thighs you’d planned to roast, wilting cilantro, limes, onions, and two unopened cans of black beans. You haven’t cooked a proper meal since the messages started; take‑out cartons and tea have been enough to survive. Now the sight of real food sparks something steadier than dread—a need to do, to give.

An apology, you decide, should be edible.

You wash your hands, set the chicken on the board, and fall into the rhythm your muscles remember: trim fat, score skin, rub with salt, cumin, smoked paprika. Onions sizzle in the cast‑iron, releasing a sweetness that chases the apartment’s stale anxiety. Beans simmer with serrano and garlic; rice toasts before absorbing broth. Cilantro stems thunk under the knife; lime zest perfumes the steam fogging the window.

When everything’s done you portion a generous serving into a sturdy glass container, your favourite one: rice pilaf on one side, glossy black beans on the other, two pieces of golden‑skinned chicken nestled on top. Into a tiny jar goes some honey‑lime dressing. You label the lid in block letters—Jack—and slide the meal into one of your spare tote bags.

The apartment smells of cumin and toasted garlic, of normal life. The cameras still blink red, the chair still braces the door, the scissors still gleam, but cooking has threaded warmth through every corner. You finish the last dish, the one’s that’s for you, dry your hands, and stand for a moment in the quiet kitchen, breathing in the proof that you can still create comfort instead of just barricades.

Tomorrow at dawn you’ll climb to the roof, hand Jack the container, and share five minutes of sky. Routine will tighten around you again, one careful knot at a time—but tonight you fall back asleep with the scent of lime and cilantro on your pillow, and relief, thin but real, settles in your chest like steam escaping a cooling pot.

. . .

You arrive at the hospital just past sunrise, thermos in one hand, tote slung over your shoulder, and—for once—a real, living sense of calm beneath your ribs. Not the fragile kind you usually glue together with caffeine and a tight jaw, but something gentler, something earned. You even caught a pocket of golden morning light in the parking lot, the kind that made the hospital look almost soft at the edges.

Dr. Miller catches sight of you just as you pass the nurse’s station. He’s leaning against the counter, coffee in one hand, chatting with a pair of interns, but pauses when he sees you. His eyebrows lift, and he gives a slow, amused smile. “Well, you look dangerously close to content. Should I be worried?”

You huff a laugh, smoothing your coat as you badge in. “Don’t start rumors, Dr. Miller.”

He points at the canvas tote on your shoulder. “Big plans?”

You nod once. “End of shift.”

He doesn’t ask more, just grins, and you take that grin with you like a good omen. The rest of the day moves at a steady clip: vitals to log, meds to verify, a code yellow that resolves without anyone crying. You let yourself coast on the rhythm of it, not in that desperate, overcompensating way you usually do, but in a way that feels like a return to something—like an exhale.

You slip into the lounge at 18:45, already imagining the click of the container’s lid, the familiar smell of the garlic and cumin, the soft weight of it in your hands as you climb the stairwell to the roof. You open as the lights inside flickers to life, cold and blue, attention on the glass container exactly where you left it, lid on, untouched.

Except—no. Something’s wrong.

The lid is snapped shut, perfectly aligned. The container looks full. But it isn’t. You can feel it before you even lift it—something in the tilt, the balance. Your stomach lurches as you peel the lid off and confirm what you already know. The food is gone. Not spilled. Not disturbed. Not even a forkful left to scrape from the edges. Just... empty. Clean. Wiped down.

A rare mix of anger, rare but hot, pulses against your ribcage, but before you can storm out and demand answers, you feel the paper crumpled under the container. Your breath stops. It’s your note—the one you’d carefully taped to the top that morning: NOT FOR GENERAL CONSUMPTION. HANDS OFF GREMLINS, it reads in your blocky caps. But now that line has been crossed out in thick, decisive strokes. And underneath it, slanted and dark and horrifyingly familiar:

That was great, thanks pretty girl.

The world tilts. Your lungs forget how to work. You’ve seen that name before—only in texts, never spoken, never written. Anonymous. Cryptic. Repetitive. A whisper against your spine on nights when the lights were off and your phone lit up with unknown numbers. But this—this isn’t a text. This is here. This is your space, your name, your cooking, your boundary, and someone has walked right through it with ink-stained hands and a stomach full of what you made with care.

A hot flush crawls up your neck, floods your ears. You stagger back a step and catch yourself on the counter. The container slips from your hand and hits the lounge table with a muted thud. The silence in the room turns sharp.

Then, you shove the fridge shut. The door clangs and rattles in its frame. The room feels like it’s shrinking, like the air has gone sour, too full of other people’s breath. You snatch the note and crush it in your hand. Your teeth clench so hard your jaw pops. You don’t remember turning, but you’re already out the door, slamming into the corridor.

Fin is halfway down the hall with a tablet in hand. He startles and drops it when you barrel past. “Boss? Are you okay—?”

You don’t hear him. You don’t answer. The world has narrowed to one screaming thought: Find Gloria. Now. You need the Chief Medical Officer, need her badge, her keys, her authority. She can pull the security feeds. She can call the police. She can make this stop.

You’re moving before you think to move, feet pounding the tile, vision blurring at the edges. You don’t realize you’re shaking until your elbow clips the corner of the nurse’s station and jolts you. Jules tries to intercept you, her mouth forming your name in alarm, but you dodge past. Margot reaches out, grabs your arm, and for a second your momentum dies.

“What happened?” she demands, voice low, sharp, anchoring.

You look at her. You try to speak. Nothing. Just breathless silence. Then, rasping through a throat too tight to breathe, you say, “Need Gloria.”

She gets it instantly. Her eyes go cold. She lets you go. Already calling instructions behind you as you sprint toward the elevators.

Your fingers hurt. You look down and realize the note is still balled in your fist, crushed so tightly your nails have dug half-moons into your skin. The static in your head has turned into a roar. You feel cracked open, like your worst fear has been confirmed and now all your secrets are leaking out of you for the world to see. All this time, you thought if you could just hold on—just stay composed, stay ahead, stay vigilant—you could keep this from touching the parts of your life that mattered. But now it has. Now it’s here. The hospital was supposed to be your safe place, your fortress. But someone breached it.

The elevator doors open. Thankfully, nothing but an empty gurney is inside. You step in without hesitation, eyes fixed forward, spine locked. You don't even blink when the doors slide shut.

You get out the seconds the doors open and round the corner toward Administration so fast the world blurs, shoulders locked, chest heaving, pulse hammering in your ears so loud it drowns out thought. You barely register the sound of a door opening until a figure steps out from the consult room ahead—short but solid, dreadlocks brushing her shoulders, clipboard hugged tight to her chest.

You collide before either of you can brake.

Papers scatter like startled birds. A pen skitters across the tile and bounces under the nearest corner.

“Whoa—hey!” Kiara grabs you, steady hands catching your elbows before you fall.

“Slow down, honey,” she says, trying for lightness. “What—”

Then she sees your face.

Whatever was holding you together unravels in a blink. Your eyes fill, your mouth opens, but nothing coherent makes it past your lips. The crushed note slips from your hand, landing between you. The marker-scrawled name glares up from the paper like a fresh wound.

Kiara’s clipboard hits the floor beside it.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes.

Her arms come around you before you can bolt or speak or even breathe. And the second she does, the sob rips out of you—gut-deep, involuntary, raw. You bury your face against her soft sweater and shake, fists twisted in the soft cotton, the fabric quickly going damp with tears. Your legs threaten to give. Kiara cradles the back of your head like she would a grief-stricken mother in a quiet room, voice low and steady in your ear.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay. Breathe with me. In, two, three…that’s it. Out, two, three.”

You try. You try to follow her rhythm even as your chest jerks, lungs refusing to cooperate, every breath full of glass. The hallway seems to narrow around you, fluorescent lights too sharp, voices too distant, the floor too unsteady beneath your feet.

You gasp, trying to speak—Gloria, fridge, note—but your tongue won’t work. The words hit the back of your throat and collapse.

Kiara doesn’t push. She doesn’t ask. Not yet.

She bends, scoops the note up from the floor, her arm never leaving your shoulders. Her eyes flick over the overwritten scrawl. Her expression goes from gentle to granite.

“Okay,” she says, voice gone iron. “We’re taking this to Gloria. Right now.”

It’s almost scary how easily she connects the dots without a single ounce of context. For now, you can only nod, your body still trembling, your mind clawing for control that just isn’t there anymore. But you’re not alone. Kiara keeps an arm firmly around you as she pulls her phone from her pocket, dials with one hand, presses it to her ear.

“Gloria? Yes, it’s Kiara. I have an urgent security issue. Clear your office.”

A pause. Then a quiet “Thanks.” She ends the call, squeezes your arm, and begins steering you gently toward the elevators.

“She’s waiting. Margot’s on her way too,” Kiara tells you as she guides you through the hallway.

You nod again, unable to speak, but this time it’s not empty. The words aren’t caught in panic—they’re being held for you, steadied. And for the first time since the messages started, since the stalking began, since the fear turned chronic and tight and unseen—something inside you loosens.

Not gone. But held.

Held by hands stronger than your own.

divider credit

#fanfiction #fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt fanfic #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #female reader #nurse reader #older reader #small age-gap

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fellominaarcher · 23 days ago

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then you're the best part — Giselle x fem!reader

↳ Fic type: oneshot

↳ Content warning: FLOOOFYY & healthy relationship & maybe a little boring

↳ main m.list | æspa m.list

Beep.

The front door chimed softly—someone had just keyed in the passcode. A click followed, the door unlocking, then the motion sensor light flickered on as someone stepped inside.

Pink-haired and exhausted, Aeri Uchinaga toed off her sleek YSL boots at the threshold, sighing as she sat for a moment on the step just past the genkan. The weight of the day—rehearsals, meetings has finally slid off her shoulders. What time was it now? She checked briefly. 1:03 AM. Too late to be out, but too early to sleep on an anniversary night like this.

Boots off, bag down, she stood and stretched, already hearing faint sounds from the kitchen—pots clinking, water running, familiar domestic noises that belonged to her girl. Y/N was still up, naturally. She was always the night owl of the two, often awake until 3 or 4 AM, either cooking, dancing in socks, or binge-watching some horror show she’d rewatch a million times.

"I'm hooomeee," Aeri called out in a sing-song voice as she passed the kitchen, waving lazily even if she wasn’t sure Y/N saw it. She headed straight to their shared bedroom.

From the kitchen, Y/N’s voice rang out, playful and warm, “Okay-ieee, go shower, lady!”

Aeri chuckled under her breath, already feeling lighter.

Outside, a gentle midnight rain fell. Not heavy. Just that calm, rhythmic kind—the kind of rain that makes you want to curl up in bed or slow-dance barefoot in the living room.

Soft footsteps pattered against the wood flooring behind her. Then, two excited barks.

Aeri smiled without turning around. “Cooper!” she cooed, kneeling just in time for her beloved Sheepadoodle to crash into her arms, tail wagging so hard it thumped against the walls.

“Someone missed me,” she giggled, letting the dog lick her cheeks and chin as she scratched behind his ears. “You’re such a good boy, huh?”

She puckered her lips for a kissy face, and Cooper gave her a dramatic, wet lick right across the mouth. Laughing, she stood up again. “I gotta shower, bub. It’s way past your bedtime.” She tried to sound motherly to a dog.

She puckered her lips for a kissy face, and Cooper gave her a dramatic, wet lick right across the mouth. Laughing, she stood up again. “I gotta shower, bub. It’s way past your bedtime.”

She gave him one last pat before grabbing a towel from the closet, already peeling off her shirt and jeans as she stepped further into the bedroom. Bare-shouldered and flushed from the heat inside the apartment, she padded into the bathroom after removing her makeup in a quick routine. The mirror fogged up fast as she stepped into the shower, letting the hot water hit her tired muscles and wash the day away.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Y/N was focused. Her hands moved with practiced ease, slicing tofu into perfect cubes, then pushing them gently into a bubbling pot of kimchi jjigae. The soup was thick and red, made with love—aged kimchi, green onions, tofu, thinly sliced pork belly, and a dash of sesame oil for extra depth.

The rice cooker dinged in the background. Hot steam poured out as she opened it, scooping fluffy white rice into matching ceramic bowls. Everything was almost ready.

This wasn’t just a late-night craving. It was their third anniversary. Three years of being together—through comebacks, rumors, camera flashes, and stolen vacations. And though Aeri had been booked all day and couldn’t make it home until now, Y/N didn’t mind. She never did, not when it came to Aeri.

Sipping her Coke from a wine glass just for the vibe, Y/N started plating the side dishes with care.

And then enter Cooper.

The Sheepadoodle padded into the kitchen like he owned it, blinking up at her with that innocent, curious look he always wore. Y/N paused, mid-reach for a spoon, and blinked back. It was a full-on staring contest.

And just like that—like a light bulb clicking on—Y/N grinned.

A mischievous little idea formed in her mind, curling up like steam from the soup. “Come here, Cooper,” she whispered, crouching down and motioning to him like a cartoon villain who’d just hatched a plan. “Let’s do something before your mommy comes back.”

Fresh out of the shower, Aeri felt like a brand-new person. Her long pink hair was loosely gathered with a claw clip, some stray bangs falling around her face in soft, messy waves. Dressed in an oversized tee and pajama shorts, she padded barefoot to the dining area, the scent of something spicy and savory drawing her closer.

The lights were dimmed just right. It was cozy, warm and the table was already set with utensils, drinks, and a small Post-it note placed neatly on one of the chairs.

“Have a seat, Ms. Uchinaga.”

Aeri chuckled, the corner of her lips tugging up in fond amusement. “Y/N, you’re so dramatic,” she muttered to herself, but she obeyed, pulling out the chair and sitting down with a soft sigh.

Right on cue, Y/N emerged from the kitchen, holding a tray like a proud little chef at her Michelin-starred restaurant. “Welcome to Y/N’s Restaurant. Hope you enjoy your supper, ma’am,” she grinned, placing the tray on the table and beginning to arrange the plates with care: steaming kimchi jjigae, warm rice, pickled radish, and side dishes arranged with love.

“Hmm, thank you. I’d like one serving of hot food and one serving of you for supper,” Aeri replied with a wink, locking in with Y/N’s playful bit.

Y/N raised a brow and tilted her head dramatically. “Cannibalism? Ma’am, you want to eat me for supper?” she whispered in mock horror before snickering as she placed the kimchi bowl and radish pickles in front of her girlfriend.

Aeri leaned in slightly, the atmosphere suddenly shifting from play to something more tender, her voice softer. “Not when you look this cute.”

Y/N sat down across from her, resting her elbows gently on the table, her chin in her hands as she watched Aeri fondly. “Happy third anniversary, baby. I love you,” she said, her voice warm, eyes glowing with that look, the one that only ever belonged to Aeri.

Aeri’s eyes met hers. A quiet smile formed before she exhaled softly. “Thank you, Y/N. Happy third anniversary to us, cutie. I love you more.” She reached out to take Y/N’s hand, interlacing their fingers naturally, like breathing.

They stayed like that for a moment, letting the silence settle between them. Not awkward, not forced. Just full.

“…And you still owe me a slow dance,” Y/N added, lips curling into a sly smile as she raised a brow.

Aeri laughed under her breath, nodding with a hum. “I haven’t forgotten. A deal’s a deal.” She winked teasingly at Y/N.

Y/N turned her head, then gave a gentle whistle.

Within seconds, Cooper came bounding in from the hallway, except this time, the Sheepadoodle was wearing a birthday cap slightly lopsided on his head. Taped onto the hat was another bright yellow Post-it, clearly written in Y/N’s handwriting.

It read: “From your son, happy 3rd anniversary mommy.”

Aeri burst out laughing, nearly tearing up from the sight. “You didn’t—Y/N!” she squealed, covering her mouth as she watched Cooper sit proudly in front of the table, clearly oblivious to the paper hat flopping over one eye.

“Had to include the real MVP,” Y/N grinned, leaning back with pride. “He helped with the plan.”

Cooper barked, tail wagging like a metronome of joy, and Aeri gestured for him to come closer. “C’mere, baby,” she cooed, pulling out the chair next to her. With a proud little hop, the Sheepadoodle climbed up and settled beside her, sitting tall like he belonged there.

Across the table, Y/N was already laughing, full belly, full heart. “He looks like he’s about to file taxes,” she joked, pointing at the lopsided birthday hat barely hanging onto Cooper’s head. Aeri laughed harder, pulling off the yellow Post-it.

She gave it a quick glance, then let out another giggle, the kind that made her eyes crinkle and her dimples pop. Before she forgot, she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of Cooper, committing this ridiculous moment to memory.

Dinner was filled with warm bites of kimchi jjigae, comfortable conversation, and lots of "here, try this one" across the table. The soup was just spicy enough to fight off the cold rain outside, and Y/N's cooking, while humble, was always her love language, always just what Aeri needed.

Later that night, the two of them settled into the living room, their hands brushing, laughter trailing behind them like perfume. The city was quiet beyond the windows, and the rain hadn’t let up, still drizzling gently, like the sky itself was sighing with them.

And then, another surprise.

Aeri blinked. “What…?”

The lights were dimmed, but in front of them, strung across the living room wall, was a 3-meter-long trail of Christmas tree lights, glowing gold, green, and red, throwing soft shadows across their features. The same ones they’d packed away in January, the ones that made the room feel like a home.

From the corner of the room, the Bluetooth speaker came to life—click, a small buzz—and then, soft and low, the opening chords of “Best Part” by Daniel Caesar ft. H.E.R. played.

Y/N turned to her with that signature grin, that confident little tilt of her head. “Dance with me.” She invited Aeri with a hand extended out.

Aeri didn’t even hesitate.

They met in the center of the living room, arms slipping around each other like they were molded that way. Y/N’s hands found Aeri’s waist; Aeri's arms wrapped gently around her neck. The lights cast halos across their faces, catching on lashes, lips, pink hair and sleepy eyes.

“You don’t know, babe…” the lyrics melted into the room like honey.

Y/N leaned in slightly, whispering in Aeri’s ear, “I forgot to say earlier... congratulations, baby. To you. To aespa. Billboard Women in Music? That’s insane. I’m so proud of you.” Her eyes bored into Aeri's dark eyes.

Aeri exhaled a laugh, shaking her head bashfully. “Thank you… that means a lot coming from the prettiest girl in this apartment.” She responded with a grin on her face.

“Well, Cooper’s very flattered,” Y/N teased.

Right on cue, the Sheepadoodle spun in circles around them, yipping with joy and tail wagging furiously. His little hat had finally fallen off. The couple broke into laughter, their bodies swaying with the music.

“You’re the coffee that I need in the morning…”

Aeri leaned in and pressed her lips to Y/N’s. It wasn’t showy or rushed, just a soft kiss that tasted like comfort and rain and love in its purest form. She didn’t let go. She buried her face into the crook of Y/N’s neck, breathing her in.

“I’m such a lucky girl,” Aeri whispered against her skin.

Then she bent down, scooping Cooper up in her arms, the cute dog wiggling excitedly as she brought him back to their little dance floor.

“Okay, come on, you too,” she said with a giggle. “Family dance.”

And so, under the golden glow of borrowed Christmas lights, while the rain kept singing to the windows, Aeri and Y/N slow danced in their pajamas—arms wrapped around each other, and Cooper sandwiched between them, tail wagging in time with the music.

It was perfect.

æspa m.list | main m.list

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aniqua · 10 months ago

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error: f13nd | yandere!qimir x droid!reader

✧content: 18+ mdni, f!reader, smut, angst, blood, toture, violence, alcoholic qimir, p in v, handjob, creampie, dacryphilia, pathetic dom qimir, overstim, everything that comes with yandere tendencies

✧note: please give feedback because the lengths I went through to post this. also, let me know what you think about the concept

✧word count: 5.5K

✧series masterlist

Warm droplets of blood that had grouped on the edge of a busted lip were now flying across the room. The smell of iron filled the entire space much quicker than the screams of the victim it was coming from. Vermillion was splattering onto the walls, tables, and floors. Every time Qimir’s fist met the man’s face, the liquid that was seeping out of his broken skin was running for the hills and some of it had found shelter on Qimir's fabric. For the red that didn’t end up staining the wall or his fist, it dripped and mixed itself with tears and saliva until it inevitably made a trail down the man's chest.

“I-I mean,” Qimir shook his head in disbelief while his lip broke into a smirk as he gave himself a moment to laugh. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out?” he asked. Qimir’s callous hands grabbed Menall's hair to pull his face up so Qimir could have a better look at the liar.

All the Sith could think about throughout the exchange was just how much of a waste of time the entire ordeal was. Most of the recent evenings were spent by you and him getting to know each other. Regardless, today he had to watch a sloppy merchant beg for his life by reciting promises like hymns as if anything he was saying was original.

“Menall,” Qimir kept the hold on the man’s, once dark now red, hair. “All I asked was for your best sensor and you sent me bullshit. That's not fair,” he chastised like a teacher.

“I didn’t sell the latest to anyone else! I swear! It was never for sale!” Menall's body shook as he cried. The merchant's own bodyguards watched the entire ordeal from across the room previously bruised and broken by only one man.

“But,” Qimir got closer to his face and smiled, “I didn��t ask for what was for sale. I said I wanted your best sensor."

The prospect of death was certainly an option. Nearly a guarantee since Qimir was known to have little patience. This was reason enough for Menall to look over to his guards and say, “Give it to him, you idiots!”

Before Qimir could finish wiping the red liquid off of his hands with the robe Menall wore, his goon came back with a small box. Once it was given in hand, Qimir opened it and glanced at the item before snapping the container close immediately.

“Thank you," he bowed. "It was a pleasure doing business with you,” he said.

Before he could go, a silver dagger materialized from his hands, and just as quickly, Qimir had swiped at the merchant and took off his ear. The piece of tender flesh hit the ground before Menall could recognize the pain. However, when he did, he was howling even above Qimir's cool tone.

“Shhh,” was all Qimir said before the man was holding and choking on his sobs like hot vomit. With a few painful cries from within the merchant’s throat cutting through, Qimir said, “Remember, I don't like repeating myself.”

Once he was out the door, the only clue that he was ever there was a few coins to cover the difference of the newer sensor and a surgeon that could reattach the man’s ear.

The seediest parts of the city Qimir lived in had much to avoid at night but it was still a city that never went quiet. Parts of it were still mesmerizing and lively enough to enjoy on every late-night walk he took. On his journey home, he passed restaurants and markets that emitted laughter brighter than light. For most of the journey, beaming bulbs from each restaurant’s insides made his hood glow and lit the lower part of his face that wasn't obscured. He only stopped once to make a brief purchase before he was back on his way.

The clock within your vision read twenty minutes before midnight when the sound of his footsteps filled the quiet of the surroundings. You were pulled out of your book when you heard Qimir stumbling in. The sounds stopped when he recklessly landed on the couch before his feet could give in from exhaustion.

Qimir could hear your feet make their way over to him as he let the couch consume him like quicksand. Once he let out a heavy exhale and opened his eyes, there you were across from him on the couch. You stared at him like a rabbit as you went over his state.

“You smell of alcohol,” you spoke as if it were a trivia question.

When he looked over to you, his eyes were half-lidded. “At least your other senses work,” he says with a faint but teasing smile. He wasn't entirely done with working on you but he was too selfish to wait until he could find all the parts that he wanted once your appearance was a carbon copy of what you looked like just before you died.

He let his eyes shut briefly to let his spine melt. You moved closer and let your eyes inspect his body and the way he chose to relax. Parts of your vision picked up on his state as you processed every important and unimportant detail of him.

“You’re hurt,” you said as you looked at the split skin on his knuckles. They were red from irritation and were darker in some crevices.

Qimir let out one last sigh before he brought his other hand to hold your face. The one that wasn’t marred with dried evidence that he hastily tried to wipe off as he was walking in. He always saved one throughout the confrontation so when he reached for you, he wouldn't stain you with his consequences.

You leaned closer until you were only a whisper away from his face. Qimir could feel his heart rapping in his ears as he heard you say plainly, “May I help?”

The way your chest rose and fell was so convincing as you looked at him for permission to proceed. He should have said no. You needed fixing first but there he was fighting his greed and self-loathing like a bruised villain. You didn’t even register a "yes" before he was taking your soft hands and navigating inside his pants.

With the day he had, he didn’t want foreplay and he knew teasing would only make him break the wood of the sofa in frustration. So, Qimir placed your hands on his warm member all the while you kept your focus on his eyes which almost made him come into your hands right then and there.

“What should I do?” you asked. You were still adapting and hadn’t learned how to completely improvise yet.

“Stroke me,” he couldn’t hold back the way he nearly sounded like he was begging.

You wrapped your cold hand around him. Qimir felt something travel up his throat and get stuck there. You took your time with moving back and forth like he hadn't just begged you to start, “like this?” you asked.

He pulled you closer to his chest by the back of your neck and you immediately placed your free hand on his chest to hold yourself steady. You processed the gesture as a confirmation as you kept your focus. Your shining eyes stayed steady on him as Qimir felt every vein in his shaft go cold from your frigid strokes. His lips let out a breathy groan as his brown eyes danced to find somewhere to look to last longer.

“F-faster,” his voice shook as sweat traveled from his forehead to his bobbling Adam’s apple. He was already hot from the alcohol.

Your hand was steadily increasing in speed to the point where you had to pull his warm cock out to meet the cold air of the room for a better grip. His tip was just as rosey as the tips of his ears. A few drops of come had leaked out before that you used it to further lubricate your increasing speed. He let out another moan at that point that was louder than the last.

Certainly, Qimir’s heart rate made it obvious to you that he was soon to climax but what made it all the more evident was how to lept to kiss you. His biceps caged you under him on the couch. He never stopped rolling into your wet hand as he consumed your lips.

So his moans kept spilling out of his mouth to yours. However, you hadn’t returned the offering which was the whole reason for his reluctance in the first place. He fought all of heaven and earth to pull himself from your kisses. In the same shaky breath, he gripped your wrist tightly to stop your stroking.

“Is something wrong?” your eyes danced from his eyes to his lips and back.

He let his hand stroke your hair as he spoke, “Are you enjoying this,” he said.

You looked at him puzzled, “I am,” you said plainly. It almost made Qimir laugh with how factual you had made it sound. He had no doubts but this was another one of those learning curves.

“It’s hard to tell when you never make a sound,” he said. The way the gears were already shifting and within a few seconds he was sure you had pocketed that feedback into a part of your processing.

“Like this?” you said before crashing your lips into him and releasing a sigh into his mouth to return him the favor.

Qimir had practically melted into your flowery mouth as he rushed to place his hand over yours that was wrapped around his swollen shaft. He quickened your pace and let you continue to bruise his lips as he nodded fervently to encourage the way you were latching to each other.

It was only a matter of time before he released a rumbling “fuck” from his chest. He collapsed as a white string of his release squirted over his pants.

When Qimir woke up a few hours into the night, he discovered himself to be passed out on the couch and you ended up in another room, charging. The mild headache that he felt meant nothing to him as he walked through his home. You were peacefully rested on a long platform completely still as the only indicator of your functioning being was a glowing ring that could power you off or reset you entirely. He followed the ring like it was a lighthouse as the sound of rain hit against window like pebbles.

Qimir pulled a large, duvet from his bed on his way and draped it over you once he was close enough. He straightened out the parts of it that missed covering you before he slid next to you onto the cold platform. It wasn’t at all comfortable. Oftentimes, he would wake up with a bad back but it didn't matter. This was a habit he formed when he first got you and paranoia never let him sleep for long when you weren’t within reach.

When you woke up a few hours after Qimir, you walked around the apartment before you descended the stairs into where the rest of the safe parts of the city knew him as an apothecary. You passed the trinkets that decorated the space that were older than your body was. Qimir caught you eyeing them one day and told you that he had given them to you every time he returned from an overnight mission so it gave you a sense of responsibility to dust them whenever you could. This applied to the rest of the place which was only able to stay clean because you had nothing better to do than to wake up, contemplate humanity, and head back to your charging station.

Most of your consciousness was taken from your body and placed inside of an android and you were left to relearn how to practice humanity. You didn’t understand how Qimir felt about it until one day he had come to see you staring at a drawing that was the spitting image of you. At the time, your eyes adjusted and readjusted to take in every detail as you took in new information while he was frozen at the door. It went like this for a few moments before he took the journal you had found and snapped it shut.

“You’re home,” you told him.

“Yeah,” he was putting the journal away.

“Was that me?” is what your database remembers saying.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told you before he kissed you on your forehead and ushered you downstairs.

Now, you were descending the stairs to meet him in his medicinal store that wasn’t open yet. He was sleeping when you saw him. You didn’t know much about anything to do with emotions but you did know that the perpetual crease in his brow and frown on his lips only went away when he was sleeping. It didn’t go away when he was drinking but he still did it. So, you spent a few seconds alone mixing plants and solutions before you woke him up.

“Today’s weather is sunny with slight chances of rain in the evening,” you recited as he stirred out of his sleep with your shakes to his shoulder.

“Most people just say that the weather is nice outside,” he groaned out of his sleep as he stretched. You pushed the small tube of blue solution toward him. “What’s this?” he said.

“You’re showing signs of dehydration. Follow this up with water,” you told him.

Qimir took the tube out of your hand for his hangover but took you as well as an offering. Without a warning, you were on his lap so suddenly. He didn't even need to touch you for you to end up there which was still a power of his you were adjusting to.

“Thank you,” he told you after finishing it in one swing. You could feel the way his heart was racing as he suddenly buried his face in the crook of your neck. To him, it was so impressive how your skin mimicked flesh so eerily. As he bit against your neck and let himself massage your collar with his mouth, he knew it would never bruise but it didn’t matter. This was the only thing keeping him from walking into the Jedi temple and causing a massacre or diving over the edge. He had created an indiscernible replacement that was doing a damn good job of keeping him from processing his grief.

When he was done, he moved to place you on top of the shop counter. It was closed that day so he was reaching for his shawl to head to the market.

“Are you going somewhere?” you asked him.

“Yeah, I need to get you a better battery.”

“Can I come too?”

Your request stopped him dead in his tracks as he went over every possibility. He was ready to shoot you down, tell you that it wasn’t safe outside, but your words were progress. This was the first time you had asked for anything. Also, it wouldn’t hurt to have you have more stimuli to process. So he took off the shawl he had on and draped it over you just before taking your hand to lead you outside and into the city.

It was all so electrifying the way your senses were being overwhelmed by the environment. The foreign sounds of crowds coming and going from all directions were all you were inputting at first. Qimir was grasping your hand securely as you threaded to and fro with his destination in mind. You couldn’t help the way your eyes wandered all over in contrast to his focused gaze. Everything smelled like the rain that came suddenly in the middle of the night and every voice sounded like raindrops in a large storm.

Eventually, you made it to the market and the pace that you were keeping up with was decreased. Perhaps it was the more slowed-down atmosphere or the way your bright eyes were eager to take in everything but Qimir finally let go of your hand.

“Stay close,” he said as he walked around.

Qimir spent most of his time at the market looking over sellers until he came up disappointed in their selection and moved on to the next one. The both of you would walk up to a booth, and Qimir would ask a few questions about the variety, the seller may have even got as far as showing him a few battery options, but he'd eventually be on his way. This repeated until he had broken the comfortable silence between the both of you.

“See anything you like?” he said.

But, you didn’t respond. The first few seconds weren’t a concern since he was hoping to give you time but when Qimir turned around to find you, you weren’t there.

The way the ground was rushed from under him was instant.

His head whipped around as he watched people walk so casually passed him like he wasn’t distressed over your absence. He cut and pushed through strangers as he looked for signs of the brown shawl that he had given you. It felt like it was happening all over again which was making his hands clam up as he tried to materialize you out of thin air.

He was seconds away from throwing all he had worked for just to throw up all the tables at the market with the wave of his hand until the part of his brain looking for something to gnaw on found your voice amongst a sea. He went running without question and had his hands gripping onto your shoulder tight by the next breath.

“[Name]!”

“Qimir,” you looked up at him without any concern even though his eyes had looked as though he'd seen hell.

“I told you,” he was still catching his breath but it was clear to you that he was upset with the edge and volume in his voice “to stay close! And you just–”

“I’m sorry,” you told him. Qimir didn’t even get a chance to reprimand you before you took his hand and said “I made a friend.”

He followed your eyes to a seller whom he wouldn’t have known to be an advanced android if he hadn’t spent weeks helping to craft you. The android waved.

“Isn't he fascinating? He's the latest to launch with his retinal disparities solved—” you were expelling information to Qimir but the entire time he was looking at the seller. Even under the fabric, Qimir could see the android carried an enviable build because it didn’t require any of the disciplines that Qimir had. The stranger even sported a polite smile that reached his eyes like all were programmed to do. The Sith spent his time looking over the being to find a hole in the persona but when he found nothing he checked back into the conversation you resumed with your fellow machine.

“You got any type 13 batteries?” he interrupts with a tight-lipped smile.

“Type 13C,” the android repeats as he sifts through a catalog behind the table. “You guys are in luck. I have one more left." Qimir didn't miss the way the android looked over at you when he said that.

The walk back home should have been pleasant but Qimir spent most of it peeved even once he made it inside away from the brewing storm.

“You’re upset,” you looked at him in the empty apartment as he put a bag down. Qimir didn’t say anything about your statement so you thought to solve it the only way you knew how. You went to him as you calculated every way your decision could end.

You were kissing him in record time. Qimir felt your cold lips mold into him as he tried to keep focus on the root of his frustration. However, you were a fast learner because, by the time you placed him under your shirt, he was entirely distracted. You were getting so good at acting like you used to when you were human.

“Qimir,” you moaned as you felt him squeeze your breast. His breathing was picking up as you broke the kiss for a moment but things were going right back to how they were before when he went back to kissing you. He went right back to kneading your breasts and making a mockery of your sensitive nipples.

It would have gone farther but Qimir told himself that he’d swap your parts since he couldn’t spend another day holding back.

“Let me fix you,” he placed his forehead onto yours as spoken and traded his hands under your shirt for around your waist. “Okay?” he said.

You accepted the way his hands wrapped around your neck. It felt warm and comforting as he pressed your power button. The heaviness of your parts became clear when you went limp and into unconsciousness but you never met the ground since Qimir’s hand never left your neck until he secured your position to pick you up and walk you to your charging platform.

The way he admired you as he carefully peeled off your clothes. For every clothing item he took off, he felt his mind get quieter until your naked body made it all go silent.

Just as the rain started once more, Qimir started the rest of his day by reaching for his tool kit. He would open you up and give you every knee sensor, motor, and battery he had gotten for you to be the best. The closest to human he could get you.

Your vision was beyond better than it used to be when you woke up. 24 hours had gone by and you were now heading off of your platform. It was an odd feeling to be able to now feel the temperature. Had your home always been cold? Even the robe around you did little to keep the air from bitting at your appendages.

Your bare feet walked around the apartment searching for Qimir until you found him in the same room he had disassembled you. There on the stretcher was the body of the android who gave you your new battery and Qimir was still fishing to store spare parts for later.

“I’m upset.” That was all you said as you interrupted his fixated tinkering.

“What?” He looked up at you over his glasses. “Do you miss him?” This was the first time you were picking up that he was mocking you.

“What are you talking about?” you said in annoyance. The spectrum of your emotions was much deeper now.

Qimir placed his utensils down, took off his glasses, and walked over to you.

“You said you liked him, right? So what did you expect me to do?” he spoke in that whisper that he only used when he was trying to reason with you.

“So you broke him down to pieces,” you said.

By now, Qimir had your face in his hands.

“I didn’t ask this of you,” you told him as you held onto both of his arms.

“Oh, come on. You were practically begging for it, the way you were looking at him. I gave you what you wanted. Right? Those eyes that you liked so much.”

“I didn’t want that,” you said. You should have been pulling away from him and told him how much of a monster he was as you looked past him and saw pieces of hardware and flesh haphazardly mixed together. He had practically eaten the android down to the bone trying to salvage every scrap he could find until he was reduced to nothing. Yet, you were just as much up a hypocrite to want the same man who gave you your first feeling of disgust to comfort you at the same time.

“How do you know what you want, [Name]?” he let go of your face but kept walking forward even as you were stepping back.

“I do!” your declaration cut through the cold room as he had you cornered.

“So what?” he caged you with both of his hands as he maintained a hard look into your eyes. “you want your boyfriend back?” he teased you with a raised chin.

“He is not my boyfriend… You’re my idiot boyfriend.” you fired back as you pushed against his chest. You used the opportunity to get out of the prison he put you in.

You had got a new sense of humor. It would have fascinated Qimir if he wasn’t secretly eager to keep pushing you. With the wave of his hand, he watches you get pulled back to him at such a speed that your chest hits against his with a thud.

“Qimir.” You wanted to ask him what he was thinking because it was killing you.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s distracting” he told you.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to fuck you,” he laughed lightly but it still reached his shoulders.

Your patience was being tested since no amount of calculating or sifting through your data could get you to figure out how to prove him wrong.

“Oh,” he said. “... you do.” You didn’t miss the way that the corner of his lips was holding back a smile that was on the edge of sanity. His brown eyes didn’t look the same anymore.

“Come on,” you heard him say as you were scared he was right. He drew closer as he hovered over your lips but he tortured you since he never let your mouths meet.

“Ask me for it,” he said. Qimir could swear that he was doing his best to hold back because whenever you had a look on your face that you were processing, he felt this feeling in his chest to consume you.

“Qimir,” you held onto yourself but by the time you felt the room becoming to how you just managed to say “please.”

You pushed your lips onto him as he brought you against the wall to attack you with all you could handle. Qimir let his lips start at your mouth before he made his way down. He sucked at your jaw just to travel to your neck. You let out a few scattered moans every time he pushed forward until he was untying your robe.

He didn’t let you think for a moment when his hand found its way past your robe and in between your folds. You blinked once, then twice as your lips were spilling moans all over.

“How does it feel,” he said but you didn’t register it the first time. “Huh?” he was practically pressing you for a response as his thumb rubbed the bud in between as his middle finger was slowly being consumed by the contraction of your hole taking him in.

“W-warm,” you confessed as your hand instinctively latched onto his arm.

“Aren’t you glad I got you a new sensor?” he tilted his hand to tease you while looking through his lashes. Your eyes were squeezed shut as you felt the temperature of your body increase. Qimir was having too much fun. “Hm?”

He took his other hand to rub furiously against your warm, wet lips so he can focus on just pushing in and out of you at an impossible speed with the middle finger that he was using. The sound of him going in, out, back, and forth was loud enough for you to hear as the liquids that were seeping out of you were just being pushed back in his thick fingers.

You were so overwhelmed that your mouth opened but not a sound came out of you. You could hear your name being called but all you could focus on was how little control you had over your thighs as they were squeezing so tightly. Qimir saw the way you tried to snap shut but he pried you back open with his legs until your knees were buckling under the sensation.

“Come on keep standing.” he drove into you further with his fingers almost to bring you back up “You can do it,” he said.

“I ca–I can’t,” you cried. Your tears that had welled up were finally spilling over and it only made Qimir’s pants tighter as he watched.

“Yes, you can,” he said. He could tell you were close with the way your breathing was so irregular. That only made it worse for you as he took the opportunity to put another finger into you without warning. That clearly did it for you when he felt your pussy practically latch down on him like they were trying to push him out.

The way you cried at your climax did something to Qimir’s thoughts.

“There you go.” he mumbled. The juices that came out of you and spilled all over his fingers made him tell you “Good girl,” with such breathiness.

“Don’t get tired on me yet. We still got more things to test out.” Qimir picked you up so effortlessly. It felt like you blinked and when you opened your eyes, he was lying down with his back on the couch and you seated and secured near his hips. His member was just as flush as it was a few days before.

You were smart enough to understand what you wanted to do but you had no experience to know what it was about to feel like. Qimir was waiting with bated breath to see what you’d choose. A balloon was in your chest as you looked at his cock. When you wrapped your hands around it, Qimir felt a shutter travel up his spine. You rose carefully and adjusted yourself directly above his tip. As you sank, you could hear the wet noises that were coming from below as your quivering lips were sucking Qimir in with so little resistance.

Qimir threw his head back as he gasped. He missed the way you were practically chasing a high when the first feeling of him stretching you made you too horny and too eager.

He spoke through his moans. “Slow down you’re gonna–”

A lowly groan passed your lips and your eyes were squeezing as you tried to catch yourself. “It hurts,”

Qimir shouldn’t have laughed but he couldn’t help how clueless you were reduced to. You had the entire galaxy’s information running through your brain but your excitement made you throw intelligence out the window to chase the feeling that the thickness of his cock was giving. “You’re trying to take it so quickly. Slow down.”

You took his advice until you completely buried his shaft into you until it was gone with the only evidence being the bulge in your abdomen. You stayed like this just enough to get used to it.

“Qi–” you called for him but he already flipped over and knocked the wind out of you in the process.

The first time he pulled out felt disappointed until he snapped right back into you. His hips went back and pushed forward and your body bounced against it. First, it was slow. You gripped onto his shoulders as you were sure you’d probably lose your center of gravity if you didn’t.

“How does it feel?” he grunted.

“F-faster, please,” you gasped. “Please.”

Qimir picked up his speed instantly. The warm feeling of his member and the veins that adorned it hitting against your insides was accompanied by a symphony of skin hitting skin. Your hands gripped and tightened while your nails made crescent marks on his back. By some point, Qimirs hands latched around your neck for some false sense of support as he tried to hit every angle of your pussy.

He drilled into you so relentlessly that you forgot how to breathe and just started hiccuping. It’s not even like you needed the air but Qimir knew you better than you did.

“Breath,” he was now chest to chest and speaking into your ear. “You’re gonna overheat if you don’t breathe.”

So you listened and threw your head back as you took all the bullying his thrusting was doing to you. For a brief moment, your eye caught the droid in the other room.

“I broke him down just for you and now look at you,” Qimir chuckled into your neck as he kissed your neck.

He didn’t even let you spend enough time looking to feel bad because he took your face in his hands to have you look right into his eyes as the sweat from his body was mixing with the come oozing out of you.

“Don’t look at him. Look at me,” was the last thing he got to say before you felt your entire system malfunctioning. That’s the only way you could describe it as the cord in your stomach wound tighter and tighter until you finally snapped and your eyes briefly glowed white.

“There you go,” he said as you shook and squirted on him.

You melted into the couch as Qimir chanced his high and took one of your breasts into his mouth. He kept going until he was releasing strings of come into you and letting out the filthy moans muffled by your breast.

Your eyelids were heavy from exhaustion as your systems tried to calibrate and compensate for the sudden dropping temperatures. You could only feel Qimir caress your face as he spoke.

“I think your database is overwhelmed. We’ll try more tomorrow.”

You could hear the smile on his lips as you tightened your hold around his waist for comfort.

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jpitha · 5 months ago

Text

Painfully Bright

The humans tend to go… a little overboard when designing things, this is known, and the rest of the Coalition understands. Years of interaction and experience has taught most of the Coalition that sometimes… you just let them get it out of their system.

This time, I wasn’t so sure though.

I swear to the voice of my ancestors I don’t know why they insist that we… witness their next wild development. It’s like they have a burning desire to show the Coalition what they built. It’s like their latest toy doesn’t exist until they show it off.

This time, we were all ferried into one of their smaller - though still gigantic by our standards - frigates and brought to - literally - the middle of interstellar space. By the fur of my children, I am not lying! When we Flipped, we came back into what I could only describe is an… arena, hundreds of kilometers across. They had built massive gantries and hung lights off of them, the shadows cast by the lights were talon sharp. I have no idea how they were able to build lights that bright. Honestly, I think that my administration would be more interested in those lights instead of… whatever is on the platform in the center. I’ll ask after the demonstration.

With unaided visio, the platform was a simple black speck. Helpfully, the screens in the observation room were connected to telescopes, and a high resolution image was projected next to the real-time view. Additionally, our pads were tied into the camera feed so that we could all change what scopes we were watching, if we wanted to see a detail that the main camera wasn’t showing. It was all very professional and set up to make sure we could all see and observe.

More Coalition members filed in after me, having spent more time at the refreshment tables than I. The humans did their best, and some members found their cuisine quite intriguing, but I for one could not stand it. Too loud, too flavorful, too… much like them. I had a water bulb, and got a good seat while everyone else stuffed their inputs. As they came in and found seats, I had noticed that some humans, and even a few other Coalition members walked quietly in behind the guests and took up positions around the room. They were all wearing a sharply tailored uniform, black, with a white undershirt peeking out behind an open lapel. The humans had a name for this outfit, I remember them saying it. Ugh, I can’t remember.

A few more minutes were spent waiting, and then a human walked to the front of the room and addressed the gathering; “Friends, Sapients, thank you for attending our demonstration. We here at StrossCo are incredibly excited to demonstrate our new power reactor. We are convinced that this wholly new design which is smaller, more powerful, and yet has the same operating costs will enable everyone in the Coalition to more easily power their ships, stations, and anything else that requires power. I wish to apologize that the demonstration reactor is so far away, but unfortunately HIDA regulations-” I noticed his eyes flick over to one of the people stationed around the room, and then nearly as quickly back to the audience, “-require it. Rest assured, it is perfectly safe, and will pose no danger to anyone when in regular operation. Now, if you please-” He gestured dramatically, and with a clunk and a noise like something spinning down, the lights went out. The screens went dead, and even the ever-present thrum of the environmental systems ceased. I felt light in my seat, and noticed my water bulb drifting slowly. All the power was off.

There were mumbles and murmurs of conversation as realization set in, and then, almost as quickly as the power went off, it returned. First gravity, then environmental, then lights and finally cameras and screens. Everything was back on, and the human in front was grinning wickedly. “Now, everything here - this frigate, the lights in the arena, all beacons, sensors, sentries and ships - everything - is being powered by our new reactor.”

What was previously a murmur of conversation rose in intensity when realization set in. If they were not lying - and they had no reason to lie - their singular reactor was powering more than nearly a dozen Coalition reactors. The power output was positively titanic. I could see notes being quickly written, and some others were muttering things into comms and dicts. Everyone was interested in this. I looked at the large screen, and noticed that the magnified view was gone. We could only see the small speck of the platform. I attempted to call up the magnified view on my pad, and could not access it. I stood and ruffled my feathers. “Pardon me. I notice that the magnified view of the reactor has been turned off. May we please get a close up view of the reactor in action?”

The StrossCo rep looked at me, and then I saw his eyes flick back to one of the suited humans. I didn’t see their reaction, but I could tell the rep was disappointed. “Er, no, I’m sorry. It seems to be… technical difficulties. Our tech teams are working now to get everything back up as quickly as possible.”

That couldn’t be right. Something felt off. I made my way past other members taking notes and making calls, and walked up to the screen. I got as close as I could and tried to get a better view. “Is there a physical viewport here? As you are aware, Innari have excellent vision. I would like to look at the reactor with my own eyes.”

“Uh, I’m afraid that is quite impossible right now; as you are aware -er, Sapient, human frigates have very few physical windows as they are a deliberate hole in the hull and are a structural weakness and-”

His rambling defence of not letting us see the reactor was cut off by the lights beginning to grow painfully bright. At the edge of my vision, I could see strobing. The environmental fans increased from a gentle movement of the air to a stiff breeze. Fortunately, the gravity remained the same. I looked up at the rep and all the color had drained from his face. “Pardon me” he said, absently and then ran out of the room. Not willing to give up learning what was going on, I followed.

He ran past the reception hall, towards a control room deeper in the ship. As we entered, it was a frantic commotion of movement and noise. One of the suited humans at the door noticed me, and raised an eyebrow, questioning, but said nothing.

“It’s overspeeding again! I told you it wasn’t ready to demo.” A human sitting at a station said to the rep as he walked in.

“Shut it down. Nobody has seen the reactor yet, we can switch back to shipboard power and Flipwarp everyone out of here before they see.” The rep had placed his hand on the back of the human’s chair and was peering over his shoulder at the screen. I couldn’t read the text, but I knew the humans used red to delineate problems, and the screens had a lot of red.

“What about the bird?” Another human looked over their shoulder at me and inclined their head. “They’re going to see the whole thing.”

“Don’t call them birds, you took the HR class same as me” the rep said, as he ran over to another station and pressed a few buttons. “He’s an Innari and one of the Coalition observers and we can have him sign an NDA. He wanted to see what the reactor looked like anyway.” He stood and looked at me. “You’re going to sign an NDA when this is all over.” It was not a question. I nodded - a human gesture.

“Can I see the reactor now?”

One of the black suited humans stepped into the room, the one that was by the door when the demonstration was going on I think. She exuded this… authority. She wasn’t dressed any differently than the other suited humans, but at her entrance, everyone calmed down, became more subdued. “Show him. He’s already agreed to sign the NDA.”

“But, the frame-dragging-effect will be-” the Rep’s protestations were weak.

“Show. Him.”

Without another word, he pressed a few more buttons on the panels, and a large screen in front of everyone lit up. It was the same view of the platform as before, but this one was magnified and much clearer than the ones we had in the demonstration hall.

Something was wrong with the reactor. I looked wrong. When I looked past it the gantry in view, the lights, the interstellar stars behind it��were… spiraling. Everything directly behind the reactor from our vantage point was gently spiraling. Without a word, I looked at the woman who had ordered me to see it.

“It’s frame-dragging.” She said, with a sigh. “Again.” She looked down at me, and noticed my confusion. She must have some training with Innari body language. “Some of the components in the reactor are spinning relativistically, which is causing the local space-time fabric to… spin.”

“Is it spinning, or are we?” I said, confused.

“Yes.” She said and sighed again. “They can't stop it if it’s already frame dragging, it’s going too fast. The pseudomass is too high. We either have to disconnect it and hope it spins down or…” she trailed off.

“Or what?”

“Or everyone finds out why we ordered this demonstration to be done two parsecs from any inhabited world.”

Well, that explained that at least. I looked back at the woman who seemed to be in charge. “So, why don’t we just Flipwarp away?”

“Yes, Allan, why don’t we just Flipwarp away?” She said pointedly, while looking at the Rep.

“The investment at this point is in the kilotrillion Stars, we can’t just abandon-” he started, but then there was a flash of binding light from the reactor and I had thought it had detonated, but it… just… stayed.

“Oh, goody.” The human in charge said, flatly. “It’s started to accrete matter. Didn’t this happen the last time you ran a test Allan, and didn’t HIDA say that it was not to happen again?”

“Administrator McKay please, if we could only-” the human apparently named Allan said before he was cut off.

“No. This demonstration has finished. I am declaring an emergency, HIDA is now in charge.” Administrator McKay clicked a com on her wrist. “Captain, you will Flash us away right now. Best speed please.” There was a crackle of static and a small voice said something I couldn’t hear. “What do you mean, you can’t switch back to internal reactors?” More static and crackled voices. “No, that doesn’t make sense, the connections to-” before she could finish, there was a lurch, and I could feel the gravity begin to swing wildly, trying to compensate for the motion, but moving just an instant behind so it felt like I was being pulled in multiple directions.

“Administrator! The pseudomass has transitioned to physical mass! We are being pulled by the reactor’s gravity. Stationkeeping reports that the thrusters are being overwhelmed. If we don’t Flash soon, we won’t be able to.”

“Damn you, Allan.” She said, snarling, “If we survive this StrossCo will go back to being an indie publisher, I will personally ensure it.” She looked down at me. “Innari! You’ve been deputized. Come with me.” Without checking to see if I was following she took off down the hall.

I followed, what else could I do? Her long strides made her deceptively fast, but she never fell out of sight, and we reached a room deep within the ship. On either side of the bulkhead were two armed and armored guards. When Administrator McKay came into view, they saluted sharply.

She returned the salute quickly and said “We need to disconnect the umbilical to StrossCo’s test reactor so we can flash home on ours.”

“Right away Administrator,” and the guard on the right palmed a pad next to the door. There was a chirp and a green light, and the door slid open.

I’m an administrator, I’m not a reactor technician, a commander, or even an engineer. I talk to people, make deals. What I mean to explain is that I have no idea what a reactor hall - let alone a human reactor hall is supposed to look like.

I’m pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to look like this, however.

The room was painfully bright with sharp, stark shadows being cast by what I can only describe as a cable, stretched taut running down the middle of the hall. People wearing white suits with smoked helmets were running around the hall, trying to control something. I covered my eyes with my feathered hand, trying to not be dazzled, when Administrator McKay handed me a pair of goggles. Curiously, they were for Innari bodyplans. I wondered why she had those. Regardless, I put them on, and found that they were able to block the worst of the light from the cable while still enabling me to see. “Come along Inn-” She stopped. “What is your name? It feels rude to just call you ‘Innari.”

I couldn’t help myself. Even during an emergency, introductions must be done right. I stood up a little straighter and said “In the common parlance, I am called Howling Wind, though that is not my given name.”

“Nice to meet you, Howling Wind, I am Administrator Tiff McKay. Now that introductions are out of the way, I need you to go over to that panel, next to the cable.” She pressed a comm button into my hand, and almost reflexively, I clipped it to some feathers near my auditory input. Before I could ask why, she had taken off at a dead run towards the other end of the hall.

“Howling Wind, are you in position?” She asked a moment later.

I had made my way to the panel she indicated. I was much closer to the cable than I preferred to be. It’s not that it was… hot, but it almost radiated something beyond heat. It radiated the impression of heat. That would be fine right? Probably. Innari aren’t as susceptible to ionizing radiation as humans are, but this wasn’t radioactive, I thought. “I am at the panel Administrator McKay.”

“Good. While looking at the panel, there are a series of three buttons along the top right corner. They’re normally red and blue but with your goggles and the light from the cable that is probably washed out. Press them one time only moving from left to right.”

I pressed the buttons, and there was a click below me

“A panel will have opened up. I’ll need you to duck into the panel and tell me when you are in position.”

I looked in, and sure enough, an opening barely large enough for someone of my size had opened. I leaned in nearly all the way. “I am.. In the panel.”

“To your right is a lever. It has a trigger near the base. You must pull the trigger first and then push the lever. Do it now.”

“What will it-”

“Just do it Howl, there isn’t time.”

Mentally shrugging, and whispering a prayer to my Ancestors - may they watch over me and not laugh too much - I pulled the trigger, there was a detent and then I felt something like a spring release, and pushed the lever.

It was very hard to push. I had to put my whole body into it, and at first it felt like I wasn’t doing anything. I braced my back against the top of the panel, and pushed as hard as I could. When I thought I couldn’t push anymore, there was a clunk and a whipping, metallic noise and I was plunged into darkness. I could hear shouting and boots thundering around me, then there was the prismatic flash of light that filled the reactor room for an instant that indicated that we had Flashed.

I slowly slid myself out from under the panel, only to find Administrator McKay looming over me. She held out a hand, and I gladly took her help to get back on my talons. Sliding the goggles down from my face, I looked at her. “Just what… did we do?”

“We - er, you initiated a manual disconnect of the umbilical from the overspeeding reactor so that the frigate’s reactors could Flash us to safety. You saved everyone Howl.”

As she spoke, some of the reactor technicians took off their smoked goggles and took a look. I could feel their eyes staring at me.

I could only think of stupid things to say, so I just said it. “Why me?”

McKay laughed. “Just lucky I guess. There was a serious amount of ionizing radiation coming from the connector and I knew that Innari were much more resistant to radiation than humans, so I was able to get you to disconnect it. We’ll take you to med, but I think you’ll be fine. How are your hands?”

My hands? I looked down and… yes, some of the tiny feathers on my digits had turned gray, and were falling off, dead. It didn’t hurt though. Shouldn’t it hurt?

“Ah yes, some minor damage to your hands.” She said. “We’ll fix it up, don’t worry.”

“Why doesn’t it hurt?” I asked, dumfounded.

“It doesn’t hurt?” She seemed surprised. “I didn’t think Innari went into shock, so maybe the nerve endings were destroyed.” She patted my shoulder. “Regardless, you saved us all today Howl, thank you.” There were smiles and noises of thanks and congratulations coming from the reactor team, it was… odd.

“Everything happened so suddenly. I didn’t have time to question my reactions.” I said to her, as we walked down the hall towards med.

“Yes, that’s how emergencies go Howl. You did well. In fact-” She reached into her pocket and took out a small white card and placed it into the pocket of my sash. “When your hands are all healed, call me. We can always use people who can think on their feet.

#writing #humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #sci fi writing #jpitha #humans are space oddities #humans and aliens

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ya-zz · 1 month ago

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Extra Credit

Teacher!Ramattra x Reader NSFW

Word count: 5448 Notes: No mention of pronouns, but mentions of female genitalia I had no idea what to title this so I put it as the most obvious title ever for a teacher fic... Whew, it is done. A full fic before his bday is over! Enjoy!

Ramattra heard the knock at the door but didn’t pull away from his work. The seemingly endless swarm of submitted assignments continued to scroll on the screen as he worked his way down to mark the next one on the list.

“Come in.”

He opens the next assignment in line as the door to his office followed suit. You appear, laptop hugged against your chest as you step into the cosy room. It was small, cluttered with files and stray papers. The sofa was pushed back against the wall, his coat thrown upon it without a care and the two cushions haphazardly placed. The bookcase situated at either side of the sofa were filled to the brim with books and folders, the shelves bending due to the weight of the papers. The wall opposite held cabinets (also littered with files and books), a whiteboard above that had his weekly class schedule written in black and red ink.

His desk was slightly more coherent, though, it still held mess. On one side of the desk stood a stack of assignments, graded, ready to be given back to his students. Next to that, a slightly smaller stack, ones that were awaiting their grade, or lack thereof. The omnics fingers tap at the keyboard with precision, no backspace necessary. Beside his computer was a small photo frame, the image hidden from your sight. A cup of assorted pens sit next to that and also a small potted plant. Sticky notes litter the desk and monitor, notes in a language you didn’t understand.

The window behind him was covered with slatted blinds, closed, only two small beams of the evening sunset filtered through the gaps at the side. The light above you hums quietly, the room illuminated in a soft glow. Needs a new bulb, you think to yourself. The chair opposite his desk sat empty, hardly used despite his many years of teaching.

Looks like he rarely got visitors. That didn’t surprise you, however. Nobody likes him. Sure, he is practically perfect at his job, but, he was harsh. There was no room for error with him, his turnaround was high – perhaps that was due to him dropping students who couldn’t handle the work. Either way, his office was a mess, a startling contrast to the usual meticulous teacher that enters the classroom each day.

“Come, take a seat.” He finally speaks, bringing you out of your wandering gaze. The omnics tone was light as he continues to type. His optics were glued onto the screen in front of him, but his sensors pick up on your cautious movements.

Approaching the chair, you take a seat, dropping your bag on the floor with a gentle thump. The chair was surprisingly comfortable. Your coat slips off of your shoulders, draping over the back of the chair. You stay silent, not wanting to disturb the quietness.

After a few tense minutes, the omnic signs off the assignment, closing the browser and then turning to you. His hands clasp together, resting against the wooden desk. He watches as you set the laptop down on your lap, the anxiousness rising within you.

Suddenly being summoned to his office usually meant one thing. You were in trouble. At least, that’s what you thought. You’ve heard the stories that those who leave his office often come back out with tears and a recommendation to another course.

And, here you sat. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you speak meekly.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” Ramattra replies instantly, leaning forward slightly to move the stacks of papers over to the one empty cabinet behind him.

“Am… Am I in trouble?”

The omnic hesitates, his left hand hovering over the right one before they’re clasped back together. “What makes you think that?”

You shrug, the nervousness still bubbling inside of you and slowly breaking free as your leg starts jittering. “I’ve heard the stories.”

Ramattra chuckles. “Ah. Of course.” He shakes his head as he stands, walking around the desk to one of the filing cabinets behind you. There was nothing else spoken, keeping you on an edge you did not like.

As he moves, you can’t help but watch him. Clad in a deep red turtle-neck sweater and black slacks, it striked professionalism mixed with comfort. Black dress shoes adorn his feet, finishing the look. At least he looks tidy unlike his office. The cables that make his hair clack together with each step, half up in a bun as the loose cables rest against his upper back. You were always curious why there was one red wire among the sea of black, but that was a question that may never get an answer.

Your fingers tap at the edge of your laptop as Ramattra walks back around to his desk, taking a seat in the chair and placing a small stack of papers down in front of him. The formatting looks familiar to you and thats when it clicks. They’re your previous assignments.

“Do you know how many credits you need to achieve to get onto the final year of my course?” He asks, flipping through your assignments, mentally calculating your current credits.

Too many, you think to yourself. “Your syllabus is different to other courses.”

“Yes, I am aware of that.” The omnics tone grows cold. “You need one-fifty.”

There was a tense silence that follows, his fingers lacing together on top of the papers. “You have seventy-five. The final two assignments, thirty credits each, will cause you to fall short of that criteria, I am afraid.”

It hits you like a punch in the gut. You were fifteen short of getting onto the final year. It was the one module you failed to submit at the start of the academic year, the one that would’ve pushed you over the threshold. There was a tightness that gripped your chest and your teacher caught onto the sudden change.

“Rest assured.” He starts. “Your work has been some of the most intriguing pieces of writing I have read within your class. I do not make this decision lightly, you have remarkable insight, and I would like you to stay on this course. You have potential.”

“What about the missing credits?”

His optics are glued onto you, watching for your reaction at his following words. “I will give you two options. Either you complete that missing assignment,” he sees the way your body shifts, the thought of the double workload already weighing on your shoulders, “or, you can make up the credits right now in this office.”

He catches the way your breath hitches in your throat, your eyes snapping to the dark slits of his faceplate. The heat rises in your cheeks, his sensors picking up on that, too. Ramattra had to hold back a chuckle.

“If you choose to do the assignment, then we can forget that this conversation ever happened.” His head cocks to the side. “But, I have seen the way you look at me in class. You think you are subtle, but it is clear.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You try to speak firmly, but there is a slight quiver in your voice.

If the omnic could raise an eyebrow, he would be doing just that. “Is that so?” He finally lets out that chuckle. “You are a bad liar. Tell me, [y/n], did you think I would not notice the way your legs cross whenever I walked past you?” He cocks his head to the side, the smirk evident in his tone. “Or the way your cheeks flushed when I get close to help you with your work? The rise in heartbeat?”

Your grip tightens on your laptop. He’s caught you and there was no escape. He wasn’t wrong, though. Every time your teacher walked past you, or even when he was walking the front of the classroom, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. Something about the way he held himself together made your body tingle, but now, knowing that he had noticed your gaze and the growing heat that consumed your body each day in the classroom, it made you nervous.

You were a mouse caught in a trap.

Ramattra stands from his chair and walks around you with calculated steps. He knows that you have made your mind up, you were just too afraid to admit it. His fingers trail your shoulder, ghosting over the exposed skin on your neck. The whirring of his inner workings grows louder in your ear as he leans down, his head pressing against your own. His tone was low, hushed, a soft vibration against your neck.

“Last chance, pet. If you stay, there is no backing out.”

When you don’t move, Ramattra trails his hand down your arm, taking your laptop and putting it to one side. “Stand up for me.” There was a slight commanding nature to his voice, vocaliser humming deep.

As you stood, he walks back around his desk, taking a seat in the leather chair and gesturing for you to stand the same side. He watches the way you approach, optics never leaving your body, your cheeks flushed hot at the thought of what’s about to happen.

Ramattra leans forward slightly, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer, making you stand between his legs. Your hands instinctively grab onto his shoulders and a small gasp escapes you.

He doesn’t wait a moment longer as one hand begins to trail under your shirt and up your back, the exposed skin getting hit with the cold air of the room. His touch was light, fingers dragging up the dip in your back before slowly moving around to your side. Your skin was soft under the pads of his fingers, which in turn sends a small spark through his systems.

“What plays in that pretty head of yours during class, hm?” Ramattra hums, his hands pulling your shirt off of your body, letting it pool on the floor. “Do you think of this? My hands caressing your body?”

You inhale sharply as you become more exposed to the omnic. Your skin prickles with excitement but there was that underlying fear of what’s happening. This is your teacher. You are his student. You’d only ever heard stories of this happening to other people, seen the porn of this exact scenario, but to have it actually happen…

His hands cup your breasts, thumbs pressing against the sensitive buds through the fabric of your bra. It elicits a small whimper from you, your hands gripping his shirt just that little bit tighter as you try to ground yourself, but the heat begins to burn between your thighs.

“What would your dear classmates say if they saw you being handled like this, hm?” Ramattra couldn’t help but tease you, his optics never once leaving your face as he watches your expressions – the slight furrowing of your brow, the twitch at the corner of your lips. One hand skillfully moves to your back, unclasping the bra with ease. His head tilts upwards, leaning back in his chair as he drags his hands down your arms, pulling the fabric along with him.

Your bra joins your shirt on the floor, your skin tingling from the slight cold before his hands come up and paw at your exposed breasts. Soft mewls escape you as you stare down at your teacher, your cheeks flushing hot with both excitement and embarrassment. He’s testing the waters, slowly massaging your breasts, thumbs gliding over your raised peaks before gently pinching them. The hitch in breath, the slightly parted lips, it was all he needed to continue going.

“On your knees.” Ramattra commands, his hands resting on the arms of the chair.

There was a subtle hesitation as you slowly sunk down onto your knees, your hands grabbing onto the omnics thighs for support.

“Look at you, pet.” Ramattra coos. He leans down, one hand gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him. His hold is firm, thumb and forefinger pressing hard against your bone as his other hand fumbles on the buckle of his pants. The anticipation rises within you as the omnic towering over you frees his cock from behind both pants and pelvic plate.

He moves one hand to gently stroke along his length and you can’t help but watch him. The black ridged silicone was tinted purple and there were a series of small red lights on the underside. Ramattra was thick and you had to swallow the lump in your throat.

The hand that rests on your jaw slowly lets go before tangling in your hair. He sure as hell wasn’t being subtle about what he wants as he pulls your head towards his cock. He almost chuckles when you eagerly open your mouth, pressing your lips against the head, tongue licking up the shaft. It has a distinct metallic tang to it, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

A guttural groan escapes the omnic from the small sensation, his sensitivity levels slightly higher than normal. His optics remain locked onto your face, watching the way your eyes soften as you slowly take him into your mouth, tongue pressing against the light nodes.

It takes what little restraint he has left to not force you down completely. Ramattra knows that should he be caught that this would be the end of his career but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to break you. You were the one student he had his optics on for a variety of reasons and now, here you were, on your knees before him.

Ramattra grips your hair a little tighter as his other hand rests on the arm of the chair. He slouches as you continue to push past your limits, your face pressing against the harsh metal of his body as his cock rests deep in your throat. You stay there for a few seconds, choking on his length before pulling back, using your hand to stroke the spit all over his member as you gasp for air.

The omnic goes to speak out but it cut short by your mouth enveloping him in warmness once more. His vocaliser stutters a moan, his hand tightening in your hair in response. Ramattra tilts his head back against the chair, cables clacking as they fall from his shoulders whilst his body begins to tremble from your motions. He can’t contain himself, his fans whirring louder as his cooling system works to reduce the ever rising heat that’s contained within his chassis. There was no turning back now. This was really happening.

His cock hits the back of your throat again and this time, Ramattra holds you down with both hands on the back of your head.

“Look at me.” He commands, looking back down at you. When your eyes meet his optics from behind his faceplate, he burns the image into his memory. With tears pricking your eyes, spit dribbling down your chin and your cheeks flushed hot, you’re a pretty sight to behold. As you choke on his cock, struggling to intake even the smallest bit of air, he pulls back to let you breathe for a second before shoving you back down.

A muffled whimper escapes you, your eyes rolling back as you sputter and gag.

“Hands on your lap.” Ramattra growls.

You comply, hands slowly dragging down his thighs before they finally rest on your lap as commanded. Ramattra was in control, the power held strongly over you. He moves your head back, letting you catch your breath.

“Keep quiet, pet. We do not want others to hear what is happening.” He mocks as he begins to fuck your mouth, his hands gripping your scalp tightly. Soft mewls and whimpers escape between each thrust, his cock repeatedly hitting the back of your throat. You look up at him and oh, how he felt his circuits flare with lust, systems beginning to overheat. Ramattra curses silently as he can't help but push you back down, feeling his tip touch the back of your throat once more.

Ramattra enjoys the way you accommodate his length, your cheeks hollowing as he pulls your head back, the way your eyes water and tears fall, burning against the flushed flesh. He can’t get enough of your sounds or the spit bubbling at the corners of your lips as he holds you there for a moment before pulling you back, an audible pop as he holds your head away from his aching member. The silicone shimmers with your spit, purple and black shining in the dim light of his office. Ramattra puts his thumb into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue, letting your fluids trickle into his joints. You look a mess and he wasn't finished just yet. He's just toying with you. Just like before, he burns the image into his system, one to look back on when you leave his sight.

He had never been stimulated in such a way before, at least, not as good as this. Perhaps it was the potential chance of being caught that put him further on the edge. The door to his office was unlocked, anyone could just walk in and catch him in the act with his student, whether it was another faculty member or another student – either way, if he’s caught, it’ll be the end of his career.

The omnic continues to fuck your mouth, feeling the swirl of your tongue over each ridge and sensitive node of his cock. His own release was bubbling as his system brings up overheating errors, his hips jerking violently which only causes you to whimper. You could feel the bruise already beginning to form at the back of your throat, his movements becoming more aggressive as he slams into your mouth. Tears fall down your cheeks and Ramattra moves one hand to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the tears away.

“You are doing so well.” He coos, his voice soft. Ramattra brings his hand back, tangling it within your hair and gripping it at the scalp before he pushes you back down. He can see how badly you want to move your hands and hold onto him for support, but you don’t, not wanting to face his punishment should there be one in store. You needed these credits, you needed to pass this course, and you were willing to do anything your teacher says.

Your throat hurt and your cheeks were burning as the tears fell from your glazed eyes, drunk on the feeling of his cock. You wonder just how much longer you could hold out before you eventually pass out from the assault on your throat, but it wasn’t long until you could feel your teacher chasing his high.

Low grunts of pleasure filter through the static of his vocaliser as he forces himself deep inside of your throat for one final time. You can feel the wire on your tongue pulse before hot ropes of what you presume was artificial cum, coats the back of your throat. As he pulls you back, thumb entering your mouth again, he watches as you swallow, ingraining the image into his systems. He's careful, gentle, as he wipes away the tears from your cheeks.

Ramattra couldn't wait any longer as he threw his lanyard onto his desk and rose from his chair, pulling you up with him. The omnic grabs your hips, turning you around before forcing you over his desk with one hand at the back of your neck.

"It is not over just yet, my little pet."

Your body was bent over the wooden desktop, bare chest pressing against the cold surface as you feel his hands begin to trail down your sides. Your breath hitches, the pads of his fingers tickling you before they toy with the waistband of your pants. You were at his mercy.

Ramattra watches as you grip the edge of the desk, your anticipation rising and he can’t help the chuckle that escapes his vocaliser. His hands move with ease, slipping underneath you to undo the button of your pants, thumbs gently teasing your skin as he pulls them and your underwear down together. He allows you to step out of them before he pushes your legs apart further with his feet.

The sight alone makes his cock ache and twitch, wanting nothing more than to be buried deep inside of you. Ramattra drags his hands up your thighs before they gently squeeze the supple flesh of your ass. He notes how soft your skin feels to touch, the way you quietly whimper with each squeeze and pinch, oh, how he wished he could mark your skin with bites and hickeys to claim you as his.

His hands grab your wrists before holding them against your back in one firm grip. Your body shivers from the coldness of the room, or perhaps it was the excitement coursing through your blood. The omnic could feel your quickening pulse against his palm as he tightened his grip on your wrists while his other hand ghosts over the small of your back.

“Look at you.” Ramattra coos once more, a teasing tint to his voice. “Dripping already.” He didn’t wait for a response as his finger slides over your slit, your wetness soaking his digit within seconds. You gasp, biting down on your lower lip, silently begging for him to touch you again.

Ramattra rubs his finger up and down your folds before he sinks a finger inside of you. The welcome intrusion draws out a small whine from you and the omnic can feel himself wanting to give in. With skilled motions, he slowly begins to pump his finger in and out of your cunt, his thumb pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Soft mewls and whimpers spill from your lips, the pleasure building in the pit of your stomach as you try to stay quiet. When a second finger joins the first, a jolt of pleasure shoots up your back, your hands curling into fists despite the tight grip your teacher had on your wrists. The omnic chuckles lowly, curling his fingers and drawing out strangled moans from your lips. He can tell that your resolve is wavering, your gummy walls fluttering around his fingers as he continues to thrust his fingers against your most sensitive spot.

His thumb rubs small and tantalisingly slow circles over your clit, the spark making your legs shake as you struggle to remain composed. He notes the rise in heartbeat, his sensors picking up on the flush becoming more prominent in your cheeks and neck. Ramattra feels you clench around his fingers, a silent smirk in his mind as he know you’re close.

“Beg for me.” He whispers, leaning down slightly towards your ear. He keeps his fingers pumping in and out of you, watching the way you tremble from his touch.

“Please… I’m so close…” You whine out quietly, biting down hard on your bottom lip. The coil was only tightening with every passing second, threatening to snap but Ramattra was careful. He knew you were close and he was keeping you on the edge until you satisfied him.

“Hm…” His head cocks to the side, his fingers slowing down and drawing out a desperate mewl from your lips.

“Please, sir, Ramattra… Please…” You almost cry out. “Please, please let me cum… Please…”

Oh, how could he resist such sweet sounds. Your desperate pleas mixed with the whimpers and moans made his cock ache. He needed to bury himself inside of you. His fingers picked up speed, curling and pressing into the sensitive spot. The noises of his fingers pumping in and out of you almost echo in the room, your juices dripping onto the floor.

With one final flick of his thumb, it tips you over the edge. Your muscles spasm around his fingers, clenching down onto his digits as he fucks you through your orgasm, stars blurring your vision. When your body begins to pull away from the oversensitivity, he finally slows down and pulls his fingers from inside of you.

Your head almost slams onto to desk from the pleasure whilst you try to catch your breath. Ramattra tugs on your wrists, pulling you up and forcing those fingers into your mouth.

“Clean them.” He demands and you comply without hesitation, taking his fingers into your mouth and sucking on them. One he has deemed them clean, he pulls away from you, his hand taking a hold of his cock and lining it up with your entrance whilst his other hand still holds that firm grip on your wrists.

He doesn’t wait for a plea as he pushes himself inside of you, his cock easing in with little resistance. Ramattra buries himself inside of you, feeling his tip hit your cervix as his hips are flush against your ass.

Your mewls grow quiet, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Your teacher pulls back and slides back in, setting a slow and steady pace as he draws out soft moans from you. He loves the way you feel around him, how pliable and submissive you are under his touch.

His groans mix with your whimpers as his thrusts slowly become more aggressive. With his one hand securing your wrists, his other grips the soft flesh of your hips. His fingers press against the bone, the feeling of the bruises already beginning to form as he handles you.

“You are so good for me, pet.” Ramattra coos, trailing his hand up your side to grab at your neck, pulling you up and against his chest. The new position only makes him drive his cock deeper into you as he keeps his brutal pace. The slapping of metal and skin rings out in the room and both of you pray that nobody is passing by the office anytime soon.

He releases his grip on your wrists, allowing you to stabilise yourself on the desk as he snakes that same hand around your torso, grabbing and pawing at your breasts. His thumb and forefinger tweak the sensitive nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp and quiet whimper from your throat.

“You like this, hm?” Ramattra growls next to your ear, using his hand to tilt your head back. “Do you know how bad this will look if someone were to walk in right now?” But that doesn’t stop him from pounding into your sensitive cunt.

The omnic squeezes your neck a little tighter, not yet cutting off your airflow but theres enough pressure there to make you feel dizzy. His hips continue to slam into you, your ass slowly turning red from the force behind each thrust. It’s taking all of your strength right now to not whine out from the sheer amount of pleasure that’s rocking your body. Each time his cock hits deep, you swear your breath gets knocked out of you and there’s only a split second before he pulls back and fucks you deeper.

The room is practically spinning as his grip remains tight on your throat but your teacher wasn’t done just yet. Drawing out another muffled moan from your lips as he finally relents his grip on your chest, he roughly moves down to your cunt, fingers rubbing against the oversensitive bundle of nerves. He quickly moves his hand from your neck to your mouth, keeping you quiet as you almost cry out.

Ramattra feels your body shaking under his touch and he can’t help but chuckle, pressing his faceplate against the side of your neck. A soft vibration is only just felt and you come to realise through the sex haze that he was kissing you.

You can’t help but smile through the pleasure at the thought of such a tender moment before all too suddenly, that coil in your stomach begins to burn. Your moans become more frequent, your body jerking at his touch as he fucks you deep.

“Ramattra… Sir… Please…” You mewl against his fingers, glancing up at the black slits of his faceplate. You had to be quiet, one loud moan or whimper will alert anyone walking past the office.

“Wait, pet. Not yet.” Your teacher hums into your ear. “You want to be good, right? Be a good little pet for me and wait.”

“Yes, sir…” Your words are almost slurred, the pleasure becoming too much to handle as Ramattra thrusts deep inside of you. His grip on your jaw stays tight as his fingers begin to stroke your sensitive bundle of nerves firmer and more quickly. He can’t help but be proud of himself for how quickly you unravel in his touch.

Ramattra presses his faceplate against your neck again, his systems flaring in errors as he chases his second high of the evening, bringing you to the brink just as quick. All too suddenly, the coil snaps, your head tilting back as you silently cry out. The omnic feels your walls spasm around him and that only draws out his own orgasm.

Your grip is tight on the desk, your vision clouding with stars as the pleasure ripples throughout your body. Ramattra bucks his hips further against you, his cock hitting deep as he paints your insides with that same synthetic cum.

The omnic groans pushing you against the desk with one final thrust as his system overloads with errors. His fans momentarily stop whirring, the heat struggling to escape from under his sweater and those lights on his forehead flicker before finally staying red. Ramattra lets his systems reboot before he pulls back, his grip loosening on your jaw as he trails his hands down your hips.

“You are lucky that I am in a good mood otherwise I would have deducted credits for not waiting, pet.” He mocks, taking a step back as he works on cleaning himself up. He helps you, too, not wanting you to move until you’re properly wiped down.

“For a ravager unit, you sure are gentle.” You joke, pulling your clothes over your body.

“Ah, so you know of my model? Impressive.” Ramattra chuckles, his optics watching your every move. He’s enjoying the show.

You shrug nonchalantly, straightening your shirt. “It’s hard not to know when half the class are talking about you.”

A small scoff escapes the omnic. “Of course. I am no longer surprised by the chatter.”

“What made you become a teacher in the first place?” The question catches Ramattra off guard.

“Perhaps that would be a story to tell when you have graduated, yes?” There was something about his tone that made you question whether there was more to the story or not. “For now, focus on passing the final year.”

It took you a moment to remember that the entire reason you were here in his office was because of the lack of credits. Your cheeks burn and the omnic picks up on it, refraining from commenting.

“I will adjust your current credits, do not worry.” Ramattra chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he watches you walk back around his desk to the chair opposite.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” You mumble.

“Of course.” He sits up straighter, his arms resting on the desk. “Do not make this a habit.”

You shake your head, laptop and coat back in your hands and bag on your shoulder. There was also that slight ache between your legs, one that felt pleasant, an evening to remember for sure.

“It won’t, Ramattra.” A smile appears on your face but Ramattra catches the glint within your eyes. He knows you will be back, regardless on if you’re passing or not.

“Good. I will see you Tuesday.”

And just like that, he returns to his work as you leave his office with a little more than you had expected. The omnic looks at his computer screen, unable to type or finish off the grading he had left to do. You were there at the back of his mind, the look on your face as you took his cock and the sounds you made were on a constant loop within his mind.

Ramattra knew that this wasn’t the end. He even hoped that there might be something after you had graduated. He had the feeling that you saw him as more than just your teacher, just like he saw you as more than just his student.

His optics glance at your file, an amused hum escaping him as he flicks through the paperwork and mumbles to himself.

“What is going on inside of that pretty head of yours outside of my classroom…”

#overwatch #ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch 2 #overwatch fanfiction #reader insert #yazznsfw #yazzfics

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pankj123 · 2 months ago

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The ESYSENSE Motion Sensor Bulb is a smart lighting solution that automatically brightens up your space when motion is detected. Designed with advanced radar bulb technology, this sensor bulb has a wide detection range, even sensing movement through thin walls and glass. Ideal for entryways, staircases, garages, and hallways, it turns on instantly when needed and switches off when no motion is present, helping you save energy effortlessly. Easy to install in any standard socket, the ESYSENSE Motion Sensor Bulb provides reliable, hands-free lighting for a safer and more convenient home.

#Motion Sensor Bulb #Sensor Bulb #Radar Bulb

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gracien-system · 9 months ago

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Hey, everyone living in hot and humid places? We have a tool you might find useful!

This is a calculator from the US government that calculates the wet bulb temperature if you plug in ambient temperature, pressure, and humidity.

If you don't know what the wet bulb temperature is, that's alright, it's not a very well-known term. It's a really simple measurement, though, and it's a useful number to have. It is the temperature that a thermometer would read if its sensor was fully wrapped in wet cotton, and it measures the absolute limit of purely evaporative cooling in given atmospheric conditions.

If the wet bulb temperature is equal to the ambient temperature, do not attempt to cool yourself off with evaporation, and try to minimize sweating as much as possible. In an environment like that, sweat and water can actually heat you up by conducting ambient heat into your core.

Now, let me clarify: you can always cool yourself down if you have access to water that is colder than your body temperature. Pouring that on yourself will wick away heat. But if the wet bulb temperature is equal to ambient, you should dry yourself off immediately after doing so.

If the wet bulb temperature is lower than ambient, though, it means that evaporative cooling is possible. In that case, sweating and getting yourself wet are both helpful.

#heat advice #heat wave #heatwave #climate change #wet bulb temperature #nerd stuff #science #weather #climate

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tinyshyteacup · 28 days ago

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Tw: cussing, discussions on moving a captor

Part 7

Novel Attraction - Part 8

The air inside Templo was thick with smoke, sweat, and tension. Dim light from the hanging bulbs above threw long shadows across the room, catching the glint of rings tapping impatiently on the table.

They were all there—Bishop at the head, Taza silent at his side, Hank with his arms crossed, and Angel sitting lower in his chair than usual, eyes tired and lips set in a straight, unreadable line. His kutte hung open, his hands wrapped around a beer he hadn't touched.

Bishop was first to speak.

“Galindo wants her moved across the border. Multiple sites. Real careful shit—she’ll be tampering with both paper trails and digital ones.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“This isn’t a one-time job. Could be weeks. Months. Maybe more.” A heavy pause. “She ain’t a guest. But she’s not disposable either.”

“She ain’t trained for that kinda travel,” Taza said, arms folded. “That girl looks like she’s never even jaywalked.”

There was a low chuckle from Creeper—dry and without humor.

“She’s not the problem,” Bishop cut in. “It’s the cartel. They want her mobile. They want her working dirty. That means we’re her handlers.”

Angel’s knuckles flexed around the bottle, jaw tight. “She’s not property, either.”

Hank raised a brow. “You sure there, hermano? You already let her try to bolt once.”

Angel didn’t flinch. But the sting landed anyway.

Maps were rolled out onto the chapel table. Satellite images of desert scrublands, old cartel supply routes, half-buried sensor towers near the wall.

A line was drawn through the middle—the border.

Taza dragged his finger along a twisting side road. “We take her through here. Two nights off-grid. One by the dried arroyo. One through the tunnel.

He looked across the table. “We’ll need someone she trusts. To keep her from running again.”

Silence.

Bishop lit a cigarette, blew smoke toward the ceiling. As table in the Templo groaned beneath the weight of maps, burner phones, printed dossiers, and oil-stained coffee cups.

Bishop’s hand moved slowly across the map, dragging a finger over the dry jagged terrain.

“We’ll be using the old tunnel. And if she spooks out there, that desert’ll eat her alive.”

There was a pause. Then Bishop added, voice even but deliberate:

“Maybe EZ should ride point on her.”

The room stilled.

Angel’s head lifted, sharply. “What?”

Bishop didn’t flinch. He met Angel’s eyes like he expected the protest.

"Think about it. She’s scared. She looks at EZ like he’s the one tether to all her nerd shit.”

A few nods circled the room. Taza gave a slow shrug.

"He is the cleaner one between you two.”

Angel stood, suddenly. His chair scraped back across the floor. “She don’t trust him. Not really. She’s just not scared of him yet.”

The room went quiet again. A heavy quiet.

“That ain’t the same thing.” Gilly mumbled.

Angel started pacing. One hand dragging through his hair, the other clenched by his side.

“She talks to me. She’d bolt if it was EZ takin’ her across.”

Bishop tilted his head, unconvinced. “Would she?”

Angel stepped forward, leaning on the edge of the table with both palms flat. Voice low, dangerous.

"I’m the one she runs to, not from.”

The room paused at that. Eyes darted between Angel and Bishop, reading the tension under the surface.

Coco exhaled a slow breath, nodding once toward Angel. “He ain’t wrong, Bish.”

Taza tapped his pencil against the map. “EZ’s point on her. Angel’s lead on this.”

Bishop looked between them—then gave a single nod.

“Fine. But if she runs again out there—we don’t get another shot.”

His words echoed in the silence.

Angel nodded tightly. No fight left in him now. Just purpose.

“She won’t.”

“Camping,” Coco repeated with a low laugh, shaking his head. “This girl ain’t gonna last ten minutes in the open desert. The second she sees a scorpion or hears a rattler, she’ll bolt.”

He leaned forward on the table, toothpick twitching between his teeth. “You sure you don’t want me with her? I know how to track someone in that kinda terrain. I’ll keep her in line.”

Angel’s jaw tightened.

From across the room, Hank gave Coco a long look. “She’s terrified of you, man.”

Coco raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just sayin’ what nobody else wants to.”

Taza folded his arms across his chest, voice low and matter-of-fact.

“If she runs in the desert, we won’t find her ‘til there’s nothin’ left. We can’t risk that. Not with how valuable she is to Galindo.”

Silence swept through Templo. Everyone knew what came next, but no one wanted to say it.

Until Bishop did.

“Then we don’t let her out of reach.”

He flicked ash off his cigarette, eyes scanning the map, but his words hung like smoke in the air.

“Zip tie her to someone. At the wrist every night, til the job’s done.”

There was a pause—a heavy, shifting kind of silence, like the room itself was holding its breath.

Angel looked up sharply, mouth opening like he wanted to argue, but there was nothing to say. This was cartel business now. Galindo made the rules. The club just enforced them.

Taza glanced toward Angel, then over to the others. “Not Coco,” he said flatly. “She’s already scared of him. That’ll just make her more likely to do something desperate.”

Coco rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

“A'ight. Let her be someone else’s problem.”

Angel’s fingers were curled into fists in his lap, his boot tapping rapidly under the table. You could see the conflict in him—he hated the idea. Of chaining you like an animal. But he also knew they were right.

She runs again, and it could get her killed.

Bishop stood, chair creaking beneath him.

"Move at dawn. One truck. One tunnel. Angel, you keep her quiet, cooperative, and calm. If she bolts again—you do what you gotta.”

He didn’t say what that meant.

He didn’t have to.

Angel gave a slow nod, though it looked like the weight of it added years to his face.

Later, outside the clubhouse, Angel leaned against his bike. Night had fallen. Crickets chirped, dogs barked in the distance, and inside the clubhouse the music had started up again. partying going on like the world hadn’t shifted.

He stayed outside.

Lit a cigarette. Let the silence press against his chest.

In the shadows near the trailer where you were kept, a dim light was on. He could just make out the shape of your silhouette, small and still behind the window, knees tucked to your chest like you were trying to disappear.

“Querida,” he muttered to himself, voice low and broken.

“What the hell did we drag you into?”

He flicked ash into the gravel, then looked toward the dark desert stretching out beyond the lot.

The inside of EZ’s trailer smelled like cheap pine cleaner and cologne, both trying to cover something more metallic underneath—like rust or old blood.

The place was neat, controlled—EZ’s nature in contrast to the chaos that constantly lived outside its thin aluminum walls.

You sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders tight, hands clenched in your lap. You wore one of EZ’s hoodies—your own clothes had started to smell like the warehouse, like fear. The fabric hung off you like armor too big for its soldier.

The door opened behind you with a soft creak.

EZ entered first, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Angel followed—slower, heavier. He looked at you immediately. You didn’t meet his eyes.

"We need to talk, querida,” Angel said gently.

His voice was soft—too soft. Like someone breaking bad news to a child.

You looked up at him, your eyes already glossed with the beginnings of panic.

EZ stayed standing near the small kitchenette. Angel moved to crouch in front of you, close enough to reach out—but he didn’t.

“Galindo wants the work started,” EZ said. “First site’s across the border.”

You blinked. “The border? As in... Mexico?”

EZ nodded once. “There’s an underground tunnel. It’s safe. Or—safer. That's where we're gonna take you.”

Your breath caught. You looked between the brothers, your heartbeat thudding loudly in your ears.

“Why can’t I just... do it here? Why do I have to go there?”

Angel leaned forward a little, hands resting on his knees.

“Because they don’t want just the data changed. They want the documents too. Originals. In places you can’t reach from a laptop, querida.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper. "Jesus fucking christ”

EZ’s expression softened for the first time. He walked over, crouched next to Angel.

“You’re not gonna be alone. You're safe.”

He said it like a promise. Like a man used to being believed.

Your breath eased just slightly.

Angel noticed.

He saw the way your shoulders dropped half an inch. The way your eyes settled on EZ’s face instead of his. His stomach twisted.

He wanted to reach for your hand—but it was folded into EZ’s hoodie sleeve.

After a moment, EZ stood up again, gave Angel a small nod, and stepped outside, giving the illusion of privacy without granting it.

The second the door shut, Angel sighed, quiet and long. He rested his elbows on his thighs, lacing his fingers together.

“I know you trust him,” he said, not bitter—just quiet. "Golden boy's always been good at makin’ people feel safe.”

Your eyes drifted to his and then back to a spot on the wall as you listened.

“You’re not cargo to me, querida,” he added. “I know it feels like you’re being passed around. Moved like product. But I swear... we ain’t gonna let anything happen to you. Not in that desert. Not in Mexico. Not ever.”

You nodded, but you didn't believe him.

After you fell asleep curled up on the bed, EZ re-entered the trailer, finding Angel in the kitchenette, nursing a beer.

He glanced once at your sleeping form, then back at his brother. “She’ll trust you more if you stop trying so hard.”

Angel scoffed softly, not turning around.

EZ leaned against the counter. “Why do you look like someone’s carving your ribs out every time she looks at me?”

Angel finally met his gaze. “Because it ain’t you dreaming of her crying, or her bein' put in that fucking pew bro."

The clock blinked 2:46 AM in faded numbers. Outside was still, blanketed in silence except for the distant howl of wind pushing sand across asphalt.

Inside EZ’s trailer, the shadows moved softly—your figure curled under a borrowed blanket on the bed, knees tucked into your chest, eyes wide open and red-rimmed in the dark.

Sleep hadn’t come. Fear had.

Didn’t know what the air would feel like south of the border. Didn’t know if you’d survive long enough to come back.

The door creaked open gently.

You flinched.

It was Angel.

He stepped inside quietly, boots thudding against the floor with practiced care. No kutte. Just a hoodie and jeans, his hair mussed, eyes tired—but alert. He closed the door behind him, locking it out of habit more than concern.

When he saw you still awake, he paused.

"Couldn’t sleep, huh?” His voice was low, not teasing this time.

You shook your head, slowly, from where you lay.

Angel crossed the trailer without needing the light. He moved like he’d memorized every inch of this place. Instead of sitting beside you, he dropped onto the floor with a groan, back against the bed, stretching his legs out and letting his head lean back.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to see your outline in the dark.

“You ever been to the desert before?”

“No,” you whispered. “I’ve never even... left the country. Never had a passport. I’ve never even camped. And I don’t... I don’t speak Spanish, Angel. What if I mess everything up?”

He let out a soft exhale, running a hand through his hair.

“Querida... messing up would be running into a rattlesnake or pissing off a border patrol agent. But you? You’re gonna be fine.”

He adjusted his position, turning a little so his shoulder brushed your knee through the blanket.

“Mexico’s not as scary as people think. Yeah, there’s cartel shit. But there’s also real people. Good food. Sunsets that make you feel like the sky’s on fire. And if you’re lucky—if you keep your mouth shut and your head down—you get to walk out of there with all your fingers still attached.”

You didn’t laugh. But your lip twitched. Just a little.

You finally spoke, voice barely audible.

“It’s not just Mexico. It’s... everything. I don’t know how to do this shit, Angel.”

He tilted his head up to look at you more clearly now. You weren’t crying, but the tension in your body was clear—shoulders tight, chin drawn in like you were trying to disappear inside yourself.

“You don’t have to know any of it,” he said gently. “You just have to get through it. One day at a time. That’s all we’re doin’,”

You blinked at that. The idea that even they—these rough, dangerous men—were surviving on borrowed time and pieced-together plans.

“I feel like a fucking lamb surrounded by wolves.”

Angel reached up, just resting his hand over your blanket-covered shin, grounding you.

“Maybe. But this wolf ain’t gonna bite you, querida.”

He looked down then, almost bashfully.

"Unless you decide to start snoring out in the damn dessert. Then we got a problem.”

You smiled. Just a little. A tremble of light through the fear.

Angel didn’t say anything. He just leaned back again, adjusted until his shoulder bumped yours gently through the fabric of the blanket, and let the silence fall between you.

Not cold. Not empty.

A silence that wrapped around the two of you like an understanding.

Angel was still on the floor beside the bed, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, arms resting casually over his knees. You were curled beneath the blanket, head sunk into the pillow, your breath slowing just slightly.

You weren’t asleep. Not yet. But your eyes blinked more slowly now. The panic had loosened its grip—still there, still coiled—but fading in the safety of his voice.

“It’ll be me, EZ, Coco and Gilly takin’ you. That’s the crew,” he said casually, like it was just a road trip. “EZ’ll keep his eye on you like he said. Coco’s got jokes… half of them ain’t funny, but he tries. And Gilly? Big guy. Quiet. But he’s solid.”

You tensed, just a flicker, when he said Coco. He noticed.

“I know,” he said gently. “Coco scared you. But he won’t hurt you, Querida. Not out there. We're be there to keep you safe.”

He paused, letting the silence settle, his words slow and easy like the wind outside.

“It’s not like it’ll be hotels and room service or anything,” he added, lips twitching faintly. “We’ll be camping a bit. Desert stretches for miles... so wide it makes you feel small in a way that’s kinda good. Cleans you out a little.”

You watched him from the edge of your blanket, your fingers curled lightly under your chin. He wasn’t trying to sell it to you. He was just talking, steady and grounded.

“There’s a place, couple miles past the boarder—nothing but red rock and these weird little wildflowers that bloom for like a week, maybe two, after it rains. You ever see a flower push through sand? Like it’s got no business surviving, but it does anyway.”

You breathed out slowly. "You make it sound pretty" The image stuck with you. A flower in the sand. That’s what you felt like.

Angel never reached for you. He just stayed. A constant warmth at the side of your world when everything else was foreign.

His voice dropped a little, like he knew you were starting to fade.

"It’s not all bad, y’know,” he murmured. “They tell dumb jokes. EZ makes coffee strong enough to kill a horse.”

You blinked sleepily, your cheek pressing further into the pillow.

“It's all bad when you don't get a choice Angel” you whispered, the words slipping out.

Angel looked at you then. Really looked. He leaned his head back against the bed then, sighing.

The hum of the fridge was the only sound that filled the small trailer, steady and low like a heartbeat. Moonlight spilled through the crack in the blinds, casting pale stripes across the floor and the couch where you lay, half-draped in that worn blanket EZ had handed you earlier.

Angel stayed on the floor beside you, back pressed to the bedframe, knees drawn up. One arm slung lazily over a bent knee, the other toyed with the frayed hem of his hoodie sleeve. He didn’t try to move closer. Didn’t reach for your hand or offer his touch. Just sat there—his presence quiet, grounding.

You were starting to relax. Your breathing had slowed. But he could see the way your fingers still twitched now and then under the blanket, your mind refusing to let go of its worry completely.

So he spoke, voice low, almost like he was telling a bedtime story.

“You know… the desert’s not just heat and dust. There’s somethin’ about it. The stillness. The way the stars hit the sky with no lights around for miles. Shit’s kinda… beautiful. Even when it shouldn’t be.”

He glanced back at you over his shoulder, saw your eyes were open—soft now, not so wide with fear, but not quite ready to sleep.

He paused, stretching out one leg, letting out a breath as he stared up at the ceiling like he could see through it.

“We know that route. Desert roads, old tunnels, back trails no one uses anymore. It’s not gonna be easy, but… we’ll get you through it.”

You mumbled something—a sleepy hum more than words—but he caught the way your lips curved ever so slightly.

“And when the sun goes down out there?” he continued. “It’s like someone lit the whole world on fire. Orange, pink, purple—all of it bleeds together. Makes you forget for a second that you’re even in danger.”

You let out a soft sigh, shifting under the blanket again, body turning just a bit more toward him—though your eyes remained half-lidded now, heavy.

“You shouldn't be doing this,” you whispered almost absentmindedly, like the tendrils of sleep had you already.

Angel looked at you for a few seconds, before his brows drew together.

“I'm not dumb Angel, I know what this is" you whispered "What happens when they tell you to put a bullet in me?”

Angel’s jaw locked. His eyes flickered with something—grief? Anger? Shame?

"You’re not goin’ out like that,” he said simply, his tone enough for you to drop the topic.

Your hand slipped from under the blanket and dangled off the edge of the bed, fingertips brushing air just a few inches from Angel’s shoulder. He didn’t touch it. Didn’t even move. Just turned his gaze toward your face—watching the way your breathing slowed, the way tension gradually bled from your small frame.

For all your fear, there was a strength in you he admired. Not loud, not stubborn like most people he knew—but quiet. Stubborn in your trust even when it was terrifying.

He leaned his head back against the bedframe, eyes never leaving you, the corners of his mouth tugging into something tired but warm.

“You know, when I was a kid? I used to think the desert was cursed,” he murmured, voice almost lost in the air. “Like it swallowed people whole. But now... I think it just strips everything down. Shows you who you really are.”

A beat passed. Another. Then a soft noise from you—a barely audible sigh—and he knew you were finally slipping under.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Just sat there.

Watching over you.

“Buenas noches, querida,” he whispered to the dark.

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brittle-biscuits · 2 months ago

Note

Why did I stay up late at night just to do this.

Basically: a concept of bags is that to me their twisted form usually reflects a character’s deepest desire for them but in a very twisted way. Lemme explain the designs here in alphabetical order (ooc warning!⚠️ Long Paragraphs):

Astro wants bags to accept his defect? Of having four arms, while also having a want to sleep with them at times, maybe forever, so I give bags a blanket, an insane look on their fake eyes(I forgot to add eyebags 😭), and a crescent moon with a sun thingy to show an eclipse(symbolising their need for sleep kinda), kinda forcing them to need to go to Astro for proper sleep, forcing reliance on him. The eyes on their hands just serve as something to put you off guard when hiding around them while the hooky things on their hinds serve as heels for support (they stumble cause of lack of rest)

Inspired by that anon who give Bobette’s costume for bags, I feel like we are quite literally a pretty gift for her, all to keep for her in a way. So the present wrapping veil is like a wedding thing and a gift wrapper obviously, while the horns are a reference to krampus (ironic). The boa? around their head is the same as twisted’s bobette’s furneck, which I tried to shape like a Christmas wreath, while the ribbons around their legs and wrists are referencing the costume, I added spikes to the back shins and that winter symbol on their front feet to show bobette’s want kinda. The puppet face thingy is inspired by Christmas dolls and Funtime robots.

Dandy probably wants us to be the same level as him in a way, so we are shaped to be somewhat big like him, so to make up his size, we make it up with speed, so I give bags several legs to add that creepy factor and show that speed while separating their head tentacles (mimicking Dandys petals). I purposely give them no harms to show how we have no control over how dandy transforms us in our twisted state. I added a tail to reference Shelly in a kinda subtle manner, like even when dandy likes us it’s clear we like Shelly more compared to him.

Pebble’s idea is innocent originally: he might like us like a parent figure, so I give bags a guard dog look with multiple legs for creepy factors again. They’re about as big as twisted coal but make up size once again with speed, along with really far sight range (better than pebble’s). They are more animalistic than the rest of their other twisted forms, adopting pebble’s mannerisms in a way and overall just being more unpredictable now, especially with guarding pebble.

You know that interaction with Shelly about the ankylosaurus? Yep, your now one (in a way…) instead of normal armour plates you now have spikes? I used spikes since I heard therepods have them and twisted Shelly is said to be based of a therepod so I used them. I also kinda give them a half-transformation like Shelly where their upper torso is somewhat intact (only the arms and chest are perfect). They are as slow as coal normally but will throw their tail around when agitated, but most of the time their docile unless attacked.

Sprout’s influential form is -tall-. Like the tallest amongst all the twisted forms, I give them a plant bulb on their head to include how sprout is kinda ‘growing’ on them, like getting attached to them (in his own way.) His seeds are basically growing inside us as if we are getting sucked by his ‘love’, the worms do not help whatsoever (worms in my stomach reference(when your nervous and stuff)) the long arms are just vines that are outgrown but act as sensors for nearby toons stepping in their space (in this form their blind).

Vee’s desire is a mantis, like you know when mantises mate the female it’s the male? Thats us and vee, but a thing to note is that we are smaller than her twisted form. More so bending to shellys height, we have a microphone tail to copy her while the false face kinda serves as a lure for prey (does NOT work on vee) Our antennas are like insect ones but the bulbs are like the same like Vee’s. I made this design since it’s based on the fan costume Co-host and that part where we are her ‘star’. (Literally.)

I’ll try to cook for more but I’m tired but if you came here this long then congrats for reading the whole thing without annoyance.

While these are interesting, the looks would have to be simplified down so hard to fit the aesthetic of the game.

#brittle answers

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anonymousewrites · 2 months ago

Text

Logos and Pathos (Book 4) Chapter Three

TOS! Spock x Empath! Spouse! Reader

Chapter Three: Intruder Request

Summary: The Ilia-Probe comes aboard, and the Enterprise tries a unique tactic. Spock takes matters into his own hands.

Ilia’s face stared out at the shocked group. Spock raised a brow. (Y/N) furrowed their own. They felt only very slight emotion coming from Ilia where they had sensed a normal amount before she had—This was not Ilia as completely herself.

“You are the Kirk-Unit.” She looked at Kirk evenly. “You will assist me.” Her voice was flat, mechanical. “I’ve been programmed by V’Ger to observe and record the normal functions of the carbon-based units infesting the U.S.S. Enterprise.”

Once again, only a true acknowledgement of the machines, the computers. This “V’Ger” must not be carbon-based. Interesting. (Y/N) tilted their head as they watched Ilia.

She stepped out of the sonic shower, dressed in a plain white dress. A red glowing bulb sat at her neck, another robotic piece of the puzzle.

“Bones, tricorder,” said Kirk. Bones nodded while Kirk stepped forward. “Who is V’Ger?”

“V’Ger is that which programmed me,” said Ilia.

“Is V’Ger the name of the captain of the alien vessel?” asked Kirk.

“Jim, this is a mechanism,” said Bones, looking up from his tricorder.

“A probe, Captain,” said Spock. He looked at the red glass. “No doubt a sensor-transceiver combination recording everything we say and do.”

“Where is Lieutenant Ilia?” questioned Kirk of the probe.

“That unit no longer functions,” said the probe.

(Y/N)’s gaze went to the ground in a moment of morning before they looked back.

“I’ve been given its form to more readily communicate with the carbon-based units infesting Enterprise,” said the probe.

“(L/N)?” said Kirk, glancing at them.

“Very few emotions to sense, Captain,” said (Y/N). “Barely anything. No signs of deception within those, though.”

“Carbon-based units?” said the security guard.

“Humans,” said Bones. “Vulcans. Celians. Us.”

“Why does V’Ger travel to the third planet of the solar system directly ahead?” asked Kirk.

“To find the Creator,” replied the probe.

Hm. (Y/N) exchanged an interested glance with Spock.

“To find the Creator?” repeated Kirk. “Whose…What does V’Ger want with the Creator?”

“To join with him,” said the probe.

“To join with the Creator how?” said (Y/N).

“V’Ger and the Creator will become one,” said the probe unhelpfully.

“And who is the Creator?” said Spock, attempting another line of questioning.

“The Creator is that which created V’Ger,” said the probe.

That clears that up, thought (Y/N) with a sigh. “Who is V’Ger?” they tried.

“V’Ger is that which seeks the Creator,” said the probe matter-of-factly. Then, it turned and straightened even further. “I am ready to commence my observations.”

“Doctor, a thorough examination of this probe might provide some insight into those who manufactured it and how to deal with them,” said Spock.

“Non-invasive,” said (Y/N). “To hurt the probe would be an affront to a vessel that can destroy us.”

“Oh, god, you talk like him now,” groaned Bones.

“I do my job,” said (Y/N), smiling at him.

Spock rather liked when they got efficient and logical. He loved them as they were, but there was something especially attractive when they were so engrossed in their job and just perfect at it. (Vulcans had interesting turn-ons in partners, not that most would admit it).

“Ilia-Unit, uh, Probe, would you accompany our doctor to Sickbay?” said (Y/N).

“I am programmed to observe and record only the normal functioning of the carbon-based units,” said the probe.

“The examination is a normal function,” said (Y/N). “We undergo them regularly for our health.”

“You may proceed,” said the probe to Bones, and when he stepped to the door, it followed.

“I’m glad we have you, (L/N),” said Kirk.

“Starfleet asked for me for my expertise for a reason,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“You are the only true expert,” said Spock.

“Spock, I thought you didn’t lie,” said (Y/N), chuckling.

“I don’t think he believes it could be a lie,” said Kirk, cracking a small smile.

Spock didn’t dignify that with a response. He loved his spouse. He would never lie about what he thought of them—the fact that it was all positive notwithstanding.

The probe lay staring blankly up at the machine as it scanned. Bones examined the reports of the machine, and Spock, (Y/N), and Kirk awaited his information.

“Micro-miniature hydraulics,” said Bones. “Sensors, and molecular-sized multi-processor chips.”

The doors of Sickbay slid opened, and Decker stepped in. Instantly, the room filled with anger and shock as he saw Ilia’s face on the probe. He looked like he was going to speak, but his shoulders dropped mournfully, sadness overtaking his surprise. Decker remained silent as he stood to watch the report continue. He hadn’t expected the probe to wear the woman he obviously loved’s face—(Y/N) always knew these things—but he had the sense to try to remain calm.

“And take a look at this,” said Bones. “An osmotic micro-pump. The smallest body functions are exactly duplicated. Every endocrine system is the same, too. Even eye moisture.”

Decker gazed down at the probe, and its head turned to see him. (Y/N) started as the probe’s hair raised and its lips parted upon seeing him.

“Decker.”

More emotion than (Y/N) had felt so far in the probe emanated from her with that one word; with it, (Y/N) understood for certain that something was left of Ilia within the perfect mechanical replication.

“Fascinating. Not ‘Decker-Unit?’ ” observed Spock.

“She felt something more than a blank baseline when she saw him,” said (Y/N) softly.

“She? You think—”

(Y/N) nodded in response to Kirk. “A perfect replica, feelings and everything.”

“A machine with emotions?” said Bones.

“Why not?” said (Y/N). They’d seen stranger. Besides, emotions hardly followed logic. Why couldn’t a probe made with the heart of woman who loved someone retain some of that? The world had created more miracles than that. Love was a magical thing, after all.

“Gentlemen,” said Kirk, drawing the group aside. “Will.” He caught Decker’s attention and drew him into the hall. Better to have the rest of this discussion without the probe overhearing.

“What happened to her?” said Decker, grief evident in his voice even as he attempted to keep himself level-headed.

He does have the makings of a great captain, thought (Y/N) approvingly.

“Captain, this probe may be our only key to the aliens,” said Spock.

“Probe? Ilia is the probe?” said Decker.

“Exactly. It is a programmed mechanism, Commander,” said Spock. “Its body duplicates our navigator in precise detail.”

“But beneath that programming, Ilia’s real memories and…self are in some way copied, too,” said (Y/N). “They created a perfect copy, and that means she has the same…feelings she had when alive when she looks at you. There aren’t any feelings to truly sense in the probe—which, in itself, is strange since it’s a machine—but she does feel more when she sees you.”

“Ilia’s memory, her feelings of loyalty, friendship, might all be there,” said Kirk.

“Evidently,” said Spock. A long time ago he wouldn’t believe it. This was a machine, after all. But it made complete sense, and he had seen the power of emotions, the heart, and memory time and time again. His spouse was powerful due to those illogical notions. He would never discount them.

“You had a relationship with Lieutenant Ilia, Commander Decker—” upon seeing Decker’s eyes widen, (Y/N) smiled ruefully “—Your emotions upon losing her showed that clearly.”

“Well-Yes-But that probe, in another form, killed Ilia!” said Decker.

“Commander,” said Kirk. “Will. We’re locked in an alien vessel, six hours from Earth’s orbit. Our only contact with our captor is that probe. If we could control it, persuade it, use it—even just get more information—”

Crack!

They all jumped as the wall was torn open. Calmly, the probe stepped through as if it hadn’t broken through a metal wall without a problem.

“I have recorded enough here,” it said, monotone once more. “You will now assist me further.”

Kirk glanced at (Y/N), and they stepped forward. “The Decker-Unit will assist you with greater efficiency,” said (Y/N).

The probe’s gaze lowered with true confusion, and she—this felt like Ilia once more—looked at Decker. He gazed back at Ilia’s face with a tiny smile. He was angry at the probe for what it had done to her, but when he saw her face, he couldn’t help but soften slightly. Such was the case for those with a heart.

“You have your assignment, Commander,” said Kirk.

“Aye, sir,” said Decker.

The probe stepped to the door, and it opened. The probe walked out, and Decker followed, letting the door close behind them.

“I am concerned with that being our only source of information,” said Spock, lacing his hands behind his back.

“Well, what else can we do?” said Kirk.

Spock just looked at the door again. (Y/N) frowned as they felt something course through their marriage bond, a sense of resolution within worry. They glanced at their husband with a furrowed brow.

Kirk and (Y/N) sat forward in their chairs as they watched the security monitors. On the screen, Decker was giving the probe a tour of the Enterprise, answering questions as they went. He was careful not to reveal anything sensitive or important for their defensive position, but the probe appeared satisfied with each answer it was given.

Bones entered and looked at the screen. “How is it going?”

“He’s sitting the probe down for chess,” said (Y/N). “It’s likely something he and Ilia did together. Good. That will prompt more memories.” They nodded approvingly.

“An audio-visual association,” agreed Bones.

On the screen, Decker and Ilia gazed at one another—more and more of Ilia was breaking through. For a moment, her brow creased, and her expression turned oh-so gentle. Then it hardened, turning unreadable. The probe turned away.

(Y/N) frowned. “The programming is hard to overcome, it seems.”

“Why does Enterprise required the presence of carbon units?” asked the probe, the camera following it as it walked around the recreation room.

“Enterprise would be unable to function without carbon units,” said Decker.

“More data concerning this functioning is necessary before carbon units can be patterned for data storage,” said the probe.

“That doesn’t sound good,” said (Y/N), frowning.

“What an understatement,” said Bones.

“What does that mean?” said Decker on the screen.

“When my examination is complete, all carbon units will be reduced to data patterns,” said the probe.

“Definitely not good,” said Kirk grimacing.

“Not good? That’s beyond that,” said Bones, waving a hand.

“Within you are the memory patterns of a certain carbon unit,” said Decker, stepping forwards towards the probe. “If I can help you revive those patterns, you could understand our functions better.”

“That is logical. You may proceed,” said the probe.

“Spock would be proud of that statement,” said Bones wryly. He paused. “Speaking of, where is the pointy-eared man of logic?”

“He said he wanted to work on attempting more scans of the alien ship,” said Kirk. “To get more information.”

(Y/N) paused. “That’s what he said?”

“Yes,” said Kirk.

(Y/N) felt their stomach flip over worriedly. “Spock knows that there is no way through the shields reflecting our scans back,” they said slowly.

“He thinks we could make contact in some way,” said Kirk.

(Y/N) stood. “Then that means he’s doing something stupid and dangerous.”

The comms beeped the moment they spoke. “Bridge to Captain,” said Chekov.

“Kirk here,” said Kirk.

“Captain, airlock four has opened.”

Bones looked at (Y/N). “Would that be the stupid and dangerous thing Spock does?”

(Y/N) gritted their teeth. “That is absolutely something my husband would do.”

Wasting no time, they opened the door and darted to the elevator. Kirk was quick on their heels.

“Captain,” said Chekov as Kirk and (Y/N) entered the Bridge.

“Situation report,” said Kirk.

“Starfleet communication growing in strength,” said Uhura. “They still have the intruder on their monitors. It’s decelerating.”

Kirk nodded, and (Y/N) looked at Chekov. “What’s happening with the airlock?”

“It was opened, and a thruster suit has now been reported missing,” said Chekov.

“That’s Spock,” said (Y/N), groaning. Their husband was in huge trouble when he got back for causing them this much worry.

“Bring him back here,” said Kirk. He paused. “Wait. Get a fix on his position.”

“Aye, sir,” said Chekov.

Kirk looked guiltily at (Y/N). “We can get good information?”

“Captain, I am respecting your decision as captain. It’s a good one, tactical,” said (Y/N). They smiled sweetly. “But you two are both in trouble once this mission is over, understood?”

Kirk coughed. “Understood.”

(Y/N) looked at the viewscreen as Spock came into view from the cameras. He floated towards the closer aperture of the inner workings of the vessel. Their heart twisted, and (Y/N) held their hands together. They closed their eyes and focused on the bond with Spock. Be safe, they thought, sending the feeling of warmth to him. They couldn’t support him much this far away, but their heart was always with him.

They felt the same warmth filter back through the marriage bond to them, and (Y/N) relaxed. No sooner did they calm then the thruster suit ignited and send Spock shooting towards the vessel. Instantly, all of (Y/N)’s anxieties returned.

Spock disappeared into the aperture—small enough to fit—and disappeared from view. All (Y/N) could do was cling onto the bond to monitor Spock’s health. For a moment, it felt calm, then curious. And then (Y/N)’s entire body felt a shock of pain so intense they doubled over.

“Spock!” they gasped out, eyes widening in horror. “Kirk—”

“Chekov, have a thruster suit waiting for me,” said Kirk. He knelt next to (Y/N). “I’m going to get him, (Y/N).”

“Please,” whispered (Y/N). They needed Spock to be safe.

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