#open bite jaw surgery

[masriortho]

How Does Orthognathic Surgery Correct Open Bite?

Orthognathic surgery, also known as jaw surgery, is an effective solution for correcting open bites, where the upper and lower teeth don't meet properly. At Masri Orthodontics, we specialize in this corrective procedure. The surgery involves repositioning the jawbones to align the teeth correctly, improving bite function and facial aesthetics. It begins with a comprehensive evaluation, followed by a customized surgical plan. Post-surgery, orthodontic treatment ensures proper alignment and stability. This approach not only enhances your smile but also resolves difficulties in chewing, speaking, and jaw discomfort. Trust Masri Orthodontics for expert care in treating open bite through orthognathic surgery.

Contact Masri Orthodontics: 15230 Levan Rd, Across St Mary Hospital Livonia, MI 48154 Phone: 734-261-8860 https://masriortho.com/

[loui3e]

Knuckle Velvet

And every drop of blood is love I don’t get back’

Old man!Logan Howlett x Reader

Summary: A night of cleaning bloody wounds leads to a lovely confession.

A/n: Can you tell I love old man Logan? And Ethel Cain? Lmao. Has been proofread.

Warnings: Some angst with comfort.

Words: 684

Logan had nowhere to go, battered and bloodied he limbed his way up your porch. His bruised knuckles hesitating at your front door. 

“Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.” 

Your words ring out in his mind, echoing hopelessly. As he finally bangs on the door, he hopes to god he didn’t take your statement too literally. 

“Christ what on earth.” You grumble out as you open the door, anger bubbling in your gut at the sudden disturbance to your sleep so late at night. You choke on your words though once you see the man before you; eyes widening with distress at the sight, jaw agape.

Logan stands in-front of you, four clean bullet holes in his white tank; now painted red. Blood oozes down his front and onto the wooden planks. 

“Sorry sweetheart, just didn’t know where to go.” Logan grunts out through gritted teeth, his hands clenching and unclench at his sides with each dull throb of pain.

“Oh my god.” You speak as your hand reaches out to fall on his shoulder trying to hold up his burly frame. Your eyes drag down to your soaked porch boards.

“Shit I’m sorry doll.” 

“It’s, fine, it is, they needed re-stained anyway.” You speak nearly incoherently, as your brain works at pace through your next actions. “Quickly inside.”

Logan’s taken aback by your generosity, he wasn’t exactly expecting a warm welcome; you’d probably shun him off your porch but instead you let him lean his weight on you. Hand firmly planted on his chest as you help him inside and onto your couch. 

“Off now.” You command rigidly, making a gesture towards his tank. You sound rough but Logan knows you well enough to know you’re only putting up a front to hide your anxiety; especially as you make off towards the bathroom for supplies whilst biting your nails. 

Rushing back with an arm full of medical supplies, Logan chuckles dryly at you. “Sure you’re not performing surgery on me?” 

“Don’t laugh.” You groan, unimpressed at his humour at this time. 

Logan spreads his legs wider for you so you fit neatly between; able to study the extent of his wounds easier. “Darlin’ don’t frown like that, you’re gonna get wrinkles,” he says trying to ease your mind; swiping a thumb over your brows. 

“You’re hurt though.” 

“I’m fine just needa’ get these bullets out first,” he speaks before standing up promptly; shifting you out of the way with a gentle shove to your hip.

“Logan, wait Logan I gotta check.” You chase after him but are instead greeted with the bathroom door flush with your face. “Damnit.” You whine, slipping down the back of the door until you sat down against it.

Soon the sound of painful groans hit your ears followed with the an unmistakable tink. Jarring up suddenly to your feet as the door swings open. “Now you can check.” 

With a wet cloth you clean blood from his wounds, then with some rubbing alcohol; you wince at each sharp intake of breath Logan makes as his wounds sting. 

As you sit kneel between his legs after finishing the bandaging you lay your head on his thigh with an exhausted sigh. Soon you feel a familiar hand running its fingers through your tousled hair.

“Sorry for worrying you.” Logan speaks earnestly, but you shake your head in response. 

“No don’t be, I’m just glad you came to me.” 

Logan’s shocked but not only your generosity, but your words. A pang settles within his heart at that, you wanted him no matter what condition he turned up in. Blood or cleanliness you’d be waiting with bandages or kisses. 

He runs his knuckles across your cheek, you lean into his gentleness; kissing each of his knuckles with care then his freshly wrapped wounds. As you do so you swear you hear a mumbled; “love you.” It’s hushed by your lips to his. 

You’ll bring him to bed that night and in the morning he’s on your porch with a bucket of stain in one hand and a brush in the other.

[diejager]

Hey! I love your monster au and was wondering how Monster! TF 141 + König and Horangi would react to Y/N getting a serious/ life-threatening injury during mission?

This reminds me of your request @thatgirlwhocantfindausername

Cw: injury, blood and gore, monster 141 cod, overprotective, implied death, worry, tell me if I missed any.

You were rushed to the ER for an emergency surgery to take care of at least a dozen bullet wounds, consciousness hanging on a loose thread and body standing between blood loss and high on morphine. The nurses had to keep the TF from barging into the operation room to let the surgeons and doctors do their work, then security was called to have them escorted to the waiting room, somberly filling the corridor with their dark mood.

They spent hours upon hours wondering if you’d make it, the most pessimistic of them already fearful and minds shutting down at the simple thought of burying you, or scattering your ashes, or being the bearer of bad news for the rest of your relatives. Despite the stoic mess in their faces, lips pulled thinly and eyes shadowed, there were little signs of panic, a crack in their facade that showed their terror and worry. They shouldn’t have let you go without them, without at least one of them by your side.

Price looked as if he’d burst a vessel, his jaw clenched and fingers locked together to stop himself from fidgeting. König didn’t share the reserve, finger fidgeting, scratching at the loose thread of his gloves or the cuff of his shirt. Ghost wasn’t far from working his hands, his restlessness coming off from his leg, bouncing endlessly as he burned a hole into the floor. Soap was mumbling, quiet words lost to everyone’s ears, and it seemed like Horangi and Alejandro occupied their thoughts the same, hisses and swears slipping from their tongues like a waterfall. Gaz’s face looked the most pained, biting his pretty lips and brows screwed together, his eyes closed to block out his visions. And Rudolfo, the most human of them all, felt his tears blur his vision, staring blankly at the wall with trembling lips and a heart-wrenching expression.

When the head surgeon came out in clean garbs and heavy bags under his eyes, his smile took away the heaviness that weighted on the group’s shoulders, telling them that you would be fine and that you made it, albeit hooked up on painkillers, liquids, and other substance to keep you stable. The surgeon had warned them that you’d be coming in and out of sleep, dazed and in pain, that you’d mumble and whimper, but you never lucid enough to be conscious of your words.

And the moment your eyes open, blinking away the sleep that clung to your mind, the rushed to your side, whispering prises and encouragements, happiness and relief spilling from their every pores as they give you space to breathe and take a moment to take in your situation, mind still swimming in drugs and pain. They spend your recovery sitting in your room, occupying your time with small stories and little banter, making sure that every moment you spent in bed were joyful ones.

Despite the long recovery - a week spent at the hospital and a few more unable to put in any work - they clung to you, leaving one or two of them sticking by your side in case of an accident or an emergency. They were ready to help you with anything: bathing, eating, massages, or sleeping, as long as it caused you a bit of pain or annoyance.

Oh, +1000000% big guard dog privileges. None of them will let you go off on your own anymore, you’ll have one at your every beck and call, following you around like a lost pup.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara

[lysatoru]

I’ll never smile again - Frank Sinatra

a little angst, reader is a neurosurgeon, neutral pronouns, ""friendship"", geto’s death is mentionned, cuss words, mention of death, mention of medical treatment, mention of graveyard

gojo satoru x reader

"time of death 10:34pm"

the monitor beeps. The noise is continuous and getting heavier and heavier to bear. You put down your scalpel, raise your hands and step away from the body. You look around, at a few people in the observatory, friends and journalists who’ve come to watch the first surgery about your experiment on a certain type of tumor, a new surgical approach to removing that tumor. A rather invasive approach indeed, but one that worked in clinical trials.

The intern begins to close the patient's skull. Drops of sweat begin to drip from your forehead, your vision starts to deteriorate more and more, you've got to get out of there. "I killed him, I killed him" goes round and round in your head. You smile slightly at the journalists in the observatory, including your best friend, your friends and Gojo. "I'm sorry, I have to go" you inform the other surgeons and doctors in the OR.

You leave the room quickly. Your best friend has seen the distress in your eyes, she knows you, she knows what you're like. "That's not a good sign" she murmurs before rubbing her face with both hands. Gojo looks at your best friend blankly and gets up, leaving the observatory. "Where are you going?" she asks Gojo "I won't be long" he replies.

You take off your coat, gloves and cap, throw the coat and gloves in the trash and your cap on the floor. You're trembling, suffocating, everyone was counting on you and you failed, you killed him. You needed air, you knew the journalists would be here as soon as possible. You walk into the x-ray room. You see them, the scans of your late patient, "what the hell happened?" you look at them over and over again. You go in circles in the room, biting your lip and rubbing your eyes. You rip the scans off the wall and throw them on the floor, "fuck!". Tears start to roll down your cheeks, unintentionally.

"Are you all right?" you hear a voice coming from behind you, you knew exactly who it was. Gojo slowly closes the door behind him and moves closer, "Everything's fine, everything's fine".

"Everything's fine?! Do you really think everything's fine?! Are you kidding me?!" you reply.

"Shh, it's not your fault you know" he tries to stay calm.

"Who operated on him? Who opened his skull? Who performed an invasive surgical method on him? It’s me!" you lose all control, gojo is not your enemy in this situation, quite the opposite. You move closer to him, pointing at yourself, tears flowing, your voice starting to break little by little

"You need to calm down, it was experimental and you know it" gojo puts his hands on your shoulders

"Do not touch me!" you reply, backing away violently.

He sighs and raises an eyebrow, leans back against a wall, crosses his arms and legs, "I'm not going to teach you your job, but death is part of your job. there are things you can't foresee".

"He was 15! He was 15 and he had a tumor since 13! He died at 15 because of me! It’s not fair!" you say crying your heart out . "Death was almost inevitable, you know that" he replies calmly.

"And what do you know about death? how often do you come into contact with it?" you approach him.

"What do you mean?" he approaches you too, clenches his jaw, the tension begins to build between you. "Don’t start with those things it won’t get us anywhere" he sighs once again. He didn't want to get upset because you'd just lost a patient who was very important to you, but he soon realized that the subject could take a rather dramatic turn.

"You dare lecture me about death and inevitability when you literally killed your best friend?"

— silence.

Gojo straightens up, uncrosses his arms and looks at you, raising his eyebrows, again "What did you say?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" you’ve gone too far.

"Do you really think I wanted this? That I wanted all this?" he approaches you again, his eyes wide.

"I know I didn't, I'm sorry-" you slowly back away

"Do you really think that your job as a neurosurgeon, which you chose, and my job, which was imposed on me, are the same? Do you really think that I don't deal with death? You don't kill patients, you fail to save them, it's not the same. I kill people on purpose, that's the difference between us. — the more he talks, the closer he gets to you, you find yourself leaning against a wall involuntarily. You raise your head more and more to look at him because he's so tall — I have no choice but to do this job, you do. I kill those around me for ungrateful people like you"

"Satoru, please wait-" you start following him

The door slams and you find yourself alone in the scan room, you'd just pissed off the only person who'd come to support you after your defeat, Gojo considered you a true friend so much so that he confided about his friendship with Geto and how much he was suffering today, from his death. You knew that your patient's death and Geto's were incomparable, and yet you compared them. Why were you so stupid?

You start to follow gojo through the corridors but the journalists start to come between you "I'm sorry I have to-", "Did you make a mistake?", "why did he die?", "He was only 15, how do you feel?" fucking journalists. You see Gojo disappear in the hallway.

When you get home, you try to call Gojo, but he doesn't answer. You try to send him messages, but he doesn’t reply.

11:57pm

i’m sorry Satoru i know i fucked up

12:03pm

please, can we talk?

12:32pm

i think i know where you are, i’m coming

You get in your car and head down to the graveyard. A few minutes later you arrive in front of his grave and there he was, crouching, wearing his mask as usual, you've always wondered if it was also a way of hiding his emotions, the eyes speak, but his, what do they say ?

"Hi, you didn’t reply to my texts i was scared" you say softly. He doesn’t say anything. "I’m sorry you know i didn’t mean that" — "Why did you come ?" he say not looking at you but still looking at the grave. "I was worried". He laughs ironically "really ? you really are the last person i wanted to see here."

You decide to approach him a little. "I wanted to make sure you were fine" — "And I am, you can leave now"

You don’t know what to say anymore, it was all your fault anyway. "Satoru I-" — "leave" he looks at you and you decide to leave.

You know he’ll never smile the same again without Geto near him.

hi, first post since almost nine months *tries not to panick*. I don’t know how to feel about this, i think i lost the way i was writing before ? i don’t know. I have a feeling this is botch :( I wanted to try something new but anyway.

even though i’m not a big fan of this work, i’m really happy to writing again^^

if you think i use deepl for this one you’re right 😜👍🏻

[myaswriting]

oh baby !

dad!trevor zegras x black!fem!reader

friends to lovers to parents

warnings: swearing, kissing, baby, talk of birth, pregnancy, young pregnancy. young parents, traditional parents (of reader), references to smut no actual smut

author’s note: hello everyone. i’m so sorry i’ve been so inactive i had emergency surgery last week so i’ve been dealing with recovery as well as the days leading up to it i was very sick. but!! here is some dad trevor to brighten the day!! i hope you guys enjoy.

trevor was always a goofball. he never took anything serious. this became a problem as he got older. he knew when he was very talkative and liked to crack jokes. he was amazing at it after all. he knew he could get out of anything by simply just, talking or telling a few one liners to save the day.

you not so much. you were dramatic, sue me. you worried about everything. it was in your nature. trevor was never careful. he was never aware of how serious things can get. you solved problems with reason and strategy. you never had a reason to not stress.

trevor was your best friend. the only man you’ll ever let that close to you. you were childhood friends who did everything together. of course you had your girl friends that you loved dearly, but trevor was your soulmate.

september 2019 - Boston University

you loved rainy days. you would spend all day watching movies or even reading. rainy days made you feel zen, at peace.

today was not one of those days.

you sat on the cold tile floor, makeup smeared, and tears lining the brim of your eyes. you couldn’t breathe. this couldn’t be happening.

it was one time. one fucking time.

you shakily lift the third pregnancy test you’ve taken today.

= pregnant

“fuck, this can’t be real,” you sob holding the stick close to you. you shake breathing in trying to hold your sobs in.

it was nearly twelve in the morning and you had class early. you really hope you don’t wake up your roommate but you really can’t stop sobbing. you have only been here for 3 weeks and you already fucked up. you parents were going to kill you. there was no doubt about it. the worst part of this all was the fact that you had to tell trevor.

oh trevor…

you slowly stand up from the floor and set the stick down. you open the bathroom door to see your roommate kayla staring ar you with worry in her tired eyes.

“hey babe what’s going on,” she quietly asks with a hoarse voice from sleeping.

you sniffle before hugging her. “i’m pregnant,” you sob breaking down once again. she gasps and pulls you back.

“y/n, what?” she looks up with wide eyes. you bite your lip nervously handing her the pregnancy test. she looks down at it and sucks in a breath. “it’s trevor’s?” she questions.

you had told her about your little sex adventures with your hometown best friend, not even thinking about the consequences of having raw sex. raw sex with your best friend. raw sex with someone you’re going to lose… your heart breaks at the idea of telling trevor. you don’t even want to tell anyone. you felt trapped and scared.

“he’s.going. to hate me,” you sob in broken sentences. the pounding in your head gets louder the more you cry.

kayla grabs your hands and holds them tightly. she looks into your eyes and tells you a story about her mom. you knew from over the summer and talking to her that her mother was 17 when she had her first child. things weren’t easy but she did it.

“you are so strong, trevor is a good guy,” she smiles softly holding your jaw lovingly. “he’s still your best friend, just talk to him,”

little did she know that the friend ship sailed away months ago after you started hooking up.

—

y/n

can we meet for lunch?

trev <3

yeah ofc meet me at frankie’s?

y/n

yeah 11:45 don’t be late

trev <;3

yes ma’am 🫡

—

you chew your nails waiting for trevor at the cafe near campus. you look out the window and see trevor walking towards the building. he was dressed in sweats and a hoodie. god he looked so good.

trevor makes his way inside and looks for you. he smiles when he sees you sitting there. you try to cover up the fact that you’re nervous as fuck. he makes it to the table and sits down across from you smiling.

“hey cutie,” he says fixing his beanie.

“hi,” you say quickly avoiding eye contact with him.

he frowns looking at you with confusion. you were never this quiet. sure you were not as loud as trevor. no one was. but you were chatty around people who made you happy. this was odd. this wasn’t you.

“y/n what’s wrong,” he frowns deeper heart beating out of his chest. were you mad at him? was he in trouble?

you sigh feeling the tears starting to well in your eyes. you shakily breathe in and out before looking him in the eyes. “i’m going to tell you something z, you have to promise you won’t get mad,” you say holding back tears.

“yeah, yeah. of course. what’s going on?”

trevor feels sick. what could she possibly have to say. the first thing he thinks of is that you have a boyfriend and you have to stop fucking. that thought quickly brought a sour taste to his mouth. he felt a huge tang of jealousy hit his chest. no other man should have their hands on you. you were his.

you slowly lift up your purse pulling out the three tests setting them on the table. he sucks in a breath, eyes wide looking at the blue and white device on the table.

“are these…” he whispers lifting one up to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. you bite the inside of your cheek nervous.

“yeah, they’re m-mine,” you whisper holding back sobs.

he feels his heart swell up with something. happiness? pride? love? he couldn’t pin point it. this was news that he never thought he’d hear, but he wasn’t one bit mad about it.

“please say something,”

“baby this.. this is crazy,” he smiles looking at you.

“what..?” you breathe a shaky teary laugh.

trevor gets up and moves into the booth with you. he grabs you and pulls you into him kissing your head a million times.

“we can do this. no, we will do this.”

april 2020

you make your way through the halls of yours and trevor’s shared apartment. waddling your way through the days. as covid 19 was taking the world by storm you and trevor have had nothing but one on one time. talking, singing, rapping, reading, you name it. anything to your belly. after 3 months into your pregnancy trevor took you out on a real date and asked you to be his official girlfriend.

your parents were not thrilled with the news. they called you all kinds of names and made you feel extremely small and stupid. they told you that if you dropped out of school they’d disown you. they even went on to say that they don’t know if they can be in your life if you choose to keep the baby and not give it up for adoption. you have cried and cried about your parents not being excepting. you worried day and night about them. heart broken at the fact they didn’t want anything to do with you.

julie and gary have been nothing but loving and supportive. they were scared at first. worried how this would affect trevor’s future. but after getting drafted they no longer worried. they knew their son could take care of you. he was a good man, he takes care of his siblings in ways that made you feel safe knowing he was going to be the father of your child.

your pregnancy was fairly easy you had little trouble. you dealt with little morning sickness and even went to the gym with trevor as often as you could.

july 21, 2020, dylan mae zegras arrives.

8lbs 3oz, 23 inches long. a perfect baby girl. she came quick and dramaticly.

you were watching tv in the living room waiting for trevor to get home. you were slowly packing things up for the big move to anaheim. you felt wettness pool in your pants. you groan thinking it was probably sweat from being 9 months pregnant and sitting with a heated blanket. you stand up slowly feeling a contraction hit you like a truck.

“no, no, no,” you cry holding your belly. “this can’t be happening,” you cry out walking towards the kitchen. you unlock your phone and call trevor. he was at weight training and wouldn’t be home for another hour.

“hello,” you hear him on the other line. just as you were about to speak another contraction hits, harder. “baby are you okay?”

you whimper out a “it’s happening,”

[staarboyyy]

I SAW YOUR REQUESTS WERE OPEN AND I RAN STRAIGHT TO HERE-

I was wondering if you could maybe write something where we're comforting Amanda during the events of saw 3 like when after John was having that like stroke I think it was?? The whole time I watched that scene all I wanted was to comfort her 😭😭

If not it's completely fine!! I hope you have a great and amazing day!! (Ps, I'm sorrying if by requests you ment drawings or something, if you did, just ignore this!!)

choice

amanda x gender neutral reader

18+ characters / scenarios - minors dni

tags / warnings ; stroke mentions/slight descriptions, surgery mentions, panic attacks, grounding, hand holding, fluff, "i hate everyone but you" trope

summary ; after john has a stroke, you find yourself slightly split between two sides of the same coin.

word count ; 696

a/n; my first request!! and its such a sweet one 😭💞  i feel the same whenever i rewatch saw 3, i hope this is sufficient!! <3

"Anesthetic! what else!?"

Amanda's voice rocketed around the large workshop, your hand on John's trembling hand squeezing slightly. He had just spasmed a few minutes prior, bleeding from his mouth as Amanda stood in horror, like a deer in the headlights. You assisted Lynn in restraining John, agreeing to look after him while the others spoke about how to move on from this. Yet hearing Amanda shout in a warbling demand, you could nearly feel yourself force to your feet - You understood Lynn, felt for her panic and desperation to escape; But upon moving the plastic from the doorframe to John's pseudo hospital room, there she was. Stood in the same way she had been while watching John seize helplessly. Fearful? It had to be atleast close to it, the way her chest swelled and spilled shuddered gasps forward, hands grasping at the table behind her to alleviate some of the tension in her arms. Her jaw was clenched tightly, eyes glued to the cement floor as Lynn's words blurred past Amanda's dead-set decision. The surgery would happen here, it had to.

"I'll start a list."

You make your voice known through the shaking breathes of Lynn and Amanda, both women's eyes turning to face you. Both with an odd amount of relief; On one hand, Amanda could trust in the fact you would understand her. Despite it being forced upon you, bound to your wrists and ankles in thick chains, you had always been the person to extend a hand to her, even now. And on the other, Lynn - Innocent, to a degree. Afraid, just like you had been so long ago. At your words, Amanda gave an unsteady nod. In any other world, she would have brushed it off or even stiffly chuckle. But her breathing wavered, and even though her mind fought to collect the right things to say, none moved to push past her ajar lips. She kept pulling in practiced breaths, eyes on you, flickering over your expression. It felt good to focus on something familar, even as your brows furrowed as your gaze closed in on hers. Lynn's eyes nervously darted between you both as you treaded closer toward the sensitive woman leaning against the table, her fingers roaming the space behind her. She strummed the rusty knives with her pale long fingers, black polish chipped on her nails, scratching them lightly against the metal. Her eyes were raw with frantic rubbing, bottom lashes stinging as tears slid helplessly over her cheeks - She tried to hide them as soon as they fell, wiping the back of her palm against her flushed cheek.

Amanda was sensitive like this, it was no secret to anyone in the building, becoming more apparent as Lynn treaded quickly back towards John's room. She was smart to disappear, you thought, your attention on Amamda's fist balled tightly around a thick rusty dagger. Her grasp shook, the weapon trembling as she tried to bite back the sobs harboring angrily in her chest.

"I - I am so,"

It came out mumbled, the woman's head shaking slowly, her long hair curtaining over her tear stained cheeks and eyes. She wanted so badly to speak, to not feel like a clock was ticking down on her well being, as if she was not white-knuckling something built strictly to kill. Her eyes wavered, perhaps too nervous to keep her gaze on you; She looked like a dejected animal, isolating herself as far into a corner as possible, biting when anybody got too close.

"I know. Me too; But she told us what we need, right?"

bBut that's the thing with wild animals, isn't it? There's always someone. A hand extended slow enough, palm facing up in an offer; A choice. No force, no swaying her decision with a ticking timer or blade to her throat. She did not consciously release the blade, it did not cross her fractured mind. It faded, the panic and blood rushing in her ears had slowed - And there you were. Just you, and how her cold fingers felt against yours - Another nod, more affirmed than before as she sniffled quietly.

She'd always choose you.

[enkvyu]

ask game — prompt from this request

“hit a leg so stanky it requires medical intervention”

your jaw unhinges and you gape at gojo and getou, both standing sheepishly in the morgue. “what are you doing here?”

gojo looks away, slumping into a seat and rattling the metal chair against the tiled floors. his left leg juts out awkwardly, a metal pole stabbed right through the muscle of his lower leg. the bleeding had stopped around the opening, but the sight was still a gruesome one to behold.

“i was hitting a leg so stinky it now requires medical intervention.”

getou makes a concerning noise, something between a chortle and a gasp that isn’t given the chance to reach its full potential as he slams a hand over his mouth. he coughs when you give him an incredulous look and shrugs away gojo’s pestering.

“you laughed!”

“we’re meant to be fighting.”

“that was twenty minutes ago. right now, we’re bonding over my shenanigans.”

the light atmosphere completely throws you off loop, especially as you struggle to pull your eyes away from the injury. though you've been trained in the way of medicine, flesh and blood was still difficult to digest.

you struggle to focus on your job as the boys begin bickering. as you slide on a pair of latex gloves, you mumble, “at least you’re aware.”

gojo eyes the shiny material and he hesitates when you gesture him over, patting the bed in front of you. “why do you need those on?”

“for medical inspection.”

“you cheated on your exam along with shoko, you can’t just use proper procedures whenever you want to. you're not even a real doctor!” he argues, edging backwards as you come forward. there's something satisfying with eliciting panic on gojo so you play around, pulling back the material so it snaps back in place against your wrist. "i'm serious, if you're operating on me just because i've got the pole of a trampoline stuck in my foot, i'm leaving."

"only you would think this is a minor wound." getou remarks drily.

"they say real friends are those that can sincerely clap for you when you do well." you say. "where's my thanks for cheating on my exam so i could heal you guys? without me, you would all be dead."

"i don't remember the last time you clapped for me." gojo mumbles.

you tilt your head at him. "when was the last time you did well?"

getou hides his smile behind his palm. "gagged."

it was easy to forget the two boys had been fighting only a few minutes ago, though gojo reminds you again by growling deeply at getou's statement, whipping around to level him with a glare.

"still haven't had enough? want to go for another round of eggs?"

"eggs?” you echo, picking up metallic tools from a clean tray.

getou answers you instead. "it's when one person curls up in a ball on a trampoline and the other person jumps around in hopes of cracking them."

gojo points to his leg. "getou might have cracked me too hard."

you finishing cleaning the tools necessary for the operation. nodding over to getou, he catches your message and lifts gojo up from under his arms. the white haired sorcerer lets him, though not without a frown.

the metal bed moves around a little as his weight is dumped on its surface, the wheels rolling around on the spot. when gojo doesn't immediately lie down, you push his shoulders and catch his head before it slams against the metal.

you slide the standing light across the floor and ready your hands.

"is that a hammer?" he inquires and you roll your eyes as if he was the stupid one.

"it's an orthopaedic mallet."

"what's the difference?"

"this is actually legal to use in surgery."

only now does gojo struggle. "you are not coming near me with that thing."

"scared?" getou taunts.

you crack a grin, handing getou the legal, medical hammer. "here, you can do the honors."

"he doesn't even have a medical license!"

you shrug. "neither do i. you mentioned that earlier, didn't you?"

gojo bites his lip, shrinking in on himself. "did i also mention how much i appreciate you?"

placing a hand on his shoulder, you deliver a heartfelt gaze. "no, maybe you should have done that sooner."

getou smiles over your shoulder, rolling up his sleeves. "this might hurt."

it’s only when getou begins using the mallet in it’s (definitely) intended purpose, that you realise you had forgotten to give gojo a dose of anaesthetics.

do i really think an orthopaedic mallet is used to remove a pole from a leg? no, absolutely not. was it the first surgical tool i thought of? yes. also, like gojo so kindly mentioned, you don't have a medical licence anyways so you probably just hammered the pole all the way through to the other end or smth. also google was not helping :(

[leighsartworks216]

Good Boy

Astarion x transmasc!Tav/Reader x Gale

This is a part two to Feel Good

Gale might be OOC, I don't have him talking as much as I'd honestly like, but I just don't know what he'd say and I don't have the brain power rn to listen to his dialogue. Not proofread

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: oral (w vagina), threesome, top Astarion, bottom Gale, praise kink, hair pulling, slight scent kink, some nipple play, mentions of top surgery scars

Word Count: 1,051

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form <- Fill this out if you want to be tagged

Astarion couldn’t keep his mouth off of you. Lips trailed languidly along your new chest scars in wet kisses, tongue brushing along the jagged edges. You tasted like Gale’s soap, which they’d used to tenderly clean your body after so long of being unable to properly bathe. Now you were clean, and both men fully intended to make you filthy.

Both men knelt over you, Gale burying his face into your shoulder and trailing scratchy kisses along your throat. He brushed his tongue over the faded bite marks left behind by Astarion, drawing out a whimper from you. They were taking their sweet time. Their hands caressed and massaged and pressed softly against you, but they never reached where you needed them. Astarion could smell you already - dripping wet with arousal for them.

His dark red eyes sought out yours as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing ever so lightly against it as his tongue swirled around. Your hand flew to his hair, tugging desperately at his white curls.

“Please, please,” you gasped. You reached up and tangled your other hand in Gale’s hair, trying to pull him away from his assault on your jaw. “Need you, please.”

Astarion released your nipple, but his cool breath continued to fan over it as he spoke. “What do you want us to do, love? Use your words now.” He trailed a hand along your belly, brushing over Gale’s, and gliding it between your thighs, but not quite touching your sex. No, instead he pressed your legs open, and you complied without a single thought otherwise.

You groaned, frustrated and needy. “Eat me out,” you gasped as a flush rushed to your cheeks. “Please, Gale, need you.”

Gale captured your lips in a kiss, licking his tongue into your mouth greedily. You shivered thinking about him doing the same thing to your cunt. He pulled away with a grin. “It would be my honor.”

He made his way slowly down your body, taking his time to kiss every inch of your skin. Your collarbones, your sternum, your peck, down to your belly button, and further still until he knelt between your legs - he loved the way you tasted. Even just the smell of you was enough to drive him mad.

He pressed your legs further apart so he’d fit, and watched as Astarion’s slid from your thigh to your cunt. He used his fingers to spread your folds, slicking his fingers with you as he showed just how needy you were to Gale. “Look how wet he is already,” the vampire purred.

Gale groaned, cock twitching at just the sight of you like this. So handsome. So gorgeous. He dipped down, ready to dive in and lose himself in you. But Astarion stopped him with a small ah-ah, and presented his coated fingers to the wizard.

“Come on,” he encouraged with a smirk. “Show our darling just what that tongue of yours can do.”

“I’m sure he’s well acquainted by now,” he remarked, but he took Astarion’s fingers in his mouth anyway. He watched you both as he ran his tongue between them and licked up the slick, coating the fingers in saliva.

You shuddered and Astarion grinned. “Well aren’t you just a good boy,” he teased, but Gale shivered at the praise. Even though Astarion said it so playfully, he knew it was genuine. He pulled his fingers from Gale’s mouth and grabbed his hair, right next to yours. He pushed his head down between your thighs. “Eat up. He’s waited long enough, don’t you think?”

Gale didn’t hesitate. He licked a stripe up your slit, cleaning you of your wetness, before teasing his tongue around your entrance. You bucked up into him, but he pressed an arm over your hips to keep you pinned down. They couldn’t have you exerting yourself - that would ruin the entire point of this. With his nose pressed against your clit, his tongue plunged deep inside.

You moaned as he ate you out, pressing your head back into your pillows as the sensations overwhelmed you. The sloppy, wet sounds filled your ears; the wizard acted like a starving man at a banquet.

Astarion’s mouth found your neck, sucking and nipping all over, but especially around your pulse. Your blood raced under your skin as your heart raced. And you smelled delicious. “You’re gorgeous, my love,” he groaned into the skin behind your ear. He released Gale’s hair in favor of running his fingers along your chest scars, delicately, as they were still sensitive. He pressed harder when he ran his fingers just underneath them. “So fucking handsome.”

You tugged on his hair until his lips were on yours. It was a sloppy kiss, full of desperation and passion. He eagerly swallowed every moan and gasp from you.

He nipped at your lips when you pulled away with a choked groan. His eyes studied your face knowingly. “Are you going to cum for us, pretty boy?” You whimpered at the nickname. Gale felt you clench excitedly around his tongue.

Astarion’s hand slides down your stomach until his fingers find your clit. Gale repositions so he’s not getting flicked in the nose as the vampire begins rubbing circles against you. He peers up through your legs to watch as your chest rises and falls with hurried gasps, watching as Astarion finds your neck again and murmurs sweet praises into it. He can pinpoint the exact moment you orgasm.

Astarion doesn’t let up on your clit as you clench around Gale’s tongue, drawing out each moan of their names as your cum is eagerly eaten up by the wizard. Only once you begin squirming with overstimulation does Astarion stop, before pushing Gale firmly but not unkindly away from your cunt. His face is coated in you, filling his nostrils with your heady musk. He presses tender kisses to your inner thighs, holding them steady as they tremble from the aftershocks.

“Good boy,” Astarion praises as he pulls away to assess his partners. His eyes are still dark with lust as he watches Gale. They meet eyes, and between them is the same thought. He turns back to kiss you, languid and sweet, before he pulls away with a wicked smirk. “We’re not done with you yet, handsome.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @puppyg1rl666 @cyber-dump-171 @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive @thistrashisreadytobash @bongwaterflavoredgatorade

[masriortho]

Understanding Open Bite Jaw Problems at Masri Orthodontics

An open bite jaw problem occurs when the upper and lower teeth don't meet properly, leaving a gap between them when the mouth is closed. This can lead to issues with chewing, speech, and facial appearance. At Masri Orthodontics, we specialize in open bite jaw surgery to correct this condition and improve your oral health. Contact us to learn more about our treatment options for open bite jaw problems.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Scar Tissue (Good Omens One-Shot)

Aziraphale x FTM!Reader / requests are open

Summary: It's been one year since your top surgery.

Fic type: fluff

GOMENS: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @florduarte @complimentary-breadbasket @thekirbishow @jaziona92 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A year. One whole year. Three hundred and sixty-five days. That’s how long it’s been since you had your top surgery. 

It had been a long time coming and amidst family members worrying that it was a waste of money or that you would change your mind or regret it in ten years, Aziraphale had been a breath of fresh air. 

You’d clung to him when you’d mentioned casually that you’d booked in and he’d answered that comment with praise and excitement for you. He was the first to respond to you with genuine joy and not concern. 

He took you to your surgery- or rather he came with you because he didn’t have a car, and he waited for you to wake up. When you did, you’d caught him reading Pride and Prejudice for what you were pretty sure was the seventieth time. 

“My dear, are you up?” You hear, and the honey-smooth sound of his voice breaks you out of your memories. Aziraphale appears over your shoulder in the floor-length mirror and he gives you a soft smile. Your fingers trail over your chest and the soft bumps of your scarring. 

Aziraphale clocks the movement, and presses a kiss to your shoulder. 

“You know I like to see you shirtless, my dear, but I might be a little unsure how the theatre will take to it,” he teases, eyeing you appreciatively up and down. You snort, turning to wrap your hands around his neck in a tender embrace.

“Do you know what day it is?” You ask, and Aziraphale crinkles his face in that unamused way he sometimes does when he doesn’t realise you know that he knows what you’re talking about. 

“I believe today is the anniversary of your procedure,” he answers with a soft nod. “Do correct me if I am wrong, however,” he added. 

You nod, and a grin splits over your lips. You can’t help it. Aziraphale’s expression catches the bug, and he’s then grinning too. He walks you back to the bed, and when your knees hit the frame, you sit down, leaning back with your arms propped behind you. 

“I was so proud, do you remember?” He asks, trailing a warm finger over your cheek. “And my, aren’t you handsome? I’ve heard some humans don’t care for scars- but yours are stunning. Breathtaking.” 

His lips trail your jaw, down your neck and over your chest. He presses a feather-light kiss to the top of one of your scars, and the soft tickle causes you to suck in a breath. 

“To be so brave, and so true to yourself, my love. It’s- the truest we can be to God, do you agree?” 

You suppose that’s true enough. 

“You were incredibly brave, my handsome warrior and the trials have certainly paid off. Why- I can see you in a Greek painting. You would certainly suit the style.” 

You have to bite back a laugh as he caresses a soft finger over the scar. He presses more kisses to your skin, seeming to have forgotten about the movies. Not that you’d mind that. You were only really going to keep him company. What else were partners good for? 

You note a glint in his eye and make a mental note to dissuade him from trying to get a painting of you commissioned. Because he will, you can see it on his face. He’s thinking about it. 

“Alright, love,” you say, tapping his nose with the tip of your finger. “Come on, we’ll be late if we don’t go soon. Pick a sweater for me?”

Aziraphale steps away and peers at the two options you had sitting on the wardrobe handles. 

“I rather think the brown. It will match with my tartan, no?” 

You chew on your lip, adoration sweeping you off your feet for him. 

“Good choice.”

[tokiwarcube]

Rinse and Repeat

You've always been warned about overindulgence -- the whole "too much of a good thing" idiom has never really left the public lexicon, much to your chagrin. But you beg to differ -- you've spent countless lazy Sundays (and Mondays, and Tuesdays, and--), and have yet to grow tired of the sight before you.

Or, in which you get high and eat Pickles out.

Trans Pickles (✅ Top Surgery, ✅Bottom growth (t-dick lovers stay winning)) / Reader (AFAB, GN).

High sex, oral sex, established relationship. This is what love is all about. 2k words -- Enjoy! <3

His chest is firm beneath your hands, a firm wall keeping your body upright even as you sway with closed eyes, fuzzy in the head and high as a kite. Your lips upturn, eyes fluttering open slowly as you allow your hands to roam just a bit more, dipping them beneath his shirt to trace over his ribs, and then his crescent-shaped scars before returning back to open air and reaching half-heartedly for the joint pinched between his fingers. He laughs, holding it just far enough out of your reach. You playfully swat for it for all of five seconds before giving up, leaning against his chest with a sigh.

“Mean.”

He bounces you in his lap, jostling a little giggle out of you as you cling to him a bit tighter. “I think you’re high enough, babe.”

“Rich, coming from you.” You grin, looping your arms around his neck and settling yourself more firmly in his lap. He’s right, all things considered — with every passing minute you feel your weighted limbs become more sluggish, thoughts bleeding together in the hazy swirl of your herbal remedy. You just like to fuck with him, really.

Growing up you were always told that overindulgence makes the exciting become mundane, that even the most enjoyable things would become boring if you did it too much. But as you swipe for the lit joint again, you find that to be a load of horseshit. You’ve spent what seems like hundreds of lazy Sundays (and Mondays, and Tuesdays, and—) just like this, and every time is just as magic as the last. Go figure.

“Don’t get mad at me cause you’re a lightweight,” he laughs, flashing his teeth in a playful bite, before he brings the lit joint to his lips, inhaling deeply — and oh, he’s so pretty like this. You take him in as best you can from your position — the faint scar that rests on his upper lip, the strong line of his jaw, the glimmering silver of his piercings, and the barely-there freckles that dot his skin. Faded from his time indoors, you’ve always compared them to distant constellations — like anyone else as stupidly in love as you might do — but in your fuzzy stupor you really start to believe it. With closed eyes he casts his head back, flicking the end of the joint as he takes the smoke deeper into his lungs. He shakes the dreads off his shoulder with the movement, and with his throat bared like this, you feel your mind’s direction start to shift. You swallow back the drool pooling in your mouth, running your hands down his chest yet again — so distracted that you hardly notice the hand coming up to cup your head, pulling your lips to rest just millimeters away from his own.

The smoke is warm in your lungs, and the action only serves to stoke the heat growing between your thighs. Your eyes flutter shut yet again as you drink the vapor from his lips greedily, taking it into the depths of your own lungs. Pause for a beat, and savor the taste — earthy, sticky, sweet — and then blow it out over your shoulder when it starts to sting. You peel your heavy eyelids open only to be met with the green eyes of your lover, pupils blown wide.

“Can I help you?” You tease.

His hands tighten from their place on your hips, rocking his own firmly into yours. Your breath hitches, the pleasure of friction multiplied tenfold in your heightened state. You rock back against him instinctively, and his lips upturn.

“Think you can, actually,” he teases back.

His mouth is on your neck not more than a second after, beard scratching against the flat of your throat familiarly. Hot breath fanning against your skin heralds the pleasurable thrum of pain that follows as he sucks a line of bruises against your neck. What few thoughts you have left in your sluggish state turn to little more than static as your mouth parts instinctively, with your hands coming to clench his biceps for support, and God, he’s warm. The heat is sweltering — a concoction of the weed, his own body, and the growing need that burns brighter and brighter with every bite to your neck and every rock of his hips. His hands start to wander too as you lose yourself to his ministrations — moving down to grip your thighs eagerly before sliding up — pushing under your shirt, taking their time to explore every patch of skin. Every micromovement lasts a lifetime, nerves awash in throes of pink at his touch — too much and not enough, all at once. Needy yet dazed, you grind against him slowly, until you find yourself driven mad with want.

“Want you,” you slur, toying with the bit of boxer waistband that peeks up over his jeans. He hums against your throat, acknowledging, but does little more than cant your head to the other side to lathe his affections on new patches of unmarked skin. You swallow back drool yet again, feeling that last extra hit flowing through your system, driving your euphoria even higher and your dexterity lower. The metal buckle of his belt is like ice against your skin, and while it’s a miracle you’re able to move at all in this state of intoxication and arousal, your clumsy hands just barely manage to unhook the latch. He braces a single hand behind him to lift his hips just enough for you to lean forward on your own knees and pull the denim down, not stopping his lazy affections despite your eagerness.

“Pickles,” you whine, finally drawing his attention to your lips. He hums, pausing his movements momentarily and shooting a brief glance upwards. You’re embarrassed at how needy you sound — heat pooling in your core as he tries to pull your hips back down to rock against his own again, but you stay firm in your wants, despite the slick dripping between your own thighs. “Want to taste you, please?”

He smiles cockily, although the red that blooms across his face betrays his fluster, as he eases himself back against the duvet slowly. He laughs quietly, and call it love, but you can’t help but giggle a little too.

“Jesus Christ,” he smiles, throwing the crook of his arm over his eyes, “You’re always so fucking eager.”

You hum, shoving his shirt upwards to trail a series of kisses along the thin line of red hair that trails down his stomach, before pressing a single firm kiss to the darkening spot on his boxers and pulling down the material. His laughter dies in his throat at the action, hissing as his glistening cunt meets the cold air. His cock stands at attention, clearly just as needy as you after what seems like a century of smoking and grinding, and you can’t help but place another lingering kiss to the head. His fingers tangle themselves in your hair soon after, but you don’t need the extra encouragement, pressing the flat of your tongue against his cock, taking it into your mouth eagerly. You swirl your tongue around the head, delighting in the pants that fall from his mouth, before easing a single finger into him. And one quickly turns to two as the hand in your hair turns more insistent, more guiding, more needy. His hips buck against your face as you press against his g-spot, drunk off your movements, and your own hips find a rhythm against the bed in turn; too aware of the heat building between your thighs, but far too intoxicated off the taste of your lover to stop and deal with it.

“Shit,” he hisses, all but riding your tongue at this point. Your eyes flutter open to gaze at him, and what a sight for sore eyes he is. Back resting against the pillows, he grips the still-burning joint loosely. His eyes are half-hooded, but his pupils have swallowed all of the green in his iris, needy and wanting. He gazes down at you, red-faced and panting, swallowing thickly when he catches your gaze. Ash drips onto the comforter when he grips the joint a bit tighter, and he shakily moves the unlit end toward his lips for another hit — the high tolerance bastard.

You watch his expression closely as he pulls from the joint, chest expanding slow. He makes smoking look like an art with how slow he pulls — and just like that he parts his lips, and lets it free. Smoke coils slowly out of his mouth, not bothering to exhale and instead letting it flow naturally. Wisps of smoke tangle their way around his fanning dreads before dissipating into the open air — it’s such a sight that you almost feel bad when you suck a bit harsher, drawing a sudden groan and subsequent sputter from his throat. You hum against his cunt — amused at his dissolving composure, but too aroused to halt your task — and reveling in the twitch of his cock against your tongue at the vibrations. He extinguishes the dying flame in the ashtray on the bedside hastily, and tightens his grip in your hair, guiding you faster against him.

He swears, casting his head back as he moves with a new urgency against your mouth. “Jesus Christ, Jesus fucking Christ, you have no goddamn idea what you do to me,” he groans. He throws his head back against the pillows, growing more incoherent by the second, which only spurs you further. Your nose bumps against his pelvis, bobbing your head along the length of his cock, and it’s not long until his thighs are clamped around your head, dick twitching against your tongue. He cums with a low, drawn out cry — muffled from the vice-grip keeping you in place, but heavenly all the same. You swirl your tongue slowly, drawing out his orgasm until he’s pulling you away from his oversensitive cock, still twitching.

You meet his eyes with a grin, climbing up a fraction to rest your head on his stomach. His disheveled form is a stark contrast to your own, and you feel a surge of pride at your ability to take him apart so effortlessly. You drag your nails up his sides, delighting in the shiver it brings. “That good, huh?”

He shoots you a half-hearted glare, but he can’t hold it for long. His eyes soften, grinning, even through the heaving of his chest as he comes down from the secondary high. “Fuck you.”

“You sure you don’t need a breather? Take five?”

“You—” he laughs. It wasn’t that funny, a simple reversal of meanings that would easily constitute for a middle-school-tier joke, but in your shared stupor, it seems like the funniest thing in the world. You laugh too, although less at your own words, and more of his own amusement. His scrunched eyes and upturned nose — beautiful as ever. But it’s not long before he’s looping his hands beneath your arms, pulling you up to be chest to chest.

He kisses you then, lapping at your lips insistently and leaving you breathless once again. You hardly even have time to reciprocate though, because he’s quickly flipping you into his own position — splayed out against the pillows as he pushes your own shirt up your body, mimicking your previous movements. A kiss placed to your ribcage — “Nah, I’m good,” he murmurs against your skin — a kiss placed to your sternum, then stomach, to the crest of your pelvis. Curious fingers hook into your waistband, pulling achingly slow, the damn tease.

“Could do this all day, actually.”

And as you gaze down upon him, pupils blown out wide with his taste still clinging to your tongue, you realize that you could say the exact same.

Yeah, whoever said that repetition makes life boring is a fucking liar.

[raindrop-21]

Ok so for a request could you do one (141 and ghost band crossover) where the reader is a ghoul but is part of 141 and they ask to see there family and the reader is really awkward and secretive about it untill they kinda are just like “fuck it”

I had a lot of fun writing this! Here ya go.

Price knows you’re different, different in a good, scary way. Good because your senses are heightened, bad because it scares him how good your senses are. You greet him right as he enters the room before you look at him, you can smell/taste specific ingredients in food from just one bite/the aroma. What scares him the most is how quickly you recover from surgeries and wounds. He’s seen you get near-fatal wounds and be A-ok within the next week.

You always have two weeks off a year (minus holidays) for your heats. You either always go home, but if you can't, you just hole yourself up in your room. The 141 doesn’t know why, the last time they tried, they were met with a door that wouldn’t open no matter what, not even if they took off the door knob (Johnny needed you to show him how to make a cake. Simon was mad at him). That’s until now. Before you could request the time off, a few new recruits snatched it up before you could go to Price and ask for it off.

It’s hell being on base, in heat, unable to take care of yourself or be taken care of. You tried begging Price for the time off, but when he asked the reason you needed it so bad, you came up blank. You can’t tell him that you’re so horny you can’t work, he’ll look at you like you’re an idiot. You can’t tell him that you can’t work because you’re from Hell and need your mates to ‘breed’ you so you can calm down, he’ll look at you like you’re insane. So you just choose to drop it and do your best to keep the ache between your legs from distracting you from working.

The boys notice the lower quality in your work. They notice your very frequent bathroom breaks, how quick you are to run to your room during free time, how reactive you are to the slightest touch, everything. So one day, halfway through your heat, the boys corner you and demand answers. You freeze at their demands, knowing you could either lie and say you’re sick or tell them the truth. You can’t come up with a proper lie, so instead of telling them the truth, you show them.

Your sudden transformation shocks them, but what shocks them more are the two pointed horns on top of your head, long pointed ears, a long tail swaying behind you, and light gray skin. Their jaws drop. Now with your true self fully exposed, you decide that you’re not going to hold back, and you’re just going to tell them the truth.

“Bloody hell… What are-” 

“I’m a ghoul. Well, to you, I probably look like a demon, which isn’t far off, but not the same.” You effectively cut off Kyle, “I’ve been so shitty at doing work related things because I’m in heat.”

“Heat? Like an animal?” Simon asks, the skepticism present in his voice.

“Yes,” You sigh, “Like an animal.”

Johnny laughs a bit too hard before adding, “So yer so horny ye can’t work?”

“Unholy Satan…” You mutter as you pinch the bridge of your nose, “Yes, Johnny, that’s basically it. So horny, I can’t work.”

“So this is why you needed these two weeks off.” Price realizes.

“So ye jus’ need someone to fuck ya?” Simon elbows Johnny in the ribs for that remark. Breathlessly, Johnny adds, “We can help ye.” Yet another elbow to the ribs.

“No, you can’t. There are others like me who I go to for help. My pack.” You say bluntly.

“And where is this ‘pack’ of yours?” Price asks curiously.

“In Sweden.”

“Sweden?!” Kyle and Johnny exclaim astonished.

“Yes, Sweden.”

“So you’re telling me that you’re a ghoul, your family are ghouls, and you’re from Sweden?” Simon asks, still skeptical.

“Yes, I’m not lying. The horns, tail, all of its real, the whole shebang.” Shivers start to crawl up your spine with the way they’re all staring at you, “Stop looking at them.” You suddenly snap, the bite in your voice surprising even you.

All four of the boys look at you with surprise, you’ve never once spoken like this to them. You turn around to try to hide yourself from them, now suddenly self-conscious about your non-human parts. Your tail is anxiously flicking behind you. Your tail catches Johnny’s attention, and Johnny touches your tail out of curiosity. The touch feels like a needle stabbing your tail, it’s not the touch of one of your mates. The touch on your tail makes you yelp and your tail smacks Johnny.

“Ow! Shite!” Johnny yelps in return to getting smacked.

Price sighs, “I feel we need to either get tickets for your partners to get here or a ticket for you to go home.”

“That would be appreciated…” You mumble, “Just a ticket for me… It’d be cheaper… Way cheaper…”

“Okay then.” Price replies.

Within the next day, you’re on a plane to Sweden… But not by yourself. Kyle, Simon, Johnny, and Price are there too. You guess they wanted to meet your mates. There’s only going to be one problem; the moment you step into the ministry, you’re going to be dragged to the ghoul den and locked in there until your heat is over. They’ll most likely be stuck talking to Copia or a Cardinal or something. Well, they’ll find out when they get there.

When the plane lands, you immediately go to get your things and the boys follow. You get into the uber you called and the boys are surprised when the car pulls into the parking lot of a deep gray church that has vines growing up the sides of the building. They’re even more surprised when they enter the lobby and see a bunch of siblings hustling about. The moment you're ten feet inside the building, a ghoul appears out of nowhere; Swiss. He wraps his arms around you and plants a kiss on your forehead.

“Mi Amor.” He purrs as he nuzzles his head against you. The 141 looks at you a bit strangely as many more ghouls appear and drag you off. Copia comes just in time to you getting dragged off and the four men looking so out of place and confused. Copia greets them and takes them on a tour of the ministry, everywhere but the ghoul den because you’re, uh, getting quite busy in there. Afterward, Copia explains what all happens at the ministry and where the guys will be staying while they visit. The boys are confused, but happy that they got to meet your family and now know the true you.

[spirngakawening]

Ruth Fleming wears headgear so I briefly researched ✨️Orthodontic Headgear✨️:

Used (in combination with braces) to correct jaw misalignment & dental crowding - helps avoid corrective jaw surgery later on

Basically comprised of a metal frame that's in some way attached to the teeth (metal/elastic to braces) and strapped to the head

There are a few different types of headgear:

cervical pull (for overbite/overjet)

reverse-pull (underbite/crossbite)

high-pull (open bite)

Ruth's looks like the reverse-pull type without a chin cup... I didn't find any images of real faceframes that exactly matched Ruth's tho

Must be worn for at least 12 hours daily - the more you wear it, the more effective, & skipping a day undoes progress

Can't be worn while eating - Ruth may remove her headgear to eat, not eat at school, or drink her lunch through a straw

Can't be worn during any activity that could involve impact to the face - Ruth may be exempt from gym lessons

Wearing overnight is encouraged

Maintenance

Headgear adjustments call for pain medication & soft foods

Hard parts are washed daily, soft pads/straps washed every few days - must dry before wearing again

Correction can take 1-2 years, sometimes longer

Usually people start wearing headgear as preteens, so Ruth either started later or has been wearing it for longer than usual

Adults usually wear headgear for minor misalignment correction or after an accident that affected the teeth/jaw (eg lost some teeth & is prepping for dental implants/dentures)

It's not impossible that Ruth needs headgear because Max wrecked her jaw/teeth

And/or Max may have extended Ruth's time in headgear by hitting her in the face while she was wearing it

[larz-barz]

What type of surgery?

jaw surgery, i have an open and an over bite so i can’t eat properly, this surgery is gonna help me a lot but i’m rlly nervous;-;

[starseneyes]

Jaw Surgery: Six Weeks Post-Op

I’m one day off, but it has been mad, here, and there has been lots going on. But, I am thrilled to say I made the six week mark.

My surgeon said that as soon as the world opened up to normal food, the jaw starts to open more. He was right!

We are out of town, so I don’t have my own kitchen and ingredients at my disposal, but our friends recommended an Indian joint down the street.

Biting into a samosa was intimidating, but I did it. I know I looked to Matt with so much pride on my face! I did it!

The whole meal was so delicious—made all the moreso by the fact I was allowed to eat it!

Earlier today, my nose itched and I absentmindedly rubbed my knuckles against my nose as I’ve done most of my life to soothe it. And it worked.

It struck me that not only was my nose itchy, but that I could feel it and do something about it. Another step forward.

I am still dealing with some swelling and frozen face. I know good sleep would help, but last night was a rubbish night and I am unsure why because the night before wasn’t bad.

The good part about last night was four tonsil stones that I’ve been struggling with since surgery coming loose.

The pain from those things is pretty rough, and last night was the first night I could manipulate my tonsils and tongue enough to do anything about them since surgery. Huzzah!

I still can’t open my mouth fully, but it is much improved. I am still swollen and frozen, but that is also much improved.

This whole healing journey is a beast, but if I could go back in time, I would choose the surgery again in a heartbeat. Absolutely.

Onward.

[alj4890]

Rough Start

(Tobias Carrick x F!MC) in a Choices Open Heart One Shot

Rewriting Chapter three of Book One if Tobias was there instead of Ethan Ramsey

A/N @jerzwriter what have you done to me? Making me rethink everything 😂 Keep it up 😉

Masterlist

"It doesn't feel like I got any sleep at all last night." Sienna whispered. "I was too excited about finding us a place."

"Me too." Chris whispered back. "I can't wait to check out that place you found. If it has a bedroom and an actual full bath, I might break down and cry and then offer you my first born for finding it."

The two drew stares from their fellow interns when they began to giggle. They quickly sobered when Zaid glared at them and patiently waited for a late Dr. Carrick to join the group.

"Here he is!" Ines exclaimed with a little relief. "Good morning, Dr. Carrick."

"Dr. Delarosa." He grunted in greeting. "Dr. Mirani."

He leveled his furious gaze upon the interns.

Chris was shocked that this was the same man she'd met the day before. There was no encouraging smile, no humor, nothing but an irritated aura of anger radiating off of him.

"Are these the ones I have to listen to?" He grumbled.

Ines's jaw dropped. She quickly recovered when he cocked an impatient eyebrow at her.

"Yes." She stammered. "These are the new interns."

"A friendly reminder." He said to the group. "Everyone you're about to tell me about was alive when they came in. Think about that before you decide on any type of treatment."

"That's encouraging." Chris drily remarked to Sienna.

"Something you want to say, Valentine?" Tobias narrowed his eyes at her.

Chris could feel her temper snap. Biting back a scathing retort, she forced herself to speak calmly.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

Ines gasped and shook her head no at Chris from behind Tobias's shoulder. Even though it was rare to see, she knew to give Dr. Carrick a wide path when he was in a bad mood.

Chris ignored the warning. "I think it's unfair of you to try and shake our confidence before we've even had a chance to present our patients."

Her gaze never wavered from his.

"Shouldn't we at least have an opportunity to prove how good we are?"

Tobias folded his arms. He allowed the silence to stretch making everyone squirm, except Chris.

"Okay." He jerked his head towards the east wing. "Since you're so eager to prove yourself, Dr. Valentine, let's start with your patient."

Head held high, Chris walked past him and led the way to her patient's room.

Refusing to show anything other than her best professional manner, she presented her case. She didn't wince once as he barked out questions about the internal bleeding and the way she and Landry were treating it without surgery.

Tobias's irritation seemed to double the more he listened to Landry stutter on about needless information.

Without a word of praise, he left to hear all the others.

Chris sagged against the wall outside of her patient's room when he left with the other interns.

"What the hell is his problem?" She mumbled.

Marlene paused on her way in to check on another patient. "He probably didn't get laid."

The nurse snickered, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he was nowhere near to overhear anything she was about to say.

A startled laugh escaped Chris.

"Really?"

"That's my guess. Danny also saw him covered in coffee when he first came in. I think he's had a rough start to his day."

Her eyes twinkled with humor. "No sex and no coffee can make Dr. Carrick a very angry little boy."

Chris struggled to keep from laughing as she hurried to rejoin the others. It was difficult to do during the rest of the rounds, especially since every biting remark made her believe what Marlene said.

The no sex scenario seemed likely. After all, she saw him leave by himself last night. It was a shame he'd insisted she think about what kind of relationship she could handle. They'd both probably be in more relaxed frame of mind.

When he glanced at Chris, she smiled at him. He blinked, momentarily forgetting what he was going to ask Elijah about his patient.

Shaking his head to clear it, he dismissed the group.

"Not you, Valentine." He called out. "You have one more patient."

"Is it you?" She couldn't resist teasing.

"Excuse me?" Tobias knew he shouldn't be surprised by anything she said, but it still made him almost trip mid step.

"Is it you?" She repeated. "Are you my patient."

"No." He was unable to think of a witty response.

"That's a shame." Chris followed him down the hall. "You look like you could use a doctor."

Tobias spun on his heel to face her. "I know I'm going to regret this, but why do I look like I could use a doctor?"

"I don't think just any doctor will do in this situation." She tapped her chin as if seriously considering the problem before her.

Tobias found himself lost in her humor filled eyes.

"Maybe you need one who can prescribe you the right medicine." She added.

His eyebrow lifted. Folding his arms, he leaned against the wall to wait on her to elaborate. A part of him knew where this was going and he was dying to see just how far she dared to go.

"So? What sort of medicine do I need?" He asked. "I'm perfectly healthy at the moment."

Her eyes darted down his body. "No argument here."

He snorted, unable to keep his smile from appearing. "Then I think we agree I don't need any medicine."

He led her into another patient's room and introduced her. After a quick consult, the pair walked down the hall together once more.

"You do need something." She argued. "It isn't something I would prescribe to just anyone, but you definitely could use a dose or two."

"And that is?" He prodded.

"Coffee." Her smile grew when he groaned.

"No thanks." He responded with a slight shudder. "Coffee and I had a major falling out this morning."

"I heard." Chris clucked her tongue in sympathy. "How bad was it?"

"It went everywhere." Tobias replied. "All over me and the interior of my car. I could have handled it all over me, but I'd gotten the car detailed yesterday."

"That is awful." She tilted her head, studying his profile. "But coffee is not the only thing I'd prescribe for you."

Here we go, he thought with anticipation.

"I'll bite." He said with his typical smirk.

"I bet you would." Chris whispered.

He cleared his throat and looked pointedly at her. "What else would you prescribe me?"

"A time machine." She promptly answered.

"What?" He stopped in his tracks.

"A time machine." She repeated. "To go back to," she glanced at her watch, "about ten and half hours ago."

"Ten and a half hours?" He mumbled.

"See, there was this moment when you could have had a dose last night of your needed medicine." Her smile turned flirty. "Probably a few doses."

She stepped closer and tapped her clipboard against his chest. "If you'd have given in to what was before you, you probably wouldn't have snapped at everyone you encountered today."

She walked off, casting a final wink at him over her shoulder.

"Might want to consider that the next time you're offered the right kind of medicine, Dr. Carrick."

A slow smile formed as he watched her walk away.

"I'll consider it." He said mostly to himself.