#pelvic operation

[vizthedatum]

Ramble after having a surgical operation and the end of my period yesterday

Surgery (bladder cystoscopy with hydrodistension - my second one (I have interstitial cystitis and chronic UTIs (and PCOS, PMDD, endometriosis, gender dysphoria, pelvic floor trauma and dysfunction, vulvodynia (actually a lot better the past 2 years, and my topical vaginal estrogen helps), an insatiable thirst for sex (that is actually satisfied, to be honest), problems with orgasms (which has gotten so much better this year! yay!!), dysphoria and dysmorphia about how my pelvis and genitals look (sigh I wish I had a dick and a vagina - I mean I am gonna go on T soon) presumably and supposedly went fine yesterday.

I have a UTI, most likely right now (and I'm being medicated just in case because the culture results aren't back yet (no STIs, though, not that that was the point)), but they went in and took pics and stuff. They said I was inflamed, but I'm also so tired right now that my brain can't remember everything. I try, though. The previous day, I had a blood draw, and some immune markers were up - and this month has been very hard.... I could very well be flaring. I did tell the pre-op team and my doctor that I was having UTI symptoms but that it could be IC symptoms (which, I often say just like that because a lot of people seem to forget that IC symptoms and UTI symptoms are STRONGLY SIMILAR - sometimes even the same).

I was in massive pain when I woke up in the first recovery room... and I had a self-aware meltdown with the pain. Ugly crying and trying not to scream. Probably loud crying oof. Everyone was nice - one nurse really tried her best. I had four nurses trying to comfort me... and I was not making it easy, sigh. I hate that I felt "too much," but also? also? (this is a sign of growth) - I knew I was the patient; I knew that I legitimately was in discomfort and was not ok, and I deserved to take up space with my feelings. I needed to cry and be in anguish because I was in anguish...

I was just burning.

My pelvis was burning. I wasn't bleeding, though... "oh good, my period has ended, and I have no bleeding from the procedure... umm, omfg..." Nurse: what's your pain level? Me: an 8... Nurse: that's your baseline, isn't it? Me: what?? *remembers the painful conversation with my pre-op nurse where I told her, "I don't agree with that question," when I was asked, "What's your pain from 1-10?"* Me: I always have pain but this is worse, this isn't ok. Me, shortly after: IT'S A TEN AND I AM IN SO MUCH PAIN *straight ugly sobbing*

We did a lot to calm me down:

rubbing my back

pillows

blankets

no blankets

breathing with me

helping me understand that this is temporary (to which I yelled: OF COURSE I KNOW IT'S TEMPORARY, I KNOW IT IS BUT IT HURTS NOW WAAHHHHH)

heat packs

ice packs

they wiped me up just in case the soap they used after the operation was causing me an allergy or too strong

giving me lots of emesis bags to throw up in

giving me water, which I also threw up

giving me the pyridium I wanted, which would have helped me with my bladder pain (I wish they didn't pump me up with narcotics - I wish they hadn't - I needed the localized pain, and the narcotics did nothing for my IC pain) - I also threw that up! They gave me another one on my insistence - and I threw that one up, too!

holding my hand

answering my very demanding questions

paging my doctors (the main one who did the surgery couldn't make it)

letting me wail, basically

giving me oxygen from an oxygen tank because I was probably having a panic attack (I think they also gave me meds for anxiety/panic, and I was like: I AM ACTING LIKE THIS BECAUSE MY PAIN IS BEYOND A TEN. I AM NOT CRAZY)

hear me explain how no one in my clinic thinks IC is a disability (me: *more sobbing*)

hear me tell all of them that they BETTER NOT ADMIT ME INVOLUNTARILY AGAINST MY WILL FOR MY MENTAL HEALTH JUST BECAUSE I AM CRYING FROM PAIN (me: THIS IS A PERFECTLY VALID RESPONSE TO THIS PAIN *sobbing so hard*)

More details about surgery later. Super tired now.

[kimbertmusings]

I’ve been fighting RSV for three weeks. Just when I think I’m done, a coughing fit takes over and I can’t sleep at night.

It’s worse than both times I’ve had COVID.

But now I am a mother of a certain age, and my sickness shopping list has changed a bit.

Cough drops - for obvious reasons

Dimatapp - I’ve tried them ALL. This is the only OTC cough suppressant that works. And don’t flip me shit about how you shouldn’t suppress a cough. I spent four days sleeping twenty minutes at a time. I will suppress this shit like the memories of my dad

Lemon juice and honey - hot lemonades for the win!

Chloraseptic throat spray - this helps when it feels like you’ve been tea-bagging razor blades

A Costco pack of Kleenex - I actually googled how much snot a human can produce, and the answer is that there is no limit

Always discreet leakage pads - there’s no getting around it. I was so sick and weak, and the coughing attacked out of nowhere, and was so bad I needed to figure out how to breathe, that there was no way I could Kegel up every single time. I no longer have shame, and I was tired of changing after every fifteen minute coughing attack.

Advil - general aches and fever reducing. Surprisingly good at helping a sore throat

Tylenol - mostly because my mom yelled at me because I wasn’t taking it

So anyway. There you go. When you get RSV, this is what you need. Because there’s no fucking treatment for it.

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week

1. A branch of the flu family tree has died and won't be included in future US vaccines

A type of flu virus that used to sicken people every year hasn't been spotted anywhere on Earth since March 2020. As such, experts have advised that the apparently extinct viruses be removed from next year's flu vaccines.

The now-extinct viruses were a branch of the influenza B family tree known as the Yamagata lineage. Scientists first reported the apparent disappearance of Yamagata viruses in 2021.

2. Hospitals must obtain written consent for pelvic and similar exams, the federal government says

Hospitals must obtain written informed consent from patients before subjecting them to pelvic exams and exams of other sensitive areas — especially if an exam will be done while the patient is unconscious, the federal government said Monday.

New guidance from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services now requires consent for breast, pelvic, prostate and rectal exams for “educational and training purposes” performed by medical students, nurse practitioners or physician assistants.

3. Germany approves new law that will allow adults to carry up to 25 grams of cannabis for their own consumption and store up to 50 grams at home.

Germany's upper house, the Bundesrat, cleared the way to partially legalize cannabis on Friday. Adults aged 18 and over will be allowed to carry up to 25 grams of cannabis for their own consumption.

4. Tick-killing pill shows promising results in human trial | Should it pan out, the pill would be a new weapon against Lyme disease.

Tarsus Pharmaceuticals is developing a pill for humans that could provide protection against the tick-borne disease for several weeks at a time. In February, the Irvine, California–based biotech company announced results from a small, early-stage trial showing that 24 hours after taking the drug, it can kill ticks on people, with the effects lasting for up to 30 days.

5. Thailand moves to legalise same-sex marriage

Thailand has taken a historic step closer to marriage equality after the lower house passed a bill giving legal recognition to same-sex marriage.

It still needs approval from the Senate and royal endorsement to become law but it is widely expected to happen by the end of 2024, making Thailand the only South East Asian country to recognise same-sex unions.

6. French Revolution: Cyclists Now Outnumber Motorists In Paris

Official measurements have found that Paris is rapidly becoming a city of transportation cyclists. In the suburbs, where public transit is less dense, transport by car was found to be the main form of mobility. But for journeys from the outskirts of Paris to the center, the number of cyclists now far exceeds the number of motorists, a huge change from just five years ago.

7. 'Miracle' operation reverses blindness in three-year-old girl giving her 'promising' future

A three year old with a genetic condition that causes blindness is doing incredibly well after unique pioneering operation to restore her sight.

The UK is the only country performing keyhole eye surgery to inject healthy copies of a gene into sufferers’ eyes. It is being used to reverse blindness in children born with a rare condition which means they can only distinguish between light and dark. And it has given little Khadijah Chaudhry, born with Leber congenital amaurosis-4, a chance at seeing properly again.

---

That's it for this week :)

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[magicalbats]

Kinktober 2024 Day 12: Harbingers x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7456

Warnings: Afab!reader, Traveler!reader, noncon, orgy, bondage, sensory deprivation, vaginal fingering, piv, squirting, brief pelvic exam, whatever is going on between Childe and the reader

A/N: I decided to keep this one to just the Harbingers I was familiar enough with so Scaramouche, Childe, Arlecchino, Dottore, Pantalone and Capitano are featured. Six people definitely make for an orgy, right? Right. But a fair warning for the Capitano fans , after taking what I currently know of him into account he ended up largely being a bystander for most of this until the end so I just wanted to be clear on that expectation going into this. I still haven't gotten around to the 5.1 Archon Quest yet 🙈

⭐

The Balladeer is not gentle about the way he steers you down the chilly hall, his grip on your upper arm pinching and tight even through the heavy coat he’d thrown over you to ensure you didn’t succumb to frostbite. You were grateful for that small act of kindness from him since it was the only thing you’d been left with other than your boots, but you were still freezing underneath all that excess of fabric and fur. Hardly any surprise there. Snezhnaya was even more frigid and inhospitable than you’d expected it to be. 

As to why he’d stripped you bare, you had no idea. After capturing you inside the old, decrepit Inazuman mansion where the Fatui were operating their Delusion factory out of, he’d kept such a close eye on you that you never would have had the chance to retaliate or escape even if you’d wanted to try. And you did. More than anything else, you wanted to flee from him and return back to the island nation so you could search for Paimon. She was the second person you’d been forcibly separated from in Teyvat and that knowledge stings more than you would have expected it to. You just hoped she was alright, wherever she was. 

But as soon as you’d reached the Snezhnayan border, Scaramouche had taken the time to relieve you of all your clothes before replacing them with the heavy cloak you were currently bundled in. Initially you’d assumed he was going to do something truly heinous and disgusting to you but, to your ever growing uncertainty, he’d left you alone after that. You were inclined to think it was just some sort of foul humiliation tactic meant to further solidify your position as a captive and discourage any thoughts you might still harbor about escaping. It was clear that the coat wouldn’t save you indefinitely out in this harsh environment. 

Now you’re not so sure though. He’d relentlessly dragged you all the way here from Inazuma, hardly even stopping long enough to let you rest or eat along the way, and had barely spoken more than five words to you over the long journey. And he was clearly proud of himself for capturing you. That was easy enough to see at just a glance, yet he hadn’t gloated about it or dangled it over your head. It seemed more likely that he had an objective in bringing you here like this, in such a vulnerable state of helpless undress, and you were understandably nervous of what awaited you in this magnificent yet eerily cold and silent palace. 

“Relax.” He snaps at you when you start to drag your feet, roughly yanking on your arm to keep you in line. “We’re almost there.” 

Stumbling alongside him, you have no choice but to comply. You were regretfully powerless to do anything about it when your wrists were tied behind your back with a thick knot of unbudging rope and you can’t even complain about it either. Effectively gagged to silence with the uncomfortable bit of bamboo he’d wedged in your mouth, all you can do is impotently hiss around it as he pulls you along. 

Finally you reach the end of the corridor where he leads you straight up to the imposing set of massive, intricately carved double doors that loom up out of the dreary darkness at you. They almost look like something a giant would have used rather than any mortal person and you anxiously wrench back on his hold in an attempt to stop him from taking you any further. Somehow you got the sense you weren’t going to like what awaited you on the other side. 

It doesn’t work though, of course, and Scaramouche easily keeps his bruising grip on your arm as he reaches for the smaller, more human looking door built into the impressive structure. The hinges give a vaguely ominous creak when it swings open to grant the two of you entry but he doesn’t even give you a chance to fight it before you’re tripping through the entryway under his guidance. 

You immediately understand that your intuition was correct and you were right to fear what was inside as soon as your eyes land on the long, ceremonious table situated within, and Childe promptly shoots up out of his seat at your sudden appearance. 

“Traveler?” 

Noising a wordless exclamation at him, you swing your attention around at the rest of the room's occupants. You didn’t know any of the other Harbingers by their looks alone but you could probably guess at some of their identities based on the brief descriptions the Eleventh had given you back in Liyue. 

The one with the beaked mask was probably The Doctor and based on the chilly, disinterested look she sends you you’d wager the woman was probably The Knave. You’re not sure about the bespectacled man with dark hair or the toweringly large one with his face covered, but it was probably safe to say that they were just as dangerous as Childe had said they all were. 

Your skin nervously prickles as you break out in an ice cold sweat, jerking your attention back and forth over the assembled faces. Where was Signora? 

“You really did it,” The beak masked one marvels, sounding really quite pleased by this development. “And the gnosis?” 

“Our Fair Lady is taking care of it.” Scaramouche says, making you snap your head around to look at him in surprise. Glancing over at you at the sudden movement, he studies your face for a short beat before he allows his mouth to curl in a mean, haughty little smirk. “Oh, did you not realize she was in Inazuma too? After already running into her twice before you really should have expected as much, right?” 

You squawk at him through the gag but there’s too much happening in the room all at once as people start to stand up from their seats for him to pay it any mind. 

Swinging his attention back around, Scaramouche looks down the length of his nose at his fellow Harbinger’s like a powerful king might regard his lesser peons. That manages to impress you somewhat, given his ranking as only the Sixth. “Where are the Tsaritsa and the others? I’ve brought back a souvenir for us all to share.” 

“Her Majesty is not in the mood to see anyone today.” The imposingly tall man in the mask says, unfolding himself from his chair to rise. Your eyes widen slightly when you realize how much bigger he actually is than the rest of them, but then you register that Childe is coming towards you and he manages to successfully distract your attention from the others. 

“What happened to you?” He murmurs as both of his gloved hands reach out to cradle your cheeks between the gloved palms. You’re almost floored by how tenderly he tips your face up at him, looking you over with those depthless blue eyes, but all you can respond with is a weak little mewl through the gag. 

It was making your jaw hurt something fierce, unseemly drool threatening to escape from the corners of your stuffed lips. You prayed he at least would be kind enough to take it out of your mouth for you but he doesn’t get the chance. 

Aggressively yanking on your arm, Scaramouche pulls you away from Childe so hard you nearly stumble right into him but you manage to catch your balance just in time to watch the taller ginger round on him with a snarl. Surely they weren’t going to come to blows fighting over you … right? 

“What do you think you’re doing? Explain yourself, Balladeer. Now.” 

“Please. Spare me your weak sentimentality, Tartaglia. It’s enough to make me wretch. The Traveler is my prisoner and I get to decide what happens to her, at least until the Tsaritsa issues her final verdict for her crimes. But until then, I call the shots. Not you.” 

“Bastard - -“ 

“Boys.” The only other woman in the room calls over, drawing your gaze to find she’s also stood up and come around the table to lean against it with her arms crossed. Lifting a somewhat sardonic brow at you, she condescendingly tips her head to one side. “I believe The Balladeer is correct. He captured our little guest which makes her his prisoner. It is not our place to question how any in our ranks accomplishes their goals.” 

“That’s hardly the point, Arlecchino!” Childe insists, confirming that you had indeed guessed her identity correctly. “Prisoner or not, she’s - -“ 

“In safe hands, I’m sure.” The Doctor throws in with a smug, simpering smirk under his mask. “Her Majesty the Tsaritsa only said not to kill her. She never said anything about not being permitted to … play with her a little bit. Don’t you think this is an ample opportunity for us to properly introduce ourselves, Regrator?” 

You follow the direction he glances in to see that he’s talking to the one with glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. So that was Pantalone, then. 

Huffing and puffing his frustration with all of them, Childe disbelievingly glances around at the assembled Harbingers as if he couldn’t quite believe what they were suggesting. It’s not hard to see he’s the closest thing you have to an ally here, but he was only one in a group of six and the youngest among them at that. There was no way he’d be able to save you from your ultimate fate unless he wanted to take everyone on by himself. 

And given the way his hands clench into tight, angry fists at his sides, you’re not so sure he won’t do it. 

“And what exactly are you proposing we do with her?” Arlecchino finally hedges, ignoring the murmurs of rising discourse from her colleagues in favor of getting straight to the point of the matter. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Scaramouche clicks his tongue in annoyance as he jostles you forward to stand just in front of him. “We’ve got a point to make now that we have her so why pretend otherwise? None of you are good people so don’t kid yourselves into believing otherwise. Yes, that includes you, Tartaglia.” 

Your wide, panicked eyes flicker in his direction to find Childe opening his mouth to snap at the puppet, his body so stiff and tightly braced that you think he might really launch himself in attack. He never gets a chance to follow through on it though as Scaramouche’s unoccupied hand comes up to grab a fistful of your cloak and yank it open with a violent jerk. 

All at once your bare body is assaulted with a sudden, merciless rush of cold air, and you squeak a horrified sound around the gag as you jerk in alarm. Your nipples were already stiff and achingly pointed coils, and they just tighten even more against the wafting air to make you tremble a sensitive shudder. Whatever Childe had been about to say dies in his throat, choking on it when his mouth drops open in genuine shock. It’s like he truly couldn’t believe what he was seeing and you whimper a flustered sound at him, pleading for him to help you. 

“Don’t even think about it.” Scaramouche viciously hisses behind you, though you can’t quite tell if he’d aimed that at you or his colleague. But it doesn’t really matter either way, because he just shoves you forward to steer you towards the table without giving anyone a chance to say anything more about it. 

Openly blinking at the fleshy bounce of your naked tits, Arlecchino slowly unfolds her arms and steps aside to allow The Balladeer room to shove you up against the side of the table. You wildly kick and flail, struggling against the rope keeping your arms bound behind you with every ounce of strength you have left, but it’s no use. After a perfunctory fight for leverage, he manages to get you hauled up on the table and flipped over where he roughly pins you down by the shoulders. 

Raggedly panting through your nose now, you peer up into Scaramouche’s leering face. The distant prickle of frightened tears registers somewhere far in the back of your mind but you valiantly force them back, knowing good and well that such display of weakness wouldn’t do you any good here. Not in this particular crowd. Not with these people, and you merely hiss like an incensed cat as you try to squirm free of his hold. 

“Mmffh!”

“That’s it, Traveler. Keep struggling. I’m sure that’ll just excite some of us even more.” The Sixth croons at you, laughing a silken, throaty sound under his breath as he crawls all the way up to fully straddle you. 

For a split second you can make out a commotion rising up behind him but it’s quickly subdued, and Arlecchino’s soft spoken voice filters through the oppressive atmosphere immediately after. She must be talking to Childe, you think. No doubt trying to talk some reason into him even though he was the only other reasonable person here besides you right now. 

Unfortunately you don’t get to linger on that thought for very long because a gloved hand reaching into your space catches your attention, and you squeak a terrified sound as you tip your head back to follow that arm up to its owner. Somehow you’re not particularly surprised to find it’s The Doctor curling his fingers around the meat of your tit to give it a consideringly tight squeeze, making you whimper at the sharp discomfort. He just chuckles a low laugh though, clearly amused by the flash of pain that crosses your face, and he quickly does it again. 

“Fret not, little Traveler. If Tartaglia wants you so bad then we’ll be happy to give you to him. After we’ve finished playing with you first, of course.” 

“I didn’t take you for the sort, Dottore. Your interests always seemed to lean more towards that of machine than the comfort of human women.” The exceptionally tall one comments in a rather offhand manner considering what was happening right in front of him. 

“Oh, but you wound me, Captain. I’m always a scientist first and foremost before anything else, and I’m quite curious to find out how human this one really is.” 

You noise an equally confused and startled sound at that, brows furrowing up at his awful beaked mask. If Scaramouche hadn’t been pinning you down with the full brunt of his weight, you would have happily flung your foot through the air to kick him right in his smug face and you would have taken a great deal of satisfaction in doing so. Something told you he probably deserved it more than anyone else here. 

But then the sensation of another hand slipping over the opposite side of your chest startles you back into the present, and you glance over to find Pantalone gently groping at the weight of your breast. At your helpless wail through the gag, he just smiles a deceptively saccharine look at you, head tipping to one side almost inquisitively. 

“It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, you know. I’ve heard so many good things about you but I wasn’t expecting such a formidable swordswoman to be quite this pretty. You’re a lovely little thing, aren’t you?” 

Working his fingers a bit higher, Pantalone rather unceremoniously grabs hold of your pebbled nipple to give it a thoughtful tug. The immediate burst of sharp, hyper sensitive sensation makes you twist on top of the table but it’s no use. They’ve got you so thoroughly pinned down and trapped between them that no amount of effort on your part was going to get you out of this. Your only hope was Childe and he’d gone mysteriously quiet wherever he was in the room, if he was even still here at all. 

The thought that he might have left you to the wolves scares you more than it has any right to, and you try to call out to him through the bamboo gag. This, too, is an effort in futility though. Even you’re not quite sure what you’re attempting to say. 

Humming a thoughtful sound, Dottore gives your aching tit one last, lingering squeeze before dragging his hand further down your body. Your stomach wildly flexes under his palm, fast pumping fear making you inch dangerously close to full on panic, but he just keeps going. Lower and lower. 

Scaramouche is quick to take his empty spot and, leaving his hands pressed into your shoulders to keep you down, he bends his head over your chest to take that abandoned nipple in his mouth. You outright jolt at the sensation and suck in a startled breath but there’s too much happening all at once for you to focus on any one thing. It’s hard to say if you should be more concerned about the Sixth Harbinger enthusiastically suckling at your sore teat or the way Pantalone is insistently tugging on the other to stretch the pliant skin. 

Even worse is the vague sense you get of Dottore stepping into the space at the bottom of the table where he rather forcefully shoves your legs apart in a wide spread. Your cunt is the only part of your chilled body that feels in any way warm at this point, but that natural heat seems to quickly leave you without the press of your thighs there to keep it in. The end result makes the fleshy seam feel indescribably bare and exposed in a way you’d never known before, like you were overly aware of every tiny little sensation that courses through it, and you wildly buck underneath Scaramouche in an attempt to dislodge him. 

“Keep her still, won’t you?” The Doctor coos as one of his gloved hands slides inward to lightly tease over your pussy. “I’d like to find out what sort of state her reproductive organs are in.” 

You squawk a startled sound at that but Pantalone just tweaks your poor nipple harder for it. 

“Now, now,” He murmurs in that liltingly soft voice. “If you don’t behave yourself, we’ll have to resort to doing something that will make you feel a bit more inclined to cooperate. Surely you don’t want it to come to that, do you?” 

The pointed, deliberate way he pinches down on the teat between his fingers makes your stomach twist itself into knots for reasons you can’t quite explain. Despite his arguably polite and handsome facade, you suspected he was just as dangerous as Dottore probably was. It wouldn’t be smart to test your luck with either of them. 

So you simply lie there and take it, wincing as The Doctor sedately works your cunt lips open and slips two long digits in to apply pressure just at your entrance. You let out a smothered cry when your body tries to reject him, not even close to being excited enough to make the penetration smooth and easy. But he simply keeps pushing in on that vulnerable spot until he can slowly inch his way into you down to the knuckle. It’s uncomfortable and borderline painful, especially with the material of his glove adding another layer of friction that didn’t need to be there, but he doesn’t care. None of them do, except maybe Childe, and all you can do is noise a shrill sound around the bamboo when Scaramouche suddenly bites down on your nipple none too gently. 

And to think he’d had you completely at his mercy this entire time but decided to hold off until he could really humiliate you and drive the point home with the other Harbingers. It was astoundingly petty of him. 

“There, that’s a good girl.” Dottore croons at you as if you were nothing more than a dog for him to bring to heel in his eyes. It’s an impression he only further solidifies when he gives your tender inner thigh a series of companionable pats before taking that hand and sliding it up to brace along your lower stomach. “You might feel some pressure but it’s nothing to worry about. Take a deep breath now …” 

He starts to push down then, surprising an undignified squawk out of you as he presses right in on your uterus. At the same time he angles the fingers in you upward to feel along your inner sleeve and gently massage against you, alarming you even more when you feel your cunt reluctantly respond to the clinical stimulation. It feels like your heart is going to jackhammer right out of your chest as you stiffly writhe against the top of the table, struggling just to keep drawing oxygen into your lungs while he rudely violates you like that. 

“Hmm. Everything certainly seems to be in order. I suppose you really are just a girl after all. Lucky you.” 

“Isn’t that good news?” Pantalone teases you, tauntingly walking his fingers down the length of your shuddering body to crowd in next to Dottore’s between your thighs. “The Doctor has given you a clean bill of health, which means we can play as much as you’d like.” 

You give your head a terse shake, trying to tell him you didn’t want to play at all. But of course he doesn’t listen, slyly curling his fingers inward to lightly rub over your clit and help Dottore in his effort of turning your own body against you. The two of them work in shockingly perfect tandem with one another, almost like they’ve done this before. While one thrusts in and out of your cunt to encourage the production of sticky slick, the other caresses over that sensitive pleasure button to ensure you were feeling just good enough to help the process along. It was insidious and cruel. 

Not nearly as cruel as the way Scaramouche can’t seem to detach himself from your aching breasts though, and now that Pantalone has vacated his spot he quickly redirects his mouth to slurp on the opposite nipple instead. Except it’s already so raw and sensitized from the bespectacled man’s merciless tugging and pinching that the puppets mouth shocks a ragged gasp out of you. 

Your head spins wildly from the total onslaught of stimulation as you blindly kick your legs in a desperate bid to at least push Dottore away enough to give your pussy a short reprieve. But he’s situated too firmly in the space between your legs for you to budge him from this angle, and the heel of your boot just harmlessly slides right off his hip. 

Clearly realizing what you’re trying to do, Pantalone reaches down to hook his free hand in the bend of one knee and tug it out the side so you wouldn’t be able to find enough leverage or try to close your thighs from The Doctor’s concentrated attack. The sound of your cunt wetly clicking under the vigorous force of his hand seems to echo endlessly in the space between your ears and you valiantly try to fight it when the internal pressure steadily builds under his ministrations. 

There’s nothing you could do to stop it though when Dottore seemed to know exactly where to jab his fingers at inside your body, making your pussy scream in agony at the rough treatment. But against all odds you suddenly feel the dam break and your cunt let’s down under the insistent  pressure, spraying slick all over his wrist and along your shuddering inner thighs. Outright wailing in horror, you mindlessly renew your effort to thrash yourself free but, still, it’s no use. 

You were completely, utterly trapped. 

“That’s a good girl, Traveler. Such a sweet, obedient little cunt you have.” Dottore croons at you, his voice laced with sharp edged malice. “I haven’t had need of a woman in at least two-hundred years now, but for you I think I’ll make an exception.” 

“Wait.” 

You startle at the sound of Arlecchino’s voice coming from right beside you, blearily glancing up to find her standing just next to your head. Somehow you’d almost forgotten she was there at all. 

“Wait for what?” The Doctor impatiently snaps at her. 

“Let Childe have her first. He’s the youngest so it doesn’t seem very polite to make him wait until after you’ve already used her up, and … he’s still not particularly happy about what’s happening anyway. It should make him feel better if he understands what we’re doing to her.” 

A faint growl rises from Scaramouche when he finally brings his head up from your aching chest, leaving the nipples feeling flushed and raw in the wake of his mouth. “Watch it, Knave. I thought we already agreed she’s my prisoner.” 

“No one is disputing that, Balladeer. I’m only suggesting what I think will benefit us the most. Besides,” Cooly dragging her gaze over to regard you, she studies your frazzled, wide eyed expression for a short moment. “I suspect she will appreciate that consideration as well. After all, their rapport with one another is a fascinating development that I don’t think any of us saw coming. It only makes sense to capitalize on it, no?” 

Scaramouche draws a quick breath to snap back with something no doubt sharp and biting, but Dottore cuts him off with an abrupt laugh. 

“She's right, puppet. This should at the very least be an interesting show to watch.” Abruptly slipping his fingers out of you with a tiny wet slurp to leave your pussy weakly contracting around nothing, The Doctor steps to the side to presumably make room for the Eleventh Harbinger. “Go on then, Tartaglia. I’ve already got her warmed up for you. Surely at your age you don’t need any instruction on how to fuck a woman, do you?” 

You can’t quite make out what’s happening behind Scaramouche aside from a briefly heated exchange that makes you foolishly hope he won’t go through with it. Childe could still put a stop to this if he just didn’t give in to Dottore’s jeering peer pressure and instead used his brain to think of a way to get you out of here. 

But when The Balladeer pushes up to sit on top of you, throwing a vaguely disgusted scoff over his shoulder before he grudgingly moves to climb down, you implicitly understand that this is not going to work out as you’d hoped it would. He would have no reason to dismount otherwise when he’d seemed perfectly content nuzzling into your breasts like little more than a newborn. 

Sure enough, once everyone has moved aside enough for you to lift your head and glance down at the foot of the table, you find Childe standing there with a truly tortured look marring his youthful face. He’s visibly torn and conflicted about the situation, whatever feelings he had for you clashing with his duty as a Fatui Harbinger. You had no idea what Arlecchino had said to him but it must have been sufficiently convincing if he was even considering this. 

“Mmffhh! Mmm mmnngghh!” 

Slowly lifting his head at your wordless cries, Childe looks down at you with a truly regretful frown tugging at his expression. And for a drawn out moment he just stares at you, spread out on the table completely naked save the tall boots on your feet and the heavy cloak spread out underneath you. It was something you probably would have been happy to show him under better circumstances, but better circumstances would not have found five of his peers standing around you in a loose circle watching on in rapt, fascinated silence. 

It was enough to make anyone cry, and you sniffle rather sadly when he at last gives his head a solemn shake. 

“I’m sorry, Traveler. If you hadn’t been caught … if you hadn’t let Scaramouche defeat you and take you prisoner we wouldn’t have to do this. But you’re a threat to our plans only as long as you can back it up, so we have to show you just how powerless you really are.” 

As if you really needed to have that demonstrated to you like this! 

Indignantly squawking, you try to push yourself upright to sit but Arlecchino is quick to grab your shoulder with a clawed hand and shove you back down. Even realizing for the upteenth time that you were thoroughly at their mercy like this, you still weakly kick your legs in the air in an attempt to dissuade anyone from slipping between them again. 

But Childe just shuffles forward to grab your ankles easily enough despite the flailing, forcing them to bend towards your chest as he steps right up against you. The front of his pants presses into  your bare cunt like this and you immediately squeal at the weight of him pushing in on your body. For a split second you almost don’t believe it. That he would really get this achingly stiff from watching you be defiled by other men, but he was young and hot blooded enough that it made a certain amount of sense. Of course the fight to subdue and dominate would get him worked up. 

“Mmffhhh!” 

“Shh, shh. Just relax, Traveler. I promise I won’t hurt you, okay?” 

That hardly makes you feel any better as you screw your eyes shut and turn your head away so you don’t have to watch Childe reach down to free himself from his slacks. In truth, you would have otherwise been happy to sleep with him but not like this. Just not like this! 

“Oh, isn’t that cute.” Pantalone purrs from somewhere just to your left, chuckling a soft laugh under his breath. “I think our little guest is getting emotional now.” 

“As expected.” Dottore agrees with him, also laughing at your expense. 

“Here.” Arlecchino suddenly says, prompting you to blink through the rising sting of tears at her. You’re more than slightly taken aback to find her holding a long, dark strip of cloth in front of your face and you whimper up at her in question. “This should help. Deep breaths now, sweet dove. That’s it. Just relax.” 

You realize she’s going to blindfold you as she starts to bring it closer but there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it, mewling a helpless sound while she works to tie it off at the back of your head. With the loss of your eyesight comes an even greater perception of your hearing and you listen to Childe fumble between your legs as your neck lolls back against the table. There was certainly comfort to be found in the impenetrable darkness but it doesn’t do much to ease the nausea inducing anxiety in your gut. In fact, it actually seems to make it worse. 

But you don’t even have the ability to tell her you don’t want it when your mouth is still thoroughly gagged, and you pitifully jump when Childe finally reaches down to take hold of your hips. Dragging you closer to the edge of the table, he takes a moment to press his cock into the seam of your body again, this time without anything standing in the way, and he just basks in the sticky heat coming off you for a drawn out beat. 

You understand in a far off, dreamy sort of way that this was really going to happen and your powerlessness to stop it soon has the tears breaking free to soak into the cloth around your eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Traveler.” He says again, one last time before the fleshy drag of his cock head angles down to your entrance where he slowly starts to push in. 

You plaintively squawk at the pressure on your already sore and abused cunt, fiercely shuddering underneath him as he leans his weight into you to help ease himself inside. The worst part is that he’s far from small and he stretches you out even more than Dottore’s fingers had, but at least he’s gentle about it where The Doctor certainly had not been. It’s a small consolation in this nightmarish scenario, and even for as much as you appreciate it you can’t quite seem to stop your chest from frantically heaving with the labored gasps you suck in through your nose. 

And he sensitively groans over you, clearly trying to stifle the sound but your enhanced hearing picks up on it anyway. You didn’t doubt his feelings on the matter were not dissimilar to yours, yet he doesn’t stop. He just keeps reaching deeper and deeper into your body until he at last settles his pelvis against yours with a rattling breath and you positively squirm where he’s got you impaled on him. Your arms were already long numb from laying on top of them for so long with the circulation to your hands impeded by the too tight rope, but they still scream in protest at your restless fidgeting. 

“Burn everything, that’s a tight fit.” Childe murmurs, breathless and stretched thin. 

He stiffly hovers you for another moment, no doubt trying to find his bearings, which you were admittedly glad for the chance it gives your pussy to adjust to his size. But then, he’s moving against you, experimentally rolling his hips at first and that quickly turns into a halting, unevenly cantered thrusting motion that makes your tits start to bounce with the force. The sensation of your painfully stiff nipples cutting through the air is a stark one, prompting you to dramatically arch your back in a vain bid to stop them from moving so much. 

It fails, of course, and you hear Scaramouche suck in a faint breath that he doesn’t actually need from the right side of the softly creaking table. You weren’t entirely sure what his fascination with your tits was about, but you weren’t convinced it was anything good. 

“She likes it.” The Captain announces rather abruptly, reminding you that he was standing off to the back of the gathered assembly to disinterestedly watch the proceedings. You can’t help thinking that was probably for the best, as you really did not want to find out how big someone of his size was firsthand. 

Worst of all, you were ashamed to admit that he was right. Despite all the rough treatment and the less than ideal circumstances, your pussy was indeed warming up to the stretch of Childe’s cock inside you, and tingly little sparks of pleasurable friction were beginning to light up all of the nerve endings in a potent rush. Oh, this could not be happening right now. 

“I think she’d like it more if you put your back into it.” Dottore drawls, adding his two mora even though no one had asked him. Of everyone here, you found him to be perhaps the most insufferable of all. 

Grunting a masculine sound, Childe distractedly shifts against you to presumably glance over at The Doctor. “Hey, this isn’t supposed to be a spectator sport, you know. If I’d wanted your — ooughn, your commentary, I would have said so.” 

“Well, I for one think you’re doing a spectacular job.” Pantalone chimes in, the condescending note in his otherwise pleasant voice making a self conscious shudder work down your spine. 

“Damn. Just be quiet! All of you.” Hunching further over your prone frame, Childe wraps his fingers around your ribcage so he can nudge you down to meet the rhythmic push of his narrow hips. It hadn’t taken him long to fall into a natural, even paced tempo that makes the meaty smack of his skin colliding with yours ring loud in the room. 

You can also pick up the sticky clicks coming from your cunt each time he drives into you, carving out a space for himself and forcing your squeezing cunt to take him, again and again. It’s humiliating to realize just how wet you were getting, all the more so when you knew at least half of it was because of that damned Doctor. 

For better or worse Childe doesn’t seem to take any offense, or at least his body doesn’t, and he quickly begins to lose himself in the tight clutch between your legs. The initially tentative thrusts turn quick and desperate, his hips taking over for his higher functioning mind to instinctively guide him towards the finish line. You can tell, just as the others likely can, that he’s not very experienced when it comes to this particular activity, and you almost find yourself feeling thankful for that when his hushed grunts soon take on a dire tinge. This part of your humiliation at least would be over sooner rather than later. 

“How cute.” The Balladeer snips, clearly unimpressed with the effort of his colleague but Childe deliberately ignores him. 

He’s much too caught up in chasing his release now to pay them any mind, your breath hitching in your throat when his fingers start to subconsciously dig deeper into your sides. He was getting close and, you were beyond mortified to realize, your own arousal was steadily ratcheting up as well to nearly keep pace with his. The tension in your guts was tortuous but you don’t quite make it to the breaking point before he heaves a sensitive sound and yanks himself back, once again leaving your pussy to impotently squeeze around nothing. 

You can tell by the sharp, seething hiss he lets out that he’s cumming — probably straight into his waiting hand, if you had to guess — and a dizzying rush of numb relief immediately crashes over you. At least you probably didn’t have to worry about him getting you pregnant. Aside from Pantalone you weren’t so sure about the others, if they even had seed that could take in your womb, but you were glad for Childe’s foresight on the matter all the same. It seemed he still cared about you on some level. 

“Bah!” Dottore suddenly exclaims, making you jolt in surprise. “Get out of the way, Tartaglia. I should have known better than to leave this to you. What’s the point in it if you don’t even leave your mark on her?” 

A brief shuffle of bodies starts up by your feet, the two of them no doubt trading places again, but you’re distracted by a pair of hands carefully touching your head. You give a fearful little start only to realize it must be Arlecchino, given the sharp claws, and you whimper a soft sound when she nudges your neck up to get at the tie keeping your gag in place. It takes you a prolonged moment to understand that she’s going to remove it from your mouth, your heart galloping out of control as you suck in a harried breath. 

Thank the stars! Your jaw felt like it would never work right again after being wedged open for so long. 

“Watch and learn, boy.” The Doctor says ruefully from somewhere down by the foot of the table but you hardly have the presence of mind to focus on him right now. 

The strip of bamboo finally loosens and you weakly work to spit it out as Arlecchino reaches around to pluck it from between your swollen lips. You suck in your first real, full breath of air in a very long time when she pulls it away, feeling dizzy and more than a little nauseous from the head rush. 

You’re still gingerly working your jaw to try and restore some of the feeling to the numb joints when she carefully angles your head back against the solid wood, holding you in place as if to make sure you can’t escape. 

“Wha -“ 

She’s suddenly kissing you, smothering your mouth with hers to swallow the squawk of surprise you let out. There was some part of you that has assumed she wouldn’t touch you, either by virtue of not being attracted to another woman or because she would have no need for the boys’ leftovers once they were through, but she’s managed to successfully catch you off guard. 

Perhaps even more concerning is the fact you slowly start to kiss her back, coaxed into it by the steady, demanding push and pull of her painted lips. There’s something in the way she works her mouth over yours that begets compliance and you’re hardly in any position to fight it. 

Until, that is, you feel Dottore line himself up with your entrance, the fleshy brush of his glans against slick creases and folds causing you to startle. Rattling a vicious sound, you yank your mouth away from Arlecchino’s to turn your face up at The Doctor even though you couldn’t see him through the blindfold. You know he’s there though and that frightens you perhaps more than anything else at the moment, but The Knave merely slides one of her elegant hands forward to wrap it around your neck. 

“Little Traveler,” She softly hums at you, giving your throat a brief squeeze. “Are you so frightened of my colleague here that you think you can forget about me?” 

You give your head a mute shake, struggling just to keep your lungs expanding as Dottore roughly enters you with a quick snap of his hips that seems to sink him about halfway inside. The only indication you have that he’s not quite finished yet is the rumbling sound he issues before leaning further into you, feeding even more of his cock into your pussy, and you choke at the sensation of being stretched open in a completely different way than before. You didn’t think he was necessarily bigger than Childe, but the shape of him … 

“Uwa - aaaah!” 

“Hush, girl. This is no way for a warrior to face their enemy in defeat.” 

The sound of The Captain’s voice suddenly right beside you alarms you a great deal, and you blindly push back on Arlecchino’s hold with a frantic little sound. Anything but him. Anyone but him! 

The Knave firmly keeps you in place though no matter how wildly you try to thrash yourself free, keeping your head slightly elevated while Dottore begins to fuck into you with quick, demanding thrusts that seem to knock something loose within you. Your pussy positively gushes around him, loudly sucking at his length each time he angles his hips back now, but you’re a bit too distracted by the sensation of something massive leaning over you to give him your attention right now. 

It must be The Captain getting right up in your face, of that you were almost certain. Oh, how you wished you could see what was going on. But when you try to work your mouth to ask Arlecchino to remove the blindfold, all that comes out are tiny, breathless little moans that Dottore forces up your throat each time he sinks himself in you straight down to the hilt. You couldn’t even get your tongue to formulate a single word now that you were actually capable of speaking. Dammit. 

“I expected better from you.” Capitano rumbles, making you uncontrollably shake when you realize he seemed to be hovering mere inches from your nose. What was he — “I usually have no interest or need for such activities, but I can see now that you haven’t been taught this particular lesson yet. You need to learn from a more accomplished warrior before you are set loose again.” 

You’re not entirely sure what he’s talking about but then you feel something slimy, long and snake-like reach out to flick over your cheek and you practically wretch in disgust. Was that a tongue? 

“Do you understand why I brought you here now, Traveler?” Scaramouche purrs almost directly into your ear, so close you can feel his lips just barely brushing against your skin. You can’t help the gasp you suck in at his unexpectedly close proximity only to immediately choke on it, teeth gnashing when his hand comes up to idly pull at one of your nipples again. He was a relentless thing!  “If she doesn’t already, she will soon enough.” Pantalone softly adds to further make your head spin. It seemed like there were too many voices and sounds coming from all around you, your overwhelm only exacerbated by the constant drilling of Dottore’s cock into you. It was too much and you felt like you were going to be sick. “After all, we have to wait for Her Majesty to decide her final verdict so we’ve got plenty of time to ensure she understands. Don’t worry though, Traveler. We’ll make sure to take good care of you while you’re here.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

[reasonsforhope]

A surgeon who carried out the UK’s first womb transplant on a cisgender woman has said similar transplants for transgender women are probably about 10 to 20 years away.

In February, Imperial College London professor, James Smith, and his colleague, Isabel Quiroga, from the Oxford Transplant Centre, carried out the womb transplant on a married woman whose 40-year-old sister was willing to donate her own, having already given birth to two children.

The 34-year-old recipient, who lives in England and wishes not to be named, received the transplant during an operation lasting more than nine hours at the Churchill Hospital, in Oxford.

It is hoped that, in the future, womb transplants can be performed on trans women, giving them the chance to have a baby, but Smith said the reality of this is still decades away.

There is currently no “technical feasibility” to perform the operation on trans women due to a difference in the pelvic and vascular anatomy, the shape of the pelvis and issues with the microbiome – the network of micro-organisms that live in the human body, he explained...

Dr Narendra Kaushik, a surgeon in the Indian capital New Dehli, said in May 2022 that transplanting uteruses into trans women is “the future."

Uterine transplants are currently rare, costly and experimental surgeries that typically rely on donor organs. They are often done on people born without a uterus so they can become pregnant and give birth.

The first successful womb transplant took place at the University of Gothenburg in Sweden in 2014. Two years later, the operation was carried successfully once more in the US.

About 50 babies have now been born worldwide as a result of womb transplants.

Kaushik, who has 15 years of experience in gender-affirming surgeries, said: “We cannot predict exactly when this will happen but it will happen soon. We have our plans and we are very optimistic.”

-via PinkNews, August 23, 2023

[shiveringgroovy]

for those drabble requests. can gender neutral reader cuddle up in fyodors ribcage all comfy like.

bonus points if it’s written in a sweet/fluffy tone despite the viscera the request implies but go crazy go stupid

Crawling into Fyodor's Ribcage!

Contents: Crawling into Fyodor's ribcage. As one does. Pairing: Fyodor/GN!reader, no y/n or physical descriptions used Warnings: Gore, body horror, unrealistic/fantasy situation, breaking bones, it's all consensual though don't even worry Notes: Anon, this has got to be the best first request ever. I love to torture my homunculi and get all up in their organs. [Coughs, the Fyovan fic]

You originally introduced the idea of "crawling into his skin" as an off-hand joke. Fyodor was experienced in the medical field, having performed fringe surgeries and operations on many people he came in contact with, perhaps even you. You could never be too sure with him, he could've very easily had you microchipped. You weren't exactly sure what he'd say to your request, but he responded by wordlessly handing you a scalpel. Shocked, you sat dumbfounded. "Are you serious?" You stammered, holding the scalpel with shaking hands. Not out of fear, no. Excitement. He nodded. "Go ahead," getting up to lay on the floor, smiling up at you. His black hair framed his face like a halo as he began unbuttoning his shirt. You knelt at his side and felt the protruding ribs under your fingertips, the rise and fall of his chest, and the beat of his heart. You wanted to be closer to that beat, those soft insides that invite you just beneath the dermis. He held your hand and guided the scalpel just above the sternum and led it down to the pelvic region, dodging the navel. The cut was sloppy due to your shaking hands and his limited vision due to positioning, but it worked. You gingerly slid your index finger past the cut, warm blood gushing from the wound like a lazy stream pooling on his abdomen. Fyodor hummed, signalling you to keep going. "It doesn't hurt, love. You don't have to be so gentle with me." He assured you with a hand on your shoulder. You felt your face burn up at his words and used both hands to seperate the cut, tearing more skin. The sound wasn't too pleasant, but the great reveal of his insides made your stomach turn with delight. You plunged your hand into his viscera with newfound vigor, it almost felt like being in a hot tub. You loved that sensation and your remaining hand joined the other. Fyodor gasped. You had been so preoccupied with his insides that you hadn't gotten a glimpse of his face for some time. His face was flushed pink and sweating, saliva trickling from the corners of his lips. It was pretty, you thought. "Doing okay?" You chuckled. Fyodor nodded. "Mhm... It feels nice. Different, but nice." His voice was wavering, struggling to keep composure, but he was clearly enjoying it. You noticed his ribs you so revered on the outside, now finally fully exposed. Hungrily, you hooked your fingers under the costal cartilage and pulled outwards, the sickening crack paired with Fyodor's pleased sigh filling your ears. Everything was exposed beautifully, the heart, lungs, liver, diaphragm... all for your eyes to drink in like fine wine. Then, an idea crossed your mind. A little voice telling you to crawl in there and cuddle up closer than anyone ever has. You nudge and adjust some organs out of your way, gently lowering yourself into his chest cavity. Your entire body was soaked in his blood, caking and cracking. The metallic smell overwhelmed both of you, hanging damp in the air like fog. You could taste the blood if you so much as opened your mouth to speak. Fyodor was still fairly quiet, save for a few gasps drawn from his bitten and bloodied lips. You rested your head on his throat, holding his heart in your hands and feeling it beat. "This is nice." You hummed, craning your neck to kiss his chin. "It is," Fyodor agreed. You two didn't get up for a long time.

End notes: "I'm in your walls!" Oh yeah??? I'm in your thoracic cavity feeling your heartbeat up close and personal. Loser. Also, I'm a horror writer and most of my stuff revolves around gore and body horror. I hope I did the fluffy part justice :P And if my anatomy and physiology teacher happens to see this, can I get extra credit or something 💯

[mlm-writer]

Test Ride Pt. 2 (Peter Parker x Android!Reader)

Pairing: Peter Parker (TH ver.) x Android Reader (with a robovagina) Rating: Explicit Words: 1189 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 10 - Robotfucking Note: A sequel to a piece I did for kinktober 2020. Reader is a robot and has no gender. Last time reader got a robopenis and I thought it only fair to give reader a robovagina this time. Reader's chest is unmentioned. Tags: robotfucking, unnecessary use of fancy words to make it more sci-fi, at least I don't put 'quantum' in front of everything to make it science, dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, safeword ignored(?), robot tentacles as restraints, vibrating pussy, nipple play and software/hardware updates gone ' wrong'

A new HUD interface greeted you as you booted up after your last upgrade. Your physical statistics and environmental parameters were found in new places, but that mattered little. Your optics activated after a short delay, visual input now also available to you. Your creator stood before you, his lips moving, but you received no audio input. “Audio module connection failed,” you replied to whatever he said. You saw him curse, or at least that was your best prediction of what his expression conveyed. He motioned your head down. You bent at the hips, allowed him to unplug and reconnect your audio modules. 

Once the cables reconnected, you could hear Peter clearly. “Please, don’t be ruined, please don’t be ruined,” he muttered to himself. 

“All modules operational,” you informed him. He jumped at your voice, but let out a sigh of relief right after. “Awaiting command,” you added. As per usual after an update, Peter started poking and prodding your frame, confirming your sensory input was still operational. When he was done testing your basic functions, he dragged you to his bed. 

“Program D.O.M. version V, please,” he spoke nervously. You detected an increase in heart rate and blood flow to the genitals. You confirmed the break command, as it was standard protocol, before you could execute the D.O.M. program. Once the safety protocols were satisfied, you had your digits on Peter’s clothes. You unbuttoned his flannel, revealing his pale chest underneath. There was minor bruising, but a quick scan revealed no serious injuries that were contraindications to the program. You pushed him onto the bed and started running your tongue over his chest, paying extra attention to his nipples. 

Peter whimpered as you played with his chest, artificial tongue and teeth taking turns with your digits pinching his sensitive nubs. You kept track of his arousal, only stopping your onslaught once his involuntary noises got a little louder. You sat up, retracting your pelvic panel and rubbing your wet hole over Peter’s crotch. He whined as you slowly soaked through his jeans and underwear, until he could feel your wetness on his cock through his clothes. “Please, I need to be inside you,” Peter eventually moaned, his mind tethering on the edge of madness. 

He was hard underneath you, so you deemed him ready for the next stage. With superhuman deftness, you removed his clothes until he was naked on the bed. His cock protruded from his body, the tip red and leaking. You wrapped a servo around his rod, stroking slowly as to tease him. When he started thrusting into the tightness, you placed your other servo on his hip, your mechanical strength counteracting his. He was forced to only take what you gave, which was exactly what he programmed you to give. It was not enough to get him even remotely close to orgasm, but the build-up was perfect to make him start begging. Once the begging got frequent enough, you proceeded on to the next stage; you mounted him, letting his cock slide into your wet and soft hole. Peter moaned, his eyes rolling back as you rode him at a decent pace. “Please, give me more, I’ve been good. I will be even better, I swear.” 

His moans filled the room. You took his dick all the way inside and paused on top of him. “I will grant you more. However, unpermitted orgasms will be reciprocated with punishment.” He nodded, promising he would not cum. You decreased the elasticity of your inner walls, giving him a tighter squeeze as you proceeded to ride him. Your movements were quicker than before, fully intending to make him cum without permission. Peter was moaning to the ceiling, eyes squeezed closed sometimes and other times wide open. His mouth stayed wide open, tongue peeking over his lower lip. 

Just as predicted, your inner sensors detected his cum painting your inner workings. You rode him until the spurts seized. Then you planted yourself firmly on him. Tendrils extended from your body and wrapped around his appendages. “You have disobeyed my orders,” you stated as you held him down and turned on the vibrations of your inner walls. Peter wailed as his sensitive cock was forced to endure the intense vibrations. He writhed against your restraints, but not even his super strength could remove you. Just like he had begged you before to fuck him, he was now begging for your mercy. You bent your upper body, putting a servo around his throat. You put a little pressure on the blood vessels below his jaw. Tears poured down Peter’s eyes as you forced a second orgasm out of him. You detected more cum inside you as he cried out. 

After his second orgasm, you ran a scan on him, the analysis showing that he had enough. You removed your servo from his throat and turned off the stimulation or at least… attempted to. “Error: deprecated code, V-module unresponsive.” You stated, your tendrils no longer retracting and your hole vibrating on and on. 

“What?” Peter exclaimed, clearly in panic. You ran a diagnostic check, your hole trying to reboot by first ramping the vibrations all the way up, so it could be brought down again. Peter screamed during the process, his brain unable to process the stimulation. 

The tactic worked fine, but the module got stuck again at the same level of vibrations you started at. “Tendril module interfering with V-module. Attempting tendril reboot.” Peter did not perceive a word you said. As the tendrils rebooted, they lifted up a little, Peter’s body now hanging in the air except for his pelvis, where you still sat, vibrating his cock. 

Peter cried, feeling like his brain had melted away from the intense pleasure. “Stark! Stark!” He screamed the break command. You tried to terminate the program immediately, but the backlog of reboots and diagnostic checks made it impossible. Your creator, against your predictions, came again, barely a drop of cum leaving him. He kept screaming, trying to get through to you. Just after his third orgasm, you regained control of the tendrils. In a flash, they were retracted and you uncoupled the module for now. 

Peter’s cock was gradually turning limp inside of you. The poor boy was hoarse from screaming. Without the tendrils, you regained full control, the vibrations stopping instantly. “Thank you, thank you,” Peter whispered over and over as you lifted your frame off him. 

“Program D.O.M. paused,” you stated, “do you wish to continue after a delay or shall I proceed with aftercare protocols?” 

Peter laid starfish-style on the bed. His chest was heaving. He could use some aftercare, but it was hard to trust you right now. “Terminate the program all together,” he groaned, “initiate shutdown.” A second later, he was met with the sound of your vents shutting down and your pelvic plate closing to protect what was behind it. He was left in silence. As far as updates went, it still wasn’t as bad as that time Windows went from XP to Vista. He counted it as a win.  

—————

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[eldritch-spouse]

Remember this?

Here's a guy that's definitely not meant to be on Earth.

Somewhere, the forces that be botch a massive specimen transportation operation from planet A to planet B. A series of system failures occurs, and strangely shaped pods are ejected into the vast nothingness of space. One of said pods contains a lifeform belonging to a species that was meant to be studied in detail, except instead of landing safely where it should, this pod crashes directly into Earth, thankfully away from civilization.

The creature inside is largely very disoriented upon their arrival, more than that, it's dying. The atmosphere around it won't allow the lifeform to breathe properly, so it crawls and wheezes its way over to a river and stuffs its head in it, finally recovering. That's exactly how they're found too...

Held in a highly specialized infrastructure, while not exactly being badly mistreated, this extraterrestrial is being documented extensively. Some curious things have been found.

They're intelligent. Although an undeniable and difficult to circumvent language barrier is very much present, it's evident that the lifeform can reason in a similar manner to humans, displaying this early on by remaining calm and mostly pliant next to armed humans, understanding that these others could hurt them without needing many hints;

They're social. The lifeform has responded to attempts at social interaction with its own strategies, and seems to have two main methods of vocalizing, primarily through the cavities in its chest. The larger, top depressions seem to emit rough, branch-like noises, while the smaller orifices produce melodious signals, both of these combine to create a very peculiar and complex language;

He's a male. Observed when the specimen opened his own absurdly long slit, at the (slightly forceful) request of investigators, exposing a myriad of genital appendages particularly associated with males. Not all of them are capable of ejaculation, and some seem to be purely auxiliary to the task of mating, leading to a lot of speculation regaining the anatomy and practices of females of the species;

The filament on his head is a mood indicator that will glow a variety of hues at different intervals to transmit messages;

The buds on his pelvic area are erogenous zones;

The protrusions on his forearms are residual;

Although the lifeform doesn't display a demanding sex drive, when they find someone they deem compatible and attractive, the ensuing mating session tends to last several hours. It's theorized that, if left uninterrupted, the specimen would attempt to mate their partner for more than 24h;

Unfortunately, the concept of naming oneself isn't exactly something he can grasp very easily, so there's neither a title nor a preferred method of addressing the lifeform. Curiously, they tend to have an innate ability to tell when they're being talked to, talked about or even thought of;

He's been nicknamed "Tentatris" and "Tetrils" due to how wildly confusing it is for investigators to try and decipher his anatomy, likening it to the organism equivalent of a tetris puzzle.

[morbidology]

Kris Kremers, 21, and Lisanne Froon, 22, were two close friends from Amersfoort, Netherlands. Both were bright and enthusiastic young women who shared a passion for travel and exploration. In March 2014, they set off for Panama, planning to spend several weeks volunteering and exploring the country's culture and natural beauty.

After spending some time in the bustling city of Boquete, they decided to hike the El Pianista trail on April 1, 2014. The trail, known for its scenic views of the Panamanian jungle, was supposed to be a straightforward hike, but it would be the last time Kris and Lisanne were seen alive.

When Kris and Lisanne failed to return from their hike, concern quickly grew. The women had planned to meet a local guide the following day for a tour, but they never showed up. After several days of no contact, their families in the Netherlands raised the alarm, and a large-scale search and rescue operation was launched.

The search, which involved local authorities, indigenous tribes, and Dutch rescue teams, initially yielded no clues. The dense jungle, with its treacherous terrain and unpredictable weather, made the search incredibly challenging. Weeks passed with no sign of the young women, and hope began to fade.

Two months after their disappearance, a local woman found a backpack belonging to Lisanne Froon near a riverbank several kilometers from the El Pianista trail. The backpack, remarkably undamaged despite being exposed to the elements, contained crucial items, including Lisanne's passport, a water bottle, sunglasses, two pairs of bras, and $83 in cash.

Most notably, the backpack also held both women's cell phones and a camera.

The discovery of the cell phones provided a chilling glimpse into the ordeal Kris and Lisanne had faced. Investigators found that the women had attempted to call emergency services multiple times, starting just a few hours after they began their hike. However, due to the poor cell reception in the jungle, none of the calls went through except for one that lasted just a second before dropping. The phone records also showed that the devices were turned on and off multiple times over the following days, with the last activity recorded on April 11, ten days after their disappearance.

The digital camera found in the backpack contained over 100 photographs, some taken during the early stages of their hike, showing the women smiling and enjoying their adventure. However, the camera also contained a series of strange and disturbing images taken during the night on April 8, seven days after they were last seen. These photos showed the dark jungle, with unclear and seemingly random shots of rocks, a bridge, and a possible trail marker. One of the final images showed the back of Kris Kremers' head.

The discovery of the backpack led searchers to further explore the area, and soon after, human remains began to surface. Over the next few weeks, investigators found scattered bones, including a pelvic bone and a boot containing a foot, later identified through DNA testing as belonging to Lisanne Froon. More bones, including a fragmented rib bone from Kris Kremers, were also found in the vicinity.

The condition of the remains added another layer of mystery to the case. While Lisanne's bones appeared to be naturally decomposed, some of Kris's bones were found bleached, leading to speculation about what might have happened to the women in their final days.

The deaths of Kris Kremers and Lisanne Froon have fueled a multitude of theories, ranging from tragic accidents to foul play. Some believe that the women became lost in the jungle and succumbed to the harsh conditions, including dehydration, starvation, or injury. The nighttime photos and desperate attempts to call for help suggest they may have been trying to find their way out or signal rescuers.

However, the case has also sparked darker theories, including the possibility of foul play. The condition of the remains, the unexplained photos, and the discovery of the backpack in a relatively undamaged state have led some to speculate that the women may have encountered someone with ill intentions or that their deaths were not purely accidental.

[batwritings]

Kinktober Day 7 - Voyeurism

Another operator that needs more love: Nikto! Enjoy!~

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

Nikto’s head had a million and one different voices buzzing back and forth after their last mission and it was starting to drive him a bit insane. “We shouldn’t have needed back up!” barked one voice. “We would’ve died otherwise Мудак!” screeched another. 

It was all starting to give Nikto a rather massive headache. “Let’s just get what we need from Y/N and be done with this,” the man grumbled. As he rounded the corner, both his footsteps and the voices of his system slowed. A sound was catching their attention and had the body rushing quicker towards your room.

They hadn't meant to see you, honestly they didn't. They had just been walking by your room to grab something from you for some debriefing. But when Nikto and his system saw you, on your back, a thick toy in your needy hole, and your hand eagerly pleasuring your sex? They were awestruck.

"Look how nice they look," one voice commented. "Perfect for us." said another.

"We shouldn't be watching," Nikto mumbled, unable to move his crystalline blue eyes from you form. Every movement had him mesmerized, captivated by just how good you looked.

The troubled soldier felt his arm moving of seemingly it's own accord, hand closing around their painfully erect member. “We should be enjoying ourselves with them,” A completely separate voice commented, sounding low and sultry. Nikto knew this one; they were responsible for a lot of the different messed up things that played through their mind when the doors were closed.

Well, messed up in Nikto’s eyes. None of them had your permission to act on their many urges and impulses they felt towards you. How it would feel to press their member inside you, to hear you cry out the body’s name, and to come undone, hole fluttering as it clenches and unclenches around them. 

The Russian man missed when his cock was pulled out, but couldn’t bring himself to care as he felt the pleasure start to blossom across his pelvic region.  “Tell me they wouldn’t look so lovely spread out underneath us though,” the same voice continued. “Sucking our cock back in every time we try to pull away. Ooh, what about that mouth around–”

“Hush!” Nikto hissed. “We should not be doing this in the first place! They…did not allow us to…see them so vulnerable and…Пиздец.” Despite his protest, the body’s hand still held firm on their cock, stroking slowly. 

“But they–” Just as the other voice, so low and alluring tried to speak, you took the words from their mouth.

“Mmh!” You whined loudly, free hand briefly flying up to cover your mouth. Your body stilled in it’s ministrations, chest heaving from your near orgasm. You were edging yourself and Nikto’s knees nearly buckled at how absolutely hot that was. 

“Come мышь don’t stop now,” the man mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. His hand had picked up in pace with it’s stroking, thumb rubbing over the head of their cock. He was desperately trying to get himself to where you were.

“Fuck,” you breathed, continuing to pleasure yourself, movements a lot more hasty now. Who knew how long you’d been getting yourself off, how many times you’d fallen from the precipice of pleasure. “Mmh…! N-Nikto, pl-lease…!”

At the sound of his name, Nikto nearly came undone himself. Of all the people in Kortac who could hold your attention, they were the ones to occupy your mind? All your filthy desires? The urge to barge into your room right here and now was borderline overwhelming, but the Russian system held their ground, content with watching.

Somewhere within the depths of their mind, another part of the system was cursing themselves for missing the signs. How the lot of them and you had become so close with one another yet didn’t notice. How many times had you offered affection or attention that showed your interest and they turned you down? 

“Later…” Nikto panted to the voice. “We can talk about it with them later…we’re close…and so are they.” And it wasn’t a lie; the whole body, for those who felt it, could sense the growing pleasure and oncoming orgasm quickly approaching. You too were writhing on your cot, the hand that had previously been covering your mouth now pumping that thick toy in and out of your greedy hole.

A series of moans of “fuck” mixed with other languages fell from your perfect lips before your toes curled into your sheets. “N-Nikto…!” came your cry as you began to come, hard. Your back arched up off the cot as you fucked yourself through your climax.

Widened blue eyes didn’t leave your body as Nikto came, trying so hard to get it more on his flight suit than on the floor outside your door. A shuttered groan was muffled behind the thickness of his mask as his eyes threatened to flutter close in pleasure. Thankfully, they only laid upon you as you collapsed in an exhausted mess to your sheets. 

The Russian man panted heavily as he regained his composure. He felt awful for intruding on you in such a vulnerable moment as he sighed, closing his eyes finally. Their entire body froze when they heard you speak. “You could always join me next time y’know,” you said with a soft laugh. 

Without even giving a second though to his state of undress, Nikto opened your door fully. “You knew we were here…?” The man asked sheepishly. You nodded, still smiling patiently as you offered him a washcloth. The Russian took it, brushing his fingers across yours while looking rather dumbfounded. “And you are not upset…?”

“Nikto, I’ve been interested in you for a while now,” you admitted, a light blush across your cheeks. “And that goes for all of you.” You watched while he cleaned up the mess he’d made before handing you back the soft cloth. You tossed it into your laundry hamper before getting up and stretching. “But before that, I know you came for this intel.” You offer the manilla folder to him and smile when he takes it with a soft “Спасибо…”

“Come back tonight and we can talk, okay?” You peck a soft kiss to the side of Nikto’s mask as a sort of promise. “Go on then, be safe.” Nikto doesn’t respond as you gentle nudge him out of your room. 

It all finally clicks in Nikto’s head, and a low grad panic sets in. “They like us?!” One voice screeches, a mixture of confusion and excitement. “They like us back!” Another screams in elation as the headspace becomes abuzz with life again.

“Learn something new everyday; who knew our lovely host was a voyeur.”

[the-queen-and-the-king]

Target heart

Summary: Aaron has to train the future snipers of the Bureau. Emily is around to liaise with the BAU if needed, and she enjoys the show. She enjoys the show a lot.

Characters: Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss (JJ makes an appearance too)

Contents: smut, shower sex, breeding kink (a bit), dirty talk, dirty thoughts (a lot) NSFW/MINORS DNI

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Read on AO3 / lire sur AO3

___

                Emily stood back, observing the scene from a distance. A hundred yards away, a small group of new FBI recruits surrounded a man she knew all too well. Her man. Aaron Hotchner. The director of the BAU, who on this day had swapped his profiler's jacket for that of training sergeant for the Bureau's future snipers. From what she understood, those to whom this role was usually assigned were either ill or in operation somewhere. She, she was there to liaise with the unit just in case. At least, that's what the giant had asked.

                That said, she didn't mind being here at all. Admittedly, she had to stand, barely in the shadow of the building from which they had all emerged, but the view was very pleasing to her. Aaron had changed his outfit for the occasion, putting away his eternal slim-fitting suit and donning more operational clothes: rangers, khaki denim and a midnight-blue short-sleeved polo. He added a cap and sunglasses to avoid glare. Spring was radiant and temperatures higher than usual. Unless she was the one with vapors? It had to be said that these pants molded perfectly to the buttocks of her lover, who currently had his back to her.

                They'd been sleeping together for just over a year, and her desire for him was still there. He was so handsome. How could she resist his brown hair, that straight nose, his broad shoulders, the lines of his pelvic girdle... She was getting lost. He didn't know it – because it was something he didn't pay attention to – but there were people interested in him. Since his divorce, flies had been flying around the honey pot on a regular basis. They were all taken aback by the titan's notable indifference. They didn't stand a chance anyway, since he was already taken. By her. Emily Prentiss.

                Their relationship was against the rules and Strauss couldn't find out about the two of them – she'd have a golden argument for firing him – so the profiler had to play it smart to keep all the foragers at bay. Which wasn’t an easy task. She regularly discovered new rivals and had to devise yet another strategy to make them understand that it was in their best interests to move on. Like the blond girl shamelessly checking out her teacher's bare arms. Aaron wore shirts three-quarters of the time, and seeing his forearms and biceps out in the open, covered in a thin layer of perspiration from the ambient heat, was admittedly a little titillating. Even more so if she remembered the last time she'd clung to them while he...

“Emily.”

“Hum,” she said, her gaze fixed on the colossus a few steps away.

“You’re drooling.”

“What?” she gasped at once. “No!”

She ran her fingers over her chin, found nothing and sighed, rolling her eyes. She glared at JJ, who had just showed up beside her.

“Sounds like someone's enjoying the view,” ironized the liaison officer with a smile up to her ears.

“Shut up,” she spat, vexed at having been caught in full contemplation.

The team was the only one at Quantico who knew about the two of them, and so far they'd all held their tongues. Even Derek, who disapproved of their relationship – essentially because he didn't like Hotch – and Penelope, who was nonetheless a specialist in the unwelcome revelation of secrets. It had to believe that the friendship they had for them was enough to keep them in line. However, as soon as they were with each other, the scabrous innuendos were flying. This had amused Emily at first, but now sometimes she was as annoyed as her companion. It was partly for this reason that they had wanted to keep their story secret for as long as possible.

“What were you doing there?” she realized suddenly.

JJ was supposed to call her if a file or call required the director's intervention; there was never any question of her moving up there.

“It's time to eat,” explained the wiry blonde, still smiling. “We wanted to know if you were coming.”

“The class is not done yet.”

Up to now, he'd only talked to them about how to handle the rifle outside the shooting phase. His lesson was therefore far from over.

“Okay. So, Aaron stays. You?”

“I… I stay here. He… he might need me.”

Her gaze drifted to her lover, who had knelt down to begin the rest of his presentation. The denim hugged his thighs and emphasized the roundness of his crotch. Sparks fizzled in her lower abdomen as she remembered what lay beneath those layers of fabric. She didn't see her neighbor's snide expression when she answered:

“True, he might need you. See you later.”

Maybe she replied something, maybe not. She didn’t know. All her attention had slipped to the director, who was innocently continuing his explanations. From where she was, she couldn't hear anything, but she could see everything. The tense muscles of his arms, the veins protruding beneath his lightly tanned skin, his broad fingers wrapped around the handle, his shoulders rolling under his polo shirt as he lay on the floor, his buttocks forming a perfect relief that she wanted to grip fiercely. Okay. Maybe she was drooling a little.

                She forced herself to look around to think of something else, but the firing range wasn't the most exciting part of the training center. She gasped as the shot burst through the air. It was he who had just pulled the trigger. There was no way of knowing from this distance whether he'd hit the bull's-eye, but she wouldn't have been surprised if he had. That's why he'd been hired for this mission. He fired two more shots, and then stood up, unfurling his six-foot frame with ease. Pointing the gun's barrel skyward to speak to the students, he wedged the butt on his hip. A seemingly insignificant gesture that propelled Emily three days earlier. That night, it was her thighs that were pressed against his hips, and his cannon had a much more offensive stance.

                Emily inwardly slapped herself. With all the hanky-panky they were doing, how was she still starving? Especially since his partner was far from being a one minute man. Just the day before, before breakfast, he'd taken her to seventh heaven with his mouth and tongue alone. The neighbors must not have appreciated being woken up at six in the morning by her cries of ecstasy, but she didn't care. Her man was a sex god and it didn’t matter if the whole building knew it. No. The problem was rather that this lesson was dragging on and on, and she was furiously tempted to climb on him. Which didn't get any better when he supervised the trainees' practical exercises. He presented her with his back, legs slightly apart, arms crossed over his torso. She was sure she'd see all his back muscles showing under his top. Did he still have the scratches she'd given him on Saturday?

                How long was this going to last? she grumbled without loosening her teeth. She was hot, her vagina was a furnace and her panties were probably sticky as hell, but the only one who could come to her aid was standing a hundred yards too far away and paying no attention to her. So when, an hour later, he returned to her quietly, his gentle smile disappeared when he saw her scowl.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah”, she grunted, on pins and needles.

“What did you talk about with JJ?”

“Nothing,” she snapped, barely perturbed by the fact that he had noted her brief passage. “Are you done?”

“Yes…”

He was about to add something, but swallowed his words when she grabbed his polo shirt.

“Good. Come with me.”

The students had already left and he had taken his time putting the equipment away.

“Wait, I've got to take a shower,” he snarled as she dragged him toward the gym.

“Oh, but you're going to take a shower,” she reacted, turning around. “But not alone.”

First he frowned, then a mischievous smile stretched his lips.

“Interesting.”

And so they headed straight for the bathroom, restraining themselves from pausing along the way to make out and kiss. There were cameras all over the complex and who knew how many guards Strauss had on her payroll. Aaron held her back just as she was about to push open the door to the showers. She questioned him in silence, and he nodded towards a perpendicular corridor she hadn't been paying attention to. And for good reason: this part of the building was reserved for big shots and she couldn't get in. But he did, and used his badge to let her in. The premises were desert. That was exactly what they needed.

                They chose the third block they passed and, with the latch barely closed, he pressed her against the wall to catch her mouth with his. Bengal fires ignited throughout her body. She took his face in her hands and prolonged his kiss. A touch of salt had been added to his usual taste by the sweat, and she relished it. She put her arms around his neck; he wrapped his arms around her loins and pressed her against him. He was hard. She was wet. They had to take the next step. Then, in total disorder and without their usual control, they undressed, throwing their clothes haphazardly across the tiled space. Then he pushed her towards the shower tray and turned on the water.

                The icy rain that fell on them at first, then warm didn't dampen their spirits. They caressed each other's shapes as if they'd been waiting months for this moment. They kissed every accessible strategic area while standing, grazing the rest, electrifying their partner. For her, that wasn’t enough. She could finally touch that chin, that neck, those shoulders, that bust, that ass, but she wanted more. She wanted his spear, hard against her belly, to disappear between her thighs. She wanted him to sweep her chimney like he'd never done before.

“How do you want me to take you?” inquired Aaron, right in the hollow of her ear.

“Doesn’t matter, just take me.”

“Okay,” he said with a smile. “Turn around.”

She obeyed and bowed to make his task easier. His right hand delicately took hold of her hip while the other guided his penis to the right spot. He sank into her to the hilt and a groan of satisfaction escaped Emily's lungs. He was finally there. His left palm landed on the top of her thigh and he began to move back and forth. She couldn't see him, but guessed he was enjoying the view and the sensations she offered.

                He soon brought her some himself, and her whimpering turned to ecstatic exclamation. She encouraged him to pick up the pace, to put more vigor into it, and then to keep up the rhythm. The brazier he'd started without even realizing it earlier flared up, growing stronger with each intrusion. Soon she couldn't contain her cries of pleasure. Aaron tried to put his hand over her mouth to tell her to keep her voice down – they might be in another sanitary block, but the one his students were in was next to theirs and there was no saying they couldn't hear her – but he didn't have the reach to do it.  

                She understood the message, however, and suppressed her vocalizations. Which wasn't easy with the surge of electricity coursing through her veins. It sparkled in her intimacy every time his pelvis collided with her posterior. It crackled under her skin as soon as he withdrew. It bombarded her brain when he returned to the charge. All her thoughts had vanished, leaving only “yes”, “again” and “it's good”. She moaned, sighed, exhaled, and breathed out in unison with his thrusts. She arched her back, tensing herself, clinging to what she could along the soaked wall to help him and further improve her feeling at the same time.

                She could hear his rattles, his grunts, his rumbling that always threatened to filter through his lips when he was this close to coming. He gripped her waist more tightly as he concentrated on not giving in. When she only asked for it. She wanted him to place himself one last time against her den and, with a noisy exhalation that was as much relief as pleasure, pour himself into her. But she knew he preferred her to surrender first; his only expression of male pride. So, as orgasm loomed on the horizon, a curious arm-wrestling match began between them.

“Come. Come. Aaron, come,” she repeated over the tempo of his comings and goings.

“You… first,” he breathed, jaws clenching.

“Come. Come. Cum. Cum.”

“N… No… no.”

“Cum. Come into me! Fill me!”

He did so on the spot. A warm wave washed over her and, in the next second, a tsunami swept through her torso and limbs, making her tremble from head to toe. She almost collapsed, but he caught her, wrapping his arms around her quivering chest. With one hand, he held her head not far from his pectorals, against which she snuggled once he had disengaged. She had turned around as soon as she could and pressed herself against him, soothed by the gentle warmth that perpetually emanated from him and by the beating of his heart, which was gradually slowing down. They kissed tenderly, savoring the calm after the storm, letting the water bead on their burning dermis.

“Aaron?”

A vibration in his ribcage was his response.

“When will be your next lesson?”

He burst out laughing – a behavior he reserved only for her and Jack – then shook his head, smiling. He looked at her with that glint of sincere love in his eyes and placed his lips against hers.

“Tomorrow.”

___

Thanks to the members of the Hotchniss discord server to encourage me to write all my silly ideas ( @sirpotys , @criminalmindsbauagent , @purplejellosg1 ; @suallenparker ; @hotchnissonly and many other more (sorry if I can't find your Tumblr blog. ^^; ). Love you all! <3

[trudemaethien]

I wanna hear four different headcanons about Alpha-17, please. :3c

A. (Realistic):

Alpha-17 is angry all the time, like The Hulk. Just seething, furious, operating on rage, spite, and sheer bloody-mindedness. Add some quick thinking and a veneer of professionalism and most people don’t notice.

B. (Hilarious):

His fanon aging is somehow consistent with a 3x normal human acceleration even though no one calculates it out. I discovered this by accident while playing with some math. I however think it would be funnier if he did actually age 2x like all the rest of the clones and is only half a year or so ahead of the oldest class of commanders. He’s acting like a harried parent with a bunch of small children while a small child himself. 6 eq, carrying 5 eq cadets under each arm like the worlds most tenacious and overloaded miniature donkey. acting like a weary 40yo by the end of the war when he’s only going on 27 eq.

C. (Heart-crushing and awful):

He started having the same spinal issues as 99 as he aged and that in addition to his injuries at the hand of Ventress (which i hc were spinal and pelvic/hip, plus possibly needing to regrow organs) leg to him needing a spinal prosthetic much like Echo.

D. (Substitute my own Reality):

Lieutenant A-17 was subordinate to Captain A-77 in the Muunilinst Ten but impressed Kenobi so much that he was detached and tasked separately. Give me that good good 1777 ship in another dynamic.

(from this meme)

[kaeso4ka]

Optimus is dissecting your human body

Pairing: yandere Optimus Prime x reader

Optimus hovered over the platform, gazing into the painfully familiar human features. You were beautiful. You were perfect, as you always were.

And so was your body, which didn't contain your mind. Ratchet had called it a corpse, but Optimus thought otherwise. No part of you could be dead. No part of you.

That's why he was here. And that's why he lied to you and Ratchet: your organic body wasn't destroyed at all. Optimus didn't want that. Why would he? Why destroy this beauty?

But it was also dangerous and... Not as interesting to leave it in its familiar form. Optimus had long felt the urge to find out exactly what Eve's organic body was hiding inside of her. The Cybertronian could easily expose any part, even the Spark, while humans were beyond his control. And Optimus wanted to. Wanted to know what was inside you. What your soul and body were hiding.

There was no obstacle to that now. The merger would soon take place, but the body...

Optimus transformed the manipulator into a blade. A combat upgrade might not be suitable for operating on organics, but operating on you with something other than your own body Prime considered sacrilege. Oh, no. He must feel. To feel the way his Spark's flesh cut through like a thin layer of metal.

Optimus had purposely sharpened the blade in a way he hadn't sharpened it in the entire war. Optimus thought long and hard about where to begin. Everything drew him in, beckoned to him, and all he could do was blow air through the ventilation systems at high volume.

The blade swept across your forehead, thin drops of blood trickling down, staining the unnaturally pale skin. The scalp came off easily. Optimus watched with interest as the thin layer of red film hid the skull. White against the red.

Prime carefully sliced the scalp off, setting it aside. Thoughtfully examined your head.

The next stage was the eyes: Optimus couldn't afford not to look into them at least once a joor. Therefore, he really wanted to keep it.

The tip of the blade lifting the closed eyelid, digging under the eyeball. It's exquisite workmanship. Optimus never thought he'd do a job like this, but he couldn't let you down and mess it up. So he calculated every move, every gesture.

The first eyeball protruded from the eye socket, and Optimus carefully began to cut away the tendons. Slowly, in no hurry. When the eyeball was finally separated from the body, Optimus held it up to his optics. The brown pupil stared at him silently.

Optimus smiled at your gaze, and then proceeded to the other eye. This one was quicker to do.

Optimus moved a little and pressed on your jaw. Your mouth opened obediently, and the mech immediately hooked your tongue with his fingers. He pulled it back a little, and with a second manipulator he cut off your tongue. Optimus really liked to hear you talk, and to neglect that organ would be... Just awful.

Optimus examined the result he'd gotten. You looked at him with empty eye sockets and the bloody yawn of an empty mouth.

Optimus wanted what was hiding behind your skull. Your brain.

But Optimus was thinking. He so wanted your whole skeleton. In order to do that, it had to be stripped completely of meat, muscle, fat, internal organs. At these thoughts, Optimus' motor sounded louder, more satisfied: the process would be long. Now the blade rested against your sternum. It pressed down, burrowing inward, but without damaging your lungs or ribs.

Optimus moved the arm downward, revealing your chest, abdomen, and pelvic organs. Beautiful. You were as beautiful on the inside as you were on the outside.

A riot of red, burgundy, yellow, and even purple, that's how Optimus saw your inner world. Prime noted with frustration that to get to your lungs and heart, you'd have to break your ribs.

Those hid the things Optimus needed with their whitish cage. But that's okay.

Optimus would rebuild the skeleton afterward.

The sound with which each rib broke, separating from you, Prime could only compare to a prayer. The blade moved with even more care.

Optimus cut through the heart sac, slicing through aortas and tendons, wanting to get to the heart.

Your heart was... Prime, it was what Optimus had spent so long conquering. Prime took a few long brims to look at what once drove blood through your veins, and then brought it up to your dermis, kissing it. A trail of blood was immediately imprinted on the soft metal. But that's okay.

Optimus will lick it off later. Right after he got the lungs. The stomach. Liver. The intestinal tubes. And the uterus and ovaries. And Optimus won't leave anything inside you untouched.

“What the hell are you doing in there!!!” you banged your fist loudly several times against the automatic doors leading to Optimus' compartment. His private compartment, not their shared one. “Ratchet is calling for you. He refuses to take me for a physical on this stupid hull and my Spark without you present.”

Optimus immediately switched gears: contacting your past body was intriguing, but contacting your new hull and asset... It was infinitely times better.

“Give me five minutes, my Spark,” Optimus hurries into the purifier. He doesn't want to wash you off of him at all, but if he doesn't, you yourself... Once again, you'll be afraid. Reject. You won't understand.

Outside the door, you hummed quietly in response. The familiar smell of metal and... Meat? But you immediately dismissed those thoughts.

Where on Cybertron would meat and blood come from?

[jeynearrynofthevale]

Just watched the Connor McDavid: Whatever it Takes documentary and my main takeaway is that he’s insane but here are a bunch of random notes and pics:

““If it was up to my mom, we probably would’ve been a skiing family”

The drive, that’s who he is, he’s always been that way, since he was probably 3 or 4, he refused to let his parents help him get dressed and he would carry his bag everywhere, the bag was bigger than he was

“He’s intense and he’s competitive”

Bobby Orr said when he was 15 that he was gonna be the greatest skater to ever play

Tracy Wilson: Olympian and skating coach “what I love about Connor is it’s all about power, doesn’t matter how it looks, it’s about getting there”

Kassian “we haven’t seen a player like that in the game in maybe forever”

McDavid “at the end of the day, you’re still playing an nhl game, but that’s not much to hang your hat on” in reference to being out of the playoffs

“Right on the post square and I just felt the pain right away, thought I’d just broken my leg into a couple pieces”

They keep replaying him going into the net at top speed and it’s fucking horrible to watch

He whispered to me “I think it’s broke”- Kassian

“I was having flashbacks to Stamkos’s energy and I know stammer really well”

Stamkos texted therapist: “did he break his tibia?”

“If I could do it all over again, you’d like to take it back”- giordano

Team physical therapist asked if he could move his leg and told him he could either try to get up or call the gurney. Connor said “no, no, no” and stood up even though he was worried and thought his leg was going to give out”

“I held it together until we got though the tunnel and then I was just a mess” it took them 10 minutes to get back to the room

He said “stop, just give me a second”

3 guys had to hold him up the way back

Lauren “it was really hard when he called me, he just said “I think I broke my leg””

Brian “he was really upset and in pain, as a parent it’s hard”

Kelly: “it’s the worst thing in the world”

“Maybe in hindsight it would’ve been better if it was broken”

Never realized the infamous scene where Leon squeezes Connor in the hallway is from this.

Grade 2 strain of his pcl

“Hey dad, just want you to know I’m going for a second opinion in Colorado Springs”

Doctor told him it was a full pcl tear where tears on bth sides of his miniscus, “tore the popliteus right of the bone”

Full reconstruction of the knee, pcl, and popliteus would require a year recovery, doctor said he needed to do it asap, within a few day

“He was distraught, very, very under described”

His mom wanted him to have the surgery

Surgical intervention is to give it stability back

Had to make decision in 48hrs about whether or not to operate.

“He was very emotional and it was very difficult for him to talk.”

3rd opinion in LA: 2nd doctor is right about the issues but thinks the surgery is risky and doesn’t believe in it, wants to try to rehab it

Had to make that decision at 22 in 24 hours

Pcl cut right in half, back of knee joint completely torn, popliteus also completely torn, lateral and medial meniscus are both torn, crack in front of tibia from where he hit the post

“Hockey is my life”

He wanted to hear that he didn’t need surgery

His rehab guy literally lived with him

7 days a week, 10 hrs a day

50% chance to get him maybe skating again by end of summer

He was in a hyperbaric chamber daily for 40 days, 2 hours at a time

Claustrophobic in a literal tube

“At one point, doctor cleared him to flex his quad muscle”

They had to keep the injury as secret as possible, didn’t tell Ken Holland how bad it was

He would call his mom right after every mri appointment

He was in the pool all the time working on his knee

While rehabbing, his core specialist was like “might as well work on everything while we’re stuck here” and they worked on his core, pelvic floor, rotational movement, spine, everything

Gymnastics coach also helped

Didn’t want him to skate till September

He went on the ice with just his dad on his doc’s recommendation before September

He was so happy to be back on the ice with his father, completely changed emotionally that day

You can really see how much he loves just skating

He was so happy to know that even if he couldn’t fully heal he could still go on with the brace and skate

He’s so smooth in these skating exercises while in an insane brace

“One thing to be out there playing the game but another to do it at the level he was capable of”

Tracy Wilson did in their own words “edging” with him for afternoons, taking him through all sorts of movements and exercises without his brace

Opening night started to look like a possibility

He wanted to be there for training camp

He decided not to participate in biosteel

He wanted to play in all 7 exhibition games even though most veterans only did 4

“Like my first game all over again”

Seeing him on opening night was incredible for his training people

Okay, seeing the canucks slashing at him and shoving him into the boards in the home opener is now making me so protective

“He willed himself back”

[lifewithchronicpain]

Over the years, gabapentin (Neurontin) has been prescribed for dozens of health conditions, from epilepsy and fibromyalgia to depression and post-operative pain. It’s even been used to treat bipolar disorder. Gabapentin has been marketed for so many different conditions – at times illegally -- that a pharmaceutical company executive infamously referred to the drug as “snake oil.”

Even though it’s been approved for medical use for over 30 years, the UK’s National Health Service admits it’s still “not clear exactly how gabapentin works.”

A new study may finally help explain why gabapentin is an effective pain medication for some patients and an addictive drug with unwelcome side effects for many others.

It could be all in the genes.

Researchers at the University of Edinburgh took another look at a previous study of women with chronic pelvic pain to see why gabapentin worked no better than a placebo for most, but was a moderately effective pain reliever for about 40% of them. (Read more at link)

[schmetterlinq]

"Hello, I am Yasser Abu Jabal from the northern Gaza Strip. I am 25 years old. You can imagine that I lived through 7 wars during which they did not prevent me from graduating from the College of Accounting and working for about a year to relieve my father, who had an operation to fracture his pelvic bones. We lived in an acceptable house until If the last war came (the fateful October 7 war), which turned our lives upside down, destroying our source of livelihood, damaging our home in which we lived safely, and forcing us to migrate to the south of the Gaza Strip without shelter in the shelters of Deir al-Balah camp next to the city of Rafah, without a source of income. Without electricity, without drinking water, without health care, just destruction, bombing, starvation, and extermination that does not stop day and night. I write while feeling helpless and ashamed. I never imagined that one day I would collect donations to get out of this crisis, to save myself and my family from death, and to search for a new future, after I… All my dreams were destroyed and my future was lost, and this requires a lot since we are not like other countries in the world. The crossings are closed and we are in a large prison from which we cannot get out except by paying huge sums of money to the coordination, as the price of coordinating the exit of one person from Gaza is 5000 dollars, and we are a family consisting of 6 people. Therefore, I humbly ask you to provide any assistance that you can to help my family to travel abroad and build a new life filled with reassurance and peace. Thank you very much. ❤️"

(This is not my gofundme, I'm just boosting. This fundraiser is close to its goal!)