#laser cut pumps

[undertheorangetree]

Competition

Summary- Aemond is a big fan of healthy competition.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female Reader. Modern AU. Mutual edging. Handjob. Fingering. Blowjob. Surprisingly fluffy?? Straight up porn.

Author's Note- I wrote this instead of studying for my midterm lmao. This was a request and therefore a tumblr special so I'm posting the full story here below the cut :)

Usually, she finds the competitive nature of her relationship funny.

Aemond has always been competitive. Whether it was a board game amongst friends or trivia night at the pub or something as simple as an arm wrestle, he loved to win. Most of the time, she found the trait endearing and knew it was a habit she shared, especially when he was there to egg her on.

But it is at times like this she thinks perhaps his need for competition has gotten out of hand. Laying naked on their shared bed, Aemond on his knees beside her with his hand between her legs, two fingers pumping in and out of her ceaselessly. Her hand is wrapped around his cock, doing her best to match his pace even while the pleasure his hand is wringing from her licks up her spine, leaving her dizzy and half boneless. He had gotten it into his head that even this had to be a competition, that whoever forced the other to beg to come first would be declared the winner. She doesn't even remember what they're playing for, not now, but she does know that losing is not an option.

Already, they’ve denied each other twice, pulling the other away in their attempt to win. Despite the desperation that is sitting heavy in her gut, her cunt already hyper sensitive and the feeling only getting worse, she can’t make herself look away from Aemond’s face. His eyes are half lidded, the pupil in his real eye blown wide and turning the blue near black, chest heaving with every breath. His hips buck into her hand weakly, matching her strokes as if he wants nothing more than to let the bliss of it pull him under, his need to win the only thing holding him back. She’ll never get tired of that look, the way his features have gone soft and pliant as pleasure runs through him. She wants to immortalize it, stamp it in her mind’s eye and look at it forever.

She knows she looks just as desperate as he does, legs shaking as she feels her orgasm racing toward her. He keeps a steady pace, the sound of her cunt all but echoing through the room while his thumb circles her clit. It’s almost insulting, how well he is working her up even while she does the same to him. She had half hoped that the pleasure running through him would be some kind of distraction but he seems laser focused, staring between her legs as if he never wants to look away. And she's so close. She can feel it right there, knows that if he keeps going she'll fall over the edge, but just as her orgasm is about to run over her, she knocks his hand away. A desperate whine leaves her, hips bucking up to chase his hand despite having been the one to push it away, and she hears him let out a low groan, his wet fingers closing around her knee.

"Fuck, look at you." His other hand comes up to brush across her tits as if he can't stand the thought of not touching her, catching her nipple between his fingers. She jerks, knowing that was more calculated than it was loving, and slaps his hand away irritably. It doesn’t deter him. "You can give up any time you want, baby, just say the word."

Though she's breathless, frustration and disappointment churning in her gut, she knows he hears the petulance in her voice when she says, "Same goes for you, baby."

He grins, hand falling back between her legs again to play with her clit. There's a smugness there she doesn't like, as if he's sure that she will be the one to beg first, and she decides to wipe the arrogance from his face. Turning slightly, she shuffles a little closer, licking the weeping tip of his cock and before sucking the head into her mouth, fist still pumping at the base. She looks up at him with big doe eyes, trying to look as innocent as she can with his cock in her mouth, and very nearly grins at what she sees.

The effect it has on him is almost immediate. His stomach tenses, mouth dropping open and hand going momentarily still as he watches her, black swallowing the blue of his eye whole. She takes full advantage of his distraction, taking him into her mouth a little deeper and hollowing her cheeks. She knows him, knows every mannerism he has just before he falls apart, and she knows from the look on his face and the way he starts thrusting helplessly into her mouth that he's half a second away from finishing.

Unfortunately, he notices it too and she feels his hand in her hair, tugging her gently off his cock with a frustrated groan. A thin cord of spit connects her to him and he lets out an almost pitiful moan at the sight of it, bringing a grin to her face.

He almost sounds as though he's whining as he says, "You're cheating. Don't cheat."

She tilts her head as she takes him back in hand, reveling in the whimper he lets out. "Why? 'Cause you're gonna come?"

"Because I can't put my mouth on you. S'not fair."

She feels her grin broaden. "And we both know how much you like putting your mouth on me."

He very nearly growls at that before all but tackling her to the bed, forcing her onto her back once more. He kisses her hard, almost punishingly, and she moans into his mouth, both hands coming up to capture his face in her hands. She’s happy for the reprieve, the want burning between her legs too distracting, and takes her time kissing him, in feeling his lips pressing against her own.

"You're such a brat," he mutters against her mouth and she laughs, nipping at his bottom lip to further prove his point. His hand falls to spank her lightly in retaliation, making her jolt again before her own hand drops to find revenge in another way.

It takes him less than a second to follow suit, his fingers running through her to collect the arousal that’s gathered there before pushing a finger back inside her, crooking it up immediately to rub against the spot he knows makes her squirm. They’re both on their sides now and she slings her leg over his hip in an attempt to get more comfortable, still kissing him in the hopes that it will be enough to distract her from falling apart. It does little to help, the pleasure rolling to a boiling point in her belly. In any other circumstance, she would be grateful knowing that her boyfriend knew exactly how to touch her, how to work her up so perfectly, but now she knows that it will be her downfall unless she takes matters into her own hands.

Her mouth drops open, a moan escaping her when he begins circling her clit again, fast enough that her whole body shudders. Knowing now that she is sure to lose should he keep that up, she speeds up her hand in an attempt to bring him over the edge before her. She runs her thumb along the head of his cock, stroking at him faster, and fights the urge to giggle when he pulls away to moan, his head dropping to rest against her shoulder. His lips drag along the skin there, leaving lightning bolts of want in his wake, and her free hand comes up to twist in his hair, lifting herself up slightly.

“Please let me make you come,” she breathes near his ear, biting her lip when he moans faintly in response to it. “You look so pretty when you do. Just want to make you feel good, baby, please.”

She grinds down into his hand subconsciously, rolling her hips in her desperate need for more, and revels in the groan he lets out. She can feel herself clenching around nothing, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside her, but she refuses to succumb to her want now. Once she wins, she will gladly keep him in this bed all night and let him do whatever he wants to her. But before then, she wants to watch him fall apart.

“C’mon. Be a good boy for me.”

That does it. He lets out another whiney sound, this one half a moan, as his brows knit together, bucking his hips up into her hand. She strokes at him quickly, once, twice, until he spills himself over her fist with another moan, thrusts stuttering as he finishes.

Though his hand stalled while he came, he picks up where he left off the moment he has recovered, not giving her any time to mourn the loss of her fading orgasm. His fingers comes back up to her clit, circling it as hard and fast as she can handle and pulling a yelp from her. His free hand falls to the leg that still rests across his hip, holding her in place as he rubs at her faster and faster, that familiar coil in the pit of her stomach snapping almost as quickly as it begins to form. She writhes beside him as her orgasm washes over her, a whine leaving her as her head tips back, giving him enough room to press a litany of open mouthed kisses across her throat.

All at once, the room falls silent, the faint droning of the TV in the next room still humming on where they left it. They’re both panting and Aemond turns onto his back, his hand keeping her leg splayed across his lap while he does it, a faint stretch burning in her thigh.

"I win," she announces breathlessly, wiping her hand clean of him before flopping onto her side, cheek pressing tight against his chest.

He vibrates under her face with a huffed laugh, his hand comes up to stroke at her hair mindlessly. "I think you already got your prize."

She turns her head up to meet his eye. "And if I want another one?"

He turns down to kiss her again. This time, it’s much gentler, all the desperation that had filled the air between them simmering down to nearly nothing. A part of her thinks that he may be content to simply lay here with her in their disheveled bed but then he reaches for her ass again, using his grip there to tug her to lay flat on top of him. His cock is already half hard between them and she feels the side of her mouth quirk up at the realization that he is, in fact, not quite done yet.

“That can be arranged.”

[unseededtoast]

Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x Reader

Finale

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Finale

And now you know that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral into something all consuming. 

Spencer runs point in clearing out the warehouse. His gun is drawn and he's laser-focused on making sure nobody escapes from inside. The team had split up to cover the entrances, each moving swiftly. And once Spencer hears through his earpiece that everyone is into position, he makes his move.

"FBI hands in the air." He demands as he enters the warehouse. His voice reverberates off the metal walls as he swivels his head to locate Valentine.

But the warehouse is dark and empty. There's nobody here. Spencer holsters his gun and looks around the property to see if maybe Valentine is trying to hide somewhere. The rest of the team searches as well but an uneasy feeling settles within Spencer.

"It's clear." JJ states as the team convenes in the middle of the warehouse. Adrenaline still pumps through Spencer's veins as he tries to work out what this means for the case.

But no matter how logically he tries to think all his mind focuses on is you. Spencer knows that Valentine's absence here means that you're still in danger. He finds his phone tucked in his pocket and dials your number. But it goes to voicemail.

He tries not to panic, he really tries. So he calls again, hoping that maybe you were preoccupied with something else, maybe you had taken a walk or something. But it goes to voicemail again. Spencer calls for a third time, but this time he doesn't let it go to voicemail.

"Something's wrong." He tries to keep his strained voice level, but he can hear the tension in his words as they leave his mouth.

"What are you thinking?" Hotch asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Someone try to reach Garcia. I think we've been set up." Spencer says as he turns to run back to the SUVs.

As he runs his fingers fumble to call Penelope. Her phone rings and rings and rings. But nobody picks up. With shaking hands Spencer gets into the SUV and is about to turn the key to start it when someone opens the door.

"Get out kid, I'll drive." Derek says, motioning for Spencer to step out.

"We don't have time." Spencer practically shouts. Derek reaches over to still Spencer's hand clutching the keys.

"We don't. And you're in no right mind to drive. Get over there and let me get us back to the office." Derek's voice carries a sense of authority with it. And so Spencer hands over the keys before clumsily climbing over the middle console to the passenger seat.

While Derek speeds off back towards the office with sirens blaring, Spencer keeps trying to reach you or Penelope. His leg is bouncing up and down rapidly and he wishes that the car could drive at the speed of the jet. He just needs to know you're okay. He needs to know you're safe.

Finally, after the thousandth time, Penelope finally picks up.

"Your wish is my comm-"

"Penelope there's no time. I need you to go to the bullpen and see if she's okay. I can't reach her and Valentine wasn't at the warehouse." Spencer cuts Penelope off with rushed words.

"What? What do you mean he wasn't there his car clearly showed that he was." The panic in her voice is palpable and Spencer hears movement on the other line.

"I need you to go check on her now please." Spencer struggles to keep his cool. He hears Penelope's office door open and close and he faintly hears her heels clicking on the floor.

"The lights are all off." Penelope says.

"What do you mean the lights are off?" Spencer's mind feels like it could start smoking at any second with the amount of scenarios playing themselves out at the same time.

"I can't open the doors. The doors are stuck. I can't, I can't get in." The panic in Penelope's voice escalates and Spencer hears her pushing on the door.

"Do you see her?" Derek glances at Spencer momentarily before focusing back on the road. Spencer can tell that Derek's accelerated more as the car seems to scream down the road.

"No, I don't- wait. Oh my God. Spencer. You guys need to get back here now." Penelope's voice turns gravely serious before the line cuts off completely.

"Penelope? Garcia? Hello?" Spencer practically shouts. But all he's met with is silence. His hands grip his phone so tightly he thinks it might shatter under the pressure. A wave of nausea washes over him but he wills himself to not get sick. You need him, he doesn't have time to spiral.

"What did Garcia say?" Derek finally asks, no longer able to take not knowing. Spencer takes a shaky breath before looking over to Derek.

"The doors are locked. The lights are off. Garcia said we needed to get back immediately." Is all he can say without getting sick all over the car.

Spencer's mind starts playing cruel tricks on him. He sees you as the face of countless other victims. Some had been shot, others stabbed, a few dismembered, but they're all victims of stalking cases the team has worked in the past. He can't bear the thought of anyone harming a hair on your perfect head.

"We'll get there." Derek says with determination. Spencer can only hope he's right. 

———

Valentine's voice echoes through the empty bullpen as you spin around in the dark office, trying to see where he is. Your heart thumps heavily in your chest and your knees feel weak.

"Oh don't look so frightened dear." His voice booms out of the intercom. You're acutely aware that he's actively surveilling you but there's nothing you can even do about it.

The cameras in the corners of the room track your every move. Every inch you move, they move. Your brain is going haywire, wrestling between logical profiler thinking and terrified victim mentality. Thousands of thoughts race through your mind at once to try and form a plan, but no matter how many thoughts cross your mind, it all just sounds like a jumbled mess. You're freezing.

It feels as if your feet have been cemented to the ground. It's almost like your vocal cords have been cut as well, seeing as how you can't find it within you to form a sentence.

"I'm almost there. Don't worry." Valentine's voice cuts through the silence again.

You're too scared to move. He's going to be here soon. Deep down you know it's a threat. Valentines has you right where he wants you; like a caged animal. There's no way for you to get out or warn others. All you have with you is your service weapon. As you reach for your gun it's like your heart stops; you must've forgotten it in your bag you packed earlier, the one you left in the empty office Hotch is letting you use.

You're all alone in here and Valentine is on his way.

Time moves slowly but too quickly all at once. As if everything were suddenly in slow motion, you watch as Valentine unlocks the doors with his phone and steps into the bullpen with you. Instantly, all the cameras turn off.

Your breaths are shaky, your heart pounds and your chest hurts from fear. Adrenaline tingles the tips of your fingers.

But though you're afraid, there's a tiny voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you've dealt with people like this before. You've worked several similar cases. Deep down, you know how to navigate this situation. But when you're the victim, it's like your training has vanished and you're reduced to nothing but a scared little girl. You don't want to be a scared girl, you want to be strong and brave and smart.

Valentine smiles sickly at you, his white teeth shine like fangs in the dim light. The glint of something shiny in his pocket distracts you from this face. It seems he's brought a knife with him.

You try your hardest to level out your breathing and to think with a clear mind, with a profiler's mind. After all, you've been trained and conditioned for high stress scenarios. You can only hope you don't crumble when it matters.

"Well, aren't you happy to see me?" Valentine asks, taking several steps towards you. Instinctively you want to reach your hands out to maximize the distance between the two of you, but you keep your hands to your sides.

"I am." Your voice falters only slightly, hopefully he doesn't notice. Valentine looks you up and down, licking his lips as he does so.

"You know, you are so much more beautiful up close like this." He takes another step closer.

"Thank you." You accept his compliment, swallowing the sickness threatening to rise.

Valentine steps right in front of you, his tall figure looms over you. He stares down at you and you feel like a gazelle in the middle of an open field, and Valentine is a starved lion. His hand reaches out and touches your face. You flinch.

"Do you think I'd hurt you?" He sounds offended by your reaction to his touch. Thinking quickly, you answer.

"No, never. It's just- your hands are cold. That's all." You try to play it off convincingly. He looks down at his hands and rubs them together to warm them up. His fingers trace over your cheekbone once more.

"I've waited so long for this, for you." He whispers as he looks over your face. You can only hope you're masking your fear well enough.

"If only you hadn't let him touch you like that." Valentine's voice turns from sweet to sinister in the blink of an eye. Your eyes meet his and you see malice and hatred within them. He looms over you and takes his fingers away from your face, like your skin suddenly burned him.

"What do you mean?" You decide to play dumb, maybe there's a chance you can talk your way out of this. Valentine snarls and takes a step back.

"You know what I'm talking about. Spencer. Fucking. Reid." He enunciates his words in an exaggerated manner. Your mouth is dry and your brain can't keep up and decide how you should play your cards.

"I, I don't-"

"Save it. I'm not stupid." He cuts you off and begins pacing back and forth in front of you. Valentine pushes his hand through his hair and you see his face turn red.

"I saw. I saw it all. You let him put his hands all over you. You let him put his lips on your skin. You even let him into your bedroom. How could you? How could you do that to me after I went out of my way for you?" He practically yells at you. The vein in his neck pops and you see his hand drift to his back pocket.

You put your hands out towards him, palms facing him and try to de-escalate the situation. There have been several cases where you've had to talk down unsubs in this exact frame of mind.

"I only let him do it because I was imagining it was you and not him." It's a long shot but you hope he buys it. You also wonder how long you can stall before someone finally comes back.

Valentine stops pacing for just a fraction of a second. He stares at you intensely. His jaw clenches.

"You understand why I have a hard time believing that, right?" His voice has returned to being unsettlingly calm.

"I know. But it's the truth." You say, letting your hands fall back down to your side.

You and Valentine stare at each other, a tense silence filling the room. It looks like he's trying to rationalize your words. And after what feels like a small eternity, he speaks up again.

"If that were true, you would've let me stay that day I came to your apartment. Instead, you dismissed me and let him stay." Valentine's hand reaches for something in his back pocket.

He rushes at you and swings, a silver blade in his hand. You barely dodge it before he's swinging at you again. Valentine is a trained FBI agent, you both went through the same hand to hand combat training. He's fast, he's strong. And you struggle to dodge his attacks.

In an attempt to put as much space between you as possible, you back away and tip chairs and files into the floor to hopefully trip him. But eventually he lunges forward and the blade cuts your abdomen.

The pain temporarily freezes you, allowing Valentine to grab you and shove you to the floor. He stands over top of you and smiles widely down at you. You feel the warm blood start soaking through your shirt but you can't look away to see how bad it is.

Valentine drops to his knees and straddles your torso, he drags the blade across your cheekbone and down your throat. He presses ever so slightly and creates small cuts on your cheek. The blood streams down your face and onto the floor in thin streams.

"Please." You resort to begging. At this point you know he's got nothing to lose and therefore he likely has no boundaries or care in the world.

"Shhh. It's my turn, and I earned this." He says and drops the blade. His hands wrap around your throat and he presses down hard in the center, cutting off your air supply.

You thrash and kick and hit to try and get him off of you. But he's simply too strong. He's twice your size and deranged. You dig your nails into his skin and claw at his hands. But all he does is smile. And you feel your lungs burning and you're starting to panic.

You try to get air into your lungs and your body shakes from lack of oxygen. Your efforts to free yourself are only making you run out of air quicker. Valentine presses his thumbs into the column of your throat.

"We could've been great. You and I. We could've been so happy together. But you had to go and give yourself to him. No, he doesn't deserve you. He couldn't make you feel good like I could. How could you do this?" Valentine spits down at you as your limbs become too heavy to move.

The edge of your vision starts to become staticky and dotted. But you can see tears streaming down Valentine's face and you feel them drip onto your face. But you're too tired to wipe them away. Your eyelids feel like they weigh 20 pounds each.

It's just so much easier to close them.

———

"Garcia did you get the door locks back online?" Hotch authoritatively asks as the team rushes into the building. Penelope tries her best to keep up with Hotch, tears stream down her face.

"Sir I tried. I tried but I didn't have enough time." Her words are broken up by sobs.

Spencer doesn't have time for this. He shoves past everyone else and reaches the glass doors. His eyes scan the dark office and he sees you laying still on the floor. Motionless. Valentine is hunched overtop of you, his hands wrapped around your throat.

Without thinking, Spencer reaches for his gun and shoots through the door. The glass shatters and falls to the floor in a billion pieces. But he doesn't care. All he can see is red as he steps over the glass and into the bullpen.

Spencer reaches Valentine in record time and he wastes no time to kick Valentine off of you. He lands a solid kick to the side of Valentine's face and when Valentine loses his balance and falls from overtop of you, Spencer pushes him on to his back.

When Valentine rolls over onto his back Spencer grabs his shirt in one hand and punches Valentine's face with the other. He hits him again. And again. And again. Everything that Valentine has done to you replays in his head each time his fist connects with Valentine's face.

"Spencer, stop. Stop you can't do this here." He hears someone say as he's forcefully pulled away from Valentine's beaten body.

Spencer pays no attention to who pulled him off of Valentine because he sees you still laying still on the floor next to him. Your eyes are closed and he sees bruising begin to form on your throat.

"No, no come on. Come on baby. Come on." Spencer says as he kneels by your side. His bloody knuckles sting but his chest hurts worse, seized with anxiety and fear because you're not waking up. And those bruises are becoming way too dark way too quickly.

Spencer feels for your pulse on your neck, below your jaw. There's a pulse. But it's faint. Too faint.

"We need a medic. We need a medic right now." Spencer rushes his words as he tilts your head back to allow for maximum airflow into your lungs.

He faintly hears commotion behind him but all he can see is you. And he can hear are your shallow breaths.

Pure, genuine fear paralyzes Spencer.

———

"Derek, stay with him. Don't let him get to Valentine just yet. We're going to do pull some overtime today and get everything sorted. I'll keep you updated. Let me know how she's doing and how Spencer's doing." Hotch speaks authoritatively before hanging up the phone.

He sets the phone on the table and looks at the rest of his team, who have assembled at the round table. He sees their faces full of fear and guilt. And he knows that the team will collectively have to go through the process of acceptance, but not now. Not when there's work to do.

He sees your face in his mind and it launches him into action.

"Penelope. I'm going to need every bit of his equipment seized and searched. I'm talking in his office and at his residence. Document everything." He looks pointedly at Penelope, who eagerly nods her head.

"On it, sir." She affirms and he moves on to his next task.

"JJ, Emily, I need you to document every other piece of physical evidence from her residence and his. Construct a timeline of events. Try to pinpoint what caused this." The women look to each other before nodding. Hotch then looks to Rossi, who's been staring at the table the entire time.

"And Dave, you'll work with me to strategize questioning." Rossi looks up from the table and gives one concise nod.

Content with everyone's willingness to do overtime for your case, he dismisses them. Hotch waits for everyone to leave before addressing Rossi again.

"What are you thinking?" He asks, and Rossi scrunches his eyebrows together before meeting Hotch's gaze. There's a sadness residing in his eyes.

"I just can't believe it took us so long to take it seriously. I mean really, we see these cases all the time but when it comes to one of our own? We completely dropped the ball. And now she's in the hospital. We're supposed to be the most capable team, but we can't even protect our own." He articulates slowly so the point isn't lost on Hotch.

"We never could've known it would escalate this quickly." Hotch says, taking a seat across from Dave, who shakes his head.

"But we could have. The signs were all there. The flowers, the altering of footage. There were indicators present." Hotch is lost for words as the reality of the situation truly sinks in.

Hotch sighs and looks down at his hands that are folded on the table.

"You're right. We should've seen this before it even happened. But it did, and now we have to make sure Valentine never sees the light of day again." Hotch says, hoping that by seeking justice is makes up for a lack of action.

"Yeah we'll lock him away. But do you think she's going to come back? I mean after all this, how could she trust us again?" Rossi asks, exasperation replacing the sadness.

"I don't know." Hotch answers truthfully. He knows that when you recover and are released from the hospital that there's some chance you'll retire from the team. And he couldn't blame you.

"And the kid. You saw how much she means to him. I've never seen him act like that before. During any of it. You saw that picture too, and you saw how he shot through that door, you know exactly what I mean." Rossi says and stands from the table. Hotch rises as well, and he nods.

"I know Dave." Is all he can come up with. Rossi claps a hand on Hotch's shoulder.

"Just have to take this one day at a time." Rossi says before leaving the room, leaving Hotch alone.

Rossi's words repeat in Hotch's mind. What if you decide to not come back? Do you blame the team for what happened? Will Spencer blame the team? Will he leave too? Will you be okay? Will they be able to ensure Valentine's life sentence?

Question after question swirls in his mind until it becomes overwhelming. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists in frustration. He can't help but to blame himself for the team's lack of action. After all, he knew weird things were happening and there was more he could've done sooner that might've prevented this from ever happening.

And he knows the truth, the truth is that Spencer is the only one who took you seriously from the very beginning. And it's because of that bond the two of you share that Hotch knows deep down, that if you leave then Spencer will leave too. Maybe not right away, but soon after.

Hotch can see clear as day that you two love each other deeply. And he knows that Spencer is not prepared to lose you. Not to Valentine and certainly not to this job.

But he has no control over your decision. And he shouldn't stress about things that are out of his control. So instead, he walks out of the room and begins to stress about things he can control, like the compilation of evidence against Valentine.

And so he joins the team and gets to work.

———

Your mind is alive before you can even muster the strength to open your eyes. You hear squeaking shoes on tiled floors, the beep of a monitor somewhere near your head. Whispered voices come and go. But you can't seem to focus on one thing at a time, the sounds blur together.

And you don't know how long you're suspended in this state of mind. All you know is that your eyes are heavy and your throat burns. But you can't move to get a drink, you can't even open your eyes no matter how hard you try.

So you succumb to sleep once again.

And then you awake once more, much like the last time. But now you hear voices and they're closer. They sound like they're near the beeping machine behind you. The tone and cadence sound familiar but you can't make out their words.

You feel trapped within your own body and you begin to panic because you can't open your eyes. You're here and you're awake but you can't open your eyes and you can't move.

You hear the beeping sound behind you grow louder and the voices you heard are now gone, replaced with squeaking shoes against tile. And before you know it you feel people's hands on your arms and on your forehead. It feels like they're trying to soothe you, and it's working.

The beeping behind you calms and voices are heard once more. And this time, you try your hardest to listen in. You really want to know who's here and what they're saying. 

"Hotch wants updates on her. I'm going to give him a call. Will you be okay here for a while?" A deep voice says. 

"Yeah, yeah I'll be fine." Another voice says, and this one you recognize. You'd recognize his voice anywhere, that's Spencer. You feel his hand on yours and you desperately try to open your eyes, but you can't, you're still stuck.

"I think you can hear me. At least I hope you can." Spencer talks again, his hand gently squeezing yours. You hear him sigh before continuing, 

"I want you to know that we got him. We got him and he's never going to hurt you again. I'm so, so sorry that I wasn't there to protect you. I should've been there. I should've seen the signs that we were being set up but instead I was blinded. I was so focused on catching him that I didn't slow down and think rationally about it. I am so sorry." He raises your hand and places a delicate kiss to the back of it. And you feel something wet drip onto your skin too. 

His words make your heart ache and you want to open your eyes and let him know that none of this is his fault. He shouldn't blame himself one bit. You hear him sniffle and it ignites a fire of determination within you. With all your might, you try to at least wiggle your fingers. You just need to show him that you hear him. 

And so with all of your might and strength you can muster, you feel the tips of your fingers twitch. And then you do it again. You hear Spencer take a sharp inhale and you know that you're message reached him. He knows. 

"Do that again if you can hear me." He whispers. And so you try your best to do it again. 

It must've worked because the next thing you feel is Spencer's lips on your forehead. The feeling of his hand holding yours and his lips on your skin sends a warm sensation through your body. And you hear the monitor beep louder again. 

But then the moment is interrupted as someone enters the room, apparent from the sound of their shoes. 

"Pretty boy I think she likes you too, look at that heart rate." The voice is undeniably Derek's. His voice is clearer now and you know that nobody else calls Spencer "Pretty Boy". 

"What did the doctors say?" Spencer asks him. 

"They said it shouldn't be too much longer. Her vitals have stabilized." Derek answers. 

The room falls back into a silence, the only sound to be heard is the monitor behind you. Spencer's hand stays on yours and you feel yourself being lulled back into sleep by the rhythmic monitor.

———

Spencer looks down at your sleeping face and wishes there was something he could do to nurse you back to health in an instant. He thinks it's his fault you're laying in this bed in the first place. Out of everyone on the team, he should've been able to see that Valentine was setting everyone up. That was his hail Mary; to get everyone out of the office on a goose chase so that he could get to you. 

And Spencer knows that if the team had arrived even one minute later that there may not have been a chance to save you. It's a miracle you're alive, even more of a miracle that your hyoid bone didn't break or that nothing internally was severely damaged. The deep bruises were superficial the doctors had said. 

Spencer isn't sure how long he's been standing by your bedside with your small hand enveloped in his. And truthfully, he doesn't care. He would stand there for an eternity if it meant you would be okay. 

"Hotch just texted. They're planning to question him tomorrow, time constraints of the arrest and all." Derek says, showing Spencer the screen. 

With a sigh, Spencer knows that questioning Valentine tomorrow is cutting it close. The team will be strapped for time trying to piece everything together without him there. But he can't fathom the thought of leaving you, not now. 

"They'll be able to pull it off." Spencer says, less than confident that everything will be concisely and plainly compiled. 

"Spencer, we both know that you know exactly what happened, beat for beat. They need you back there. She's okay. I'll stay here with her. You go help the team secure the arrest." Derek says, walking over and putting a hand on Spencer's shoulder. 

Spencer looks back at your peaceful face littered in dark blue bruises and it makes his stomach turn. While he would rather pull his own teeth than leave you here, he knows that he can leave no room for error when it comes to Valentine. And he knows that besides you, he's the only one who knows the depth of everything that happened. His eyes drift from you to Derek and he sighs.

"I'll go help them. But if anything changes here, let me know right away." Spencer lets go of your hand and forces himself to walk away. 

"I will." Derek answers as Spencer exits the room and heads back to the office. Each step he takes he feels like high-force winds are pushing against him, making it difficult to keep going forward. 

When he arrives at the office, everyone regards him quietly. There's a tension between him and the team, one that likely won't go addressed until this is all over with. But Spencer knows it's about that picture, about him shooting the door, about him crying as the EMTs took your body away in an ambulance. 

But he can't afford to dwell on that, not now. He pushes his sleeves to his elbows and finds Hotch, ready to get to work and do it quickly. There's no room for error here.

———

You hear the beeping monitor again and feel the blankets had been pulled up higher on your body. You don't even remember going back to sleep. But you do remember that Spencer is here. But you don't feel his hand on yours anymore, his warmth is gone. 

Panicking slightly, you wonder where he is and what happened. Is he okay? The monitor picks up frequency and you feel someone touch your arm. But it's not Spencer, no the skin is too rough, the fingers too big.

"Hey, hey it's me. I'm here and you're okay." Derek says to you. 

And you're thankful he's here but you need to know where Spencer is, you need to know he's not in trouble. What if Valentine got to him? What if Valentine has his hands wrapped around Spencer's throat, draining the life from him slowly? The thought of Valentine hurting Spencer like he hurt you sends a rush of adrenaline so severe through you, that you think for a split second you had been struck by lightning. 

Suddenly, the room isn't dark anymore. No, it's blindingly bright. The white light burns. But eventually, it calms into something more manageable. And then you see Derek standing right next to you, his mouth open, his eyes full of worry and then joy. 

"I knew you could do it. I knew you could." He says and smiles. 

You go to say something but your throat burns and is too dry so instead you end up choking and coughing. 

"Here, here you go." Derek holds a cup of water to your lips. Your shaky hands land atop of his and you help him tip the cup so you can get a drink. Every swallow feels like you're consuming liquid sandpaper. 

"Spencer." You whisper, trying to ignore the sharp, stinging pain. 

"He's okay. He left a few hours ago to help the others." Derek says, pulling a chair over to your bedside. You make eye contact with him.

"Valentine?" You ask, needing to know if he's still in custody. 

"We got him. Spencer's filling in the others about what happened. He's never going to see the light of day again for what he did to you." Derek says and you can hear the clear conviction in his voice. 

There's a tiny part of you that becomes angry at his words. If they had believed you sooner, this wouldn't have happened. But instead they chose to believe you were fabricating evidence to make yourself look better. And for what? To gain clout over a case that happened months ago? To make yourself look better overall? To prove you're just as good as the rest?

You opt to say nothing back. Because one, your throat feels like it's made of molten lava, and two, because you really can't find anything positive to say to him. You almost died because they didn't believe you were in any real danger, not until it was too late. 

Staring down at the water cup in your hands, you wonder if you can go back to the team after this. Would you be able to trust them and rely on them in the field? Would they take you more seriously? Would they treat you the same? Or would their guilt cause them to treat you differently? 

There's too many questions racing through your head and you feel a headache coming on. You wish Spencer was the one who stayed with you, but you know that he's the best equipped in briefing the team. But then again, so are you. 

"When can I leave?" You ask Derek. 

"I'll go find someone and ask." He offers a tight smile and leaves the room. 

If you can get out of here then you can find your way back to Spencer. You would be able to help the team, maybe for the last time. 

———

"Are you sure that you're well enough for this?" Hotch asks you with crossed arms. You give him a nod, knowing that you're more than capable of doing this. 

Hotch simply nods and looks down at the folder in his hand. You stare through the one-way glass at the man who tried to kill you. He's sitting there, chained to the table, looking like a pathetic coward. All of his confidence he had when he was strangling you had been washed away, revealing his true self; an insecure excuse of a man. 

You hear someone else walk in behind you and turn to see Spencer. His hair is disheveled and the stubble on his jaw is prominent, evidence of his lack of sleep. You meet him halfway and he welcomes you into his arms. He holds you like he may never again, his arms wrapped around you securely. 

Hotch is obviously ignoring what you two are doing and is immersing himself in the file folder that you helped them complete yesterday. 

The hospital staff had been reluctant to let you go, but you were determined to get out of there. You pushed through the pain and told them that because your injuries are superficial, that there's no reason to stay any longer. And sure, they tried to persuade you to get more imaging done, but you denied. All you cared about was getting back to Spencer. 

"Are you ready for this?" You ask him, your voice weak and scratchy. Spencer's jaw tightens and he nods, looking through the glass. 

"More than ready." His tone is flat and you know that he's trying to get himself into the right mindset. 

Hotch didn't want to let Spencer participate in the questioning, but Spencer was unrelenting. Spencer told Hotch that Valentine has a personal prejudice against him and that they could use his anger against him. And Spencer was banking on the fact that Valentine hates him to secure an airtight confession. And eventually, Hotch agreed once he saw that Spencer could control his own anger. 

"Spencer." Hotch says, causing the two of you to step away from one another. 

"I'm ready." Spencer answers, face void of emotion. Hotch nods and you watch as they step into the interrogation room together. You take a seat on the other side of the glass and feel your heart beat heavily, anxious for what's about to happen.

Hotch and Spencer take their seats opposite of Valentine and you see Valentine's eyes lock onto Spencer immediately with malice. You lean forward in your seat. 

"You've been read your charges and your rights, do you understand them?" Hotch begins the questioning. Valentine nods, 

"I do." And you know that's the all clear needed to dig into the interrogation. 

Hotch lays out the altered documents on the table, taking his time to spread them out. Valentine looks over each paper, his eyes scanning over the words. He says nothing. 

"These are documents you altered under the credentials of another agent." Hotch states, not breaking eye contact. He doesn't frame it as a question, because if it's presented as a known statement, it gives further incentive for someone to want to defend themselves and provide alternate facts. 

"How do you know she wasn't the one to make those changes herself?" Valentine asks and a small smirk breaks out across your face. He just admitted that he knew the credentials used belonged to a woman and that there were in fact changes made. 

"We know because I personally review each and every one of her case reports. Hers are not nearly as detailed as these, and there are phrasings included that are not conducive to our report writing policy." Hotch fires back flawlessly. You see Valentine clench his hands on the table; he's getting flustered. 

"And in addition to these documents, you were able to spoof credentials to make entry into our office and retag evidence and alter the footage." Hotch says, his tone indicative of being impressed. This is to build Valentine's confidence back up and stroke his ego. When people are overly confident in their abilities, they tend to slip up more by trying to prove themselves. 

"You can't prove that." Valentine resists. Hotch takes a moment before responding. 

"You chose to wait until the cameras were being replaced to send the flowers. You wanted to remain anonymous. You wanted her to work as hard for you as you were working for her. So you used your knowledge and expertise to your advantage." Hotch says, trying to further inflate Valentine's self confidence. 

"She just needed to see the lengths I would go for her." Valentine slips up again. 

"And you didn't stop there to show her that did you? You orchestrated a false cellphone ping at an abandoned location so the rest of the team would go there and leave her in the office. You knew we wouldn't bring her along, so you created an opportunity for yourself." Hotch doubles down again, knowing that Valentine can't help but to brag about his perceived accomplishments. 

"It wasn't that hard. I knew with him around I wouldn't have another chance. So I did what I had to do." Valentine glares at Spencer as he speaks. 

And you know this signals for Spencer to take over the questioning. They've got under his skin, they've got him flustered, and they've got him overly confident. Valentine has so much conflicting thoughts in his head right now that he likely can't think straight or have the foresight to see what's happening. 

"And you hated seeing her with me so much that you entered her home and placed a camera." Spencer states. Valentine crosses his arms. Spencer licks his lips and leans forward, continuing his approach. 

"But before that you entered her home while she wasn't there and took her sweater. That was a shame, that was my favorite one she wore." Spencer then leaned back and sighed, acting as if he could only think of you in that sweater in that moment. 

Valentine's fists clench on the tabletop once more, the vein in his neck starts bulging. He's close to cracking and losing it all. And it's all being done in record time. No matter how smart Valentine thinks he is, the BAU is smarter. 

"You don't deserve to have her like that." Valentine growls through gnashing teeth. Spencer tilts his head to the side. 

"Have her like what?" Spencer provokes him further. Valentine takes a measured breath. 

"You were in her room, I saw you. You were in her house and you had your hands on her. I just needed a small part of her." Valentine now starts to sound unhinged. His voice rises in volume, and Spencer keeps pressing on. He stands from his seat and leans forward on the table. 

"I was there because she wanted me there. In fact she begged for me. It was nice of you to send her those flowers, it just made it more easy for me to take credit for it all." Spencer makes eye contact with Valentine, and refuses to get back into his seat, instead opting to stay leaned forward. Valentine's face is red, his veins popping, his jaw tight and his teeth clenched. 

"Those were for her to see how much she means to me. You couldn't let me have that, you couldn't even let me speak to her that night at the bar. You put those curtains up so I couldn't see her anymore. No you took her all for yourself. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't sit around and do nothing while you got every part of her to yourself. I tried to forgive her, I really did. But she wasn't grateful for what I was doing for her. I was trying to give her the credit she's due and the love she deserves. I did it all for her! And you just swooped in and took it all for your fucking self!" Valentine screams in one breath. His chest is heaving and his face is as red as a tomato.

And after a minute of silence, Spencer stands back to his full height. 

"Thank you." He says and walks out of the room without another word. But Hotch stays. 

Once Spencer walks out Valentine loses his composure again. But Hotch is there for more, they're going to take everything they can get from him. 

"And what were your plans for the photos in your basement?" Hotch's voice starkly contrasts Valentine's delirium. 

"Those were for myself. I needed to see her any time I wanted. But I had to cut him out of the picture." He answers, glaring at Hotch. 

"And so you loved her that much that you were willing to kill her?" Hotch's voice is soft. This causes Valentine to look down at the table where he stares at his hands. 

"I didn't want to. But I couldn't live knowing he was with her. If she were to die I would've killed myself right after, so that we could be together in another life." Valentine answers and it sends a chill through your body. 

"And how did you plan to kill her and yourself?" Hotch's head tilts to the side.

"I brought the knives. I wasn't going to cut her skin with those blades, I would never. But once she was gone I was going to stab myself in the neck." He answers casually, as if Hotch had asked him about the weather. 

"I see." Hotch closes the folder and stares at Valentine. You had one request of Hotch, and you know he's about to fulfill it. 

"Well, you succeeded in one step of that plan." Hotch prefaces, piquing Valentine's interest once again. 

"What do you mean?" Valentine asks, eyes wide. 

"I mean you were successful in strangling her. She passed away hours after she was transported to the hospital." Hotch tells him. 

Valentine lets out a loud sob and hits the table with his fists over and over again. 

"No! No I couldn't have! No!" He screams until his face begins to turn purple. Hotch then stands from his seat and adjusts his tie, unphased by the drama of Valentine.

"Thank you for your time." He says without emotion and walks out of the room to join you and Spencer.

Valentine carries on with his screaming and crying, the three of you watch him from the other side. But you can only look for so long before it starts disturbing you. 

You stand from your seat and leave, content with how things ended. Valentine will live the rest of his days thinking you're dead. And that's exactly how you wanted it to be. 

———

Rain drops pelt your window and thunder rolls above in the sky. Your apartment is empty and the sounds echo off the walls. It had taken you about two weeks to get everything packed up and moved out. It would've taken longer, but you had some wonderful help. 

Spencer enters the empty apartment, his hair wet from the rain outside. He sighs as he stands beside you, taking in the emptiness. It's odd to see your apartment like this, but you know it's necessary if you want to move on with your life. You couldn't stay here any more, all you could think about was Valentine. And if you're dead to him, you want him to be dead to you as well. 

Valentine had been sentenced to two consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole. Hotch had some connections to the judge and was able to secure the maximum sentence. And for that you're grateful. 

"You ready?" Spencer asks you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

You take one last look around the empty apartment and remember the good times shared here. The happiness you felt when you first moved in, the giddiness of Spencer staying over, and how you two made this like your own haven for a short while. Some of those memories stay untainted, but the most recent ones leave a sour taste in your mouth. And you don't want your memories with Spencer to be distorted any more. 

"I'm ready." You answer and the two of you leave. You hear the door click shut behind you and you keep moving forward, refusing to look back. 

The two of you arrive at Spencer's apartment about ten minutes later. Or, you should say you arrived at the apartment you now share with Spencer ten minutes later. He opens the door for you and you smile, feeling over the moon. 

Your furniture now complements his, your photos hang on the wall next to his, and your clothes now occupy the space beside his. The two of you had made this your sanctuary, your own personal utopia where you two blend perfectly with one another. 

Every night you're able to fall asleep in his arms and wake to his perfect face every morning. You still love the way his eyes squint when he first wakes up and how he insists that you make pancakes every Saturday morning. 

There's no pressure or threat looming over the two of you any more and you're able to grow closer and closer naturally and without stress. Truthfully, you had never loved anyone like you love Spencer. The love you have for him is rooted deep within your soul and blooms higher and higher each and every day. 

The two of you sit on the couch together, Spencer's leaned up against the arm and you've fitted yourself between his legs, leaning your head back on his chest. His arms wrap around you and you sigh, feeling nothing but pure peace and contentment.

After Valentine was sentenced and everything started going back to normal, you and Spencer had discussed what the future held. You had told him the truth, that you didn't want a future without him in it, you didn't want to live in a world without him in your life. And thankfully, he felt the same way. 

You took an extended leave of absence from the team, just until you figure out if you want to go back or not. Spencer supports your decision either way. But you can't seem to make up your mind. Hotch had given you all the time you need, and you're taking full advantage of it. Spencer had taken a month off as well, the two of you using this time to focus on nothing but each other. 

You tilt your head back and look up at him through your lashes and he smiles down at you. 

"Hi there pretty girl." His smile widens, revealing his perfect teeth. Adoration fills your heart. 

"I love you." You tell him, and he leans down and kisses your forehead gently. 

"And I love you more, much more than you could ever know, with all my heart." He answers and hugs you tightly to his body. 

You melt into his touch and take in his intoxicating smell. You'll never get over the way he holds you, the way his hands map out every curve of your body, how his kisses you like his life depends on it. How he looks at you as if you had personally painted the night sky.

And now you know that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral into something all consuming. 

But this love is tender, this love is kind. This love you and Spencer share is pure and true. And you will happily live with this love for the rest of your days. 

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

taglist: @yondiii@juhdoche@themarauderseraslut@shardsofmarxx@mel-vaz @bippityboppityboob1tch @babyspiderling @honestlyloving @emisback @thatredlipped-classic @desperately-seeking-serotonin @threespacemonkeys @small-and-violent @ropickle @honestlybabymiracle @hiireadstuff @suckstobrlaurie @random000000sblog @mynameiskelly @emma-e-a @pleasantwitchgarden @your-favorite-god @gghostwriter @all2unwell24 @haleyshue97 @placidus

[seat-safety-switch]

Nowadays, we have access to more manufacturing capability than ever before. Weirdos working in their basements can quickly order professional-looking products. A single drunken whim can activate a factory half a world away, to pump out something that would have been impossible for even the hardest-working hobbyist even twenty years ago. Sometimes you can do it at home.

Obviously, this is great. All your strange little joke projects can be near-instantly materialized into reality. You can add to the world's surplus of shit that nobody needs for mere pennies. Total nirvana, right? Wrong: the next thing you want is more capability. It's incredible what you can already do, sure, sure, but now I want to be able to laser cut aerospace-grade titanium in my living room.

This sort of tension between can-do spirit and can't-do reality is what has gotten us this far, however. Even now, there are sleep-deprived hobbyists working hard on making sure that I can fill my entire house with noxious gases and fine mineral particulate. They want to help me construct a toaster entirely out of an alloy that we once had to trick the Soviet Union into letting us buy to turn into stealth bombers.

This is what real progress is, not that false thing that happens outside my house, at the place called "work." Here, no manager is going to stand over me and tell me that an inert nitrogen-purged atmosphere is probably not the same thing as a shag carpet for the purposes of welding. Thank you, hard-working weirdos.

[luvrxbunny]

serendipity

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader

Prompt:Breath Play

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, this is more like just choking than breath play (lmk if I forgot something)

WC: 910

A/N: *crying* this is so short— i burnt myself out making a ‘blurb’ earlier *sobbing*(not proofread)

You’re riding him for all he’s worth. Your body is burning, all your muscles sore from how long you’ve been lifting yourself just to plunge back down. Your legs are shaking and you’re sweating in a way that cannot be attractive but you wouldn’t change a thing. You’d do this for hours, until your body gives out, as long as Steven keeps moaning and writhing beneath you the way he is now. 

You came around twenty minutes ago and you’ve been riding him for almost an hour now. Your pussy is numb and he’s having trouble cumming, too in his head and stressed from the day to let go. He doesn’t tell you much about it; his whole situation with Marc, Jake, and this Khonsu guy but you can tell it’s been on his mind. His eyes are shut tight and there are little tears sitting on his dark lashes. You double your efforts and look down to watch the mess he’s making between your legs. His cock is soaking your pussy, a constant stream of precum dripping from him due to how long he’s been on the edge, unable to get over.

You don’t realize that your hands are sliding up Steven’s body but he does. His eyes snap open when he starts to feel your hands inching closer to his neck. He peeks down at you to see your gaze laser-focused between the two of you, so he stays silent. His eyes roll back the closer you get to the base of his neck. He’s savoring the feeling of his head becoming cloudier the less air you give him. His breathing getting slowly hundred by your hands and he can feel a familiar tingle begin in his balls. His cock twitches inside you for a moment and he prays you didn’t feel it, not wanting anything to stop this moment. 

Once your hands are off his chest, almost all your weight on your hands, digging into his neck and completely shorting his air supply— he’s groaning out a choked moan. 

Your eyes shoot back to his, thinking he’s cumming but instead, his face is turning a slight red along with his neck under your hands. You yank yourself back into a sitting position, embarrassed and apologetic. “I’m so so sorry, Steven. I didn’t- I was- I didn’t realize that I-” You’re frantic as you spit the words at him, hoping he can forgive you, feeling bad that you’ve ruined the mood but he cut you off. “No. Baby, please.” Your face shifts in confusion, not understanding what he’s asking until his hand reaches for yours and places it on his neck again. 

His eyes open slowly to look up at you and you can see how badly he wants it. Your fingers twitch around his neck for a moment and his eyelids flutter. “Please.” Your hips start up again, grinding over his languidly as you think it over. Steven wasn't necessarily submissive in your opinion, he lets you have the power but always has this underlying dominance about him that seems to have disappeared. His head falls back on the pillows, his dark curls bouncing for a moment as his chest heaves. His breathing speeds up the longer you leave him in silence. You can feel his adam’s apple bobbing with swallowed moans under your hand and you give in. 

You tense your hand around his throat but don’t speed up your movements. His back arches toward you, his peaked nipples to the sky as a rough groan makes it’s way up his throat. You can’t help but bend over to kiss his chest, licking around his nipple and suckling on it like you expect milk. His moan turns to something painful, hurting, and needy, you loosen your grip on his neck while biting lightly over his plump chest and he’s filling you without warning. 

His arched body begins to tremble as his cock pulses inside you. His hips kick to life, thrusting into you frantically as he finally cums. His balls are throbbing painfully as they pump all his cum into your warm, wet pussy, his eyes crossing in the process. His head is spinning, the rush from the lack of oxygen mixed with the feelings of your mouth on his chest and his orgasm making him feel like he could faint. He hears you whispering soft words into his ear while rubbing all over his body, soft caresses feeling like you’re touching his cock directly as he keeps spewing inside you. 

You can’t believe how much cum is in him, how wrecked he looks and sounds as he trembles for you. He can’t hold any of his moans in as his body slowly relaxes again, soft whimpers falling from his lips periodically. He’s still shaking against the sheets as you clean him up, and as his hand reaches out for you to drag you back to bed. He lets you be a little spoon despite him being the one who needs comfort. You hear him sigh behind you and the air brushes over your ears, causing a shiver to run up your spine and he hugs you closer. “Love you s’much, swee’heart.” You giggle and snuggle back into him. “I love you more, baby.”

You leave it at that but the image of him under you, cumming with your hands on his neck plagues the back of your mind and works its way into your dreams. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[tinytinyblogs]

🩵💕love love LOVE the 'out? I don't think so' series and was wondering if you would do a yandere ot8 x reader fic or headcannons or something where they have kidnapped reader and reader tries to escape. What will skz do when they catch them in the act? What kinda precautions would they take in the future and would they punish you for escaping? Sorry this sounds like an interview😅

Where do you think you're going, darling?

Running away doesn't seem like a good idea, because in the end, they will always come after you.

⚠️ Yandere theme, unhealthy obsession, Kidnapped and a lot more⚠️

ChanMin, BinHyun, HanLix, SeungIn

💬 Thanks for the request, darling. This is going to be a series that I'll post once a week. I hope it meets your expectations. If there are any shortcomings, I apologize deeply.

Stray Kids Masterlist

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Chan rarely rested; his obsession drove him relentlessly. He took his twisted sense of responsibility seriously, especially when he dragged you to the place he believed you belonged—his captive. But that night was different. After countless sleepless nights fueled by madness, he finally crashed into a deep, haunted sleep. That was your moment. Heart pounding, you crept through the suffocating silence, every step a prayer that the floor wouldn't betray you. The door loomed ahead, and with a final, trembling breath, you slipped through. You ran, adrenaline pumping, terror biting at your heels as you hid, desperate and trembling. The next morning, Chan awoke, disoriented from the depths of his deranged dreams. His eyes fell on the ajar door of your room. A chill ran down his spine as he pushed it open, staring at the empty space where you should have been. His eyes widened, then narrowed with a cold, simmering rage. His hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white. And that was the moment he snapped.

From that day forward, he became a relentless hunter, his every waking moment consumed with finding you, dragging you back into his nightmarish grip. You had escaped his grasp, but you had awakened the beast within him. Now, he was coming for you, and nothing would stand in his way. Chan was a smart guy—you knew that well, which was why you were haunted by an uneasy feeling as you sat in the corner of the room where you were hiding. Yet, as if manifesting your worst nightmare, he appeared. He stood there, no smile on his face, observing you with cold, calculating eyes. He closed the door and walked closer, squatting down to your level. "You know, darling, it wasn't very smart of you to run away," he said, his voice more menacing than ever. Those were the last words you remembered before everything went dark. When you finally awoke, you were in a dimly lit room, Chan sitting not far away. The scene felt eerily familiar, like déjà vu—the same sinister feeling you had the first time he kidnapped you.

Even in the darkness, his eyes felt like lasers burning into your soul. "You scare me, you know that?" His voice dripped with a chilling mix of anger and relief. He took a deliberate, menacing step closer, then sat on the bed where you lay, utterly vulnerable. "It's not so nice of you," he hissed. He gripped your hand with brutal force, his fingers digging in painfully, as if trying to meld his fear and fury into your flesh. The intensity of his emotions—terror, rage, relief—poured out, overwhelming you. You couldn't hold back the sobs; crying was the only thing you could do. Through your tears, you noticed the sinister changes in the room. The window was now fortified with thick iron bars, turning it into an impenetrable cage. The door was covered in multiple locks, each one a new barrier to your freedom. The room had become a twisted fortress, a stark testament to his obsession with keeping you captive. For several agonizing days, he kept you tied to the bed, the ropes cutting into your skin, a constant reminder of your captivity. His paranoia and rage transformed your existence into a living hell far worse than before. Every day, he would stand over you, his eyes burning with a mistrust so intense it felt like a physical force.

He made it clear with every look, every word, that he no longer believed a single thing you said. His touch, once merely controlling, now turned brutal. He gripped you with a force that left bruises, his actions driven by a volatile mix of fear and anger. It was as if you had unleashed a monster within him, one that thrived on anxiety and dread. He couldn't stop thinking about what could have happened if he hadn't found you. Every terrible scenario played out in his mind, feeding his obsession and deepening his madness. He stopped sleeping properly, too consumed by the thought of you slipping away again. When he did sleep, it was right beside you, his body a constant, oppressive presence. He kept one arm draped over you, fingers twitching even in sleep, as if he feared you might vanish if he let go. The room became a fortress of his making: the windows barred with thick iron, the door secured with multiple locks, each one a testament to his desperation to keep you contained. You felt his breath on your skin as he slept, each exhale a reminder that you were never alone, never free.

His nightmares became your reality, his fears and anxieties shaping every moment of your existence. He would wake up in a panic, shaking you awake just to make sure you were still there, his eyes wild and frantic. And through it all, you cried. Your tears were the only outlet for the terror and despair that consumed you. But even your cries seemed to fuel his madness, making him grip you tighter, hold you closer, as if your pain validated his twisted need to keep you under his control. His love had turned into a prison, and his obsession, your endless nightmare.

Minho

That day, Minho's arrogance reached new heights as he seemed to believe you had succumbed to his control entirely. He underestimated your resilience, assuming you had resigned yourself to the grim fate he had imposed upon you. But in the moments when he was absent, when the oppressive weight of his presence lifted just slightly, you saw a glimmer of hope—a chance for escape, however slim it might be. Clutching the hairpin you had managed to keep hidden since your last captivity, you meticulously worked at the lock with trembling hands. Each click of the mechanism felt like a victory, a step closer to freedom. Finally, with a soft snick, the door swung open, and a rush of adrenaline surged through your veins. You moved swiftly, silently, every instinct screaming at you to flee, to put as much distance between yourself and Minho as possible. The hallway stretched out before you, a dark labyrinth of uncertainty, but you pushed forward, driven by sheer determination. As you ran, the memories of past escape attempts flooded your mind—the fear, the desperation, the agonizing uncertainty of what lay beyond the confines of your prison. But this time felt different. This time, you refused to let fear paralyze you.

With each step, you felt a surge of defiance, a newfound strength coursing through your veins. You were no longer the helpless victim Minho had made you out to be; you were a survivor, fighting tooth and nail for your freedom. The hairpin remained clutched tightly in your hand, a symbol of your resilience, your refusal to be caged. You used it to overcome every obstacle in your path, picking locks, jimmying windows, anything to put distance between yourself and the suffocating grip of Minho's control. And as you finally broke free from the confines of his lair, you vowed never to look back. When Minho returned home, plastic bags dangling from his hands, he dropped them unceremoniously to the floor the moment his eyes locked onto the front door. With a sense of urgency, he rushed inside, scouring every corner of the house in search of you. But his efforts were in vain; you were nowhere to be found. His frustration boiled over, his hand clenching into a tight fist as he slammed it against the wall with a primal scream. Blood trickled from the wound, but he hardly noticed, consumed by the overwhelming sense of failure.

He became consumed by the hunt, forsaking sleep and sanity alike in his relentless pursuit of you. He tracked you tirelessly, driven by a desperation that bordered on madness. Each passing moment without you felt like an eternity, a torment he couldn't endure. Failure was not an option; he couldn't bear the thought of losing you again. And then, one fateful night, as you lay sleeping, unaware of his presence, you opened your eyes to find him sitting beside you, his gaze fixed on your slumbering form. There were no words exchanged, only the weight of his silent observation hanging heavily in the air. "Do you sleep well?" Minho's voice was as cold as ice as his hand grazed your cheek, leaving a chilling trail in its wake. There was no warmth in his touch, only the stark reminder of his possessiveness. "Are you sleeping well without me?" he asked again, his words laced with a bitter edge. It was almost as if he couldn't fathom the idea of you finding solace in slumber without him by your side. His grip tightened on your chin as he continued, his voice a venomous whisper in the air.

"I can't sleep when you're away. It's time to go home, darling, back to where you belong. And I swear, this time there's no way out." The determination in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, a premonition of the ordeal to come. He dragged you back to the place he called 'home,' though to you, it was nothing more than a prison of your own making. As he threw you into the room with no window, the darkness enveloped you like a suffocating embrace, leaving you gasping for air. With a roar of frustration, Minho unleashed his fury upon the room, his hands becoming weapons of destruction. Objects shattered against the walls, the sound of breaking glass echoing through the empty space. He didn't care if his own hands bled in the process; all that mattered was his need to exert control, to assert his dominance over you. You cowered in the corner, your body trembling with fear as you watched the chaos unfold before you. The air was thick with tension, every breath a struggle against the suffocating atmosphere of fear and despair.

After what felt like an eternity, Minho's rage began to subside, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he surveyed the wreckage he had caused. Slowly, he approached you, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his own anger. With a brutal grip, he seized your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "If you ever run away again," he hissed, his voice dripping with malice, "I swear, I'll break your legs, darling. I hate the thought of hurting you, but if it's necessary, I will." The threat hung in the air like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over any hope of escape.

[dxvxx]

Well, Fuck.. Pt.2

"This is not happening." I whisper as I lean back against the wall, spreading my thighs more, my eyes rolling up as the baby drops lower.

"Mmhm... You hear me, baby? You clung in there for an extra week, you can wait a few more hours." I scold my bump softly, my hands still rubbing the sides.

I can physically feel him slowly dropping lower, and what should feel uncomfortable weirdly feels good.

Too good, all things considered.

I wait it out until he's fully settled, the pressure on my hips and lower belly intensifying tenfold and then take few deep breaths, willing myself not to panic and do something stupid like call William.

It's not like I'm in labor. My water didn't break, it's intact.

I'm fine.

Everything is fine.

And I'm determined to go about my planned day, ignoring the fact that my belly visibly dropped lower, my waddle more pronounced.

~~~

The first sign that should've clued me in that there's no way that's happening should've been when I stopped for gas.

I get out with difficulty, supporting my belly with a hand as I place my credit card and punch in the right kind and amount before grabbing the pump.

As I'm waiting for my car to fill up, I feel my bump tighten painfully, nearly making me double over.

"No, please, no." I whisper breathlessly, my eyes screwed shut tightly.

Once it passes, I straighten up, taking a deep breath.

Maybe this was a one-off.

It has to be.

That's what I repeat to myself a few minutes later when I get another contraction as I'm getting back into my car.

This one does make me double over and I almost knock myself out on the steering wheel.

"Uughh... God, let this be a joke my body's... ooohh... playing on me." I whine softly.

I get a couple more contractions while I'm driving with one hand on the wheel, the other rubbing my hardened belly desperately.

Yeah, this is not a joke. Or drill.

The second and most important sign that I should've listened to was when I waddled my way to one of the on-campus restrooms.

I step into the gender neutral one, not really caring, my mind more laser focused on the feeling of my bladder close to bursting.

I sigh softly once I've relieved myself and to my annoyance, stay on the toilet as I ride out another contraction.

I'm breathing heavily, letting out soft moans. The contraction has been longer than the other. I attempt to stand up and whimper when I feel a gush of water between my thighs.

This time, my moan of frustration is loud, feeling myself close to tears.

This isn't fair. None of this is fucking fair and-

"You okay in there?" Asks a low-pitched voice, knocking on the stall door.

I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to reply, clearing my throat for good measure.

"I-I'm okay, thank-k... Ughh..." The sharpness of the contraction as it peaks cuts me off.

"You don't sound okay. Should I call one of the campus nurses?"

"NO!" I force myself to soften my voice before trying again, "I'm fine, thank you."

I bite back another moan, watching the little stall opening from the bottom as a pair of feet hover for a few seconds as if debating something before they walk away.

Thank fuck.

After that, I managed to make it to the exam hall without anymore alarming hitches.

I take a seat in one of the usual table arm chairs since nothing else is available, in the first row, in case I need to leave early. The table digs into my too big belly, and the seat is too uncomfortable, but I will see this through to the end.

Before I know it, an hour has passed.

An hour full of sweating, my thighs spread discreetly beneath the table, biting my bottom lip hard as my body goes into active labor.

I look up from my exam and to the clock on the wall as I feel yet another contraction rippling through me. I still have almost 2 hours and nowhere near done with the cursed exam.

I think I let out another small sound for the upteenth time, because the girl sitting next to me looks up and gives me a loaded look before she goes back to her exam.

I haven't dared to look at William, although I can feel his eyes burning a whole through the right side of my face.

The only time he's not watching me is when he glares at the two guys in the back row trying to copy off each other.

Before I knew it, another hour had passed, and I'm in a state of pure torture and bliss.

I'm in pain, yes, and all I want to do is spread my legs freely and let my moans free, but I'm also so turned on it's not even funny.

I had read about orgasmic labor, but I never thought I'd experience it personally. And I always thought it'd be a two person job, but nope, this is all me.

I shift in my seat, panting softly, the wooden seat feeling uncomfortably slick as I try to find some relief.

When that doesn't work, I slip my hand discreetly in and slip a finger inside, moaning softly in relief, which catches William's attention.

"Is something the matter, Ms. Hearst?" William's smooth but sharp voice pulls me out of my internal struggle as I snap my head up to him.

"N-no-ooh sir. I'm f-aahh-inee."

"Then stop disrupting your fellow students. If you're done with your exam, present it and leave." His tone has a finality to it, and I know he's pissed off because he can't do anything about the situation I put us in.

He's a little fucker for calling me out though.

I look at the time again, and I think about turning my exam in and leaving but I physically can't get up.

I honestly know that if I do, I'll drop down into a squat and won't get up until my baby is out of me.

And so, I bear it for the next remaining hour.

I clamp my legs, squeezing my fingers for all their worth, trying to hold off.

I can't quite hold back my soft moans even when the girl next to me glares daggers at me and stomps off as soon as time runs out.

William starts collecting the exams, and I don't care how I did or what I wrote as I hand it to him, looking up at him with desperation in my eyes.

He clenches his jaw and continues on, still keeping up the facade, and I stay seated until all the students clear out.

As soon as that happens and the door shuts behind the last student, I push the little table away from my body, spreading my thighs, my hand pushing my lacy underwear and finding my pussy in a second.

"Fuck, Will, he's... ooooofff... cominggg... uggghhh." I moan loudly, everything I've been holding back for the last three hours coming back tenfold.

To his credit, my man doesn't panic as he tries to lift me up.

"It's alright, sweetheart, I'll call your doula once we get to my car and-"

I'm not listening, though, as I shake my head. My legs refuse to cooperate as well, taking on a rhythm of their own as they rock back and forth in an attempt to alleviate the pressure or maybe find some pleasure.

We had arranged a doula for a private birth at the hospital, but without all the nurses and doctors around but the baby is coming NOW.

I tell him as much.

And so, without any more prompt, William runs to both sets of doors and locks each one before he runs to the windows and shuts the blinds.

[ultram0th]

The very second Derek walked into the cramped, dimly lit room, he struggled to maintain his composure. His eyes landing on the nerdy game board that rested on the tiny table in the center of the cramped room. Around the table stood three skinny guys along with Stiles, all of them dressed up in geeky cosplay— Stiles wore rubber elf ears.

Trying his best not to irk his boyfriend, Derek forced a smile on his face as he headed closer. “You almost done?” he asked Stiles, putting an arm around the human’s small shoulders.

Stiles, pursing his lips, shook his head. “I’m stuck at an obstacle and I don’t quite know how to defeat it,” he muttered, his eyes laser-focused on the tiny plastic figurines on the board.

Derek had never played Dungeons and Dragons before, so he was totally lost and didn’t really have much to offer his boyfriend in the way of advice. “That sucks,” he finally said, growing antsy and wanting to leave.

It was due to a combination of not having any interest whatsoever in Stiles’s fantasy game, and also because of the creepy stare he was garnering from some nerd dressed up in Halloween wizard clothes.

In fact, Derek couldn’t help but notice that the scrawny wizard’s stare was a little too intense for his liking, seeing the corners of his mouth slightly pull up to form a mischievous smirk.

“Stiles the Great,” a nerd who was dressed up in cat ears chimed, adding a fake accent to her voice, “doth thou desire’th to employ the usage of thine trusty steed?” She nodded at Derek, making him grimace.

Stiles, unfortunately, gasped loudly, indicating that he thought the nerd’s idea was a good one.

Derek’s broad shoulders fell and he knew that they’d be stuck in the cramped room for longer than he’d initially wanted.

“I run across my boyfriend, Derek the Hotness, and he uses his skills to defeat the aboleth—”

“Hold it!” the wizard interrupted, narrowing his gaze at Derek. “You can’t just add in another character midway without giving us his backstory!”

The others around the table murmured in agreement, making Stiles blush.

“Um,” he stalled as he tried to think up a backstory for Derek the Hotness, which Derek promised he’d bring up later that night, “Derek has twenty strength and—”

“What is he?” the wizard cut off again, making Derek swell down a growl.

Again, Stiles took a moment as he searched his mind for an answer, his eyes darting all over the board as he looked for an idea.

The wizard’s smirk grew even larger. “Why don’t you roll for it?” he suggested, reaching into his pockets and placing a ruby red die on the board. It shimmered under the faint light of the room, and the numbers on it had a glittery quality to it.

Stiles eagerly snatched the die off the board and shook it in his hand, even blowing on it for luck. “Fine!” he agreed. “With this die, I declare that Derek the Hotness is…” He tossed the die onto the board, letting it clatter around until it landed.

Eight.

The wizard cocked his head to the side, his smirk fully formed now. “It looks like Derek the Hotness is an orc,” he mused, snapping his fingers playfully.

At first, Derek cocked his eyebrow in wonder at the odd actions from the nerd. However, he was soon alerted to the tingling sensation that ran all over his body. His boyfriend gasped again, and Derek then noticed something terrible happening.

Holding his hands up in front of his face, Derek’s eyes widened when he saw his skin steadily darken to a greenish hue. Before he could further react, Derek tensed up as his body underwent further changes.

He couldn’t exactly see it firsthand, but all of Derek’s muscles began to inflate to obscene proportions. His arms packed on pounds of muscle, bulging with power. His chest grew to crazy proportions, tearing his shirt to shreds and further exposing his green muscles. His thighs widened and caused him to reposition his feet, his legs pushing against each other so much that his walk would now resemble something closer to a waddle. All of Derek’s muscles had pumped up, but they appeared more so for strength as opposed to aesthetic, as was evident by their rotundness and the lack of abs. Instead, his stomach had a powerlifter belly that hung over his tattered pants. Speaking of pants, the bulge in the front of them inflated and a large beer can-width snake crept down his pant leg. To top everything off, Derek’s lower jaw widened and dimples, looking large and cartoonish. His brow pushed forward, giving the hunk a brutish appearance. Finally, his lower canine teeth elongated and protruded out of his mouth, effectively giving Derek the appearance of a muscled up, dim-witted orc.

Stiles’s jaw hung low in silent shock as Derek swayed slightly to and fro.

Not understanding exactly what had just occurred, Derek shook his head and rubbed at his temples. “Uh,” he groaned, noting the much, much deeper quality to his voice, “Derek feel funny.” His eyes widened to the size of saucers, having intended to say that he felt weird, unsure as to why he’d sounded all slow and had spoken in the third person. Derek cleared his throat and tried again. “Why Derek talk funny?”

Finally, Stiles stomped forward and placed a reassuring hand on Derek’s green bicep. “Turn him back!” he ordered, narrowing his eyes at the wizard.

Derek shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog that seemed to be creeping up in it. He knew that something had definitely happened to him. However, he couldn’t stop but admire how cute his boyfriend looked and how perky his butt looked in his tight pants.

Without thinking, Derek wrapped both of his large arms around Stiles, grinding his enlarged cock against the tiny human. In his haze, Derek noticed something else. “Stiles…” he grunted in his baritone, “Stiles smaller?”

Stiles bit down on his lower lip, looking completely adorable as he did so, making Derek grind his hard cock into him even more.

The wizard continued to smirk. “Sorry Stiles the Great,” he mock-frowned, “the only way to turn him back is if you defeat the aboleth.” He gestured back down at the die.

“Fine!” Stiles shouted, snatching it back up off the board. “But let me warn you, once he’s back to regular self, I will personally kick your ass!”

[Fifteen Minutes Later]

“Yeah, sorry, I thought that I could win,” Stiles muttered, his head hanging low as he and Derek walked out of the house and towards the Jeep.

Derek lumbered as best as he could, trying hard to get the hang of waddling with his extra large, green muscles. His thighs kept rolling over one another, and his chest was so heavy that he had to arch his back in order to support his huge pecs. His muscle gut jiggled slightly with every step he took. However, his hard footlong cock waved tantalizingly in front of him, oozing precum at the sight of Stiles walking in front of him. Derek’s slowed mind struggled to piece everything together. He knew deep down that something had happened to him, but his brain was full of such lust for his tiny-looking boyfriend that it was hard to concentrate on anything else.

“Stiles cute,” he gushed in his deep voice.

“Yeah thanks, but focus, Derek!” Stiles said as soon as they reached the Jeep. “We need to go to Deaton to see if he can fix this!” He hopped into the driver’s seat and looked at his orc boyfriend expectantly.

Derek struggled to get inside the Jeep, trying to get the hang of moving his muscled body. His broadened shoulders kept banging against the sides of the door, preventing him from getting in head on. His lower IQ prevented him from immediately turning to the side until Stiles coaxed him into it. Once he was inside, his massive arms and pecs kept getting the way of him fastening his seat belt, leaving the orc struggling with the tiny strap.

Derek cocked his eyebrow in wonder as he stared down at his inflated, green pecs. “Derek has big muscles!” he gasped, his eyes widening in shock. The surprise disappeared as soon as Derek looked over at Stiles. “Stiles cute.” His hard cock bobbed in front of him in the air, twitching with want.

“Well…” Stiles mused, “maybe we can go to Deaton in the morning.”

[defilerwyrm]

Hey, trans guy here, and while I’m not personally interested in getting bottom surgery, I am interested in writing t4t erotica involving guys who have. Do you have any writing tips on that front or just stuff you wanna see from what I imagine is a pretty underserved niche?

Howdy and that’s awesome!

One thing that would be cool to see represented: not everyone who gets bottom surgery is a top! I’m sure not, though strangely my interest in playing that role has increased since I had the work done. You can be the biggest anal queen this side of Pornhub and still get bottom surgery. Only makes sense, right—if we can accept that having a dick doesn’t automatically make a cis man a top, the same is also true of trans men & transmascs.

Some things about a healed-up phallo dick from my experience, under a cut:

The head is VERY sensitive, and the base is very sensitive. Everything in between that has erotic sensation but in an “Mm that’s nice” kinda way until you add pressure too. Once it’s healed up, it is definitely possible to orgasm from stimulating it. How long that takes will vary, though. I was told it might be up to a year, but I have a crazy healing factor and had it back in like 2-3 months.

If you couldn’t successfully kill the hair follicles on a permanent basis via electrolysis and/or laser prior to surgery, there’ll be hair. (It’s not THAT weird. Plenty of cis men out there have hair on their shafts too!)

If you had a tattoo on your donor site, you’ve got a tattoo on your dick now, lol. It might be unrecognizable depending on where it was originally (especially on the inner wrist/forearm).

There’s a scar up the underside right in the middle and all around the base. The scar up the middle of your scrotum will look similar enough to the natural seam of an OEM scrotum that it’s not really notable.

The scrotum won’t have all the wrinkles an OEM one does at rest.

No foreskin, more’s the pity, but the head looks VERY much like a circumcised OEM penis once it’s healed.

Different donor sites tend to produce different results. The non-dominant forearm is preferred because they take a stretch of nerve with it and it’ll typically have the least subcutaneous fat, so you tend to get the best sensation and shape. With the back or thigh, bigger guys might end up with a Coke can cock, which cis men THINK they want but it’s a different story when it’s always that size.

Yep, it’s always the same size. Which means you’ve got something the size of an average-for-your-height erection at all times.

Without an implant, it’s quite floppy as you can imagine. If you manspread at all, you might have to shake a leg out when you stand up ‘cause your dick’ll go between your thighs, and you’ll notice real quick as soon as you start walking. Masturbation can be awkward depending on how you do it, but “double bagging” (wearing two condoms at once) will keep it stiff enough to top.

There are two types of implants you can get: a flexible rod made of silver encased in biostatic silicone that gets sutured to your pubic bone to make sure it stays in place (how metal is that?!), or an inflatable rod that has a pump & release in the scrotum. Look for “erectile dysfunction implant” if you’re researching these. With the former, you basically always have an erection, but it’s posable; not great if you wear a lot of Speedos, as my surgeon put it. With the latter, you choose when it stands up and when it lies down. These implants, along with testicular implants for those who get them, are always done at least 6-9 months after the initial surgery.

Recovery can be rough. I took 3 months off work and needed it. The first two and a half weeks were the worst because I had a suprapubic catheter in, and dear gods I hated being cathed. Felt like I had to pee at all times, even right after emptying the bag. Worth it, though, absolutely worth it.

If you do radial arm flap, you’ll end up with two scars aside from the ones on your groin: a rectangular graft that goes most of the way around (NOT all the way around; that leads to necrosis!) the forearm from the wrist to about halfway to the elbow; and a less-obvious rectangular scar shaped like an open book on the top of one thigh where they take a split-thickness (meaning, only part of the way down) skin donation for your arm graft. The graft is pretty obvious, especially if you’re chubby, but my leg scar is extremely subtle and continues to get fainter as my skin cycles itself out.

The graft will be forever hairless.

People will probably glance at the graft, and they might stare if they’re rude, but in the…what’s it been, almost two years I’ve had it, exactly one person has actually asked about it and that was when it was still fresh and extra gnarly-looking. I told her “It’s a graft, it’s not as bad as it looks” and there were no follow-up questions.

Because there’s nerve harvested from the inside of the forearm, sensation comes to the penis faster than it comes to the graft. The cut nerve DOES regrow! But for the first…I’d say 6-9 months? Ish? I could only feel pressure on the tissue UNDER the graft. Sensation is still duller there, but at this point I can feel temperature, moisture, and texture well enough.

Recovery includes physical therapy for the donor arm. The more you move that wrist early and consistently, the less stiff it will be when it heals. I’ll never be able to touch my thumb to my wrist again, but I also can’t do that on the right either now, so I think that’s more to do with my age than the surgery (I used to be a lot more hypermobile, but I am no longer a spring chicken).

Learning to pee standing up is a messy affair that involves cleaning the toilet and doing laundry a lot. Once you’ve got it down, though, it’s pretty awesome.

Chasers will now ghost me the instant they find out I am not biologically available to be their sexual experiment.

There are a LOT of other options for bottom surgery, but I only have passing familiarity with them based on hearing firsthand accounts and what I learned from my surgeon. Personally, I weighed meta vs phallo heavily; being able to get a natural erection with meta or Centurion was a very attractive prospect, but it just doesn’t produce a size that I would find satisfying in terms of my own self-image, so I went with phallo. There was never a question in my mind as to wanting vaginectomy with it. Beyond the unbelievable convenience of being able to pee standing up without an STP device, I fuckin’ HATED my front hole, and I REALLY hated being pressured about having things done to it (mostly by cis men, but not always) all the time.

[asherbakugou]

Date Outfit and Location

Kai Kalama | (She/They)

Burgundy red dress that falls just past their knees with a boob slit held together by simple straight gold clasps. The sides, starting just below her ribcage and reaching to her waist, have a gap with three simple gold chains attached. Overtop they wore a cropped black leather jacket that reaches just past her boobs. She chose to pair it with golden sun earrings and gold rings to bring attention to their black nails as well as black ankle strap heels.

Kai chose to take Reader to Morimoto's, a fancy and expensive sushi restaraunt that can take months to get a reservation at. It happens to be Reader's dream restaraunt to visit but they've never had a chance to go to because of the prices.

Zane Julien | (She/her)

Pale blue circle skirt with snowdrops sewn along the right side, with a white off-shoulder cardigan, paired with blue converse. Simple clay earrings made to look like snowdrops, and a simple necklace with a shard of diamond bring the entire outfit together.

Zane chose to take Reader to an Interactive Museum because of their mutual love of museums and Readers natural curiosity. It is one of the largest museums in the country of Ninjago and incredibly popular with an aquariam inside.

Cole Brookstone | (They/them)

Deep cut silk white blouse over a black, sleeveless turtleneck paired with a simple silver chain, and a singular black pearl hanging from his earlobe. They wore black jeans with it as well, a wallet chain, and black boots.

Reader decided on the Food Festival, a time when people from all over Ninjago Country gather in the streets and set up stalls, a good opportunity for Cole's first dip back into festivals.

Jay Walker | (She/Her)

Simple blue jeans with bluberry bushes sewn up the calves, tight white sleeveless turtleneck, with a baby blue cardigan that she can easily take off. She paired it with white sneakers, a blue bead anklet, and a string pearl necklace.

Reader chose to take Jay out to a Trampoline Park, the largest in Ninjago, since they both enjoy fun and it has multiple different sections that include laser tag, putt putt, and an obstacle course she hopes to challenge him in.

Lloyd Garmadon | (She/her)

Calf length, tight black turtleneck dress with golden designs along the chest and green glass beads to further bring the designs to life, and off the shoulder loose sleeves with a cuff to keep it from spilling over hands. Black kitten pumps, a gold lotus wrap bracelet, and emerald drop earrings bring the entire outfit together.

Lloyd chose to take Reader out to a fancy restaruant in one of the most expensive places to impress her, even though he doesn't need too. But she is excited to have a date with him, and has never been wined and dined before.

Morro | (She/her)

Ankle length sheer black skirt with pale pink cherry blossoms over black leggings and pale pink sneakers. A pale pink silk wrap around shirt with kimono-esque sleeves and cloud designs along the bottom of the sleeves, paired with a simple silver ring and cherry blossom earrings.

Morro chose to take Reader to a Lantern Festival being hosted in Ninjaho's National Park. The park itself is huge, and so is the Lantern Festival, but its also a little pricey so Reader never had the opportunity to go, even though she wished to.

A/n: The actual dates will be posted one by one as I hope for them to be more detailed, but hope you all enjoy this little tidbit.

[whoreish-behaviour]

Revenant 12

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6 Pt7 Pt8 Pt9 Pt10 Pt11

Na'vi!Colonel Quaritch x Na'vi!Reader

Warnings >~< = None (soon :))

Miles pursed his lips as he listened on, his ears laid flat to his head.

He heard you thrash and fight, his name leaving your lips in desparate cries. Still, he didn't move - his hands twitching at his sides to reach out for you.

He reminded himself that you both needed this - it was a harsh but necessary wake up call.

You weren't his to keep.

Once he was sure you where strapped to the railing, your shouts having quietened down to weak cries, he looked at where you had been previously stood.

Lyle for once looked unsure of himself, his eyes stuck on where you were tied up.

Miles gritted his teeth, fangs grazing his bottom lip at his second in command - an ugly feeling of betrayal bubbling up in his chest.

He'd deal with him later.

Pushing himself to walk over to the railing, he kept his eyes trained on the real enemy - your death stare putting him on edge as he surveyed the water.

You could feel your anger pumping through your veins, you nails digging subconsciously into your palms as you eyed Miles, lips set into a deep scowl.

He was just over a metre away from you, face pointed up and away from you.

'You are a coward.' You spoke lowly, venom dripping from your voice.

He had betrayed you, after everything you had given to him.

You wanted to cut away your restraints and tear him limb from limb - force him to look at you, feel the anger behind each of your attacks until his very soul trembled from your wrath.

However, you knew you couldn't.

You hands would seize the moment they'd even graze his throat.

Breathing out, you opted to instead look out at the ocean, the floor below you wet and cold - goosebumps raising along your legs.

Your eyes narrowed as you saw a herd of tsurak emerge from behind a large rock, their wings flapping as they hovered just above the water.

You couldn't see the faces of their riders, but your heart filled with both hope and dread at once.

You could sense a war, the oncoming Metkayian clan roaring in fury.

Glancing up at Miles, you watched as he reached for the tied up boy in front of him - yanking something from his ear before holding it up to his.

'Jake..' You frowned at his taunting tone, his voice fake and almost unfamiliar.

'Tell your friends to stand down. You want your kids back? Come out alone.' You felt your fangs dig into your lip as you processed his words.

They were bait.

'You know better than to test my resolve.' His words were slow as he reach for his belt, big hands grasping his revolver.

As soon as you saw him pull it out, you stood up - hissing and pulling at your restraints like a chained animal.

Immediately, Miles looked towards you - gun still pointed at the boy in front of him.

'Don't you dare Miles! He's a child-'

'Knees.'

You where taken aback at his cold tone, his eyes unwavering as you hissed again.

'Now.' He bared his teeth back at you, voice powerful as he glanced down at the ground before back at you.

You swallowed thickly, your lips twitching to bite back at him before you eventually gave in and kneeled back down, sitting on your hunches and your tail swaying behind you in frustration.

You both held eye contact before you looked away, ears flat in submission.

You had no winning chance.

'I took you under my wing, Jake - you betrayed me.' You ears twitched at the new information.

'You killed your own. Good men, good woman.' Miles paused.

'And I will not hesitate to execute your kid.'

Miles tightened his grip around his weapon as he strained his ears for a response through the receiver clutched in his other hand.

Grinding his teeth together at the lack of one, he narrowed his eyes - waiting for something, anything, to happen.

He could feel your eyes on him, you stare like lasers.

His chest felt heavy, his lungs tightening up as he thought of all the things that must've been running through your head, throat tight as he swallowed.

He didn't have a choice though.

'Check your fire. I'm coming out.' Jake voice was muffled but his words were clear enough.

This was it.

This was why Miles had trekked this entire way to do, why you were even on this ship - however he couldn't bring himself to feel anything, his body void of emotion.

Even his vengeance - it all seemed shallow.

Just as he began to see Jake separate from his group, he glanced down at where you were sat. You had leaned your side against the railing, ears flat and chin tipped down.

Utterly defeated.

He hated it.

He knew you were scared and angry, cornered like a wounded animal ready to be slaughtered and feasted on by the hungry wolves around you.

He wanted to reach out and reassure you that everything was going to be fine - that you were safe.

But even he knew that was a lie.

Just as he lowered his gun to his side, he saw it. The odd way the water below moved, giant ripples surfacing before an enormous body broke through - growing tall enough to cast a shadow on the ship.

Everything was oddly silent as everyone watched on in shock, not even realising before it was too late and the beast was flopping over and directly on top of them.

You gasped as the sudden appearance of the Tulkun, it's body landing just over a few meters from you - the ship rocking harshly in response.

It's harsh landing seemed snapped everyone back, shots immediately firing.

You cried out at the unfamiliar loud bangs, attempting to curl up and duck your head under your hands, eyes screwed shut as pure fear cursed through you.

You tried to make yourself seem as small as possible, lifting your tail and curling it around your legs as everyone around you shouted to each other, guns continuously firing.

You flinched as you felt large hands wrap around your tied wrists, manoeuvring them.

Your eyes shot open as you felt yourself being freed, blinking as you looked up - eyes landing on Miles, who was leaned over you.

He look concentrated as he threw the handlink over the railing, eyes narrowed as he looked back down at you.

'Miles-' You whined, lip trembling as you called out to him - pure fear and desperation in your voice.

You watched as his eyes softened, ears flattening as he leaned down from his crouched position next to you, hands reaching out and sliding around your curled up form.

He pulled you closer, supporting you as he began to lift you up bridal style - encouraging you to tuck yourself under his neck, his heart beating erratically under your cheek..

At that moment, you wedged yourself as close as possible to him - his presense alone easing your terror despite the open fire surrounding you.

You focused on evening out your inconstant breathes as you felt him carry you away, eyes screwed shut as you breathed him in like oxygen.

'I got you.'

You whimpered at his words, lifting your arm to wrap it around his neck.

Your mind had completely cleared, the only thing circling around in your head was the warm and soothing feeling of safety - pushing you to forget bout the earlier transgressions of the same man who now held you as if you were delicate flower.

When you reopened your eyes, you were in the same hallway from earlier - your body bouncing slightly from Miles's quick steps.

You immediately stiffened when he came to a stop in front of a familiar door.

The same door that you barged through on your first day here, that concealed the same room when Miles had first touched you.

However, you felt you heart drop as you thought of reasons as to why he’d bring you here.

He was leaving you.

You started to shake your head as you watched him begin to unlock the door, the same arm that was wrapped around his neck beginning to clutch at the fabric of his shirt in a desparate fist.

'Miles, no please-' You panicked as he walked in the open door.

'No!' You argued fearfully as he gently placed you on the ground, your chest still being pressed up to him as you begged helplessly.

'Princess please - look, listen to me.' He cut off your cries, soothing hands lifting up to cup at your dampening cheeks from your growing tears.

His palms swallowed your face, your eyes reddening the more worked up you got.

'Please don't - don't leave me here.' You cried, lifting your own hands to cover his wrists, squeezing them in emphasise.

You watched his eyes bounce over your features, eyebrows furrowed at your shaking figure huddled up against him before landing on your plump pouted lips.

You weren't expecting his sudden kiss, his head gently lowering closer to your before his lips were pressed up against you.

Almost immediately you slowed down and kissed him back, your wet nose softly brushing against him.

Miles would've laughed at your now quietened state if it had been any other circumstance.

But for now, he basked in the feeling of you against him - your body desperately trying to press closer to him - both your lips almost attempting to consume each other.

Nothing had ever felt so right.

Once Miles felt his lungs run out, he slowly pulled away - your face almost following him as you blinked your eyes open up at him, your tail suddenly coming up and pressing against the outside of Miles's thigh.

Not wanting you too far away, he took the hand on your cheek and instead used it to cup the back of your neck, leaning back down and simultaneously pulling you up until your foreheads rested together.

'I have to go.'

He hated to cut your moment together short but he need to make sure that you where truly safe here. That one one but him would be able to reach you.

This time you only whimpered in response but otherwise didn't argue.

You could be such an obedient thing when you wanted to be..

'Be good for me and stay here - behave.' He blinked down at you slowly, watching as you admired his features before catching his eyes once again.

You nodded gently.

'That's my good girl.' He spoke lowly as he lifted his chin to press a kiss to your forehead, the scent from your hair invading his nose as he breathed you in.

You tucked your bottom lip under your teeth when he pulled away, willing yourself not to cry and he turned and unlocked the door.

He didn't look back as he left the room but you watched at his chin tilted right - almost as if he was but thought better off it just before the door shut.

You crossed and tucked your arms close as the immediate loneliness began to seep in before you turned, eyes landing on the familiar table.

You didn't think twice as you walked over to it before ducking down and under it, tucking yourself into a ball - the added shelter already making you feel less on edge.

In that moment, you had finally decided.

You no longer cared that you had been taken from your home, that you were on a enemy ship or that you had happily slept in the arms of an 'enemy'.

You just couldn't bring yourself to care anymore.

You were sick of feeling like a traitor, simultaneously hating your self for the way he made you feel - because fact is, you loved it.

You loved his touches, the rough and the gentle. You loved his stares as he took you in. You loved his hidden compassion. You loved his odd names. You loved how he so desperately wanted to consume you.

So instead, you'd embrace it.

Resisting hadn't gotten you far anyways.

Resting your head against your knees, you stared distantly at the ground - continuously thinking of when your Miles would be back for you.

If you couldn't sense, Revenant is coming to a close end - I'm not to sure how many chapter are left/i'll write but i have planned out the ending :))

Kofi <3

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[ghoultrifle]

Dew's Best Kept Secret

Have some nasty DewRora glasses porn, you freaks /aff.

Summary: Dew hates his glasses, Aurora (and Aether) think they're unbearably hot - cue them fucking nasty

These are what I'm imagining Dew wears (when he has to)

Oh and everyone's trans

@jimothybarnes optician tag, i feel like there's another optician-adjacent writer here but i cannot remember who, sorry! edit: @dewedup optician tag hehe thanks jesus for reminding me <3

READ BELOW THE CUT OR ON AO3

He sits on the edge of the bed, a full length mirror positioned just too far away for him to see himself. Blurry fingers gliding over his ruddy cock, blissed expression masked by the distance.

Dewdrop hates his glasses, they make him lose his bad boy edge, he’d fit right in as a librarian when he wears them, he reckons. Nothing more than the nerdy girl in a romcom that becomes absolute dynamite when she goes to prom, without the frames. Aether is the only ghoul blessed with the privilege of even knowing Dewdrop needs glasses, not least being the only ghoul to see him wear them.

“Head up, darling, at the mirror, need you to see exactly what I’m doing to that pretty body of yours,” the quintessence ghoul had insisted, holding the smaller ghoul in front of him, fingers glossy as he teased Dew’s clit.

“Uhh Aeth, I appreciate the sentiment but- ah, I can’t see shit, ‘m not wearing my contacts.”

“Oh, uh, you got glasses anywhere, firefly?” he replied, realising why the fire ghoul was so clumsy; he couldn’t fucking see anything. This was a vulnerable moment for Dewdrop and Aether knew it. Keen on keeping the ghoul atop him a horny crying mess instead of a sad one, he brushed over the sudden confession in favour of letting Dew see himself all hard and leaking.

“Bedside drawer,” he huffed.

Aether blindly reached out to grab the glasses, smudging the lenses in the process. Still curiously running his fingers between Dew’s folds he opened the frames with his teeth before placing them on the fire ghoul’s face.

“Holy fuck, Dewdrop, you’re stunning.”

The round lenses complimented his sharp jawline, softening his features. But Dew would never see it that way, convinced Aether was so madly in love with him that he could have worn clown makeup to bed and the other would think it was hot.

Tonight, Dew is thinking back to the moment he could see exactly how his dick quivered under Aether’s strokes, how he leaked onto those thunderous thighs, glistening. It’s not often Dewdrop pleasures himself alone, with more than enough ghouls willing to accompany him. And it’s even less often he takes his time to indulge himself, to really drag it out and appreciate his body. More commonly, he’s quietly cranking one out on the tour bus, or sticking his hand between his legs with fervour when he just can’t sleep.

He groans as he picks up those perfectly circular frames from his bedside, long having run out of contacts. If he didn’t know better he’d say Aether purposefully lost his prescription just to see him wear them.

As long as he keeps focused on his dick, he needn’t think about the horrors above. Dewdrop keeps his eyes below his neck with laser-point precision, dragging claws down his chest, catching on his scars as he lets the hand reach below to dip inside. It’s been months since he’s seen the way his cunt opens up around him, accommodates those sly fingers, and clenches when he starts petting in time with the short, needy strokes on his clit.

He’s struggling to even keep his eyes open now, whiny moans escaping his lips as he pumps his fingers inside. The visuals combined with the slick sounds of his digits, it’s too much. Dewdrop’s on the edge, seconds away from his release, only accelerated by being able to see his reflection thrown back at him. Just a few more pumps and –

“Dewdrop Ghoul! What have I said about using my conditioner?!” an even smaller ghoul shouts down the corridor before barging into his room.

In his hazed brain, Dew decides it’s the glasses he wants to hide from Aurora, not his state of undress, furiously pawing them off his nose as they clatter to the ground. 

“Fuck- Rory learn to knock once in a while!” he stutters, his foot delicately trying to hide his secret beneath the bed.

“Firstly, learn to lock a door, idiot,” she mumbles in reply, unfazed by the state of the ghoul before her, “Secondly, you get off to yourself wearing glasses? Sounds freaky,” she says, winking at the fire ghoul.

“They’re my glasses? I need them to see? Just don’t wear ‘em ‘cause they look silly.”

“Ohh so you like watching yourself then? Wouldn’t have put you down for that, seems like more of Rain’s vibe.”

Aurora moves to close the distance between them. She reaches down to pick up the dusty frames, blowing chilled air over them as she places them askew on Dewdrop’s face, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek.

“Lucky for you, I love glasses,” she moans, bringing Dewdrop’s hand to cup her half hard cock, kicking as he makes contact through the skirt. Dew winces as he feels a dribble of slick leak onto the sheet below him.

She swiftly moves to his bedside, rummaging through Dew’s chest of goodies before returning with a sleek, blue suction cup dildo. Aurora sticks it squarely in front of the mirror, “Sit,” she barks.

He stares at it, standing proud against the dark floor, a shiver travelling through his spine at Aurora’s authoritative streak. He’s never seen this side of her, demanding, taking, she’s normally satisfied as a passive participant, happy to take what’s given as she basks in the pleasure. Seeing Aurora standing over him, imposing, he certainly doesn’t have to worry about lube.

Dew sinks sheepishly onto the silicone, knees bent beneath him as he moans at the renewed contact, ready for more after his near-ruined orgasm. Just looking at Aurora, still fully clothed, hand reaching beneath her skirt to pull those black panties down just enough to spring free, has him grinding on the toy.

“Did I say you could move?” she spits, saliva sticking to the lenses adorning his face.

“No ma’am,” the fire ghoul mumbles. He feels exposed, small, even beneath Aurora, the only ghoul smaller than him in every way. She just chuckles as she turns on the remote behind her back, Shit, she picked the vibrator.

He moans, distraught as his arms remain still by his side. His chest heaves and he blinks, looking at himself in the mirror, on his knees, pre running down the parts of the toy that didn’t quite fit in. Looking up he sees Aurora languidly stroking herself from root to tip, popping her hand off with a flourish each time.

She moans with each breath, the timbre drilling directly into Dew’s brain, he’s saving these sounds to repeat back next time he’s got himself alone in front of a mirror. To think about as he gets his fingers around his dick. The mental image is just as incredible; hair just grazing her shoulders, bouncing as she lolls her head back, pert nipples desperate to make themselves shown through her sheer crop top, and her thick happy trail, coarse hairs leading to the dripping cock she has in her hand.

Aurora moves between Dew and mirror, positioning herself so the fire ghoul can no longer see himself. He whines, what’s the point in wearing glasses if he’s not going to get a good look in? Alas, he continues to grind his hips as subtly as he can, clit twitching when the dildo hits the right spot. Dew stares up at Aurora, mouth agape as he breathes heavily. He goes to take her in his mouth, barely licking at the tip before the ghoulette pulls away, tutting.

“Only good boys get to suck mommy off. Good boys stay still when they’re told.”

He holds his head low, admiring Aurora’s feet, perfectly painted claws at the end of slim toes, covered in a smattering of light hair. He’ll unpack that another time.

“Head up, darling, you’re going to want to see this,” Aurora said as she gripped her cock harder now, tugging with a fiery passion, her free hand ghosting over a nipple before pinching tight as she howls, primal. With each stroke the sound of slick echoes in the room, accompanied only by the vibrator relentlessly hitting Dew’s g-spot, not quite enough to get him off but just enough to have him fighting the urge to writhe around.

Aurora bites her lip as she feels her orgasm cresting; legs struggling to support her, she grips Dew’s short horn to steady herself. The fire ghoul can’t help but double over at the pressure, those perfect hands rubbing at the base of the ivory, setting his nerves alight.

“Fuck Rory, ‘m close!” he says. Dew sucks in a breath between gritted teeth. These horns were new for the season, they’re incredibly sensitive- on par with his bottom growth- all it takes is a brush against it and he’s dripping.

“Don’t cum yet, baby, I want you to watch yourself come undone,” Aurora hurriedly mumbles between high-pitched feminine whines.

Just a few strokes later, Aurora’s cock is shooting her release right onto Dew’s glasses, milky white ropes sticking to the lenses, falling down and dripping on the fire ghoul’s red-hot face, clouding his vision as he keeps his eyes wide open in awe at the ghoulette. She milks herself dry, ensuring every last drop ends up on those frames. He looks absolutely ruined, cum trickling down his cheeks, ruby eyes hidden by the sheer amount of seed Aurora spilled, hips stuttering as he chases his release.

“Look how perfect you are for me,” she coos, letting her skirt fall down over her softening length as she moves away from the mirror, keeping a hand on the base of Dew’s horn, rubbing idly as if the ghoul attached isn’t about to explode. 

“Go on, get yourself all messy, show me how you get off when I’m not around.”

That’s all the permission Dewdrop needs to grab his dick between his thumb and forefinger before stroking with a fierce pace. His eyes drift to his reflection, it was like being inked in mario kart, still doing his best to look at the action despite being hampered by Aurora’s cum, maybe he should try this with Rain one day- get the real inky deal.

Hurried breaths follow as the ghoulette ramps up the vibrations- so intense the dildo is threatening to leave its position on the hardwood. Aurora, steadying herself on Dew’s horn, moves her foot gently up and down the inside of Dew’s thigh and it’s all too much for the fire ghoul. His orgasm punches him in the gut as his walls clench around the toy. He near-screams, hips grinding on the toy in earnest as he fucks himself through his orgasm, watching himself through the dirty lenses as his slick drips down the dildo.

Aurora dutifully tucks herself back into her panties, wetting them slightly with her slick cock, before she walks towards the door leaving Dew to clean up the both of their messes,

“You should really wear those more often, look real pretty like this.”

Dewdrop grins, maybe he will.

[kyonsmith]

Yet another weird idea about Drakken and Shego.

*Drakken shows Shego a necklace with a piece of ruby*

Shego, you know what my next world domination plan is?

*Peeks at the necklace before returning to filing her nails* Don't tell me you're going to make the necklace radioactive and then sell them as a fashion jewelry. Can you be at least a little creative?

*Shakes head with an evil grin* Selling the jewelry, yes, radioactive? No, no, no, Shego. Why spend the extra expense when regular ruby can get the job done just as well?

But people are like, wearing ruby jewelry for literal thousands of years, so how could selling people regular ruby help you take over the world?

Oh, silly Shego. Do you know what the gain medium in the worlds first laser is? It's exactly the same ruby as in this necklace, right here right now.

*Suddenly shows a serious facial expression* Dr.D, you do realize that ruby doesn't just produce laser spontaneously just because it exists right? I was expecting you to at least know some laser 101 as you swim in death rays for the last decade or two. Eeew.

*was minorly annoyed but still trying to explain*Shego, can you please at least listen to the end? So impatient you are! You see, a laser needs not only gain medium but also a pump source and a resonance chamber. With the jewelry when there's two cut faces parallel to each other that's a makeshift resonance chamber, and all it needs would be a pulse of energy as pump source! If my calculations are right, which they are slightly optimistic but without fundamental problems, all it take for the jewelry to produce laser is just an exposure to a megaton nuclear explosion in less than ten feet! That'll be enough energy to get the ruby past the threshold and produce a laser powerful enough to give whoever staring at it within 20 feet instant retina burns!

...... you do realise that when you're that close to a nuclear explosion your retina would be incinerated before the laser can reach your eye right?

......Fine. You won, Shego. Plan cancelled.

[disintegratedfingers]

Quirk: Unknown Warnings for this chapter: Small mention of blood, a student being trapped. Otherwise we're all good :) (Proofread ✅)

Chapter 1, Pt. 2 - Tryout

Each faux villian robot held a certain amount of points;

Easy Villians - 1 point

Medium Villians - 2 points

Hard Villians - 3 points

Arena Traps - 0 points

And if immobilized, points would be rewarded to the examinee who took it down. There were only 10 minutes for this practical.

You stood in the mob of examinees, hands clasped behind your back, forcing your posture to straighten. Energy flowed within the group, tickling your skin. Kids muttered to one another. Others boasted that they would earn enough points to pass at the top.

What would become of you? With such little control with your quirk...

"And... begin!" A shout was heard from somewhere up high, and everyone swiveled their heads to the sound. You looked up, confused.

"What's wrong? The test's started! Run! Run!!" Present Mic pumped his fists. "The die is cast!"

Immediately, the students fled and dispersed in a frenzy. You, frozen in the moment, stood on shaky legs. Sweat trickled down your neck, but a new confidence rose when you saw the skinny, green-haired boy trembling in his spot. You wouldn't be last, atleast.

A selfish mindset was appropriate for this exam, you thought.

Turning away with a huff, you sprinted into the mock-city streets. Explosions and clashes of metal could be heard. You wobbled slightly, but quickly popped in some earbuds to block out the sounds.

A girl with streaked, blue hair shot water from her hands at one of the faux villians, seemingly having some trouble when it shot fiery beams back. So, from behind, you snuck up on the robot and stared intently at it's back. Willing it to crumble, you watched as the iron and steel creased together and cracked.

It crashed to the ground with sparks flicking from torn wires. You smiled; the warmth of accomplishment filled your chest. "That's two points..." Even when the water quirk girl gave you a frustrated look, you gazed around for another opponent.

"DIE!!" You heard a muffled roar from above, seeing a huge explosion and a boy swinging his arm in midair. Instinctively you cowered as shards of metal and glass fell. Your arms were cut and bleeding, but your determination did not waver.

"Where..." a larger robot - a 3 pointer - appeared from around the block, glowering down at your smaller frame. It rotated its arm to face you with a laser. Sucking in some air, you just barely dodged the blast, recovering quickly and standing back up.

The bot aimed again, but this time you were ready. You glared daggers into its arm. "Break, break, break-" you clenched your fists, eyes squinted as you worked your mind.

SHEU-

The fire came and you hissed through gritted teeth, but apon opening your eyes, a long dart of fizzing light floated in front of your face. You jumped out of the way as it dissolved in mid air. Letting go of your breath, it fell to the ground, and so did the robot.

"Five points!" You recalled enthusiastically, although it surely wasn't much, nor nearly enough compared to others. Your head throbbed with the effort.

"Move it!" Someone shoved past you, scraping against your shoulder. Turning, you saw a boy with spiky, blonde hair stomping away, hands clenched. A rigid ardor radiated off him.

"Really...?" You growled under your breath at the gesture, forcing yourself to focus. Other students were battling robots around you... what could be done now?

'Maybe if I finish off a villian that somebody has already beaten up... it's whoever completes the job, right?' Plus, it was easier for you to control something of littler strength.

Your eyes darted around, entertained and mislead by all the action. Finally, you took notice to the guy with the glasses, watching as he ran full speed towards an opponent and delivered a powerful kick to the side. It crashed into the building you were leaning against, brick crumbling as dust sweeped in.

You skidded out into the open, eyes shining as you saw that the robot still had some potential, creaking as it tried to move. Before the other student could reach it, you came forward and slapped a hand onto the metal, closing your eyes and straining your mind.

Holding your breath... fingertips tingling... eventually you felt the metal split and grow hot as the electricity leaked out. It whirred and buzzed until it lay in motionless pieces. The villian was done.

"Surely that's cheating!" Your eyes snapped open to a strict voice beside you.

"The goal is to-" You started, annoyance surging through your veins. The examinee with the glasses was staring at you in dissapointment but also in thought.

"Well, I assume that whichever student completely immobilizes the faux villian gains the point," he sliced the air with his hand, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah I figured," you sigh shakily.

"I'll allow this advantage to you, but no more," he gave a swift bow and sprinted off towards another attacker. You shook your head. This was a slow and unpromising journey.

"4 minutes, two seconds remaining!" Present Mic's voice reverberated throughout the grounds, slightly muffled over your earbuds.

CRASH!

"Watch out!!" A whirl of bodies flew past you and spilled into the streets as a huge Arena Trap bot slammed its arm into the road. The gush of force ran up your legs and stabbed your body, making you falter. Charred brick met your shoulder, stabilizing you, atleast for the moment.

Through the dusty debris, the skinny, green-haired boy could be made out, just a few yards away. He ran forward and jumped with such force that he flew many paces upward. Pure determination reeked from his body as he sent a fist to the bot's dented exterior.

It slammed backward, bright explosions illuminating the ground below. The student began to fall...

"What...?" You grew concerned, but scoffed at the stupidity. "He jumps that high and can't land again?"

You also spotted a limp figure below the scene; a girl with her lower half crushed under rock. She seemed to notice the boy, too, squeezing her eyes shut as she pressed her fingers together

"Oh crud-" you could pick up faint pain, watching her cringe in a struggle to escape. This was a selfish game... but also a blood battle.

Pure fear swallowed you whole, forcing you to stand still. Who would die first?

The green-haired boy was still free falling, limbs waving limply at his sides. Your arms raised, prepared to shield your eyes. However... the boy suddenly stopped descending, mere inches from the ground. Silence sweeped over the space.

"And... release," the girl sperated her fingers and sighed, eyes drooping closed as she swallowed hard.

You rocketed forward, straight to her side.

"Don't move too much- you could rip a muscle or something," you frantically looked over her, searching for a way to pull her out. She groaned, eyes watering as sweat dripped down her face.

You swiftly hooked your arm across her torso, pushing off of your leg. Inch by inch she was tugged out. Eventually, you had her standing on shaky legs. She looked exhausted.

"Can you walk?" You took a step back, reaching a hand out when the girl wobbled slightly.

"I'm alright, thanks," she laughed nervously, looking over at the limp body of the student she saved... who saved her. If he hadn't defended her, the robot would have crushed her.

He groaned in agony, face buried in the dust as he gripped his bloody arm. You sighed, nerves agitated from the adrenaline.

"It's all over!!!" Present Mic's voice boomed throughout the field.

A small crowd gathered around the limp boy, as you wobbled away a bit. The thick emotion and exhaustion was worsening your state.

"Make way, make way!" A little, old lady hobbled through the huddle, waddling over to the curly-haired boy.

"Ah, well, son," she gruffed. "so your own beloved quirk did this to you? Almost looks as though your body's not used to it..." the crowd stood in small mumblings as they watched the lady approach him.

"...she's the backbone of U.A.," you picked up whispers. Sharply, her lips shot out and kissed the boy's head. Students' eye's widened in shock and realization, and so did yours.

"Thanks to her, such ferocious exams can be held at U.A...." You reflected under your breath, amazed at how the examinee's arm turned completely back to normal.

"This one'll be fine," she looked around. "Any other hurt kids?"

_______

First action packed scenes >:D

What's your quirk??? Why do you have so little control over it? Why does it hurt? Stick around :°

<Previous Next>

[agbpaints]

So today I don't so much want to talk about some unknown mech I dug out of the bowels of Sarna, I just want to gush about a classic.

Whenever I build a list for playing Classic Battletech, I usually tend to focus a lot on my mediums and heavies. I like mechs that get into the thick of it fast and brawl and joust. Jumping jack Thunderbolts, Grasshoppers, Wolverines, Wraiths, etc. Light mechs are important too- scouts and light support and knives to push into the backs of people too busy dealing with my fast battle line. But when I get to the 80+ ton bracket I always think to myself 'why am I looking for slow fire support? I already play An Assault Mech,' and then I strap myself back into my Awesome.

Originally designed by Technicron Manufacturing in Merrick space furing the height of the Star League, the Awesome AWS-8Q was supposedly intended as a replacement for the aging Striker. The Striker itself is fairly forgettable product of early human mech design- it isn't much too write home about beyond being a janky bracket firing pile of direct fire weapons stapled onto a chassis with a questionably large engine and far too few heat sinks. I've got a feeling someone at Technicron thought the same when they looked at Stormvanger's offering.

Gone is the 320 power plant, replaced by a 240 rate fusion reactor that allows the Awesome to stride around at a stately top speed of 54 kph. All of that extra weight savings has been plowed into heat sinks to manage the Awesome's primary battery, 3 PPCs firing at unified ranges, something it does fairly well for its age with the ability to maintain a run while volleying in a 3-2-3 pattern with no decrease in performance. The Awesome is also incredibly thick skinned, carrying 97% of the potential armor its chassis weight allows, a fact that combines with its total lack of ammunition-bearing weapons to make an absolute zombie of a fire support unit- the only way to kill an 8Q is to core out the center torso or kill its pilot. That isn't to say it's without weakness- the low speed of the mech combined with the safety interlocks on the particle guns and the lack of any secondary weapons beyond a single head-mounted small laser means the Awesome is vulnerable to flanking attacks, especially whilst operating unsupported. Something for commanders to consider when fielding or facing. The 8Q is an absolute classic of a mech that continues to deliver well despite its age.

The Awesome has many variants (a few very good, a lot weird and LRM based because the purple parakeet spent most of the succession wars stapling every PPC they could get onto their Awesomes and still coming up short) but I'll just go over my own ride of choice. After an early and fairly mediocre modernization package in the 9M which mostly just made the Awesome more like the Striker (over-engined, under-sinked, and with a return to pointless ammo-bearing sidearms to threaten the precious 320 XL engine), Technicron delivered their own take on a 31st century Awesome in the form of the AWS-9Q in 3057. If the 8Q is a classic car, the 9Q is what happens when someone looks at that car and asks 'what if we super charged the hell out of it?' Unlike many other IS designs of the era, the 9Q is very deliberate with its use of lostech, simply cutting 9 heat sinks and replacing the rest with far more efficient double freezers. Those 9 extra tons play host to the mech's 4th PPC, an ECM suite, and the last available half ton of armor. As far as I'm concerned, the AWS-9Q is the zenith of Inner Sphere assault mech design prior to the adoption of clan tech and God's perfect direct fire support platform. Once it finds its hill, it will pump out PPC shots in a steady 4-4-3 pattern until the enemy removes it, and for a mear 1,875 bv or 7,456,050 c-bills, that's a damn good deal.

So, the next time you're building your inner sphere lists, consider the Awesome. It might not match the flashiness of the Clan assaults or the versatility of something like a Battlemaster, but it does beat them in terms of efficiently cranking out armor-stripping salvos until the enemy is scrap. And that's pretty awesome

[rosehipmecha]

You were destined for this job, one only you can do and one only you signed up for. No other independent would risk their life in a jury-rigged AC like this. Almost at the drop point you boot up your AC into combat mode early. The soft hum of the engine is interrupted by several warnings blaring and beeping which you quickly silence. Even in normal operation this thing was barely functioning.

You feel a jolt as the floor beneath your opens up to reveal beautiful clouds, the weather was on your side today. With a last check over of your systems you determine that it'll at least get you to the target. A loud clunk shudders through you as you're silently dropped over the target. The feeling of the freezing air rushing past your AC fills your mind, your actual body was warm and fine inside the cockpit but the neural interface was overriding that. For once, you knew this feeling of adrenaline wasn't just the usual neural feedback, that couldn't get you shaking like this. You break through the clouds, the target right below you, a watchpoint. You feel your stripped down AC suddenly being watched by hundreds of greedy eyes then hear and see the conformation as fire control radars pinpoint your location and smoke trails take off in your direction. With a deep breath you calm your nerves and push your AC into a full assault boost straight down. Your AC's thrusters scream with a power you've never known before, the feeling is incredible and one you need to feel more of. The first missiles fired from below finally start to come into range and bare down on you, with a flick of your control stick your dangerously bare AC easily rolls out of the way of the oncoming threat. The feedback from your link to this AC had to be jacked up, that felt incredible. Powerful lasers start lancing from the earth up to target you now that they're elevated, it seems the PCA was tipped off about your arrival but not the direction. With their most powerful weapons baring down on your and your altitude dropping rapidly you start making evasive manoeuvres that push you hard into your chair and send blood rushing to your brain and legs repeatedly. Even with the augmentations this wasn't safe but it was just so addictive. This feeling was unrivalled, you and your AC as one, the lingering heat from the path of dodged laser shots keeping you warm at this altitude. A large string of missiles comes from one of the heat signatures targeting you. Both your body and the mechanical one you control strain to move and alter course toward it. The internal computer catches up with your intuition and identifies the craft as your target.

AAP07. The lasers are getting close to hitting now, you can't keep the dodging act up for long and now kinetic weapons are in range too. Your heavy breathing from the strain of the manoeuvres gets mixed in with the hundreds of target lock warnings. Finally within your terminal phase you cut your assault boost short. With shaky hands your uncage your reactor and hear it start to spin up high and higher. The feeling of the power increasing inside of you takes over your mind. With the kinetics starting to hit and plink off your AC the rest of your body starts to go numb, making the building feeling intoxicating. You're brought back to reality by a horrible pain and searing heat that takes over your right arm as it's burnt off by a laser that only just grazes you. The enemy was right there. This was it. In the final moments of your flight you thrust your left arm forward, igniting the pulse blade it holds. Flicking a couple tacked on switches in the cockpit, you reroute power from the soon to activate assault armour into your pulse blade. The blaring warnings from start up return now, just louder and with more company. Your whole body shudders from the feedback as the energy channels to your left arm, pumping it all through the small pinhole that is your weapon. Your heart races inside your chest, the fake and real feelings being sent to your brain sending your body into overdrive. A glorious white light extends out in front of you, your eyes widen as the target in front of you engages it's shield just for it to be pierced cleanly through from one side to the other. A blinding blast takes over your view. Your cameras black out while your neural interface practically fries your brain with the feedback from it all. Before it manages to your reactor finally gives out, your AC completely shuts down as you fall. A sudden extremely loud crunch rings in your ears as you're slammed forward in your cockpit. You wake up, dangling from your seat, ears ringing, body aching and covered in sweat. A smile forms on your face. Nothing will ever feel that good again.

[knowlessman]

"shigaraki has become too powerful. we need to bring in the one person we know who can disable him from a distance." "you can't mean -" "I do. Contact Mr Smiley." (bnha s6e7-10)

I forgot Aquaman or wever his name is was keeping Eraser Head's eyes wet so he could stare at Tomura 'XD that's just, a thing. that's how this show works. that's just a thing in this show

"he even has all might's power and toughness" blinks in Magic player I wonder what those might be. Maybe like 7/7? or he's a 1/1 that can pump?

"'little brother?' I didn't say that. I don't want to be like you, teacher, I want to surpass you. my will is my own" yeah, I don't think you read all the fine print back when Super-Satan took you in. gifted powers from vague-talking benefactors have a tendency to not care what you want in the end

"Vanishing Fist" is a cool name for an attack. wonder what they cribbed it from (turns out they didn't, it sounded like something that coulda been from something else tho imo)

(midnight got got by mr compress and is telling momo to use a forbidden technique or something to stop bigfoot) hmmm. so midnight had yaoyorozu analyze her sedative stuff so she can make it? yaoyorozu's quirk may be a strict upgrade over some of the pros', then.

ngl, mt lady hasn't seemed to be slowing bigfoot down worth a damn so far. dint even try to get him off his feet, he was just pushing her ahead of him like a plow for the longest time

figures, acid girl remembered bigfoot from her origin story or something and it made her fumble the shot. or he just reminded her of it? not sure, I don't remember the details that well (could swear her origin story was literally about a "monster" looking guy just asking for directions but idk). anyway, kirishima to the rescue? like they do have that shared backstory bit kinda thing so like sure

…what the.

-- fucker just. …fuck is that called? gurning? yeah. mfer just won the universe gurning championship of all time out of nowhere. swallered his nose. and ears. and eyes.

(tomura got eraser head with the dart) I don't guess our guy's wearing dartproof shinguards under them trousers or summat? -- BRO.

-- BRO. when is this that kind of show

(OP starts up again) okay, get this upbeat… get this lewis carroll denver jam band shit outta my face, a man just cut his fucking leg off with a knife with one swipe, my man has a vorpal fucking sword specifically for chopping entire legs off and you are playing stuff that would sound too tame and mild and childish for fucking burnout 3. "lazy generation" wouldn't come close to cutting it for this shit, get outta here -- hell, what was he gonna do if it hit him in the gut? chop his entire fucking self in half? -- sweet from atlantis: "the catalog says this little beauty can cut through a femur in twenty-eight seconds. I'm betting I could cut that time in half"

"the giant villain is expected to pass through eleventy different cities on his way to wherever he's going" see, now they got sad twangy strings in the background, it sounds like "In the Woods Somewhere." this is appropriate music for the context -- also the kids really did go through all that for fuckall. : | apparently he can Tarrasque in his sleep or something

robotnik: "that one mistake will bring about your demise!" fucking cyclops with his stupid dinky eye lasers. and writers not knowing what defibrillators are for.

oh yeah, this episode's named after bakugo for some reason. writer really does act like he's fucking enkidu when he's just extremely simply a bad person, it's never gonna make sense to me

flashbacks of bakugo "helping" deku figure out the black whip ig -- wait shit, so deku now also has an ability called Float that just lets him Peter Pan. …or just levitate ig, apparently he needs the other stuff to actually move -- all might: "you're helping him learn his powers to atone for your past actions. but he probably never thought about it" these two make no goddamn sense. bakugo is still every bit as abusive, not only towards deku, but towards every person he interacts with, as he was when we first met him. he's never shown any trace of regretting being that way. hell, he also just got done spelling out that he can't understand that deku values and cares about other people, that that quality of deku's is repulsive to him. -- bakugo is just… is just wired in such a way, whether by nature or nurture or both, that he needs help becoming anything but several kinds of danger to other people. and he'll never get it, and he'll somehow continue to be portrayed as some kind of, for lack of a better word, "quirky" hero.

cyclops's cape is completely gone now, dang. is tomura gonna get a new one after this fight, or what? that thing was his whole wardrobe, now he's just Ben Swolo with wrong hair and chapped lips.

welp, here comes Super-Satan, Tomura, here comes your benefactor to take over the reins. toldja. -- (bakugo took the hit) there'll be no living with him after this. not that there was any before

"I finally got you" ah ah ah. if I didn't know any better, I'd think the Avatar Spirits might have something to say about that. I know you gave this power away, all that time ago, but it might not want to go back. it's got several minds of its own now

the villain team's hacker guy has visual on the fight? while riding on bigfoot's back? how shit is the good guys' tech if this nobody with a laptop can see shit and nobody else knew anything until bigfoot started moving?

"I need to ask sakuraraka why hawks killed twice" yeah because she'll definitely have any damned idea what you're talking about (did he die? I mean they kinda played it like he did but they do that a lot and it very rarely seems to take) -- "you're not the only one who's mad about twice" …what IS spinner doing here? what is his whole deal? does he have one? why is his sword twenty swords taped together in a pile, and why haven't we seen him do anything since like season two? at least, I could swear he hasn't done anything, for having such a distinctive design he's such a nothingburger of a character

"what are you going to do to me?" 'XD fucking nothing, the best her power can do is levitate you and you know it

oh goddammit, the next one's title is literally That Bit with the Gifs and the Hall & Oats Memes, the bit I been waiting for this entire time, but I just watched four in a row (four HEAVY ones) and I wanna stop. I'm just gonna have to save it and open on it (and Knife Girl's BS) next time