#both of them are dying of diseases

[collegeoflore]

throwing a bg3 themed party tonight but really it’s just for my friend’s purple dragonborn and i’ve been running around all day getting purple foods and beverages and now i am SO sleepy

[heatobrienswife]

.

[orcelito]

Honestly sooooooo fucked up that I thought my overwhelming daily fatigue and debilitating body pain was a product of the awful working conditions I was under for years and years... and yet, despite being out of work for half a year now, I'm still so fatigued and in pain all the time??? Like come on man that's not fair

Oh well maybe I have liver disease and they'll treat it and then I am magically so much more energized like I was as a kid. We can only hope !!!!

[doctorweebmd]

afa;ldf;lakdflk;asdf urgh sorry i've been MIA i unexpectedly got super busy with the grant and my grand rounds and having to pick up shifts for people with emergencies/illnesses/moving PLUS my 'graduation' is tomorrow so i'm all over the place AHHHHH

[chryzure-archive]

scenes that made me throw down the book and pace my room like a caged tiger.

[vitiateoriginator]

Next week is Klaus' 10th birthday, and I'm in such disbelief. where did the time go

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Zombie! König NSFW Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Mentions of Breeding, Implied Forced Pregnancy/Eggnancy, Stomach Bulging, Restraining, Unprotected Sex, Monster Fucking, Zombie Fucking, Implied Yandere König, Possessive König, Jealous König, Zombie! König, Human! Reader, Zombie Anatomy, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Your current condition, that being thoroughly incapacitated, used and spent, had been the result of König’s jealousy, his possession of you.

All it took was for him to see you speaking with another survivor – one which had materialised out of nowhere – a little too enthusiastically.

Not that anyone could blame you; he was the first living person you’d seen in months, and you to him, too.

Until König showed up. Lumbering and mammoth and disease-ridden, he rocked up to you on creaking bones and stiffened joints, his deathly condition apparent in every facet of his being, from his gait to the stale blood staining his tactical gear.

The other survivor took one look at him and didn’t even hesitate before he all but took flight, bolting in the opposite direction.

You weren’t a fool. You knew König had done it on purpose.

He may be undead, but he was smart. Too smart.

Later that evening, you didn’t even look at König, instead bundling up in your room within the decrepit confines of your hideout while König ruminated.

If he could, he was sure his heart would squeeze, his throat would constrict at the prospect of upsetting you.

But, either because of his decaying state or something more carnal clouding his remorse.

The thought of that man, just some guy, touching you…

König’s eye twitched. His teeth gritted together, grinding.

The longer he stewed in the what-ifs – what if he hadn’t been there to frighten off his competition, what if that survivor had had his way with you – the less human he felt. The stronger the parasite’s instincts became, a chanting, goading, incipient voice that urged him to succumb to his feral ways.

Despite his stature, König was deceptively quiet. As much was apparent when you turned, your anger making it impossible to get comfortable, only to see König stood over you, watching you, your bedroom door swung open.

König gave you little time to process his arrival, to process that his appearance was not the extension of an olive branch – an apology – but a siege on your defences.

It wasn’t hard for König to pin you down, both with his weight and his strength as his hands kept your wrists welded to the mattress.

He snarled, his veil doing nothing to muffle the carnality in his tone, the voice of the parasite urging him to act. Now.

You tried to fight him off. Tried to call his name – the one you’d both settled on when you first met — tried to reason with the small part of him that was still human.

Little did you know that he, the last remaining thread which tethered König to the Living, was responsible for this.

You see, König is not the sharing type. A lesson you learned too late, it would seem.

The reason why König was bearing down on you now, trying not to rock his hips against yours as he collared your wrists together beneath his palm and fumbled with stiffened fingers for the zipper of his trousers was rooted solely in envy.

And now, freed of his pants, König’s cock stood stiff against his stomach. His hand, free now, gripped your jeans by the hem. Tore them off. A button pinged into a corner. You yelped.

Despite having dreamt of this moment for almost the entirety of your travels together, nothing in König’s dying mind could have prepared him for the rush he felt as you writhed, tried not to enable him with your whines when his drooling tip caught you.

König stuffed you full of him, and a sword of ice penetrated you, filled you.

You gasped, your back arching and your mouth dropping open as you struggled to take both his size and his piercing, freezing, bulbous cock.

You felt it twitch inside you. Pulse. And the only thought that crossed your mind was that something of a parasitic nature must be crawling through his veins, trying to get to you. Get into you.

Of course, that was not the case. König ever would have acted on his instincts if he’d known you were at risk of leading an almost-eternity of rot like him. He cared that much for you, at least.

Even if he had perceived your talking to that other lone survivor earlier as an act of disloyalty.

Deep down, he knows it wasn’t. You and König weren’t even dating, so how could it be?

Zombie instincts. And König’s naturally domineering, possessive nature. That’s how it could be.

König had to hold back the feeling, the need, to pump you full of his cum right then and there as he saw a long, thick bump form in your middle.

Him.

König growled. You whimpered. Something cold, viscous, tricked into you.

The avantmath of König’s excitement.

König’s eyes, though mulled over with a haze that suggested vacancy, were still an ice blue. Watching and heavy.

As was his cock halfway mounted inside you. It almost pinned you to the mattress itself with just how much of it there was, no doubt enlarged some by the parasite, the disease. Which, if the rest of König was to go by, wasn’t the only thing it engorged.

König’s frame possessed muscularity you didn’t even think possible on a man, his arms bulging, larger than your head, his thighs almost bursting from his pants as he bent over your figure, his trousers pulled taut over his muscles, just below his hips.

You stifled a sob, the air knocked out of you, as König began to move. Slowly, at first, the notion of intimacy having become a lost skill to him.

As he grew used to the motion of withdrawing and plunging back in, he grew faster. Harsher.

He could see from the furrow in your brow, the gritting of your teeth, the clenching of your jaw, that taking him was painful. Un-customary for your…relationship.

And though his chest would have panged with the knowledge that he, of everyone in the wasteland, was the one hurting you, his body was no longer privy to such reactions.

Instead, he pressed his hips to yours, tried manoeuvring you so that he could take you from a deeper angle, and slid further.

He bit back a grunt, his grip about your wrists tightening. You let out a yelp, these new inches of not only length but girth almost splitting you open. At least, that’s how it felt.

König built to and kept his feral pace, fucking you like an animal, giving you little time to breathe and him little time to think about what he was doing.

All he thought about was making you his. About making sure everything, living and otherwise, who came upon you in the wasteland would know you belonged to him.

Though, with what he was planning on doing to you, he knew you wouldn’t be going outside again.

Against your mind’s judgement, your body wanted König. That much was clear in the way you ceased fighting him off, instead trying to push into him, trying to take him deeper.

Your actions were not lost on König. But, given how his face was clouded not only with his veil, but with his lust, you wouldn’t have been surprised if they were.

Eventually, König’s weight and speed proved to be too much.

You cried out, as if for the only other survivor in the city to hear you, to save you.

König released a growl, a howl, as his cold, congealed, thickened cum pumped into you.

You could feel it, like water through a hose. Could feel König’s veins twitching, feel yourself getting full from his load.

Against your better judgement, you wrapped your legs about König’s torso, as if to stop even an ounce of his semen from escaping.

You didn’t have to look down to know that your stomach was filling up like a balloon – that König had completely and utterly made you his from the inside out.

You couldn’t see the way König’s jaw hung open, couldn’t feel the way his fantasy made his body lock up with electric anticipation.

Not that you knew this, but König knew the infection — the parasite — was evolving.

Once it fully matured, it would give König an opportunity he wouldn’t perceive as golden — gold dust — until he met you.

The ability to lay eggs in a host.

Granted, the idea was not to spread the infection in the living host but to enable the birth of more parasites. But for König, it worked all the same.

And, as he looked down at you, taking his load so easily now, he knew this was not just a possibility, but a reality.

You would start a new life. Together. Him as your protector, your sword and your shield, and you his perfect little incubator, swollen with your shared offspring.

It wouldn’t be long until you’d be begging to bear his offspring. And it wouldn’t be long until he could grant your wish.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[ellievickstar]

Bloodied Bonds

A/N: This was...fun. I wanted to fit it all into one part but it was getting too long sooooo yeah.....have fun :)

Summary: When hanahaki disease festers in your lungs, how will your family help you while you hide it from your mate?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader, Rhysand x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Elain slander, dying

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

There they were again.

Azriel smiled at Elain with those eyes…those eyes. And in your soul you felt the bond writhe with pain and clench in your chest. You remained still as you immediately brought your eyes to look at the ground beneath you. This hurt. This really hurt. A part of you wanted to deny it, wanted to believe that Azriel would remain faithful to you always, that he would stay true to the mating bond, something he desperately used to want before we got together.

Now, you were not so sure.

“Sweetheart…,” Cassian said from behind me, startling. He knew what you was seeing, saw it in his own brother’s eyes. Azriel may have always been a mystery to everyone else outside the inner circle, but his eyes — his beautiful hazel eyes — showed you everything you needed to know.

“I’m fine,” You waved Cassian off, bringing down shields on the bond, shutting out his emotions, the pain from it, and shutting yourself in as a stray tear slipped down your face, “I’m really fine,” You repeated.

Truth to be told, Cassian did not know what to say to you. After you had defended Azriel since you were kids, brought him to you and Rhysand’s mother, convinced her to take him in. Cassian did not know what could come over Azriel to internally betray you in this way. However as you began coughing Cassian was alarmed when you raced towards the kitchen sink and coughed out flower petals, one after another.

“What the hell-” He started, moving to pull back your hair as he observed what you had coughed out. Blood and petals coated the sink and as you choked them out one by one, slowly calming down, you waved your hand magicking it away. And it was then it hit him.

You were dying.

“Explain. Now.” He demanded. Looking away you mumbled.

“A few weeks ago after I first realised he loved her, I started coughing up flowers and my tears, my tears turned a gold colour. I asked Madja what was wrong. It’s a soul disease called hanahaki, caused by the betrayal of the heart and unrequited love. The tears were caused by the same thing, a unique symptom that is because of my magic due to being the High Lord’s sister. She said the flowers in my lungs will continue to grow until it suffocates me and I die. The star tears are just a symptom that causes physical pain, she doesn’t know if there will be any repercussions from it,” That’s all you managed to ramble out before you doubled over and heaved again, blood dripping out of your gaping mouth as you choked and coughed on the flower petals making their way up your throat.

Cassian was at a loss of words, on one hand he wanted to be angry, angry at you for keeping this from him, for not telling him sooner so he could beat the crap out of Azriel. On the other hand he was…devastated. You had always been like a sister to him, since he first met you as a kindred and fierce spirit when you were seven years old. The three of them had been twenty and Cassian had fell to his knees before the little girl with such a bright spirit, who dared to scream in Devlon’s face when he said females belonged in the kitchen.

Cassian had sworn to protect you.

And now, against a disease he felt helpless.

“Is there a cure?” He asked.

“Madja said there were two ways, either Azriel proves that he still loves me, which we both know won’t happen when he won’t stay away from Elain for more than a few hours, or I could have the flowers cut from their roots and removed, it’s a risky procedure and even successful all my feelings towards Azriel will be removed entirely, given the mating bond, she thinks it will be stripped from my soul. I….I wanted to wait.”

“So you either have your emotions robbed from you, make Azriel realise he’s an idiot, or die?”

You nod.

“Tell Azriel,” “I can’t!” You hissed, “We both know I can’t. He loves her, Cassian, I can feel it, I can see it, everytime he looks at her it’s like she’s the one who hung the stars and moon while when he looks at me that light dies!” You bang your fist on the table.

You point to where Azriel and Elain was far out in the gardens. His shadows no where to be seen, both blissfully unaware of what was going on inside with you and Cassian.

“He acts like she’s the one who went through countless of interrogation, of torture, when she got captured by enemies. He acts like she was the one who protected Velaris with Rhysand when she went under the mountain to be taken advantage of, when Amarantha held me down and tried to force answers out of me,” You let out another pained cry as you slid to the ground, “I have done everything for him, been through hell and back with him. And even after everything he still wants her, still wants to be with her, still doesn’t want me.”

Cassian brought you closer to him as he sat next to you and let you cry on his shoulder.

You cried and cried, and cried until there was nothing left. Cried until you couldn’t cry.

And when you finally fell asleep from exhaustion, Cassian glanced out the house to the gardens where his brother trailed Elain, and Cassian made a decision.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

“You told my brother!?” You shrieked. Rhysand and Cassian was now sitting around you in Rhys’s study.

“You told Cassian before me?” Rhysand shot back. You rolled your eyes as you scoffed, “Oh please I didn’t tell him anything I was throwing up flowers in front of him, not much I could do except explain.”

Shaking his head, Rhys sighed as he glanced at Cassian and they both shared a look. Narrowing your eyes, the tendrils in your mind crept towards your brother and the general, and surprise coated your face when you realised they had shut you out.

“Let me remind you what I do is my choice.”

“Not when your life is at stake,” Rhysand retorted.

So he had decided something against your will already. Of course, your brother who wanted to help everyone, your brother who thought you were his responsibility, his burden to bear. Your brother who claimed to value your opinion oh so much but then never, not once, ever considered how you feel in anything that had to do with you.

“He doesn’t care. I haven’t even been actively hiding it from him, it’s just that he’s never around to notice,” You said bitterly, “Did you know he missed my birthday? You all did. Because usually he’s the one going around reminding everyone the week before. Did you know our anniversary passed and I had waited for him all day just to realise he was with her?” Stray tears slipped down your cheeks as you tried to hold them back.

Crying meant that you were weak.

And you hated being weak.

That was when Cassian spoke, “Have Madja remove the flowers.”

Rhysand shot a look at him.

“She won’t survive otherwise. Even as we discuss this now she is running out of time, Rhys. Azriel’s infatuation with Elain is unforgivable and at least this way we can save her. Their relationship might never be the same but if Azriel is truly in love with Elain as she feels, then it is possible this way everyone wins.”

“I don’t want the male who almost killed my sister in my court,” Rhys bit out.

“Convincing Azriel that what he is doing is wrong will take too long. Maybe we should have interfered when it first started but now it’s too late. We can still save her, really save her. Not their relationship but at least she’ll live,” “And live with a bond that will eventually diminish into nothing?” “Maybe it’s better that way.”

Glancing between Cassian and your brother, your own inner turmoil seemed to be playing out in front of you as they discussed everything that you had not been able to come to terms with yourself. A part of you could still hardly believe that Azriel would do something like this, hurt you in this way when he himself swore that he would be loyal for eternity.

Mates.

A sacred connection that determined your equal, your partner in everything.

But your parents were mates too…and that did not work out well. So maybe it was time for you to let your mate go.

However, as you opened your mouth to agree with Cassian, to agree that maybe the best option would be to remove the flowers directly, the consequences of your feelings being stolen be damned, a cough climbed up your throat.

And as you coughed out bloody petals onto Rhysand’s office floor….everything went dark.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

It had all happened quickly, too quickly for Rhysand’s liking.

One moment he was debating with Cassian how they would save his sister’s life, the next moment as she was about to say something and he watched in horror as blood came out instead of words. Her eyes drooped and he raced to catch her from hitting her head on the hard wooden floors, and as his ears started ringing, holding his sister’s lifeless body in his arms, as he watched golden tears stream out of her eyes, he noticed there was someone screaming.

And it was not until his throat hurt, until his own throat burned, that he realised he was the one screaming, crying out loud for his sister who’s body seemed as lifeless as the one he had lost all those years ago.

“Get Madja!” He roared at Cassian, “Get her NOW!”

Less that a minute went by when Morrigan and Feyre came into the room, Feyre let out a horrified gasp as Mor took in the scene, freezing as she realised her cousin, her best friend, her only companion during the times after Eris and Keir, was in Rhysand’s arms, still and lifeless even as blood trickled out of her mouth and gold spilled form her closed eyelids.

Madja came shortly after, and Y/N’s body was moved to a different room for Madja to work, Cassian explaining what happened and the illness in Y/N’s body that was causing this. Morrigan took a few steps back, before she crashed into the wall of the hallway and let out her own sob.

And for the first time after Rhysand and Y/N had returned from the mountain, Morrigan wept.

Two days passed, and Y/N did not wake.

Madja estimated that they would have to make a decision within the week whether they would tell Azriel, or cut the flowers out.

And in those two days Azriel did not come.

It was only after Rhysand had asked him to meet, told him about Y/N did Azriel finally realised he had not seen his mate in days. That he had not even spent more than fifteen minutes with her in the past few months.

It was only after Rhysand said that Y/N was dying, did Azriel reach down the now cold and empty bond, and realise he had shut her out. And when he let his walls down, experienced the agony, the pain, the grief she felt even in her unconscious state, did Azriel regret.

“Why didn’t she tell me…” Azriel whispered.

“Because she heard you when I told you to stay away from Elain. I looked into her mind and I realised the day her disease started she went to find you, and you had been in my office, yelling at me that the cauldron had made a mistake, that you wanted Elain,” Rhysand laughed coldly. Even Rhys in all his beauty, his eyes were now red from sobbing, his voice hoarse from how he had cried, and cried.

“Good job, Azriel,” Cassian said from the doorway, “You got what you wanted. Your bond will no longer exist once she awakes…that’s if she survives even.”

“No….I don’t,” Azriel muttered, “Rhysand…what conversation?” Rhysand furrowed his eyebrows, “Are you really playing this game with me now? My sister is DYING! AND YOU WANT TO PRETEND LIKE YOU FORGOT WHAT YOU SAID!?”

Azriel’s eyes looked back and forth between his brother’s….when did he…when did he even get here?

Where was his mate?

Why did it feel like something just cleared from his head?

That was when Elain stepped in, holding a mug and what looked to be tea.

“Azriel, i heard your distress, drink this it will make you feel better,” She said softly, but as Rhysand’s eyes narrowed on the mug, it was Cassian who snatched it out of her hands, brought it to his eyes and shattered it on the already ruined hard wood floors.

“That was not just tea.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

And as Cassian lifted his head he declared, “As General of the Night court, I arrest you for illegal possession and use of aphrodisiacs. You are charged with attempted murder of the Princess of the Night Court. You are charged with manipulation and forced betrayal of the court’s spymaster,” And with a menacing grin Cassian said, “And you are charged because you bloody annoy me and you…what you have done today makes me want to rip you to shreds.”

A beat passed.

“That is….” Cassian continued as he glanced at Azriel, with each blink clarity seemed to return to the shadowsinger as he processed everything, as he remembered everything Elain made him do, as he remembered how he had hurt his mate, “That is if Azriel decides he doesn’t want to kill you first.”

Elain let out a scoff, looking down at the spilled tea and broken pieces of ceramic in disgust, “Azriel loves me. Azriel should love me not that disgusting slut of a female, she might be a princess but she is-,” “Mine.” Azriel interrupted.

“She was mine before you interfered. She was mine before you made me break her.” Azriel turned, no doubt to go find Y/N.

“Start counting your days, Elain, because now they are numbered.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Azriel taglist: @kemillyfreitas @going-through-shit @chessebookgirl

Part 2 here!!

Love, Ellie.

[mrslaflour]

ᙏ̤̫ — ARE YOU GOING TO THE GRAPE TEAMS PARTY TONIGHT ? ? ! !

pairing ‎⸝⸝⸝ ot5 x fem!reader

genre ⸝⸝⸝ smut, dark (noncon), football player txt, cheerleader reader, reader is under 21 but 18 or over (implied)

warnings ‎⸝⸝⸝ txt are serial r8pists, unprotected sex, noncon, mean dom!txt, language, name calling, anal.., reader is dry (referring to her 😽), really not much prep on certain members, reader does not enjoy this in any way, drinking, smoking, reader is a virgin but she never states that to them, the things they do to her get more and more wild as each person takes their ‘turn’, possible murder allusions, suffocation, choking, oral (both), hair pulling, fingering, nipple play, gagging, riding, tummy bulge,

summary ‎⸝⸝⸝ after every important football game, 5 of some of the star football players at the school pick one cheerleader to “mess with”. the school knows them as the grape team, so clearly people know that they’re r8pists, no? no it’s not true at all! it’s just some stupid rumors girls make up for attention! they’re just jealous they can’t be with them so they want to make them look bad and are just trying to ruin their futures. how wrong of them to do such a thing, right? they’re just pitiful jealous whores…

your school had to be the absolute most stereotypical school from every tv show. dumb blondes, cheerleaders with big tits, football players with big dicks, nobody had a personality of their own. everybody on their knees for the star football team. as much as your school was filled with the stereotypical rich kid who’s daddy thinks that they’re going to be an all star athlete soon to be in the olympics, they kind of had every right to think that. your school had one of the best football teams in your whole city. it was rare that you ever heard that your school lost, it was basically unheard of. but within that big football team consists of a decently sized click. the grape team is what everyone knows them as. for really fucked up reasons too.

everyone knows them as the five sexy football players that every girl would love to get railed by, even just one of them! or you know them as the five football boys who once a year pick a cheerleader, typically the new girl on the block, to invite to their party, get her all fucked up and dizzy, bring her up to their bedroom, and fuck her so hard to the point she’s knocked out and doesn’t even remember waking up to go to school that day. but those are just rumors! come on, nobody would ruin their perfect all star record just to sleep with some bimbo cheerleader who supposedly didn’t want it when they could literally have any girl they wanted with the consent part involved. these girls are just mad that they didn’t want to fuck them or they didn’t want to date them so they go around saying these things just to try to ruin their chances of being a star. jealousy is such an awful disease. either that or these girls got too damn drunk to remember telling them that they could fuck her.

“she’s such a whore. i’d die to even get looked at by them.”

“who cares if they r8ped them or not? at least you’re getting fucked by the five hottest guys in school. any girl would kill for an opportunity like that.”

“if the rumors are true, can they r8p me next? i’ve been dying just to get yeonjun to even talk to me…”

see! it’s really not serious. these are baseless rumors that are just a joke to people. they’re not called the grape team because they actually r8p girls, they’re called the grape team because it’s an inside joke between the school, duh! and plus, they don’t seem to mind it. in fact, whenever anybody calls them that to their face they just laugh and smile. it clearly doesn’t bother them so it’s obviously all rumors.

you’d be lying if you said they weren’t cute. oh they were. but weather or not you thought the rumors were true, you don’t care enough to go after these boys. it’s weird to be accused by multiple people in the first place, you don’t really want tied up in all that. you had basically just joined the cheer team. you had saw them a few times over your cheer camp during practices and even in the hallway before you joined, but never interacted with them. besides staring at them thinking about how big it is, or besides having a project with a few of them! but hey, everybody has thought about it at least once, including the guys in the school.

usually every friday you’d cheer, hype up the audience, you know. and on the big game days, they always threw a huge party to celebrate. they weren’t a frat but shit that’s what it seemed like a lot of the time. practically the whole school goes. there was a rumor once that a teacher went. did she get railed too? you had never been to one because until this year, you hadn’t been that involved with your peers. but everybody goes, and it’d be a nice way to fit in more, no? interact with your cheer team and get even closer and connect with the people you’re cheering for, the football team! plus, all your friends were badgering you to go, so you basically had to.

it was the end of a huge game that the team had just won and you’re chatting it up with your cheer team. people slowly start to leave as time goes on and there’s less and less of you there. it’s silent for a few seconds after all the laughing and excitement until you hear a voice behind you.

“you’re going, right?”

you turn around to see soobin, a member of said grape squad talking to you for the first time ever. you were a little confused so you spoke up.

“uh, going where?”

“the party tomorrow night?”

you mentally slapped yourself in the face. duh it was about the party. but why’s he asking you to your face? anybody can go. but you brush it off. it’s probably because you never go but now since you’re on the team it’s kind of expected.

“yeah, uhm, i planned on being there.”

“great. hope to see you there then.”

he gave you a light smile and then that was it. he just walked away. it felt off to you, something about his demeanor, but whatever. probably just because of how tall he is, yeesh, how does one even get that tall, it was kind of scary, especially considering the ‘rumors’……but you head home and for some reason laying in bed, you couldn’t fall asleep. It’s usually not hard after a long game..but after tossing and turning in your bed for what felt like hours, you finally fell asleep getting ready for a long day tomorrow.

—-

“she’s coming right?”

“she said she would.”

“she’s gotta be the prettiest one we’re ever gonna fuck.”

“she’s a sweet girl on the outside but probably a sick fuck on the inside. shit, by the end, i’m sure she’ll love it. they all end up wet and slutty by the end of it all.”

—

if we’re being honest, you would have forgotten about the party and skipped it if your friend hadn’t literally came to your house to force you awake and get each other ready.

“what are you wearing?”

your friend asked. she was wearing a crop top with a short ass skirt just barely about to show her panties.

“certainly not what you’re wearing. with that outfit you’ll be the next victim of the grape team.”

you joke with her. she just scoffs before speaking up.

“any girl would be lucky to get fucked by them let alone looked at by them weather they liked it or not. so you can go ahead and sign me up!”

she said some crazy shit sometimes. no way she meant it…

“i’m just gonna wear a tight fitted top and some ripped jeans, i have nobody to impress and i’m not staying long.”

she just rolled her eyes. but hey, baby steps. this was your first party after all. it’d be one to remember.

“you don’t think there’s gonna be another rumor after this party?”

you asked. just curiosity makes you think. plus if you’re going to a party then why wouldn’t you talk about the people throwing it?

“after every big game there’s a new rumor. it’s obviously going to happen again. if only they could make that rumor a reality for me. tch, such a disappointment..”

you roll your eyes, she said dumb things no matter how fucked up they were. you didn’t agree with them but what can you do.

“we’ll see what happens when we get there..”

she winks.

“but we should head out now. we don’t wanna get there super late when everybody’s drunk and you can’t even speak to someone without getting thrown up on.”

—

walking into the party was loud as fuck. how had this place not gotten a noise complaint yet…? the amount of alcohol on the table and who knows what being smoked and the party quite literally had just started is crazy. drinking wasn’t your thing. you weren’t twenty-one and most of these people weren’t either but who gives a shit it’s a party. your friend immediately ran over to a guy she saw that she thought was good looking and then you didn’t know where to go. sit on the couch? go near the table full of drinks? no clue. you felt so out of place. ew. you spot some of your cheer team so you push through some people to get to them, smoke blowing on your face and you practically coughing your lungs out certainly was not fun. once you finally reached them you say hi and hug a few people and start talking.

“wow, i’m surprised you actually came. have you had a drink yet?”

you roll your eyes.

“no i have not, and no i don’t plan on it. i’m the one who drove here after all…”

“drunk driving is totallyyyyyy the trend now. literally everyone you’ve ever talked to has probably done it at least once. get some hunky firefighter to save you after you crash your car and have to strip you clean to treat your burns. maybe he’ll fuck you just in the right spot and wake you up. who needs cpr anymore when you have a huge dick right in front of your face?”

what a wild take. but that’s what most people at your school had. wild ass takes. but weather you disagree or not the only thing you can do is just laugh it off or be honest and give a disgusted face. after about 10 minutes of talking you feel a big ass hand lay on your shoulder for a second before lifting off. you turn around and it’s kai. it was crazy to think he was wrapped up in this grape squad shit. he seems as sweet as pie, a friendly giant you guess…

“i’m glad to see you decided to come! if i’m being honest i had doubts..”

you rub the back of your neck and do a light laugh.

“i’ve heard that one a lot tonight..”

you see him look back and notice the rest of their little squad standing by a small table with a few other people from the football team and just around school. he turns his head back around to you and smiles.

“hey, sorry we weren’t proper party hosts and welcomed you in. especially me, this is my house after all…but how about you come over there and we’ll talk a little. we know everyone on the cheer team pretty well except for you after all.”

eh, what could the harm be. it was only a few steps from where you were originally at anyways. you say bye to the people you were speaking with for a little and walk over to the rest of his little frat. the conversation the guys over here were having were mainly about girls and drugs. what a topic starter.

“so, what made you decide to join the cheer team?”

someone speaks up. you couldn’t see him too well despite the height until he pokes his head from behind one of his teammates. it was beomgyu. the troublemaker of the school. the class clown. he was probably the one person in the group that people didn’t like as much.

“uh, i don’t know. just needed something to do other than work i guess.”

they give a slight nod before they go back to their random conversation. you contemplate walking away. you were having funner with the people you actually knew after all.

“so, would you like me to grab you a drink? sorry i didn’t ask before. we have vodka shots and a bunch of other alcoholic stuff if you’d like.”

kai spoke up. trying to live up to what he said before and be an amazing party host. but just because it’s a party doesn’t mean you have to do illegal shit. that’s another thing people keep asking you about.

“sorry, i don’t drink. plus i drove here myself so tonight is not the night that i wanna try, aha.”

it’s much easier to mask the taste of a drug in alcohol than in something like water or juice…but you didn’t know that. all you knew was that this party was not fun to you at all and that it sure was a new experience but now that you’ve experienced it for a few minutes, you’re ready to go home. he tried to offer you something else to drink but you just weren’t really down for it right now. you’re sure you would be soon though. all this second hand smoke blowing down into your lungs was making your throat dryer and itchier by the second. but there was one thing you needed, a bathroom. all this water on the table from spilt drinks and all the gulping of water and the faucets turning on were not helping you hold it. you were hoping you wouldn’t have to ask for anything and have as little interaction with people you didn’t know as possible but you certainly weren’t gonna piss your pants in front of basically the whole school. they would probably be too drunk to remember, but still.

“uh kai, where’s your bathroom?”

he smiles. people can be bubbly and happy sure, but man he seemed way too happy to be telling you where the bathroom is.

“upstairs in my room! second room on the right.”

you thank him before heading off. it was going pretty decent so far. no bad interactions, no tripping on your face, the only thing that was bad was that you were bored..but hey! once your friend quits kissing up on guys then you’ll have a little bit more fun…you walk up kais steps and look down the hallway. “second room on the right…” you mumble to yourself damn this hallway was long. he was for sure a rich kid but you could tell that from the outside of his house. then again, he’s blonde, tall, plays football, and every girl wants to fuck him. it’d be a surprise if he wasn’t rich. you finally find the room and surprise surprise, the size of his bed is damn near bigger than your whole bedroom size. you see a door in the corner of the room and assume it leads to the bathroom. you lock it and do your business before washing your hands and then drying them off. you open your phone to check the time. “already twelve? sheesh…” you check your notifications too. a few missed texts but eh, you could check them later. you unlock the bathroom door and there you see the whole grape squad standing in kais room. did they have to use the bathroom too? this rich ass house, they must have at least three bathrooms and you couldn’t have been in there for too long…

“you really don’t drink?”

taehyun speaks up. the quiet charming one that didn’t even have to try to get girls to look at him. one stare and he had them like jelly in the palm of his hand.

“uh, no…not my thing i’m still not twenty-one and once again, i did drive here and i don’t wanna wreck my car. with my college debt i won’t get a new one until i’m at least thirty…”

you mumbled that last part. but uh, you didn’t really see what drinking had to do with any of this but you didn’t wanna just stand and have a silent staring contest so you just kind of scoot by going for the door before a hand grabs your wrist. yeonjun.

“if you would just be bad for once in your life, maybe you’d be able to enjoy this just a little. maybe even forget about it if you were fucked up enough and fucked out enough, but i guess now we’ll never know.”

you stilled, trying to comprehend the words he had just said before he starts pushing you onto the bed. it’s pretty evident on what’s happening so you of course go to scream but he quickly palms your mouth. he finally presses you to the bed and allows everybody to figure out what position they’d like to take. i mean come on, nobody stood a chance against five tall ass guys who play football. you would’ve been doomed even if you were a guy yourself. even if you had just been going against one of them you wouldn’t have escaped this fate. you start trying to kick your legs from underneath him before somebody pushes them down into the bed.

“soobin can’t go first this time. everytime he’s gone first or second his dick is too big and they don’t even feel the slightest bit of pleasure after and it ruins it for everybody….”

you squeeze your eyes shut, this must be a dream right? there’s no way this is real. sure you thought the rumors had to have some truth but even if they were completely true (which now you know, clearly they are) you wouldn’t have ever expected them to go after you. but i guess it makes sense. new cheerleader just trying to fit in and wants more friends, so what does she do? says she’s another victim of the grape squad to gain some popularity and a few new connections. it would make sense. or would you be one of the ones who didn’t tell anybody? eh, didn’t matter right now. all that matters is that they get their dick wet and have a new little image to imagine every time they need to get off.

“just hold her mouth shut and hold her legs down so i can fuck her without having to deal with her kicking me in the dick or making me have to stop right when i’m about to orgasm because somebody heard her.”

from the way he was speaking, you could guess yeonjun was the leader of this shit. soobin was the leader on the football team but this wasn’t football. this was ‘how many girls can we r8p before we graduate??!’ and it was pretty clear that yeonjun led that shit. besides taehyun, the guy was charming as fuck. seemed like prince charming. you feel the bed dip right where your head was. you open your eyes to see a beomgyu laying on his stomach, face right above yours with a sick smile on his face. yeonjun removes his hands from your mouth before beomgyu quickly replaces the empty space with his hands. He places his chin on your forehead and then gives an almost taunting kiss to it. his hands were basically holding your head still, so you couldn’t really turn away from it. yeonjun then sits up on his knees on the side of your hips and puts all his body weight on your stomach while pushing your wrists to your chest.

“this will be fun. we’ve never not drugged a girl out before fucking her for hours like this. i’m curious to see how it’ll go.”

he says all this with a smile on his face while looking you dead in the eyes. you hadn’t noticed but kai had left the room. probably to attend to the party and not seem suspicious. most people were drunk but there’s always a few sober people and it’s been years that they’ve been at this, they don’t wanna blow their cover now. you also notice that taehyun is leaning in a chair against the wall. his pants are unzipped, he was probably gonna beat to this shit, sick bastard. and then obviously by process of elimination, soobin was holding your legs down, and strong as fuck at that. you couldn’t even move it the slightest inch. you feel his chin move on your forehead as he speaks up.

“the fun begins now. are you ready?”

he loosened his hands jussstttt a little so he could let you shake your head no before tightening them back up. you felt yeonjuns finger prodding with the buttons on your jeans and feel your pants slightly loosening as he unzips them. what makes this all the more worse is you can’t even lift your fucking head to see what he’s doing.

“i haven’t even done anything yet and you’re already crying. don’t worry, you’ll be crying a hell of a lot more by the end of the night.”

he hadn’t even bothered to take ur shirt off. hadn’t even bothered to prep you, nothing. you couldn’t lift ur head but u could see him sitting above you and saw that sly ass look on his face as he quickly forced it in. didn’t take his time at all, as if he wanted it to be as painful as possible. you quickly squeeze your eyes shut and start trying to kick your legs as hard as you can, start trying to shake your head free, try your hardest to move your wrists away but nothing works. beomgyus thumb starts wiping at the tears falling onto his hand and you hear a snicker come from him. yeonjun goes down to prep you (a little too late so not really prep..”) starts rubbing your clit in circles and almost is in shock that you or your body isn’t enjoying this at all.

“fuck you’re dry as hell. stubborn, huh? let me tell you a secret,”

he leans in to your ear scarily close,

“i’d suggest you start to enjoy it or you’re in for one hell of a night. seven hours at the minimum sounds terrible if you’re not enjoying it, no?”

he says all this shit while still ramming into you, still trying to get u damp but his efforts are in vain. your friend would notice though. she’d wonder where her ride went and they’d say you were last seen with them. she’d go up the stairs looking for you and find out what was going on. she’d get help, right? or would they easily lie their way out of it. would they let you go to avoid suspicion? no. they’re all cocky fucks who think they’re the hottest best people in the school, they’re not gonna let their ego fold that easily. they won’t get caught that—

“i can usually go longer but you are tight as fuck, you a virgin?”

you realized he finished. you felt his dick getting pulled out as painful and rough as it was forced in you. you felt something wet dripping down your thighs and you knew it wasn’t from you. it was his cum dripping down. your eyes were still squeezed shut, not wanting any of them to see your teary eyes. you were so embarrassed, so violated. and even worse, you didn’t want him to know you were a virgin. that this night was the night you’d always remember as your first time..

“how was it?”

“it was amazing. might need round two later. this is so much better than just drugging them up. so much funner, so much tighter, so much squirmier.”

“you can say that again, she almost bit my hand off..”

it was so eerie to hear them talking like this as if you weren’t even here listening to them.

“here i’m gonna go next. you take her mouth, i’ll take her ass.”

you had never been fucked in general since five fucking seconds ago, but in your ass? fuck no. and when you heard him say “take her mouth” you knew exactly what he meant and you just wanted out of this room. beomgyu was always the sly one. the funny one. the one half of the school loved and half of the school was annoyed as fuck by and hated. clearly he liked jokes but taking your ass was a pretty fucking sick one. they tell soobin to let go of your legs and you immediately start kicking. yeonjun flips you on your stomach while beomgyu lets go of your mouth. you hadn’t even gotten the chance to scream, your face immediately getting slammed into the sweaty mattress. beomgyu swiftly grabs your wrists, now uncomfortably forced behind your back in one hand and yeonjun is sitting up in front of your face on his knees with his dick still out of his pants. he forces your head up by grabbing a fist full of your hair. you wanted to scream immediately but the threatening look on his face made you not wanna test him. but also you knew as soon as you opened your mouth what would happen. he’d shove it in there without a care in the world just like he did your pussy. he stares into your eyes for a good second before speaking up.

“oh look at all those tears. you’ll be crying a lot more when ur choking on my dick. open up.”

you tried forcing your head to look the other way but he only squeezed your hair even tighter. he holds his dick in one hand and starts trying to force it through your tightly squeezed lips. as if almost on cue beomgyu forces his dick in you pretty little ass. slower than when yeonjun fucked you, but still too fast for your liking. that made you open your mouth to scream in pain, but it was quickly muffled by his dick. beomgyu was showing you some sort of mercy, but only because he needed to get used to how fucking tight you were and how much your ass was pulling him in. you realized that your feet were still free so you start kicking at his back trying to squirm free. ultimately, that made your head move a little further down yeonjuns dick and you gagged so fucking hard, you thought you would throw up. he quickly pulled the air through his teeth on that one holding in a grunt.

“i love to feel a struggle it only makes me even harder. go ahead and bruise up my back with your kicks, i love it so—fuck-much”

so they didn’t just forget to hold your legs down but it was for beomgyus sick pleasure too. it was futile anyways. it only got him off more and even if you had heels on and stuck the heel through his back he’d only keep thrusting even harder into you.

“you better hold your mouth open as wide as you can, if you fucking bite my dick i swear to god it’s over for you”

you never heard of any missing people or dead people at your school from the grape team or just in general but you didn’t know what he meant and you didn’t wanna take any chances. he quickly grips your hair even harder and pushes it as far back as he can. feeling your throat tighten and gag and cough up on his dick, he couldn’t help but groan. it hurt so so bad. feeling your ass being pounded and feeling like you’re about to throw up all over his bed from the amount of gagging you’re doing. you don’t even wanna know what they’d do or say if you threw up. you try to squirm your wrists free, try to kick even harder but beomgyu only squeezes your wrists tighter, you only feel his cock twitch more at the kicking, and when you try to turn your head you only feel your scalp burning more and as if he’s about to rip out a huge chunk of your hair. you feel him shoot his cum down your throat and you immediately start trying to spit it out while his dick is still in your mouth. you can’t even focus on that though because you still have this sadistic fuck ramming into you and grabbing ur ass every few seconds, gripping his nails into it.

“don’t waste it all. you know it’s an honor that we’re even doing this to you. show us some respect.”

respect? an honor? was he joking? he takes his dick out of ur mouth before he slams your face right into the mattress. you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t struggle because your hair was still in a tight grip, couldn’t do anything but hope he let you go before you suffocated. you feel beomgyu pause before groaning loudly and finally pulling out. he did it slowly, almost teasingly, but he did it. and when he did yeonjun finally let you breathe. the only thing you could do was gasp for air and let out a few sobs. you couldn’t even scream for help you were so out of breath.

“please—stop-”

you were about to sob out loud. you were barely even able to get those two words out. tripping over your words. snot running down your nose and tears staining your face. no sense of privacy besides the fact that they still hadn’t taken off your shirt and your jeans were stuck just above your knees. even though nobody was holding your legs down it still made it difficult. you wrists still in beomgyus tight grip.

“does it really matter if she screams? everybody’s probably blackout drunk by now.”

taehyun speaks up. it’s the first thing he’s said since this whole ordeal started. he’s just been sitting in the corner getting off to this fucked up shit. you could hear his small groans and curses every once in a while but it’s hard to focus on so many things at once in a situation like this. but what if he was right? what if you screamed and nobody heard it? what if you screamed and somebody heard but they just didn’t care..

“the party is loud as hell. unless she screams fucking crazy nobody should hear.”

you wanted to scream but you also didn’t want to give them what they wanted. they wanted to hear you scream. you’d just been sobbing and saying small ows under the palm of beomgyus hand earlier. you hadn’t had any moans of pleasure at all. but they didn’t care, they were here for themselves, not you. yeonjun grabbed your chin and forced you to kiss him. you had no hands to push him away and he held your head perfectly still. he finally leaned away after what felt like forever even though it was probably only ten seconds.

“i’m gonna go down with kai, i’ll be back before the fun part.”

the fun part…? you didn’t wanna know. that evil smirk on yeonjuns face and the uncomfortable silence in the room spoke volumes though. you hear the door open and shut. you feel beomgyu let go of your wrists and you immediately sit up. at the end of the bed you just see three faces staring, piercing right into your eyes. you immediately go to pulling up your jeans and your panties before two strong hands grip both of your wrists. you slowly look up only to see taehyun staring intensely at you. as if daring you to move. he quickly pushes your chest down and you start yelling at him to get off of you.

“get off of me you asshole!”

you were pulling his hair and smacking him and you could tell he was getting frustrated. he rolls the front of your shirt up trying to get a view of your chest. finally starting to strip you clean of everything.

“does he have—shitthisfuckingbitch— scissors somewhere?”

he finally got sick of your antics and landed a clean slap on your face and you finally let go of his hair. you go to scream and he only slaps you again. he stared at your now red face and looked at you dead in your face. he was telling you to go ahead and do something else using his eyes. you didn’t wanna know how else he’d hurt you. someone finally hands him scissors and you try to push yourself up before he can cut your shirt. he puts one hand on your waist to hold you in place and one hand presses the tip of the scissors right into your collarbone.

“if you move you’ll get cut and it won’t be my fault, so i’d suggest you quit being so whiney and just be an obedient fucking whore.”

you still quickly. taehyun had to be the scariest to you. he didn’t speak much he just went straight in and tried to avoid as much talking as he could. he just wanted to get what he took you for and go on with his day. he cut your shirt off and then he goes to cut your bra off, but he quickly realizes he can’t because it’s a wired bra and he couldn’t cut through it. he puts the scissors to the side and sits up on top of you.

“take your bra off.”

you’re confused at what he just said and just lay there trying to cover up your chest.

“..what…?”

“sit up and take your bra off.”

his stare was going to be the death of you. you slowly sat up but you just looked down at your bare legs with tears streaming down your face. it was humiliating enough for him to cut up your shirt but to make you take your own bra off to get r8ped by him? it would’ve been less embarrassing if he did it himself.

“i said take it off. i’m not going to do it for you. i could always do more than a slap. and the scissors are right here.”

your start sniffling and choking on your sobs from trying not to sob outloud and give them the satisfaction. in the corner of your eyes you can see soobin getting even harder (if that was even possible) and beomgyu standing there about to unzip his pants again and start jacking off right there.

“don’t make me tell you again.”

you start un-clipping your bra as slow as you can. you slowly take the straps off your arms and slowly let the bra drop to your thighs. the only bit of coverage that you had now. he quickly throws it to the floor and pushes you back down. he starts pinching your nipples and swirling his tongue around them. you try pushing his head away but he just bites your nipple causing you to yelp. he moves away and towers over you once again. you see his hand start to move lower and he quickly starts fingering you with two fingers. you quickly go from hugging your chest to pushing against his and yelling at him to stop.

“damn you’re still barely wet? at least it’s getting there. i really don’t even need to do this. yeonjun already fucked you here so it’s ready for me but i’m choosing to be nice. do you think i’m nice?”

you quickly shake your head no and he just scoffs with a smirk. you finally decide to scream for help and all he does is take the fingers that were fucking you and forces them in your mouth and down your throat. he starts moving them around and it causes you to gag over and over.

“should i make you throw up? make you clean up the mess with your tongue while i fuck your ass?”

you only gag more around his fingers with tears spewing out your eyes before he finally pulls them out and you have a coughing fit. too busy coughing and wiping your face, you failed to notice that he already had his dick out and was rubbing the tip against your entrance. finally slightly wet, but still not wet enough where it would go in smoothly.

“wait wait wait! please don’t..!”

he just laughs.

“what? you don’t want me to?”

you mumble some no’s just barely audible to him.

“ok then, you can do it.”

confused, he grabs your hips with both hands and drags your body all the way onto his dick. you quickly wince at the feeling of being so full and once again go to trying to push him off of you. the only thing he does is grab your neck with his hand and start putting pressure and squeezing, successfully blocking your air flow. you start scratching at his arms and he just throws his head back while still thrusting into you. the sweat causing his hair to stick to his face. you go to kick at him but realize that when you flail your legs more into different positions that the feeling of him only gets worse so you just keep your legs still. however, you were still scratching at his arms, afraid you were gonna pass out and then they’d do who knows what else to you. he started to squeeze tighter and you finally started fearing for your life. trying to open your mouth to beg him to stop but no words came out.

“quit —shit-fighting me and i’ll let u-fuck!—i’ll let you breathe.”

not even having a second thought you let your hands drop to your sides and he finally lets go. you just turn your head to the side, trying to force it into the pillow to silently cry as he finishes up. he grabs your chin, and you flinch thinking he’s about to choke you again, but he just turns your chin to face him and he speaks up.

“i want you to look me in the eyes as i finish or i’m gonna make sure this whole thing for you lasts way longer than planned.”

of course he was probably lying but you didn’t want to take the chance. you hear the door open while he continues to look you in the eyes and thrust into you but you can’t even check to see who came in because you didn’t want to look away. you didn’t wanna take any chances. but once you see his eyes squeeze shut and him throw his face forward and feel the same dripping sensation out of your pussy that you’ve felt the whole night, you know he’s done. he slowly pulls out just to tease you before shaking a bit of his cum onto your legs and on your stomach before moving over. it was kai who had come back to the room, staring at you in awe.

“she’s still awake? and i missed all the fun?”

taehyun scoffs at him.

“the no drugs is so much better than what we’ve ever done before. come get a taste for yourself.”

he was speaking as if you were some meal waiting to get eaten. it was gross. it was sickening that nobody there probably even saw you as a human. kai always was and seemed to be the nicest out of them all. he was the most approachable, the most helpful, the easiest one to talk to and do projects with besides soobin. it was weird to see him staring over you with this hungered look on his eyes but he still had this oh so soft smile on his face. it made you conflicted and made you genuinely upset. hurting kai, although he was never close to you, just seemed so much more terrible than if you were to hurt taehyun. he slowly starts to crawl on top of you, one hand on his pant zipper and the other caging you in.

“you look stunning right now. even with your tears. i would love to see your pretty smile, i’ve seen it at school. oh to see you smile in this state. i think i’d die..”

he takes his thumb and wipes your tears. you grab his wrist with one hand and looked him in the eyes, begging him with your eyes to stop. but he only smiled and pulled your hand to his face, closing his eyes. it was as if he was trying to make this situation seem like a consensual thing between the two of you. he pushed you down to your back and layed completely on top of you while still holding your one wrist to the side. he was ten folds heavier than you so it made it kind of difficult to breathe. he pressed his face into the crook of your neck and just laid there for a little, just letting you hear him breathing down your neck. you finally feel his arm move to mess with his pant zipper and you start to try to move away from him but he just glides the back of his hand across your face with one hand, now looking you in the eyes, and taking his dick out his pants with the other. you could feel his tip align to your entrance and you finally gather the strength to speak. although it’s hard considering all his weight is pressing down on you.

“kai, please don—”

he just presses down even more on you and he kisses you. but not just for a second, he keeps kissing you to keep your mouth shut. whenever you moved your head to the side he moved his head with you. he was not breaking from the kiss anytime soon. as he was doing this you felt his dick finally push in. your eyes widened and your mouth opened with a gasp which he quickly took advantage of by pushing his tongue in your mouth. no matter how many times you’d experienced getting fucked tonight, it got no easier. no less painful. you finally had gotten a little ‘slicker’ down there too. the way kai was handling this just made your body feel so conflicted. but don’t get it confused, you still wanted him off of you. still wanted him out of you. he’s making slow movements in you, not really thrusting, but he’s still getting into it, just slowly. you start trying to hit his back and trying to push his face away but he only moved his other arm and grabbed your arms one at a time and forced them to stay locked around his neck. if anybody were to walk in and see you in this position, they wouldn’t even know that you didn’t want it. they would never know that he was r8ping you. it would just look like a loving couple having sex. every so often he’d let go of the kiss to breathe for 5 seconds before going back in. he uses one of his legs to move one of your legs so that he could feel you better. this was the only time tonight you felt good and you hated it. it was only his leg holding your leg down and you still could barely move it away and kick. you start trying to squirm even more as it feels better and better. he pulls away from the kiss again and pushes his forehead against yours breathing heavily.

“does it feel good finally? i can tell. yeonjun said you were dry but look how wet you are right now. did you just need a little more love? were they mean?”

you just started tearing up and crying more, your arms stuck around his neck and him drawing out these slow movements in you.

“please i just wanna —ow —go home, nobody will believe me anyways just—agh- let me go.”

you were pleading with him. he was probably the most sane person here, the safest person here to try to reason with.

“but i just—aghshitshit— love this, love you so much..i love how you feel, i love how you look,”

he leans in close to your ear and whispers to you.

“after tonight, we should keep talking, yeah? maybe date, maybe just let me keep fucking you like this. i’ve never enjoyed one of these nights more than this..”

more? of this? even if it was just him fuck no. you just shake your head no but he just presses a kiss into you again. your legs start to shake a little and you can feel him smile against your lips. he speeds up a little more and you hear him groan. you feel the vibration of his groan spread through your chest and through your lips before the same warm feeling in your pussy comes back. the same substance coming out. you felt disgusting. you felt like some prostitute cum dump off of the street. this was absolutely humiliating. he just lays their still for a few more seconds, leaving his dick in you, holding the kiss between the two of you before he finally allows you to breathe and finally pulls out. how long has it been? how much longer would they keep going? how much longer until they got bored of you and let you go home? you didn’t know. you wanted nothing more than to hug your blanket and just go to sleep and forget this all happened. but this was a night to remember for all of them and for you. he finally climbs off of you and sits at the edge of the bed swaying his feet a little like a giggly child.

“one more until we get to the fun part. soobin!”

beomgyu yelled that across the room. he sounded so happy and you hated it. you had forgotten there were five of them, and now you knew even after soobin would go, there was apparently more to go on. you just wanted to close your eyes and think about anything else, imagine anything else, but you knew they wouldn’t let you. kai stands up and comes to the side of the bed and stands you up onto the floor. good thing he was holding you up because if he wasn’t you probably would have collapsed to the ground. soobin, dick already out crawls onto the bed and lays on his back and kai sets you right in front of his dick. hard as a rock sticking straight up in the air.

“you’re gonna ride him.”

you pause and just sit there. no you weren’t. you—no. just no! but kai lifts you up by your shoulders and hovers your pussy right over soobins dick and slowly lowers you onto it. how do you even get out of this one? they’re not gonna let you lift yourself off of him, hitting him will do nothing, and you literally can’t kick your legs. even if you could, it wouldn’t do anything. you just squeeze your eyes shut before kai quickly lets go and you quickly put both of your arms on soobins chest but it’s too late and he’s already balls deep in you. you swear you can feel his imprint in your stomach and he clearly sees it too because he reaches his hand out to touch your stomach and feel. soobin was quiet. he didn’t say much in class but he always came across nice. helped when he could, smiled almost always, very calm, just overall not bad to be around. in a situation like this you almost wish he’d say something.

“have you ever rode before? or is it just mine you stay still for..”

he mumbled the last part, but you still heard him. you refused to answer, you didn’t want to give any of them a hint that this was your first time.

“i’ll help you, help me.”

you didn’t know what he meant but he grabbed both sides of your hip and easily lifts you up and down on his dick. it was as if you were his own personal alive little flesh light. it was easy for him too, didn’t give him any added difficulty. his chest just gets wetter and wetter, your tears falling like a waterfall onto it. his abs glistening despite the dark room. you tried to push his hands away and lift yourself up off of him but you were only helping him more and his hands only dug into your hips even more. he wasn’t going to let you just pull yourself off him so you easily.

“you’re taking me so—shit—so so so well.”

“you feel so—so good-ahh—so good around me baby—ah fuck-”

he was clearly hungry because even after you felt him cum, he still kept going, his balls smacking against your ass, him going from fast to slow. he finally stops completely, now just letting you sit there and squirm on his dick, getting him off more and more. you started doing it unintentionally, it was just so uncomfortable but clearly not for him, you could hear his soft groans. he moves one hand from your hip to your ass and squeezes which causes you to jump up on his dick and you could feel it pulse in you. he just starts to rub it more before he slowly moves towards your clit. he grabs some slick from it which causes you to shiver, making him curse under you. his fingers now coated, he moves to your pretty pink asshole. he circles his finger around it a little before pushing a finger inside abruptly which caused you to leans forward and jump up before sliding back down onto his dick. you could feel his dick twitch so much in you and it just made your body even more uncomfortable that it caused it to jump up again. you started shaking a little so your body naturally starts riding his dick a little, no matter how much you tried to hold yourself down. soobin starts spewing nonsense before he finally cums again in you. somebody, kai you soon see, lifts you up off of soobin and pulls you into his lap as he holds onto your tummy.

“i saw all that. you couldn’t have been that wet when it was my turn?”

you only just now noticed that yeonjun was in the room. guess over the tears, adrenaline and pain, you hadn’t noticed he came in.

“you all got your turn, all got what you wanted-”

you pause to sniffle and choke on a sob,

“just let me go now please.”

they were silently laughing at you, you could tell. there was nothing funny about any of this. why keep you here any longer if they all got a piece? to torture you?

“it’s only two in the morning sweetheart, we still have until at least seven in the morning. so at least four more hours.”

kai presses his chin in the crook of your neck. you felt sick to your stomach. at least four more hours…maybe letting yourself throw up on their dicks wouldn’t have been such a bad idea.

“and you know what’s next?”

you didn’t look up, but you knew it was yeonjun speaking by the cocky ass tone. you could almost hear the smirk he definitely had on his face through his voice.

“an actual gangbang. all five of us on you, in you, touching you, at the same time.”

now you wish you had taken the alcohol. you wish you would’ve just broken the law for once. risked getting in a wreck and getting a dui, risked waking up delirious and sick. you wished every time they suffocated, every time that they choked you that you would’ve just passed out, but they weren’t going to let you take the easy way out. five hours of every hole getting stretched, your dignity, every sliver of confidence that you ever had removed in a single night.

“you’re just gonna be just another jealous little whore trying to ruin all of our careers with a stupid rumor. how mean of you, we’d never do such a terrible thing, right? it’s impossible, crazy even.”

“right?”

[scientia-rex]

I made that post about how smoking is bad—actually, no, I’ve made two relatively popular posts about how smoking is bad for you. Raises your chances of dying from multiple factors including heart disease and stroke in addition to lung (and mouth, throat, and bladder) cancer.

I am always so baffled by the responses going “well I could die from something else!” Yes. You could. Statistically speaking, you will most likely die of heart disease, stroke, or cancer, if you live in the US. Your average life expectancy is somewhere around 78 for women, 76 for men. Many people die younger than that, for a lot of reasons. Many of my patients have illnesses that will shorten their lives. I hate to split it into “fault,” as if there’s some kind of perfect way to live a blameless life. (There isn’t.) The numbers, however, are both clear and pitiless. People who smoke are more likely to die younger than they otherwise might have.

Medicine is a numbers game. My job is not to psychically predict exactly what will punch your ticket and when. It is to improve your odds. I want you to both live as long a life as possible but also as high-quality a life as possible. I want for you to live a life you enjoy.

It’s that simple; it’s not sinister. I’m not out here going “I’ll tell them not to smoke so they can have LESS FUN before getting hit by a bus at 30!”

Because smoking isn’t actually fun. What it is, is a very quick (and faster = more addictive) reduction in physical feedback systems that heighten anxiety. Withdrawal of an unpleasant stimulus is rewarding. (Technically, it’s a negative reward; the negative doesn’t refer to a moral judgment, but the addition or subtraction of a stimulus.) Something that is very rewarding very fast will be very addictive. It’s why crack cocaine is also so addictive—it is also a very fast and very potent reward. It’s also why benzodiazepines like Xanax are so addictive to so many people; it’s a slower peak blood level but the removal of severe anxiety is profoundly rewarding.

So smoking can make you feel better when you do it. But your body will try to fix any broken signals. It doesn’t just want to be able to signal to you when you need to feel stressed: it has to be able to signal you, or your long-ago ancestors would have been eaten by predators. So it ramps up the signaling. Now you’re not smoking because you feel better than baseline; you’re smoking to get back to baseline.

That’s why quitting sucks. When you quit smoking, all of the sudden your body’s signals of stress that got dialed up to 11 to overcome the nicotine are just out there at full blast, making you feel scared and jittery and irritable. It’s why when you quit benzos (or daily alcohol) cold turkey you can get life-threatening seizures. It’s why when you stop alcohol you’re likely to have sleep disruptions that can persist for weeks to months.

That’s why things that help reduce the suckage can help. Nicotine patches, lozenges, or gum. Chantix. Wellbutrin. Slowly stepping down the nicotine level on your vape. Eating more, eating things you like. (I would 1000% rather have a patient be fat than be smoking. I know other people will be shittier to you if you gain weight. Living is worth it.) Being kind to yourself helps you quit smoking. You need to recognize that “quitting smoking you” is not your baseline you. It is you with an invisible illness that will take weeks to months to get over.

And sometimes you can’t face that hump right now. But if you want to maximize your odds of the longest and healthiest possible life, knowing that any number of terrible things can happen to you at any time, making the effort—over and over again, if you need to—is the best shot you have.

There are a couple of conditions where smoking does markedly reduce symptoms. The well-known ones are schizophrenia and Crohn’s disease. If you feel not just better, but better like this is a medication for you, like you poop blood or hear things without it, talk to your primary care provider, because there are other medicines that might be safer and/or more effective for you. The landscape around pharmaceutical research has shifted dramatically over the last 30 years. We have more options than we’ve ever had before. Maybe this doesn’t have to be the expensive, dangerous medication that half-works for you. And if what you’re self-medicating is your anxiety, nicotine is a pretty crappy medication for that, because it doesn’t fix you; it changes your baseline to an even shittier place.

You have bodily autonomy. You can make your own choices. I will never go to a patient’s house and slap the cigarette out of their hand. But if what you want is the longest and healthiest possible life, smoking makes your odds worse.

The number of people who think that I, as a doctor, would be unaware of how profoundly unfair bodily health can be amazes me. It’s like the first Father Brown story, where Father Brown is explaining to the villain that someone whose main job is to hear about all of the terrible sins people have to confess cannot remain naive. My job is watching people age, or filling out their death certificates. One or the other. I prefer watching them age, but everyone will die. Someday my doctor will be filling out my death certificate. I’ve removed one potential contributing factor from that line—maybe I’ll get diabetes, maybe I’ll get cancer, maybe I’ll have a workplace accident, but “smoking” isn’t going to be on that line anymore. That’s the best I can do. I can’t psychically predict my own death, either; just play the numbers, try to do my best, and hope.

[iminmywritersdungeon]

Been thinking about Arcane and good parents v loving parents. Parents who care so so deeply but are toxic and poisonous.

Silco loves his daughter but he put a gun in her hand. He would give his life for that girl but he wouldn’t heal for her. He would burn the world to the ground but he wouldn’t plant a tree.

Vander seems cold and uncaring but he fights for those kids until his dying breath. He’s gruff and mean, he takes his kids things and he punishes them but he shows them what it means to live the way they do, what it means to be angry and to see where that anger goes.

Ambessa Medarda loves her daughter but she is a warlord, a conqueror. If her daughter fails to fit the mold then she will be conquered too. She will chisel away at the marble of her children and when the cracks become visible she will toss them out, and when golden tears bleed through the chips in the stone she will cry out “I did it for you!” And yet they are empty words. The golden sunburst of her daughter will wilt in her shadow.

Cassandra kiramman is so cold and venomous and like a disease to everything her daughter loves, but she also gets them a meeting with the council. She spreads her vulture wings over her daughter, clouding the sun, drowning her, and still dutifully feeds her when she asks oh so nicely, when she can no longer deny her.

Ximena Talis is both loving and good because she does what she needs to keep her son safe and by god does she love him. She will make the sacrifices and make the choices and make sure her son can live the life that he almost lost.

Singed is like Viktor’s father, but Viktor will be crushed underfoot if he cannot make sacrifices, love and legacy. He will tear his own body to shreds and he will look into that scarred face and he will feel his body destroy him.

And of course, there are Jinx and VI’s birth parents. We know nothing about them, not their names, who they were, whether they were cold or warm or caring or cruel. What we know is that they were on that bridge. What we know is that they wanted better.

Parenthood will rip you to shreds if you cannot handle it. It will riddle you with bullets and it will cry over your corpse are you willing to lose them, are they willing to lose you?

Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?

[after-witch]

Biological Function [Yandere Knives x Reader]

Title: Biological Function [Yandere Knives x Reader]

Synopsis: You get your period. At least it means you're getting enough to get. Trigun Maximum-verse.

Word count: 2082

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, reader gets their period, mentions of starvation and murder

The red smear on your underwear that greets you in the morning, a wisp of deep red against the simple white linen, is not entirely an unwelcome sight.

After all, on Gunsmoke, menstruation means that you’re actually getting enough food to eat. It wasn’t uncommon for women to skip periods or see them come and go so half-heartedly that they might as well have never been there. Deprivation does awful things to the body, and you--like most--had your fair share of it. 

Yet here it was now, in all its horrible glory. A sign that you were healthy enough to bleed, a sign that your body was functioning, a sign that you were functioning. 

Physically, at least. It seems your body did not account for the fact that you were only getting enough food to eat because of the inhuman being keeping you captive.

Being, yes, that’s what he was. Not a man, not a human; and if you ever said so, he might just kill you for it.

Should you tell him about this? The thought made you feel sick, on top of the low cramps aching in your guts. You didn’t tell him anything unless he asked--he rarely did--and even then, it wasn’t like you told him anything important. Anything personal. 

The redness in your underwear was definitely personal. It was your body, wasn’t it? You should be allowed to keep something to yourself, if you couldn’t have your freedom. 

The thought comes, unbidden: did your mother ever tell your father about her monthlies?

Perhaps he knew when she withdrew from him in bed. Your memories of them both are fuzzy, vague; he drank himself sick one night and never came home from the bar (a fight, your mother said, that ended with a gunshot) and she wasted away some years later from a disease no one bothered to diagnose.

You couldn’t afford a proper doctor, even if one might have helped, and the local woman called upon when people had fevers simply tsked and gave her something to sleep away the pain. 

But on the subject of periods, your mother hadn’t spoken much outside of that first frenzied conversation when you’d told her that something was wrong with you, you were bleeding, you were dying, you were--

And her eyebrows had raised and then a slow, dimpled smile had crossed her lips, and she pulled you aside for a conversation about how you were a woman now and what to do and how to ease the pain and how you must never ever let a man touch you unless he was your husband.

She didn’t say if that husband would share in the knowledge of this red secret between your thighs.

Not that Knives was your husband. Perish the thought. Or that he’d ever touched you like one, or touched you at all. Except when you were thrown over his shoulder like a sack of coveted flour or on the rare occasions that he gripped your wrist with an unrelenting strength and dragged you somewhere. 

He would probably find menstruation disgusting. He found anything human disgusting. It would be a sign of your base nature, or something as ridiculous as that. The thought of dealing with more insults made you want to curl up--perhaps that was the cramps, too--and so, yes. You would keep it a secret from him, then. For as long as you could, however you could. 

But you didn’t have much privacy, here or anywhere that he took you. The airships, the bases, the abandoned houses. Sometimes, they had to be emptied of any occupants first--it was worse, when they had to be emptied. 

Mornings are the exception, which is why it is an unwelcome surprise when Knives saunters into the sparse space serving as your bedroom, eyebrows furrowed, no doubt some command on his lips--

Only to spot you staring down at your underwear, nightgown hawked up above your thighs. Your eyes meet for a fraction before you yank the underwear up and shove your gown down, but it’s too late. He’s seen you--he’s seen the red mess--and something awful and static seems to hover between you.

A moment or two or three. Your fingers clench into the fabric of your night dress. Humiliation burns but dread burns hotter, and it’s dread that makes you tremble. 

“Clean yourself up,” he says, finally, with an air of quiet, low disdain.

He pivots, whatever he had come to say earlier forgotten or unimportant, and leaves the room.

The cramps in your stomach feel hollow. It could have gone worse. It could have gone better--if he hadn’t come in at all--but there’s no fixing it now.

Clean yourself up.

A command to be obeyed, but how? 

Easy enough to head into the bathroom and wash up for the moment. (Access to clean running water, to hot showers and baths, is another benefit of your captive life.) But afterwards? 

You don’t suppose he has any sanitary napkins on hand--or one of those complicated contraptions your mother wore now and then, with a belt to hold everything in place. It’s not something you’ll be asking him about. If you must--if the bleeding continues every month, well-fed captive that you are--you’ll ask the doctor that Knives has at his beck and call.  

For now, you’ll have to settle for finding some rags to stuff into your underwear and hope for the best.

--

Knives does not typically sit down for meals. Certainly not with you, although you sometimes wonder if he and the doctor drink wine and discuss the doctor’s findings together.

Yet here he is, sitting at the table in this abandoned house, drinking a glass of water and actually eating the simple meal the doctor prepared that afternoon. Some kind of meat, vegetables, grains, all mixed together for a fortifying meal that you might have eaten up heartily yesterday. 

But today it makes you feel sick. The smell, maybe, or just the fact that your insides felt like they were rearranging themselves in the most awful way.

Nausea claws its way up your throat, and you set the fork down. Another bite would be impossible.

“Finish your meal.” Knives speaks to you for the first time since this morning. It is no more pleasant than his earlier clipped command, and no less authoritative. 

Your hands instinctively pick up the fork--obedience has been drilled into you--but your stomach rebels. 

“I can’t,” you say, clearing your throat. “My stomach hurts.” 

No flicker of sympathy or understanding in his face, but it doesn’t surprise you. He had no sympathy for the countless people he’s killed, or had killed with a simple word, so why should something as miniscule as your stomach pains bother him? 

"Be grateful,” he says, low, “that you have something to eat at all.” 

“I am grateful,” you spit, and it’s the truth, however bitterly said. You hate being here, you hate him, but it’s been so long since you’ve been hungry that the memories of half-starvation are simply that--memories. The body appreciates what the mind doesn’t, at least. 

His eyebrows raise a bit at that and you regret speaking at all. A little too much honesty, from your end. You don’t want him to know that your mind sometimes fights over enjoying the comforts of your captivity. Food, water, knowing that bandits won’t come in the night to plunder, knowing you won’t wind up in some shootout at your lunch break at the bar. 

If only it didn’t take being the restricted--pet? Captive? Whatever you are to him--of a plant to get those things. 

But as quick as the moment comes, it’s over, and there’s no insight to be given on how he took your words. His gaze slides away from you, and he gestures his chin at Conrad. “She needs more iron,” he says, simply. “On account of her menstruation.”

You choke on your spit, and Conrad chokes on his meal.

Is it possible to die from embarrassment? 

“Do you have supplements?” Knives asks casually. 

Conrad swallows, clears his throat, and dabs at his mouth with a napkin with a delicate gesture. Before Knives had taken him, he’d been living a comfortable life in some mansion, squirreled away with trinkets and good food. Or so Elendira had told you, and you could never be sure if she was telling you the truth. 

“No,” Conrad says, slowly. “But they aren’t too difficult to come by. We can pick them up in the next city.”

The words come, muttered, without thought.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Knives doesn’t acknowledge it, nor does Conrad. Your part in the conversation is done.

"I'd also like you to monitor her menstrual periods," Knives continues, and if there was a way to sink into the floor, you would do it into a heartbeat. "To make sure they're regular."

Stomach rolling back and forth, you pick up a forkful of food and force it down. 

--

“I’ve had to delay my plans for an entire day.”

Curled up on your bed, a pillow shoved against your aching lower body, you don’t respond. You merely squeeze your eyes shut and will the pain--and Knives--away.

Neither leaves. 

“You’re incredibly inconvenient. A nuisance.”

Yes, yes, yes, I know, and I don’t give a damn. It takes every ounce of self-preservation left in your body not to snap these words at him. Your fingers dig hard into the pillow as another wave of cramps rolls through you. 

Dinner had been hastily shoved down to no avail; it was currently resting in the trash can of the bathroom. You had been on the toilet, willing your awful cramps to disappear, when the nausea came again with such force that you had no choice but to heave it all back up into the bin.

Now, the cramps throb and squeeze and you curl up tighter, but it doesn’t help.

Fuck. Were they always this bad?

They’re awful enough that you make a noise, despite Knives hovering next to your bed, admonishing you like a child for daring to be sick. A whimper, pitiful, low, stupid.

You hear him huff. You expect to hear the sound of him turning around, his boots against the hard floor as he leaves you to your mistery.

Instead--

His hand is on your stomach, slightly cool to the touch, and you jerk, eyes wide and afraid as the words stutter out--

“What are you--”

There’s no time to finish the words before a strange feeling surges through you. Something humming and light, almost like a low tickle. It’s--pleasant. A word you had never associated with Knives before, and certainly not a word you ever expected to associate with his touch. 

“I’m making you less of a burden,” he murmurs, and it’s a wonder venom doesn’t actually drip from his lips. “I won’t be delayed again tomorrow.”

If you were stronger, you might argue back. You might tell him that you’ll delay him as much as you want, that he can go fuck himself.

But you’re not any of those things. You’re bleeding and tired and the awful nausea-inducing cramps that were keeping you bedridden are gone, eased away by that blossoming feeling induced by his fingertips.

Is this what plants could do, when they weren’t trapped in those bulbs? Heal? (And hurt--and kill?) 

Knives’ hand is still resting on your stomach, pressing lightly into the flesh. When you glance up at him, he doesn’t match your gaze. Instead, he stares down at his hand, quiet, clearly thinking. But of what? 

It’s hard to care, now that you don’t feel like your body wants to tear itself apart from the inside. You could sleep, now. Rest easily and wake up ready to take on another day of this strange life you’ve been forced into; it’s enough to make you close your eyes, exhausted, fluttering.

Knives’ fingers remove themselves from your stomach slowly. He doesn’t leave yet. He’s still there, and part of you wants to open your eyes and take a guess at what he’s thinking; to see if he’s staring at you, or through you, or if he’s not even bothering to watch you curled up on the bed. The other part of you is terrified of finding out. 

Just when you might actually open your eyes, you hear him scoff. It’s a surprisingly comforting sound. Familiar territory once again. 

“Ungrateful,” he murmurs. “I should kill you to spare myself this annoyance.”

He could kill you. Easily. In a second. Without mercy or compassion or regret, you think, considering how many have fallen under his orders. 

Instead, he lets you fall asleep without another word.

You don’t hear him walk away before sleep takes you.

[bits-and-babs]

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Other Joel Fics: Atta Girl [10.2K], PlayBoy [3K]

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

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[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀 .

# with trafalgar water d. law.

despite the overextended manner with which law behaved, and the fatigue that crept into his soul due to his tendencies of avoiding a decent rest, sleep could not find him in the slightest. when his insomnia lurked around the corner, law could always count on your mouth to tire him out.

⎰ & smut (mdni!) gn!reader. oral (male!receiving). deepthroating. praise kink. no y/n used.

W.C: 2K.

the incessant ticking of the obstinate clock on the wall had the opposite effect of what was meant to be soothing. law had quit on writing the reports that dwelled on his mind, finding that his grip on the pen was unusually harsh — and enough to split it in two. law wasn’t against the vision of black ink on his skin — the tattoos on his body were enough proof of that — yet, when the ink that stained his palm was born from the destruction of one quite expensive and favored pen, pleased was the last adjective he’d use.

he scrubbed his eyes with the cleaner fingers, shutting them with a sense of bubbling rage born from intrinsic exhaustion. the strained muscles of his back began to ache an hour ago. he failed to concentrate on even the smallest of details, his synapses so lethargic he’d probably end up writing their instead of there in his paper. law clenched his jaw; stressed, sleep-deprived, and frustrated.

bepo had knocked on his door ten minutes prior — for the fifth time that night — with the same advice prepared. law’s answer remained equal, empty promises and meaningless deadlines that he had no intention on following. it was but a matter of time until the navigator pulled out his secret weapon, or that was, at least, how you were called under that context.

law sent a piercing gaze towards the closed door, fidgeting and quietly begging for your intervention, as though a religious fool who placed his trust on the force of manifestations. he thought of seeking you out himself, hours prior. yet, during instances drawn to his duties, law was but a rooted tree lost amidst a vexing fog, incapable of moving even one miserable inch; hence the urge to have you. his refugee; his medicine. the surgeon of death — more than a billion-worth bounty hovering over his head —, had succumbed to both the plague and blessing of love. with his head nearing the table’s surface, a weary sigh past his lips, law pictured your face and found that he would have fallen victim to such a feeling a thousand times over, so long as that meant claiming you his.

he heard the scratch of the door against the ground, and perked up upon the knowledge of, at last, having you in his office — for no other crewmate was allowed to barge in without a warning knock.

you walked towards him — slowly —, your hips swaying, malice-filled eyes. law felt but a prey under the gaze of its hunter; one left with a sense of gratitude upon the approach of the searing and delicious taste of death’s kiss.

you sat on the edge of his desk, careful as not to meddle with his papers, and softly removed his hat to caress the disheveled locks of black hair. law surrendered to your touch, sighing with relief.

“it’s getting late,” you stated, drawing circles on his cheek. law intertwined his fingers with your own, pressing his lips to the back of your hand.

“can’t sleep,” he answered, chasing your scent; drowning his nose on the skin of your wrist.

law glanced up at you, enamored. you tilted your head to the side, gears turning as you deconstructed his sentence and stance, figuring the innuendo underneath. there were moments in which his restlessness was a product of his past. from the plague, to the death of cora-san, nightmares hunted him down as though starved beasts aiming at a dying creature. however, in other instances — such as the current one — law was but too overworked to fall asleep. whatever the context of the disease, the cure remained the same: your touch.

you moved to the back of his chair, massaging his shoulders. law relaxed, leaning his head back with a low groan. your lips hovered above his jaw, the tip of your tongue darting out to lick a stripe on his skin. your fingers lost themselves under the fabric of his coat, re-drawing the patterns of the tattoo on his chest.

“and how should i cure your problem, doctor? hands or mouth?”

law breathed out heavily upon the hearing of his title, sounding oh-so-sinfully on your tongue. he cleared his throat. “mouth. doctor’s orders.”

you hummed. law watched through half-lidded eyes as you knelt and crawled under the table, the brief sight of your ass enough to harden his neglected cock. he unzipped his pants, not having the patience for the teasing you, for sure, had in mind.

“getting hasty?” you teased, and law moved in his chair, pressing his crotch closer to where — he guessed — your face was.

“get on with it,” he bit back, searching for the back of your head.

when law did find it, he froze. under his palm was the familiar texture of his hat. the thought of having you wear it, with your face stuffed with his cock, made him desperate. a shambles followed-in-suit to a room, and the desk that had once hidden you from his glance was moved to the other side of the office, papers and pens and books falling over. law ignored the sound and the chaos, forcing your face against his covered erection, eyes trailed to that damned hat.

you pushed his underwear enough to free his cock from its cuffs; your hand gripping it before it had the chance to meet his abdomen. law all but shuddered, one hand gripping his chair as the other bruised the skin of your nape. your movements were slow at first. your thumb rolled over the tip and smeared his pre-cum over his shaft, causing his hips to buckle ever-so-slightly. before law could repeat his command, you moved forward, licking the essence coating his tip and encasing it in your mouth. law gasped, keeping his palm on your head and gritting his teeth at the warmth of your tongue.

“shit,” he cursed, biting the inside of his mouth to avoid louder noises, tasting the metal of blood.

your eyes narrowed, and he could see the resolve in them; the utter determination to tear him in pieces. you sucked, savoring the salty taste before beginning to slide down; another hand clawing down a clothed thigh. law huffed at the sight of you. your eyes had rolled with pleasure when you swallowed him down to the base, his hat secured on your head. with a jolt of overwhelming desire, law rolled his hips up to make you gag.

your head moved on its own, a futile attempt to free itself and retreat. he pushed it back, forcing your nose to brush against his pubes, witnessing the tears pooling in your eyes.

“you can take me,” he stated, hissing for a second at the swirling of your tongue. “you always do— ngh. take me so well, love.”

you hummed, relaxing for a second. law’s glance met yours, and his grip laxed at last, allowing you to take over. you popped off his tip with a gasp, mouth open, briefly regaining the lost air. your hand jerked his shaft, replaced by a sudden lick that traveled from the base to the head in one long stripe. you teased him with the sight of your cock against your hanging tongue; allowing his eyes the grace of his pre-cum latched on the warm muscle.

law trembled, his chest heaving at the swirling movements around his tip. “so gorgeous, make me wanna stuff you so bad, love.”

a whimper spilled from your lips before claiming his shaft yet again. law buckled his hips mid-shout, reprimanding himself for the sound. your hand gripped one of his balls, and the settled pace — with the bobbing of your head —, had him gasping.

he shoved himself down your throat, gripping the edge of his hat. saliva dripped down your opened mouth; hollowed cheeks increasing the pressure around his cock.

“that’s it,” he moaned, rolling his hips as his tip hit the back of your throat.

law felt the muffled whimper around his shaft, transfixed on the sight of your stuffed cheeks; the watery eyes that stared back into his. the room was filled with the erotic, borderline sinful, sounds of your gags; the constant bobbing of your head coating his cock with saliva. law buckled his hips, and your nails dug on his thigh, fingers tugging at the fabric of his pants as you audibly choked. with a harsh grip, he pulled your head back, giving you a few, precious seconds to breathe.

“look at you,” he voiced out in awe. “willing to empty your lungs for the sake of my pleasure.”

law guided his cock closer, fingers curling under his hat and nails digging into your head. “open up, love. just like that.”

your tongue darted out, and he slapped your cheeks with his tip, struggling to drown the urge to cum at the sound of your whimpers; the sight of you, following the movements of his cock with desperate-filled eyes, as though you could not wait to take him again. law placed himself at the entrance of your awaiting mouth, breathing out a moan.

“so pretty like that, all fucked up,” he mused, groaning once your lips claimed him yet again. “fuck, that mouth was made for me.”

the responding moan resonated around him, and law arched his back against the chair, feeling hot under the layers of his coat. his head latched itself on the back of your throat, and the harsh grip on his balls had him on edge. law’s voice sounded pathetic to his own ears when your tongue teased the underside of his dick, his movements growing hectic.

“i’m gonna cum,” he warned through a grunt, struggling to keep his eyes open and glued to your face.

you let out a muffled whimper, begging for it; your mouth nothing but a ruthless lover, swallowing him whole, yet demanding more. his hat fell from your head, and law lost his sense of self, whimpering at his release; his cum painting your throat white, stealing the breath from your lungs. law held you there, spasming with weakened and hectic thrusts throughout his orgasm, crumbling down to ruins as he bore witness to droplets of his essence escaping past the gaps of your stretched lips.

“let me see,” he mumbled, exhausted at the expanse of his own height.

with a teasing, edging suck, you pulled your head back with a pop. a stripe of saliva and cum connected his tip to your lips, and when you opened your mouth to spare him a sight of your whitened tongue, law’s fingers weakly gripped your chin, beckoning you closer.

dried blood lingered on the inside of his mouth, and mingled with the taste of his own seed. his teeth clashed against yours. a meek note of the coffee he drank priorly settled in between. yet, it was one of the best kisses he ever had.

“thank you,” law mumbled, an exhausted and dangling man nearing the edge of a lethal cliff. a soaring feather that remained tethered to the earth as a consequence of your tender grip.

you hummed, pressing a loving kiss to his cheek while zipping his pants. “cured enough to sleep, doctor?”

he smiled — enamored; sweet —, the particular showcase of teeth, born from the devotion directed towards you. the spark on his chest whose light was born from your mere presence. his hat clung to your figure, and law had half the mind to use his devil-fruit to teleport the both of you to his bed, before crumbling against the mattress, blindly searching for your chest.

law pressed his thigh against your core, lazily motioning for you to rub yourself against the fabric. a small giggle echoed through the walls, a sound he wished to steal and seal; a selfish shell of a man who had no desire to share a single thing related to his lover whatsoever.

“there’s no need for that. sleep,” you whispered, caressing his hair. law hugged your waist; drowned his face in your chest.

“want you to feel good,” law insisted, sleep-drunk, drooling on your bare flesh.

“too tired,” you voiced out matter-of-factly. whether he was the subject of such a statement or not, he failed to tell. law fell under the influence of slumber the second thereafter, sheltered in the confines of a loving dome whose barriers were sealed from the looming insomnia outside.

— 🐈‍⬛ : IT’S FUCKING LAW STUPID FRIDAY LET’S GO.

[fanfictionroxs]

Wrote this little something regarding Daniel's line "Armand, Amadeo, Arun.. where does the the bullshit start?" and how his reactions are so often seen without context and get unfairly assessed.

Daniel's reaction to someone doing wrong to him is to utterly destroy them. Whether it's him in s1, during the start of it all, after 50 years spent thinking Louis had sex with him in San Francisco and then tried to murder him.. and so being super defensive and unforgiving towards Louis, completely tearing his story to shreds because how can Daniel actually trust his version of the events when this man basically "wham, bam, die now, maam"ed him 50 years ago? (lol) Or whether it's Armand who tortures him for 6 days and Daniel returns the favour with a ferocity, tossing that script to Louis who throws it at Armand like divorce papers because that's what they are ultimately. A complete and total destruction of Armand's 77 years of manipulations.

And while there's many similarities between Louis and Daniel, both having 2 failed marriages, 2 daughters, bad fathers, falling in love with their makers.. the difference lies in their capacity to forgive.

Not saying Daniel isn't capable of forgiveness, obviously he is otherwise Devil's Minion would never have happened or all the little moments we see of him growing empathetic towards Louis even before s2ep5. But expecting him to forgive wrongs of such level (when folks are even bothering to acknowledge that something wrong was done to him) and play nice with beings with whom he has no equal standing, beings who remind him of it all the time, on top of actively dying from a disease? Daniel's reactions aren't that hard to understand, but sadly many folk have a habit of erasing the fact that he very much is Armand and Louis's victim. His fearless attitude and sharp words are a front a lot of times, but he never forgets the wrongs done to him, even if the audience might, and he gets fucking even.

[copperbadge]

I deal with death a lot in my job, because I work for a nonprofit that serves a population dealing with terminal illness; even with early diagnosis, which itself is rare, the average survival rate past diagnosis is about five years. I read a lot of obituaries on a weekly basis and I know when a donor passes because I'm part of the team that alters the database record to reflect when someone has died.

Usually the death is at arm's length, both because I've had practice with that and because I don't often know these people, I don't work directly with them the way doctors and fundraisers do. But we do encourage those who are able to participate in the activity of the nonprofit -- we have a program to fund support groups, we have patients and patient families on our board, and I work events and socials where they attend. So of the roughly thirty thousand people we serve, we're in close contact with perhaps five hundred, and of those I know maybe twenty personally.

This morning is the first time someone I've known personally, more than just to nod at during an event, had passed. I found out by accident; nobody has officially told us yet, but we started receiving gifts in her memory, and I get notifications of those automatically. We knew she was in hospice; I found out when confirming her death that she fortunately had access to a legal option to choose when to end her life, and she chose to do so on Wednesday night.

Dying from the disease is a fairly horrible way to die, so I'm glad she had that option and knew when it was time. She gave a lot of her time and energy to the organization and I'm glad she finally gets to rest. But fuck, it's rough to see her name in the "In Memory Of" field of the gift listings.

I wish I could say something like "Get screened!" or "Don't ignore these warning signs!" but this disease is idiopathic and incurable; there are treatments to prolong life, but when it comes for you, the clock starts. She had as much time as anyone gets post-diagnosis. She lived a life of purpose and was a kind person and that's all there is to be said, really.