#How...do you think the vaginal infection...is in her blood? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gimmethatagustd · 8 months

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blood on the sheets | kth

Despite what some people may think, your roommate isn't a monster. You know Taehyung; he'd never hurt anyone.

↳ pairing: vampire!taehyung x human!(f)reader

↳ wc/date: 4.7k | October 2023

↳ warnings: blood, biting, blood drinking, yandere, (technically temporary) character death, homicidal tendencies, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus (face sitting), period sex, unprotected vaginal sex, blood as lube, emotional manipulation, possessiveness, yandere, dubcon blood drinking, dubcon sex, vampire venom is intoxicating, mc and tae complain about men who are rude toward menstruating people and ik that some men do menstruate so pls know that they are referring to cis men in this context

↳ notes: this is for @taehyungcentral for halloween 🦇 i hope it's everything you wanted bby. you nasty whore

↳ more notes: this is very unedited i'm sorry jhskds i also REALLY wanted to keep it at a normal drabble length and i obviously failed. so i'll try to do better with the rest of the halloween drabbles lmfao rip

↳ masterlist / taglist

↳ what was jai listening to? this vampire kpop playlist hali showed me

Halloween 2023 Masterlist

“Doesn’t he, y’know, creep you out?”

Robin takes a sip of her cocktail with lips so accustomed to being pursued in snootiness that little wrinkles have formed around the edges of her mouth despite her young age. It’s a shame, but the look is fitting. Sometimes, a person’s ugliness on the inside does reflect on the outside.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask with thinly-veiled irritation.

You haven’t known Robin for a long time, though you suppose it wouldn’t have mattered if you knew her for a day or an entire year. She’s the type of person you could spend hours talking to and walk away knowing nothing about her. You’re simply coworkers, and that’s enough for you.

Robin shrugs and tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder when she turns to blatantly stare across the room. The bar isn’t big, just large enough for a few tables and booths lining the walls and a small dancefloor in the middle of the room. It’s intimate, so your coworkers picked it for the office’s monthly night out. Alcohol, catchy pop music, and hipster bars are perfect ingredients for morale-boosting activities, but Robin doesn’t know how to not be nasty.

You follow her gaze, and a small smile lifts the corners of your mouth despite her rude question when you see who she’s looking at.

The cup in Taehyung’s hand is colored glass. In the dim lights, the cup appears to be a dark forest green that pairs prettily with his fire-engine red hair and the contacts that turn his dark eyes a mossy color. You helped him pick out the contacts while the two of you got ready for the work outing. The green are just as alluring as the other colored contacts he owns, but they’re less intimidating than his favorite gray ones.

The colored cups are the bar’s effort to hide the deep crimson liquid inside. Supposedly, it’s for the comfort of all their patrons, but everyone knows what passes through Taehyung’s plush lips when he brings the cup to his mouth.

You watch his throat bob as he swallows. The v-cut of his shirt exposes his elegant neck and collarbones, not that you’re looking or anything.

“He eats people, for Christ’s sake. How could you live with something like that?”

Your vodka-cranberry drink is down to the ice, and your patience for Robin has melted with it.

“Fuck you,” you snap. “Taehyung doesn’t eat people. And he’s not a thing; he’s a person.”

It’s so unlike you to be this aggressive, but something mean twists inside your stomach whenever you’re forced to interact with people like Robin, who use their prejudice to infect everyone around them. Vampires have been integrated into human society for decades with very few incidents, yet there are still humans like Robin who hold onto the horror stories of the past.

Besides, Robin doesn’t even know Taehyung. You’ve brought him around your coworkers before as a plus-one to work events, but Robin doesn’t actually know him. She doesn’t know how kind he is, how he looks after you when even your friends rarely do, how he goes out of his way to prove that just because he’s a vampire doesn’t mean he’s a monster.

The pounding of your heart is enough evidence that you aren’t used to this hostile behavior. You nearly knock over your chair when you stand, and your hands are too shaky to pick up your drink from where it sits on the table before you.

Robin glares at you with eyes that pierce through your tough facade. Her cherry-red lips part to expose teeth more dangerous-looking than a vampire’s fangs, but whatever she has to say dies on her tongue.

“Hey, love.” Taehyung’s fingers skirt your lower back, and the cold of his fingertips bleeds through your thin shirt. “You okay?”

“Yup!” You give Taehyung a slight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I was just telling Robin that I’m going home. Is that alright?”

Taehyung hums in understanding, his fingers now pressing against your hip bone. The pressure is light, but it’s enough to force your body to turn slightly to face him rather than the table where Robin still sits.

You naturally gravitate toward him regardless. When you first became friends and shortly before you decided to live together, you’d playfully accused Taehyung of using his vampiric charms on you.

“I don’t need magic to make you fall in love with me, baby,” Taehyung had replied with a lopsided grin, no fangs in sight.

Admittedly, you spent far too many of the following nights replaying that comment in your head.

“Of course,” Taehyung slips his index finger through one of your belt loops and tugs on it absentmindedly, “I’ll leave with you; I’ve lost interest in listening to Seokjin’s passionate rambling. There’s only so much video game lore I can handle.”

Robin mutters something snarky under her breath that you can’t hear, but your heart hurts because you know Taehyung can. You’re sure it’s his superhuman hearing that set him off to rescue you from Robin’s bitchy attitude, considering how your heart is beating at a worrying pace. This situation is yet another example of how kind Taehyung is.

Robin doesn’t know shit.

Going home is a good call for more than just escaping Robin’s bitchy behavior. From the time it takes Taehyung to drive home, your lower stomach begins to hurt with such extreme stabbing pain that you can barely walk upright once you arrive. Taehyung has to wrap his arm around your shoulders and slowly guide you up the elevators and down the hall to your apartment's front door. Once he enters the passcode, he helps you inside and leads you into the kitchen.

“You weren’t supposed to start for another week,” Taehyung comments off-handedly as he fetches you a glass of water. He speaks with the casualness of discussing the weather or your weekend plans.

It makes your cheeks warm, and you stare at the water in your glass once he hands it to you. “How do you know that?”

“I pay attention to you, love,” Taehyung murmurs. You should think it’s weird when he inhales deeply through his nose, but you only feel warm as goosebumps scatter across your skin. “I can also… smell it.”

With a gentle grip on your waist, Taehyung draws you closer to where he leans against the kitchen counter. Once you’re standing directly before him, he slips his hand beneath your shirt to press his cold palm against your lower stomach. The gut-wrenching pain is still there, but in the mix of the pain, butterflies are swirling about, and the cool of his skin feels good against your too-hot body.

Some of your friends have commented on how you act with Taehyung - or, more so, how Taehyung acts with you. He's touchy, and personal boundaries mean very little. For some, it would be off-putting how Taehyung initiates touch without asking, but you find it comforting. You don't mind; if anything, you're endeared by it. It means he's comfortable with you and knows you trust him.

Trust, you're quickly learning, is important for vampires in a world that distrusts them.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s really gross.”

“Gross?” Taehyung rubs his thumb along the sensitive skin of your stomach and watches you intently with his mossy green eyes. It should be unnerving, but you’re too captivated by Taehyung to think anything of it.

“All my ex-boyfriends never even wanted to talk about periods, let alone…” You’re too shy to finish your sentence; repeating what Taehyung said seems too embarrassing. It’s embarrassing enough that you’re comparing your roommate to your ex-boyfriends.

You let out a quiet sigh when Taehyung removes his hand from beneath your shirt. He takes your empty glass from your hands and places it on the kitchen counter. Letting Taehyung take care of you feels nice, especially when your period cramps make breathing difficult.

“Humans are strange,” Taehyung murmurs as he gently turns you around by your shoulders to guide you to your bedroom. “There is nothing dirty or disgusting about blood. It is natural. A life source, in more ways than one.”

After changing into a new pair of underwear and comfy pajamas, you slip into your bed and patiently wait for Taehyung to finish getting ready for bed.

It isn’t unusual for you to spend time together at night, especially since you don’t have much time that overlaps due to Taehyung being nocturnal. He doesn’t sleep all day, but getting all covered up is a hassle just to brave the sunlight, so Taehyung prefers to spend his days inside.

You get cuddled in your blankets with a heating pad pressed to your lower stomach. At the same time, Taehyung sets up his laptop on your bed before you, pulling up your favorite reality TV show because he knows you’re too sensitive to handle anything emotional.

Taehyung is dressed in a loose white t-shirt and form-fitting grey sweatpants. It’s a deadly combination, and you hate that he can hear your heart flutter when he climbs into bed with you. You’re close enough that your shoulders press together, and Taehyung’s cool temperature seeps into your body, contrasting nicely with the heating pad resting on your stomach.

Sometimes, you wonder if Taehyung has figured out that he’s the reason you're a jittery mess. You wonder if he knows that your heart races around him, not because you’re afraid of him but because you’ve considered what it would feel like to let him sink his fangs into your flesh.

He probably has no idea, you think as you appraise him out of the corner of your eye. He's charming and naturally flirty. He probably thinks you're just matching his energy.

You're terrible at flirting anyway.

Clearing your throat, you adjust the blankets and try to focus on the TV show. However, it’s difficult to concentrate with Taehyung snuggled against your side. He’s being more affectionate than usual, likely because you get more sensitive when you’re on your period. You can’t complain. It feels nice to have his strong arm curled around your waist and his large hand resting against your hip.

“Comfortable?” Taehyung turns his head to the side to speak against the curve of your ear. His cool breath against your skin makes you shiver.

“Mhm,” you hum. “Are you?”

“I’m with you, aren’t I?”

“Shut up,” you hiss and give Taehyung a sharp slap to the leg that you know won’t hurt him.

You slide further into the blankets to rest your head on Taehyung’s shoulder. There’s no reason for you to be whispering, but you do. Perhaps it’s the atmosphere, your bedroom dark except for a single bedside lamp casting a shallow yellow glow, and Taehyung’s laptop lighting up your bed sheets a pale blue.

After a few minutes of silence between the two of you passes while the show plays through, Taehyung begins thrumming his fingers against your hip.

“Were your exes truly mean to you about something so natural?”

“What?” You twist your torso slightly to look up at him. “Like, not wanting to talk about periods and stuff?”

Taehyung nods. He’s no longer wearing his contacts, so you can see the lamp’s yellow light reflect in his deep red eyes, making them burn orange. Having known Taehyung for a year now, you’ve learned that the color of his eyes changes pretty regularly. You aren’t sure what the colors mean, though you’re pretty sure they have more to do with his mood than his hunger levels – contrary to what vampire films and novels might lead you to believe.

“Well, yeah. Guys think periods are gross. A lot of people do, honestly. Because of blood, and also, y’know, misogyny and all that shit.” You shrug, having come to terms with these facts long ago. “Like, one time I told my ex about this article I read that said orgasms can temporarily relieve cramps, and he went on this whole rant about how period sex is disgusting. It made me feel like I was disgusting, honestly. But whatever.”

Throughout your explanation, Taehyung’s face slowly contorts until he looks legitimately upset. It startles you because why should he care about any of this?

Sweet Taehyung is too empathetic for his own good, you think.

“Human men are pathetic,” Taehyung finally says with a snort. “Period sex sounds fun.”

You struggle to swallow with how dry your mouth and throat have become. Why did you bring up sex while you sit halfway leaned against Taehyung’s chest in your bed, with the lights off, quite literally Netflix and chilling on a Friday night?

“W-well,” you start to stutter but quickly try to pull yourself together, “I wouldn’t know.”

Taehyung hums and then falls silent again, so you assume the topic is dropped. That is until a few more minutes pass with Taehyung’s fingers playing with the hem of your t-shirt, and he eventually leans toward your ear again.

“Would you like to find out?”

This time, you turn around to face Taehyung. He keeps his head bent, which positions his face to be level with yours. You can smell the woody notes of his cologne that make you salivate.

“What?” you squeak, but you hear him more clearly than you hear your own thoughts.

“You still have cramps, don’t you?” You nod. “I could help you, love. You need not suffer.”

Blood rushes to your ears, causing your heartbeat to throb inside your brain. The pounding has a ripple effect, creating beating waves that roll throughout your entire body. It's as though you've become a giant heart trembling and pulsing from the prospect of having sex with the man you've desired in secret for far too long.

Likely noticing your body falling into distress, Taehyung cups the side of your face with his free hand. Using his hold on you, he tilts your head slightly. His eyes bore into yours with such intensity that you don’t think it’s physically possible for you to look away.

“Are you afraid of me?”

"No," you respond without hesitation. You aren't.

Your response pleases Taehyung, and you're reminded of the importance of trust. When he smiles, you think his canines look slightly pointier than usual.

"You know," Taehyung begins slowly, his gaze dropping from your eyes to your slightly parted lips. "Humans drown themselves in shame. I have never understood it. What is so reprehensible about pleasure, hm? Is it so wrong to seek it?"

"I don't know," you admit through a breathy exhale when Taehyung brushes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip.

"Your ex made you feel ashamed, didn't he?"

You nod, rendered speechless from how Taehyung trails his fingers along your jaw and neck. Gently, he presses his index and middle fingers against the soft spot of your throat where your heart panics beneath your skin.

Taehyung wets his lips.

"I could make you feel good."

All it takes is a light tap of his fingers against your hip, and you're leaning into Taehyung's chest. His large hand slides from the side of your neck to the back of your head, pulling you into a bruising kiss. It's deep and demanding, sending your head spinning as you struggle to keep up with Taehyung's soft lips.

You moan when the tip of his tongue flicks against your mouth, coaxing you open for him to taste. You fall apart for him willingly, ready to bear your soul if he so much as whispers the request against your lips.

Taehyung could kiss you forever; he doesn't need to breathe. You have to force yourself to pull back to gasp for air when you begin to feel lightheaded, and you struggle to register that you've somehow ended up in Taehyung's lap. You straddle his firm thighs with your knees on either side of his hips and your fingers digging into his broad shoulders. It's embarrassing, the feeling of suddenly having no control over yourself, but Taehyung squeezes your hips when you try to get up.

"Will you let me?" His eyes are a deep red, nearly black, as he searches your face for your answer when you don't immediately respond.

Your entire body throbs with anticipation. Sleeping with Taehyung is everything you've forced yourself not to imagine - out of shame because what is more shameful than thirsting over your roommate who has no interest in you?

Except he does. You can feel his hard cock underneath you, and when you subtly scoot your ass against it, his fingers dig deeper into your hips.

"Please," you whisper. The word barely leaves your lips when you're suddenly tossed onto your back.

Taehyung's nimble fingers slip beneath your t-shirt and push it up, murmuring, "Lift your arms, love," and discarding it onto the floor in one sweep. Leaning forward, Taehyung kisses each of your now-exposed nipples, flicking his cool tongue over them until they're hard and wet.

You moan and instinctually arch your back, pushing your chest against his open mouth.

"Can't wait to taste you," Taehyung groans into your skin as he slips his hands into the elastic waistband of your pajama shorts. The fabric easily slides down your legs. Taehyung flings them onto the floor, where they melt into a pool of blood-red silk. "You smell delicious. Always do."

Understanding Taehyung's praises is difficult when he lights up your nerves with every kiss and harsh suck of your skin into his mouth. You don't feel anything sharp for now, but you want to. Again, it's shame that squanders the urge to admit your desires to Taehyung. All you can do is tangle your fingers in his pretty red hair and stare into his eyes as he sucks wet kisses down your stomach.

Your thighs are already slightly wet with your arousal and, unfortunately, blood. It's hot and sticky. You try to close your legs, but Taehyung keeps them propped open. To your horror, you watch him drag his hands up your inner thighs, smearing the little traces of arousal and blood that have rubbed off onto your skin. It leaves light pink streaks on his palms.

With dark eyes, Taehyung holds your gaze as he brings one hand to his mouth and licks up the entire length of his palm.

"Fuck," he lets out a shuddery moan, eyes fluttering closed. "Goddamn, love."

It shouldn't be hot, the feral look in Taehyung's eyes when he opens them again. It shouldn't be hot, the way his fangs naturally drop. He snaps his mouth shut, and you watch his throat bob as he swallows a few times. His fangs are gone the next time he opens his mouth.

"Sit on my face."

You nearly choke. "Excuse me?"

Reaching behind his head, Taehyung pulls his t-shirt off with one hand. Smooth, unblemished skin glows honey gold in the dim lighting. Possessed, you can't stop yourself from reaching out to run your hands down his chest. His abs tense and contract when you caress them. By the time you reach the waistband of his sweatpants, you've lost the little bit of courage you had.

"I want you to sit on my face." Taehyung's voice is thick and gravelly. There's a dangerous edge to it that you can't quite name.

"O-okay," you whimper.

A thrill pulses through your body when you remember what Taehyung is.

He's a person, not a monster. But he's dangerous all the same.

Taehyung lies on his back and holds his arms out, coaxing you forward. His large hands squeeze your thighs, just below your ass, to haul you further up until you're hovering right over his face.

"Are you su-"

"It is impossible for you to understand how painful it has been to wait for this moment." Taehyung holds eye contact with you as he slides his hands up to squeeze your ass cheeks and pull your pussy down onto his mouth.

"Oh my god," you moan, scrambling to grab the bedframe to steady yourself.

Taehyung licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, lapping up the mouthwatering mixture of arousal and blood gushing from you with every pulse of your pussy. Using the tip of his tongue, he swirls your clit, flicking it repeatedly until he gets tired of that and sucks it into his mouth instead.

Your thighs quiver, and chants of Taehyung's name flow from your lips like honey as he tongues your entrance. His mouth is relentless, nipping, licking, and sucking your clit until you're trembling so severely that Taehyung has to prop his arms up to hold most of your weight. It only gets worse when he presses his tongue inside your pussy, fucking into you as he devours your sweet blood and juices with the moans of a starved man.

"T-Taehyung," you gasp, reaching down to dig your fingers into his hair. Your nails scrape against his scalp, and the rumble of his moans into your pussy is to die for. "I'm gonna come, oh my god, oh, pl-, ah, please d-don't-"

Your eyes, which had fallen shut as you focused on the feeling of Taehyung's mouth on your pussy, fly open when something sharp presses into the inside of your thigh. You look down to see Taehyung's fangs buried into your flesh, just at the crease of your inner thigh, where the skin is soft and supple. The pain quickly morphs into mind-numbing pleasure, so white hot that it feels like your brain is melting out of your ears when you finally come.

You slump forward with your face pressed against the wall and your hands weakly gripping the bed frame as your body convulses in Taehyung's hold.

"Tae, Tae, Taehyung, oh god." It hurts how deeply he bites into you, but the longer he clamps on, the more intoxicated you become by the venom all vampires carry in their bite.

It's distracting, the way you feel like you're floating. Your eyes flutter as you feel Taehyung pull you onto the bed on your back. He hovers over you, the bloodied face of a fallen angel closing in on you.

"I'm your first," Taehyung states the question, already knows the answer, but you nod your head to confirm. Taehyung is the first vampire to bite you. It's why the effects are so intense; your body has no built-up immunity.

He's smug as he leans forward to kiss you, shoving his tongue into your mouth to force you to taste yourself on him. It doesn't taste good, but you aren't thinking when you stick your tongue out to lick the blood and cum off his lips. You lick and suck his lips, cleaning them off just to let him dirty you up.

"Fuck, love, you're so fucking sexy," Taehyung growls once you release his bottom lip from between your teeth. "Mine. All mine. You're mine."

You give him a sleepy smile and loop your arms around his neck. "Yours."

Taehyung nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and runs his tongue along the crease, swiping back and forth between wet kisses.

"Gonna fuck you now, baby." He rakes his fangs down your neck, drawing blood in thin parallel lines. "Mark you, ruin you. Do you want that? Want me to make you feel good?"

Blood trickles down both sides of your neck to pool in your collarbones. Eventually, the pools overflow, sending rivers of red cascading down your chest, past your hardened nipples, and the hickeys Taehyung sucked into the skin of your abdomen. Between your legs, a giant black bruise spreads in your inner thigh, and blood trickles from the multiple puncture wounds there.

“Please, fuck me, please,” you beg, eyes half-closed. Your head lolls to the side to watch Taehyung remove his sweatpants. Red splotches cover the grey fabric like a homemade tie-dye.

“Look at you,” Taehyung’s voice is saccharine. He kneels in front of you on the bed and squeezes the thigh he bit into. With a yelp, your entire body jerks from the pain, though the haze of Taehyung’s venom makes the discomfort temporary. “So pretty.”

Your blood drips from Taehyung’s fingers and follows the lines in his palms down to curve around his wrist. Something stirs inside your stomach as Taehyung smears your blood all over his cock, using it as a lubricant to jerk himself off. His skin turns slick and shiny red.

With his free hand, he cups the back of your knee to hike your leg up, adjusting you into the perfect position for him to swirl the head of his cock in the blood on your thigh. Gathering more on the tip, Taehyung gives himself one last squeeze before positioning himself between your legs.

He isn’t gentle when he enters you, sinking his cock into you in one bloody thrust. How his hip presses into the crease of your thigh hurts, applying pressure to your wounds that still bleed, but the pleasure of Taehyung’s thick cock pounding into you is enough to block out the pain. You’re so high, your soul barely attached to your body as Taehyung fucks you, each stroke fast and deep. His grip on you is supernaturally rough. Bruises immediately bloom across your skin, and his blunt nails dig crescent cuts into your skin.

More blood.

“Feel good, love?” Taehyung’s voice is on edge. He practically growls, and his words are slightly slurred from his fangs dropping down once again. This time, he doesn’t try to retract them. When he kisses you, you feel them press against your lips like cold daggers. One slices a small cut in the corner of your mouth, and blood collects in the creases of your lips until Taehyung sucks it all up.

“Can’t, fuck, get enough.” Taehyung punctuates his sentiments with a snap of his hips. Pleasure rolls off of you in waves, dragging your mind deeper and deeper into a blank void. Taehyung is dizzying, so pretty with his bloody mouth and wild eyes.

Your eyes flutter shut when you feel his lips press against your neck, leaving kisses far gentler than the way he fucks you. The coil building in your stomach is so hot and tight that you don’t even feel the pain of Taehyung biting your neck. You immediately come, your orgasm ripping through your body as Taehyung’s fangs rip through your flesh.

Taehyung moans through his teeth as he comes inside of you, filling you up at the same time he empties you.

“Taehyung,” you try to whisper, but your mouth hardly moves.

He’s drinking too much.

The realization hits you too late. There are bite marks all along your neck, the inside of your thighs, your tits, your wrists. Taehyung has his lips latched onto one of your bloody nipples, lapping up your skin. Your bed is flooded in red, soaked through the sheets and into the mattress.

“You’re mine, love.” Taehyung runs a bloody hand down your face, leaving streaks along your temple. “Fuck those bitches you work with. Those pieces of shit who think you couldn’t possibly love someone like me. They’re wrong, baby—all this shame. Humans drown in it, but not us. We won’t drown.”

Red tears stream down Taehyung’s high cheekbones. You want to comfort him but realize in a panic that you can’t move. With wide eyes, you stare up at Taehyung in a silent plea.

“Shhh, it’s okay, love. You have to let go. Let go for me, and then I’ll keep you safe. Forever, I’ll keep you safe.” Taehyung brings his wrist to his mouth. There’s a sickening crunch, and thick, black blood slides down Taehyung’s forearm like tar.

His elegant fingers squeeze your jaw, forcing you to keep your mouth open as he presses his bleeding wrist to your lips.

“Mine,” Taehyung repeats as he smears his black blood on your lips and lets it leak onto your tongue. “And I will be yours, just like you wanted. No one else's.”

Leaning down, Taehyung digs his fangs into your throat one final time and drinks until your last breath dies in your lungs.

Halloween 2023 Masterlist

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

#bts x reader #taehyung x reader #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung angst #taehyung smut #bts angst #bts smut #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #halloween 2023 #bots

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corazondebeskar-reads · 6 months

Text

you know you never stood a chance - chapter seven

you know you never stood a chance series

seven: lest we bleed ourselves

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 3.6k

Summary: Things don't go well on your journey, but you make your way to Jackson.

Warnings: dub-con due to power imbalance, free use, sex as payment, vaginal sex, cum eating, oral (m & f receiving), anal fingering, Joel is mean/bad with feelings, this is not canon compliant, but minor canon character deaths are mentioned, no use of y/n, canon-typical violence and danger, graphic description of injury, graphic description of corpses (in a dream), dreams of major character death

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

a/n: hello my lovely friends. here we are at the penultimate chapter. next week is the final, with the epilogue a week later. there will be some "deleted scenes" one-shots, but I can't promise you a date on those. thank you so much to everyone who has stuck out this journey, i love you.

He doesn’t teach you to shoot. There isn’t the time. Not after what waits for him at Bill’s house.

It’s not safe to stay, not with the property unsecured as it’s been.

Instead, while Ellie showers, he fucks you. There’s no guarantee of shelter in the upcoming days, so he has you kneel on a plush armchair while he takes what he needs.

You arch your back and dig your fingers into the back of the chair while he opens you up, sucking and licking at your clit while he pries you apart with three fingers at once.

There isn’t the time for more. As soon as you’ve cum, he thrusts in smoothly, pushing relentlessly until he’s seated as deep within you as he can reach.

Now you’re really digging into the chair, face smooshed against it, while he fucks into you from behind. He spits on your asshole, pushing his thumb in behind it and fucking it into you, opposing the beats of his cock in your cunt.

You cum two more times as he works you over. It’s silent, both of you choking back gasps and whimpers and desperate words.

He pulls out abruptly and yanks on your arm until you twist around and get the message, falling to your knees before he fills your waiting mouth. You swallow him down eagerly.

He cups your cheek. “Good girl. Now go get ready; it’s your turn next,” he jerks his thumb toward the bathroom, where the shower is just being turned off.

And after that, there isn’t the time for anything. You can’t catch a moment safe enough to breathe, let alone learn to use a gun or fuck.

No, there wasn’t the time, but there were a thousand times you could have helped if there had been. Infected, hunters, the whole nightmare in Pittsburgh. You’re still not really sure how the three of you made it out.

You buried Sam and Henry, but their loss hangs on Ellie like she’s carrying their headstones in her backpack. There’s nothing you could do to protect her, not from the violence, not from the grief.

You can tell it’s all wearing Joel down, too. He’s less and less brusque, watching her from the peripherals. More and more, his anxious hands twitch, like he has to shake the blood off before he lays a finger on either of you.

Now that Ellie knows, though, it’s like he can't help himself. There’s a quiet desperation to the new, tiny ways he reassures himself that you’re both alive. The way his arm shoots out to steady her even if the path is safe, or the pat pat to her shoulder when it’s time to move forward.

His hands brush your shoulders when he passes by, fit to the small of your back to steer you, and his lips find your head so lightly that you often think you imagined it. The only thing that doesn’t change, the one thing you still wish would, is that you still sleep several feet apart.

It all rubs off on Ellie, too, and she sticks to your side more often than not and lets you wrap an arm around her shoulder sometimes—if it’s playful. Anything too close to affectionate, and she spooks. She’s still a little skittish with Joel, but they help each other easily, and the way she looks at him—like he has all the answers in the world—tells you more than anything else.

To be fair, you feel that way sometimes, too. He’s steadfast and sure, and the way he keeps his head in an emergency and protects both of you with every fiber of his core buys him both of your fierce loyalties.

After everything, it’s hard to believe you made it to Jackson even when you’re within its walls. Half dead, half defeated. And it’s so weird.

They clean you, clothe you, feed you, and all the while, you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. You can see it on Ellie’s face, too.

Neither of you expected it to come from Joel.

“I told you a thousand times, I can’t protect you out here,” he says, trying to keep his voice low even though he’s the one who chose to have this conversation just outside the mess hall.

“You have so far!” Your face is aflame, but you’re too consumed by it to be embarrassed, too busy burning with rage. Your vision is dark around the edges; the tunnel focused right on the way he raised his hands to placate you.

“Ain’t anywhere safer than here.”

“You said I’m always safer with you.”

You see him drop the act—or maybe put one on—before he speaks again; his eyes go hard, and he bares his teeth.

“Will you shut up?” he snarls. “Y’ain’t comin’ with me. That’s final.”

You snort, lip twitching into a sneer. Too many things to say snap across your brain, each crueler than the last, but you can’t get your hook in one. The tell-tale dryness in your throat makes you angrier.

Shaking your head, you look anywhere but him. Anywhere but his stupid, beautiful face. “Fuck you, Miller.”

You turn on your heel and leave, heavy steps maybe a little too much like stomping away for your pride. You get just down the street when his fingers wrap around your arm and yank.

His momentum pulls you hard against his chest, and he turns you with two tight hands on your shoulders. The heat of his mouth against yours is overwhelming, brain still scrambling to catch up, and he tangles a hand in your hair, biting at your lip.

When your senses come careening back, you shove him away. “Don’t you fuckin’ touch me. I don’t owe you anything for leaving me behind. I’ll never owe you anything again.”

He doesn’t come after you this time.

In the morning, after Joel shows his sheepish face, Ellie asks where you are.

“She ain’t comin’,” Joel says, but he won’t look her in the eye.

“You try to ditch her too?”

“She only ever wanted to be someplace safe. Now she is. Let’s go.”

Before they take off, he looks back at Tommy. His brother is shaking his head but throws his hands up as if to say, “sure, I’ll clean up your mess.”

“No, thank you,” you tell Tommy Miller for the third Friday in a row when he invites you to come to the Tipsy Bison and meet people. It’s not that he doesn’t bother you on other days; it’s that he’s full of a weekly rotating calendar of suggestions.

You decline all of them. He doesn’t seem to realize you have met people, and you’re just not interested in making friends. Not yet. He’s been here too long, you think, to remember life in the QZ. He thinks you’ll latch on to the sense of community.

“Just because we lived in the same building before doesn’t mean we need to be best friends,” you tell him, narrowed eyes burning the warning into him.

But he doesn’t get it. “Oh, nah, I forgot about that, actually. I just, since you—well, Joel—”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you tell him, not unkindly, with a pat on his shoulder.

“He’s just worried,” Maria says when you complain a little after weeks turn into months. “It’s the only mode he has right now. He about cried when I told him I was switchin’ partners today. But if he doesn’t want me going up to the lodge, then he’s gotta go with someone else.”

It’s a patrol for her and a lesson for you. Nothing too far from town, but she’s brought you out here to hunt since Joel never did get around to teaching you. You’re getting better. You haven’t caught anything, but you came close earlier. When you had startled the deer with the near-miss, she had taken it out while it ran off.

Ok, so maybe you aren’t getting a lot better. You can’t hit a still target, let alone a moving one. But you’ve stopped shaking when you raise the gun, so.

The carcass is draped over a saddle. You’re both walking since Maria can’t ride, but you’ve got two mares along in case there’s an emergency. Luckily, you make it back before she gasps in pain.

You grab her arm immediately, worried she’ll fall. “What’s wrong?”

One of the teens working the stables takes the horses' reins from you, already having passed the deer off to someone else.

“It’s probably nothing,” she says and grits her teeth.

“I’m going to send someone for Tommy,” you say.

“No! No, don’t freak him out. Will you help me to Alice?”

“Of course,” you say.

Alice’s house is close, given that it also functions as a clinic. She was a nurse once, retired before the world ended, but still hanging on.

“Could be Braxton-Hicks. False labor,” she tells Maria. “Hard to know for sure. You need to slow down. I don’t want to put you on bed rest, but I will.”

“You can try,” Maria mutters.

You’re hovering awkwardly in the next room, but with only an archway between them, it’s not like you can’t hear every word.

Maria comes out, Alice on her heels, reminding her about kick counting and proper hydration. You rock back and forth on your heels, dirty boots adding to the scuffs on the foyer floor.

“You make sure she goes straight home,” Alice tells you.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say, even though you know Maria will only go where she wants to.

To your surprise, though, she starts heading that way anyway. The contractions are still happening, but there’s no discernable pattern, and they don’t seem to be worsening. But it was enough to worry her, though she swore you to secrecy.

You don’t betray her, even when Tommy ends up stuck with you the next day. He’s taken over the foolhardy mission to teach you how to shoot.

No, the only person you betray that day is yourself.

Tommy is infuriatingly kind. There’s none of Joel’s coldness in him, even if they do share the same crooked grin. And Tommy’s eyes, the same shade and shape as Joel’s, are always warm.

He helps you readjust your grip on the pistol and, through a system of trial and error, figures out the whole reason you can’t hit the target.

“Shit, you’re left handed!” he says, like he’s solved world hunger. “Everyone’s been trying to get you to shoot with your right, huh?”

You hadn’t even thought about it, since you used two hands to shoot. You had just taken the positions they told you to, leading with your right foot but then targeting with your left eye on instinct. It takes a few tries to get comfortable with the change, but you manage to hit a rabbit before it’s time to head in.

“Holy shit,” you say, making sure the safety is on before you jump up and down. “Did you see that? Oh my god.”

Tommy’s beaming and he pulls you in for a hug. When he pulls back, he shakes his head. “I can’t believe Joel didn’t figure that out. He usually notices that kind of shit.”

Your stomach sours and the grin drops off, lost in the chilly breeze. “Joel didn’t teach me anything, Tommy. And I guarantee he has no clue I’m left handed.”

But that’s not true, you realize. He’d known that was half the reason you were slow at work, back when your wrist was broken. And now that you think about it, when he reached across the space between you to hand you things, it was always to your left.

The wind’s picked up, and the sun is starting to set. You’re thankful for both, because it means if Tommy does see how tears prick in the corners of your eyes, he might believe it’s the sharp bite of winter.

He doesn’t. You’re almost back to town when he stops you for a moment. “Look, I hate to ask—”

“So don’t.” It’s sharper than the breeze, and you feel bad immediately when the hurt flashes in his eyes. He'd kept himself from asking since the morning he told you Joel had gone with Ellie and that they'd both be back. You hadn't given him anything then, either.

“It’s just, I know you say there was nothin’ between—”

“It’s none of your business, Tommy, but like I’ve told you again and again, there’s nothin’ to even tell. I went out on jobs sometimes with him and Tess, and I got stuck on this one. S’all there is to it.”

“Alright, m’sorry. I’ll drop it,” he says, but you know he doesn’t buy it. After all, he’s the one that just taught you to use a gun. What use would you have been out there with them? But he lets it go and clicks his tongue so the horses pick back up toward home.

To his credit, he does drop it. But as Maria got further along, you found yourself on the wall with Tommy more and more as the winter turned harsh. You weren’t ready to be out in the more dangerous conditions, and Tommy was sticking close, just in case the baby came early.

Neither of you spoke of Joel, but you had the same dark circles and stress lines creeping in as the weather turned nasty. The looks you shared when the blizzards turned the snow from a problem to an emergency said enough.

You decide not to worry. Not to think about Ellie out there in the storm, not to think about how the cold will make it harder on Joel’s knees and the hand that never healed quite right. Instead, you focus your worry on Maria.

Which is to say, you and Tommy become irreparably bonded.

Winter is trailing off, but it gives one final performance when the baby is born. When the Davies’ boy comes to get you, you’re asleep on your sofa, the weak afternoon sun all but obscured by snow.

In your dream, you’re out on patrol with a faceless partner. Sometimes it’s Tommy, sometimes it’s Chris. Sometimes, like today, it’s just a blur. It doesn’t matter. They can never help.

It’s always too late. Whether buried in snow or leaves, you always find them half-decayed. Ellie’s skull cracked open, or head missing entirely. Joel's ribs cracked open, and his entrails long eaten away. Sometimes, his eyes are open, unmoving. Sometimes, Ellie’s hands, mostly bone and rotting flesh, are wrapped around a gun. Sometimes, it’s lined up with the hole in Joel’s head.

It doesn’t matter. You’re always too late.

This time, the knocking wakes you up as you find them less decayed than usual, almost whole, with crows pecking at Ellie’s eye and Joel’s ribcage. You almost throw up when you wake up—it’s never been quite so graphic.

“Miss?” the kid calls again.

You can’t tell him apart from his brothers, John or Mike or James or something, but you know why he’s there as soon as you open the door. You grab a jacket and shove your feet into boots to stumble out into the raging snow behind him.

The kid doesn’t seem to be in a rush, but it doesn’t stop your heart from pounding until your pulse is throbbing in your fingertips. You’re not sure when you started to love these people, but you know it’s too late now to turn back.

You’re not happy about how you ended up here, but you just might be able to be happy here.

Your panic is for nothing. The baby was born in the wee hours of the morning without incident. Alice tells you it’s a beautiful thing, how mothers' bodies never forget what to do, and through the uninhibited happiness of the occasion, you think you can see Kevin’s ghost on his mama’s lap.

She certainly does.

You hover awkwardly until Tommy reminds you that they want you there. It doesn’t go down easily, a raw feeling full of gravel as you swallow. You’re not sure you know the last time someone wanted you around. Not for what you could offer, but just for you. Maybe before.

You let him corral you into the bedroom and place Aléjandra in your arms while you sit on the side of the mattress near Maria. She looks a lot like her mama, in that approximate way that newborns do, like a photocopy picked up before the ink is dry, but she’s got her daddy’s nose.

The immediate love you feel for her is overwhelming. Like you’re the one rotting in the forest, chest cracked open for the crows to eat away at your heart. You think of the last baby you held—your sister, too long ago. After you’ve doted on her an appropriate amount, you make excuses about Maria needing sleep and slip out of the room.

Alice is more than happy to put you to work. She’s taken it upon herself to clean the Miller’s home and you lose yourself in it quickly. News spreads fast in town and, per Maria’s wishes, you field the well-wishers at the door, gathering and storing the casseroles and pies they bring, collecting little tokens or clothes for the baby into a basket to take upstairs later on.

A different one of the Davies’ boys comes to walk Alice home. Before she leaves, she stops you with a hand on your arm.

“Stay here tonight, would you please? I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, but sometimes we don’t know if there were issues with the afterbirth until later on.”

You nod and promise to get her right away if anything happens. Her description of what to watch out for makes you queasy again. Less because of the details like “golf ball sized blood clots” and more because you didn’t realize all the potential for danger. It spikes your anxiety back higher than the mountaintops.

You scrub your brain for something to tell Tommy and Maria. In the end, you don’t need to.

Tommy comes down the stairs a while later. “Hey, you can say no, but can I tempt you with our guest room rather than goin’ back out in the storm?”

When you accept, he puts on a stern face. “It’s just, I don’t want you havin’ to—hang on, did you say yes?”

“You had a speech all ready to go, huh?”

“Thought you’d fight me on it, yeah.”

“It’s nasty out there, Tommy. Thank you. Now go get some sleep while you can.” You’re familiar enough with their house to find your way, so you shoo him when he tries to help you get settled.

It’s not Maria or the baby that causes a ruckus in the middle of the night, though. It’s you.

The dreams are worse. It’s not just Joel and Ellie, it’s Tommy, Maria, and the baby, too. And they’re all alive when it starts.

There are no crows or critters. There are only men, nasty and bloodthirsty, and you’re hidden away while they’re cornered. Completely helpless, as usual. Unarmed. And you watch them tear into your family, watch them shoot Joel and Tommy first. It’s not until they lunge for Ellie that you can finally get your feet to move, to scream, to try to distract them.

It doesn’t matter. You’re always too late.

Tommy wakes you up, shaking you with hands on both shoulders. “Hey,” he says as you scramble to get away from him. “You’re okay, hon, you’re safe.”

You try to shove him off you, but he doesn’t let go.

“You’re safe. You’re at my house. Everything is okay,” he repeats in that calm, unnerved manner you’ve come to lean on.

You stop fighting him and focus on slowing your heaving chest, on bringing air to your lungs. That’s when you hear the baby crying.

“Oh, shit, Tommy. I’m so sorry. I woke her up, didn’t I?”

“She was already up eatin’,” he lies. “Just scared us all a little.”

“Sorry, fuck. I’m sorry. I’ll go home so y’all can rest.”

“Now, I’m not gonna let ya do that. You think any of us haven’t been there? Hell, if it wasn’t you, it probably woulda been me. It’s not the first or last time someone’ll wake everyone in this house yellin’ for Joel.”

Your heart sinks, and you stare at the blanket, folding and unfolding a pinched corner of it.

“I know you don’t wanna tell me,” he starts, and you look further away from him, staring at the windowsill. “But I gotta ask you a question. And I’d really like it if ya answered.”

You don’t respond, which he takes as permission to continue.

“Were you afraid of him or for him?”

You look at him, startled, and blink stupidly for a minute.

“He never hurt me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You wanna talk about the dream?” Maria says from the doorway, Alé over her shoulder.

“Not really. Nothin’ special. Rotating cast of people I know dead or dying. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Stop apologizin’. But if you wanna make up for it…” the glimmer is back in Tommy’s eyes, and he’s grinning like he’s got a poorly kept secret.

You don’t need to read minds to guess. The baby’s eyes are wide and shiny. “Want me to hang out with her for a while until she’s ready to go back to sleep?”

“Please.”

It’s not until Alé is asleep in your arms at their kitchen table, just the two of you in the strip of moonlight, that you think about it, about how that feeling of family from your dream had seeped out into real life, and you let yourself cry.

next chapter

*title from "Jars" by Chevelle

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #the last of us smut #tlou fanfic #you know you never stood a chance series

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

Text

𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑺𝑶𝑫𝑬 𝑺𝑰𝑿

A few things to keep in mind; after the fallout with Tommy instead of heading to Boston Joel heads to the woods to escape it all, and the 20-year time jump doesn't happen. Which means, for now, no Tess, no Ellie. Joel is 32-33 here (since in the prologue he's around that age) and reader is in her mid-twenties

**for full series summary please check masterlist

chapter summary: when in the forest, you and joel come across three hunters. Subtle confessions are made.

pairing: joel miller x ofc!june | written in reader format, no body descriptions but does have a personality

word count: 5.2k

genre: dark cottagecore, horror, angst, explicit smut, hybrid au, minors dni

warnings: canon typical violence, blood, you get shot, mentions of reader having body hair, piv, oral (receiving and giving), emotional sex, possessive kink, praise kink, mild dirty talking, soft!joel, vaginal fingering

SERIES MLIST || PREV CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Snow crunches under your boots and the wind chills your skin. Except for the pines, most trees are left bare, thick snow covering their branches. Ever since the infection you don’t feel that cold anymore. A simple jacket is all you need, unlike Joel, who seems as if he’s wearing a dozen sweaters underneath his coat.

He walks ahead, rifle hanging on his back.

After knowing one another, it was hard to truly part ways. The first week after he shattered the only joy you had left in your life, you two steered away from each other; both of you angry, both of you bitter.

But you two danced around each other like butterflies. One day, you met his gaze and he nodded. The next day you told him about the extra fish you managed to catch, and that you wouldn’t mind sharing. He seemed hesitant at first, but accepted your offer when his stomach ratted him out with a loud growl.

Neither of you talked about the incident. You swept the camera away, tucked the box of photographs under your bed. You didn’t enjoy looking at them anymore.

You watch his back, the way his coat seems tight around his shoulders, the dip from the rifle pronouncing his shoulder blades. He always walks in front. No matter what the situation might be, you find yourself staring at his broad back and beautiful neck. He doesn’t talk much anymore, and when he does, it’s in the form of short sentences.

You on the other hand, do whatever you can to fill the silence.

You don’t dive much into your past, but you tell him about your hobbies, what it’s been like being alone, and how you adapted to your new antlers and ears.

Then one day, as you were telling him the things you were afraid of most, he turned to you slowly, his one eyebrow raised and slack-jawed.

“Don’t you think you tell me too much about yourself?” he had asked and you were caught by surprise.

“Uh… no? Am I annoying you?”

“Not annoying—Well, maybe a bit, but I can live with that— you’re too… trusting. Aren’t you afraid?”

You shrugged, “I feel like if you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already. No use in dwelling on something I can never be sure of.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Fine then, what do you mean? Do you want me to be afraid of you?”

He didn’t answer and you were grateful for it. The thought of reopening the wounds he caused you wasn’t something you particularly wanted to do.

You’re abruptly drawn away from the whispers of the past with a sting spreading from your nose to your forehead, you groan and stumble back, your hand immediately going up to touch your nose.

Your vision is blurry, but you see Joel standing as still as a tree in front of you. His one hand is raised to his side, fingers forming a fist. The command is silent but it reaches you loud and clear. You pull out your pistol, finger nestled against the trigger as your ears raise. You hear steps that you missed before, too entranced by your thoughts to hear them. A faint murmuring reaches your ears.

You take a slow breath to steady yourself and take a step closer to Joel.

“Three people,” you whisper. “They sound obnoxious and dangerous,”

He scoffs, “How can you tell they’re obnoxious all the way from here?”

“I just can. We should go,”

“No,” he says, fingers curling around your wrist just as you attempt to turn. “We should check who— or what— they are,”

“And after that?”

“We take care of it.”

There’s a stillness in the air and for the first time, you feel the sting of cold. You don’t share Joel’s coldness towards killing. Even killing the Infected is hard for you ever since you also became one by extension. You much rather let the threat simmer until it boiled and threatened to burn you.

Joel ignores your hesitation and releases his hold. “They’re close aren’t they? If I was able to hear them even a little they must be. Lead the way,”

“Joel…”

“Waiting around will get you killed,” he answers, his tone calm and collected. “You’re either with me or with them,”

“That’s cruel.”

“Is that your answer?”

Leaning slightly forward, he forcefully meets your gaze. He doesn’t blink and it feels as if he’s staring into your soul, which is ironic considering Joel probably doesn’t believe in such things. Closing your eyes you face the sky, the tips of your ears burn and your heart skips a beat. You already know what your answer is, and he knows it too.

“I’m with you.”

“Then lead the way, Bambi.”

It’s not a long walk. You’re surprised that they’re so close, so surprised in fact you shudder with each step. You’re not a fan of confrontation. Every nerve in your body screams at you to run. But you feel Joel’s presence near you, his ghost chokes out the screams, only litter whimpers left that are easier to ignore.

You and Joel take cover behind the thick trunk of a pine tree. Your guess is that the small group are hunters. They carry guns and they look the part. Your eyes move to Joel, his own gaze slowly turning to you. He pushes a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet. The three men talk about the tourists and the Domestics they managed to get a hold of, you bite back a whimper.

Joel leans in, the curve of his lips barely touching your ear. He doesn’t have to do that, you could’ve heard him just fine, but some habits are hard to break.

“I’ll take them out,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath prompting you to close your eyes. “You stay on lookout, shoot the ones that try to kill me.”

You nod. There isn’t much you can add to his plan anyway.

Joel moves out. As he slowly approaches the first one, you move, your steps feather-light. You find the best position to spot all three of them and crouch down, the snow melts under your knee and wets the fabric.

With one eye closed and finger on the trigger, you realize you’ve never actually seen Joel attacking another. You’ve seen him hunt, but that was as far as the violence went. Briefly, you admire his contrast to the white snow. His coat a dark green, stained, and his hair mussed.

His every move is calculated. He walks around the first target, wraps his arm around the man’s neck and pulls him away from the others until he faints. You expect him to fixate his gaze on the others, but instead, he raises his foot and slams it down with no shred of hesitation. Blood sprays against the snow, melting and hissing at the warmth of blood. A drop of red lands on Joel’s cuffs.

You let out a scream, clapping both hands over your mouth before you can stop yourself.

But it’s too late, the other two are already running toward Joel.

“Shit,” Joel hisses, eyes finding yours amidst the chaos. “Get out!”

You’re a deer in headlights, both literally and figuratively. The two men crowd Joel, one pressing a knife to the neck you admired many times while the other sets his gaze on you.

You hear the bullet first, and your body moves before you can process it. Joel manages to kick the man heading towards you in the back of the knee. He falls face first with a grunt. You hear the knife against Joel’s neck cutting skin.

You don’t blink when you raise the pistol and shoot your shot, the bullet sinks right between his eyebrows. He falls promptly. The other one still groans on top of the snow. Joel takes the knife that was still stained with his own blood and stabs the last of them in the heart. You collapse to the ground, pistol falling to the side as you cover your mouth.

Warm tears roll down your cheeks, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers tremble. You see black dots hovering across your vision. You feel incredibly sick. Your mind replays the scene over and over again until you feel his touch on your cheek.

You were aware of the violence growing in the world. Seen bits of it whenever you left the comfort of the forest. But you haven’t been aware of how bad it had gotten. How desperate everyone became to hurt others for the means of survival.

Bile rises up your throat and burns your tongue.

“Calm down— Calm down,” Joel cradles your face, thumbs moving over your cheekbones. “You’re good. We’re safe. You did it,”

“Did what exactly?” you snap, pushing him away and falling back. “Joel you—you kicked in his skull! You—You—” your voice breaks and you finally open your eyes accompanied by a deep breath. He looks broken and for the first time you truly understand what that means. “What the fuck, Joel?”

His eyes flit around your face. He slowly takes in every detail —the way you shudder, the way your ears are flat against your head, the way your breathing is uneven— but he doesn’t know what to make of it. Your words have underlined fear, uncertainty. You look at him as if it’s the first time you’re seeing him.

Joel’s gaze moves from your face to your shoulder, he reaches his hand out.

You jerk away without meaning to, his look softens, the tips of his fingers only an inch away from your shoulder.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he drawls, voice dropping, barely a whisper. “You’re bleeding.”

You look to the side, too tired to actually panic about it. Now that you were seeing the blood, you start to feel the sting of the bullet still being inside. You wince and Joel catches it.

“Your cabin is close by right? Let me patch you up.”

You’re strikingly aware that you won’t be saying no to him, not now and probably not ever, “Sure.”

Joel is surprisingly gentle.

He helps you out of your blood-soaked shirt, leaving you only in your bra. The chair creaks under your weight. You ignore the vulnerability of the situation. It’s been months since another person saw you bare, you didn’t have the means to groom yourself properly. The hairs on your arms and legs growing with time— Even though you’re blatantly aware of how stupid it is, you still wonder if he notices, or what he might think.

Joel returns with the first-aid kit and you refuse to look at him, turning your cheek when he kneels to your side. He dabs the cotton in alcohol, cleaning it first before taking the tweezers out of the box. You hear him sigh.

“I know you want nothin’ to do with me right now but you might want to bite down on something. It’s gonna hurt, Bambi.”

Hearing the nickname makes you feel lightheaded. Turning around, your gaze drops to Joel but he’s not looking up at you, instead, he’s staring at the wound caked with blood.

“Give me my shirt, I’ll bite into that.”

Joel nods and hands you your shirt. You take it begrudgingly, balling it up in your hands and biting down on the fabric. The pain is excruciating, sweat beads on your forehead. You close your eyes, trying to focus on anything but the searing agony in your shoulder.

Joel's gaze is fixed on you as he works, pulling out the bullet with steady hands. You try to focus on anything but the pain, your gaze drifting to the window. You see that it's started to snow, the flakes swirling in the air. You wince, the pain making it hard to think.

Joel's gentle touch brings you back to the present. His fingers are light and careful as he works, pulling out the bullet and cleaning the wound. You can hear the soft sound of his breathing, the occasional sigh or murmur as he focuses on the task at hand.

“You’re bleeding too,” you state, pointing to his neck. “We should get it cleaned,”

His fingers brush above the shallow wound, not even a small wince crossing his face.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

“I’m assuming you won’t tell me about those memories even if I asked,” you whisper, and his hands go still, fingertips feeling like hot iron against your skin. “I’m not even sure I want to know.”

“Believe me, you don’t.”

And that’s the most you get out of him. A tiny crumb of his past. His one hand slides down to your upper arm, fingers pressing into the muscle as if you’re a ghost that has just materialized in front of him. Briefly, you see scenes much more violent compared to the one you witnessed flashing before your eyes; a desperate Joel trying to survive, losing himself to the darkened world. His grief still consumes him, you can see it clearly now.

With a soft sigh, you cover his hand with your own. The moment is still, neither of you knowing what to say. He seems surprised by the fact you’re touching him, his eyes slowly lifting and meeting yours. You swallow, the sound of blood loud in your ears.

When you look into his eyes, his soft gaze is briefly replaced by the memory of rage-filled ones you saw outside. You don’t think you will ever be able to forget that look. You won’t be able to forget the way violence clutches at his heart. His need to protect himself and those around him clouds his better judgment— Or rather, he doesn’t care about what happens to others for the sake of his own people.

You know that this should most likely scare you, or that you should perceive him as something ugly and tainted.

But it doesn’t. In fact, you think it does the opposite. It’s like a moth to a flame. You’re drawn to him and his tainted light. You see him as nothing short of beautiful.

His breath hitches while yours stops completely. It warms the fresh wound, then you feel his lips, scarred yet soft, a soft kiss as an answer to your pain. The touch of his tongue forces a shiver up your spine, a soft sting blossoming across your shoulder.

Joel continues, mouth moving over the slope of your shoulder and to your neck. His patchy beard is a harsh contrast against your skin but you enjoy it all the same. He closes his mouth and presses his lips into the column of your neck. Your lips part with a soft moan. He kisses your neck again and again as if it’s a means to survive. With every press of his mouth, he becomes more sure of himself, the softness is accompanied with the sharpness of his teeth, goosebumps coat your skin.

Your hand hovers an inch away from his head, too afraid to dive your fingers in just in case he’ll turn into another ghost that your cruel imagination often creates.

Joel moves back, only an inch between your faces. There’s a new emotion you see that crosses his face but you can’t place what it is. He feels your hand at the back of his head, his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a deep, long breath. Joel’s fingers gingerly curl around your wrist, pushing your hand flush against his head.

“Touch me,” he says, his southern drawl deep. “I want to feel you.”

It’s like an experiment almost. Your fingers are touching new soil, getting used to the feeling of soft locks and the bumps of his scalp. You allow your fingers to explore, nails raking his skin. A soft hum rattles his throat and you look back down. You spot the vein meandering down his neck and with wide eyes your hand moves down his head, feels the warmth of his neck, and traces the thick vein. His jaw is locked tight, nostrils flaring with every touch.

“Joel, I—”

“Don’t.” his voice breaks, eyes falling away from your own. “Don’t. I don’t wanna hear anything of the sort, not now, not ever.”

“Tell me what you want to hear then,”

“The sound of your breathing is enough.”

Your body reacts before you do, forcing out the breath that was caught in your throat. An eternity later his lips move against yours. His tongue brushes the seam of your lips, your heart flares, your lips parting with the silent command.

How many times have you thought of Joel touching you like this? Kissing you like this?

He’ll never know what his mere presence means to you. How the sole image of him brought you back from the brink of not wanting to wake to such a daunting world again and again. Even before he knew what your name was, before you knew his, he was the only one keeping you company—Accompanying you during your every move. A phantom man, following you around and wrapping its arms around you whenever you needed.

Your body reawakens, his lips and tongue pulling you from somewhere dark. His large hands cup your cheeks, tilting your head as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You moan openly, your hands coming up to hold his wrists.

Words you want to whisper burn the tip of your tongue. His words echoing loud in your mind whenever they bubble to the surface.

The sound of your breathing is enough.

You have trouble swallowing them down, tears gathering in your lashlines, but Joel makes quick work of them, licking into your mouth forcefully as if he’s trying to erase the entire English vocabulary from your mind.

Your hands drop down from his wrist and awkwardly try to reach his belt. Joel smiles into your lips, calloused fingertips stilling your hands.

“Easy there, sweetheart. Show me to your bedroom,”

You give him a confused look, “You already know where my bedroom is,”

“I prefer this being the first time you lead me to your room.”

It’s been long since you moved the box of photographs and cleaned the broken pieces of your camera. The ache of your heart is hard to ignore but you do. You nod, also preferring for this to be the first time he’s seeing your room.

Neither of you touch the other until you’re confined into the smaller area. It’s much colder compared to the kitchen. Joel shivers, a puff of steam dancing from his lips.

Not wanting this moment to end, you close the distance. Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging as his hands find your waist. He squeezes and pulls your hips close, forcing a grinding motion. The pleasure you feel is real. It’s overwhelming. Your whines are needy, made with short breaths and the sudden lack of air.

Joel swallows them all, he sucks your tongue, unbuttons your pants. Arousal pools between your legs, heat licks the bottom of your spine. Your entire world starts spinning when he gets on his knees, pulling down your pants along with him. Your eyes follow, another shudder overtaking you as his fingers move between your legs.

“J-Joel…”

“So wet already. Pretty thing,” your heart leaps at the way his eyes move up from your sex to your face. “I haven’t tasted a woman for so long.”

“Then go ahead,” you mutter, burying your anxiety deep into your heart.

Everything moves as if it’s in slow motion. The snow outside, the fading light, the way Joel tugs down your underwear. Pupils dilated, he licks his lips at the sight of your slick sticking to the net of your underwear. His thumb moves over your mound, nestling between the soft curls that reside. You suck in a sharp breath.

The sound is loud enough to prompt him to look up. “Most beautiful cunt I’ve ever seen.” Cupping himself over his dark jeans, a groan slips from his mouth.

Joel's tongue glides over your skin, you let out a soft moan. His lips velvet against your sensitive flesh. You grip his hair tighter as he expertly works his way over your aching clit. The fading light filters through the dusty window, casting a warm glow over your skin and creating shadows on Joel's face as he buries himself between your legs. His palms skim the back of your thighs, sending shivers up your spine. You let out a breathy moan as Joel's tongue delves deeper. He takes his time, the sharp edges of his face soften, the perpetual crease between his brows fading.

He must’ve looked beautiful before all was taken away from him. Joel never speaks about it, but you know. You have seen the same expression of grief in your eyes many times. You wonder if you two could’ve met if none of this had happened; the infection, the violence, the change. Another wave of pleasure washes over you with the swipe of Joel’s tongue. You moan and he mimics the sound, the reverberations making you curl over him, your arms wrapped around his head.

Every cloud has a silver lining, you don’t know who came up with the phrase but you find it cruel, haunting—yet also to be true.

Haunting is a perfect way to describe the moment. Hauntingly beautiful. A soft hue of light lingering in the darkness dances over your skin.

Any second can be your last, that’s what makes this moment truly memorable. It can be your last, and you choose to spend it together.

His gaze finds yours amidst the darkness, lips moving and tongue swirling around your clit. He sucks on it, watching you with a heavy gaze as your whine joins the sounds his tortuous tongue. Joel pulls away and your first instinct is to pull him back, chase the feeling of his skin against yours. His fingers squeezes the back of your thighs, soothing you like a scared animal. You feel his lips moving slowly over your mound, kissing the sensitive skin.

“I want you on the bed,” he says voice honeyed in a long drawl. “I’m gonna eat this pretty pussy out until you’re drunk on me. Then I’m going to feel the way you squeeze my cock—But I need you to get all nice and wet for me first,”

Your thighs clench together and he lays another kiss, hands roaming over your ass one more time before pulling you to the bed. He falls on top of you, his heavy presence proving not to be a figment of your imagination. Your entire body rings for him. You feel his breath fanning your face, he stares at you, you see the traces of regret and your stomach sinks.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,”

The apology takes you by surprise, you stare, unblinking, and swallow. His hand moves between your leg, two fingers slipping inside you with ease as his palm cups your sex.

“You still do,” you gasp before you can think. “But I would rather have you broken and bruised than be alone. Something inside me—A heart, a soul…it’s been seeking you out, Joel.” his fingers deftly move with a sharp thrust. Your back archs, body pressing into his touch. You close your eyes but you still feel his eyes boring into you. “You terrify me Joel. But not only because of the reasons you might be thinking.”

“What other reason is there?” he asks, curling his fingers and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. You clench your teeth, swallowing down your moans.

You’re a whirlwind of emotions. His sadness, his grief…all of it resonates deep inside you, it joining the pleasure that builds up, your arousal thick around his fingers.

You feel the brush of his hand on your ear, your eyes open with surprise, remembering the first time he had attempted to touch you—The Infected part of you. He had ignored it ever since he learned your name.

Joel leans in and presses his lips, the fur soft against his mouth. Your heart leaps as you flinch, your ear twitching uncontrollably.

“Tell me,” he says as you moan. “Tell me the other ways I frighten you.”

“I fear the way you make me feel alive.”

He curls his fingers, a shout rips from your throat. “Go on,” he prompts you.

“I’m scared that you’ll leave. That you’ll leave, and that you’ll become a ghost again.”

“Again?”

“Forget I said that,”

He hums, “I can’t promise you that I won’t ever leave. But right now, I'm here. You feel me, don’t you? I ain’t no ghost,”

To emphasize what he said, he circles your clit with his wet fingers, tongue moving down your neck. He draws your stiff nipple into his mouth, teeth sharp and pleasurable. You feel the wet streaks across your skin when he slides his other hand up your waist, he pries your mouth open by pressing his fingers into the hallows of your cheeks. He sneaks in two fingers, forcing you to taste yourself.

“I think I need to fuck you now, think you can take me, my little doe?”

You’re highly aware that the words are spoken without much thought. However, the endearment crackles across your skin, lighting a fire in your stomach, your body jerks, slick wetting your thighs and sheets. He holds your tongue with his fingers, feeling the way it moves with the muffled sounds you make. His mouth moves up the swell of your breast.

“You like it when I call you mine?” he groans out, breath wet and warm.

Joel pulls out his fingers so you can speak, his cock lays heavy between your legs.

Your chest heaves, “Yes.” you gasp, the pressure building starting to become overwhelming. “Say it again, please,”

“You’re mine,” he replies, sounding as if he’s just stating a fact. “Nothing will hurt you. No one will touch you…” the words sink into your skin, your hips stutter forward, searching for the stretch of his cock. Your breathing becomes heavy, shallow. “And since you’re mine, you’ll take whatever I have to give…won’t you?”

You hear the uncertainty that follows his hardened tone. Nodding, you catch yourself murmuring back, "I'm yours, and only yours."

Joel doesn’t give you any indication that he hears you, he presses forward, notching the head of his cock against your entrance. Your cunt flutters around him, begging him to move. He’s nothing like your vivid dreams; he takes his time, making you feel every inch. Your breath is caught in your throat, your lungs convulsing. The sudden regret of not touching him beforehand resonates inside, you wanted to feel how heavy and warm he was under your palm, wanted to hear his whimpers—if he makes any, that is.

“So damn tight,” he grunts. “So wet—fuck,”

He moves his hips forward then back, thrusting against the dampness that coats your entrance. A moan escapes your lips as he moves faster, each thrust pushing deeper than the last. Your hands grip the sheets as your body trembles. You gasp and bite your lip, the heavy drag of his cock sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel him, hard and thick, and it feels incredible.

Tears gather in your eyes when his lips find yours in the fog of pleasure. Sweat and sex clings to your skin, body on fire, he shoves his tongue into your mouth. The muffled sounds you both make seeps into the other’s lips. You’re both hungry to devour one another, both touch-starved. He parts away with a string of saliva following, he kisses the tear streaks, kisses your eyes.

You're left chanting his name like a prayer, his hands slide down, cup your ass and lift you from the bed.

His thrusts quicken, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You cling to him, your hands gripping his back, your nails digging into his skin. His warm breath tickles your neck, and your head spins. Every movement sounds wetter than the last, he splits you in half, cock moving all the way out before he slams into you again and again and again—

Your body shatters around him, pleasure bursting across your very being. The feeling pours into your veins, leaving a simmer and buzz in the pits of your stomach. Joel fucks himself deeper into you until you’re begging him to stop, your body overwhelmed both physically and emotionally.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, pulling out and fisting himself with little care.

The fog clouding your mind briefly lifts and you manage to push yourself up the bed. You push his hand away and wrap your numb fingers around his length. He’s so wet, glistening with your slick. Joel watches you as you lean down, wrapping your lips around his cock. His hand touches the back of your head, pushing you further.

Arousal pools between your legs once more, your tongue warm and wet as you eagerly lick down his shaft, feeling the soft curls tickling your nose, you swallow. Joel’s head falls back, exposing his tanned neck and small scars littered like a starry sky. A loud groan emits from the depths of his lungs, choked out and raspy. Your eyes roll back when he thrusts his hips, the head of his cock touching the back of your throat.

Your insides clench painfully, begging for more.

Your lips pop off, tender skin left wet and swollen. “Come down my throat,” you say, before swallowing him down again. Your tongue slides underneath his shaft, tracing the thick veins as you move up.

Joel’s nails bite into your skin, a string of curse words falling from his lips. Heat flares under your skin. He pushes and pulls, guiding you as you swallow around him again and again.

There’s something about the way his nails softly bite into your skin that makes your toes curl. It’s been a while since you sucked cock, and he’s showing you how to do it—

“Doing so good, little doe— Can you take me deeper?”

You moan your approval, your hand moving between your legs. Your fingers trace around your puffy clit, still sensitive, yet aching to be touched. He doesn’t seem to notice that you start to touch yourself, he holds your head between his palms, fucking your mouth until he feels his shaft begin to pulse before spilling into the warmth of your mouth.

You swallow every drop. He tastes bitter and you reel at the way the taste of him burns your throat. He keeps his cock buried in your throat as he rides out his orgasm. You run your fingers up the span of his stomach, feeling the dents and marks painted over his skin.

Joel is left breathless, his chest heaving and cock now soft. You tenderly pepper his skin with kisses, moving all the way up until you press one hurriedly onto his lips. Your fingers rub over the sweat-slick skin of his forehead. And as you move away he grips you by the shoulders and pulls you back, tasting himself on your tongue.

He licks the inside of your mouth and teases your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Why do you want me around?” he cups your jaw and rubs two thumbs down your cheeks. “I’m such a fucking mess. I’m not going to trick you into thinking that I’m something that I ain’t. I’m not a good man, June.”

“I said it earlier,” you say with a soft smile. “I would rather have you broken and bruised than be alone.”

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x ofc #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #hbo the last of us #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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hekatenz · 2 years

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Busting The Common Myths About Menstruation

Even though it's something all women experience at some point in their life, talking about periods and menstruation is a taboo topic that shouldn’t be discussed openly, even among women. The silence makes a lot of women feel ashamed of experiencing periods and suffer in silence if they are experiencing pain or illnesses.

Because of this misogynistic stigma, it’s no wonder why a lot of myths are formed when it comes to menstruation; often these myths are damaging and serve no real benefit for women.

But things have changed and more women are opening up in talking and listening regarding the truth about periods and a lot of researchers are now myth-busting these false stories. Here are some of the common myths about periods and explanations that debunks these hysterical beliefs.

Myth #1 Period blood is dirty

A lot of women believed that period blood is rejected body fluids such as urine, or the blood that runs through our veins but that isn’t the case; period blood is the combination of blood, uterine tissue, mucus lining, and bacteria that flows from the uterus through the cervix and out of the body through the vagina. There is nothing icky about it at all (even if it does feel icky sometimes). It’s a natural process a woman’s body goes through and we should accept it as it is.

Myth #2 Premenstrual Syndrome (PMS) is all in the head.

Eh, false! Women’s estrogen leading up to the days when her period comes plummets so low that her progesterone increases fast. Progesterone is linked to the part of the brain associated with fear, anxiety, and depression. Because of this change in hormones, women go through a PMS period where their mood fluctuates drastically and they often feel irritated, easily fatigued, anxious, and have bouts of sadness before and/or during the period. Aside from that, women can also feel their breasts feeling tender, getting mysterious headaches, and bloating.

The next time you’re feeling down in the dumps, don’t invalidate your feelings and brush them off as just hormones and do nothing about it. You can ease PMS symptoms by getting enough exercise and sleep, eating healthy, and avoiding vices such as smoking and excessive alcohol intake. You can take over-the-counter medicines, such as ibuprofen, naproxen, and aspirin to ease physical symptoms and prescription medicines, such as hormonal birth control, antidepressants, and diuretics. If you think PMS is interfering with your daily life, talk to a gynecologist to help you find ways to alleviate them through lifestyle changes or medication.

Myth #3 Women Shouldn’t Take a Bath When They Are on Their Period

It’s an old wives tale that taking a bath or a shower or even swimming during a period is unsafe because the water stops bleeding which can have ill effects. However, this isn’t the case. Yes, a period may stop while your body is immersed in the water but it only temporary prevents your blood from gushing out of your vagina because of the water pressure. It doesn’t stop your period from bleeding. So, there is no concrete reason why you should wash yourself during your period. It’s best to clean yourself to wash out all the bacteria in your vagina. Use a mild and fragrance-free soap to clean your genital areas to avoid infection. Taking a warm bath can help improve your period pain symptoms such as cramps and bloating and make you feel loads better.

Myth #4 Using tampons will take a woman’s virginity

This ridiculous and damaging myth unfortunately has many women, especially the young ones, believe that this is true. This is due to the fact that tampons can break the hymen, a fleshy piece of tissue that is around the vaginal opening when it is inserted. But that’s not the case of a woman losing her virginity or not. Losing one’s virginity isn’t a case of breaking one’s bodily tissue but rather when one is becoming sexually active. And anyway, virginity is a social construct that society has defined women on how pure they are and this can be damaging to the woman’s self-worth and dignity. So don’t be scared of using tampons— it doesn’t equate to you losing your virginity.

Myth #5 Pain during your period is normal and you just have to get used to it

While cramping is common during your period, extreme pain to the point that it’s hard to move around and breathe at times is not normal at all. You could be experiencing dysmenorrhea and having that condition is not something that you should suck it up and deal with it. You shouldn’t be made to feel by anyone that putting up with this immense pain is part of a normal period. You should see your health care provider or a gynecologist to provide you with a period pain treatment to ease the symptoms and not make life a living Calvary for you whenever Miss Flo visits you.

#hekate #menstruation #period #period myths #period pain #PMS

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nathank77 · 2 months

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4/13/24

12:18 a.m

Talk about driving me fucking crazy. Can you just tell me? Cause I want a retest if it comes back positive.

At this point I'm just accepting I have HSV2. Do I know for sure? Absolutely not cause quest won't finish the fucking test and I've had absolutely no symptoms but- pretending it's a positive will make a positive less traumatic.

I haven't talked to my mother yet but for some reason, I know damn well if I have it, it's from her giving birth to me vaginally.

How do I feel about this? Well if I pretend it's def positive, even though I know I have HSV1....

1) Well I've been asymptomatic for 16 years to 33 years depending on if it was from my Mother or my two sexcapade so who really cares when it comes to my body? I'm not going to ever get symptoms.

2) Obviously I'll be worried I'll get symptoms one day bc they can be a horror story but I have to use time as a reference and psychosis as the most traumatizing event cause it is and then all my other shit that didn't trigger it.

Also there are treatments for it, if you end up being someone very symptomatic that can stop infection frequency. Katelyn had to do it cause she had many outbreaks.

I can avoid certain things that cause outbreaks and otherwise I can just assume I'll never have symptoms and only worry about it if I do.

And if I ever do I won't be surprised bc I'll know.

3) I feel bad for all my exes. Cause I'm telling 2 or 3 out of 4 of them. If I can reach Cecile. I mean I'd want to know if it was the shoe on the other foot so I could get tested. I can't tell Jon cause he won't talk to me but I would if I could.

They'll also low key hate me-its not my fault planned parenthood only tests for HIV, syphilis, gonorrhea and chlamydia..

I've gotten all my tests done at planned parenthood after every partner since I was like 18 years old and I was over here thinking they screened for everything but they don't. They do not do a full panel like my primary care did. They don't even test for Hepitas for christ sake.

-I'm over here thinking I only have two things, one that isn't even a std:

1] HSV1- My cold sores make it undeniable and I've told everyone I dated.

2] I have Pearly Penile Papules, I've had those since I started testosterone. They aren't sexually attractive, they line the head of my dick and they are ultra tiny. However they increase sexual pleasure and they aren't contagious. They don't do anything. They just exist. They are harmless. I've always told my partners about them bc everyone freaks out about bumps down below and I actually went to Planned Parenthood and had them look at my dick and diagnose it years ago, so it's actually what they are.

3) My main concern is that no one will date me bc I will tell everyone that I get serious with. Not right away but well before sex.

- I wish she hadn't done the blood test. They say needless suffering for a reason. Cause they aren't very accurate and I'm over here saying, "Nathan idc if it's in progress you have HSV2, in order to soften the blow if it comes back positive."

- Either way I wait. I'm mostly concerned that no one will date me. I can't blame someone for not wanting it.

- I mean I'm a transguy. I'm disabled. I'm very mentally ill. I'm a low life. And If I have HSV2 good bye to any chance of me finding a partner.

-Either way it's still in progress. It could come back negative, I just got to prepare for the worst case scenario. And if it comes back negative I'll be happy as a pig in shit. If it comes back positive, then I'll feel all the things I wrote above and I'll get retested and I'll start looking at test accuracy rates.

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twistnet · 2 years

Text

rain against the windows [ ellie williams ]

⋯ SUMMARY ; taking shelter from the seattle rain, confessions are made after a quick brush of death

⋯ PROMPT ; [ smut three ] “i need you”

⋯ WARNINGS ; female!reader, angst [ near-death experience ], tw [ blood, violence, panic attacks ], smut [ vaginal fingering, thigh riding, soft sex -- or ellie being an absolute softie ] + mature language

⋯ NOTE ; this content is strictly for those 18+ ; any minors // ageless // blank blogs interacting with this post will be blocked

the door opened, and you suddenly felt like you could breathe again. in theory, seeing as spores from dead infected still lingered within the area, but you were just happy to be out of that hell hole.

“what the hell happened here?” ellie questioned, gesturing toward the rows fo train cars piled together. you shared a look as she travelled forward, taking the lead as she scooped for a way out, “i’m going to guess some sort of train crash.”

she chuckles lightly at your answer, climbing up and into one of the train cars, “thanks sherlock.” you shake your head, following in after her and grabbing a few salvageable supplies you happen to come across. she rounds the corner of one of the cars, stopped short, “jesus...” “i wonder how long they kept these running past outbreak day.”

“el, i think i see some light up that way.” you mention, seeing her nod in confirmation. you wonder around a little, turning as ellie calls your name motioning to the overturned soda machine she had climbed atop of to get where she was waiting, “right. coming!” she waits until you’ve climbed up before moving on, combing through some of the old suitcases that lay abandoned.

she hops down from the train car, turning to make sure you’ve made it through before pointing up, “getting closer to the light.” you nod, following her over to a overturned car, much too high to climb up to on your own, “hey. lemme get you up there.” you nod, placing your foot in her laced hands, stepping as lightly as you can on her shoulder as she lifts you up just enough for you to pull yourself onto the platform, “whatcha got?” she questions, watching as you push an old crate off the side and onto the floor before waving for her to climb up “c’mon.”

she joins you a second later, brushing past you to take the lead again, nodding up towards the light, “we’re almost out.” you nod, trailing behind her, “lead on.” she gets halfway down the car when it begins to creak, “oh no!” she calls, turning back to look at you just as the car snaps and sends her barreling down to the ground, “fuck!”

you panic for a brief moment, quickly deciding to follow after her and you slide down the flooring, “ellie! i’m coming!” you call out, hearing her struggle against an infected that managed to catch her off-guard. you quickly pull him off, shooting him square in the chest before in the head, “get... off!” you growl out, watching him fall to the floor.

ellie stands, and you look over at her, getting ready to ask if she’s alright when you notice the hole in her mask, “ellie, your mask!” she lifts her hand, finding the glass cracked and now useless, “here, we can share mine!” you state, already undoing the straps of your own mask to give to her, when she yells, “no, no, no!” shoving you up against the nearest wall, and tightly gripping your wrists to prevent you from tugging your mask off any further, “what?!”

she shakes her head as you struggle against her, “don’t take this off! stop!” she pleads with you, gripping your wrists tighter, “ellie --!” you state, getting ready to push that she won’t survive without a mask and that you aren’t dying alone down her when she peels off her broken mask, “what? no! ellie, what are you doing?!” you struggle more against her, trying to reach up and grab your mask straps when she shoves you again, almost knocking the wind from your lungs.

“stop! i’m not infected!” at this, you settle in her grip. confusion crossing what she can see of your features through the mask, “i’m immune!” gently letting go of your wrists as she gestures to herself, “i’m not coughing, do you see?”

there is a moment of hesitation, as you see it with your own eyes. more so as the thick layer of spores peppers the air and she seems unaffected. you open your mouth to question it, when the loud roar of infected sounds from further down the tunnel and gets increasingly closer with every second, “fuck.”

she turns to you once more, eyes bright with worry, “can you run?” you nod before calling out, “yes.” she steps back, pulling her gun out before pushing you in front of her, “let’s fucking go. go!”

you ran ahead, struggling slightly when an infected manages to grab your arm, yet is quickly killed with a quick shot to the head as ellie ushers you up the escalator, “ellie!” you call, notifying her of the clickers that have joined in, before turning to run up a set of stairs. ellie gets caught, a hand at her ankle sending her to the ground, but before the runner can get atop of her, you shoot him twice before hauling her up and motioning her down a hall.

more infected join, a few shamblers puffing toxic gas as you hop over a gated section of the tunnel. ellie quickly dispatching the one that managed to follow after the two of you before she’s right back behind you, letting you go through the turn-style before running in after you. she gets stuck after a clicker follows in behind, forcing her back against the grating before you land a shot and the clicker falls dead, jamming the gate shut.

everything catches up to you in the moment, as you crumble to the ground with your hand over your chest, breathing becoming labored as the panic sets in. you vaguely hear ellie call your name, “are you bit?!” she asks worriedly as hands check you over. you manage to shake your head before squeaking out, “can’t breathe...” she understands, quickly grabbing you and pulling you towards the outside. she rips your mask from your face, settling you against the side of a car before kneeling in front of you, “breathe for me, babe. in and out. just like we practiced, remember?” she gently coaches you through your breathing, having you mimic each breath as a her thumb rubs gentle circles along the back of your hand.

“what are three things you see?” she questions once your breathing has returned, “firetruck, lamppost, you.” she nods, confirming with you on each one you see as she turn back to you.

“three things you hear?” the next question, and a deep, slow breath, “thunderstorm, crickets, infected.” you miss the way she grimaces at the last answer, but nods again to let you know you’re correct.

“three parts of your body?” the last one, “arm, hand, fingers.” you settle back against the car, body now worn out from the events just seconds ago. ellie gently pats your shoulder, looking you over, “you alright?” you nod, eyes blinking slowly as she smiles, looking around for some shelter as rain begins to pelt the two of you.

“let’s get into this theater over here.” she gestures, hauling your back to your feet and letting your wrap and arm around her shoulders. she guides you over to the theater, letting you rest against the door as she shoulders it open.

she drops you on the couch, pulling your bag from your shoulders as you settle into the old cushions. ellie seems to hover beside you, unsure how to bring up the conversation of her immunity, but she knew it would have to brought up eventually. however, you had managed to beat her to the topic, “you’re immune?”

she shuffles her feet, nodding silently as she twists her fingers -- a nervous habit, “yeah. it happened... a long time ago.” you nod, mind still turning over how this was possible at all, “are there others like you?” noting the way her face slightly falls at the question, “no. i’ve never met another immune person... and i can’t make you immune.”

“that’s... kinda cool. sucks cause they probably can’t make a cure for all of this, but at least if you’re bit, you won’t turn in to one of those things.” ellie stands, slightly taken aback at your response as you stand from the couch, looking over the theater, “you aren’t... mad?” she questions, which causes you to raise a brow in her direction, “why would i be mad?”

“well... i can’t fix this or make a cure.” she states, as if it was the most obvious thing. and you wonder if she is wanting you to be mad at her from something completely out of her control. you sigh, “and that warrants for me to be mad? ellie, knowing how this virus is... making a cure would probably kill you. and what then? people magically become one again and things go back to normal?things don’t work like that and like you said yourself, you’ve never come across another immune person. what if by some universal power it didn’t work? it would have been for nothing.”

you half expect for her to disagree with you. in turn, leaving the subject alone while you busy yourself in scoping out the theater. instead, she reaches forward to cup your cheeks and pull you in for a passionate kiss that leaves you stunned for a moment.

she pulls back, letting your catch you breath before she’s kissing you again. this time, ushering you back towards the couch you were just seated on, “i need you.” she utters against your lips as she pulls at your jacket, shoving it off your shoulders as she goes for the belt on your jeans. there’s a flash of clothes, both yours and hers building a small pile before she’s climbing atop you.

fingers skim along the band of your underwear, dipping below to run them through your folds, already slick with arousal. she groans against your shoulder, thumb gently toying with your clit as she slips a finger in, shuttering at your moan against her ear.

she works you open gently, pressing kisses to your neck and collarbone with each brush thrust of her finger before adding in another and working them in tandem with the circles she’s rubbing against your clit.

you mewl against her, shifting under her when your thigh brushes against her clit, causing her to bite back a moan as her hips grind softly. she’s leaking through her panties, hips jutting forward to move in time with her fingers as she fucks you gently, slowly chasing after her high against the meat of your thigh.

you flex your thigh, bumping it against her clit as she almost falls forward. managing to catch herself at your breast, which she squeezes in her grasp. her pace picks up, following the thrust of her fingers inside of you which now begin to brush against that sweet spot and almost has you seeing stars.

your nails dig into her bicep as you cry out, clenching around her fingers tightly as you cum, chest heaving as you watch her shutter before collapsing against your chest.

seconds later, she’s sitting up to remove her fingers. wiping them on the fabric of the couch before she’s standing to grab her clothes. you get ready to question her when she smiles and raises her hands, “i’m just going to find something to clean us up with. then we can get dressed and explore this place. i’m not leaving you.” she hikes up her jeans before grabbing her gun and goes searching for some clean water.

it’s some time before she returns, dopey smile on her face as she waves the soaked rag -- most likely from rain water. she gently cleans you up, taking time to sort out the injuries you do have before she’s getting fulled dressed and ushering you upstairs, “you’ll never believe what i found...”

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#the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us imagine #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou imagine #ellie #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie imagine #ellie smut #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams smut #female!reader #twistnet #twistnet works 2022

933 notes · View notes

astrque · 2 years

Text

TWO SERPENTS › 𝕳. 𝕸. ⁽¹⁾

pairing: hope mikaelson x gn!reader

summary: hope gets hurt... badly. there's no one else with her but you, who tries to help her. but hope has relied on herself for her entire life, and she certainly doesn't want to change that now.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, submissive hope, vaginal fingering, enemies to lovers.

MASTERLIST⠀/⠀TAGLIST⠀/⠀REQUESTS⠀/⠀PART 2

likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗢𝗥𝗦 𝗗𝗢 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧⁺¹⁸

❝ you’re not dying on me. ❞

❝ fuck off. ❞ hope heaves, but even she knows the tremor in her voice betrays her pride.

❝ always so stubborn. ❞ you mutter. ❝ don’t be a dumbass, hope. this will kill you. ❞

you bend a knee down on the grass to get a closer look at her, but hope refuses to meet your eyes, head instead turned away from you. you are unbothered by this : hopefully it means you'll be able to assess the damage without hope eyeing you down with that unforgettable hawk-like gaze.

hope's back shifts against the tree she's sitting against, and suddenly her entire face tightens in what clearly reads as pain. but you watch the emotion drain from her eyes just as quickly, and you almost laugh. it's impressive, the way she's trained herself to mask any traces of physical weakness. you can admire it.

but as you gaze down at hope's leg, the humor of the situation is lost on you, because shit. it's bad. it's a deep gash on her inner right thigh, and it's expelling blood like a fountain, so fast that the grass below her is now dyed red. the fabric of her now battered pants is clinging onto the sides of the wound, and you don't need a doctor to know it's probably infected.

❝ shit. ❞ you mumble under your breath, because not only is this an inconvenience for you, but you hate yourself for actually caring.

your eyes trail back up to hope's, who is still looking away, but she's biting down hard onto her lip, and she's breathing in a series of shaky gasps. you mutter another few curses before finally ripping the scarf from your neck, unwinding it as quickly as your fingers can work in the cold. you brings it up to hope's thigh, but hope instantly flinches at your touch, pressing her legs together to break your only way of contact.

❝ i said I’m fine. ❞ she groans, her voice dropping an octave. she shifts her body away from you, swallowing down another groan.

your hands drop to your sides, letting the scarf drop to the ground beside you, and you lift an eyebrow.

❝ come on. this is how you wanna die? ❞ you slip your hand into your holster, pulling your gun out so swiftly that hope doesn't even catch it at first, and you draw it up to hope's face. your hands are steady, even though you don't want to shoot her : it's a warning. a test.

❝ let me shoot you then. ❞ you offer coldly, absently. ❝ put us both out of this misery. ❞

hope finally looks at you again, expression hardened, as if a weapon isn't drawn to her forehead. as if she isn’t bleeding to death either.

❝ you think I’m afraid of you? ❞ she challenges, and closes the distance between her skin and the muzzle, pressing the gun against her forehead. ❝ do it. ❞

you let the gun linger for a moment before pulling it away, a smirk forming on the corners of your lips. hope's stare is unwavering, even once the gun is drawn away from her.

❝ since when do you care what happens to me? just leave me here. ❞ hope tells you, the spoken words immediately drawing out a deep set of coughing from her lungs. she forces her eyes away from you again as her coughing settles, her entire body shaking from the energy spent.

you have had enough of her ego, so you place your hand on hope's untouched leg, curling your fingers around her inner thigh and gently coaxing her legs apart. surprisingly, your grip is gentle, and hope doesn't protest for once, although her body is tight with discomfort at the proximity. she isn't used to people taking care of her.

you hold her leg in place so she won't be tempted to shut her access off again, picking up your scarf from the ground next to you. and carefully, you begin to wrap it around the wound, pulling it into a tight knot to stop the bleeding. hope never once looks at you.

❝ best i can do right now. ❞ you say, clapping the dirt off of your hands. ❝ can you walk? ❞

hope casts you a hardened glare. ❝ what do you think? ❞

but you slip an arm under her anyway, wrapping it around her shoulders and pulling her up, hoisting her away from the tree. hope instantly whimpers in protest, no longer able to pretend as if she isn't in extensive pain. you support the majority of her body weight as she hops on her left leg in sporadic rhythms.

❝ come on. ❞ you encourage, glancing at her from the side. ❝ i'll leave you alone once we find somewhere to rest for the night. deal? ❞

hope is silent, trying to focus on anything other than the way her entire body hurts like hell.

––

you try to set her down easy on the ground of the cave you found, but hope's entire body drops in her exhaustion, and she lays almost lifeless on the ground.

❝ hey, you okay? ❞ you ask, kneeling down beside her and hesitantly reaching out a hand.

hope tries to push your hand away, but her body curls up before she gets the chance. her entire body trembles, and the only thing she can think to do is hug herself, a method of self-comfort she learned from her time living at the salvatore school.

you don't want to care, but you find yourself sitting beside her anyway, back against the cave wall, and you hastily lift hope onto your lap. hope doesn't protest at all this time, as much as she wishes she could.

❝ i gotta make a fire for us, okay? ❞ you say quietly, placing a hand over hope's face, cupping her cheek. you brush your fingers against hope's skin until you reach her hair, trying to comfort her in the only way you really knows how.

hope's head instantly shakes : she doesn’t want to be left here, not alone, and she hates herself for being so visibly weak about it.

❝ i'll be back before you know it. ❞ you reassure, shifting your legs to set hope down and free yourself from her weight.

but hope manages to pull her body upwards, instantly clinging onto your shirt with both hands, her face impossibly close, eyes wide. she just about rips the shirt to shreds, but she doesn’t know how else to tell you how desperately she needs you to stay.

❝ please. ❞ she whispers. her body weight is almost entirely on you now, and she's still shaking. ❝ please don't leave me. ❞

you stare down at her, undeniably surprised. first she doesn’t want to be touched at all, and now she’s on top of you, begging you not to leave. and you frown, because you recognize that look in hope's eyes, tilting your head and giving her a warning frown. hope is hurt, she can’t possibly know what she wants. and there’s no way she wants that.

❝ you're hurt. you're not thinking straight. i get it. ❞ you say matter-of-factly. ❝ but you gotta tough it out for me right now, okay? ❞

hope stills, her grip on your shirt loosening, which you read as her reluctant acceptance.

❝ good girl. ❞ you say, failing to notice the way hope melts at those two words. for good measure, you slide your palm against the side of hope's face again, letting her know her effort is appreciated.

you are barely given a chance to breathe before suddenly hope's lips are pressed firmly against your own, her body sinking into yours until she can't push anymore. all you feel is the heat of hope's body encircling you, intoxicating in the most addictive way, her breath hot against your lips.

you pull away, to which hope's eyes immediately open, lips parted as she stares down at your lips. the crease of her eyebrows and the unmistakable lust hidden in her heavy breathing are enough to show her objection to the pause. the pain radiating from her leg has become a distant thought.

❝ you sure that’s what you want?” ❞ you ask, your voice low.

hope blinks, looking up into your eyes briefly before leaning forward again, eager to reply with another kiss. but she’s stopped by your hand on her chest, firmly holding her back.

❝ i asked you a question. ❞

and hope looks at you again, intense desire in her eyes. ❝ yes. ❞

#legacies #hope mikaelson x y/n #hope mikaelson x reader #legacies imagine #legacies x y/n #legacies x reader #tvdu x y/n #tvdu x reader #tvd x y/n #tvd x reader #hope mikaelson #tvdu #tvd imagine #𝕳. 𝕸.

227 notes · View notes

bjy-on-ao3 · 3 years

Note

(1/2) Heyy, thanks for your reply, and sorry it took me a while to put my request together but here it is: Reader is a shy naiad/nymph who often attends Dionysus' parties, one day he throws a party for Ares, perhaps post-victory celebration. Ares is still in war mode (when is he not lol) and his mood is affecting the other party-goers, so much so that it starts disrupting the party (fights breaking out and what not). Dio wants people to start having fun again so he coaxes reader into helping ares uhhhh 'destress', maybe makes her drink a little ambrosia/wine to loosen up(two birds one stone y'know, he gets reader out of their shell as well). Of course *Dio* joins in the 'festivities' too bc can't be letting ares have all the fun dkkd.

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

I’ve wanted to attempt this request for a while now, but I needed some study into certain parts of it I wasn’t familiar with. I hope y’all enjoy the fic nonetheless and my bits of inexperience in certain portions don’t show overmuch!

(Note: There is no Ares/Dionysus in this fic & this is featuring the characters from the Hades game, if that weren't clear already.)

Summary

During a post-war celebration, the God of War gets a bit out of control, making tempers run hot. With Ares’ bloodlust infecting the party and threatening to ruin it by becoming a brawl, Dionysus enlists Reader’s aid to help his brother wind down. Though he isn’t one to be left out of the fun either.

Tags/Warnings

Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal S*x, Biting, Blood, Creampie, Double Penetration, Drunk S*x, Hand Jobs, Nymph Reader, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Rough S*x, Shameless Smut, Slight Breathplay, Stomach Bulge, Threesome, Vaginal S*x, Voyeurism

Party Foul (Ares/F! Reader/Dionysus)

The sound of raised voices and angry snarls sent you fleeing from the area most folks had gathered to celebrate. Though it was a fete held by a local town in honor of some glorious conquest of war, the atmosphere had been light and jovial to start. However, it hadn’t been long until several of the Olympian gods deigned to grace the celebration with their presence, many with small groups of followers of their own. Mostly, the gods only added to the cheerful mood, the victorious soldiers feeling even more invigorated and honored by their presence. Yet the presence of one god stoked a fire in the blood of many present, whether soldier or laborer or homemaker. Already high on the chaos and strife from previous battles laid to rest, Ares, god of war, brought with him a mood that was electric and infectious. His revel in the bloodshed had boosted his mood, working him into something close to a frenzy. A frenzy that seeped out among the crowd, even after he had left the immediate area. It made them quibble and quarrel amongst one another, escalating until those unaffected began to cautiously distance themselves, lest they be caught up in an impromptu fistfight or worse. Arriving in tow with one of the attending gods, as was common among your fellow nymphs, you had been reluctant, but still secretly excited to enjoy the celebration. You were more than willing to enjoy the captivating atmosphere of good humor and greater cheer, even if you weren’t quite so unphased as your brethren. But as the mood of the hour had grown sour and bitter, voices raised, several men had started physical fights. You had quickly balked and ran. Your flight had taken you to one of the small surrounding buildings, breathing a deep sigh of relief once the angry voices and shouts faded to something far more faint. Stopping, listening for a time, you willed your stammering heart to slow, at least until the sound of sandals drew your attention. You cast a wary glance over your shoulder, ready to run again before recognizing the broad figure behind you. Turning to face the god whom you had accompanied to the party, you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to cut you off. “Ah, perfect timing!” Dionysus’ smooth voice boomed. “C’mere, babe, I could use a little help.” “I-What is it, my Lord?” you asked, thrown off by how laid back he sounded, despite the faint ruckus not far off. You hadn’t spoken to him too much personally, his attention often taken by those more willing to vie for it. “You’re having a good time, yeah? I mean, before all… that,” he trailed off with a lazy gesture of his hand, showing his distaste for the brutish behaviour that had stirred up. “Oh, yes! Before that, absolutely,” you answered, nodding. “Fantastic! What do you say to livening things up a little then?” You couldn’t hold back the furrow of your brow. “Ah, it seems like the city folk have taken it upon themselves to do just that already… Not that I mean to say no, my Lord!” you added quickly. Dionysus grimaced at the reminder of the ongoing brawl growing nearby. “That’s.. Not quite the mood I’m looking for. That’s why I need a little help to cool things down,” he continued, the sour look quickly swept away. “Follow me babe; I promise it’ll be a good time.” “Alright,” you agreed with another acknowledging nod, thinking you would rather be further away from the fighting anyhow. “Great, this way then,” Dionysus gestured once more, this time the gesture more welcoming, an insistence for you to follow him. You followed quietly, giving a few idle glances around the building as he led you through it, down a long hall and to a secluded room. It seemed to be some kind of lavishly decorated bedroom or lounge, littered with chaises and sturdy chairs. Several sconces peppered the wall, giving it a warm, golden glow and leaving nary a corner of the room cast into darkness. On several tables sat platters of breads and cheese, eggs, fruit, and even one of various meats, flanked with several chalices and vessels of what you assumed wine and other spirits. Dionysus stopped at the

door, giving you a gentle push into the room while he waited before the doorway. “Wait here for a minute, babe, I’ll be right back,” he assured you with a grin. Uncertain exactly what it was Dionysus required of you - given who you were dealing with, you had ideas, of course, but one could never be completely sure - you did as you were told. You settled yourself on the edge of one chaise, eyeing one of the more impressive looking vessels on the tables. You decided against having a taste from it, deeming it better to just wait until Dionysus returned. After a few minutes that dragged on, the sound of footsteps drew near once more - this time more than just one set, the additional footsteps heavier than the first. Dionysus reappeared in the doorway, stepping into the room, followed by another man who could only be another god, judging by the broad breadth of his shoulders and chest and the fearsome, bloody red eyes that fell on you. You recognized him instantly - the god of chaos and war was hard to forget, after all - and most you knew gave him a wide berth. It wasn’t so much that he was unpredictable that concerned most people, rather that his fondness for war and violence was exceptionally predictable. You suppressed the urge to rise from your seat and make some hasty excuse to retreat, not fond of the wild-eyed excitement painted on the new god’s face that seemed barely held under control, or the nearly tangible aura around him that made your skin prickle. Despite being dressed in less warlike attire than the armor he often wore and was well known for, Ares was still large and imposing. The addition of several blades remaining strapped or tied here and there did little to dull that impression. You looked to Dionysus, seeking distraction from Ares’ entrance, wondering what business he had that involved you and also required Ares. “What was it you needed my help for again, Lord Dionysus?” you piped up as you watched him coax Ares into reposing on another chaise some distance away. Walking back to you, Dionysus eyed you for a second, and then his eyes flickered back to his brother, who seemed a bit more mild, though still impatient and worked up. “You saw the scuffle outside, yeah, babe?” he asked easily, seeming hardly put off by Ares’ frightening aura. You nodded silently, feeling as if he wasn’t quite done speaking. “Old Ares over there got a bit overexcited, and it’s really killing the mood,” Dionysus complained, tone dipping slightly in annoyance at the idea of a ruined mood, heaving a small sigh. “He could stand to… wind down, if you catch my meaning.” You weren’t dull, and catch his meaning you did quickly, looking to Ares. “Oh,” you said quietly, feeling more apprehension rise. Ares was appealing enough, you couldn’t deny that, but he was also nearly as frightful. “What do you say, babe? Think you can convince him to relax?” As carefree as Dionysus sounded, he still seemed aware of your worry, too. “If you’re feelin’ nervous, I’ve got a little something that might just help you out.” He reached for one of the more ornate vessels on the table before pouring some of the liquid into a goblet. The liquid was a rich, royal purple, some kind of wine that seemed to smoke faintly, though the scent that wafted from it was heady and sweet. “I promised it’d be a good time, right? Just drink this and trust me, babe.” Fickle though most gods were, from your experience Dionysus was trustworthy enough for his words to be reassuring. The wine in the cup would no doubt deal away with any lingering uncertainties as well. You considered the cup for a moment more, giving a second half-nod and reaching to take it from Dionysus’ hold. You drained it quickly, far quicker than you might have under normal circumstances. Now was not the time to sip and recline. You needed whatever aid that wine might offer. For several passing, heavy moments, your nerves remained. But a warm, gentle buzz crept up, drowning your concerns out until they were naught but an indistinct drone in the back of your head. A warmth starting in your

cheeks spread down your neck and chest, leaving you suddenly less stiff, less concerned by Ares’ menace. The prospect of helping him ‘relax’, as Dionysus had so casually suggested, became less frightening by the second. As if he could tell how quickly his special wine had taken effect - you guessed it was more likely he knew how potent it was - Dionysus grinned. He extended a hand to help you to your feet, and you took it without a second thought. In the past, you had heard alcohol referred to as ‘liquid courage’, though you imagined that was regarding mortal drink. You didn’t think any mortal wine could have so put you at ease quite so speedily as what you had just drank. Yet, despite the potency of the alcohol, you were easily able to remain steady on your feet, even without Dionysus’ help. “Well, go on, babe,” Dionysus urged you nonchalantly. “Don’t want this party to go downhill anymore, do we?” With a gentle shake of your head, you released Dionysus’ hand, and swept past him, towards Ares from where he watched with vague interest. The warmth and confidence granted to you spread further, growing strong, whisking away the last tatters of your nerves and leaving a need to please behind. You noted that even though Ares showed some interest, he seemed restless, as if he would much rather be out among the ruckus he had unintentionally - you assumed - incited. “I’ve been told you're in need of some relaxation, my Lord,” you said in a tone you hoped was alluring. Ares scrutinized you for a silent moment from his seat, sipping something from a goblet of his own. Though the scent that drifted from his was far more potent and acrid. “Is that so?” Ares’ speech was much more calm and composed than you had expected, a striking contrast to the roiling expression in his eyes. His sharp gaze flicked to Dionysus where you had left him. He had settled onto another of the many chaises, indulging in his own drink already and looking as if he wasn’t paying you any further mind. “Very well,” Cutting red eyes turned back to you, and a shiver of anxiety you had thought drowned in wine shot through you. But you pushed the feeling away, calling on the courage bestowed on you by that same drink. “But first, off with those,” Ares demanded, gesturing with a nod of his head to your clothing. Quick to obey, your fingers flashed to your belt, undoing it and tossing it aside. Your fingers shook a little, yet you didn’t feel as if fear or worry were the cause now. Next came your tunic, pulled over your head as gracefully as you could manage, left to join your belt. At last, only your breast band remained, and you doubted it was exempt from Ares’ command. So if came off, too, leaving you stark nude in front of him. Were it not for the potency of the draught Dionysus had given you, you were sure your stripping would have been a clumsy mess, but even with your trembling touch, it had felt easy. “Now, come here, then,” the tone of Ares’ voice hardly changed, remaining thunderous and even, as if you had little effect on him. You moved until you were within reach, and Ares closed the rest of the distance between you, grabbing you by the wrist and thigh and pulling you onto his lap. Even in your pleasant haze, the sudden, unsettled motion struck you, and you sat still for a few seconds, trying not to blink owlishly at him. A ghost of a grin curled Ares’ lips, and he waited expectantly. Large, hard hands lingered on your skin. They shifted, and you flinched reflexively, and Ares’ smile showed a slight flash of teeth, as if he was enjoying the tension, however brief. “Don’t keep the man waiting, babe,” drifted Dionysus’ voice from his chaise. Apparently, he was paying more attention it had initially appeared. Shaking yourself out of your surprised stupor, you licked your lips and tried to relax again. You bent forward, planting your hands firmly on the front of Ares’ tunic and crushing your lip to his. The taste of whatever sharp, potent liquid he had been drinking met you head on, mingling with something pleasantly earthy and overwhelming the

lingering sweetness from the wine Dionysus had plied you with. There was a soft clunk as he set down his drink somewhere nearby, and his reaction was swift, pushing roughly back into the kiss and nipping harshly at your lower lip. One hand tangled in your hair, his grip stinging, preventing you from retreating. The other wasn’t to be left idle, sweeping over your form, grabbing rough handfuls of your ass or thighs or chest as it wandered. A cruel, full bite to your lip made you hiss and gasp, opening the seal of your lips well wide enough for Ares to thrust his tongue between them. When it twined itself with yours, it was as fierce as his kiss, waging a battle rather than taking part in what was for many a sensual dance. The hand roaming your body shifted to the small of your back, pushing your hips down into his, ensuring you felt the fruits of your effort to entice him, already straining beneath his clothes, hard and hot even through them. Ares pulled away, allowing you to catch your breath and taste blood as it trickled from your savaged bottom lip. Your tongue slipped out once more, re-wetting your lips and gathering the stray beads of blood. Something like amusement had overtaken Ares’ wild-eyed gaze. “What an obedient little nymph you have brought, brother,” he said smoothly, clearly addressing Dionysus, though his attention remained fixed on you, taking a more thorough measure of your form spread across his lap. Something you couldn’t quite place flashed through the cutting red for an instant before he spoke again, and you couldn’t contain another shiver. “How much can such a fragile creature handle, I wonder,” he mused, the hand that had captured your head sliding down and lightly skimming over your neck briefly. Another shudder wracked you, less noticeable this time, and your breath caught in your chest. “Come now, nymph, let us see.” Quickly, Ares was on you again, leaning forward in his seat, pressing you more insistently into his lap before the same hand dug into your hair again, pulling and directing until you were bent back at his mercy. As before, Ares didn’t try to be soft or considerate, nipping at your lips again and wrestling your tongue into writhing submission. The warm, encouraging strength of the brew Dionysus had supplied made the lines between arousal and fear bubbling beneath the surface warp and twist, and you weren’t sure which was surging from the less than gentle treatment. Small moans and gasps previously smothered by Ares’ mouth and tongue broke free when he moved away again, licking his lips. He didn’t waste time, though, moving down your throat just as aggressively as he had kissed you. Sharp bites and soon-to-be bruises left a burning path across your jaw and throat. A deep, satisfied hum rolled through Ares when he was met with hisses and groans in response. Though his actions were careless and painful, there was pleasure in them, too, stoking a growing heat in you as if each touch of his lips and teeth and tongue infused you with the excited heat of bloodlust that filled the war god. You rolled your body toward his harsh attentions, bare core grinding against the eager hardness tucked beneath his clothes. A dark laugh tickled your skin, and you cracked your eyes open to spy an amused expression gracing Ares’ face. They snapped shut again to absorb the myriad mix of pain and pleasure as he assaulted your skin all over again. Somehow, his mouth on your skin felt so hot, even though you were sure your entire body was already aflame. So caught up in Ares’ attentions, you paid no mind to what had become of Dionysus. He lay eyeing the entire spectacle while he reclined languidly on his own chaise. Had you realized, it would have come as no surprise that the hedonistic god was fond of watching. And for a time, Dionysus was content to do just that - watch - his eyes glued to your reactions from his brother’s touch. But it wasn’t long before looking alone wasn’t enough, and his hand drifted to his lap, palming an erection of his own and stroking it through the fabric. Ares withdrew

again, allowing another short reprieve from his onslaught of mouth and hand. You followed him, moving your hands from his chest to his lap. A tiny part of you urged you to trace the outline of his erection beneath his clothes, to take your time. Yet another, far louder, more sensible part suggested that Ares wouldn’t likely take too kindly to a light and teasing touch. You abandoned the notion, ignoring the dull sting of the marks Ares had bit and sucked into your skin. You pushed his lappets away instead, and his cock stood free and stiff before you, almost as imposing as its owner. Rather than taking the time to admire him, you wrapped a hand around his thick cock, rewarded with a deep, primal sound. Ares’ head tilted back for a moment, basking in your hand slipping up and down his length. You squeezed a little harder as you stroked him, and Ares groaned; a husky, growling noise that went straight to your cunt. You didn’t hear the footsteps approaching closer and closer behind you, nor did you catch the motion sweeping toward you. You only realized Dionysus’ suddenly much closer present when Ares tipped his head forward and cast his eyes past you. A brief glimpse of annoyance flitted across his face, quickly erased as you continued to fondle his cock. “Inviting yourself to join in, brother?” Ares asked, and part of you was almost disappointed to hear how collected and smooth his tone sounded, as if you weren’t touching him at all, nor as if he had set upon you like a wild beast before that. Your pace slowed, but didn’t stop as you twisted as far as you could to look back over your shoulder. You found Dionysus standing in front of Ares’ chaise, his own excitement easily noticeable beneath his flowing tunic. “Can’t very well resist a show like this,” Dionysus excused shamelessly with a shrug. Something told you this was hardly the first time he had intruded on someone else’s carnal moments. Or perhaps his eternally relaxed attitude only gave off that sense. “You’ll just have to learn to share.” Your glance flicked from one to the other, expecting Ares to look more irritated at Dionysus’ casual decree, but he seemed to brush it off with a short, dismissive hum. His focus returned to you, deciding you more worthy of his time. He swiped your hand away from his cock, shifting you in his lap with both hands. You barely registered the sound of rustling of cloth behind you, completely distracted as Ares positioned you properly over him. He didn’t bother taking his time easing himself inside, jerking your hips down and bucking his upward. You stiffened immediately, biting your abused lip at the sudden stretching, aching sting as he filled you completely. You clawed at the fabric of the chaise, taking a deep, quivering breath. Fortunately, the wine and, somehow, Ares’ rough handling had left you limber and wet enough that the stretch of Ares’ cock wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Yet still, you couldn’t restrain a pained whimper and a shorter, gasping breath when he shifted, lifting you up and forcing you back down. “Aah, Lord Ares, it- I-I can’t--” Your words were cut short by a whine, and your eyes shot down, avoiding Ares’ cruel crimson ones, again attempting to relax, focusing on the pleasure beneath the pain. You swallowed hard, and your cunt constricted, despite the burning ache, at the sight of the bulge in your lower belly. You hadn’t missed Ares’ considerable endowment when you had been touching him beforehand, but the sight of him so noticeably buried in you was a little frightening, and somehow even more arousing. “What troubles you so, nymph?” you tore your gaze away from the lewd sight it was fixed on to meet Ares’ eyes when he spoke. The cut of his voice was derisive, almost cruel, and a leer adorned his lips. “Surely you can handle this,” he added. He lifted and lowered you again, harder, and his smirk grew just a little when you winced and a gasping ‘ah’ burst from your lips. Somehow it was no shock a god entangled in violence and war would enjoy some pain, even in play. Dionysus’ familiar voice

floated to you before you could answer, smooth as honey, and almost soothing. “Easy, babe, you’re doing great.” His words were an intimate whisper, and if Ares could hear, he didn’t care to acknowledge them, only spearing you on his cock all over again, settling into a slow, rough pace. “Gotta relax, let it all go,” Dionysus urged you, and the tickle of his breath sent a pleasant chill down your spine, making your cunt squeeze down on Ares’ length again. Dionysus’ hands splayed across the bare skin of your back, feeling almost cold on your overheated skin. He smoothed around your torso until a breast filled each large palm, his thumbs rubbing lightly over your nipples. The sensation was a welcome contrast to the sting of Ares’ brutal fucking. Though the pain didn’t seem as bad as it had been - whether you were becoming used to it, or the pleasure Dionysus added muted it, you weren’t sure. Ares’ hands, meanwhile, remained steadfast on your hips, content to hold them in a grip tight enough to surely bruise. Each new time you sank down on his dick, your breath escaped in a gasp or breathless groan. The sounds you made morphed into something steadily more erotic, breathier and wanton. Ares’ voice drifted out, too, though in rumbling grunt when he buried himself completely inside you. Coming down on his length again, another hardness met you, from your backside this time, your ass sliding against it as Ares continued to fuck you. A fleeting glance back told you was Dionysus, proudly nude having decided completely discarding his long tunic was the best course of action. Your lapse in attention earned you more punishment from Ares, though, and he took the chance to lean forward and bite down on your neck sharply. Your hands flexed again, digging into whatever it was they had settled on now - you weren’t concerned with what, be it cloth or flesh or anything else. Your head snapped around, meeting entertained, self-satisfied red. Dionysus’ erection drew back and one hand lifted away. After several more thrusts, something hard, but smaller and more pliant prodded at your ass. Coated in something tacky and slick, what you assumed was one of Dionysus’ fingers searched briefly before finding your asshole and rubbing against it in small, gentle circles. An extra hard thrust from Ares made you tense and whimper, though your body clenched around him again. Still near your throat, Ares’ mouth closed over your skin again, biting and sucking greedily. Dionysus’ finger abandoned the lazy circles, pressing lightly against your puckered hole, steadily forward, careful despite Ares’ jarring pace. When the digit finally slipped through the ring of muscle, you hissed, a new discomfort striking you for an instant, in combination with Ares’ harshness. But whatever coated Dionysus’ finger had made the penetration only uncomfortable for a brief moment, and when he eased his finger in and out, the discomfort shifted to the back of your mind, replaced by the increased sense of fullness. Alongside it, a bubbling tension was awakening in your core, spurred on by the treatment of both gods, boiling low and tightening further ever-so-slowly. A second thick finger joined the first, and you became more used to the newest intrusion, taking in the swell of sensations enveloping you. Dionysus’ pace shifted to match Ares’ in speed, but it remained careful and otherwise languid. The hand he had left on your tits though became notably rougher, though, from excitement, rather than pleasure in pain. Ares’ grip on your hips wavered, no longer needing to so forcefully direct you. The ministrations from both had worked you into a wild heat that encouraged you to rock and grind against him and back onto Dionysus’ fingers. You couldn’t decide which your body craved more. All you knew was you needed both. Any remaining tension had been completely sapped away, along with all coherency you had possessed. An unbidden whine broke free when Dionysus withdrew his fingers, turning halfway into a gasp and then a moan when Ares paired a hard thrust with an even harder

bite on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You had little time to protest or miss any of the sensations before the hotter, harder touch of Dionysus’ cock returned, coated in the same thick, slick substance as his fingers. He aligned himself with your ass, as smooth and relaxed as before. “Better take a deep breath, babe,” Dionysus purred in your ear, both of his hands shifting to cut your rear. He pushed forward as you impaled yourself on Ares once more, his entrance mindful and slow; the opposite of his brother’s entirely. You drew a sharp breath, not from Dionysus’ warning, but simply from the way each inch added more and more to what you had already believed to be a fullness that threatened to split you wide. By the time Dionysus, too, was sheathed inside of you, the fullness bordered on overwhelming, and your breathing faltered again, your mind so completely scrambled. Your head fell back and your lips opened in an ‘oh’ of pleasure, dull pain, and a plethora of other intense, mixed feelings. You tried to rock into them both, to meet each thrust, though when their paces aligned, you could do little but writhe and moan, as if all sense had been wrung from you. Dionysus mouthed at your ear playfully, tongue curling across the shell. “Mm, you’re doing great, babe,” he praised in a husky whisper you almost didn’t catch, so caught up in everything. But catch them you did, and they sent another shudder coursing through you, your body squeezing both gods desperately and drawing more erotic sounds from them both. Another growling, low moan from Ares. A breathy, hedonistic groan from Dionysus. They only added to the mounting maelstrom of arousal and heat. Your heart quickened when one of Ares’ hands abandoned your hips and splayed around your throat loosely. His lips brushed your ear, and as he spoke, he squeezed, just enough to make your heart beat even faster and your breath come a bit more shallow. “Enjoying yourself, are you, nymph?” he growled cheekily. “I might have expected as much from one of my dear brother’s little harlots.” Had you been more sober, clear minded, Ares’ words, sounding nearly a slight, might have made you flush hot with humiliation. Instead, they worked only to heighten your desire, flowing into everything else. You had no mind left for embarrassment. All that remained were the mind-numbing sensations surrounding you and filling you. Ares’ voice dropped away, his pace picking up, his hips bucking harder into yours. Even Dionysus behind you thrust a little faster, harder, his own peaking arousal just as plain as Ares’. You weren’t immune to the welling up of pleasure, either, your belly churning and tight with a winding heat that was nigh unbearable. It grew and grew each time you were filled, and you wanted to scream instead of moan, cry instead of gasp. The thick intrusions, the wandering and groping and squeezing hands, and the greedy, hot tongues and teeth. It all came together in the perfect storm of mindless, primal passion. You came before either of them, giving into whatever wanton shout or cry wanted to escape, your muscles clenching frantically. When first the tense coil of heat burst, you were set awash with that heat, searing and intense, as if lightning struck. Your orgasm rose and fell, only to be dragged out by Ares’ and Dionysus’ unceasing pace, thrusting into your heat unrelentingly. The end of one orgasm blended into the beginning of another, and hot, overwhelmed tears brimmed in your eyes before breaking away. On either side of your face, each god lingered. Dionysus whispered more sultry words of praise and encouragement, placing sloppy kisses on your temple and cheek. Ares nipped your jaw and licked at the salty trail of your tears, as it was an exquisite taste that delighted him. Ares’ hips rolled into you harder than ever before, pace becoming wild and erratic. With a final sharp thrust, Ares’ release filled your cunt, hot and thick, accompanied by a savage bite to your neck that left the warm, sticky feeling of blood in its wake. When he pulled back, a bit of

blood smeared on his lips and teeth, he looked even more warlike and intimidating than to start. But something in his expression seemed sated, calm almost - or at least as calm as a god of such chaos could be. Dionysus, despite joining in later, took little longer to reach his own climax, and with a grinding thrust, he, too, coated your insides with his cum. A drawn-out, erotic moan followed in the wake of his orgasm, and he lay his head on your shoulder, his hair sticking to your overheated, sweat-slicked skin. After a moment of silence, Ares reclined back more comfortably, though didn’t bother to lift you off his length. Dionysus pulled away, withdrawing leisurely with a sound of contentment. Feeling exhausted and sore, you chanced collapsing against Ares’ chest, and to your surprise, the war god allowed it. You ignored the warm, wet feeling seeping down your thighs, too tired to truly care. “There. Don’t we all feel better now?” asked Dionysus cheerily, hardly sounded tired or winded at all. He paused to listen in silence, searching for the previous ruckus. “Certainly sounds a bit quieter out there now.” “Perhaps,” Ares drawled, and he didn’t sound very taxed either. It seemed you were the only one so tired. “I may yet have more use for your nymph before the night is done,” Ares decided, and you jumped reflexively when his fingers curled in your hair and massaged absently, in a gesture that could almost be confused for affectionate. Dionysus hummed acknowledgement. “Well, I’ll be back in a bit then. Try not to have too much more fun while I’m gone.” You heard rather than saw Dionysus redress and depart, too tired to bother looking. Your mind wandered to what other uses Ares might have for you, as he had stated. Did Dionysus have similar intentions in mind for the evening, too? Whatever the case, this wouldn’t be a night you would soon forget.

#ares #dionysus #hades game #ao3 #writing #fanfiction #nsft #n/s/f/w #fic friday #finally another fic upload #tw: alcohol #tw: blood

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merakiaes · 4 years

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SEX IS NOT SUPPOSED TO HURT

Okay can we, as fanfic-writers, just STOP normalizing pain during sexual intercourse? I’ve seen so many smut fics over the past few days where the reader is described to be in a lot of pain and sometimes even BLEEDING because it’s her first time, or just generally.

Us uterine carriers literally have the ability to push a fullgrown fucking baby out of our vaginas. It can stretch immensively and it’ll still go back to it previous state eventually no matter the size of the penetrative object.

Even if it’s your first time, sexual intercourse is not supposed to hurt and definitely not supposed to bleed. If it does, then you’re doing something wrong.

Maybe you need more foreplay to ease up the muscles, maybe some lube if you’re not able to produce enough lubricant on your own, or maybe you’ve got some medical condition that will cause you pain. It can, for example, be a yeast infection, vulvodynia or vaginismus, among other things.

Vulvodynia is a condition where your vaginal mucous membranes have become fragile and sensitive at the entrance of your vagina which can lead to less natural lubricants and, in turn, pain and sometimes bleeding.

Vaginismus is the body’s automatic reaction to the fear of some or all types of vaginal penetration. In some cases there can be an explanation for it, for example some kind of trauma, but in most, there is no apparent reason. You can be completely ready for sex mentally, but your body might close off like this despite your readiness, in which case your vaginal muscles will respond to any attempt of penetration by tightening up and making it impossible. This can happen even if you’ve previously enjoyed painless, penetrative sex.

I think most people know what a yeast infection is but for those who don’t, it is a fungal infection that causes irritation, discharge and itchiness. Everyone don’t get all of the symptoms but because it in many cases causes irritation, it can also make penetration painful.

All these conditions can make it hard for people with vaginas to have penetrative intercourse, but there is help to get for all of them, whether it be medication, ointments or therapeutic exercises.

This post got really out of hand but the point I’m trying to make is that if everything is working as it should in your body, penetrative sex is not supposed to hurt.

Pain mixed with pleasure is a fetish a lot of people share, but that is a whole other thing. If the pain/pleasure-mix is what you’re trying to accomplish, please try to get that point across in another way.

For example:

Rough thrusts that causes Person A and Person B’s pelvic bones to clash together in a painful way.

Irritated rashes being left behind from the continuous friction of skin on skin.

Pulling each other’s hair.

Grabbing and squeezing the other’s body with a lot of force and strength.

The bottom scratching the top’s back, leaving scratches.

Uncomfortable positions that causes muscle aches or cramps.

Sucking and biting on the other’s skin until it turns raw and sensitive.

Soreness and irritation after a LONG penetrative session. To clarify, NOT in the beginning of the act because then you’re doing it wrong.

If you’re feeling extra kinky and frisky, some masochistic suggestions:

Spanking

Whipping

Consensual abuse

Genitorture

Choking

Body clamps

Abrasion

Edgeplay (Ex. fireplay, breathplay, waxplay, gunplay, knifeplay, blood play, electroplay, etc)

Let’s normalize NOT normalizing sex to be painful because like I’ve said several times now, that’s not how it’s supposed to be; sex is never supposed to be painful unless you’re purposely and consensually planning on inflicting pain, so please stop writing it like that because you’re all contributing to spreading false awareness and setting the wrong expectations for inexperienced people with vaginas.

To my dear virgins or whoever it may concern: foreplay is key. If it hurts, you’re not ready, so don’t settle and suffer through it just because it’s been normalized to do so by fanfiction. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be.

Thank you for reading my rant, feel free to reblog to spread the word.

#smut #how to write smut #fanfiction #smut imagine #smut fanfic #smut fanfiction

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solynaceawrites · 3 years

Text

. . . Lead Right to You

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: None Category: F/M Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Relationship: Carlos Oliveira/Jill Valentine Characters: Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira Tags: Canon Related, Smut, Porn with Feelings, Porn with Plot, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex Summary: After the destruction of Raccoon City and cooped up in a hotel turned refugee center, Jill and Carlos finally have a bit of time for themselves. Written For: @valeveirazine

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They’ve been holed up in a hotel for two weeks while the military tries to figure out what to do with them. Well, the government really, but after seeing nothing but men and women in uniforms—bringing them meals and clean clothes and toiletries, drawing enough blood that Jill’s surprised she hasn’t gone anemic yet—it’s easier to say that it’s the military keeping them captive than officials she’s never seen. Not that she can really blame them for their caution, nor is it exclusive to her and Carlos; enough people had made it out of the city that they’d needed somewhere to go both for quarantine in case they’d been infected, and to buy time to figure out what to do with them. The fact that this is an entirely new virus leaves no room for error.

Still, there’s only so many ready-meals and isolation that one person can handle before the idea of climbing through a window starts to sound appealing.

The problem, Jill has learned, is that she doesn’t handle being idle well. Her entire life has been spent working towards goal after goal after goal, sometimes her own and sometimes someone else’s, and the last decade was one of constant motion. Training in the military, training with Delta Force, rescue operations with her team. Even in what little downtime she had, she was filing reports or following up on leads, so this nothingness is nearly intolerable. How many reruns of the same four shows is she expected to watch?

At least she’s had time to work through grief, she supposes. Losing Brad, Mikhail, and then Tyrell had left her numb when she wasn’t furious, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the nameless emotion that had twisted her up at the loss of so many innocent lives. If they ever let her out of here, the first thing she’s going to do is hunt Wesker down and put a bullet between his eyes, and maybe one in his black heart just for good measure.

The space from Carlos has been welcome, which is the one small gratitude she can find it within herself to begrudgingly show. Jill has a history of bad relationships, ones that burned too quick and fell apart just as fast, and the last thing she wants is to fall into the same pattern with a guy who’d been nothing but kind to her and put his life on the line to save her ass. So a fortnight to really mull over what she feels as far as he’s concerned was a blessing. Hell, she’d even drawn up one of those lists her friends in high school used to make, the ones where you wrote down all the good and bad possibilities and weighed them out. It had been a short one, not surprising considering how little she really knows about him, but the good had outnumbered the bad.

He’s earnest, loyal, quick-witted, good-humored, respectful, and brave, not to mention the goofy grin or the ass that looked killer in his black fatigues. Downsides: former convicted criminal, worked for Umbrella, and her knowledge of his life wouldn’t fill the palm of her hand. More pros, but the few cons that she does have are pretty big ones.

Still, she finds that she misses his company as the days drag on. Jill knows he’s probably just as restless as she is when it comes to being cooped up, no matter how nice the room might be, and there’s a part of her that thinks that this time would pass easier if she had him to share it with. Were she more inclined towards being a sap, she might even go so far as to say he’s the only friend she has left in the country. She’s not, but the sentiment remains. Close calls with death make for fast friends, and she’s not about to look this particular gift horse in the mouth for too long.

Not when the amount of people she can trust is less than the fingers on a hand.

Their first day out of Raccoon City had been spent in a temporary camp set up by the Red Cross. Both of them were bruised and battered and suffering from the effects of the shockwave the bomb let off; Jill had a nasty case of whiplash, while Carlos had fractured a few ribs when it knocked him against his harness. Between the medics bustling in and out to check on them and the general mayhem of trying to figure out where they were going to go, there hadn’t been much time for speaking. And despite that—despite her fatigue and his pain and the fact that neither of them slept much for the next forty-eight hours—he’d never left her side. He wasn’t much help when it came to moving things, mainly because the medics tore him a new one whenever he tried, but his company kept her from sinking into a deep depression. When they’d been separated at the hotel, he raised enough hell for the both of them. It was only the repeated reassurance that it was just temporary that finally had him quieting down, and his open care for her touched Jill in a way she wasn’t expecting.

While the officers watching them wouldn’t play messenger, they did bring news back and forth. Carlos’ ribs hadn’t been fractured, it turned out, just bruised and incorrectly diagnosed by an overworked volunteer without an x-ray machine. He was doing fine and, yes, his blood work was coming up clean with every test. Yes, he’d asked about her. No, he didn’t seem happy, but he was at least comfortable, and had taken to joking with his assigned watchers when his mood was cheery enough.

Eighteen days after the destruction of Raccoon City, Jill asks to see him. With the initial fear gone, she has taken to analyzing again and again every step she and the rest of her team took to get to right here, and nothing can keep her from feeling guilty. Guilty for not recognizing the danger, guilty for trusting the wrong people . . . all those lives lost feel heavy on her shoulders, especially since she survived. So the least she can do is make sure Carlos is okay. Two days after that, when the officers decide they’ve taken enough blood and she’s unlikely to be carrying a live strain of the virus—and so can’t infect anyone else—she’s told that they’ll bring him by the next morning.

"Did you know each other?" the officer asks as she takes her vitals.

"Not before this," Jill admits. "I just want to make sure he's okay."

The officer nods. "It's hard not to feel responsible for the people we save, isn't it?"

Jill agrees, but can't help but wonder: did she save him, or did he save her?

Later she asks for a razor and shaving cream. The kid dropping off her lunch gives her a funny look, but she says it's just for comfort. It has nothing to do whatsoever with seeing Carlos. It frustrates her at first, the age-old idea that a man and woman can’t be close if they’re not fucking, but then it makes her laugh because, hell, she knows she won’t say no if he asks. Which he might. Not that she would ever ask. Maybe. Probably not.

She goes to bed with the three weeks of stubble gone, delighting in the small pleasure of how soft the sheets feel against her smooth legs. Shaving had always been utilitarian for her, done once or twice a month when her uniform pants started to tug uncomfortably, and she’d almost forgotten the little thrill of dolling up a bit for a lover. The thought gives her pause. Is that what Carlos is? Is that what she wants him to be?

Jill draws a picture of him in her mind’s eye. It’s his grin that comes first, a little crooked and, when paired with those soulful brown eyes of his, a little reminiscent of a pup looking for affection. That leads to his lips, soft and just the right side of full and surrounded by a neatly-trimmed beard that would probably scrape nicely over her skin if he kissed her. Her body quickens, grows warm. She rolls onto her side and presses her knees together as a dull ache pulses between her legs; coupled with the fluttering in her chest, she feels like a schoolgirl dreaming of her crush.

That makes her smile a little. Sure, the world’s gone to hell and everything is shit, and here she is wondering what his mouth would feel like if he buried his head between her thighs. It’s normal, and it makes her feel like maybe things will be alright as long as they’re together.

Every knock on her door the next day has her nerves jumping. It’s just the routine things—personnel coming in to check her vitals or bring her meals—and she feels more and more ridiculous each time. When one of them comes to grab the dinner cart from her room, she stops him and asks what the hell is taking so long. The officer laughs a little, tells her to wait and see, and then disappears into the hall and leaves her standing in front of her little table with a frown. Trying to keep herself occupied, she moves about and tidies up, hiding things in closets or drawers and straightening the bed until everything is gleaming.

Wouldn’t want him to think I’m a slob, she muses, and then snorts.

Finally, at a quarter past eight, there’s a knock before a keycard clicks in the door and Carlos steps inside. He looks good dressed in civvies, the black t-shirt clinging to his broad chest and the sweatpants hanging just low enough on his hips to be delicious, his hair still damp from a shower. She stares at him, her heart jackhammering in her chest and her throat tight. His gaze locks on hers and there are so many things swirling there, some of them she recognizes and some of them she doesn’t, and the air between them grows thick, heavy.

Then she’s moving and he meets her halfway. He grabs her, those strong arms curling around her back, and she laughs when he lifts her off her feet in a hug so tight that it almost hurts. Jill doesn’t care; she grips the collar of his shirt and presses her cheek to his, breathing in cologne and soap and the cheap scent of his aftershave. His head turns, lips whispering along her jaw.

Before it goes any further, he sets her gently on her feet, though he doesn’t let her go. “Hey, supercop.”

“Oliveira,” she replies.

“Sorry it took so long. Couldn’t get a razor for damn near four hours, and then dinner was late and the health check dragged on and on, and they kept askin’ shit about handcuffs and—”

She finds her grin growing the longer he goes. “Sounds like a rough time,” she says.

He chuckles, and they smile at one another for a long moment. Jill tries not to check him out, but it is really, really hard; the clothes that don't fit exactly right do show off just how good looking he is. She stares into his eyes, admiring the long lashes and kindness in them. It's a rare thing to see: people like them, who end up on the front lines, often get jaded from all the death and destruction. But she can tell Carlos isn't that way, and his expression almost speaks to her, saying you're safe with me.

Jill swallows a bit uncomfortably, not really sure how to be on the receiving end of that. But Carlos is openly admiring her, which only makes her face grow a bit hot. "You look good," he comments softly.

"Do I?" she chuckles.

"Yeah. Glad that they took good care of you. I was worried."

Her chest tightens a little at that. "I was worried about you too."

Carlos' lips curl upwards at her confession. "You already eat?”

“Mm-hm. Slop and slop.” Jill smooths a hand over his chest, telling herself it’s just to wipe away the wrinkles she’d caused in his shirt. “Better than what we got in Delta Force, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t kill for a steak.”

“I know a place.”

The offer hangs between them. Startled by it, she peers up into his face to get a read on how he’s feeling, and the only thing she sees there is earnestness. It shakes her, brings to mind the emotions of the night before, and her cheeks heat. “Yeah?” She licks her lips, trying to sound light-hearted. “Lemme guess, pool tables in the back and cheap beer?”

“Hey, I like cheap beer!” he protests with a laugh. “Pitcher for five bucks, can’t really beat that.”

“Sounds like you’re asking me on a date, Oliveira. You sweet on me?”

It’s a genuine question hidden beneath a taunt, and the way his lips twitch comes as a relief because it means he’s just as nervous as she is. “Maybe I am. Kickass supercop with killer aim? You’re a lady after my own heart.”

“That why it’s beating so hard?”

He looks at her silently, his brows a little pinched, and she wants to reach up and smooth away the crease there. Wants to kick herself, too, because while the teasing and shared glances and all that other shit could have been played off, swept under the rug, she’s just shoved both of them well beyond the point of no return. If she’s read this wrong, she’s going to sour a friendship she’s terrified of losing. And if she’s read it right, and he gives any sort of affirmative response, well . . . there’s only one way to go from there.

His answer comes in a way she isn’t expecting. Carlos cups the back of her head, threading his fingers softly through her hair, and she closes her eyes as he leans down and his breath puffs across her cheek. He hesitates, his nose grazing hers. She’s fairly certain that she might have a heart attack soon with how hard her pulse is racing and, not wanting him to back away, not wanting to lose his warmth, she closes the gap and seals her mouth over his.

Soft and slightly chapped, his lips fit perfectly with her own; she sucks on the lower one, teasing its plumpness with her teeth and using her tongue to soothe away the sting, drawing a low groan from his throat. It’s like striking a match. Carlos comes alive, crushing her to his chest as he tugs at her lips, and she can feel him through his sweats as their hips rub together. Jill clutches his shoulders to anchor herself, her knees going weak when his tongue fills her mouth. She’s drowning in him, just like she wanted to, his strong body dwarfing and surrounding her like a cage she never wants to leave. His kiss is almost desperate, his touch feverish as he slips his hand beneath her shirt to feel her skin. She reacts to it, that ache blooming again when his beard scratches her just as she’d hoped it would.

Her hands fumble with the hem of his shirt as his mouth drags from her lips to her jaw, nipping and sucking and sending little pinpricks of pleasure up her spine. She needs to touch him, to map out with her fingers and tongue the body teased beneath his clothes. A frustrated huff leaves her when she gets the fabric no higher than his chest, and Carlos draws away long enough to yank it over his head before returning to her throat.

Yet when she digs her nails into the firm planes of his back, he pauses. “You sure ‘bout this, Jill?”

The use of her name is enough to cut through the haze. “If I wasn’t, I’d have kicked your ass a long time ago.”

“Yeah, yeah, I just—”

She steps back, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him back until the edge of the bed digs into his knees and he’s forced to sit. “I’m sure. You want to leave, now’s your chance.”

Carlos studies her, then shakes his head with a small smile. “Nah. I’m good. More than, actually.”

“Good.”

With his eyes on her, she peels her tank top off. There’s no bra beneath—mainly because she hated wearing one when all she was doing was lounging around—and his gaze drops immediately to her breasts, his lips parting when she thumbs her nipples. But when he reaches for her, she smacks his hands away. “Nu-uh. Not yet.”

He shifts a bit, though he mumbles, “Yes ma’am.”

When she’s certain he’s not going to disobey, she hooks her thumbs under the waistband of her own sweats and shimmies them down over her hips. Nothing under them, either, and she delights in the way his cheeks darken and his fingers curl into the sheets as he grunts; it’s been a long time since someone wanted her so badly, and it makes her feel powerful. More so when she braces a knee on the bed so she’s kneeling over him and his throat bobs with a heavy swallow, and when she places a hand on his shoulder and leans in to graze her lips over the shell of his ear and he damn near whines.

“I want your mouth, Carlos. Here,” she takes one of his wrists and guides it until he’s palming her breast, “and here,” and she drags it down to cup her sex. “Can you do that for me?”

He strokes her folds—a stolen touch—before splaying his fingers between her shoulders and drawing her towards him. He teases her, pressing light kisses to the curve of her breast, the edge of her nipple, and then he opens his mouth and sucks the bud between his lips, and she arches her back to feed him her body. There’s no gentleness. Carlos suckles with the quick, sharp tugs that drive her wild, his tongue rolling over her sensitive flesh. Her nipples tighten, grow tender. And when he takes the nub between his teeth and gives a careful pull, heat flares from her head to her feet.

A minute ticks by as he sucks on her skin. Jill's head falls back with a sigh, turning her pleasure over to him. The hand between her legs stays still, his palm simply pressed against her as his mouth works on her breast. She can feel her arousal slipping from her body, wetting his palm and making his touch silky. But still he doesn't move, leaving her with a dull throb that grows the more he tugs her nipple.

"Carlos . . ." she whispers.

"Damn you're so hot." His words come out as hot puffs of air on her skin as he drags his mouth to her other breast. "So fucking hot. Fuck. God damn it—"

"Carlos!" she laughs, gripping his locks and giving him a tug. He looks up in a bit of a daze and she smiles. Jill leans down to tug on his mouth with her own, just as her other hand presses against the one between her legs. Carlos groans as she rocks her hips, rubbing her body along his fingers. "Please don't make me wait," she whispers.

He flips her onto her back, making Jill yelp a laugh in surprise. "You got it," he says, leaning over to plant a kiss to her lips as he opens her thighs. He trails his mouth downwards, along the column of her throat, over the curve of her breast, making her stomach twitch when he drags his teeth on her navel. Then down, pressing kisses over her mons until he slides his hands along the backs of her thighs and spreads her open, using his thumbs to gently open her hood as his mouth finds her clit.

Jill arches on the bed with a gasp, drawing her knees up and apart. His mouth is exactly like him, bold and strong. His tongue dips into her opening before sliding back to her pearl, and Jill grips the bed sheets to keep from bucking against his mouth. It’s been forever since she’s done this, and she realizes just how much she’s wanted someone. Not just someone, but him.

Carlos sucks on her body for a moment before glancing upwards. “This okay?”

“Carlos!” she whines. “Christ, don’t stop!”

He gives a little chuckle that has her letting go a huff of amused frustration. “No problem, just checking.”

“Just come here.”

She looks down and tugs on his arm, and with a grin he slides back up her body, leaning over with his forearms braced on the mattress. “You need something?”

“Stop,” she laughs, dragging her hands along his chest. “You know what I need.”

“Yeah, I think I do.” He presses his mouth to her neck as he moves one hand to her body, dragging his palm along her torso until he can press it to her breast. She wraps her arms around him, kissing him back as she slides her thighs along his sides. They continue like this, kissing lazily as they caress one another, as her breathing goes back to something a bit more normal.

But that does nothing to stop the throb now in her core. “Still want to do this?” he murmurs against her cheek.

“Absolutely,” she replies.

He pushes up to stand, and Jill slides back against the pillows as she watches him pull the string on his sweats. Carlos tugs them down with a teasing jerk of his hips, and she presses her lips together to keep herself from laughing. The rest of his body is just how she had pictured it: tanned skin, solid muscle, and her eyes go immediately to the trail of dark curls and his erection beneath.

He surprises her by pulling a condom from his pants pocket before tossing them away. “Did you really come prepared?” she asks, bursting into laughter.

“I was a Boy Scout. We’re always prepared.” Her mouth is nearly watering as she watches him open the package, and then roll the condom down his thick length. “Luckily one of the guards had a few to spare.”

Carlos climbs back on the bed as she spreads her legs to accommodate him, giving him a narrow gaze. “So you expected this, hm?”

“Expected? No. Wanted? Hell yes.” He presses a firm kiss to her lips as his hand glides along her thigh. “Since the second I saw you.”

Jill murmurs her agreement, her arms going around his shoulders as he sinks into her. From the moment he saw her? She had to admit the same: ever since meeting Carlos, it seemed inevitable, that no matter what happened she was going to end up wanting him. He thrusts slowly, his kiss on her neck just as greedy as it is reverent. Her legs lock around him as she cards her hands through his tousled hair, letting him take the lead, enjoying the sounds that escape him and the way his arms and shoulders flex with each roll of his hips.

Her touch slips down his back, now damp with perspiration. Everything that had happened in Raccoon City seems so far away, and as her head falls back and his teeth bite her shoulder gently, Jill feels alive. Pleasure rocks through her in waves, pulling her towards the inevitable end, just like their meeting on the platform. She is alive and he is alive and she is going to make up for everything they lost, starting with this moment.

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nikkiheartskalyn · 3 years

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"In early 1960, Fran Avallone had a miscarriage at six months. She was bleeding on an examination table with the dead fetus already extracted and had to sit and wait while covered in blood and her legs open. Because it was 1960. They needed to investigate and prove she had a miscarriage and had not committed manslaughter. During the unbelievably tragic event of losing a wanted child far into pregnancy – she had to sit in her own blood before evidence could be turned over to the police.

In 1973, the Supreme Court decided Roe v. Wade and abortion became legal with restrictions.

In 1987, Angela Carder was 26 weeks pregnant and was being treated for cancer. Her doctors considered a C-section even though they did not think her fetus was viable. She was too heavily medicated to make her own decision, but her family said not to do the procedure because it might kill her. The hospital feared legal liability and a Court intervened. They determined the government’s interest in the child outweighed the mother’s and ordered the procedure. The fetus and the mother both died during the surgery.

The DC Court of Appeals overturned her case post mortem and made a persuasive influential case for refusal of treatment and families' input, if patient is incapacitated, based on what the patient would want in 1990 in In re AC, 573 A.2d 1235 (DC 1990).

In 1999, Regina McKnight was sentenced to 15 years in prison for homicide after she had a stillbirth that was allegedly caused by cocaine use. It took 8 years before she was released after medical evidence proved the baby died from an infection – not drugs.

In 2003, Michelle Greenup went to the hospital with unexplained vaginal bleeding. She was charged with second-degree murder. She was incarcerated for nearly a year before her counsel obtained her medical records and proved she had a miscarriage.

In 2004, Melissa Rowland was pregnant with twins and refused a C-section because she was given misinformation by medical staff about the invasive nature of the incision. One twin was stillborn. Melissa Rowland was charged with first degree criminal homicide. Sentencing ranges from 5 years to life in prison.

In 2010, Christine Taylor fell down a flight of stairs at her home. She was pregnant with her third child and went to the hospital to make sure the fetus was not harmed. She was arrested for attempted feticide.

In 2011, Bei Bei Shuai was clinically depressed and attempted suicide while pregnant. She lived, but her fetus was stillborn. She was charged with murder.

In 2013, Purvi Patel went to the emergency room with severe bleeding. She had miscarried and put the fetus in a dumpster out of fear from her religious family who did not believe in premarital sex. Despite no abortifacient found in her blood stream – she was sentenced to 20 years in prison for neglect of a dependent and feticide.

Between 1979 and 2014, peer reviewed studies show at least 793 women have been legally detained against their will due to their pregnancy.

“Detained” includes a Laura Pamberton who was in active labor in Florida in 1996. She wanted to give birth at home because she believed a C-section would hurt her and her child. Her doctor sought emergency court intervention because he believed vaginal birth could harm the baby. The police came to Laura’s house, restrained her, *strapped her legs together*, and forced her to go to the hospital. Counsel argued for the fetus. Laura and her husband were not given any right to counsel. Laura was forced to have a C-section. Later, she gave vaginal birth to 3 other children without complication.

All of this has happened while abortion is still legal with restrictions.

Now, states are challenging Roe v. Wade with the most restrictive bans on abortion in half a century.

Kentucky, Georgia, Mississippi, and Ohio passed a “fetal heartbeat” bill banning abortion at 6 weeks. It’s important to understand:

(1) “Fetal Heartbeat” is just a 6-week ban. There is no “fetal heartbeat” at 6 weeks. A 6-week pregnancy is not a “fetus” – it is an embryo. And an embryo does not have a heartbeat. The “heartbeat” is a collection of vibrating cells at the fetal pole.

(2) 6 weeks is so early in pregnancy you could miscarry and *not know you were pregnant*. Especially if you were on birth control at the time. At the 7th week, even if you wanted the pregnancy, you will be investigated if you miscarry. If the investigation shows your actions lead to the miscarriage (see above) – you could face life in prison or the death penalty.

Missouri just passed an 8-week ban. There is no exception for rape or incest. One law maker said a girl raped by her father should be forced to give birth to the child for the father’s right to use the evidence to prove whether he raped her.

Alabama just passed an abortion ban as soon as the egg is fertilized. There is no exception for rape or incest,.

And in case it isn’t 100% clear that these laws are about punishing women, an Alabama law maker brought up that medical facilities have fertilized eggs that are discarded during the in vitro fertilization process. Under this law – that is an abortion.

However, when asked how the law would affect those eggs – the Alabama bill’s sponsor said, “The egg in the lab doesn’t apply. It’s not a woman. She’s not pregnant.”

In May, 2019, in Ohio an 11 year old child was raped. She became pregnant. Once Ohio’s current ban goes into effect – the government would force her to remain pregnant and give birth.

Do not think for one second that these laws will not have serious consequences on anyone who can give birth. Not just those who choose to have an abortion. These laws mean the government investigate miscarriages. It means providing a zygote with an attorney, but not the mother or father. It means jail. It means women dying.

This isn’t hypothetical. This is real. It has happened before. It is happening now. Take it very fucking seriously.

Get educated"

- Maggie Snap

A woman who doesn't have reproductive rights can never be free.

#womensrights #pro choice

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emeraldgenevieve · 3 years

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Okay so birth story...

We went to bed about 11pm on the 10th August not really thinking much about labour for the first time in weeks. We'd had a few bad night's sleep in a row and that night we just wanted to get to bed early and rest, but baby had other plans! I woke up shortly after midnight to this gush and quickly realised my waters had broken in my sleep! Even though it was obvious, I still had that fear of maybe I've just wet myself but we called the community midwife and she arranged to come out and check. Once the midwife got to our house she decided to do a vaginal examination just to see where I was. At that point I was 2cm so she gave me a little sweep. She was so lovely and stayed with us until about 3:30am to do checks and see if any contractions would kick in but when they didn't, she left arranging to come back at 6:30am to check me again. We headed up to bed, thinking that nothing would probably happen, but then I woke up around 6:15am experiencing a painful contraction. From that point my contractions started around every ten minutes and they stayed that way until about 10:30 when they were getting closer to one every 5 minutes and then they pretty much stayed that way. I was on the ball, I tried having a bath to ease the pain but nobody considered this to be real labour by any means.

As my waters had ruptured, I was required to go into the hospital after 18 hours to be assessed for any signs of infection so we began to discuss whether or not we should just book into the hospital to deliver there. By this point I had switched to a different midwife, who was also very lovely and very supportive of our decision, whatever it would end up being. She decided that she would leave again and come back at 2:30pm to assess us again and get our final decision about where to birth. We talked it over and decided that maybe by that point a hospital birth was our safest option. We were already concerned at the ambulance service had pulled their support of home births and now that we weren't low risk anymore, we couldn't justify staying at home. When the midwife came back we told her we'd like to book into the hospital and just stay there after 6pm to deliver.

My contractions were still about every 5-7 minutes as we waited for 6pm, slowing down a little during the journey to the hospital but picking up soon after we arrived. I was admitted to a fetal assessment unit were they wanted to continuously monitor the baby for a while, which I was happy with at first. For the first few hours of our time in the hospital, we mostly we're just waiting for then to take me to the delivery suite, but they checked me again and I was only 4-5cm. My contractions were getting stronger but still only every 5 minutes. By about 10pm I was beginning to really struggle with the pain. The midwife had changed at 9pm and decided to monitor me again, which meant I was immobile for all my contractions. She told me it would only be for 45 minutes but ended up leaving me on there until 11:30pm. I was struggling with my contractions pretty much this whole time. I was at the point of crying and shouting during the worst of them. It wasn't even the pain from the contractions, it was this horrible, consistent pain that I was having at the front of the very bottom of my uterus which was becoming unbearable during the strong contractions. I kept telling the midwife that something was wrong, my uterus felt like it was going to rip and tear at the front but she just thought I was having a normal labour. By 11:30pm I was in so much distress that she let me off the monitor and checked me again. I was 6cm and she finally decided to consult the doctor, who agreed I could be allowed to move to the labour ward.

By this point I was in agony. I just wanted some pain relief and I felt so disheartened as everyone kept telling me it wasn't real labour and made me feel like I was just being dramatic. I've given birth twice before, I know it wasn't normal but still no one believed me. By the time I got into the labour ward I just wanted some gas and air. I was in so much pain. The ache was constant and just building and with each contraction it felt like my baby's head was going to rip through my stomach. Still no one believed me but I didn't care. By 1am the midwives were concerned. I wasn't letting up about the pain I was having and it was just getting worse. They started to listen and began to think I was maybe having a bladder issue and so, called the consultant in. I was very lucky in that the consultant had actually been seeing me in the last few weeks of my pregnancy and had been supporting my home birth and was well aware of the kind if birth I wanted. He at first suggested an epidural, as he thought I was struggling with contraction pains. After I refused he examined me and we finally found the cause of the problem.

I was 8cm but baby was not in the correct position. It turns out baby was back to back and forehead presenting. The consultant had to have his hand inside me for about 7 minutes feeling around, waiting for contractions etc. to be sure, which was agony. At this point everything changed. He pretty much told me we have three options. Either I try mobilising and changing positions (I was being monitored continuously), he could try to manually turn the baby from the inside, or I could have a C-section. I was dead set against a C-section so I decided to get on my knees on the bed and try different decisions. I was in so much pain at this point but I'm terrified of having a C-section after I had three failed epidurals in my first labour. Once I changed position, I began to feel like I needed to push. I could feel his head coming down and and I was not coping well. The nurses didn't believe me and basically just told me I was wrong. I kept insisting but they weren't having it.

Finally after about another 10 mins they decided to examine me. This time they said I was 6cm and that my cervix was still thick on one side and there was absolutely no way I was ready to push. They wanted me to flip on to my side in the hope it would fix my cervix and maybe relieve some of the pressure. At this point that midwives switched and the new midwife must have glanced at the notes and seen that I was 6cm and still only contracting 3 in 10 and she was trying to be a real hard ass about it. She kept trying to take the gas and air off me, telling me I was delirious and I'd had too much and there was no way I was ready to push. At this point I'd been fighting my body for about 20 minutes thinking that if I let myself push I could do damage to the baby as I still thought he was in the wrong position.

Once this new midwife came in and started fighting with me it was like a switch flipped. My husband started telling her to leave me alone and listen to what I had to say. He was telling her I wasn't delirious I was in pain and I knew my body, I'd done this before. Finally hearing someone validate what I was feeling must have just let me relax that little bit and my body literally started trying to expel the baby. I can't even describe it I still wasn't actively pushing because I didn't know if I should but my stomach was convulsing it was like I was vomiting I couldn't control it all.

Finally the midwife looked and saw head! She told me to start pushing. Two minutes later I was crowning. Another two minutes and the head was delivered with the body following one minute after making a whopping 5 minutes of active pushing.

Once baby was delivered, they placed him up on to my chest immediately. I'm not going to lie I don't remember much of it. I remember Evan crying and getting emotional and he just kept saying, "you did it" but I wasn't even sure it was real. It all happened so fast I kind of thought that I was dreaming it and I still had to go through it. I was shaking so uncontrollably that I almost thought I would have to pass the baby to my husband to hold. I was just broken. The midwives still had to deliver my placenta, which only took another 10 minutes but I was definitely more aware of the pain this time, I was still using the gas and air to cope. Once the placenta was delivered, they began to check if I needed any stitches. Surprisingly, I didn't but they did find a large blood clot which they had to remove and it was so painful! It just felt like the pain was never ending.

After this, they finally left us alone for a while. I finally started to process what had happened. I had done it, it was real he was here and perfect. All 8lb 13oz of him. I couldn't believe the doctors were ever concerned about his size, it just goes to show how wrong the ultrasound can be.

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blisspads · 3 years

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How to choose the right Sanitary Napkin?

Before we decide to buy, we research a lot. Whether we want to buy sarees, handbags, shoes, or groceries we take our time to find the right thing that will be best suited for our skin type, body size, and health.

But when it comes to buying sanitary napkins, do we do the same? Most of us just buy sanitary napkins based on mere assumptions and the popularity of the brand.

But are you really sure that you are making the right choice? Do you consider the following points before you decide on purchasing the sanitary pad?

Every one of us has different menstrual experiences. Our skin type, period blood flow, and lifestyle are the factors that we should reflect upon before choosing sanitary pads.

We have to check whether the sanitary pad that we choose is a good absorbent and provides a leak-free experience.

It also should be very comfortable for your skin and we have to ensure that the pad does not cause any irritation, itchiness, or allergy.

Following are some of the important points which help you to decide on choosing the right sanitary napkin;

Based On Skin Type:

A lot of women think that all the sanitary napkins are made of the same materials and do not give importance to studying whether that material would be appropriate for her skin type.

Not all pads which feel soft and smooth are good for your skin. In fact, many sanitary napkins come with a plastic-like top layer. This will cause rashes and skin infections and lead to skin diseases, if not taken care of at the right time.

So always do some research on the materials used in the sanitary pad before you go on buying them.

If you have a normal skin type, then cotton pads are good to go.

But if you have sensitive skin, then choose the organic sanitary pads which are completely made out of herbal ingredients.

There are so many herbal sanitary napkin brands are available in the market. Read reviews of other women and make sure that the product is genuine and suitable for your skin type before purchasing.

Check out Bliss Pads which are completely made out of plant fibres and are free from plastic.

Bliss Pads are the organic and natural sanitary pads that give the best intimate protection for your precious skin at an affordable price!

Based On Blood flow:

Ideally, the sanitary pads should be able to lock your blood flow within their central core.

The blood flow is not the same for all days of the period. It varies from high to low.

So, How do we pick sanitary pads based on that?

For the first couple of days, the blood flow will be heavier. Hence, go for extra-long pads that offer high absorbency.

From day three onwards the blood flow will be medium to low and hence regular pads work well.

There are special night pads that come with longer lengths and wider back to provide complete stain-free protection throughout the night.

Pantyliners come in handy during the start and also at the end of the period. Pantyliners are used for absorbing daily vaginal discharge and light menstrual spotting.

Based On Lifestyle:

Women are super busy with their day-to-day activities which may include household works, gyms, sports, and other lots of workloads.

Those super-women can choose heavy absorbing pads that are very long with winged protection. Wings help to secure the blood within the centre of the pad and hence give extra protection.

Now that we have understood how to choose the right sanitary pad, go ahead and shop according to your preferences.

Whatever the pad you choose, do not forget to change them once in six hours. Wash the vaginal area with warm water every time you use the restroom.

#personal care #sanitary napkins #pads #menstrual hygiene

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medeafive · 3 years

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Blood and Stone - 22

Masterpost

"Where'd your friend go?" Tony asks, grabbing the chips. "Turned around and he was gone."

"I don't know, I'm not his babysitter," Natasha returns, nibbling on a carrot. "Can I ask you something?"

"You mean, whether it's bad when your boyfriend finds out you're pregnant and disappears without a word?" Tony specifies, licking his fingers. "Yeah, it is."

Natasha snorts. "Fuck off, that's not what happened. Who's Lara Croft?"

Tony snorts, dropping onto the couch. "Oh, great, so you just pretend to be asleep the whole time. Do you actually eat or is that also some magic trick?"

"Answer my question, you coward," she returns, picking up cucumber slices.

Tony sighs. "Well, that's not exactly up your alley but- it was one of the last video games that came out, couple of years ago. Nobody really cared, because of vampires and all, but I think it would have fared much better otherwise. She's an archaeologist, but the cool kind, looking for hidden treasures, fighting mummies and tomb raiders- actually, that was the name of the game. Yeah, and she's animated but- she was always wearing tank tops and shorts and all."

"Oh God," Natasha remarks with amusement. "That is horrible ."

"Was just a joke," Tony defends. "Yeah, and the lady from Resident Evil fights vampires, in similar garments. You get the picture."

"Have you ever seen me in shorts ?" Natasha questions. "That's ridiculous. So you were just hitting on me while I was asleep."

"Not that asleep, apparently," Tony points out wistfully. "Nah, just pointing out the archetype, extra tough sexy badass and all. And, well, looks really cool from a distance, not sure it's as cool when you get closer."

"You were totally attracted to me when I got here," Natasha recalls. "But then you tried to set me up with your best friend and- I don't know, I never took it seriously. Also, you were with Pepper and I'm really not a homewrecker."

"So vampires are cool but taken guys aren't?" Tony prompts. "Also, if you'd let yourself be set up, you wouldn't be in this mess."

"Yep, and I'd also be either dead or a vampire right now," Natasha returns. "Doesn't that sound great."

"I think you're well on your way to being dead but Bobbi seems to disagree, so what do I know." Tony rubs his forehead. "But- Barton ?"

Natasha snorts. "You're really blowing this way out of proportion. And don't give me that shit that he's older than me, you're all older than me except for Sharon, and I already got that from the vampire."

"The fuck does he think he can tell you," Tony remarks. "When he's basically a hundred years old."

"Eh, don't worry about it," Natasha returns, picking up another carrot. "I mean, he went pretty hard to our side. A traitor of all vampirekind or whatever."

"You just enjoy making people do radical stuff, don't you?" Tony grins. "Manipulating people, having that power. Don't think Lara Croft was like that."

"Yeah, maybe stop comparing me to pixel women in shorts," she counters. "Just trying not to get killed, thank you very much."

"Hey guys." Bobbi turns the corner, yawning. "How are you? Don't listen to Tony."

"What'd I do to you?" Tony complains.

Bobbi snorts, crossing her arms. "Is he telling you you can't be a hunter? Cause that's what he used to tell me."

"Not true," Tony objects. "I said you weren't ready to be a hunter. And then you went out anyway and promptly got hurt."

Bobbi shrugs. "Learning by doing. Honestly, Pepper would have started going out much earlier if you hadn't told her it's too dangerous."

Natasha follows the exchange with amusement, nibbling on her carrot. "It is dangerous!" Tony defends. "And I built her the suit, don't act like I wasn't supporting her."

"Y'all can't deal with loss, is what I'm saying," Bobbi returns. "You only built her the suit because she was about ready to break up with you. Different kind of loss."

Tony snorts. "You know what, I really didn't miss that argument."

"You guys seem fun," Natasha throws in. "I'm good, by the way."

"Yeah, I actually came down so we could do some prenatal prep," Bobbi replies. "Because you only got two weeks."

"What the fuck is that?" Natasha asks.

Bobbi grins, gliding her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. "Pushing and breathing. Not much more. Certain muscles you need. It's pretty awkward, though, so let's better do it downstairs or somewhere else private."

"I thought you'd just do a C-section," Tony suggests.

"Not if I can avoid it," Bobbi replies. "Not sure we have the equipment for that. Risk of infection, risk of strong bleeding, I'd rather try the vaginal route if it's possible."

"...I'm just gonna keep that joke to myself," Tony suggests.

"Thanks," Bobbi replies. "Very generous of you."

"Tony said you were doing lady stuff," Pepper remarks, putting her helmet down. "And we want in on that."

"What, you also want prenatal prep?" Bobbi asks, spinning in her chair like she was born in it. "How was patrol? Quiet night?"

"Quite the opposite," Sharon replies, hopping onto a table. "Saw three vampires. One got away. All fledglings, they must have come in from outside town."

"Three?" Natasha repeats with worry. "We haven't seen a single one in weeks ."

"Maybe that was your friend's doing," Pepper suggests, pulling off the shoulder plates. "You should ask him. Where is he, by the way?"

"I don't know, guess he left," Natasha admits. "He'll come back sometime."

She hates how vague that sounds, but she really doesn't know. "He ran into Steve, didn't he?" Sharon suggests. "That probably scared him."

Right. Completely harmless explanation. "Oh, but this is great," Pepper remarks, brushing through her hair. "I haven't met so many friends in a long time."

"Yeah, tell me everything!" Bobbi encourages, giggling. "How are things with Tony?"

"Pretty good," Pepper replies, also leaning against the table. "Really good actually. I still have to kick him once in a while but not as often. So I'm pretty happy."

"Kicking him sounds kind of fun, though," Sharon remarks. "Am I wrong?"

Pepper snorts, crossing her legs. "Sometimes. Mostly, it's annoying."

"Still sounds better than when I left," Bobbi insists, crossing her arms. "Honestly, I wouldn't have bet on you two making it. You know, Tony being Tony. Reason enough to dump him."

"He's really improved!" Pepper returns. "Anyway. What about your new guy?"

Bobbi sighs. "Eh, he's fine. Drives me nuts. In the good ways and the bad ways. But it doesn't have to be perfect and it doesn't have to be forever, so it's fine."

Sharon shrugs. "I don't know. Dating someone you hunt with sounds like a hassle."

"Oh yeah, why not date someone you hunt?" Bobbi interrupts. "Like a vampire?"

Sharon giggles. "Oh, come on! No offense, Natasha."

"No problem," Natasha replies, even though this whole situation freaks her out. Like, what is she supposed to say? She's sitting there, stone-faced, just listening and waiting-

"That has to be really weird, though," Pepper states. "Physically weird. Just their body temperature, and everything they smell… and the fangs!"

Bobbi chuckles. "Why not ask? Hey Nat, come on, we want to hear something."

Shit. "Oh, we won't tell," Sharon promises. "Ladies' room promise."

Natasha groans, rubbing her face. "Fine. The… what was it?"

"Body temperature, fangs, weird dick, anything," Bobbi repeats. "The juicier, the better."

Natasha snorts. "His dick's perfectly normal. Though- nah, I'm not sure I wanna tell you that."

Bobbi groans. "You motherfucking tease."

"That bad?" Sharon encourages, smiling way too nicely.

Urgh, fine, she's gonna die sooner rather than later anyway. "Not bad. Just, he always has two orgasms. One with just a little bit of stimulation and then he's still hard, you know, second orgasm a while later, everything normal. But it's always two."

"Oh my God, tell me more." Bobbi swirls in her chair, crunching up her face. "But he ejaculates both times?"

What an ugly word. "Yeah, but not very much. Anyway, I think that's all the vampire stuff."

"But he's cold, isn't he?" Pepper questions.

Natasha sighs, letting her head drop back against the pillow. "Sometimes. Just, when you touch him, he gets warmer? In the beginning, it took a while but now, he's basically always warm around me, even before I touch him. And softer, too, just more human, you know? And it worked on the other black cloak, too, not just on James. I don't know."

"The fuck," Bobbi remarks. "Just around you? No one else? That's creepy."

"I don't think anyone else really touched him," Sharon throws in. "So we don't know. Maybe it's psychological, you know, because he's only attracted to her."

"Yeah, we should test that," Bobbi suggests. "Just hold his hand for a while, see what happens."

Natasha snorts. "Well, ask him. When he comes back."

There's a knock on the door and it takes them all a moment to realize it's not the door to upstairs but the one in the back. Sharon hops off the table. "Is that the room with the ice block?" Bobbi asks. "Is that where you put him?"

"Steve," Sharon replies tensely. Pepper walks to the door. "Yes."

Pepper pulls the door open. It's indeed Steve, steadied against the wall. He doesn't look good but he never really does. "Hello," Pepper starts in her professional secretary voice. "I think Sam is still asleep but maybe we can help you?"

Steve blinks at them slowly. Sharon's knuckles are white against the edge of the table. "Oh, no, I really don't want to bother you, I don't need anything, just- do you mind if I join you?"

"Oh, sure thing." Bobbi gets up and pushes her chair towards him. "Here, sit down. No need to exhaust yourself."

Steve drops heavily into the chair. "Thank you. Uh, you're… you're not Sharon, are you?"

"Nope," Bobbi replies cheerfully, pointing to her right. "That's Sharon. That's Natasha, that's Pepper and I'm Bobbi. You're Steve."

Steve smiles as soon as he sees Sharon. "Oh, hey. I saw you- I don't know how long ago that was. Maybe a few days?"

Yeah, and he talked to Natasha yesterday but maybe he already forgot that. "Hey," Sharon blurts out. "I'm- Grandma is- I'm Peggy's granddaughter. She's my grandma."

Steve just blinks for a while. "I'm sorry, I'm still- oh, the- Peggy? Peggy Carter? From Britain?"

"Yes!" Sharon exclaims. "Sorry. Well, after the war, she got married and had my mom and- well, my mom had me and here we are, I guess."

Steve smiles again. "Oh, I see the- the resemblance now. Is she- How is she?"

Sharon giggles. "Oh, good. I mean, she's getting old but still holding on as always, you know her. I haven't seen her in a while, though, travel is very difficult."

"Oh, I absolutely remember that," Steve replies. "She was so determined and disciplined and smart, of course- oh, but she has to be very old now, the- what year is it again?"

"She's 78," Sharon says. "It's 1999. December 1999."

"Wow." Steve rubs his swollen red face. "That- I won't get used to that anytime soon."

Bobbi chuckles. "Uh, should we let y'all work that out alone or…?"

Steve turns. "Sorry, Ma'am. Are- You sound Southern."

"Georgia," Bobbi confirms. "But I'm not related to anyone. And I don't live here anymore, normally. Transferred to Florence, Italy."

"Oh, and I talked to you- was that yesterday?" Steve turns to her lying on the bed. "Was- It was Natasha, wasn't it?"

"Yep," Natasha replies. "Still very visibly pregnant, so I guess you won't confuse me."

Steve blushes, remembering. "Right. Is- is Bucky here?"

"No, he left," Natasha tells him. "Guess he needed some space, after running into you."

Steve groans. "Right, sorry. Does- wait, he would remember Peggy, too, wouldn't he?"

"James doesn't remember shit," Natasha returns. "Sorry. Not Peggy, not you, not anything before he turned into a vampire. Maybe it'll come back slowly but not right now."

"That's- unfortunate." Steve sighs. "That's probably why he- well, I guess he doesn't want to see me then."

"Natasha is a little harsh," Sharon admonishes. "I'm sure he'll remember eventually and it'll all work out."

"Yeah, after the vampire baby bullshit, nothing surprises me anymore," Bobbi remarks.

Steve blushes again. "Uh, so- what are you guys doing here? You're not from here, are you?"

"Oh, I'm Czech," Pepper replies. "Little village in Southern Bohemia, near the Austrian border. Came to Prague to get a job, ended up at this American company that was just getting started over here- with a really, let's say, eccentric boss- yes, and then the vampires. Let's say it really didn't go the way I planned."

"I'm Russian," Natasha adds. "Or I was."

"British American," Sharon states.

"But-" Steve coughs. "Pepper?"

"Oh, that's not my actual name," Pepper replies. "It's Jindřiška. But none of you can say that, so Tony called me Pepper and that stuck."

"And Tony is the-" Steve prompts.

"You saw him already, he was working on James' arm yesterday," Natasha remarks.

"He used to be my boss," Pepper explains. "He's sort of an engineer, an inventor. His company, the one he inherited from his father, used to produce weapons but he's moved it to energy production, reactors and the like, all of it renewable. Though it feels like he really worked on everything at some point, just like Bruce."

Steve rubs his temples. "Oh man. Who is Bruce again?"

"Our resident doctor," Bobbi replies. "He's brilliant, really. Fury recruited him. He used to study biochemistry somewhere in Sweden but when you break your arm, he'll fix that, too."

"Bobbi is a doctor, too," Pepper points out.

"Yeah, different kind, though." Bobbi shakes her head. "I got a medical degree, too, but I specialize in women's health. That's actually how I got here, because I volunteered in the early nineties when they didn't have enough experts in that around here, a lot of them had emigrated. Well, the thing is, babies tend to get born in the middle of the night, so I had to make spontaneous visits while the vampires are out in the streets. Clint started to accompany me, to convoy me so I could do my job without getting killed and… yeah, I wanted to be a hunter, too. So now I'm both."

"People really have a lot less babies now," Sharon remarks. "Not the world you want your child to grow up in."

Steve coughs, swallows. "Right. Uh, so… what did you do, before, Sharon?"

"Nothing," Sharon replies, smiling. "Just finished school. I've always been a hunter."

"Oh yeah," Natasha agrees. "Me too."

"Oh, but Natasha is probably the best tracker in the world," Sharon points out. "Really. She's been doing this longer than any of us."

How she wishes she hadn't. Maybe then she wouldn't be so tired from it. Steve looks confused once more. "What's a tracker?"

"That's a kind of hunter, someone who's very good at finding vampires," Sharon explains. "In the early days, they traveled, following specific vampires and hunting them down, but these days, there are just too bloody many. It's still useful, though, on patrols. I'm a tracker, too."

"Well, I think now we've got everyone," Pepper remarks. "Except for Clint, he's the one with the bow-"

"The- sorry for interrupting," Steve interjects. "With the bow ?"

Bobbi snorts. "Yeah, the bow. Gotta say, it's efficient because you only need to make the tip of the arrow out of silver, instead of the whole knife. But mostly, he just likes to be special or he'd use a gun. Oh, we used to date, if you didn't notice already."

"And Fury, of course," Pepper adds. "Fury is- well, Fury. You'll know when you see him. Rumor is he was a CIA agent stationed somewhere in the Eastern Bloc, and he just stayed around after. And this is not the first station he's run. But really, we don't know, he's not one to share."

"Could you- tell me about Sam, too?" Steve asks.

"His parents were from Angola," Bobbi tells him. "He came here very young. His dad was- was it agriculture? I don't know, he was some technical expert. They came here as refugees, from the civil war, and his father went through East Berlin to West Berlin to the US, trying to get a green card there. Of course, that took years, so Sam mostly grew up here. Yeah, and then he moved to the US, joined the Airforce, all that. Came back when vampires were starting to become a thing here."

"Oh yes, he said it- there are more here?" Steve states tentatively. "Vampires, I mean."

"Yeah, it started in Russia," Natasha remarks. "And you can thank your buddy for that."

Bobbi snaps around. "Wait, what?!"

"He told me," Natasha admits. "Schmidt sent him and he bit four people in Moscow, four in Saint Petersburg. Eight in total. There were others sent to other countries but those were the first ones."

"That motherfucker. " Bobbi snorts, crossing her arms. "I'm definitely not holding his hand anymore."

Steve blushes. "Uh, were you going to…?"

"Oh, we thought about doing an experiment," Sharon explains. "We were talking about that, actually, before- Well, vampires are usually cold, you know? But Natasha said her friend's not cold when she touches him, so… we just wanted to find out how that works."

Steve blushes even more, probably every time he's reminded his old buddy-new vampire knocked her up. "Oh. Didn't think about that."

"Only eight people?" Pepper repeats. "Really?"

"He thought that was enough," Natasha replies. "And boy it was."

"Wait, just so I get that right," Steve interjects. "Bucky caused a global vampire epidemic?"

Well, calling him Bucky really doesn't help. "Pretty much. He didn't know much about the others. I should mention there's some form of mind control involved, from a vampire to the vampire that bit them, though not in every case. Schmidt bit all of the black cloaks, so…"

"Mind control, too?" Bobbi snorts. "Oh, fuck that. That's bullshit."

All that cursing doesn't appear to be good for Steve, blushing and coughing. "But we don't really know how that works either, do we?" Sharon adds.

Natasha shakes her head. "Well, that's going to be an issue if Schmidt shows up."

"Uh, why would Schmidt- he's the Nazi vampire, right?" Steve asks. "Why would he show up? And what are black cloaks?"

Bobbi groans, rolling her head. "Oh man, we're going to be here for a long time, aren't we?"

They don't get a lot further until Steve is so overwhelmed and tired he goes straight back to bed. Natasha eats a huge amount of pasta and then falls asleep quickly. She's always so hungry and so tired now, though it got better with the vampire blood. She wakes when someone sits down on her bed. It's dark. She blinks. Oh, right. The warm stone touches her shoulder. She yawns. "Oh, you're back."

He sighs. "Yeah. Sorry I ran. It wasn't about you."

"He was here," she remarks. "Earlier today. And man, you really have to explain that guy everything ."

He chuckles, rubbing his ear. "Yeah. I don't know, I'll figure it out. I mean, I'll have to, whether I want it or not."

"You'll figure it out," she agrees. "And you don't have to become best friends with him at all, just clear the air a little."

He shrugs. "Somehow, yeah. And… I'm sorry, I'm sure you didn't want that reaction from me, about the pregnancy. You must have hoped I would be happier about it."

She sighs. "I don't know. There's no right way to feel about this. I didn't expect you to cheer for something that was really bad for my health."

He takes her hand and rubs it. "You smell better, by the way. Less dead, more vampire. I- I can't smell the baby, I think."

"Maybe that's part of the vampire smell," she suggests. "Look, I thought about what you said, that you can't really do this, and- it's okay. I still want to have it. You're enough as you are. Just love me, and support me. That's all I need."

He smiles, golden streaks flashing in the dark. "Always. I will try to look forward to it, then."

She snorts, placing his hand on her rounded belly. "Oh, yes. I also look forward to when this is over."

#blood and stone #buckynat #vampire au #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #black widow #winter soldier #my writing #fanfic

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Like a River Runs

okay, so i wrote this with the 2013 version in mind, but it can be read with whatever versions of the characters you’d like

TW: Vomit, blood

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Even after the girls file out of the locker room, the incessant shaking in Desjardin’s arms has yet to seize. Her eyes softened when she looked down at the girl clinging to her for dear life and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen a child this small before.

It’s strange, she thinks. She’s had students much shorter before, but there’s something terribly different about this one. She wasn’t just small—she was thin, too. Thin and frail and gaunt, with sunken cheeks and pits for eyes. So thin that she could feel the poke of ribs and a sharp rigidity of a spine sticking out from under flesh beneath the bloodied towel shielding her pale frame. Emaciated wouldn’t quite be the word she would use to describe this girl, but rather—malnourished. She was malnourished.

There was something horribly wrong with Carrie White’s body, and not just because she got her first period at the age of sixteen.

“Okay, sweetie,” Desjardin said slowly, smoothing down strands of wiry wet hair. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

But Carrie didn’t move. She remained coiled up on the shower floor, trembling and clinging to Desjardin’s shirt. When an attempt was made to move her, she whimpered in distress and resisted to the best of her ability. Desjardin stopped after a moment.

“Honey, you gotta get up,” She told the girl.

“W-wait—” Carrie rasped. Her voice is weak from screaming and crying. “Please— I-it hurts...”

“You’re having cramps,” Desjardin said.

“I-I’m dying?” Carrie looked up at her with big, scared eyes that reminded Desjardin of a doe with a shotgun in her face.

“No, no,” Desjardin said quickly. “No, honey. You’re not dying, you’re okay! This is totally normal, I promise.”

“B-but I-I’m bleeding!” Carrie squeaked. She glanced down at the small pool of blood that had accumulated underneath her as if to prove her point and then tried to wiggle even closer to Desjardin.

“You really don’t know, do you?” Desjardin said more to herself than to Carrie. “This happens to every girl. The bleeding is completely normal.” She looked back down at the growing pool of blood and grimaced. There certainly was a lot of it and for a moment she began to wonder if Carrie actually was bleeding internally. The whimper of pain she made a second later definitely made it seem that way.

“We can continue talking about this once you get dressed,” Desjardin said, suddenly remembering that the student in her arms was completely naked underneath her towel. “Come on, sweetheart.”

“N-no, please—” Carrie begged, tears springing to her eyes again. “P-please, it hurts, it hurts...!” She let out a keen-like whine and clung tighter to Desjardin’s shirt.

“O-kay,” Desjardin muttered, realizing that this was going nowhere. Carrie was far too shaken up to cooperate at the moment, so she had to come up with a different idea on how to help her. “Okay. That’s okay! Why don’t we— Carrie?”

Carrie had suddenly gone very pale in Desjardin’s arms, breathing much shallower than she had been before. Her arms slip out from around Desjardin to hug at her stomach tightly. She pressed her head close to the coach’s chest.

“Carrie?” Desjardin said. She squeezed her shoulder as she shuddered against her. “Carrie, sweetie, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“…hurts…” Carrie gurgled, holding tighter. Acid curls in the back of her throat.

“I know, sweetie. I know.” Desjardin sighed sadly, threading her fingers through her wet hair.

“No, n-no, M-Ms. Desjardin—”

Carrie suddenly jerked upwards and turned away just in time before vomit sprayed out of her lips.

“Oh!” Desjardin cried, startled. Her eyes were wide as she quickly pulled the girl’s long hair out of the way. “Get it out, sweetie. It’s okay. Just get it out.” She was holding Carrie upright so she wouldn’t completely crumple in on herself and could feel prominent rib bones press against her arm. The fact that Carrie was also throwing up a pale, murky, completely-liquid substance wasn’t too comforting, either.

Did this girl ever eat?

Eventually, Carrie stopped ejecting her internal organs through her mouth and collapsed backwards against Desjardin, panting heavily. Tears were streaming down her cheeks again.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered. “I-I’m sorry, I’m s-s-sorry—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s alright.” Desjardin assured her. “I’m a coach, remember? I make people throw up all the time.”

Her attempt at joking went right over Carrie’s head. She just kept apologizing over and over again, visible fear flashing in her dark eyes.

Fear. Anxiety. Terror... Did Carrie think she was going to be punished?

“I-I don’t want to die,” Carrie wept. She writhed in an awful, heartbreaking way, her heels sliding against the puddles of blood on the tile. “P-please— Please, I’m s-sorry—”

It was painful to watch. How could a child be so afraid of something so normal? How could they think they would be punished for throwing up when they felt sick? Desjardin couldn’t stand it.

She gently cupped one of Carrie’s cheeks, the other hand still coiled around her, and the girl froze. She appeared to be bracing herself, but blinked when Desjardin merely brushed away her tears and held her face tenderly.

“Shh, shh,” Desjardin hushed her. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Carrie took a few sharp breaths, her eyes darting around anxiously. Then, she seemed to tilt her head slightly into Desjardin’s hand and breathe out a semi-relieved sigh.

“There’s a couch in my office,” Desjardin said. “I’m sure laying there will be much more comfortable. I have a heating pad, too. Wouldn’t you prefer that than the cold floor?”

Carrie blinked at her. “Y—” Her voice faltered, but she didn’t dare pull away from the hand tenderly cupping her cheek. “You aren’t mad at me?”

“No, no, of course not.” Desjardin said. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Carrie. I promise.”

“B-but...” Carrie sat up slightly, gritting her teeth through another painful cramp. “Th-the floor...” She stared at the period blood-and-vomit-spattered tile with a dismayed expression.

“It’s a shower floor,” Desjardin reminded her gently. “It’ll all wash off. So there’s no need to worry.”

Carrie looked Desjardin up and down warily, studying her for a long moment, then finally nodded slowly. “O-okay...”

“Alright, great,” Desjardin said. “Process! We’re making process! Next...” She glanced momentarily at the mess. “You’re going to have to get dressed and cleaned up, okay? You’re also going to need to put a pad on.”

“What’s that?” Carrie asked and Desjardin doesn’t think she’s ever looked so young before.

“It’s a women’s hygiene product,” Desjardin explained. “You put it in your underwear and it’ll soak up the blood so it won’t get all over your clothes. But you’ll need to change it out every few hours or else it could give you an infection.”

That was the wrong thing to say- Carrie went even paler than she was before and hunched her shoulders in fearfully. Desjardin cupped her cheeks again and made her look up to her.

“But that’s not going to happen,” She said quickly. “Come on, now. You really need to get cleaned up.”

Carrie had a hard time getting to her feet, but she managed to hoist herself upwards with the help of Desjardin. However, she was left on her own to clean up and get dressed. Which wasn’t exactly easy for her when she still didn’t know why she was bleeding in the first place, kept having these excruciating cramps, and had her thighs drenched in a thick caking of vaginal blood that weirdly smelled like sweetened fish.

Desjardin tapped a black pen against her desk as she waited for Carrie to finish washing off and getting dressed. She didn’t want to peek out and accidentally catch the already-shaken girl naked, but the amount of time she was taking was starting to get worrying. So, she turned her attention away from the strange gnawing of maternal instinct that was biting at her heart and to something else—which ended up being the first time she ever met Carrie White.

At the beginning of the year it had just been another name among many on her class rosters. She was new to this particular school and had never heard of Carrie White or her overzealous mother. And then the first day came and she was calling attendance, and heard the tiniest voice say “here” when she came to the final name on the list.

She was like a starved lamb in a pack of wolves- prey that was being left around to be messed with by her peers. It didn’t take long for Desjardin to realize that Carrie was a target for all the other students. They would make fun of her, shove her around, and purposely throw things directly at her if they were doing something work balls. She had even been “accidentally” hit with a baseball bat when she “walked too close” when Norma was swinging.

The treatment of this girl was awful, and Desjardin couldn’t see why they did such a thing. She may have been small and skinny and awkward, but Carrie had no standout features that would be good to make fun of. Nor had Desjardin ever seen her do anything that would warrant so much hatred towards her. She was quiet and hung away from everybody and didn’t speak. So why did they all hate her so much?

Desjardin snapped out of her thoughts when she heard the doorknob wiggle; Carrie stepped inside and Desjardin immediately took note on how she looked even worse than she did ten minutes ago- face very grey and dotted with sweat, teeth gritted into a tight grimace. shaking in exhaustion and pain. She was doubled over slightly, arms wrapped firmly around her stomach, and her eyes were glazed in a thick layer of delirium.

“Carrie!” Desjardin hurried over to the girl and guided her over to the small grey couch in her office. “Here- lay down, sweetie. The heating pad is already warmed up, so just put it where it hurts the most.” She glanced at the bottle of Ibuprofen she had taken out of her bag and wondered if it would be okay to give Carrie one or two pills. The girl looked like she needed them badly. “I have medicine. Would you like to take some?”

“I’m—I’m not—allowed—to take medicine.” Carrie stammered out with great force.

Why am I not surprised? Desjardin thought bitterly, Margaret White’s shrewd face flashing in her mind. She wondered if Carrie was even vaccinated.

No. She had to be. She wouldn’t be allowed in school if she wasn’t! Unless she was wormed in somehow...

Carrie seemed to see the flashes of anger in Desjardin’s eyes and shrunk up against the grey couch cushions. She let out a distressed whimper and Desjardin snapped back to reality.

“Hey, shh,” Desjardin calmed her before she could panic again. “It’s okay, Carrie. Just rest up, okay?”

Carrie nodded slowly, as if she were expecting some kind of strings attached to the words. When she realized that there truly wasn’t a catch, she closed her eyes and rested her head on one of the couch pillows, sliding the provided heating pad against her lower stomach. Not wanting to make her awkward by continuing to stare at her, Desjardin went back behind her desk and started on some work for the remainer of her off period without a class.

For awhile, Desjardin just worked and Carrie just slept. Or, at least she thought she was sleeping for the first fifteen minutes, but then Carrie’s knees jolted a little and she pulled them even closer to her. Then, she started to writhe and squirm in visible discomfort, unable to get comfortable or fall asleep due to the intense pain of her cramps. It was difficult to not watch her cry and whimper softly to herself. Desjardin didn’t get into it as long as possible until she couldn’t anymore.

“Carrie?” She knelt down beside the couch and gently touched the girl’s forehead, finding it hot and sweaty. “Carrie, honey, can you hear me?”

Carrie’s eyes remained screwed shut for a moment, as if she thought the pain would go away if she pretended to be asleep for long enough, but then they peeled open and gave Desjardin a gaze that cried for help.

“Oh, honey...” Desjardin murmured, stroking back sweaty locks of hair from Carrie’s face.

“It—it h-hurts so bad, M-Mrs. D-D-Desjardin.” Carrie whimpered. screwed her eyes shut and hugged her stomach tighter. “A-are you—are you s-sure I’m not d-dying?”

“I’m sure,” Desjardin said. “I promise. You’re okay and this is perfectly normal. It only hurts because your uterus is contracting to expel its lining and...” She trailed off, noticing the bewildered look in Carrie’s eyes. “Carrie, sweetheart...do you know what a uterus is?”

Desjardin already knew the answer, but Carrie shaking her head was still like a punch to the gut anyway. The fact that any mother would ever shelter their daughter from her own anatomy felt cruel and wrong- no wonder Carrie was so shaken up.

She wanted to ask how Carrie couldn’t have possibly found out on her own, but then remembered hearing several times about the girl being pulled out of classes for the subject matter and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen her with any kind of cellular device, either. Which made a lot of sense- she couldn’t expect Margaret White to let her child have any form of entertainment or connection with others.

“I-I’m sorry!” Carrie stammered fearfully. “I-I didn’t mean to!”

“You have done anything wrong, sweetie.” Desjardin reminded her. “I’m not mad at you, I promise.”

Carrie nodded. She leaned her head into the warmth of Desjardin’s hand when her cheek was brushed gently. With a meek, nervous voice, she asked, “M-Mrs. Desjardin? Wh-What’s happening to me?”

“It’s your first period.” Desjardin told her.

Carrie blinked and went quiet for a long moment.

“But...my first period is Homeroom?”

Oh dear.

#carrie #carrie 1976 #carrie 1988 #carrie 2013 #carrie 2002 #carrie the musical #carrie white #rita desjardin #carrie fanfiction #like a river runs #my writing #tw: vomit #tw: blood

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