#surgical hip replacement

[beecroft]

Orthopedic veterinary surgeons in Singapore specializing in fracture repair, TPLO surgery, spinal surgery, hip replacement, and orthopedic procedures for dogs and cats.

Web Page: https://beecroft.com.sg/beecroftsg/project-two-3amwl

[siorasurgical-post]

A Quick Guide to Myths Related to Joint Replacement | Siora Surgical

Joint replacement surgery has been a life-changing procedure for millions of people suffering from chronic joint pain and mobility issues. While medical advancements have made joint replacement surgery safer and more effective than ever before, several misconceptions still surround this procedure. These misconceptions can cause unnecessary fear and hesitation among those who could benefit from joint replacement surgery. In this blog, we aim to debunk some of the most common misconceptions associated with joint replacement surgery. To get an international standard quality range of trauma implants like Locking Plates and screws, find Experienced orthopedic manufacturers.

[agustdiv1ne]

💨‧₊˚.° 11:58 p.m. (m) — choi yeonjun & kang taehyun

genre: smսt, threesome, doms!fratboys!taejun, sub!fem!reader, friends to ???, high sex + car sex = 😵‍💫

wc: 4.9k (someone sedate me pls)

becoming friends with frat boys was never part of your plan for college. 

alas, here you are, two of them basically surgically attached to your hip. your first semester of junior year has been full of surprises thus far, your blooming friendship with yeonjun and taehyun being the most significant one; what started out as partners for a project has transformed into a close friendship with the two guys, and your new norm now consists of grabbing starbucks together before heading to class, hitting the gym with either one or both of them in tow, and — for better or for worse — attending their frat’s infamous parties every weekend.

and lucky you: you’ve just arrived at one.

as you climb the steps of tau chi tau’s gigantic house, you spot the bright blond hair of one of the pledges on door duty — your favorite pledge, actually. 

“sunoo!” you greet, tackling him into a hug as soon as you reach him. he reciprocates easily, his lips curling into a small smile before he’s pulling away.

“you’re late,” he teases. “your boyfriends are already high off their asses.”

you scoff, nudging his shoulder with a closed fist. “first of all, they’re not my boyfriends. second of all, they knew i wasn’t gonna be here for a while, and i promised i’d be their d.d. tonight, so,” you shrug. he rolls his eyes playfully, but opens the door for you anyway.

“yeah, yeah, whatever. they should be in the basement,” he says, gesturing for you to go inside. “just be careful, it reeks down there.”

you laugh. “thanks, dude.”

as the front door shuts behind you, you take in the state of the house. the air is hot and humid against your skin, your shoes getting stuck on the floor that is covered with liquids you’d rather not identify. some rap song pounds in your ears, and you nod your head along to the beat as you slip between a small space between two groups, finally reaching the door that leads down to the basement. the moment you swing it open, the potent stench of weed bombards your senses. your nose scrunches up — sunoo wasn’t wrong.

in vain, you wave your hand in front of your face as you make your descent. the haze floating in the air grows a bit thicker the further that you go, your only goal now being to get them out of here before you start feeling the effects as well. you eventually have to drive, for christ’s sake, and you’re not looking to get a dui anytime soon. with one last step, you make it to the bottom of the staircase. the music is quieter down here, but the smell is far worse than upstairs. a familiar laugh pulls your attention to the couch facing away from you, two very familiar heads of hair catching your attention. as you sneak up behind them, you press your index finger against your lips, silently telling beomgyu — who sits on the couch opposite to them — to keep quiet. he simply smirks at you.

“y/n’s here,” he calls. annoyed, you flip him the bird and send him a scalding glare before leaning over the back of the couch, your scowl quickly being replaced by a grin. two pairs of red-rimmed eyes find yours, widening in tandem when they register that you are, in fact, there. 

“my baby!” yeonjun cries, his hands reaching up to pull you down towards him. his lips meet your forehead, pressing an aggressive kiss there, palms squishing your cheeks to hold you in place. you struggle to pull away from his grip, ignoring his pout and insistent grabby hands once you do. you sate him by linking your fingers with his. 

“you’re later than usual,” taehyun comments from next to him, a smile permanently etched on his lips, the sight a testament to his inebriated state. unlike yeonjun, he doesn’t move to touch you, perfectly content with watching. 

“i literally told you earlier that i had a paper due at twelve,” you remind him, removing your hands from yeonjun’s as you round the side of the couch, aiming to sit on the arm of it. that is, until yeonjun pulls you between them so that you rest on his left thigh and taehyun’s right. yeonjun wraps an arm around your waist, while taehyun rests a hand on your upper thigh. you try your best not to squirm. they’re your friends, but you’re not fucking blind. 

“you could’ve asked me for help,” taehyun murmurs close to your ear, squeezing the meat of your thigh. his warm breath tickles the side of your neck, and you gulp. directly across from you, beomgyu meets your flustered gaze, an amused eyebrow raised as he sinks further into the couch. you tear your eyes away from him to focus on your fingers twiddling in your lap. 

“i-i didn’t wanna bother you,” you admit, and he emits a giggle. the hand not sitting on your thigh reaches over to pinch your cheek.

“you’re so cute,” he coos, and for some reason, the praise goes straight to your center. “i wouldn’t’ve minded.”

okay, time to go. you don’t think you can handle any more of their pda, and you’re starting to feel a bit weird after inhaling all of that smoke. if you want to get to their apartment, you need to leave right now. standing, you stretch your limbs in a poor attempt to rid them of their shakiness. 

“time to go,” you voice, turning to face them. their eyes are dark and hooded as they look up at you. you falter a bit, stumbling when yeonjun rapidly leans forward and gathers you in his arms again. 

“but i don’t wannaaaa!” yeonjun whines, pulling you back onto the couch and straight onto his lap, his grip around your waist tightening enough that you’re pulled against his chest. “ten more minutes!”

sighing, you wiggle in his grasp, to no avail. you look over at taehyun for help, only to find him laughing at the sight. then, an idea pops into your mind, something that you know will appeal to both of them.

you turn your head towards yeonjun. “what if i take you to mcdonald’s?”

that gets them going. after one last odd look and crude gesture from beomgyu, you guide them out of the house and into yeonjun’s car. taehyun rides shotgun, while yeonjun mumbles in the back about how that’s unfair treatment — it’s his car, after all. despite yeonjun’s initial complaints, the drive over to the closest mcdonald’s is filled with loud, off-key singing from yeonjun and hysterical giggles from taehyun. it makes your eyes roll, but a tiny grin pulls at your lips all the while. 

“you’re lucky i love you guys,” you mumble, pulling into a spot in the parking lot after giving the drive-through worker the largest order that they have probably ever received, digging into your mcflurry as they silently inhale their burgers, fries, and their own mcflurrys. the pace at which they eat both impresses and terrifies you.

as soon as all three of you have finished, you begin the drive over to their place. you assume that they will let you stay over given how late it is, and it’s not as if they’ve ever minded before. after a few minutes, you realize how oddly quiet they’re being, and you look over to find taehyun staring at you, eyes unblinking and full of an emotion you can’t quite place. you whip your head back to the road — until you hear a sharp shink from the back. looking through the rearview mirror, you find yeonjun’s lighter poised to a brand new joint that rests between his plush lips, the flame bright and inching closer and closer to the paper.

“dude, you are not about to hotbox this car,” you groan. “put the fucking lighter down.”

“it’s my car. i can do whatever i want,” he mumbles in defiance, the lighter moving precariously closer again and illuminating his face in the dark backseat. you swing an arm between the two front seats in a poor attempt to grab the lighter. a hand moving to your thigh — taehyun’s hand — and squeezing nearly causes you to swerve the car before you gain control again. 

you glance over at the boy next to you as his fingers trail up and down your inner thigh, panic lacing your pupils, but you are distracted once again when the flame in your peripherals returns. “yeonjun, i swear to god—”

“don’t you want some?” taehyun interrupts, his hand stilling on a patch of skin high on your thigh, dangerously close to your center. “you worked hard today, you should let loose.”

you do. you really, really do. the stress built up in your muscles has become almost overbearing, and you’d think that it would be gone after your paper was out of the way, but no. honestly, all you want to do right now is relax, and taehyun’s offer is more than tempting — but you also don’t want to crash yeonjun’s car. at the same time, you are within walking distance to their apartment, so maybe…

“fine. just— just let me park first,” you concede, pulling into the nearest empty parking lot, parking in the dark back corner and subsequently cutting the headlights. twisting in your seat, you find yeonjun already prepared with an old pill bottle full of pre-rolled joints. an insane amount of them, actually. you snatch one and place it between your lips, reaching for the lighter in yeonjun’s other hand, only for him to pull it away. 

“nuh-uh,” he drawls with a lazy smirk. “c’mere.”

in curiosity, you lean forward, wondering what, exactly, his game is. he sets the bottle down, and his fingers reach up to grip your chin, fingertips lightly digging into the skin as he brings the lighter up and lights the joint for you. your stomach flips, your thighs automatically closing around taehyun’s hand. wrenching your face away, you turn towards the front again, heart racing in your chest as you take your first hit. then another. you block out the other two as you allow your high to take over. you don’t notice taehyun’s grip on you slip away.

over the course of what you think is a few minutes, your body begins to relax into the seat, head thrown back against the headrest as your brain fogs up. blurry eyes stare up at the gray ceiling. you eventually register just how hot it is, then notice the sheer amount of smoke that’s floating past your vision. a finger pokes your cheek, and you follow the hand back to taehyun. you smile subconsciously.

“such a lightweight, so cute,” he says, tapping his finger against your cheek again. you notice that he doesn’t have a joint of his own. “gimme a hit.”

“get your own,” you reply with a defiant hum, cheeks warming as you jokingly shield your joint with your body. he sighs. 

“c’mon, i just wanna try something. you trust me, right?” he murmurs. blinking hard, it takes you a moment to send him a lethargic nod. he peels the joint from your fingers with ease. “come closer.”

you obey, leaning over until mere inches separate your faces. he grabs you by the collar of your t-shirt, urging you to come closer. his eyes flit to your lips before they meet your gaze again — as if the weed wasn’t enough, this whole situation is rendering you even dizzier. 

silently, he pushes a thumb against your lips, pressing forward to part them. your mouth immediately accommodates the digit, and it presses against your tongue for a moment before dragging down to your bottom lip, your saliva mixing with your lipgloss. something quiet and pathetic sounds from your throat, your breath stuttering in your chest when he bites down on his own lip, his big, wide eyes far from innocent as he stares at you.

“keep it open,” he quietly orders, voice low and demanding, before he removes his thumb completely. you sit there, mouth agape like a fish out of water while he places your joint to his lips and inhales deeply. the seam of his lips closes immediately. then, he leans in, his lips mere millimeters away from yours. he holds your gaze as he opens his mouth and blows the smoke into your mouth, and you inhale it with a shaky breath. it travels down your throat and deep into your lungs, but the heat that spreads through your body isn’t from the smoke — no, it’s something overwhelmingly feverish. needy, wanton. 

the moment your eyes flutter close, taehyun’s lips are on yours, the taste of him sweet from the ice cream he ate earlier. the smoke you exhale passes between your parted mouths, drifting out into the cabin of the car. he feels around for the cupholder, then for his soda, using a single hand to pop open the lid before he’s dunking the lit blunt into the liquid, the movement of his lips unwavering all the while. he wastes no time in curling his palm around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as he devours you whole. 

“holy fuck,” you vaguely hear yeonjun gasp, too far gone in the sensation of the languid, saliva-slicked kiss. it feels as if you are floating on top of a cloud, and you move to grab at his bicep to ground yourself. taehyun slips his tongue past your lips, curling the muscle around your own and immediately establishing his power over you. whining into his mouth, you attempt to pull away, only for yeonjun to cup your face and take over the kiss. taehyun’s hand slides down your neck and to one of your covered breasts, groping the soft mound of flesh over the fabric of your t-shirt. you moan into yeonjun’s mouth.

gentle hands pull you over the center console and into the back, yet yeonjun doesn’t break the kiss as he gathers you in his lap, your trembling thighs straddling his hips. you feel his cock press directly into your center when presses you down by your hips. your arms throw themselves around his neck, your lips slotting against his like a matching puzzle piece. the car rocks when taehyun slinks to the back as well, but yeonjun refuses to share you, hips angling upwards to grind his boner harder against your panty-clad core. 

“quit hogging her, you asshole,” taehyun growls from next to you, flipping your skirt up in the process to reveal your lacy panties to their eyes. the man next to you caresses the swell of your ass before landing a light smack. you jolt on top of yeonjun with a pathetic squeak, and his hand comes down again. in stark contrast to his actions, his tone is kind, perhaps a bit condescending, as he addresses you, “ooh, that feels good, doesn’t it? our baby likes to be spanked?”

their baby? something warm fills your veins at that, a quiet whimper muffled by yeonjun’s mouth. with the thin fabric of your panties embarrassingly sticking to your folds, you tear your lips away from yeonjun’s to hide your face in his chest, unable to face either of them. however, the rhythm of your hips does not falter. yeonjun forces you to look at taehyun with a firm grip that squishes your cheeks together, your lip puckering involuntarily. 

“answer him.” his warm breath fans over your ear as he speaks. a shiver racks your body despite the feverish heat surging through your body. knowing your voice will betray you, you opt for a shaky nod. 

taehyun’s gaze burns into your own, the blunt, rounded edges sharpened by lust. his dark pupils are the only thing that you can see in full clarity, the rest a foggy blur. “use your words.”

“yes,” you mumble, eyes screwed shut and your cheeks hotter than they’ve ever felt before. the feeling has spread down to your neck, your chest, the epicenter settling in your lower stomach. it festers there and tears at your insides like a feral beast and all you can think about is them — them using you, them fucking you. your breathing grows heavier before you feel a tap to your cheek, the skin stinging at the contact. 

“open your eyes, baby.”

you’re not sure who says it, but either way, you submit. eyelids fluttering open, you find both of them peering at you like two wolves stalking a soft, wide-eyed little lamb. your tongue feels like sandpaper in your mouth when they exchange scheming looks, their hands all over you as they maneuver your body as if you’re a doll. when did they plan this? how did you not notice their soft murmurs? 

you end up sitting between them, legs spread wide with one leg thrown over each of their laps. taehyun aims his focus towards your breasts, shoving your t-shirt up and yanking your bra down with little care, a hand tweaking one of your tits as the other curls itself in your hair and yanking your head back against the headrest. you cry at the sensation of his lips mouthing at your neck and his fingers pulling and groping your sensitive flesh. on the other side of you, yeonjun wastes no time in attempting to divert your attention back to him. shifting your panties to the side, he caresses your folds before dipping down to your entrance and groaning. 

“oh my god, you’re fucking soaked,” he groans as he gathers your wetness on his fingertips. “tae, you gotta feel her.”

said man’s hand leaves your breast, reaching down to join yeonjun’s at your center. a light brush over your clit causes your hips to twitch before he’s reaching down to swipe your entrance and—

“shit, you’re right,” taehyun breathes against your neck. “that’s so hot.”

without speaking, they begin to work in tandem as they pick you apart. a quiet, barely there voice in the back of your mind wonders if they’ve done this before, but that thought is quickly shooed away once two of yeonjun’s long fingers slide into your needy hole to the knuckle, the delicious stretch of your walls causing you to keen. your spine arches off of the seat when he begins to slide them in and out, curling up and grinding into that sensitive little spot inside you that you can never quite hit. meanwhile, taehyun ghosts a finger over your clit that aches for stimulation, his free hand digging into your thigh to keep you spread wide for them, your leg twitching in his grasp. he circles the sensitive bud as yeonjun adds a third finger to the mix, his movements growing faster as he feels your walls relax around his digits. taehyun ducks his head down to your breast, wrapping his lips around your nipple, his teeth scraping lightly against it. crying out, you plead for them to keep going. 

“such a tight little pussy,” yeonjun rambles directly into your ear, and you clench around his fingers. he nibbles at your earlobe before he continues, voice deep and growly and too much. fuck, it’s too much. “you look s’sexy right now, y’know that? so fuckin’ pretty. gonna make sure you can’t think about anything but us— gonna fuck you so dumb, baby. haven't even had our cocks ‘n you’re already losing it. s’cute.” 

with how wound up you are already, it doesn’t take long for the heat building in your stomach to bubble over, the overwhelming sensations all over your body coaxing you through your intense orgasm, waves a pleasure wracking your trembling body, your release coating yeonjun’s fingers while taehyun leans up to capture your lips. your whimpers are muffled by his mouth. the pleasure seems to have no beginning nor end, dizzying and causing your mind to drift somewhere far away, barely able to reciprocate the kiss. neither of them stop their ministrations until you’re pawing at their hands with a pitiful whine, your words staccato and incoherent.

you sit there, chest heaving and your clothes disheveled, barely able to comprehend the way the two boys argue over who should have you first. hands fly in front of your vision, a closed fist versus a flat hand, and though you can barely see through the smoke floating through the air and your terribly cloudy vision, you recognize that they’re playing a petty game of rock-paper-scissors. a dopey giggle shakes your body as you throw your head back against the back seat. they share a concerned glance. 

“y/n? can you look at me?” taehyun carefully asks. your empty-headed grin remains on your face while you turn to face him, humming in half-baked acknowledgment. he frowns, a hand coming up to cup your face as he takes in your red-rimmed, glazed over eyes. he peers around you towards yeonjun. “i don’t know if she can take more, jun.”

the words sober you up slightly, your grin dropping. “n-no! wan’ more, wan’ your cocks,” you ramble. “need them, please.”

“you heard her. she needs us,” yeonjun muses, already reaching for your loose limbs. “‘n i won, so c’mere, baby.”

yeonjun gathers you into his lap like earlier. this time, however, you feel his tip pressing at your fluttering entrance, an arm around your waist to hold you up. he looks up at you with a smirk. “ready, baby?”

you nod, and he wastes no time to begin slowly pushing your hips down. the flared, leaky head of his cock breaches your entrance. you whine, walls fluttering around him already as he moans. the rest of him presses into you inch by inch. it seems as if you can feel him everywhere — in your stomach, in your throat, the length of his cock almost too much for you to handle. the tip curves perfectly against your, his shaft grinding against your g-spot as he gently rocks his hips, allowing you to adjust to the overwhelming stretch. your whines grow pitchier as he finds his rhythm, hands on your waist as he bounces you up and down on his cock. he curses under his breath, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. he watches you with his tongue between his teeth, lips curled into something cruel and patronizing.

“feelin’ good, pretty?” he breathes, eyes rolling back into his skull as he begins to snap his hips to meet your own. the slap of skin grows louder, echoing throughout the car along with each of your moans and whines. your eyelids flutter, speechless, a cry tearing from your throat when he swipes a thumb over your slick clit, your walls tightening further around him. he doesn’t seem to mind your lack of response, and with a string of curses, he slams you down harder, lips clashing with yours as both of you chase your highs. desperation coats your tongues as he bites down on your bottom lip, pulling it back as you whine, clinging to him desperately, nails biting his skin and leaving deep half-moons in their wake. the slight sting of pain spurs him on, pulling away to spew filthy words into your ear.

“gonna fuckin’ cum deep inside you— ohh fuck, you seem to want that, hm? t-tightened so much around me. you need my cum, don’t you? say you need it,” he demands, holding your face close to his, dark pupils searing into your skin. a light slap to your cheek wakes you up a little. “c’mon— shit. say it or i won’t give it to you.”

“n-need it!” you unabashedly sob, feeling your high hit you. “please, jjunie, cum in me. pleasepleasepleaseplease—”

a deep groan cuts your pleas off, a warmth that floods your walls following close behind. he paints your insides white as he whimpers against your neck, hips twitching as he fucks it further into your hole. you quiver on top of him, holding him close with your arms slung around his neck, nearly in tears at how amazing it feels, sweat clinging to your skin and sticking to your shirt. it takes you much longer to come down this time, your body twitching erratically as the aftershocks continue to roll through your body. 

“jesus christ,” taehyun mutters next to you, and you remove your face from yeonjun’s violet hair to look over at him. his cock lays heavy in his hand, veins bulging as he strokes up and down, pausing at the top to swipe the bead of precum at the tip and smear it over the angry head. the sight causes your mouth to water. the urge to feel him against your tongue is almost too much for you to bear. sliding off of yeonjun with a whine and sore legs, you go to lean down for a taste — before taehyun stops you with a firm hand.

“what do you think you’re doing?” he asks, jaw set as he leers over you. 

“i-i just wanted to—”

“nuh-uh, baby. you don’t just get to do what you want. jun and i are in charge here,” he says, squeezing your jaw roughly. “now, get on your back. head on jun’s lap.”

silently, you do just that, finding yeonjun’s dick already rock hard again right near your face. your juices mixed with his cum gives his lengthy cock a light sheen in the low light, but your attention is soon pulled back to taehyun when he wraps his legs around his waist. towering above you, he guides his head along your slick folds, smearing the remnants of your and yeonjun’s last orgasm along himself. he taps it against your clit, chuckling when your hips jump.

“such a sensitive little thing,” he coos. taehyun doesn’t warn you as he guides his cock to your entrance and pushes his hips forward in one fluid motion, burying himself to the hilt in seconds. the feeling of his cock inside you is far different than yeonjun’s; taehyun’s is a little shorter, but much thicker, the stretch of your hole borderline painful. 

“h-holy fuck, you’re tight,” he gasps, voice sharp as he tries to hold himself together, resting there for a moment as he allows you to adjust to the sudden intrusion. the moment your hips start to grind against him, his jaw ticks, rolling his hips into you as he watches your brows furrow and mouth fall open into an ‘o.’ hands grip your waist as his thrusts quickly sharpen, harder and deeper and cruel. you blink up at him, whining. smoke hangs around his head like a halo, but the cruel snap of his hips is far from holy. 

diverting your gaze away, yeonjun poises his tip at your lips for you to suckle, breathing shaky as your soft tongue delivers kitten licks to the head. just as he curls a hand in your hair, you slip your tongue into the small slit at the very top as your moans vibrate against him, reveling in how he hisses at the feeling, his thighs flexing beneath your head. your dopey smile returns, eyes rolling back as taehyun continues his hard thrusts, quiet grunts falling from his lips as angles his hips upward in an attempt to get your gaze back on him. it works, your eyes widening adorably as he presses his cock right against your g-spot. his teeth graze his bottom lip, biting down hard when he feels you clench around him, a direct result of yeonjun tweaking one of your puffy nipples. 

taehyun is quiet as he fucks you, only quiet curses coming from him as he uses your body to chase his orgasm. a hand slides up your stomach to wrap loosely around your throat. he barely puts any pressure, but it’s enough to send you reeling, a third high, weaker in magnitude washing over you. after the amount of teasing he put himself through earlier, taehyun isn’t far behind, fingers slightly tightening against your neck as he thrusts into you quicker, coaxing you through your orgasm as his own finally hits him. his moans are high-pitched and whiny as he spills inside you, his cum mixing with yours and yeonjun’s, sticky and hot and satisfying. yeonjun cums against your lips immediately after, forcing you to take his tip into your mouth to taste him. you greedily swallow his release, allowing him to gather the escaped liquid with his fingers and shove it against your tongue. 

pulling out, taehyun watches as the thick, white liquid spills from your hole and onto yeonjun’s leather seats. he gulps, pushing it back into you with thin, lithe fingers as you barely react, brain practically rendered mush. 

“that was…wow,” yeonjun mumbles, caressing your cheek as your eyelids flicker closed. taehyun hums in agreement as he fixes your clothes back into their proper place. lethargic and dumb and feeling so, so warm and full, you drift off into quiet, bleary dreams. their voices seem far away now, their tones faintly worried at your state. a cool feeling washes over your body, causing you to shiver, eyes blinking open for a moment to find the windows now rolled down, airing out the smoke. the cool air feels fresh in your lungs; you’re grateful for it. you close your eyes again, finally passing out for good. 

none of you are sure where this situation will lead when you wake…but you suppose you’ll just have to cross that bridge when you get to it.

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[shaguncares]

An Introduction To The Orthopaedic Evaluation

Below is the list of common terminology to understand Orthopaedic Evaluation:

DHS Plate (Dynamic Hip Screw Plate)

The DHS Plate (Dynamic Hip Screw Plate) is a 4-hole centering dynamic compression plate with locking screws that provide compression to the plates. The plate is contoured to fit the proximal femur and distal femoral head. The DHS combines non-locking screws placed at the distal femoral metaphysis with locking screws placed at the mid-shaft and proximal femur.

This is an appropriate option for very unstable or comminuted injuries because it offers dynamic compression until definitive fixation can be obtained.

DHS Plate (Dynamic Hip Screw Plate) Specification

The DHS Dynamic Hip Screw Plate System is a modular system for percutaneous and minimal access surgery of unstable distal femoral fractures. The plate system is available in four different sizes (DHS 1-4) as well as with or without screws. The plates are made of 316L stainless steel and are available in 6 different lengths.

The DHS Plate (Dynamic Hip Screw Plate) Specification was developed by Dr. Robert W. Moser and Dr. Michael T. Sarrasin at the University of Wisconsin and Rancho Los Amigos National Rehabilitation Center in Los Angeles, California.

The designers of the DHS plate were motivated by a desire to improve the results of treatment for a broad range of adult femoral fractures and to greatly simplify the system of implantation and interfragmentary compression.

The DHS-hinged, dynamic hip screw plate is designed with a self-locking dynamic screw which incorporates a torque-sensitive mechanism that allows intraoperative determination of the optimum amount of intraoperative preload.

Consistent with the purpose of these plates, this preload adjustment may be made while the patient is still under anesthesia and before any significant bleeding has occurred; in this way, an appropriate degree of clot retraction can be achieved immediately before clamping or interfragmentary compression.

DHS (Dynamic Hip Screw) Plate Specification. With four screws per plate, no need to choose between two or four screw fixation. The DHS Plate has been designed to provide the optimum combination of compactness, superior stability, and ease of surgery in a dynamic hip screw system.

Elbow Prosthesis

The artificial joint components are usually made of metal alloys (a combination of two or more metallic elements). The metal used to make the components is usually cobalt chrome. Another metal alloy used for elbow prosthesis is titanium. These metals are strong and lightweight. They do not corrode and rarely cause an allergic reaction.

The most common type of elbow replacement is the unipolar prosthesis. A variation of this procedure uses bipolar components. In a bipolar elbow prosthesis, there are two stems or central hinges that allow the artificial elbow joint to bend.

Two plastic components are joined together with a plastic and metal ball at each end of the stems. In a unipolar elbow prosthesis, there is only one per side. One stem or central hinge allows the artificial elbow joint to bend.

Elbow joints that are damaged or diseased can be replaced with an artificial joint. The wrong-size artificial elbow joint parts can cause pain or gradually wear away the adjacent bone. The main reason for elbow replacement is an injury to the elbow or trauma, such as a fall on an outstretched hand.

Hip Replacement Prosthesis

The components of a Hip Replacement prosthesis may be made of metal, plastic, or ceramic and are often lined with a soft material such as polyethylene. Because the bone ends are cut precisely and smoothly, the new joint does not require healing.

The surgery may take 1 to 2 hours and you will receive general anesthesia. The surgeon will make either an incision near your groin area or an incision inside your thigh to reach the hip joint to replace it. X-rays are used to help guide the surgery as well as a magnification device (arthroscope--see image at right) attached to an overhead light source.

An artificial hip joint is surgically implanted to replace a diseased hip joint. Hip replacement has improved the lives of people with debilitating hip conditions. Whether due to arthritis, injury, or other causes, joint deterioration can happen to anyone at any time. As the weight-bearing surface of the joint deteriorates, pain and loss of mobility can develop.

Spinal Surgical Instruments

Spine Surgery instruments are used for the spine. These are usually implanted for patients who require spinal fusion and trauma corrections. Spine surgeons use these instruments to remove and place screws, plates, rods, and other types of hardware that support spine alignment.

For comfort, spine surgeons incorporate wound retractors and laminectomy retractors during surgery. These instruments help in removing a small fragment of the skin which is near the spine. They also help in removing the soft tissue along with bony segments within the spine. This helps in making the procedure easy and simple.

Nerve hooks, nerve root hooks, exploration hooks, and retractors are also used for removing a piece of bone along with muscles, nerves, and soft tissues. These specific instruments help in removing different tissue groups to make way for an implant or screws to be placed at a particular area of the spine.

Dental Instruments is a renowned manufacturer of Spinal Surgical Instruments, with a specialization in Surgical Instruments for Spinal Surgery. Some popular products include WOUND RETRACTORS - ROUND END, CURVED END, AND STRAIGHT END, LAMINECTOMY RETRACTORS, NERVE HOOKS, AND ROOT HOOKS, and EXPLORATION HOOKS.

Spinal surgical instruments are designed to assist surgeons in performing spinal procedures. The instruments are designed with precise and delicate features to assure reliable and safe performance for longer durations.

The tools are available in an array of variants with different options that consider the demands of individual surgeries. Each set of tools is available in a unique design, material, and other specifications. When you buy spinal surgical instruments, you will find:

Spinal Neurosurgical Instruments

Spinal Wound Retractor Set

Spinal Laminectomy Retractor Set

Spinal Nerve Hooks

Spinal Nerve Root Hooks

Spinal Exploration Hooks

Spinal Tips

All the products can be bought online from Shagun Cares worldwide including countries like Colombia, India and many more.

CONTACT US

COMPANY NAME: Shagun Cares INC

PHONE NO. 9811659010 

EMAIL: deepakshagun02@gmail.com

Address: Colombia

RESOURCE URL: https://www.shaguncares.com/

[orangetintedglasses]

@forgivenpunishment // one taser might not do it, but what about...?

Holding off a wave of people was no small effort.

Keeping an army off the back of another person while throwing yourself in harm's way, regardless of your strength, was something noble. Something that deserved praise, recognition; the undertaker's efforts would not go unnoticed.

... unfortunately for him, though, it wasn't Vash that they wanted. It wasn't Vash that would be swarmed by fully-amped stun batons and tasers and more bodies trickling in, crowding the hall to prevent escape, or even basic movement that might've allowed him to get the upper hand as some old, croaking voice shrieked don't kill him! We need him alive, he's useless to us dead...!

That had been nearly an hour ago, now, though. Trivial. Shouts and crackles of electricity had been replaced by the din of machines; the hum of glaringly bright surgical lights; the slow, steady blip of a heart monitor keeping track of vitals as six men bustled around the surgical table that they'd strapped him to. They'd cut him out of his clothes to save time, as well; naked save for the various nodes and monitors they'd fastened to him, and a clean, white sheet over his hips that went down to mid-thigh.

Was that sparing his dignity, or theirs? It didn't really matter, did it. No, no, what mattered now was how the subject was feeling whenever he came to again--

[villain-crown]

needle | @jegulus-microfic | words: 786

critical care, part 2 | (part 1, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9)

a Jegulus nurse!AU

“Prongs!”

Sirius strolled onto the medical-surgical intensive care unit with a coffee in one hand and an exasperated Remus Lupin in the other. James had to hand it to them—ever since his friends started sucking faces and Remus had flatly refused to let Sirius sabotage his 15 minutes early arrival policy, Sirius was never late to work anymore.

“Hey, mate,” James replied over his shoulder, examining the patient assignments that he’d just outlined.

“Are we in charge?” Sirius demanded into his Starbucks when he’d come close enough to read the board.

“Yeah, I'm charge nurse for the medical patients, you can have the surgical ones. Looks like your brother’s floating up here today.”

Sirius hurried to gulp down the sip he’d already taken. “Reggie? Yesss! Put him on my team! I want to boss him around.”

“How is that different from any other day of the week?” Remus asked.

It was on the tip of James’s tongue to ask—why would Marlene warn me not to stare at your brother?—when the two-toned wail of the code blue alarm blared through the hallway, automatically pulling their focus towards the far side of the ICU.

Sirius sucked up the last of his coffee, attempting to simultaneously shrug off his jacket and stagger towards the action. “Fucking hell, okay, OKAY!”

James was already taking long strides towards the other end of his unit, his eyes flicking to the blue light over room twelve’s door and the controlled chaos unfolding within it. Three people were already present: his two Gryffindor nurses, Lily and Mary, along with a very slender man in dark green Slytherin scrubs performing chest compressions.

“We started compressions about fifteen seconds ago,” Mary supplied from her position performing rescue breaths via bag mask at the head of the patient’s bed.

“Do you need a step stool?” James asked without thinking.

Stranger.

Slytherin scrubs.

This must be Regulus!

As the petite nurse looked up to spare him a glare while continuing to stand on his toes to maintain his rhythm, James realized exactly why he’d been warned not to stare.

He’d seen it all in the course of his career: severed fingers, gaping wounds, and infested flesh. When Marlene had warned him to keep his eyes to himself, he’d figured it was because there was something physically off about Sirius’s little brother; a scar or imperfection of some kind.

He was wrong.

Regulus Black wasn’t some deformed hobbit.

He was fucking gorgeous.

Truly, James couldn’t imagine anything he’d like to do more than stare into those stunning silver eyes set in that lovely face. His eyes had barely swept down to register the man’s slender body and neat little waist when fingers clicked sharply in his face.

“Watch your fucking eyes, Potter!” Sirius snapped, having finally caught up, pushing roughly past him to join his brother at the patient’s side. “Hold compressions, Reggie.”

Regulus paused his movements, backing off slightly to come down off his toes as everyone in the room observed the meaningless squiggles on the cardiac monitor fade from the reading. A wavy, trembling line replaced the previously jerky chaos.

“V. Fib,” Regulus concluded, correctly identifying the lethal heart rhythm.

He was much smaller than James, which was exactly what James liked. It would make pinning him up against a wall by the hips as they fucked a lot easier.

“Yeah. Take over compressions, Lily. Reggie, can you give a round of epinephrine? Where’s Dr. McGonagall?”

“In a budget meeting, according to the intern answering her phone,” Regulus answered, drawing up the medication with a needle.

Fuck, even his voice was just incredibly lovely. James imagined how it might sound in a much dirtier context than they were in now.

“Ah. Pour one out for McGonagall,” Sirius instructed Remus, who obediently emptied a syringe of sterile saline into the garbage.

Regulus paused his own movements, watched this action incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It’s good luck. What, you guys don’t do that in Slytherin?”

“We don’t need luck in Slytherin.”

James rolled his eyes. “See, this is why people hate you guys. Okay, one milligram of epi is in.”

“Hello, everyone!”

James looked up and scowled upon seeing Barty Crouch Jr., one of the resident physicians on loan to them from Slytherin, swanning into the room like it was a lovely day. He seemed distinctly unconcerned by his late arrival and more interested in sidling over to Regulus and throwing an arm around his shoulder, making James frown.

“Hey Reg! Wow, they’ve really got you slumming it with these surgical idiots, huh?”

“Are you here to help or hit on my baby brother?” Sirius snapped over his shoulder from where he was recording the code events with a dry erase marker on one of the windows.

Crouch frowned. “Where’s McGonagall?”

“Budget meeting,” came from three different directions.

“Oh. Hey, Lupin, pour one out for—“

“We already did that! Now fucking give us orders, you cretin!”

“Oh. Alright, pause compressions, let’s check a pulse…”

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

Did you know the practice of meditation can have side effects? Some people experience adverse reactions to meditation, such as heightened anxiety or depression or even delusions and hallucinations. 

What does that have to do with being lgbt? Well, nothing - but meditation is often seen as one of those “healthy things everyone should do”, something that just has so many benefits and doesn’t require you to take anything or undergo any kind of surgery, something that it’s widely recommended and accepted as healing… and even THAT super great thing has some people who will regret doing it. 

Not a perfect comparison, nothing ever is, but you see the analogy coming: Transition (social or hormonal or surgical) is super beneficial to many people. And there are also some people who will regret it. 

Any kind of health decision - and really any decision at all - can end with you regretting it. That’s a part of life. 

“Protecting people from making a decision they might regret” sounds like such a noble goal. We want to live in a world where people can make informed decisions. Education, including on risks and side effects, is something to strive for. But it’s important to remember that we can not live in a world where nobody ever regrets anything. 

People can regret getting their ears pierced. People can regret buying a car. People can regret going to university. People can regret having sex with someone. People can regret marriage. People can regret moving to a different state. People can regret coming out as gay. People can regret hip replacement surgery. And yes, people can also regret transitioning. 

If we seriously wanted to protect people from ever regretting anything, we would need to just take any deciding power away  (and then who would we give it to? Whoever makes our decisions for us then, they could also make a decision they end up regretting!). 

Another reason why this analogy works: I told you meditation has side effects and people regret it - but I pretty conveniently left out that it’s pretty rare for that to happen. Meditation is generally very safe and has a really low regret rate. Plus, people who regret it may not regret that they choose to meditate all together but rather report that they regret a specific experience (such as choosing silent meditation over guided meditation or going on a meditation retreat that lasted multiple days). 

Similar to that, transition also has a low regret rate (statistically much lower than tattoos or hip replacement surgery for example!) - and people who regret it may not actually be a case of “I regret it because I realized I’m not transgender”, even if that’s what transphobes tell you. Some people still identify as transgender but regret their surgery because they experienced complications (as they can arise from any kind of medical procedure). Some people regret it because they lost friends or family or job opportunities after coming out. And so on. 

The topic of regret is much more complicated than “meditation is actually bad” or “they woke up one day and realized they were brainwashed into believing they were trans”. And it’s unfair to not only the ones who will never regret it but also to the ones who do regret it to reduce their stories to a cautionary tale meant to stop people from making a decision over their own body.

“We need to protect people from making decisions they might regret” just isn’t a good argument. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[smytherines]

∇owen (make it fluffy? pretty please?)

A fluffy aging/old age headcanon for Owen 💜

(I'm having kind of an emotional day so... sorry in advance)

Okay. In order for Owen to actually grow old, this has to be an au where he doesn't die on the staircase. I think there'd be a long, complicated, painful reconciliation process, but ultimately Curt and Owen would get back together. In this version of reality they get out of the spy game, and have a remote little place somewhere far away from either of their countries. Maybe Costa Rica or something like that. So let's take all that as read.

I like to think that Owen gets to have a home. A real home. That someday Curt brings home a stray dog he finds on the side of the road and Owen is dead set against having a dog, but eventually he and the dog become inseparable. I like to think that he gets a little patch of land, and spending his time growing things- beautiful flowers, vegetables he uses to make dinner- helps to heal something in him. Something he thought was broken forever after the fall.

I think as Owen gets into his 40s, a lot of the injuries he sustained in the fall start to get worse- arthritis in the places he had breaks, scar tissue, etc. Modern knee replacement surgeries last for around 15 years. I'd assume 1950s joint replacements are not quite as durable, so maybe ten years on he needs to have surgery to replace the worn out knee and hip replacements Chimera did for him.

And even though they've made a lot of progress, Owen hides how much pain he's in for a long time because he's terrified that Curt would leave him- if not for needing surgery to begin with, then certainly for all the care he would need for the long recovery afterwards. Curt wasn't there after the fall. He doesn't know how bad things were. Owen explained some of it to him, but couldn't bring himself to talk about having trouble walking, needing help to go to the bathroom, being constantly on the verge of tears for months because the pain was unbearable. The stuff nobody likes to talk about with injuries like that.

He has a lot of insecurities about himself that he didn't have when they were together before- burns, scars, limited mobility, chronic pain. His body is different now, and it's a long, slow, horrible grieving process to deal with that.

But eventually he has to have these joints replaced. He could hide the pain, but he can't hide it from Curt when his knee starts suddenly giving out on him. He was using a cane only on really bad pain days before, but as the joints start to break down he has to use it every day. So he gives Curt an out, tells him to go, maybe even tries to push him away. Owen tells himself that this would be easier for him to survive than Curt seeing the reality of his injuries after the surgeries and choosing to leave when Owen needs him the most. At least this way they're parting on terms Owen has some control over.

But Curt is older now. He's had a chance to be in a real relationship. The kind of thing where you wake up together and go to sleep together and have a home and a life together. And also he's stubborn as fuck. Curt has never had a problem caring about people, but he's never really been able to care for someone. To take care of someone. Hell, he could barely take care of himself sometimes. But he refuses to leave. He refuses to let Owen push him away. He chooses to commit, to stay, even if its messy and uncomfortable.

I think before all this, Curt was probably doing some defense/security contractor work- there's plenty of it out there for someone with his background. He does enough to pay the bills, which isn't much. And in his spare time he takes up woodworking. It keeps him busy. Keeps him doing something with his hands, something he gets to be creative with. So when Owen comes back home after having these big surgical procedures, Curt has built a little ramp so the wheelchair can get up the stairs. He's put up railings and hand-holds everywhere he can think of. He rebuilt a couple of doorframes to make them wider. He made a little cart on wheels that fits over the wheelchair, so Owen can still prepare and cook food if he's up for it. He really goes wild with it. He's still him, he still struggles to say how he feels in words, but he finds other ways to express it. He takes care of Owen's little garden while Owen is recovering (and accidentally pulls half of it up because he doesn't know the difference between a weed and a growing vegetable, but it's the thought that counts)

And they get through it. Curt understood on an intellectual level what happened to Owen after the fall, but didn't really have any way of knowing exactly what it means to be that injured, that dependant on the people around you to survive. So this thing that can and does drive a lot of couples apart (seriously look up the stats on men leaving their partners when they become sick/injured, its bad) ends up bringing them closer together. It ends up soothing that constant fear that Owen has had ever since they got back together- that at any moment Curt might just get sick of him or decide he isn't worth the trouble and leave him again. It helps Curt understand how vulnerable Owen was when Chimera convinced him to work for them.

Eventually Owen heals up, the chronic pain issues go back down to his post-fall baseline. He is still a full-time cane user, but Curt loves to find the most beautiful downed branches, exotic hardwoods, and make Owen a variety of canes. He gets into woodcarving so he can decorate them. He tells Owen that the cane makes him look distinguished, that its actually kinda hot. And Owen chooses to believe him.

By the time Owen is in his late 50s, maybe early 60s, he's a full time wheelchair user. He can walk short distances with a cane, but for the most part its better for him to just use the chair. But thats okay, because the house is pretty well adapted for him already. Curt helps him when he wants to tend to his garden, and he makes big family dinners whenever Tatiana and Barb come to visit.

Curt's mom visits while she's still alive, and although Curt and Owen never outright tell her about them, she knows. She knows the same way a kid knows that their unmarried aunt with short hair and a longterm female roommate is probably a lesbian, even if nobody ever says that word in front of them. She treats Owen like a son.

That's my soft, sappy, overly sentimental alternate universe headcanon for Owen Carvour growing old. That someone cares about him. Someone cares for him. Not because he's useful, not because he has skills they can exploit for their benefit. That Curt cares for Owen just because he loves him. And Owen loves Curt.

My dumb fluffy headcanon is that after the first half of their lives being so brutal and violent and painful, they get to have a second chance. A second chance they never should have gotten. A chance to find things that are beautiful and wonderful and hopeful. And they take that chance together.

[rivalriotrenegade]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader Random "I love you"

About fic: Slight comic references, so if you know you know and if you don't that's still okay. Technically monster Simon Riley x reader but can be read as human Simon also no monster parts described so you can imagine whatever you want. As the title suggests the prompt was "random I love you" so Soft Simon Hours. This fic is for @midnightxsecretary (because they asked for more!) also @luvergirl777 because I think they'd like this based off a fic they wrote. One that you should totally go read after this!

Word Count: 593 (Short read)

Warnings: None, but GN reader.

It’s weird really, to see Simon acting so domestic you think to yourself as you silently watch him wash the dishes. The usual uniform has been replaced with a T-shirt and jeans and the balaclava has been traded in for a black surgical mask instead. You smile softly to yourself as you lean the laundry basket against your hip. 

It had taken Simon months before he felt comfortable enough to let his walls down like this. He had constantly been on guard trying his best not to let you see him down, but eventually you managed to peek through the cracks and slowly he let you see more of himself. Despite the fact that there had been plenty of ups and downs in knowing Simon the more you learned about him the more you grew to love him. All the bits and pieces, broken parts and sharp edges, all the things that made him him.

“Hey Simon?” You call out. 

“Yeah?” He replied without looking at you, too focused on finishing the task in front of him to bother turning around when he could hear you perfectly fine like this. 

“I love you.” You say, smile evident in your voice before you continue down the hall to finish your chore. 

For a moment time seems to stand still as Simon freezes… and just like that, with three simple words, you have shook him to his very core. 

You didn’t see the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hands grip the counter. You didn’t hear the deep breath he takes to calm himself and the emotions currently raging inside of him. You didn’t see the way he has to hold himself together to try and keep from crying. You didn’t see the hand he used to cover his eyes as he leaned over the counter because he wasn’t sure he could stand on his own two feet without his knees giving out. 

It had been a long, long, time since Simon Riley had heard those three words and to hear them so suddenly, for no apparent reason, hit him harder than any punch, bullet or knife ever could. 

He wanted so desperately to say it back, to tell you how much you mean to him. That if given the choice he’d take you over the very oxygen he breathes, because without you what purpose does his life have? He is a man who has lost everything. His mother, his brother, his sister-in-law, and nephew have all been killed for the sake of revenge. His teammates, his friends, have died in his arms. His very identity has been stolen from him, forcing him to live his life as a shadow, as a ghost. For the longest time he had lived for nothing more than to fight another day, to survive. But then you came into his life and for the first time in a long time he didn’t want to just survive… He wanted to live. 

But Simon couldn’t say that. Wouldn’t even know how to begin to put it into words. The strength and courage, the amount of vulnerability it would take to say something like that isn’t something he thinks he could handle. Someday, when he has found the right words and has steeled himself he’ll tell you. 

But that day is not today. As of right now he is doing everything in his power not to fall apart. Breathing in and out, washing the dishes in a circular motion, rapidly blinking his eyes and ignoring the stray tear that slips out. 

Hey! Hope you liked it. If not that's okay too. Please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts, I love interacting with you all. Also feel free to send in your requests! Nothing too weird tho. Have a great day :)

[beecroft]

Orthopedic veterinary surgeons in Singapore specializing in fracture repair, TPLO surgery, spinal surgery, hip replacement, and orthopedic procedures for dogs and cats.

Web Page: https://beecroft.com.sg/beecroftsg/project-two-3amwl

[after-witch]

The White Dove [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: The White Dove [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You shouldn’t have looked. But you did, and you’re the one to blame for what happens after. 

For Horrorfest prompt: Kai Chisaki + "You weren't supposed to help her."

Word Count: 776

Notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, medical horror (non-graphic); non-graphic descriptions of child abuse.

 The world is sideways. No, that’s wrong. The world isn’t sideways. You are sideways. Sideways and immobile and strapped to a hard, white, unyielding surgical table. Your arms and legs, even your hips, are strapped down. Your head is free to move but all that does is make you dizzy as you shake it from side to side, willing the rest of your body to obey.

Your skin tickles. You’re dimly aware of the scratch at the hospital gown over your skin. When did he put that on you? Did you fall asleep? How long were you out? What else did he do while you were out?

Thoughts buzz and zoom, flittering and terrified. You can’t quite make sense of the world right now, and you don’t know if it’s because he drugged you or you’re simply so horrified that adrenaline has replaced your blood. Maybe both, and that might just be the truth.

There’s a soft sound above you. A tsk.

You whimper pitifully before you even confirm it’s him. But of course it’s him. Who else would it be?

Kai Chisaki stands above you, surgical mask snug over his face, gazing down at you with eyes that are judge, jury and executioner.

“You pitiful thing,” he murmurs. And there is a tone akin to sympathy in his voice, but it’s edged out by the presence of something harder, sharper, and darker. “You brought this on yourself, dearest.”

Your wrists strain against the leather holding you down. But you’re not going anywhere. You’ve known that for a while, haven't you? Since long before you found yourself on this table, harsh light above you, harsher eyes staring down at your fruitless attempts to free yourself.

“Please don’t…” You don’t even know exactly what you’re begging him not to do. But it can’t be good. Not when you saw what you saw, and heard what you heard. Not when he looked so angry. Not when you stumbled on him doing that awful thing to the little girl strapped to the table, all bruised and bloodied and crying and-

Oh God, was this the same table?

You feel the limits of your muscles stretching and tightening until your body gives up, slumping. You’re unable to even pull against the restraints, trembling and cold and thinking wildly, adrenaline or drugs or fear or all of the above. The tang of remembered blood fills your nostrils. The sight of her frail body, her eyes bugging in fear…

If he did that to her… what is he going to do to you?

His gloved hand rests on your forehead and you still, afraid to break the momentary spell. Maybe if he forgives you, he’ll let you up. You can go to your room. You can color. You can read a book. You can do anything, anything at all, but this.

“You weren’t supposed to see such things.” He sighs, a tired, busy sound. “You’re too delicate for them. That’s why I told you to stay in your rooms, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you push out, voice tiny and helpless. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“I know you won’t.”

The lines around his eyes crinkle and cold dread spreads inside, soaking into you like water spilled on paper.  He draws his gloved hand back from your face and you hear it, you hear the sound of the metal tray, and the fact that it’s a needle--not a knife--in his hand doesn’t make you feel any less terrified.

“Please, Kai.” Your mouth is dry and your lips smack together as you fumble for anything. Mercy, mostly. “Please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry.”

He presses the plunger of the syringe and a little liquid beads out. He ignores you for the moment, instead using his other hand to swipe your arm with something cool and wet.

“Oh, angel,” he coos, and you want to move, you wish you could at least try to get away from whatever is going to come. “I would never hurt you. After this…” The needle finds it way neatly into your arm, and there’s a sudden burning sensation, tingling, unnatural, that begins to spread from the injection sight. “You won’t feel a thing.”

If he didn’t drug you before… well. The sensation is unpleasant, and you can practically feel it as it works its way throughout your body. To your limbs, to your fingers, to your toes. Making your body heavy and tingly. You slowly, straining, turn your head to look at Overhaul.

“When we’re done, you won’t think about breaking the rules at all.”

You wish he looked angry when he said it.

Instead, he looked excited.

[lollipencil]

High Tide: Part 3

Originally this part was going to be completly different, but then I rewatched Werewolf By Night and this popped into my head.

Enjoy and be gentle ---

From the murky corner of the tank he was being held in, Steven knew he was screwed. For two whole days, he'd watched as monsters of different sizes and shapes were dragged, kicking and wailing, from the room he was in to the set of double doors just to his left. Few came out again. And those who did were always missing something.

Clumps of feathers. Patches of skin. Teeth. Whole limbs. And based on the looks of the people who stopped in front of his tank in the last couple of hours, Steven was next.

---

When the tank was carried through the double doors, the tears finally came. Warming the water around his eyes, he sliently wept as the surgical theater was revealed to him. Blood still covered the table as the man finished screwing in the specially made straps. Steven started to unconsciously shake his head, as if that little sign of intelligence was enough to stop them. But, the men turned to him, drills replaced by cattle prods, and began to unlatch the tank's lid.

Thud!

The sound startled both the men and Steven. They turned from him, focused on the doors. Faintly, human screams could be made out along with snarls and roars. Then, for just a moment, silence.

Suddenly, a wooden table came soaring through the doors. It clonked both the men in the head, one harder than the other. Both went down like boulders. A massive green body with bright red eyes strode in with purpose toward the one man who was still awake. He scrambles on the red-slick tiles, before the creature's hand clamps down on his head. The man's screams seemed crystal-clear to Steven as he watched the man burst into flames, quickly withering to a charred husk that flopped to the floor.

If Steven had been out in the open air, his quivering breaths would have been as loud as road construction at six in the morning. He couldn't stop looking at what once was the man, until a faint sound shook him.

The lid was open. One of those great, fire-inducing hands was reaching down.

With a silent scream, Steven slammed himself against the glass as flat as his body would allow him to go. Water sloshed out of the box as the hand and Steven's movements displaced it. Then, nothing happened.

The hand sat in the tank. The water remained the same tempature. No bubbling, no touching. Just was there, fingers half curled. Waiting.

Eventually, Steven turned to look at it. It looked just like a normal human hand: if they could grow big enough to enclose around most of Steven's chest, and composed of plant matter in place of flesh. Hesitantly brushing his own scaled hand over it, a texture closer to a plant stem greeted him. As Steven gripped one finger, his scales blended in almost perfectly, and the thumb moved so slowly to gently rub the back of his hand.

Oh. This creature wasn't going to hurt him.

The knowledge hit like a truck. Steven instantly sagged in relief, not even caring when the creature held him by his hips with both hands and lifted him out. A deep soothing rumble was the first clear sound Steven had heard in over two days, emanating from the creature's chest. The smell of old blood and stagnant water had Steven gag through his first breath of air.

As if suddenly noticing where they were, the creature hummed and tucked Steven into his shoulder while walking out. All of the cages in the other room were open and human bodies littered the floor. Steven just turned his head into that broad shoulder and tried to block out the massacre.

The next time he turned to the world, it was to a large and impossibly fancy bathroom. Somehow, it didn't surprise him too much. The creature set him down into the bathtub and, after some thumbling with the controls, managed to get the shower head running. Sighing happily, Steven shoved his head under the spray and shifted. Standing was harder than usual, knees wobbling from disuse, but he did it. And the feeling of warmth on his skin almost brought tears to his eyes.

Steven was so entranced by the feeling, he completely missed the creature leaving the room. At least, until he came back.

The door closing made Steven jolt slightly, only mitigated by the prominent bulk of dark green in the corner of his eye. The creature rumbled, set a bundle of clothes on the closed toilet seat, and waved on his way back out. Turning off the shower head, Steven staggered over to the towel rail.

Once he was moderately sure that he was dry, Steven pulled everything on and left the bathroom. The creature was waiting by the door, hairdryer in hand and plugged in. Soon after, Steven's newly fluffy hair was hidden behind a knitted hat.

And, with a mutual nod, they both left.

---

Jack stirred with the usual aches after a full moon. And to a voice that was very unusual. "-yeah, just like that," the new voice softly encouraged, "They can be read from left to right, right to left, or in columns from up to down. You see the ones with faces?" Ted grumbled in agreement, and Jack relaxed and began to crawl out of his shelter. "They will always face the direction you should read it from."

The new voice was bundled in warm clothes and a gentle smile. What looked like egyptian hieroglyphs were drawn in the dirt, Ted was studying them with interest. Once Ted noticed Jack was awake, he hummed and offered him a cup of coffee. "Thanks," Jack murmered tiredly. "Good morning," their guest waved as Ted refilled his cup, "Cheers, mate." The skin of his hands briefly shifted to green and amber scales with webbed, clawed fingers, answering Jack's unspoken question.

"Rough night," Jack noted. "Yeah, got better though. I'm Steven." "Jack, hope I didn't do any upsetting last night-" "No, no, you were fine! You were already asleep anyways, got more than I did."

After that, silence settled in. Suddenly, Ted hummed a question in their direction. "Would you like to join us for breakfast?" Jack translated. "That sounds, really good," Steven admitted, "What were you guys thinking of?" "I think there's a bakery not too far from here?" "...Yeah alright."

[randomwriteronline]

"I can't do anything for the eyelid."

Krakua listened in polite and total silence as Jaller (slightly creaky, emphasis on velar consonants) insisted: "Nothing at all?"

"It's fused into the mask," Zaria (ejective alveolar fricatives, deeper tinnier tone, slightly scratchy) replied curtly: "I can't separate the different protodermis masses anymore, and even if I could the lid wouldn't be able to move on its own after the damage it sustained. The only viable options are to either close it completely, leave it like this, or remove the whole thing."

"A permanently open eye sounds like a nightmare..."

"And there's no saying an operation like that doesn't run the risk of fracturing the brain, either."

"That's a possibility?"

"With how brittle he is, I wouldn't be surprised." the voice shifted, sound waves changing trajectory with a sneer: "How did you even wreck yourself like that, huh? Forgot how to finish a Nova blast?"

Krakua remained perfectly still, breaths quiet, shallow.

After a long pause, Jaller spoke up: "Can the mask be removed?

"Surgically, yes. I could probably shave off a bit of the excess protodermis to make the mass a little more manageable, too. He'll need to be operated on his joints either way."

"What's your sentence on those?"

"Left knee will have to be bolted down so it doesn't risk dislocating abruptly, but it'll survive; I'll leave what to do with the right one up to him in the end, though personally I'd completely re-do it since it's not much better than the calf and ankle - those are too damaged and will need prosthetic replacements. His foot seems fine enough, I'll see if I can salvage it."

"And his other ankle? Hewkii said it was broken."

"It is, and it'll need a thorough welding job. His hip and spine too, on a smaller scale. His chest is only a bit warped, thankfully, so there shouldn't be too many problems."

"About his arm--"

"The problem's organic. Elder Racans promised they'll check on it."

"Thank you. If there's anything we can do..."

"See if you can remedy him some more braces like the one he already had until the prosthetics feel natural and at least one crutch to get around, maybe a small vehicle. He'll need as little weight on his lower half as possible for the adjustment period, and it surely won't be too bad to let him have some support later on, either."

"That's the opposite of an issue. Nuparu will love to keep himself busy for about a day designing and making all that."

A deeper hum closed the conversation with a nod, and the Toa of Iron stalked away to the other side of the room to rummage with a pile of something delicate, of carefully tempered metal and thick crystalline glass, looking for the correct tool.

Their soft tinkering painted unclear shapes in the eye of Krakua's mind as their careful sounds melted into the white noise tracing patterns on the ceiling.

"You've been awfully quiet," a creaky voice whispered at his side.

"Thinking," he replied hoarsely, peacefully.

Jaller smiled: "About what?"

"If my mask can be fixed."

"That's a question for the mask makers," Zaria interjected.

"They'll surely have the schematics for a Suletu," the Toa of Fire reassured his friend: "If not, they can easily get someone to send a print for it over."

But the De-Toa tilted his head slightly: "I want my mask fixed," he insisted: "I don't need a new one. Mine's fine. I just want it fixed."

"It will have to be melted down."

"That's fine. I just want it fixed."

"I think that can be done. It will probably have some added protodermis, though, to stabilize it."

"But most of it will still be the same?"

"Of course."

"That's fine, then."

Liquid lightly crashing against the inside of some kind of vial distracted him briefly: the Toa of Iron laid the object down before he could catch a good glimpse of it and went back to rummaging for yet some other medical utensil.

Raising his volume so he could be heard above the rockus, he did not turn as he asked: "Did you listen to what I said earlier?"

"Yes," Krakua croaked as nicely as his ghastly voice could.

"What do you want for your eye, then?"

"Like this is fine."

"Your knee?"

"I trust you."

"So I have permission to make it a prosthesis?"

"Yes, please."

Zaria turned to him briefly like he'd just spoken in an alien language: "Aren't you polite," he muttered at last, sounding flabbergasted.

Krakua coughed out a little laugh.

Jaller remained in the room as long as he could, keeping a careful eye on the few pieces of equipment slowly piling up on a small tray beside the cot - metal ingots, a sealed glass vial of some nebulous liquid, some kind of half-mask, a chisel, a pair of small scissors, a miniature blowtorch, a scalpel of sorts. He recognized most of them from his time getting a shoulder fixed up in the claustrophobic infirmary in Ta-Koro, his example being used to teach as many Matoran as possible how to treat more dire injuries.

His thoughts soured the longer his gaze lingered on the utensils. A vague sense of calm nudged them to the side: glancing downward, he found the De-Toa staring at him, buzzing faintly yet reassuringly where he laid with a sort of pleasant grimace and a quiet mischievoys request to distract him.

Acquiescing, a short sonar wave left the Arthron.

The Toa of Fire managed a little smile when his friend squirmed with a hissing giggle as the sound gently hit him.

He nodded whenZaria made a definitive gesture, telling him to get out and wait until called again - probably to fetch the safely removed Mask of Telepathy.

His hand squeezed gently the dark armored shoulder one last time: "Remember you'll need to adjust."

"Hm-hm."

"And I'll have your mask."

"Hm-hm."

"So don't disappear again. Got it?"

"Hm-hm."

A stern look: "Got it?"

The battered warrior cackled: "Got it."

Jaller patted him lightly; the next moment, he was gone.

The Fe-Toa's palm was heavier, more concrete: laid across Krakua's chestpiece it seemed to encompass it completely, carefully studying how the protodermis rose and fell beneath it.

"Take a deep breath," he instructed.

Krakua inhaled as much as he could.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Good. Keep going," he ordered as he went to fetch the vial.

The younger being watched him fix the half-mask on top of it, careful not to jostle the liquid too much yet: "I don't need it," he spoke calmly, very quietly. "I can handle the pain."

He watched the rusted fingers clench a little harder around the glass.

The words came out of Zaria in a hiss: "You can't."

No further arguments were had.

It took a couple of tries, but at last the muzzle fit perfectly over the Suletu's mouth.

The anesthetic smelled like something far too clean, scrubbed dry of any hint of life. Krakua shut the one eye that could still be properly shut and breathed the disgusting antiseptic scent in as long and as deep as he could, just like he was told to do, while a palm pressed down on his forehead.

Slowly, very slowly, the odor subsided.

He startled awake when he realized the weight spread on his face was gone as well. His throat rumbled and sputtered like an engine revved up one too many times, hurriedly calling out for Trinuma: no other part of his body understood his intentions, remaining limp and unresponsive inside his frozen body, and so all that came out of him was the low monotone wail of a calculator incurring into an impossible error.

An orange shape entered his field of vision: "Stay calm," (ejective alveolar fricatives, deeper tinnier tone, slightly scratchy) "Stay calm, we're done. Deep breaths."

"Done?" Krakua repeated - borrowing Zaria's voice when his own failed him again.

"Done. The operation's done. It went well. Now breathe."

His chest moved easier now. His back had lost the strange tingle he'd been feeling long enough to forget about, noticing it again only now that it had disappeared. His lower half felt like bits and pieces of a whole: entire body parts he knew had to be there left terrifyingly large gaps in his tactile reception.

His body felt more his with each breath, returning inhabitable little by little. It took a few long attempts, but his neck cleared, and opened, and words began to fill his mouth once more.

"How are you feeling?" the Fe-Toa inquired.

"Weird," he wheezed raucously, a little pained: "Drowsy."

"That's normal," his surgeon reassured him. "Your body is trying to recognize the prosthetics. Try to sleep it off, I'll wake you when Racans arrives to see what to do for your arm."

"My mask?"

Steps moving away: "Jaller's got it."

"Ah... Ah. Right."

He focused on the white noise - conversations out of the door, just far enough for the words to become indistinguishable, blooming into large pixelated patterns of static against the ceiling.

Another part of his body felt a little more familiar.

A whine left him.

Zaria turned back to him: "What now?"

"Wanted to ask," Krakua groaned through his tiredness. "More discreet... With a Suletu..."

He did not miss the scratching sound of tightening joints: "Questions about your operation?" the deep tinny voice hissed, warning him witho uttering any threat: "Or about Toa Zaria?"

The De-Toa craned his neck enough to look at the other.

His interlocutor showed him his back as he fancied himself busy putting his tools back in their rightful place.

"You thought of two things, when I said... I could handle it. The pain."

The creak of glass under pressure: "Be very quick."

"For the second - does it always feel, that bad?"

"Yes."

A soft hum.

Zaria's eye glowered from behind his shoulder: "And for the first?"

"Does it ever get better?"

Silence followed.

His head felt so terribly heavy. He didn't want to sleep.

It would have been so easy, if he'd had his mask. Maybe he should have left it forever stuck to his skull. It hurt horribly, and it didn't work as well as before, but he would have been able to use it now.

His body quivered. He was so tired. He didn't want to sleep.

The white noise on the ceiling curled around him comfortably, locking him in some sort of soothing hold.

Rusted hands rested on his knees.

"You'll need these checked every year," Zaria mumbled: "I'll be waiting for you. And hopefully, I'll... I'll have a good enough answer for you, one of these times."

His gaze met Krakua's.

He got back a comforted smile.

[radiowallet]

Glasses

Main Masterlist II Tied Masterlist

Summary: Dr. Djarin is slightly in denial about his eyesight. Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader (First Assist) WC: 1.6K Warnings: Mature 18+ MDNI This is an over 18 blog and all content is considered mature. Established relationship, unprotected P in V sex, light choking, vaginal fingering, oral (female receiving), medical/surgical discussions, descriptions of surgical complications, fluff, talk of family.

I do not use a tag list. You can follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications to get fic updates.

“You’re staring.”

He’s not wrong.

You are staring. 

You are staring and Din is squinting. His brown eyes are fixed on one single point on the computer screen, moving in and out of focus, the wrinkles at the edges beautifully (and needlessly) pronounced. You watch as his brow furrows in, the dip between his eyes set deep as he tries to make out the words in front of him, every inch of him steadfast and stubborn. 

“First.”

His tone is biting, but the warning is dulled, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips, the surgical mask pulled down below his chin moving with the small twitch. 

“I never took you for a vain man, Dr. Djarin.” 

His chair swivels, metal wheels giving a whining groan in protest of the sudden movement. Sharp eyes meet yours and you don’t bother hiding your grin, dragging the toe of your dirty sneaker up and down his calf, a silent cue from you to him – with love.

“You need glasses.” 

For a second he doesn’t say anything, his scowl pursing deeper into his bottom lip, his mustache following not far behind. And then, just before he turns back to the computer screen, “I don’t.” 

“You asked for loupes today.”

“Not an uncommon occurrence.” His voice is even, but his back is steel, his fists are flexed. 

“You only ask for loupes in vascular cases. Today was just a valve replacement.” 

Din doesn’t respond, instead leaning his face closer to the computer screen; a move that only helps to further prove your point. You lean back in your own chair and breathe in deep, the smell of burnt coffee and cold pizza invading your senses. You had meant what you said; you didn’t take Din for a vain man. Confident, of course. A bit of an ego, sure. The best surgeons had both, practically parting gifts on the way out of residency. 

But vain? 

He had shouldered every grey hair he found beneath the bright synthetic lights of the hospital with cool indifference. He had barely paid lip service to his changing body, hard edges earned from daily runs and vending machine sandwiches switched out for a soft belly gifted over two years of a warm bed and home cooked meals. He had even given in to your plea for a new mattress with zero fight, going as far to agree that yes, his back did feel better, the admission grunted in your ear as he fucked deep inside you, the plastic half-torn away, the delivery men barely out the front door.

Through all of it he smiled, that same cocky tilt to his features he’s been giving you since the day you met. And you loved him all the more for it. Loved that he was embracing this next stage of life, with all of its many gifts and numerous changes, with grace and a touch of humor. 

But this? Glasses? That’s his tipping point?

“You pointed at the menu last night. Didn’t even try to read it.”

He clicks the mouse once. 

“I read it.”

Twice. 

“They brought you salmon. You hate salmon”

Three times and the chart finally closes. 

“A man can change.” 

His hand gently touches to your knee, a warm grip that draws your eyes up to his own. His features are set, his mouth drawn thin, and when he speaks, his clipped tone speaks volumes. 

“Next cut time is in ten.”

“I think you would look sexy with glasses.”

“I’m just a piece of meat to you, aren’t I?”

“If the scrubs fit.”

You try again two days later with a different tactic. 

“How about contacts?”

Din only hums, his lips preoccupied, sucking a bruise into the curve of your hip, his thick fingers digging at the flesh of your thighs. His destination is clear, but he’s taking his time tonight, no piece of skin left untouched, lips and teeth and tongue mapping a twisting pattern across your body. You’re pleasantly warm, arousal simmering sweetly beneath the surface of the evening and you’re hoping it’s enough for him to finally agree. 

“Din?”

He switches to your other hip bone, barely pulling away from the heat of your skin, to give you a gruff reply. 

“Contacts would dry out in the O.R.”

You bite your lip, a moan threatening to break the seal of your lips, the tip of one of Din’s fingers dragging through the folds of your pussy. Your silence only spurs him on, and he sucks harder, a bite of pain flaring beneath his kiss. 

“H-how about… shit– lasik?”

He pulls always from you then, the suction of his mouth breaking off with a slick pop, his incredulous gaze piercing you from below. The tip of his finger is still inside you, his finger curling forward to meet his answer, your own gasp of pleasure not far behind. 

“You want me to let some hack put a laser near my eyes?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead slipping a second finger inside you to join the first, pumping them in out of you in time with his words.

“Do you know that 0.3% of patients come away with some form of infection after any type of eye surgery? Or that dry eyes are the number one side effect?” 

His voice is steady, belying the way he’s stretching you open, slick arousal dripping out around his fingers and soaking the sheets below. Your legs are trembling where his shoulders push them wide, and he only seems to delight in the break in your composure.

“What about the increase in glares? Halos?”  

He dips his head and licks gently at your clit, his chest rumbling in delight as you twist beneath him, hips canting up to meet the thrust of his fingers. 

“How about that 1% chance of a dislocation of the corneal flap?”

“Oh my god! Din!” You groan, your pussy clenching around his fingers even as you arch off the bed and shoot him an exasperated look. “Just shut u–”

Your words are cut off, head falling back to the mattress, his mouth fusing to your clit, bursts of white blinding your vision as he sucks the bundle of nerves between his teeth. He groans into you, the vibrations sending liquid heat up your spine, his fingers pushing deep inside, his tongue curling through the folds of your pussy to collect every drop of you he can. Your fingers find the curls at the crown of his head and you tug, desperate to keep his mouth occupied with anything but the statistical risk of lasik eye surgery.

And still, you can’t help yourself.

“Can you…can you even s—ee what you’re doing?”

Your laughter can barely catch up to your joke before Din is on you, the fingers just buried inside your cunt wrapped around your throat, his lips still shiny with the taste of you, hovering just out of reach of your own. His cock sits heavy between your legs, and he thrusts up, dragging the hard length against your core, precum smearing into your skin as he steals your breath in the process. 

“I don’t need to see to take you apart. Trust me.”

“It’s not about vanity.”  

You don’t look up from the computer screen, but you stop typing, ignoring Din’s long list of chart deficiencies in lieu of waiting patiently for him to keep talking. Fortunately, he doesn’t keep you waiting long.

“I don’t want to stop cutting. Not yet. I’m…It’s…a part of me.”

This time you do look up, trying and failing to keep your face neutral as you set your eyes as him, embarrassed frustration barely stewing beneath the grimace on his lips. 

“Dr. Djarin?”

“Yeah?”

“I know.” And then, “You won’t.”

The last thing you expect is for Din to bring the topic up on his own. 

You’re stretched out on opposite ends of the couch one cold November night, Grogu sitting on the floor between you, breaking in a new set of crayons as he covers sheet after sheet of construction paper in green scribbles. It’s a far cry from nights spent in on-call rooms waiting for an inevitable page that would pull Din and you apart, a warm mug of tea replacing cold coffee, Din’s clever hands rubbing soft circles into the ball of your foot instead of wrapped around surgical tools. 

The mood is near-perfect, so much so that you have no intention of pointing out the way Din is squinting at the picture his son just handed him, struggling to name the creature Grogu is so proud to share.

“It’s great, buddy. I love…”

“Frog, Dada,” Grogu offers with a stomp of his foot before snatching the paper away and bringing it over to you, chubby fingers pulling at your sweatshirt in frustration. 

“It’s such a good frog, baby! Definitely going up on the fridge,” you coo sweetly down at your son, pushing his hair back and out of his eyes. 

Without prompting Grogu goes back to his coloring, his attention stolen back by the rainbow of colors scattered across the living room floor and you can’t help but watch a little longer. Across from you, Din shifts, and when you sneak a glance his way he’s frowning, the brown of his eyes focused on some invisible threat hovering just out of sight. You call his name softly, drawing his attention back to you, raising your eyebrow in a silent invitation to explain.

When he does finally speak, his throat bobbing with the weight of his words, the answer almost too simple for your liking.

“I don’t want to miss any of this.”

You don’t ask what he means by this. You don’t have to. 

And you were right.

Din does look sexy with glasses.

A/N: I know it's been almost a year since I've posted anything for Dr. Djarin and First, and I have no good reason other than I hit an emotional wall with this story that had many contributing factors. I hope this little drabble means I'll be able to finish this story properly.

Bonus Medical Jargon

Loupes: Loupes are a simple optical devices used for viewing details of objects with some magnification.

Valve Replacement: An aortic valve replacement involves removing a faulty or damaged valve and replacing it with a new valve made from synthetic materials or animal tissue

Vascular Surgery: Vascular surgery is a surgical subspecialty in which diseases of the vascular system, or arteries, veins and lymphatic circulation.

Lasik: Commonly referred to as laser eye surgery or laser vision correction.

Dislocation of the corneal flap: A flap dislocation would cause notable pain, discomfort, excessive watering in the eye, and/or blurred vision

[wixed]

Temptations of Circuits and Sin

CW for this chapter: choking, dom/sub, nonconsensual drugging/dubcon, shibari/bondage, knifeplay, blood play, ingesting blood, anal fingering, analingus, piv, creampie.

Pairing: OC!Durge x Gortash

Words: 7,081 Ao3 link

Previous Part ~ Beginning

Summary : Durge experiences a troubling fascination with anatomy in a way that Bhaal disapproves of. This doesn't stop them from pursuing understanding in- what they believe- is secret. After attempting to manipulate the means of death in vile ways, they experience a break of sanity that a certain Tyrant witnesses. Their expertise in the natural sciences compels Gortash to ask Durge for aid in his own creations. Thus begins their tumultuous and whirlwind relationship.

Part 3

◤──•~   ҉   The Dark Urge   ҉   ~•──◥

Bhaal’s Chosen had spent the better part of the morning in Gortash’s workshop testing their initial recipe, which had proven successful after a test run with a smaller brain. They had remained quiet for most of the testing, words barely passing between the two Chosen. 

They usually preferred silence. The world was often too loud, not to mention the constant barrage of their Urge. If it wasn’t deafening demands for carnage from their Father’s gift, it was an incessant itch, like something uncomfortable and foreign ran through their veins instead of blood. They supposed that was true enough. Bhaal’s blood wasn’t just that, it was the vitality of a god. The lifeforce of an unending, never satisfied bloodlust. They wondered how much of their devotion was their own, and how much was their Father working through them. It seemed easy to think they were truly a monster made for slaughter when the sight, smell, and taste of bleeding flesh delighted them, when they were happy to make their blade carve and cut the sinew of a sacrifice. Despite all that, they knew they were happier with a surgical blade in their hand rather than a dagger. 

Just the thought sent a painful torrent through their body. Their Father didn’t need them to speak aloud to know the vile truth in their heart – after all, it was his blood pumping through it. 

“Everything alright?” Gortash questioned as they faltered with the sudden onslaught of pain. 

“I’m fine. Focus on your Watcher.” They spat back with more venom than the question truly deserved. 

Regardless of what barbs they shot out, his voice cutting through the aching punishment helped steady them. They were tempted to coax more words from his pretty mouth. 

“I’m almost done replacing the larger containment vessels with the proper fluid. Is your automaton ready for a full test?” Their voice remained as steady as they could manage around the Tyrant. 

He smiled, “More than ready.” 

He held his cane tighter today than the previous day. They noted a hitch to his step. Eyeing his gait carefully, they concluded he likely experienced an injury as a child that never healed right. They glanced outside at the weather; rain and thunder. The cold perhaps aggravated his injury. 

‘Weakness… Carve it from him!’ 

Their Urge wanted to tear him open and see his imperfect bones. Was it in the hip? Maybe the femur. They wanted to rip the flesh away to learn. They physically shook the daydream from their mind, waiting in silence for him to begin the series of telepathic commands. 

Gortash stood in front of the series of cylindrical containers that held the brains. He held up the gauntlet holding the purple stone, and as he closed his eyes it glowed. The brain twitched inside the briney prison. 

Across the room, the Steel Watcher came to attention with a jolt, causing the bhaalspawn to startle despite themself. A snarl edged at their lips in response. The hulking piece of metal made them uneasy; it lacked the same vitals that a mortal body did. Should the need arise to subdue one, it would prove difficult. 

They glanced at Gortash and all tension left them. He was smiling in triumph as he compelled the Watcher to him. The large metal monster did as it was told. He made the quickest hint of a prideful laugh. 

The purple stone glowed again as another Steel Watcher behind them rose to life. They quickly turned to face it, drawing their dagger. 

“This is magnificent! To me, Watchers.” His creations moved to flank Gortash, standing at attention, ready to receive more direction from their master and creator. His eyes gleamed with an excitement they recognized. The euphoria of a successful project. The rush of being a master over mind and body. 

Gortash chuckled as he noticed the bhaalspawn tense, still holding tight to their dagger. 

“Easy, Assassin.” He rested his gauntleted hand on his cane once more. The two Watchers remained upright but eased into a state of dormancy. The Tyrant crossed the workshop to the bhaalspawn. His face still wore a smile that would damn their soul. They turned and averted their eyes from it. 

“Congratulations, Tyrant.” They watched from the periphery of their vision as he closed the distance between them, his cane providing a rhythm their heart wanted to match. 

He stepped up behind them, his body a threatening distance from theirs. They felt their Urge demand his blood for daring such casual closeness. They tightened the grip on their dagger but sheathed it after a moment of deafening screaming from their Urge. 

“This victory belongs to you, as much as it does to me, Assassin.” He ran a confident hand from their shoulder down their arm, the sharp fingertips of the gauntlet scraping lightly against their skin. The sensation sent a shudder down their spine; they clamped down on it. 

‘Slice his hand from his wrist. He dares to touch, dares to be this close. Make him regret. Cut him!’

The demands of their Urge were becoming too much, overwhelming every other sense. They blinked the oncoming haze away, stilling themself. 

“I didn’t think it in your nature to share, Tyrant, much less share a victory.” They could feel gooseflesh prickling in the wake of his touch. 

“I don’t make a habit of it, but you… you, I like to share a great deal with.” They could feel his breath hot on their neck as he teased their ear with his lips.

‘Slit his throat, end his pathetic life for us, send him to meet his god in a shower of crimson! CUT, SLICE, KILL, OBEY! OBEY OBEY!’ 

Their breathing became unsteady as the strangled grip they possessed on their Urge slipped through their twitching fingers. They needed something to hold onto. Something to keep them here, in this moment. They didn’t want to leave this, to taint it, but no matter what they did, this moment would be made unclean and vile. Such was their nature. They could only hope the Tyrant was as clever as he boasted. 

Gortash pressed a delicate kiss into the crook of their neck, and their body responded with a rapid turn. In a fluid motion, they sliced across his chest, their blade in one shaking hand. 

He stumbled back, clutching the wound, blood pooling in his hand. His dark eyes narrowed in a deep and ice-cold anger. 

“Are you mad?” His question rang off the walls of the workshop, echoing through the room the way the pounding Urge in their head bounced through the confines of their skull. They lifted their head with a sickening smile, eyes the deathly red that heralded slaughter. The scent of his blood hit their nostrils and they drew it in deep. With what little restraint they had left, they slowly brandished their blades, their body shaking with the internal battle raging inside of them. 

They knew it was a terrible idea, to resist their Urge, to fight Bhaal’s commandments. They always lost more of themself when they did. If they acted as he demanded without resistance they got to remember, retained lucidity. It was when they pushed back, when they ignored his directions, that they struggled to recall the episodes. 

They hated not remembering. For so long, following instructions - committing horrors that they cared little about was easy, and the reward was keeping their mind. The equation was simple. It should have been just as simple here - should have been easy to carve up the Tyrant. To crush his hands as he touched them, to tear and rip at his flesh as it pressed to theirs. 

Gortash raised his gauntlet and the purple stone faintly glowed. They could hear the sickness inside laugh at the thought of being torn asunder by the metal creations they had helped bring to life. Their fists clenched tightly around the hilts of both blades drawn on either side. They raised them slowly, twitching with manic bloodlust. In a swift and deliberate motion, they threw both to the ground beside them. 

The Tyrant stilled his hand, the glow dissipating from the stone. He studied the feral creature they had transformed into. In a few quick moments, he understood. He stepped to them with a quiet, deadly poise. His blood dripped down his chest, soaking through his shirt. 

“You will behave, spawn.” His words were steady and full of lordly command. They tried to focus on his voice. Tried to pull themself from the fog of Bhaal’s overwhelming influence. 

They growled in response to his approach and lunged forward. He easily caught them by the throat, the golden sharp edges cutting into their flesh. Their hands clawed at the arm holding them. 

“Command me again and I will tear out your pretty throat, Tyrant.” They taunted as his hand closed around their neck. The pressure caused them to breathe in. The lack of air made their eyes flutter for a quick moment. They could feel their own mind, consuming the Urge. They tried for another breath and found it intoxicatingly difficult to complete. Through strained gasps, they goaded him again. 

“You desire to tame Bhaal’s Blood… and yet your touch is softer than a babe’s.” Their lips curled into a devious smile. They could feel more of themself return the more he made them his. They could feel ill with themself later. For now, they wanted to savor the feeling of winning the battle against their Urge and using the Tyrant to do so. 

Gortash frowned at their insult. He gripped so tight it forced the air from them with a strained gasp. He forcefully led them by the throat to a desk and bent them over it with a powerful thrust down. Their stifled crazed laughter echoed through the workshop. He pushed their head into the surface and used his legs to spread theirs apart. The Tyrant bent down to speak into their ear, his blood soaking into their shirt. 

“There are easier ways to initiate this, Assassin.” He still kept a strong grip on the back of their neck, as his other hand started to move their clothes out of the way, pushing their pants down to their thighs. He kicked their feet again, forcing them to spread wider for him. They struggled to rise from the desk, but his grip had them pinned.  

Gortash’s fingers teased a presence between their legs but didn’t touch them. They shifted, trying to find his hand. He gave a short laugh. 

“You want it, Assassin?” They could feel his blood wet and hot against their skin and it made their flesh tingle.  “You act like a wild beast, but you want to be made mine. Don’t you?” He breathed the truth into their ear and they shuddered against his weight over them. 

His fingers barely brushed against them and a mewl betrayed their ache for his touch. They turned their head to see a crooked grin play across his face at their reaction. He moved the hand from between their legs to their mouth. He hooked his fingers against their cheek, then pressed down on their tongue. 

“Suck.” Their lips closed around his fingers with the simple command, his delicate flesh brushing against their sharp and deadly teeth. They had the passing thought to bite down, to rend his fingers from his hand. They swirled their tongue around his digits instead. He removed his fingers from their mouth with a satisfied sounding hum. 

“Good spawn.” He brought his left hand back to where they so desperately wanted him. He gripped their ass tight, cutting a small indent using his thumb. He then moved the two fingers that weren’t clad in the sharp metal to their cunt, teasing wet circles there with their saliva. They pulled away slightly, shifting so his fingers were at their ass instead. He grinned at their silent request. 

“Beg for it.” The Tyrant's command was punctuated with one finger barely pushing inside the hole they gave him and then quickly being removed. They whined and their hips jerked in response. 

“I said beg, Assassin.” His right hand pressed against the sides of their throat. They gasped for air, relishing the feeling. 

“P-please…” They followed his instruction. He pressed a finger in and pulled it out, rubbing against the aching hole. They whined and tried to rise, once again finding his weight an impossible thing to fight against even if they truly wanted to. 

“Please what?” He whispered into their ear, knowing he had won. 

“…make me yours.” They strained both against their pride and the restricted airflow around their esophagus. Without waiting further, he chuckled and pushed his fingers deep inside them. 

They cried a moan so full of need they didn’t recognize their voice. He let up his grip slightly, and they started to gasp more heavily. Their hands were splayed out in front of them, etching marks into the wood as their fingers curled and gripped at the flat surface. 

His motions were slow as he languidly pumped in and out of them. They could feel their legs twitching with anticipation already. They moved their hips back into him, body begging for more, while mewls danced across their lips. He pulled out of them leaving them aching with a sudden emptiness. 

“W-what?” They managed through ragged breaths. He turned their head to look at him, their body twisting to accommodate. 

“Your pleasure is mine to give. You’ll not question it again, or we’ll stop for good. Understood?” His cool voice carried them to a place they wanted to never leave. A place in their head where they didn’t have to fight for control, where they could surrender and retain their coveted lucidity. The feeling frightened them, and yet they could get drunk on it. They silently nodded. 

“Good.” With the praise, he bent down behind them and kissed the scratches he made on their ass, he brought his tongue to its entrance licking agonizingly slow circles, and pushed inside. Their legs shook and he gripped their thighs tight, holding them still as he dipped in and out of them. More moans spilled over from their mouth, and the need for control completely dissipated. 

He rose from his knees and resumed the position he had before, only now his right hand pressed against the small of their back, while his left entered them again. This time faster, with more fervor. He curled his fingers in a way that sent a jolt of pleasure through them, like an icy sting that settled into a rapturous warmth. 

“Yes please… please.” The pathetic cries fell from their lips as they bucked their hips against his hand. He chuckled, pulling out with a grin. They made a desperate plea and he slowly pushed back into them, enjoying the game. He kept building them up, bringing them to the edge of ecstasy, and would remove the stimulation with expert timing. 

They made such submissive depraved noises with every denial of their pleasure. They had the thought that a dog rolling onto its back baring its belly would be less pathetic than they were. They didn’t care. They couldn’t care. The only thing they were capable of was begging for more, writhing under his hands that dominated and worked them over so completely. 

They heaved desperate quick breaths. The scent of their arousal was mixing with his blood and it drove them to the breaking point of sanity. They clawed at the surface they were bent over, pieces of wood collecting under their nails.  

Gortash was relentless with his fingers, drawing out their release as much as he could. He could tell when they were about to crash over the precipice and would leave them aching and wanting. With the last push into them, he leaned over, getting close to their face. They went to kiss him but he pulled back. 

“I don’t think so, Assassin. Not today. I think I’ll leave you with a pain that matches the mercy of your blade.” He left them empty once again and he stepped back, denying them the orgasm he had worked so hard to build. 

They remained motionless for a moment as the spiraled coil of their release started to unsatisfyingly unravel. They growled and picked up their trousers, adjusting them in place, turning to face him. They were met with a smug grin. 

“I’m not without mercy. Stitch me up, and I’ll continue. I’ll give you what you crave. Or do you only know how to tear bodies apart?” 

He was infuriating. The unmade bhaalspawn straightened their disheveled clothing, wiping the rogue saliva from their mouth. They glared and strode to where he was now seated, hand resting on his cane, looking like he’d won a game - and he had, for now. They picked up their blades, sheathing them with a scowl. They walked to the exit and decided not to say another word, afraid of what would leave their mouth if they dared speak. 

Gortash brushed his thumb against his lips in a considering fashion watching them. His smile, which had tugged at his lips throughout their torment, only grew wider as they gathered their defeat and made their exit.

◤──•~✧Enver Gortash✧~•──◥

In his private quarters, Enver summoned a cleric to heal the deep gash across his chest. The sniveling servant of Lathander questioned what had happened, and he quickly ordered them to quiet. 

 “Cast your spell and be on your way. I’ve had a long day.” 

“Of course, my lord. Apologies.” They bowed their head and focused on the spell. With a pull of divine magic, his skin knit back together with a burning itch that was gone as quickly as it came. They let the magic settle over him before they scurried back out like a scared animal. 

A slow inhale followed by an exasperated sigh left him. He looked in the mirror, running his hand across where the cut had been, rolling the torn parts of his shirt between his fingers. They were close enough that he could catch the scent of the Assassin still on them. He brought his fingers under his nose and inhaled deeply. A low and rumbling sigh settled in his chest as he closed his eyes, remembering their form beneath his commanding hands. 

He toyed with a dangerous thing. Their urge, as they called it, was not their own. That much had become abundantly clear. He discovered that they preferred to be dominated, the act forcing their urge to retreat to wherever it rested. It was interesting that they fought so hard against him when they both knew what they truly wanted. The back and forth was enjoyable, but he hoped not every initiation of their clandestine meetings would require costly healing. Clerics would get ideas, and he had better things to spend coin on. 

He undressed for the hot bath drawn for him. He lowered himself into the warm perfumed water, resting his head against the back of the bath and closing his eyes. He let the whirlwind of events cascade through his mind like a kaleidoscope of memory. Images of the bhaalspawn flashing from years prior. Their quivering form splayed before him today. Flickers of their smile twisting at their lips as they stood over freshly slain bodies. The same smile wrapped around him, swallowing his spent arousal. The wild animal that growled their disapproval in meeting chambers, and the pliant mewling creature they became at his command. 

He found his hand traveling to his hardening cock. The images of the Assassin were a deluge against his resolve. He let out a slow and heavy sigh, weighed down by all the feverish and amorous desires kept in careful control. He stroked his length faster, recalling their face as they begged for his touch. A low and steady groan escaped his lips as the pleasure built. 

“You’ll dirty your bath water that way, Tyrant.” 

Enver abruptly halted his indulgences, eyes shooting open to see the bhaalspawn standing at the end of his tub. How long had they been there? The Assassin was silent with a snide smirk as they waited for a response. He caught their eyes glance down under the water then back up to hold his stare. He shook his head with a chuckle as he relaxed again. 

“And you’re interrupting a peaceful respite, Assassin.” Amusement tinged the edges of his words.

They were clothed more casually tonight - it seemed they didn’t feel the need to bring their armor to his private abode, though they still had their blades at their side. Enver shifted to bring his arms to rest on the edge of the bath at either side of him. They smiled at his remark and moved like a prideful feline - slow, elegant, coy, full of unearned satisfaction. A smile pulled at his lips watching them circle around the tub. 

“Are you suggesting I’m not welcome?” They nearly purred the question. The behavior was different, which almost alarmed him. Despite his reservations, he kept an air of calm about him. 

“I didn’t say that…” He left the observation open and inviting, letting them fill in what remained. The bhaalspawn seemed pleased with the answer as they hummed a delighted noise, rounding to the opposite end of the tub. 

“Good.” 

They stepped in, not bothering with removing their clothing, and squatted over his lap, bringing their face in line with his. If they were naked and sat down he was sure he would have lined up perfectly with them. The thought made his cock twitch under the lukewarm water. He didn’t move, still casually resting his arms over the tub. The only change was the crooked smirk he finally let show. They brushed their lips to his, the barest touch of a kiss coaxing another reaction from his cock. He waited, patiently, ardently, agonizingly for them to do more. 

They didn’t keep him waiting long as they teased his lips with their tongue, licking across the bottom of them. He barely parted his mouth for them and they jumped at the opportunity. Their kiss was wild and heavy, full of pent-up desire. They pushed their tongue into his mouth, fighting with his as they both deepened the kiss. 

They were relentless, moaning and whining into his mouth. Holding him in place as they gripped the tub behind his shoulders for balance. He brought his hands to their hips and guided them down onto his lap. They smiled deviously through the kiss, following his guidance, his erection seated between their legs. They grinned at the feeling and moved their hips back and forth against him. He gripped tighter to their hips, digging in as he continued their movements on him. Water splashed between them at the greedier pulls.

After a few moments of their grinding against him, he felt an odd sensation in the back of his head. A heavy weight pulling him down. He brought a hand to his head, frowning at the encroaching haze. 

“Wh-what… What did you do?” He looked up at the Assassin who now loomed over him wearing a smile that landed somewhere between distaste and accomplishment. It was the last thing he saw before the cloud of black crashed in on his vision and the heavy weight fell over his whole body. 

—

There was a sudden pull on Enver’s bad leg that shocked him awake. He tried to move and found resistance at his ankles and his arms bound behind him. He grunted as he pulled against what felt like… ropes? He tried to blink away the remaining fog.

“Oh good. I was worried I’d misjudged the dose.” The voice was decidedly unconcerned despite the words. The pounding in Enver’s head subsided as the sounds of the room became clearer. The voice was the bhaalspawn’s. He glanced over - or tried to. He found the mobility of his neck was restricted like the rest of him. He was propped up slightly, enabling him to see down his body. The suspended ropes between his body and the bedposts aided him in staying upright. His still-clouded vision prevented him from clearly seeing beyond the foot of the bed. He blearily made out a red material around his legs, ankles, and torso, intricately knotted and woven around itself. Under different circumstances, he might have called it beautiful.

“Still having trouble forming words? So unlike you, Tyrant.” Their taunt carried to his ears from a place he couldn’t see until they stepped to the foot of his bed with fresh rope. He felt a strange swirl of emotion gathering in his chest. Frustration, amusement, desire… 

“Is this rope dyed with some poor soul you carved up on your way here?” He returned the taunt with a chastising tone. They stopped adjusting the ties at his ankles and let out a genuine laugh. 

“Blood stains brown, Tyrant, and makes for poor dye.” They punctuated their statement with a firm yank, the rope tightening around his foot.

“You know, Assassin…  you really should learn how to simply ask for what you want.” He tried to sound unbothered, but his usual confidence was difficult to muster whilst he was bound and bare. 

They made a short scoff before they were standing at the head of the bed, face finally coming into clear view. 

“And you need to learn how to silence that pretty mouth of yours." They pulled out a small leather belt with a thick tube in the middle - it reminded him of a bridle bit for a horse, only soft leather instead of metal. They placed it in his mouth and buckled it around his head. He wanted to ask how long he was unconscious, but the gag in his mouth prevented any further dialogue between them. 

His eyes glanced over as far as the bindings would allow and he saw them undress at the side of the bed. He felt arousal stir at merely his limited sight of them. Knowing they came here for him was an invigorating thought. That they went through the trouble of sneaking into his private quarters, luring him into a trap that he readily fell right into, bound him with such care and precision - a dangerous feeling, indeed. 

His thoughts were interrupted by their movement onto the bed. They straddled his torso, their naked form atop his own. The bhaalspawn revealed a dagger and ran the tip gently against his cheek. His mouth twitched at the sensation, prompting a smile from them as they stroked his other cheek with their hand. They leaned over him to speak into his ear, their breath and lips brushing against him. 

“I will show you exactly what it means to be at the mercy of my blade, dear Tyrant.” They crooned his earlier words back to him. So this was punishment. Enver wondered if he’d pushed them too far, if he’d miscalculated the steps to their demented dance. He took in their features and saw a hint of the untamed wild that likely yearned for his death, but as their eyes traveled down his body he saw something else edge into their expression. The look of a hedonist about to indulge, a growing lust as their eyes darkened drinking him in. The same wanton desire he found within himself. He closed his eyes, accepting the punishment they longed to give. 

The next sensation he felt was the press of the blade to his chest, they applied pressure with finessed precision. The blade was so sharp that if it weren’t for the blood slowly starting to bloom, the cut would have been invisible. They matched the laceration on the opposite side and he felt them shudder over him.

“No… No… No.”  

He opened his eyes to see the Assassin staring at the cuts, transfixed in a state of hypnotic bloodlust, fist clenched so tight around the knife it was shaking above his heart. The once dark eyes were glowing a faint red. He squirmed under them fruitlessly. The dawning realization he couldn’t snap them out of a frenzy if they lost themself to the urge spun his arousal into dread. He’d likely die by their fanatical hand if they couldn’t stop it. 

They shakily pulled the knife down from his heart, over his pectoral, down to his ribs, stopping at the rope binding. He bit down on the leather with a groan of pain. This cut was deeper than the previous two and was languidly drawn. They shook their head, lifting the knife.

“No! H-he’s mine…” 

Enver heard them struggle with the words. He hoped it was the bhaalspawn voicing the conclusion to whatever battle was happening inside their head. The bhaalspawn brought the knife up to their face and slowly licked across the blade, his blood gathering on their tongue and lips. They made a hungry noise. The red glow in their eyes subsided into the dark, blown-out pupils that were there before. 

His body relaxed at their hard-earned victory. The stinging around the longer cut was starting to itch. His blood warmed the skin and dripped down his side. He tried to shift at the discomfort, catching their attention. They put the knife to his neck and nicked the flesh there, pulling another muffled noise from him. 

The Assassin went to kiss Enver’s neck, lapping at the blood they had spilled. The sensation sent heat flooding to his middle, settling in his pelvis. He moaned around the gag as their lapping became suckling, pulling a bruise from under the cut. They lifted their head to capture his gaze in theirs, his blood smeared across their mouth and chin. Even bound and gagged, he still found a way to claim them. 

They pressed their lips to the leather belt in his mouth, teasing him. He smiled around the gag and they briefly returned the barest hint of a grin before they licked his blood off their lips. 

They sat upright again. Using their blade, they carved a delicate line from his shoulder down to the middle of his bicep, the ropes there hindering the path. They lifted the dagger and patterned another series of cuts under his chest. They moved to drawing thin marks across his stomach, adding more lines of red across his body with delighted ease. 

He closed his eyes, moaning loudly against the belt. Each laceration felt like electricity, the spark flowing through his veins to every part of his body. His cock, fully erect, started to leak with every new cut. 

They slowly shifted their body down his, kissing and licking at the trickling gashes adorning his flesh. They hummed sensuous moans as their mouth teased him. They pressed their tongue to his nipple, then sucked on the hard bud of flesh. Another groan of pleasure caught in his mouth as their tongue flicked and toyed with him. 

Suddenly the delicate swirl of their tongue was followed by them biting down on his chest, their sharp teeth piercing his skin. His body jerked in response, eyes shooting open to see the bleeding bite marks encircling the sensitive area. He growled in frustration. 

Part of him ached to be free of his bindings so he could wrap his hand around their throat. Another wanted the Assassin to use him until his body could take no more, to keep him pinned and restrained while they lavished attention upon him. It was a back and forth he fought at every tingling cut and lick. 

They moved their mouth down his abdomen, stopping to look up at him. He held their stare with all the uninhibited desire he felt at their touch. Their lips twitched at the intensity of his gaze as they positioned themself over him, his cock between their thighs. He groaned heavily and tried to move against them. 

They seemed to consider their next move, slowing and stilling the leisurely exploration of his bound form. He could tell they wanted him - could feel how wet they were against his cock - but couldn’t quite interpret the expression he saw cross their face. Some internal struggle, though mercifully, one less bloodthirsty, seemed to plague the Assassin. They’d shied back from his touch before, when he’d brushed his fingertips over their dripping cunt. He’d been only too happy to focus on their tempting ass instead, much to their clear pleasure, and he’d put it from his mind. This called the idea forth again.

Perhaps that’s why they bound him. It prevented him from grinding against them, stopped him from taking them in a way they didn’t want, or wanted to control at the very least. This way, restrained and unable to move against them, Enver was at the mercy of not just their blade, but their desires - he hoped ones that would soon match his. He could already feel the ache of his cock wanting more.

They drew their knife across their own flat chest, the blood running down over the many scars, including the larger ones below where breasts should be. They hummed in a low voice, then set the blade aside. They ran their hand over the cut, like a painter collecting color on the tip of a brush, then examined the blood.

The Assassin refocused on Enver, his need and his desire. They lined themself up against his cock, the tip of it teasing against the slick folds of their cunt. Their blood was starting to collect in the dip of their hips, trailing down and under where their thigh met their pelvis, which only seemed to excite the bhaalspawn further. 

He tried to lift his hips into them but was anchored by the bindings. The ropes tied too tightly to allow any give. They inhaled a languorous breath as they teased his tip at their entrance, gyrating their hips back and forth against the sensitive head. He whined into the gag despite himself - he needed to feel more of them, needed to know how perfectly they were made for him. This ache was like nothing else he’d felt before. It was something desperate, an opening he’d carelessly created, a hung queen on the lanceboard… and yet he could only lay there in ever-building need. He was bound in their ropes like a fly caught in the web of a deadly spider, hoping to be devoured quickly.

They finally, slowly sank down onto him, their exhale becoming shaky, unsteady, and… vulnerable. His groan turned into a heady growl. Enver let his head fall back, closing his eyes to take in the sensation of their cunt enveloping his cock. 

They barely lifted from him and then pushed their hips back down into his, sinking deep, their warm and wanting walls squeezing around him. Another silenced moan left him. He felt a tug at the strap of the gag. He opened his eyes to see the tip of their dagger near his eye, the flat of the blade between his cheek and the strap, they dexterously sliced it, freeing him of the stifling thing. 

Before he could say anything, they brought a bloody hand to his cheek, stroking it softly, softer than any touch they’d ever given him. He leaned into the touch. 

“You’re mine.” 

They spoke unburdened by compulsion, yet their voice shook with fear. It was small, barely audible under the ferocity of their lust, but it was there. He ensnared their gaze and held it in the hanging moment between them, he felt his cock twitch inside them with the anticipation of more, but they had slowed.

“Then take me, my Assassin. Take me… please.” The word tumbled out of his mouth before he knew he had spoken. 

‘Please’. 

Enver did not grovel, he did not beg. Begging was for paupers and dogs, and he had long since sworn he would never be either again.

‘Please’.

Enver did not need from anyone. He promised himself decades ago that ‘need’ would never enter his heart. Need made you feeble. Need created weak points to be leveraged by any sop with a large enough hand. Need could not support the weight of conquest.

‘Please’. 

Enver was a lord, a Chosen of Bane, the Tyrant of the Sword Coast, he would make this world yield to his command. He was meant to sit upon a throne as the Black Hand of Bane, alone in his dominion. 

‘Please’. 

He was all of those things, and yet all he could think as he lay beneath them, his thoughts tumbling and racing in this moment suspended in amber, was that he needed them. 

“Please.” He repeated the words, forcing himself and his dear Assassin out of the thundering silence. 

They stared wide-eyed at his bleeding body wrapped for them like an offering. Their hand was trembling against his cheek. He couldn’t say for certain why they were frozen. Perhaps they were just as shocked as he was with his pleading, perhaps there was something else brewing under the surface. Regardless, he would bring them back to him. 

“Don’t make me ask again, Assassin.”

The command in his voice pulled them back. In a near frenzy, they crashed their mouth to his. Their hands pressed against his chest, stinging the cuts. They had to grasp the ropes around his middle to keep their grip on him as they moved their hips again. 

He groaned into their mouth, biting at their lips when they went to pull away. They started to bounce more enthusiastically on his cock, whining and whimpering every time he hit deep inside them. He’d long since given up on trying to buck his hips into them, knowing it to be in vain. Instead, he moaned encouragement to his Assassin. Every time they heard the sounds of his pleasure, they would become more erratic in their grinding and fucking. 

They leaned back, grabbing a tie at his hip, and cried out as his cock hit new pleasure points. Their other hand moved to rub their clit in rhythm with their keening. Their breathing became heavy and frantic as they chased their climax. 

Enver could feel his coming on quickly as they rode him at a wild and frenetic pace. Their hand moved in concert with their hips as they coaxed their orgasm to the surface. In a quick motion, they curled over his chest, claws digging in and hoarse voice crying out as the ecstasy took them. Their cunt squeezed around his cock and pulsed as their pleasure cascaded through them. He groaned loudly as his body tensed and he released his spend into them, throbbing with each thrumming squeeze around him. He could feel his legs twitching under the bindings as intoxicating bliss wrapped around him. 

They both panted heavily as they came down from the high together. The Assassin didn’t move immediately, instead, they tantalizingly rolled their hips. A hum rumbled through him at the feeling. He wanted to reach up and kiss them again. He yearned to wrap his arms around their shaking body, a body sensuously ruined by him. He jerked his arms against the restraints. The attempt earned him a smile from the bhaalspawns’s pleasure-drunk, blood-stained lips. 

They lifted themself from his cock, a string of blood and cum briefly the only thing connecting them. They leaned down to kiss him gently and like a thief disarming a pressure trap, placed their dagger in his mouth by the hilt as they pulled away. They unhurriedly removed themself from the bed, gathering their clothing. He dropped the knife from his mouth to speak. 

“What are you doing? You can’t leave me like this.” 

They chuckled at his words and picked up the knife, placing it back in his mouth with a pat against his cheek. 

“Now, Tyrant, talking will make this more difficult,” they plucked at a rope by his neck tied to the bedpost, “If you cut this strand here, the rest of the arm will come loose.”

They actually expected him to use his mouth to cut this hells-damned rope with their dagger. It appeared they weren’t done toying with him for their earlier frustrations. He glowered, but said nothing else, not wanting to lose his hold on the dagger again. 

They dressed, not bothering to clean the blood from their body before draping the clothing over their form. 

“For later...” They left a red circular bottle on his bedside table - a healing potion. Well, at least he wouldn't have to summon the healer twice in one day. He waited until they left his room before he started sawing at the rope they told him to cut. 

◤──•~  ҉  The Dark Urge   ҉  ~•──◥

The Chosen of Bhaal rose earlier than the sun. They stalked the streets looking for new prey - the drunkards who stayed out too late, the overworked late-night guards for wealthy and gaudy estates, the early morning risers who thought the threat of dawn banished any real danger. 

They glanced at the tower of Wyrm’s Rock and wondered if the Tyrant had escaped his… predicament yet. They decided to check after they'd caught a prize for tonight. 

—

The bustling streets of the early morning clawed at the bhaalspawn’s resolve. They wanted to return to their lab where a fresh new body waited for them. They would have to keep their new project waiting a bit longer. 

They found it just as easy to slip past the guards and soldiers scattered around the fortress, even in broad daylight. They found his room and easily finessed the lock open. With a glance, they saw the private chamber put together and clean. Any evidence of their meeting had been purged from the room. It seemed empty, but they still pressed further with a quiet caution. 

The familiar glint of their blade, the one they had left, caught their attention. It laid atop a delicately folded note. 

My Dear Assassin,

It occurs to me, that perhaps you lack suitable tools. 

Next time, I expect to be tended to properly.

Enver Gortash

Next to the note was a leather bundle. They unwrapped it to find a pristine surgical kit, complete with quality suturing twine and needle. They sheathed the blade into its usual resting place at their hip and tucked the bundle under their arm. 

They couldn’t help a small smile as they internalized the words ‘next time’, even as their body was wracked with another series of painful lashes from their Father. 

Big shout out to Nico and Trek from our mutual server for being amazing beta-readers! They gave such invaluable insight, suggestions, and edits. Ya'll are the best hype people.

For other works check out my master list, here