#best jaw exerciser

[dramarnathandentalcare]

Top 5 Exercises for the Jawline: Tone and Define Your Look

Most people strive for a chiseled jawline because it enhances the face’s elegance and proportion. People frequently believe that this is dictated by one’s DNA. However, this is not true. You can truly work out the muscles that surround your jaw. Specific types of exercises can also be used to train the muscles in the jaw and certain parts of the neck.  In this blog, we will learn about five…

[surabhi07]

 Back on Your Feet: The Role of Physiotherapy in Lower Limb Injury Recovery

Injuries to the lower limbs can have a crippling effect on one's movement, independence, and general quality of life. However, people can regain strength, function, and confidence if they receive the proper rehabilitation care. A key component of this procedure is physiotherapy, which emphasizes active care to speed up recovery and ward off further injuries.

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: light daddy kink Flashback to the first time Captain Riley met Raspberry girl.

The bakery is slow. 

He’s only been coming here for a few days, but he’s already figured out the best time to stop by so he can avoid the crowd. Before eight hundred, it’s always packed, too many people in line for tea, coffee, breakfast, pastries, half of them headed to base, the other half to somewhere else. 

He starts his day early, and then swings out here for a mid morning breakfast, or coffee, depending on how his day has gone. Usually, it’s filled with paperwork and overseeing training exercises, all of it as boring as the next. He welcomes the reprieve of a pastry, a togo container closed over a massive raspberry sweet roll (or two) that he usually eats in truck before he makes it back to base. It’s hard to leave it alone when it’s sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for him. He fucking dreams about things at this point, their sweet dough and cream cheese icing, raspberry jam, he assumes, swirled in every layer. If he’s lucky, he arrives just after or before a new batch is brought out, and they’re still hot. 

A few tables are occupied inside, people with headphones in clicking away on laptops, or casually chatting over a tea. It’s never too quiet here which he appreciates, there’s always music flowing, and noise coming from what he assumes is the kitchen, hidden behind a typical swing door you’d see in any restaurant. 

The familiarity is comfortable. There are no surprises, usually. 

Except today, something new catches his eye. 

You. 

You’re holding a plate of flaky pastries of some kind, standing at the edge of the counter. Mara, the girl who usually works the register, makes coffees and teas, plates or packages things from the case, is giving you her full attention as you speak. 

You stun him. Perfect from head to toe, beautiful in a way that’s making him believe you were created just for him. 

A possessive pulse pounds under his jaw. Locked in just at the sight of you. 

“They have nuts in them. Almonds. But they’re sl-slivers, so they’re just… they’re hard to see. So uh… make sure I guess, that people know?” 

“Okay, I’ll put it on the sign.” She holds the little placard up and you nod approvingly. 

“Right.” Like you’ve been holding your breath this entire time, your chest deflates shakily. Gun shy. Anxious. Fearful. 

Precious thing. 

That craving inside him perks up, hones in. Heat seeking missile. 

For once, it’s not only sexual. Not only about keeping someone for the night, the morning, putting all his energy and care into them just to cut that cord, close himself off and send them on the way. 

No. This is different. This is more. 

“Can I get one of those to go?” The guy waiting at the counter in front of him points to the plate. “Almond croissants, right?” You tense. There’s a lapse, and he can see your gears turning, sifting, before finally settling on something. 

“Sure?” 

“Sure I can get one, or sure they’re almond croissants.” You flinch. It would be hardly noticeable to someone else, but to him, it reveals another piece of the puzzle. You picked the wrong thing. He knows could soothe this burn, honor these parts of you that don’t seem to fit in, keep your mind, your heart, safe. Love you in the ways you desperately need. 

“Oh. Yes.” You nod, sliding one into the bag and pushing it across the counter as Mara cashes the man out, only looking up once he’s turned to leave. 

It only takes a second before you’re locking eyes with him. 

You freeze, and swears there’s a whisper of a whimper. Mara gives you a curious look, and then follows your line of sight right to him, her mouth quirking to the side in a small smile. Your hands clasp together at your waist, fingers interwoven. Immediately, they clench around one another so tight, he wonders if it’s hurting you. He wants to pull them apart, cover them with his own, hold them. Hold you. 

His instincts are churned up. They scream at him, trying to run away with a fantasy of a future. 

He thinks briefly of John and Grace, his old captain’s little blueberry pie, a sweet girl watching a movie and curled up on her daddy’s lap. His jealously is not from a desire of Grace herself, but of the relationship, the life John has carved out for himself, the purpose, the control, the ability to tend and care for someone who can give themselves so endlessly, be so trusting they let all their defenses go and fully let go. The love.

He’s never thought it was the right time for him, but now he knows he was wrong. It was never about the right time. 

It was always about finding you. 

Mara must see something, because she clears her throat and says your name, nodding in his direction. 

“This is Captain Riley.” Military brat, she knows the rank of every uniformed person who sets foot in here, and always addresses them as such. You gulp. 

“It’s n-nice to meet you.” Mara fills the gap quickly, nonchalantly, trying to ease your discomfort. 

“Captain Riley is the one who buys out all the raspberry rolls.” You brighten. 

“Really?” His chuckle rumbles in this throat. 

“Really. Think I eat two or three a day now." He pats his stomach, and you grin, before it gets lost immediately, unsure, glancing at the ground. 

“G-good, That’s… I’m glad.” It’s enough of a starting point. He can’t push too hard. You’re already trembling, looking up at him now, both with trepidation and wonder. Mara’s boxed up his order, quietly placing it in front of you, and you’re careful when you pick it up, handing it over like you’re handling a bomb, lips parting when he touches you. He forces the contact, intentionally brushing his fingers against yours, pleased when there’s an immediate reaction, a sharp inhale, a bob of your throat. He gives you a very gentle smile. 

“Thank you sweetheart.” Your eyes go incredibly wide, and you squeak. 

“You’re welcome!” He’s unable to get another word out fast enough before you’re practically running into the kitchen, door swinging wide enough for him to see just inside, eyes like saucers, nervous smile stretched across your face, your hands brushing your apron repeatedly, even though the batter and flour crusted on it doesn’t move. 

Precious, sweet little girl. 

You need someone to take care of you. Someone who will carve out space for you to exist, without fear. Someone who will understand your needs and instead of trying to force you to go where you don’t fit, they’ll protect you, encourage you, hold your hand. Someone who will build you a castle, a fortress, an entire world, just so you can be yourself, be happy as yourself, not a person the world wants to change. 

You need him. 

You need a daddy. 

[crushpunky]

drew and costar!reader take the glamour friendship test

masterlist

based on this ask :)

Y/n and Drew walked out onto the bright, white set, their outfits coordinating shades of purple as they prepared for another interview ahead of the release of their film, “Be My Mistake”.

Exercise 1: First Impressions

“Scary… very scary.” Y/n said, looking over at Drew to gauge his reaction. He furrowed his brow, looking between her and the camera before they both descended into giggles. Y/n leaned into Drew as she laughed, Drew catching her and pushing her back up.

“We were told we needed to take this seriously and this is the [bleep] you pull.” Drew chuckled, shaking his head, a grin on his face.

“Ok, ok, seriously,” y/n said, “I was a bit intimidated, but that was mainly because he was so business-y and… I mean Drew’s a pretty big and tall guy so there’s that. But once we got to talking, and he really got out of his shell, I was amazed by how intelligent and funny he was.”

“‘Intelligent and funny’. Wow.” Drew teased, elbowing y/n lightly. “Well, I knew of you before we met and was impressed with your talent and beauty on screen. However, once we met, I was thrilled to find a wonderful personality that accompanied all that.”

“We quickly found out that we’re just about the same person, so that was a pleasant surprise.” Y/n nodded, wrapping an arm around Drew and squeezing his arm lightly.

Exercise 2: Give Your Friend a Compliment

“I feel like we already did that,” Drew laughed, “but I can definitely find a couple more things to say.”

“I mean I guess I already said this, but Drew is really such an intelligent person,” Y/n gazed at Drew, “like not just book smart, but relationship, emotional smart. He’s very much in touch with all of that and is a very good gauge-r for people’s feelings.”

“Y/n is actually the funniest person I know and that’s not me being dramatic.” Drew grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as much with anyone else… definitely not to the point of nearly getting kicked out of a restaurant.”

Y/n laughed at the memory. The two of them had gone out for a nice dinner following wrapping on “Be My Mistake”, dressing up and sharing a couple drinks. However, their usual banter resulted in them laughing quite loudly for the duration of the meal. Shortly after their main courses had arrived, a waiter had come over telling them about how some guests were complaining about the two of them being disruptive, which only made them laugh louder. By some grace of god, however, they didn’t get asked to leave.

“It’s not my fault I’m hilarious.” Y/n said with a simple shrug, causing Drew to laugh.

Exercise 3: Fishbowl of Memories

“Oooh.” Drew said as y/n took the large fishbowl from one of the PAs. Inside, various scraps of paper filled the bowl, each with a question.

“I’ll let you have the honor of going first.” Y/n smiled, offering the bowl out to Drew. He dug inside, grabbing a slip of paper as y/n sat the bowl down on the table in front of them.

“What was the funniest blooper in this film?” Drew read before glancing over at y/n, a smirk on his face. Y/n gave him the same look back, the two of them thinking of the same moment.

“There was an… unfortunate incident in which I accidentally pantsed Drew.” Y/n said, trying her best to stifle her laughter. Drew nodded his head, a warm pink spreading across his cheeks.

“You might be thinking, how do you accidentally pants someone?” Drew teased, y/n folding her hands on the table in front of her dramatically.

“We were filming a scene where our characters were arguing and Drew turned to walk away, and I went to follow after him,” y/n explained. “However, I tripped over a rug and fell. I tried to catch myself on Drew, I was sort of grabbing at him, but only ended up getting his pants before I fell… the pants coming with unfortunately.”

“I really hope that that’s not on the blooper real.” Drew shook his head, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

“Oh, I’m sure the ladies would love to see Starkey in his tighty-whities. A real treat.” Y/n teased. Drew cringed, shoving at y/n’s shoulder before gesturing for her to pick a piece of paper from the bowl.

“What is your favorite memory with each other?” Y/n read, looking over at Drew as the two of them thought. They stared at each other in silence, both of their brows furrowing as they shuffled through an abundance of memories.

“I think I have mine.” Drew said, snapping his fingers before turning towards the camera.

“Ok, ok. Me too. Let’s see if we agree.” Y/n nodded, still facing Drew as she waited for him to speak.

“Mine is when we went to get tattoos and y/n passed out and I had to carry her out to the car because she was being so dramatic.” Drew laughed, his laughter growing even louder as y/n’s jaw dropped. She hit his arm lightly, groaning at the memory. 

“I wasn’t being dramatic I— ok, maybe I was but I was probably still hungover from the night before.” Y/n chuckled.

“Your turn.” Drew said, leaning to rest his elbows on the table and his chin in his palms in faux overinterest.

“My favorite memory is when we sang Wicked at some karaoke bar and it was so bad that people started booing us.” Y/n laughed. They had gone out with the rest of the cast to a karaoke bar down the street from where they had been shooting. Later in the night, after a couple of drinks, Drew and y/n decided it would be a good idea to sing “Defying Gravity”. Neither of them being singers, nor anywhere talented enough for the numerous high notes, the regular patrons of the bar began booing and cringing at their attempt at the notoriously difficult to sing song.

“‘Please for the love of god stop’.” Drew recited one of the patrons’ comments, causing y/n to throw her head back laughing.

“Wow, jeez. That was a deep cut.” Y/n straightened herself back up, smoothing out the  front of her dress. Drew threw an arm over her shoulders, bringing her to his side.

“I think we passed. I think we’re friends, right?” Drew shook y/n playfully, who just let out a sarcastic groan.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Y/n gave in, wrapping her arm around Drew’s torso and hugging him lightly.

“Thank you for watching!” Drew said with a wave, y/n joining in and waving excitedly. The two of them jumped up and down, their waves growing more intense, until they both fell into each other and collapsed into laughter that continued even after the cameras cut.

[yoursaltyqueen]

you’re in love with bucky barnes, but he won’t let you in.

“Absolutely not,” Bucky snapped, arms folded, eyes like steel.

“Not optional,” Dr. Raynor replied, giving him a pointed look. “You’re in group therapy now.”

Group therapy.

Which meant you were here, sitting awkwardly in the cramped room with Sam Wilson on your left — your best friend — and Bucky Barnes on your right — the man you were hopelessly, quietly in love with.

He hadn’t looked at you since the cuffs came off.

Sam let out an exaggerated sigh and leaned back in his chair. “Man, I knew you were messed up, but dragging her into this too? What, are we building the Avengers version of ‘Intervention’?”

You shot him a glare. “I volunteered, Wilson. You could stand to talk more, too, y’know.”

“Touché,” he muttered.

Dr. Raynor gestured between you and Bucky. “Alright. Let’s try the exercise. You and Bucky. Soul-gazing. Closer.”

“I’m sorry—what?” you said at the same time Bucky let out a quiet, horrified grunt.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, still not meeting your gaze.

You scooted your chair closer until your knees brushed. “Not so bad, Barnes,” you said gently. “I don’t bite.”

He finally looked at you then, just for a second. His jaw clenched, but there was something softer in his eyes. Something sad.

“You don’t get it,” he said lowly. “You’re always… kind. And patient. And I don’t know why. I’ve done things I can’t come back from.”

Your heart twisted painfully.

“You think I don’t see the good in you?” you asked softly. “That I haven’t seen how hard you fight, how much you care even when you pretend you don’t?”

Bucky blinked, jaw twitching. His walls were like steel — but you knew how to read him. You could see the cracks forming.

Dr. Raynor looked between you both. “Say what you’re really feeling. No guards. No sarcasm. Just honesty.”

You swallowed.

Heart pounding.

This was your moment. Even if he didn’t say it back — you had to tell him.

“I care about you, Bucky,” you said. “More than I should, probably. And I know you’re scared of letting people in, but I’m right here. I’ve been here.”

He stared at you like you’d just punched the breath out of him.

Sam was silent. Even he knew not to ruin this moment.

Bucky’s voice was a whisper when he finally spoke.

“I don’t know if I can be what you deserve.”

“You don’t have to be anything but you,” you said gently, reaching for his hand. “And I’ll wait. If it takes months or years. I’ll still be here.”

He didn’t respond…

|

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part 2

[aciddrattboyy]

Tɾαɱρ Sƚαɱρ

┆ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - "various bllk guys and how they would react to you getting a tramp stamp"

ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ★ Starring: Bachira, Kunigami, Nagi, Ryusei [separate] x F! Reader ★ Run Time: 1.2k ★ Genre/Warnings: [Rated R: Adult Film] smut, mirror fucking(bachira), reverse cowgirl, oral(m! receiving) kunigami)), doggy style, i think thats it [all characters are aged up!]

▶▶

bachira

⋆ was v e r y excited when you said you wanted to get one ⋆ actually offered to pay for it AND go with you ⋆ but you declined, knowing he’d try to fuck you in the parking lot as soon as you were done ⋆ now that you had confirmed you were getting one bachira had a bit of a dilemma  ⋆ he loved looking at you while he fucked you senseless ⋆ but now he needed to see your new tattoo while he did just that so ofc a hasty amazon order was made  ⋆ come the day of your appointment, there was now a full length mirror stuck onto the back of your bedroom door waiting for you when you got home

you were a whining, blubbering mess as meguru pounded into you. on all fours, he grabbed you by your hair with one strong hand so you couldnt bury your hair in the sheets. usually he would, usually he was a bit nicer. but he needed you to see, needed you to look at your now fucked out self through the mirror he bought just for this reason. 

“so hot baby- so hot like this,” his pace was brutal as he fought a constant internal war on where to look. if he looked at your new lower back tattoo for too long he’d cum too fast. but being able to see you at a new angle was making it hard to not spill inside of you. his other hand that had a painful hold on your waist snaked down to rub tight circles against your clit. his hips faltered at the sight of your face contorting in pleasure. with a guttural moan leaving his throat, meguru buried himself balls deep in your cunt as he came.

gingerly releasing his hold on your hair, he moved back to your waist. meguru panted softly, eyes unable to leave your lower back. he could feel himself getting hard all over again at the thought of one day being able to spill his cum all over it.

kunigami

⋆ kunigami wouldnt deny that the idea was hot to him ⋆ he was very supportive- excited even ⋆ he both paid + went with you to your appointment  ⋆ was very proud of himself for exercising the utmost restraint when he saw the final product ⋆ not wanting to hurt the already hurt area, he kept the sexual activity to a minimum  ⋆ definitely didnt pass up a chance to playfully slap your ass any time it was visible  ⋆ despite his chivalrous behavior, it was as if his libido went up 1000% knowing the tattoo was there

“oh fuck-,” kunigami’s jaw seemed to be permanently clenched as took more of him in your throat. head resting against the back of the couch as he looked at you with eyes that sent heat straight to your throbbing pussy. his hips involuntarily bucked into your mouth when he caught a glimpse of your back. your tanktop was pushed up from your previous messy makeout session and your lower back tattoo was almost on full display. 

catching where his gaze was now focused on, you arched your back. your shorts rode down just a bit from the change in position but it was enough to send kunigamis head spinning. his grip on your hair tightened as he started fucking your face. the room filled with sounds of you gagging and his moans as he got closer to cuming. “ ‘m close,” he warned, voice strained as he kept staring at the black ink forever etched on your skin. 

this only spurred you on, hollowing your cheeks as best as you could; determined to take him all. and that you did, swallowing the hot cum that spilled down your throat with a pleased smile. your stuck out your tongue, proudly showing him that none went to waste until he pulled you onto his lap. fully intent on fucking you here and now. 

nagi

⋆ he was never big on showing emotions outward ⋆ but when you came home, stripping down in front of him to show off your new tattoo ⋆ you could see something change in his eye ⋆ he never considered any tattoos hot before you just kinda saw them as ink on skin and nothing more ⋆ but now that you had one he was obsessed

nagi was laying on his back, head propped up on multiple pillows as his hands held a vice grip on your waist. 

“sei- ‘s too much,” having already came three times on his mouth, you were a mess. holding onto his thighs tightly as he fucked you down onto him. nagi couldnt even respond, low moans tumbling out of his mouth as he watched your ass meet his pelvis. his eyes were fixated on the tattoo and nothing could pry them away. 

feeling you clench around him from the sensitivity is what sent him over the edge. pulling you off of him with ease and setting you down on his stomach as his came on your stomach and abused cunt. you were panting, eyes fluttering shut when you assumed he was satiated. but you soon learned that you assumed wrong, yelping as he got you on all fours. he leaned over you, pressing a kiss into your shoulder.

“not done”

ryusei

⋆ it was hard for him to keep his dick in his pants around you already ⋆ but your newly added tattoo was making it so much harder ⋆ he thought it was incredibly hot ⋆ a hint of possessiveness when he thought how he’d be the only one to see it in its entirety ⋆ he grew a habit of stretching the waistband of whatever you were wearing to peek at it ⋆ laughing when the fabric snapped back and made you jump  ⋆ he was more touchy than ever and you couldnt bring yourself to hate it one bit

“such a needy little thing,” he had you on your stomach, legs trapped under his as he pushed your head into the covers. the smile on his face was evil and his pace was no better. his free hand was groping your ass, loving how sore they know were from your previous endeavors. he loved how you were trapped under him, only able to whine and beg for more while completely under his will. his fingers lightly traced the now healed tattoo, enjoying how it made you shiver. 

he rutted into you brutally, the sound of his pelvis hitting your ass reverberating through the room as he placed messy open-mouth kisses along your shoulder blades. but he couldnt stay there for long. leaning back, he watched as his dick disappeared inside you. the tattoo was just the icing on the cake. 

you could feel his hips stuttering as he pounded inside you before he quickly pulled out. ryusei desperately humped your ass, head thrown back as he came. you whined, thighs clenching as you felt his cum drip onto your lower back. you only lifted your head when he hurriedly got off of you, watching as he reached for his phone. 

“what a pretty little thing,” he seemed to murmur more to himself than anything as he took pictures of your cum covered tattoo before getting back on top of you. you would be dumb to think ryusei would ever stop after only cumming once.

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3 ʟᴏʙʙʏ ﹕ꜰɪʟᴍᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

[muwapsturniolo]

Munchies 🐰ྀི C. Sturniolo

"Don't want food."

⟢ NSFW CONTENT AHEAD!!! mentions of smoking, Chris having munchies, cannibal!Chris (say sum i dare you). oral, (f), fingering, squirting, overstimulation.

divider and cannibal chris cred @bernardsbendystraws

Starving.

Chris was starving, his stomach feeling like it was caving in on itself. He had smoked outside about thirty minutes before, the grape-flavored wrap along with the weed doing nothing but making him even more hungry, and the longer he sat, the worse it got.

It was simple, he had the munchies - but not for food.

With hazy eyes, he looks down at the girl's thighs, licking his lips as he stares at the soft, plump skin. He could feel his mouth salivating at the thought of tasting her. He lazily taps her thigh with two fingers, immediately capturing the girl's attention.

She looks away from the tv, her eyes wide in curiosity as she stares at him.

"M'hungry," he mutters softly, placing his palms on her thigh a bit higher up than usual. "Did you want me to make you something to eat?" He hums lazily, eyeing her thighs once more before shaking his head.

"Don't want food."

She gasps softly as he drops to the ground in front of the couch, quickly yanking down her shorts and pushing her legs to her chest.

"Chris we're on the co-I don't care."

He spits directly on her clit, the girl flinching at the feeling. He looks at her expectantly, commanding her with his eyes.

She trails her right hand toward her center and begins rubbing his spit into her folds, whimpering at the pleasurable feeling. He watches with hungry eyes, enjoying the way her own slick exudes and mixes with his spit.

He needed her, all of her, and quickly.

He slaps her hand away and immediately dives in, his mouth attaching itself right to her clit. Her jaw drops in shock, a moan leaving her mouth as her hands tangle in his hair.

He moans into her, his tongue swirling around her clit before licking in between her folds, scooping her essence into his mouth.

"Taste so fuckin' good," he heaves as he continues to devour her, his nose and chin already glistening with her juices. His fingers dig into her thighs, surely leaving bruises as he pushes them towards her chest.

Lewd slurping and squelching noises mixed with her moans and his groans were all you heard, their sounds overpowering the volume of the TV. She could feel her own slick and his spit trailing down her ass and onto the couch, soaking the fabric and creating a wet patch.

Chris knew he was being messy, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

He was a starved man eating the best meal in the world.

He just couldn't get enough.

He lays his tongue down flat, shaking his head back and forth before wrapping his mouth around her clit once more, easily sliding two fingers into her clenching hole and curling them right against that sensitive spot.

She moans loudly, throwing her head back and clenching her eyes shut at the pleasurable feeling. It was embarrassing at how quick her orgasm was forming, but Chris didn't care - it drove him to keep going.

Her fingers yank at his hair as her orgasm hits her in full throttle, her eyes rolling back as her vision goes white. She fully expected him to stop, to let her bask in the afterglow and give her the soft kisses he usually does, but that didn't happen.

He keeps going.

Her back arches off the couch as his tongue flicks over clit at a rapid speed, his fingers still curling inside her.

"F-fuck!" she gasps and looks down at him, watching the way he munches away at her happily with closed eyes.

It was too much, but it felt too good to stop, her hips grinding against his face as her body greedily begged for more pleasure. Her moans turn into deep and sharp breaths, almost as if she is doing a breathing exercise, as she feels her second orgasm approaching.

She could feel the difference, the pressure on her bladder, and her thighs shaking.

"Chri-" she lets out a high-pitched moan, almost a scream, as he begins curling his fingers faster and applying more pressure.

Her whole body tenses as the second orgasm washes over her, tears forming in her eyes as he works her through it. Her juices had splashed all over Chris's face, drenching him, the couch, and the floor in its wake.

Chris wasn't fully satisfied, but he knew after squirting she couldn't handle any more pleasure for at least half an hour. He pulled away from her soaked cunt, pulling his fingers out before popping them in his mouth and licking them clean, moaning at the taste.

She lays against the couch, panting with tears in her eyes as she tries to calm herself down. He stands to his full height, scooping the girl up in his arms and walking downstairs towards his room.

"Th-the cou- Fuck the couch, I'm still hungry."

[that-sarcastic-writer]

A Ballad of Lost Souls

Eric Draven (2024) X f!reader

Summary: what happens when two lost souls find each other? Cling to each other? Love could be a very dangerous drug indeed. You and Eric meet during rehab.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, brief handjob, hair pulling, choking, size difference, size kink if you squint, bit of inexperienced!reader, Eric is actually a sweetheart, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of substance abuse, addiction, mentions of suicidal thoughts, this movie is dark what do you want me to say

Reader has tattoos, but has no further specifications, y’all get to be tattooed girlies today, you’re welcome

WC: 5.7K I’m sorry

Inspo creds @kingkat12, she also posted an Eric fic with the same concept and some of the elements of this story like some of the dialogue bits were inspired after reading hers. Please give her some love! She’s a great writer

A/N: NOBODY LOOK AT ME. idc, I love Eric okay, stfu. I just had to write him. He just needs love man. That’s all. I want to give him love. So here you go. I might make a part two if there’s enough interest. When I tell you the Eric fic supply is LOW, I’ve never seen one so LACKING. So I just had to yk? Enjoy and don’t cancel me alright.

You didn’t often dwell on the past. You had a live in the moment kind of mindset. You didn’t know where you’d be tomorrow so you made the best of the moment. But sometimes, you wondered just where your bad decisions were taking you. You didn’t mean to end up here, in this awful bubblegum pink sweater and sweatpants, surrounded by people who didn’t care why you were here, or if you got better or not. The disappointed words of your mother played in your head, and the angry words of your father hammered in the back of your head. You were a fucking disappointment, and that’s why you were here. 

You thought about ending it. This mess your life had become. It wouldn’t be too hard to find a razor around here if you truly tried. Who would miss you anyway? What even was the point of it all? By day two you couldn’t take this shit anymore. And then you saw him in the yard. You were almost entranced by him. He was so tall, he towered over everyone he walked past, you couldn’t imagine how ridiculous you would look standing next to him. You could see his ink cover his hands and fingers, and you wondered just how far the ink traveled. You were intrigued by him, he was quiet, morbidly so, he didn’t say a word to anyone, no matter how much they pressed or tossed him around, he just stared. Whether it was the doctors, the counselors, the guards. He always chose silence. And he always had this look of defiance, of apathy, he took everything with a locked jaw and deadpan eyes. And that intrigued you.

Should you try to entertain anyone in this facility, let alone the loner covered in tattoos? No, absolutely not. But lord, something about him drew you in. 

You caught glimpses of him for a few days, in the cafeteria when you walked past him to your table, maybe he thought you didn’t notice, but you caught him turning his head to watch you walk by. One time, your eyes met, they were a pretty shade of green. It was brief though, as soon as he realized you caught him, his eyes were in front of his plate, but not before you managed to flash him a tiny smile. Welcoming, playful. 

Eric remembered that. 

The next time you saw him was out in the yard. They encouraged exercise in this place, for some dumb reason. The most people did around here was stand in a corner, feeling completely miserable under the scorching sun. But much to your surprise, after some time walking around the yard you found Eric, lingering by the gym equipment. It wasn’t much, just a pull up bar and that was barely tall enough to accommodate him. No weights, of course, because someone could hurt themselves, or someone else with them. It wasn’t much, but you couldn’t help but watch as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, revealing even more tattoos going up both of his arms. You stood in a corner like a fucking weirdo, watching as he did pull up’s, as best as he could having to bend his long legs to accommodate the short bar. Why were you just staring at this man you’ve never even spoken to? Of that you had no clue. But you couldn’t take your eyes away. He had his back to you, but even under the material of his white t-shirt you could see the muscles in his shoulders tense, his arms flexing with each pull. And you could only I magine the true sight of him. Sweat dripping down his forehead, lips pulled between his teeth as he did each pull. God, you felt like such a pervert. You shouldn’t be eye fucking him like this, but you couldn’t help it, something about him twisted the most secluded corners of your mind.

Ultimately your trance was cut short, since it didn’t take long for a group of guys to take interest in whatever Eric was doing and went straight to push him around some more. You frowned, almost upset by the sight of him getting tossed around and hazed like this. You couldn’t hear what was happening, but Eric had his head down, chest heavy as he clenched his fists at his sides, but he otherwise did nothing. You didn’t care, any fucks you still had to give were gone the moment your parents and your ex-boyfriend conspired to send you here. You were about to walk over there, not caring about what weird opposite sex rules this place had. But when you started walking, Eric did too, getting shoulder checked as he pushed his way past the group of guys. You felt awful, you wanted to say something to him, but you were frozen when he walked past you, his green eyes shooting a quick glance at you, a bit of curiosity laced in them. But you were more focused on how his shirt was clinging to his sweaty chest. And just like that he was gone.

The next time you saw him was during a group meeting that afternoon. You were almost disappointed at first when he didn’t show. You sulked into your seat for the first minute or two, upset you wouldn’t get to see him today again. And then you saw him. His expression as apathetic as ever, like he would rather get beat up than sit through this bullshit. His hair was soaking wet, small droplets of water still falling from the tips of his raven hair. Great, now the image of him in the shower was ingrained into your brain. As if you didn’t feel filthy enough.

You bit your lip softly, sitting up as he sat across from you, his expression blank with disinterest as his tattooed fingers played with the hem of his pink sweater. You weren’t paying attention either, you were more entertained by the way his long legs spread open as he slouched on his chair, taking as much space as possible. You thought about how nice it would be to sit on his lap. You glanced at his hands, they were huge. How easily he could grab a hold of your ass, or hold you still by your neck. How his long fingers would feel so deep inside you. You thought about how easily he was doing those pull ups, and you thought just how easily he could hold you down, throw you around to as he pleased with you. Truly, you would happily let him use you. You could feel heat rush to your face as you crossed your legs, trying your best to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. Why were you lusting so hard over him? You didn’t even know his name. 

Almost as if he could hear your pounding heart, Eric looked up to find your eyes lingering on him, one leg crossed over the other tightly. He tilted his head with curiosity, and his fingers twitched around his sweatshirt as your eyes met. He didn’t feel like looking away this time. The longer his hooded eyes were on you, the more nervous you became. You could feel your breath hitch in your chest as his eyes burned you. You only looked away when the counselor said your name, followed by stares. 

Shit, were you supposed to say something? 

You opened your mouth, immediately closing it as you had nothing to say. You didn’t even hear the question. You pursed your lips and shook your head lightly. The counselor sighed softly and looked to the girl beside you instead. It was common for most people here to refrain from speaking so he didn’t think too much about it. But when your eyes found Eric again, there was a small hint of amusement in his eyes, a ghost of a grin tugging at his plush lips. For the first time since you’ve been here, you saw something other than disinterest on his face. 

Perhaps he was just as drawn to you as you were to him. 

~~~

You pulled your lips into a disappointed pout as you searched around the cafeteria for his black mullet, not being able to find him. And here you thought today would be the day you finally spoke to him. You were about to sit at the nearest empty table when you found him. Even sitting down he stood out. You smiled to yourself, your heart pounding in your chest with anticipation. You looked around for guards, none were paying particular attention to you so you did it. 

He lifted his head slightly to glance at you, a quick second before his eyes were back on his plate. You saw the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. You smiled to yourself.

“I like your ink.” Were the first words out of your mouth. You said them in one breath, afraid he would get up and leave. His eyes lifted from his hands to meet yours, his eyes then fell to your own hands, one of them covered in distinct patterns and colors from your wrist up to your fingers. He wondered what else you were hiding under your sweater, like him.

“Hm.” He gave you a small nod, his plush lips pulled between his teeth in a way that had you clenching your thighs. “I like yours.” 

You smiled, the first genuine one since you’ve gotten here.

“I have more.” You whispered, leaning close to him, like it was some secret only for his ears to hear. His eyes flickered with amusement and he gave you another hum, his eyes now looking everywhere they could in hope of finding said secrets. 

“Me too.” His lips curved up the slightest bit as he lifted one of his sleeves up enough to reveal more tattoos going up his arm. Your eyes lit up as you excitedly leaned down closer with the excuse of getting a closer look. Your proximity was certainly way too close for this facility.

Leaning impossibly close to him without actually touching him, you looked up at him and with a playful smile you pulled down the collar of your sweatshirt to reveal more designs along your collarbone, the rest of the design hidden by your sweater as the colors continued down your shoulder. 

“But don’t tell anyone.” You chewed on your bottom lip, trying to hide your smile. He gave you what sounded like a chuckle and he shrugged.

“Who would I tell?” Though his face remained expressionless, his eyes had a glint that mimicked your eagerness, he welcomed your proximity. “Here he comes.”

You were confused by his words and you opened your mouth to question him as he sat back, his head lifting in the direction behind your head. 

“Males and females can’t sit together!” One of the guards, one you had noticed had a particular thing with Eric shouted, roughly grabbing the back of his chair to force him up on his feet.

“Huh? Wait, why are you taking him?” You talked back to the guard. “Hey, he didn’t do anything! I was the one that sat here. I—I’ll move. Don’t be such an asshole! Leave him alone!” You tried to help, even going as far as standing up but the guard was already taking the new owner of all of your attention away. Your heart sank as you watched the guard shout at him as he dragged him away.

He had managed to turn his head back for a second, and when your eyes met, he half smiled at you. He was almost proud of the fact that you tried to stand up for him. “I’m Eric!”

You smiled. 

~~~~~~

“Found you.” You skipped into Eric’s room, finally seeing his door open.

You hadn’t seen him since you got him in trouble at their cafeteria the day before. You got in some trouble too. You had a one on one meeting with a counselor about your choice of words and your “temper” but it was nothing more than just a slap on the wrist. Truly, you felt worse about getting Eric in trouble more than anything. You didn’t mean to, you just wanted to talk to him. He must have gotten punished because you didn’t see him during gym hour. You leaned against the doorframe as he turned around to find you. Curiosity filled his otherwise empty eyes, and a glint of amusement replaced the usual apathy in his gaze.

“I never left.” He answered with a shrug as he shuffled through the mess that was made of his artwork. Sketch papers were scattered all over his room, torn off the walls. Perhaps after getting in trouble during lunch they used that as an excuse to go through his room. 

“I’m sorry for getting you in trouble.” You expressed with genuine regret, shooting back a glance to the hallway before inviting yourself into his room. Much to the protest of the rational voice in your mind. You looked at the floor as you almost stepped on a piece of paper, you happily picked it up, admiring the black charcoal coating the page before you set it on his bed.

“Is that why you’re here? To apologize?” Eric asked almost cynically as he glanced over at you, not moving from where he stood.

“Well yeah. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” You said sheepishly, a bit intimidated under his intense gaze. There was always a look of defiance in his green eyes, determination even. He gave you a sarcastic hum, which made you roll your eyes.

“Why did you yell at the guard? You got in trouble too, didn’t you?” He asked lowly, his head slightly tilted as he searched for that little thing you did around him, when you clenched your hands at your sides, or your thighs on your seat. His eyes irked with amusement when your fingers twitched at your sides and your lips parted open.

“‘Cause… You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do anything, or say anything. And everyone around here always pushes you around. It’s fucked up.” You answered quietly, daring to meet his eyes. He pulled his lips into a small pout and nodded slowly. His silence was always so nerve wracking to you.

“Yeah, so?”

You scrunched up your face, sighing heavily at his questioning. What did he what you to say? You didn’t know why you cared. You shrugged, picking up another piece of paper by your feet. You half glanced at it as you spoke.

“I dunno.. I just.. Oh my—” You cut yourself off as you gave the drawing in your hand a proper look. You narrowed your eyes, giving the drawing a closer look, and your jaw fell open. It looked like you, your hair falling over your face, dark scribbles covering your body symbolizing the unknown designs on your body, the only intelligible one being the patterns on your collarbone, the same one you had shown Eric. But what truly caught your eye was that you were in fact, completely nude. Truly, his imagination surprised you, he had imagined every curve of your body well, despite not having seen any part of it.

Based on your flustered expression, Eric could only assume which drawing you had picked up. He swallowed, his cheeks flushing pink being caught red handed. But he didn’t look apologetic, at all.

“This what you do in your spare time? Draw naked girls?” You asked with big eyes, the still working rational part of your mind screaming alarms, but a part of you also filled with excitement at his perverted mind. Almost as if you were on his mind as much as he was on yours.

He shook his head. “Just one.” He answered with a shrug, a challenging look in his eyes. 

Either you walked out right then and there, and that would be that, or you would go all in. He was trying to figure out which one it would be.

“You are very talented, this is—” You dragged your tongue over your lip as you walked closer to him, catching glances at his other artwork. Your heart pounded in your chest as you approached him, his gaze making you shudder. He said nothing as you stooped in front of him, now having to tilt his head down to meet your gaze. God this man was so goddamn tall. “You could totally sell this for some money.”

“But,” you continued, swallowing hard as you looked up at him, and the way his green eyes looked at you made your mind all fuzzy. God, you haven't felt this euphoric since you got here. This rush of adrenaline made you dizzy, but you pushed through it. “I see one flaw in your creativity.”

“Oh?” He bit down on his plush lip, head tilted with curiosity. You hummed and nodded, daring to bring your fingers up his chest. His breath hitched in his chest, but he said nothing.

“I fear you don’t have the full picture. My tattoos are more than just a scribble of ink.” You stated matter of factly, making him breathe out a small laugh.

“Sorry. I work with what I have.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to ignore the feeling of your hands itching up his chest.

“Maybe I should give you more to work with?” Your hands found the back of his neck and you instinctively stood on the ends of your toes, itching to get closer to him.

Eric glanced down at you, his eyes lingering on your own for a split second before glancing at your parted lips, soft breaths escaping you as you anxiously waited. He didn’t have to think about it, he didn’t want to. His mouth was on yours so hard you whined. His large hand found your hair, tilting your head back to meet your lips better. 

You weren’t sure when you ended up against the nearest wall, your legs wrapped around Eric’s slim waist as he held you up. You were right, he could hold you up like you were nothing. Truly, the oversized clothes you were forced to wear didn’t do him any justice. You wondered what he was hiding under his sweatshirt.

His lips were messy on yours, his heavy breaths joining your soft whimpers. You were so caught up in the delicious feeling of his mouth claiming yours and his hands touching everywhere he could, you didn’t hear the loud voices of guards calling your name and patient number. Reality dawned on you when you heard shouting down the hall for everyone to get out of their rooms. You patted Eric’s shoulder, forcing your lips away from his. 

“Eric—Eric.” You said his name with urgency, making him look at you, eyes filled with greed as he chased your lips. “I have to go. I don’t want to get you in trouble again.” 

He nodded after a second, setting you down on your feet after pressing one last kiss to your lips. You had a stupid smile on your face as you successfully sneaked out his room, the guards being distracted as they probably ransacked some poor bastard's room like they had done Eric’s. You glanced behind you as you hurried down the hall, catching a glimpse of Eric peeking his head through his door. He smiled. And it made your heart race.

You could not wait to see him again.

~~~~~~

“Eric!—” You slapped your hand over your mouth, attempting to quiet the desperate sounds leaving your mouth. But the way his tongue lapped at your sensitive clit and his long fingers rubbed against that one spot within your walls that had you squirming.

You didn’t mean to end up in this position, ass naked on top of one of the washing machines in the laundry room, with Eric on his knees and his face between your thighs. Truly you didn’t, you knew you would be in a lot of fucking trouble if you got caught. But the way his lips claimed yours, his tongue lacing with yours, his large hands grabbing at every part of your body like he didn’t know which one he craved to touch more. He just wanted you so fucking bad, your kisses and little rubbing here and there for the past few days wasn’t enough for him, or for you.

“I wanted to taste you so fucking bad.” He muttered against your clit, a groan rumbling in his throat when you pulled at the hairs on the back of his head, inadvertently holding his face closer against you. Not that he minded, he would stay here, with his fingers scissoring you open until you dripped on the surface underneath you. 

“Please—fuck. That feels so good.” You didn’t remember the last time someone made you feel this good. Not that you had much experience in this area, but this sure felt right.

Eric wrapped his free hand under your thigh, pulling you to the edge, closer to his mouth. He lapped at your pussy like he needed it, like it was the air in his lungs. The sounds leaving his mouth as your juices seeped around his fingers were almost as filthy as yours. 

You felt like such a slut, chasing his mouth with your hips, heaving like a bitch in heat, and quietly begging him to grant you your release, as quiet as you could be with his fingers so deep and his tongue drawing delicious circles around your clit. 

“Just like that baby… Just like that.” Eric mumbled, his fingers slipping and crooking against that perfect spot. 

Your release was so sudden, and it hit you so hard you were shaking, sobbing violently into your hand. Your head was thrown back, eyes rolled into the back of your head. Eric dug his fingers into your thigh, his tongue slipping into your hole when his fingers left you. 

“Shit—Eric—” You gasped, your thighs shaking as you weakly reached to grab his face. 

With a grunt he peeled himself from the warmth of your thighs, he stood to his full height before leaning down to capture your lips. The taste of yourself lingering on his tongue made you moan. Disoriented, you reached down to rub where his cock was straining against his sweatpants. He groaned into your mouth, his large hand flew to catch your wrist.

“It’s okay.” He gave your lips a soft kiss as he pulled your hand away. You gave him an adorable frown, your mind still spinning from your orgasm. 

“But you—” He pressed another kiss to your lips, shutting you up. He moved his lips to your neck, latching on to that one spot that had you whining. Neither of you cared if everyone saw the mark he left. 

“We’ll have time for that.” He mumbled against your skin. The way he slurred the words made your breath hitch. “Right?”

He pulled back to meet your eyes, blinking slowly as he waited for your response. You licked your lips softly, breath soft as you thought, how could he still question it. You were past the lusting. This was something else. You needed more of him, and it wasn't just sex you were craving. You wanted every part of him, even the parts of himself he didn’t want.

“Of course.. This isn’t.. Can’t you tell? What you do to me. I’ve never..” You couldn’t even form the right words, your mind still fuzzy with all these feelings you had no name for. You didn’t need to explain. Whatever it was, Eric felt the same. And he smiled, he genuinely smiled. And what a pretty sight that was.

“We should go.” He pressed his lips to the side of your head, smoothing down your hair and fixing your sweater. “Can you stand?”

You half nodded, gasping when he set you down on your feet and you instantly leaned on him for support. The sly smile on his face made you want to slap him. But deep down, you wanted to smile too.

~~~~~

The next time you saw Eric, he was walking down the hallway, his tall frame towering over the majority of people he walked past. He wasn’t hard to find. You bit your lip, unable to contain your excitement as you hurried after him. Your fingers brushed his, and almost as if he knew your touch by heart, he wasn’t startled, he didn’t flinch either. When he turned his head, his eyes grew big at the sight of you, the corners of his lips curving into a tiny smile. You flashed him a whole smile, unapologetic about how happy it made you to see him. Your obsession with him over the past two weeks wasn’t something you could explain, you knew it probably wasn’t healthy. But when were you ever known for having healthy coping mechanisms? You found something that filled you and you clung to it.

“Where are you going?” You asked him quietly as you walked beside him. He walked slower, but didn’t look at you much, as not to bring unwanted attention to yourselves.

“Laundry room.” He said quietly, his eyes dropping to meet yours. And you shared that knowing and malicious look. You couldn’t hide the smile on your lips. This time of day usually meant you could sneak off for a little while since most patients were having their once a week visitor, or phone call, which meant less guards were in every corner.

“I’m supposed to be out in two weeks.” You told Eric in between kisses, his lips trailed your jaw as his hands grabbed at your ass. 

“I’m out in four.” He answered as he pressed you against the nearest wall. He grabbed your face between his large hands, pulling you to meet his eager mouth. You whined, fists clenched around the front of his sweatshirt. You couldn’t go two weeks without seeing him, you would go fucking mad.

“I don’t want to wait a month to be with you.” You breathed out, your chest heavy as the words left your mouth. “I’m supposed to go back to my parents when I get out. They agreed to take me in to follow my treatment, but I don’t want to go. They’re the ones that put me here.” 

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” You barely heard him as he spoke, almost as if the words pained him, broke something deep inside him. It broke something in you, too.

“You can come with me. I have a little place and some money saved. It’s not much but.. If you want.. We could.. We could try something for real?” You trailed off, afraid he would reject you. It was one thing to mess around in here, where neither of you had anything else, anyone else to cling to, but this being anything other than a desperate bond by two lost souls was a different story. Outside of these walls, he could find anyone else, he didn’t have to keep the broken girl he fingered in a shitty laundry room.

“I would like that. I would like something real, with you.” His words were soft, as were his hands holding your face as he pressed his forehead against yours. You breathed out a laugh of relief. “Fuck this place. We’ll do it tomorrow, during shift change. There’s a vent up here that leads to the yard.”

You pulled him down by his sweatshirt, your lips crashing against his. He laced his fingers in your hair as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You welcomed it, lips parting as you locked your arms around his neck. 

“Eric.” You said his name softly in a quiet plea. He opened his eyes to find your desperate gaze. He told himself he wanted to be better, he knew you deserved better, but when you said his name like that, when you looked at him like that. He was no better. “I don’t think I can wait anymore. Please, I… I need…”

“Need what?” His words were coated with arousal, he knew fucking well what you meant. But he wanted to hear you say it.

“Fuck—” You kissed his lips roughly, any sanity and restraint you might’ve once had, completely. You can’t trust an addict to have good self-control, now could you? “Take me. I’m yours, just take me.”

“Fuck.” Now it was his turn to lose his sanity. He gave your lips one last kiss as he squeezed your cheeks between his fingers, licking your lips before he spun you around to face the wall. “You’re a sweet girl, don’t forget that. I swear I will fuck you properly on a bed, with flowers and shit.” 

His words were rough in your ear as he pressed his lips to your jaw, his hands making quick work of pulling down your sweatpants and panties. They pooled around your ankles as he kicked your legs open as far as they went.

“I like carnations.” You gasped as the cool air hit your exposed cunt. You heard him chuckle beside your ear.

“Those are pretty. They’re pretty like you.” He hummed as he brought two fingers up to your lips. You happily took them in your mouth. Eric almost moaned at the sight. One of these days he needed to have you sucking his cock. One of these days. 

Eric pulled his fingers from your lips and with a kiss to the back of your head, he sunk his coated fingers into your hole. Your mouth fell open, your forehead falling against the wall. You were instantly chasing his fingers, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you happily rode them. You didn’t know how he did it, how he could have you dripping around his fingers in a matter of a minute or two. You were clawing at the wall, silent moans spilling from you when he pulled his fingers from you. He watched almost proudly as your slick coated your thighs. 

“Can I take this off?” He asked quietly, tugging at the hem of your sweater. You made a humming sound, as best as you could. As if he needed to ask. Eric was happy to rid you of your sweater, more happy to find more hidden tattoos going all over both of your arms. He craved to find every single one of your tattoos, and kiss every one. But he knew it would be best to be quick.

His own sweatshirt met the same fate, and with a kiss to your cheek, he grabbed one of your hips as he pulled down his sweats enough to free his cock. A groan left his lips as he dragged his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick. You gasped, not being able to see him, but already knowing he was big. 

“Let me know if it hurts, hm? I’ll take it easy, I promise.” He pressed his lips to your jaw, inhaling your sweet scent as he slowly sank himself into you. Only his tip was in and you could already feel the sting of his cock stretching you wide open.

“Fuck. Fuck, oh my god—” You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers clenching around nothing as he slowly filled your further, inch by inch.

“It’s okay. You want me to stop?” He asked, shushing you softly as he sat still, allowing you to adjust to the burning feeling of his size. Fuck, you should have known someone as tall as him would be this big. Somehow, it didn’t occur to you.

“No. ‘m okay. Keep going.” You reached behind you to touch him, your fingers gracing over the side of his face. He nodded into your neck, one of his hands sneaking to the front of you to play with your clit to ease you as he sank into you until his hips rutted against your ass. He sat still, speaking filthy words into your ear until you were whimpering, needing to feel more. “Eric, please.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice. His pace was slow at first, slow strokes that allowed you to revel in the feeling of his cock in and out of your walls. But as you both began to grow desperate, pathetic sounds leaving your lips and groans of pleasure leaving him, his pace picked up. It was grueling, how he fucked you against that wall. You braced yourself with one hand, the other holding his face behind you as he leaned his head to capture your parted lips into a messy kiss. He swallowed your sweet sounds as the sting of his cock had you squeezing the life out of him.

“Fuck, I have been dreaming about this since I saw you. You always looked so pretty when you looked at me.” He whispered in your ear, his hand wrapping around your hair as he forced your head back, exposing your neck. You cried out, his roughness making you clench around him. He cursed, covering your mouth with his large hand. “I need you to keep it down for me, baby. You don’t want us to get caught, do you?” 

You shook your head, doing your best to contain the sounds he was pulling from you. His hand slowly left your mouth, trusting you could keep your sounds to a minimum. You bit down on your lip, eyes squeezed shut as his cock split you open. You swore you had never been this utterly fucked out, so cock drunk before. You had never needed anyone so badly. You had never felt so strongly about anyone. You had always found something to cling to, pain, tattoos, in your more miserable and recent years—drugs, and now him. But him? This feeling he gave you, it was like nothing you had ever felt before. You wanted to hold on to him until your final breath of air left your lungs.

“I wanted this—you—so fucking bad. I needed to have you.” Eric grunted, lips latching on to that spot on your neck where the previous hickey he had left was starting to fade. “I’m so crazy about you, no amount of rehab could fix me.” 

You moaned at his words, letting them sink in. He was down so bad for you, probably as much as you were. Two addicts, seeking refuge in each other, craving this adrenaline, it was a kick you had never felt before. It was a kick only lust and passion could bring. And he ignited that deep within your soul. 

“Me too.” You panted, lips parting in ecstasy as one of his tattooed hands loosely wrapped around your throat. Fuck, the way his whole hand covered your entire neck made you gush all over his cock. “I’ve never wanted anyone this bad. You—ah!—I need you all the fucking time.”

“Then you can have me,” His fingers squeezed your throat tighter, his thick cock so deep you swore you could feel him in your fucking cervix. “All the fucking time. Forever.” 

Tears filled your ears as you could feel your release near, your thighs shuddering as you felt your legs start to give out. Eric was quick to press you further against the wall, his back flush against your chest, sweaty forehead pressed against your cheek as his cock rutted against you, over and over, until you were chanting a string of uh-uh-uh’s, your mind too overcome with the pleasure he was giving you to even speak. 

“I want you to come on my cock so fucking bad. I need it.” Groans fell freely from his chest as he once again slipped a hand to your swollen clit. The pressure of his rough fingers made you gasp, your throat closing under his grip. Your release hit you so hard you were sobbing, though mostly muffled by his tight grip. Tears fell down your cheek as your orgasm left you a shaking mess. You had never felt this way before—so overcome with pleasure you cried.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. Good girl.” The hand on your throat left to wipe at your tears, soothing you as you came crashing down. 

Eric fucked you through your release, frantically chasing his own. His name left your lips with praise, sobs of your remnant pleasure as he pushed you to the point of overstimulation. But it wasn’t until he felt his own release near that he pulled out of you. Without saying a word, he grabbed one of your hands and wrapped it around his thick cock, his own hand guiding yours up and down his slick length, sweet praises leaving his lips until he was spilling himself. 

Heavy breaths and pants of exhaustion filled the small laundry room, the air smelled like sex, and the remnants of your forbidden times were left as evidence. Eric eventually spun you around to face him, a soft smile on his lips. You had only ever seen it once, after he ate you out days ago. It was rare to see Eric smile, but you made it a vow to yourself that you would always make him smile like this.

“How fucked up are we? Finding comfort in each other like this. Did it ever cross your mind?” You said softly as Eric helped you dress. He was bending down to grab your sweater and he stood up to his full height, towering over you, and his eyes were laced with an indescribable feeling.

“When I first saw you, I didn’t know what it was, but I was so drawn to you, I looked for you everyday, and I thought I would go mad if I didn’t have you. And right now, I can tell you it’s not just lust. I’m entranced by you, I need you all the time. And if there’s one thing I learned from this fucking place is that you have to latch on to something, otherwise you’ll drown.” 

You were speechless, nothing but your soft breaths could be heard. A smile fell on your lips and you leaned into his chest. Eric sighed softly, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close to his chest, he’d be damn if he ever let you go anywhere but here.

“Addicts will be addicts, no matter how much they try to fix us. But it’s not always to drugs we’re addicted to.” You sighed softly, closing your eyes as you sank into the feeling of his arms. “This feeling? I never want it to stop.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He mumbled into your hair, in his head reminding himself of your limited time, but he refused to let you go just yet. “Forever, right?”

“Yeah, forever.”

[sugurugetofavoritemonkey]

Hii girl since you said requests are open I was thinking about reader who loves to get Ethan hard in the most random situations, maybe while they're with friends or in class.

Ps: I love your writing

A/N : Hii ! 🩷 Thank you so so so much for liking my writing and sending me this fabulous request for our boy Ethan, it means a lot to me and I had so much fun writing this 🥰 Please send me your feedback to let me know how I did, it always helps me improve and I hope you’ll like it. Don’t hesitate to send me other requests for our lovely Ethan, love you and enjoy ! ✨

Reader who loves to get Ethan hard in the most random situations.

❦ When Ethan Landry is in love, anything can make him blush and get him hard, really just a kiss or a hug is already enough for him to want you and it annoys Ethan so much to be this weak for you. You could simply be looking at him with doe eyes and a pretty smile while he rambles about his day and the poor sweet boy would avert his eyes from you as he feels his cheeks warming up. Taking his hand in yours in the corridors, to intertwine your fingers, also works very well, Ethan doesn’t mind it, he loves it even, but he’s not used to receiving such affection, just like he’s not used to you complimenting him, as you softly murmur against his lips that he’s « so pretty » while you gently caress his face.

❦ Making out with your boyfriend in front of your friends, your lips pressing kisses on his jaw and neck literally makes Ethan’s head spin as he doesn’t know how to react between completely surrendering himself to you or keeping a straight face in front of Chad and the others.

❦ But obviously, what works best is just letting your hand wander up his thigh under the table and slightly brushing the outline of his cock that’s covered by his jeans that keep getting too tight to his liking, Ethan’s breathing becoming heavy while you act so innocently in front of the others as you all eat.

❦ Sending hot texts to Ethan during classes. That could go from nudes that force him to go to the restroom to take care of his hard-on, to just teasing him. « Do you think this table is sturdy enough for you to take me, Ethan ? », your boyfriend’s eyes are entirely focused on your text as he swallows with difficulty at the fantasy of taking you right here.

❦ Whispering dirty things in his ear while Ethan is in a conversation to make him lose his mind. The poor man doesn’t even know what he was saying seconds ago, as only stutters come out of his mouth now that your lips describe the sinful things that you would like him to do to you.

❦ Making sure you wear the sexiest and prettiest panties under a cute short skirt. And whoops what a strange coincidence, you have to bend down in front of your innocent boyfriend so Ethan can, by chance, catch a glimpse of the pink lace material. Though, Ethan will make sure he’s the only one to see that gorgeous sight, by correctly putting back in its place your skirt behind you when you stand up. What also really works to get him hard is gently asking him in the early morning if he can help you dress, when really Ethan perfectly knows that you can do it yourself. « Please baby, can you help me with the zipper of my dress ? » You bewitched Ethan in such a delicious way, that you can feel the way his fingertips shake a little as he slowly closes your dress.

❦ Considering that your boyfriend trusts you fully, he gave you his phone password ages ago. Little did he know that you would take this opportunity to set his new wallpaper with a quite revealing picture of yourself. At the sight of this, Ethan is debating whether to keep staring at it or to hold his phone pressed very close to his chest so that no one can look at it. « You really are a little minx, aren’t you ? », Ethan would corner you in the corridor as soon as he saw it.

❦ As Ethan helps you study, just like every evening, you make sure to sit on his lap as he explains to you the math exercises, wiggling your butt from time to time just to hear Ethan gasp behind you, his words cut by his own little moans and whines. « Did you u-understand everything ? », Ethan would ask in a stutter. « Yeah, thank you Ethan », you answered him as you kissed the corner of his mouth with a smile.

❦ Ethan reading a book on his own on a bench outside during lunch break as you go over to him with a sweet smile just to sit on his lap, resting your head on his shoulder and whispering in his ear. « What are you reading ? » Ethan doesn’t trust his voice and decides to show you the cover instead while his free hand tightens around your waist.

❦ Asking your boyfriend to accompany you when you go shopping for new sexy lingerie. Ethan shyly waits for you outside the fitting room as he hears you calling his name, hesitantly entering the cabin with you as you ask for his opinion. You slowly twirl around in front of him as his cheeks become red and Ethan knows that he won’t be able to hide his hard-on this time. « You like it ? », you ask him with an innocent smile. « I-I, fuck yes I do », Ethan mumbles as he doesn’t find the will to avert his eyes from your gorgeous body. « But don’t you think it’s a bit overpriced though ? », you ponder. Ethan is quick to make a decision for you, « Don’t care, I’ll buy it for you. »

❦ Watching a movie together at the cinema and there’s a random erotic scene appearing on screen as you ask Ethan in the most innocent tone. « Do you think we could do it ? ». And it’s enough for Ethan to lose his complete interest for the movie, his whole attention now entirely directed to the thought of him and you in the same position as the scene in front of his eyes. Ethan shifts in his seat as he prays for the movie to be over soon enough for him to show you how well he can make this scene come true, hell even in his car if he can’t wait to get back home.

❦ Asking Ethan in the middle of the night to help you sleep in his own way, as you whine sweetly into his ear to wake him up. « Please Ethan, can’t sleep, need you so bad… » Ethan rubs the tiredness out of his face as he takes you in his strong arms that create the most soothing embrace for you. The way you whined and wiggled in his hold was enough to feel Ethan’s hard-on press lightly against your tummy. « My poor baby…Need my help ? Want me so bad that you can’t sleep ? Don’t worry angel, I’m here. »

❦ Now, there’s just a subtle difference in how Ethan would react to this kind of teasing. And it’s simply linked with before and after he lost his virginity to his girlfriend.

❦ Before he made love to you for the first time, Ethan’s reaction would look innocent but really it’s just him trying not to look like a pervert that gets indecent dreams about his girlfriend almost every night and day. He would be a blushing mess that only tries to stop your hand as he fidgets a bit in his seat and stutters while looking elsewhere. « Please, s-stop it, sweetheart…That’s just m-mean… »

❦ After you both had sex for the first time, Ethan would obviously still get madly flustered at your teasing but he also knows that he’ll be able to get back at you when he has you alone for himself, as Ethan warns you about the possibilities which are now offered to him. « You do realize, love, that you’re gonna pay for this tonight, right ? » And Ethan never forgets about his little revenge as he let it all out on you, overstimulating or edging you, it depends on his mood but he, for sure, will tease you in bed as much as you did with him earlier that day. « Did I fuck the attitude out of you, angel ? »

💗 Ethan Landry Masterlist 💗

[zerosbubble]

Not my Rookie, Not my Problem. (…..Sike.)

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, like Rookie.

Summary: When Grey conducts a training exercise for Mid-Wilshire, involving rookies having to partner up with new T.Os for the time being, Tim is faced with the obstacle of not being able to do what he does best—be your T.O.

The department wide training exercise had barely started, and already, something felt off.

Tim wasn’t sure what it was at first. He stood among the other training officers, arms crossed, watching their assigned rookies partner up with new T.O.s for the day.

It was meant to test adaptability, to see how the rookies handled new leadership styles. Logically, he understood that. But watching someone else give you instructions?

That was another story.

You were paired with Sergeant Harper, which, as far as temporary assignments went, wasn’t bad. Nyla was sharp. She knew what she was doing. Tim had no reason to worry.

And yet.

His jaw clenched as he tracked your movements through the training course, eyes narrowing at the way you hesitated for half a second before moving into position.

Normally, he’d bark at you to stop thinking so much, to trust your training.

But today? That wasn’t his job. He wasn’t your T.O. right now. You weren’t his problem.

Still, that didn’t stop his eyes from catching every little thing—the way you adjusted your stance, the slight delay in your reaction time.

Rookie mistakes. Correctable, but mistakes nonetheless.

And Harper, for whatever reason, wasn’t correcting them.

Tim shifted his weight, his arms tightening across his chest. Maybe she was waiting to address it later. Maybe she had a different method in mind. Maybe—

Nope. He couldn’t do it.

“Stop.”

His voice cut through the noise of the training ground before he even realized he’d spoken.

Everyone froze.

Harper turned first, her brow raised. “Bradford?”

Tim was already moving, stepping onto the course without hesitation. He ignored the way the other officers exchanged glances, ignored the fact that this wasn’t his drill to interrupt. His focus was solely on you.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, eyes locked on yours. “You’re leaving yourself open. That’s a great way to get shot, kid.”

You blinked, caught between confusion and familiarity. “I—”

“Fix it.”

A beat of silence. Then, like muscle memory, you adjusted without argument. Quicker stance, sharper movements. The hesitation vanished, replaced by the reflex he’d drilled into you a thousand times over.

Tim gave a curt nod. “Better.”

Harper, to her credit, looked more amused than offended. “You know,” she mused, “last I checked, I was running this drill.”

Tim exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t about to apologize, but he knew he’d overstepped. Still, as he glanced back at you—more alert now, more you—he found he didn’t regret it.

“You weren’t fixing it,” he said simply. “So I did.”

Harper smirked. “And here I thought you were handing them off for the day.”

Tim huffed, stepping back to rejoin the other T.O.s. “Guess that’s easier said than done.”

And just like that, it clicked.

Because maybe, for the next few hours, you weren’t technically his rookie. Maybe, on paper, you weren’t his responsibility right now.

But in every way that mattered?

Yeah. You still were.

taglist: @its-ares @nevereclipse @chezze-its @mcckunty

[malebodytf]

“Ugh. Not again” said Nolan.

Every day, Nolan passed the chair, that one machine in the corner of the gym. And every day, it was there: a consistent shadow of sweat, like someone had sat there marinating in their own funk. And the culprit? Standing just a few feet away, near the pool of sweat, vacant eyes and jaw hanging like a brute, with a cocky smirk as he searched for his next chair victim. A massive, obnoxious, grunting slab of a man. A meathead in every sense of the word.

Nolan was never someone who sweat much. And even then, he was the clean type. A towel for every seat. Wipes before and after. Crisp. Respectful. He couldn’t understand how someone could treat a public space like that and still live so carefree.

All the other times, he refused to use any machine the gym gorilla had touched. But this time? This time, he’d had enough.

There it was in front of him. Damp. Glossy. Disgusting.

Nolan sighed. He pulled a handful of sanitized wipes and started scrubbing. The man’s scent was in the chair, like it had soaked into the very texture. Some of the droplets splashed onto his skin. He winced, wrinkling his nose.

But he needed this. He couldn’t let himself be overrun by that man’s dominance.

He sat. The faux leather was still warm. He shuddered but leaned into the exercise anyway. Basic dumbbells. Slow and controlled. Breathe in, exhale. Again.

Strangely, the movement felt good today. Maybe it was the rush of overcoming his disgust. Maybe something else. The reps felt easier. He was feeling the pump. His arms flexed just a bit fuller. Triceps popping. Abs feeling tight. His shirt clung a little tighter. And was that… sweat? Real drops on his forehead?

He stopped to drink water. Damn, he was sweating. And it felt... good. He felt big.

He continued. More sweat dripped, off his head, down his chest, soaking his shirt. Muscles pumped, biceps swelling. The dumbbells now heavier. His chest bloomed into two defined mounds, his shoulders broadening, shirt stretching tighter across his back. His breathing shifted, deeper, rougher. His voice dropped an octave.

He felt taller. Stronger. Powerful.

By the fourth set, his legs had thickened, quads like balloons, calves sculpted and solid. His glutes, rounded and tight. His breathing had shifted to deep, rhythmic grunts. He was a beast now, almost as massive as that original meathead. No... maybe more.

His shirt clung to his drenched body. He raised his arm, now covered in a dense patch of hair, and took a sniff.

Once, he would have never, not in public, not anywhere. But now? He sniffed again. Proudly.

His head felt foggy. Thoughts slowed, melted. But damn, bro, his smell? Delicious. Rank in the best way. Entrancing. A real man’s scent. He chuckled “huhuhu” deep and dumb, a laugh with no thought behind it.

For a flicker of a second, something inside him flinched. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t... Nolan.

But then, he flexed, and caught his reflection.

“Fuck…”

Veins pulsed, threatening to burst. His arms looked unreal. Sculpted. Huge. He grinned. Flexed harder. He looked swole.

He dropped the dumbbells with a satisfying clang. Heads turned. Yeah, let them think he was some rude, sweaty meathead. He didn’t care. In fact, he liked it.

He felt the final beads of sweat run down his body, the last traces of the man he used to be.

He slung a towel over his shoulder. Not to clean. Of course not. That was for massaging his biceps later.

Behind him, the chair remained, drenched. Wet. Stinky. Damp. Absolutely soaked in his sweat.

Nolan lifted his arms, stretched wide, took a deep breath of his own musk, and smirked. Anyone would be lucky to get a whiff of that manly essence.

[dramarnathandentalcare]

Top 5 Exercises for the Jawline: Tone and Define Your Look

Most people strive for a chiseled jawline because it enhances the face's elegance and proportion. People frequently believe that this is dictated by one's DNA. However, this is not true. You can truly work out the muscles that surround your jaw. Specific types of exercises can also be used to train the muscles in the jaw and certain parts of the neck. 

In this blog, we will learn about five basic but effective jawline workouts that will help you slim your jawline.

Why Jawline Exercises Matter

Jawline exercises target the muscles in the neck, face, and jaw region. Performing activities to strengthen these muscles will help draw up the skin on the face. This is very useful for sagging or puffy skin around the jaw. Healthy exercise increases blood flow in this area, which reduces the production of fat and skin.

Top 5 Jawline Exercises to Try

1) The Chin Lift

The chin raise is a simple jawline exercise that works various muscles in the mouth, neck, and throat. It is an ideal fit for reducing fat chins and enhancing the jawline. 

2) Jaw Release

The jaw release exercise focuses on relaxing the muscles in the jaw. At the same time, they exercise the surrounding muscles. This jawline workout helps you sculpt your lower face, resulting in a sculpted jawline.

3) Neck Curl-Up

This exercise is comparable to sitting up for the neck; it focuses on the front neck and helps to lift and tone the jawline. It is highly good at firming sagging skin on the neck. 

4) The Vowel Sounds Exercise (A-E-I-O-U)

This jawline exercise may appear goofy, but it is the most effective workout for the lip, cheek, and jaw muscles. Of course, by stressing vowel sounds, you will engage these muscles, which will undoubtedly tone your face. 

5) Collarbone Backup

Collarbone backup is a good jawline exercise that works the muscles in the neck and jaw. It improves overall posture and may reduce the double chin problem. 

Tips to Get the Best Results from Jawline Exercises

Hydrate yourself

Maintain a Healthy Diet

Stay Consistent

Improve Posture

Final Thoughts

Jawline toning exercises may not usually necessitate the use of equipment or extensive gym sessions. Five fundamental exercises can be used to train the face and neck muscles to achieve a chiseled appearance. Whether you wish to recover a narrow profile over your chin or improve the lines of your face, these workouts will help. The most essential thing is to keep to the routine, be patient over time, and avoid causing too much harm to your health.

For more guidelines read the full blog by this link : https://www.dramarnathansdentalcare.com/jawline-exercise/

[surabhi07]

Strengthening the Foundation: Core Physiotherapy Exercises for Limb Injury Recovery

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

[Sneak Peek]

Southern Hospitality

Summary: Sort of a synopsis. An introduction of Terry. This sneak peek will be two parts.

Warnings: Violence, Smut

Terry Richmond entered the basement of his townhome in Charlotte, North Carolina and opened his ruck. After a long, harsh winter, he decided to organize some things to prepare for Spring. Swiping dust off of totes with his calloused hands, he situated himself on his knees for a better look. There, folded neatly on top, were his old cammies. Desert cammies. Ratty and bleached by sand and sun and blemished with the petroleum rain that fell from the oil-well fires in Kuwait.

Terry rose to a standing position again, shaking out the camo pants. He slipped off his black ball shorts and stepped into them, memories suddenly returning. They still fit. He can’t shake the habit of staying in the best shape and active, especially with him being an MCMAP Instructor. During his earlier years as a Marine Raider, he exercised thirty hours a week. He buttoned the top and stroked the embroidery. Honorary pins still clung to the fabric.

Terry delve deeper and pulled out maps of Kuwait and Saudi Arabia. Patrol books. Pictures. Letters. His journal with its sparse entries. Coalition propaganda pamphlets. Brass bore punch for the M40A2 sniper rifle. A handful of .50 caliber projectiles. Terry wondered what he must look like to the late night walker passing by his basement windows: the mad old warrior going through his memorabilia, triggering his unresolved PTSD and looking for trouble.

No, he isn’t mad. Some days are better than others, but he isn’t mad. He’s after something. Memory, yes. A reel. More than just time. It’s almost a year since. Just at the end of April he’d be turning thirty–three. And a year prior he spent it with his fellow soldiers over drinks that lead to him dropping nine inches of whopping girth in seasoned pussy. Flashes of her haunted his mind like the sound of grenades and cries of pain. Then his thoughts drifted to a vibrant thing that wanted to see the world. Using his pleasure stick for her own no good reasons.

And there, amongst many photos with comrades, is the man that saw something in him. His own version of a super soldier. Like a son he never had. Terry blinked slowly as his thick fingers smoothed over the edges of the photograph…

August, 2021:

Lieutenant General Swanwick’s authoritarian voice could be heard over the public address system within the base gym. Terry Richmond was currently lifting a few hundred pounds over his chest with another Marine named Rodney spotting him. Terry was just twenty–nine years old then. Sweat poured from his body and onto the gym floor and his dog tags clung to his chest as if his sweat were glue.

Terry blew air from his cheeks that sounded like the low whistle of an exhaust pipe, “Six…seven…eight—”

“All personnel from MARSOC are ordered to report immediately to battalion headquarters. Get some, Raiders!”

Terry felt his chest grow tighter with anticipation. Deployment was inevitable. Terry rushed to gather himself, throwing on his tank top and buttoning his camouflage jacket. All things in order, he and the remaining MARSOC stationed in Virginia mad their way to Headquarters. He could sense the anxious energy from everyone in that room. Terry’s turquoise eyes veiled with dark lashes never blinked as Lieutenant General Swanwick’s outline of their battle against Iraqi and Kuwait unfolded. Terry gritted his teeth and tightened his jaw.

It’s war time.

On August 8th, the MARSOC arrive in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Terry debarked the plane, the oven heat of the Arabian Desert gripping his throat. In the distance the wind blows sand from the tops of dunes, cresting beige waves that billow like silk through the mirage. The tarmac is filled with American civilian jumbo jets—American, Delta, United. They flew United. The scene at the airfield is how any busy international airport would be, only they were dressed in fatigues and carrying loaded rifles, their gas masks strapped to their hips.

Just beyond the tarmac, artillery batteries point their guns East and North. Fighter jets patrol the sky. During the dreaded twenty–hour flight, their mode of debarkation was debated—tactical or general—and Terry hoped for a tactical approach—live rounds and a defensive perimeter could be the only authentic introduction to a theater of war. They marched in a single–filed line towards a series of large, bright green Bedouin tents. They entered and immediately went to retrieve bottled water and attempt to stay cool by draping wet skivvy shirts over their heads.

“Ya’ll better drink up enough water. I don’t need my Raiders passing out from heat stroke when we gotta keep our eyes open and on our targets,” Swanwick drilled.

His hat remained low enough to cloak his eyes, giving him a no–nonsense look. He meant business. Terry caught his eye while gulping down cold water. Swanwick motioned for him to come over. Terry came face–to–face with the Lieutenant General.

“Aight there, son?” Swanwick quietly said.

“I’m chill, Lieutenant,” Terry replied with confidence.

“Good to hear. Don’t let these fools throw you off your game, Richmond. You’re one of the best. And I need you alive.”

“After a rigorous seven–months to transform into the elite, I don’t plan on it.”

“That’s right,” Swanwick gripped Terry’s shoulder firm, “now, let’s show ‘em who we are.”

Terry cracked a smile filled with hunger for what was to come. He knew just how much the others despised his presence. Some felt he wasn’t worthy or qualified to be among them.

After an hour in the tents, colonel calls a battalion formation and proudly announces that they are taking part in Operation Desert Shield. He explains that the Kuwaiti–Iraqi conflict in not yet their concern, but currently their mission is to protect, to shield, Saudi Arabia and her flowing oil–fields. Low grumbles could be heard throughout.

“HEY. Not every day blood is shed!”

Terry chuckled while kicking away at sand beneath his boots. He was surrounded by a bunch of antsy men. That energy alone could get them killed.

“One step at a time,” Swanwick motioned to his men, “Let’s get to it.”

They dispersed to get a sense of the area, laughing amongst themselves with jokes about going from the Marine Corps to Oil Corps. Beneath the loud sounds of chuckles and belly laughs, they knew that reality was near, and death could be knocking on their door. Terry’s laughter drifted away like the swirling sand that painted his golden skin an ashy color.

As days stretched out, it consisted of sand and water and piss. They walk and drive over the sand and drink gallons of water. Six times a day they gathered for formation and swallowed two canteens per man, and between formation they consumed more water.

Six weeks later and Terry found himself sitting in a chow hall and watching Lieutenant General Swanwick talk closely with other high ranking officers. Terry tucked into his beans and sausages with a steady gaze locked on their table. His skin had browned so deep it was akin to burnished bronze. It made his eyes pop vividly and the ink on his arms more bold and daring.

His eyes were dry and irritated from staring at maps all day, his muscles ached from the makeshift equipment they used to pump iron. He grew tired of sleeping amongst men that couldn’t go a night without jacking off to crumbled polaroids of their women back home. Terry wanted to get in the field. He’d already gotten into several fights and the skin beneath his left eye had just began to heal from a nasty bruise.

Swanwick’s shoulders tensed. What could that mean? Were they heading for battle? He watched the father figure walk away and out of the chow hall. Terry scarfed down the rest of his meal before cleansing his palate with water. He made his way towards the exit in search of Swanwick. He was standing a few feet away, staring up at the full moon. Terry glanced up himself, his eyes taking in the pale white moon. It was beauty surrounded by an impending chaos.

“Lieutenant General…”

Swanwick glanced over his shoulder.

“Richmond. Enjoy your meal?”

“You can only have but so much beans.” Terry complains.

“Good fiber fuels the body.” Swanwick replied.

A stillness surrounded them for a minute.

“What we lookin’ like, Sir?”

Swanwick dipped his head.

“Can’t tell you much…but it’s looking like rifles at the ready.”

Terry’s back stiffened.

“I know that’s music to your ears, soldier.”

“Music to all our ears.”

No showers, no rack, no wadi in sight, no oasis.

Terry needed to feel as if his skills were being used. Tested. He felt trapped. Isolated.

Sergeant James and Lieutenant General Swanwick gathered the platoon in a school circle under the plastic infrared cover. It’s before zero nine and already one hundred degrees.

Their platoon commands three Humvees, and the vehicles are under IR cover. Ideally, weapons, vehicles, and personnel shielded under the netting will avoid detection by enemy infrared devices. Terry wasn’t convinced. Why believe in the effectiveness of IR netting when the drink tube on your gas mask breaks every time you don–and–clear during a training nerve–gas raid? When the best maintenance for the PRC–76 radio, the Prick, is the Five–Foot Drop?

Apparently, press will visit for a few days, and Sergeant James and Lieutenant General Swanwick already recited a list of unacceptable topics. No divulging data concerning capabilities of their sniper rifles or optics and the length and intensity of their training. They’ve been ordered to act like top Marines, patriots, shit–hot hard dicks, the best of the battalion. As the scout/snipers, they’ve been handpicked by the executive officer and the s–2 officer to serve as the eyes and ears of the battalion commander.

“Listen up,” James says, “I’ve gone over this already, but the Lieutenant wants to go over it again. Basically, don’t get specific. Say you can shoot from far away. Say you are highly trained, that there are no better shooters in the world than Marine Snipers. Say you’re excited to be here and you believe in the mission and that we’ll annihilate the Iraqis. Take off your shirts and show your muscles. We’re gonna run through some calisthenics for them. Doc John, give us a RAIDERS workout. Keep it simple, snipers.”

Terry spoke, “it ain’t simple. This is censorship. You’re telling me what I can and can’t say to the press? Why are they even allowed in this space anyway?”

Kuehn, a fellow marine says, “Not our place to say what we can and can’t do—”

“Wasn’t addressing you, Kuehn.” Terry quipped.

“I speak for all of us when I say this. You got a mouth on you, Richmond.” Kuehn argued back.

“Aight now,” Swanwick warned.

The tension between the Marines grew to a fever pitch.

“Oh, so you the voice of war now, huh? You call the shots? How that happen?”

Soft chuckles coming from the other Marines seemed to embarrass Kuehn.

“Shut the fuck up, Richmond! You don’t even belong here!” Kuehn shouted ragefully.

“My reputation for accuracy says otherwise, Kuehn. But you wouldn’t know about that though. Too much piss on your boots.”

The chuckling intensified.

Kuehn approached Terry with his chest puffed out. Terry stood at 6 '3 with his arms folded, towering over a 5' 9 Kuehn. The tallest man there. Terry’s stony eyes never faltered. Beady glacial–blue eyes stared up at him filled with rage. Kuehn’s usual pasty, alabaster skin was sun–burned and red from the scorching Saudi heat.

“You think you’re better than me, Richmond?! Huh?!”

“I know I am, pissy boots—”

“RICHMOND!” Sergeant James shouted.

Kuehn wouldn’t get out of Terry’s personal space.

“Don’t get your ass beat again, Kuehn, get up out my face—”

Kuehn shoves Terry and immediately a fight breaks out. Fists flying with connecting punches and heavy grunts. The circle widened and cheers amongst fellow Raiders drowned out the high ranking officers trying to call it off. Terry forced Kuehn into a headlock and slammed him to the sand, his eyes suddenly burning from the minerals coating his lashes. He repeatedly punched Kuehn, causing him to shield his face with his forearms. It took three men to get Terry off of him.

Terry was ushered into one of the green tents by a frustrated Lieutenant.

“RICHMOND! STAND DOWN!”

Shirt bundled up revealing a taunt six–pack, bottom lip poked out and bleeding from a hairline slit, face dusty and jet black hair stained with sand, he kept his fists balled and his eyes locked on Kuehn as he was lifted from the ground.

“You lost your mind, Boy?!”

Sergeant James marched up to Terry and pressed his face so close to his Terry could smell the nicotine on his breath.

“Swanwick you better get your star pupil in line before I do. You put your hands on Kuehn again, I’ll send you back to Virginia, understand?”

Terry remained silent with fury. Only his heavy breathing could be heard.

“Terry?” Swanwick called out to him, “You hear that?”

“Yes, Sir Serg.” Terry said through gritted teeth.

“You don’t like my orders?”

Swanwick pressed a firm hand against James’ chest.

“I got it, James. We’ll be out.”

James’ lethal gaze never left Terry as he backed away. Terry didn’t falter.

“What was that, Richmond?” Swanwick whispered.

“Self–defense. Kuehn put his hands on me first, Lieutenant. You don’t see Serg talking to him do you? I know what it is…”

Swanwick shut his eyes.

“Which means that you gotta be on your best behavior. I want you to succeed, Richmond. I already know you're the best of the Veteran Raiders. Stop letting them get to your head.”

Terry was released. He fixed his army green T-shirt that clung to his body like a second skin from the sweat. He rearranged the dog tags hanging from his neck. Swanwick grasped his shoulder.

“Terry…”

“I got it.”

Swanwick hesitated before stepping aside while Terry walked out of the tent with his usual gait. Just as he was attempting to simmer his anger, Sergeant James was giving another speech.

“…You do as you're told. You signed the contract. You have no rights, you can’t speak out against your country. We call that treason. You can be shot for it. Goddamnit, we’re not playing around. Training is over. Tell your complaints to Abdul Latif Rashid. See if he cares.”

He bit his tongue. Terry wanted to come to the defense of free speech, but he knew it would be useless. The language they own is not theirs, it is not a private language, but deprived from Marine Corps history and lore and tactics.

The Marine Corps birthday? 10 November 1775, The Marine Corps is older than the United States of America. Birthplace? Tun Tavern, Philadelphia, a gang of drunks and big balls. Tarawa? Bloodiest battle of WWII. Dan Daly? He killed thirty–seven Chinese by hand during the Boxer Rebellion. Deadliest weapon on earth? The marine and his rifle. Terry had to conform to those standards, speak like it.

Reporters are arriving to ask what they thought about the desert, waiting for war. He’ll answer that he likes it; he’s prepared for anything that might come his way. They’re due at their position by 0900. Terry leaves the free speech argument and walked to their straddle trench. He needed to empty his bowels. There’s no seat in a straddle trench, but he’s been punished many times, for hours on end, in the squat position. It reminded him of Korea, where he spent a month of his last deployment. Most public restrooms in Korea had straddle holes, he’d spent many times there emptying the contents of his stomach after walking away from a bar booth.

Terry looked at the sky, blue like no blue he’d known before, and at the desert that would not stop. This is the pain of the landscape, worse than the heat, worse than the flies—there is no getting out of the land. No stopping. After six weeks of deployment, the desert is in him, one particle at a time—his boots and belt and pants and gas mask and weapons are covered and filled with sand. Sand invaded his body: ears and eyes and nose and mouth and piss hole. The desert is everywhere. The mirage is everywhere. Awake, asleep, high heat of the afternoon or the few soft, sunless hours of early morning.

The destination to free Kuwait.

The following day, the press–pool colonel and his driver wait in the Land Rover, the air–conditioning blowing the colonel’s hair into fine white wisps of artillery smoke. Terry nibbled on his full bottom lip, gnawing at the tender spot where he’d been clipped while fighting Kuehn. He wore his blacked–out shades, a white tank, and his camouflage pants with sand–covered boots. They gathered under the IR netting and the reporters introduced themselves. There’s a man from the Boston Globe and the woman from the New York Times.

Terry recognized the woman

Toccara Chester. Broadcast and Political Reporter and Journalist. She’s committed to factual reporting, but known for being competitive and headstrong, which tended to rub people the wrong way.

Terry aligned himself next to Rodney, a friend and fellow Marine. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked around him before focusing his gaze on Toccara. They took turns going down the line, shaking hands and urging them to speak freely, but they know about the scripted preparation. The answers to their questions have already been written on the Raiders faces, though maybe not in their hearts. Toccara Chester looked bored, or at least not very interested in what they might tell her.

She stood before Terry, reaching out a hand to shake his. He glanced down at her almond–shaped nails painted red. She wore a white tank as well, her layered blunt cut hair swept away from her face. Fitted, khaki cargo pants hugged her hour–glass shape and hiking boots in various earth–toned colors were on her feet. The beauty mark on her right cheek made her look glamorous like those old Hollywood actress’. A small smile teased her sultry lips.

“What’s your name, Marine?”

“Richmond.” Terry responded with an unreadable expression.

“I’m Toccara. Happy to be here. Looking forward to seeing how things go in your camp.”

Terry dipped his head slightly, his eyes trailing behind her as she moved on.

Rodney leans into Terry to whisper, “You see that ass on her? Fatter than I expected.”

Terry chuckled softly with a shake of his head. He never took his eyes off of Toccara as he tilted his head to whisper a reply.

“Calm down, Rod. She ain’t fuckin’ you.”

Rodney nudged Terry in his ribs.

“I ain’t have pussy in months! She just might work.”

“Chill, man,” Terry said with a laugh.

After the introductions, the MARSOC dispersed to train and perform for the reporters. Much to Terry’s displeasure. Toccara sashayed up and down that camp, recorder in hand and a camera hanging from her neck. She had a little spiral notepad in her back pocket. Beyond her aviators, Terry had a feeling she was watching him. She was positioned within his proximity too often. Like there weren’t many other Marines on duty. Swanwick and the other officers stood by with a hawk–eyed look.

Terry finished his workout and now he was busy cleaning his sniper rifle. The dainty sound of a throat clearing to gain his attention made him pause. Terry peered down over his shoulder at Toccara with her recorder at the ready, pointed at his face.

“Tryna keep from being interviewed, Terry?”

So, she got his first name, huh?

“Tryna stay on track, Toccara. If you didn’t notice by now, we’re pretty busy.”

“Mind giving me a few minutes of your time, Marine?”

Terry exhaled. Rather loud. She overlooked everything he said. Busy. As in leave him alone.

He turns, craning his neck so she could reach his mouth better.

“Go on.” Terry said.

Toccara tilted her head with a grin.

“Do you believe that your Special Ops will defeat the Iraqi?”

“Yes, ma’am, I believe in our mission. I believe we will quickly win this war and send the enemy crawling home.”

Toccara nodded her head, “Sounds like you’re proud to be here.”

“Ye, ma’am, I’m proud to be here serving my country. Standing up to evil. Take ‘em all down.”

Toccara cracked a smile, “Well rehearsed, Marine.”

Terry clenched his jaw. He glanced to the left before fixing his eyes on her again.

“Where are you from, Richmond?”

“Born in Louisiana, raised in North Carolina, ma’am.”

“Uh-huh, what made you enlist?”

“I joined when I was eighteen rather than go to jail for a few years. Petty stuff. My grandfather was a Marine. And his father. And so on. It was this or a life of wrong choices.”

“What was the petty stuff?”

Terry quirked a brow at her. Toccara stood her ground, seemingly waiting for him to speak.

“Possession. Running behind my cousin.”

“Hm…over a little weed?”

Terry couldn’t help but laugh. Toccara’s high cheekbones shown.

“How ‘bout that shit? But I’m proud of what the Corps has made me.”

“What is it about being a Marine Raider? What struck you?”

“Uh,” Terry stroked his stubble, “This is about freedom, not about oil. It’s about–it’s about standing up to aggression…”

Sergeant James took his time walking around, drawing closer to Terry. Terry caught his eye. Toccara took notice at Terry’s body language. She felt Sergeant James’ presence on her back.

“…Like the president says. Nobody wants to go to war. We just got to be ready. I can shoot out someone’s eye ball from a klick away. Ain’t no better shot in the world.”

Toccara’s expression hardened.

“Are you proud to serve this country, Terry?”

Terry huffed, “Didn’t I answer this question?”

“Not really.”

Her response was met with dry laughter, “Ha…Okay,” Terry shifted his weight, “I’m proud to serve. This is what I signed for. I’m gonna make my pop and mom proud. I’m from Lincoln Heights. My mom talkin’ bout making a parade for me like they do back in NOLA. My mama say the whole neighborhood is behind me.”

“That must make you feel good.”

“Does.”

“Is your mother scared about you being here?”

“She don’t necessarily feel good about me being here. She writes me letters about watching my ass and don’t try being a hero and watch out for my buddies.”

Terry smoothed sand beneath his feet.

“And your dad?”

Terry’s eyes met hers. There was a momentary silence, one that created tension.

“I think our interview is over, Miss Chester. I gotta head back…”

Terry turned to leave. Toccara caught up with him and grabbed his arm to pull him back. Terry exhaled a frustrated sigh. Her beautiful face with wind–swept hair pleased his blue–green eyes despite his annoyance.

“Okay, okay. Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

Terry licked his lips, “aight. One more question.”

“Are you afraid?”

Terry blinked slowly at her.

“…I’m well trained and prepared to fight any menace in the world.”

“…so that’s a no?” Toccara sought clarification.

“RICHMOND!”

Swanwick ushered for him to come over.

“Looks like our times up. Hope you got what you needed.”

Terry jogged away.

“I STILL HAVE TWO MORE DAYS HERE!”

Terry rolled his eyes.

The taste of pecans lingered on his tongue. The Times reporter brought a football. Rodney and a few others tossed the ball back and forth, putting on a performance for Toccara. When eye candy is hard to come by so willingly, the men tend to act a fool, so foolish it turns corny. All day while she sauntered about with her recorder held high and hips swaying, none of the Raiders could focus. Terry couldn’t deny her sexy himself. They’re shirtless and revved up with flirtatious energy. The Boston Globe reporter, a frail, young caucasian man with bifocals and a man bun, stood next to Toccara. He’s soft–spoken, eager to hear from them.

Terry sat on the hood of a war machine with his foot hiked up. Toccara’s skin the color of maple syrup didn’t take much time to deepen beneath the blazing sun. She snapped photos from her digital camera. The sun was setting and it was almost time to eat. Terry planned to have a dinner and then use the portable shower. He hated the water pressure, but it’ll do for now.

Toccara tried her hardest to get detailed answers from them, and Terry could sense the irritation in her face as the first day came to an end. Looks like she wouldn’t be getting that juicy story she was expecting. Terry hopped down from his place on the war machine and tossed his empty packet into a nearby bin. He swiped his tongue over his teeth as he strolled with his usual gait towards the chow hall. Rodney had caught up with him, sweaty and shirtless, rocking into him before tossing an arm over his shoulder. His armpit reeked of sweat and musk. Terry pushed him away, swiping the air.

Inside, they accepted their meals and took their seats. Toccara and the Boston Globe Reporter took a seat at a nearly empty table. While the Boston Globe Reporter talked, Toccara stared off into space, water canteen hovering over her lips. Terry continued to eat, drowning out the conversations surrounding him. Swanwick and the other officers laughed amongst themselves, the most relaxed they’d ever been those six weeks.

Terry peered over his cup of water and noticed Toccara was gone, leaving the Boston Reporter to his notes. Terry checked his digital watch.

“Aight, I’m heading for the showers.”

Terry hopped up before getting rid of his empty tray of food. He wiped his hands and made his way out of the chow hall and toward the tent he slept in. He entered, retrieved his towel and wash cloth with the soap he used, and made his way towards the portable showers. It wasn’t a long walk. He made sure it was clear to undress. He quickly pulled his tank up and over his head, biceps bulging and torso flexing. Terry worked on his belt buckle and pants hastily lowering them with his briefs. His soft dick with coiled pubic hair surrounding it met the warmth of the night air.

He kicked off his boots haphazardly and began his shower. The soft droplets of water covered his body from head to toe. Terry scrubbed profusely, ridding his body of the sand and grime of the day. The scent of eucalyptus rose from his soap sponge. It reminded him of his shower times back at home. Just for a second. Terry cleaned every crevice before rinsing thoroughly. He opened his mouth, allowing the water to flood through before releasing it. He knew he was damn near over his limit, but the water felt too good.

Terry turned off the water and grabbed his towel. He dabbed away the water but not completely. It kept him cool at night. Terry wrapped the towel around his waist and slipped his feet into his boots, forgetting to bring his sleep bottoms with him. He took long strides back to his tent, happy to find it empty still.

He slipped on some grey joggers, a fresh pair of socks, and dropped on his makeshift bed. There was a hole above the tent that gave him the faintest view of the moon and stars. As he star–gazed, enjoying the peace and quiet before some of his bunk mates returned, he could hear noise on the outside of his tent. Terry cut his eyes towards the opening of the tent, and noticed the silhouette of a woman.

Toccara.

Terry sat up and slipped on his boots. He had a feeling she was up to something. He gently opened the tent and looked from left to right. Everyone was still inside of the chow hall. Terry walked out and searched around the camp. As he made his way towards the weapons section of the camp, he spotted Toccara with her camera like a typical reporter doing whatever it takes to get the latest scoop.

The low flicker from her trusty camera teased his ears. Terry wasted no time charging up to her. Toccara heard his footsteps and dropped her camera in the sand. She whirled around, eyes wide with shock. Terry furrowed his brows disapprovingly. Toccara’s brown eyes did a quick sweep over his naked upper half. When she met his eyes again, she looked guilty.

“What are you doing, Toccara?” Terry asked with a tone of anger.

“Just having a look. I can do that, can’t I?” She replied sassily.

“Not when it involves taking pictures. Pictures that can compromise our mission.”

Toccara crouched down to pick up her camera but Terry was quicker. He snatched the camera out of the sand and took it upon himself to see what she’d been photographing.

“Terry! Wait!”

“You crazy?” Terry flicked his eyes towards her, “Taking pics of our shit like it’s cool?”

“It’s just guns and grenades—”

“And we’re on enemy ground. They can see this shit if it gets out, you know that, right?”

Toccara remained silent and looked everywhere but at Terry. His eyes were too intense.

“Look at me. HEY.”

Toccara snapped her attention to his.

“I’m deleting every single one.”

“That’s my property,” Toccara said with a grimace.

“And this is my shit, right here,” Terry picked up his rifle, “my rifle, my pistol. My assigned weapons. All of this shit is assigned.”

“Whatever, just hurry up asshole!”

Terry glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was nearby. He walked up to Toccara, his chest almost touching hers.

“Oh, look, he wants to scar me.” Toccara replied with sarcasm.

“You’re dead wrong. Didn’t you sign a consent agreement? I bet you didn’t read the fine print, did you?”

Toccara glared at Terry with her arms folded.

“A fine up to a couple hundred thousand. Sound like something you wanna do?”

Terry cocked his head down at her. Toccara tapped her foot. She was pissed. Visibly seething.

“Sorry, Miss New York Times, but that shit don’t fly over here.”

Terry made sure to delete them all. When he finished, Toccara reached for her camera. Terry didn’t make any moves to give it back.

“You take any more pictures, I’m breaking this shit, aight?”

Toccara’s left eyelid twitched. She flipped her hair from her face with one hand before rolling her eyes.

“I get it, okay? Now give me my fucking camera back.”

Terry hesitated. Toccara pursed her glossy lips. Finally, he held it out for her. Toccara snatched it from his grasp, eliciting a deep chuckle from his lips.

“Little dick, motherfucker.” She fired at him with a vengeful whisper.

Terry cracked a smile, amused by her. He dragged his eyes over her frame before backing away, one hand over his supposed ‘little dick’.

“Have a good rest of your evening, Miss Chester.”

Toccara turned on her heels, marching away. She was mumbling something else that Terry couldn’t make out, and it made him laugh harder. She’s used to getting her way.

Little dick.

Pssst.

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