#i've been waiting for weeks to eat one of those

[whosashan]

I've got my eyes on you

In which - How did you and the LaDS men start dating? Reader is not mc - except in Caleb's section.

Xavier

The moment you laid eyes on Xavier, you knew you had to have him. How could you not? That strikingly handsome face, those curious blue eyes, and an effortlessly captivating presence—it was impossible to resist.

The first time you approached him was at a grocery store. Your heart pounded against your ribs, threatening to break free from your chest, but you forced yourself to remain composed. Summoning your courage, you struck up a conversation.

He didn’t seem particularly interested, responding with brief, lackluster answers.

‘It’s fine, he’ll warm up to me,’ you assured yourself, determination flickering in your gaze. You had never pursued a man before, but this time was different. There was something about him—something magnetic—that refused to let you walk away.

Somehow, you managed to secure his phone number, and you wasted no time texting him, attempting to revive the conversation from earlier.

With persistence, you chipped away at his guarded demeanor, gradually uncovering bits and pieces of who he was. One particularly useful detail you learned? He lived close by. Another? His cooking skills were, to put it lightly, atrocious.

‘Perfect,’ you mused, making a beeline for your kitchen. It was time to put those cooking classes to good use.

Weeks turned into months, and an unspoken routine formed between the two of you—you would cook, and he would eat. As cliché as it was, the old saying held true: the way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach. Your bond deepened, not in a whirlwind of passion, but in slow, comfortable moments. And you didn’t mind one bit.

Late-night arcade outings, spontaneous hangouts, and occasional movie nights became the norm. And every time he fell asleep beside you, his face soft, his messy hair falling over his slightly flushed cheeks, your heart stuttered in your chest.

But with familiarity came a new problem: you had started to care, truly care, and with that realization, your once-unshakable confidence wavered. Flirting had been easy before, playful and teasing, but now? Now, every word felt heavier, every glance more meaningful. And the worst part? You were sure he didn’t even notice.

The final straw came when you noticed a certain colleague of his getting too close for your liking. That was it. You couldn’t put this off any longer.

“Hey, Xayxay, can you meet up? I want to talk to you about something,” you texted, before promptly throwing your phone onto your bed as if that would somehow lessen the weight of your nerves.

You waited. And waited.

It felt like an eternity.

Then, a sudden knock at your door.

You nearly tripped over yourself in your rush to open it. And there he was—Xavier, slightly breathless, eyes laced with concern, like he had practically run to get here.

“Did something happen?” he asked, stepping inside with the ease of someone who had long since made themselves at home in your space. And you loved that.

You sighed, wringing your hands together.

“Look, I don’t want to put this off any longer…” You hesitated, biting your lip. “Xavier, I like you. More than a friend.”

You braced yourself for rejection. But instead, you were met with his puzzled stare.

“…Aren’t we dating?”

“…What?”

“…What?”

So, it turned out you had nothing to worry about after all.

Zayne

On your way home, you stepped into a charming little pastry shop near the hospital. The aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air, making your mouth water in anticipation. You could already picture yourself sinking your teeth into a rich, decadent cake.

As you stood in line, your gaze landed on a man whose face was so strikingly handsome it felt almost unfair. There was an air of quiet composure about him, an effortless grace that made it nearly impossible to look away. You found yourself studying him, mind racing with ways to strike up a conversation. How often did you come across someone this captivating?

"Excuse me, sir." Your voice took on a honeyed sweetness that made you cringe internally, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "You seem like quite the pastry connoisseur. I don’t come here often, so I’d love a recommendation." A harmless lie.

He turned his gaze toward you, expression unreadable. Crossing his arms, he seemed to consider your question carefully before responding.

"If you’re looking for something light, the macarons are an excellent choice. If you prefer something more substantial, the caramel cheesecake is exquisite." His tone was smooth, assured—like a man who always knew the right answer.

At least he had good taste.

"Ahh, thank you! I’ll definitely try both," you said, flashing him a bright smile. Then, before you could lose your nerve, you added, "If you’re not busy, maybe we could enjoy them together here?"

Where had this sudden boldness come from?

He studied you for a moment, as if weighing his options. Then, with a small nod, he answered, "I do have a break from work right now. Alright."

You nearly leapt with joy, but just as you were about to celebrate internally—

"Ahh, Y/N! My favorite customer! What can I get for you today?" the cashier called out cheerfully.

You froze. Busted.

Despite the momentary embarrassment, the interaction led to an exchange of phone numbers. You didn’t get to see Zayne often due to his demanding career as a doctor, but he always found time to text back, even indulging your occasional rants. Sometimes, he even called. The slow progression of your relationship was something you treasured, a delicate dance of growing affection.

Time passed, and though you longed to ask Zayne out, you hesitated. He almost seemed too good to be true. Would he ever truly be interested in you?

Then, there were the little things—how his gaze lingered a second too long, how his hand seemed to hover over yours before pulling away, how, despite his overwhelming schedule, he always carved out time for you. Were those hints? Or were you reading too much into it?

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the soft ping of a notification. Your heart jumped as you picked up your phone. A message from Zayne.

"Are you free tonight?"

Such a simple text, yet it sent heat rushing through your body.

"For sure! What do you want to do?" you replied, fingers trembling slightly as you awaited his response.

"I’d love to take you out."

Your breath hitched. Take you out. As in… a date?

You stared at the message, searching for any alternate meaning, but there was none.

"I would love that, Zayne," you finally typed, hands shaking.

"Lovely. I’ll pick you up at 7."

You practically sprinted to your room to get ready.

The evening was nothing short of perfect. He took you to a refined restaurant, surprising you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers—proof that he had been listening all along. The air between you was charged with something different, something new yet thrilling.

After dinner, the two of you strolled beneath a sky blanketed with stars, the crisp night air adding an almost cinematic touch to the moment.

"You’re shivering," he observed, his voice as calm and measured as ever. Without hesitation, he slipped off his coat and draped it over your shoulders, the warmth of the fabric—and of him—enveloping you.

"Thank you…" you murmured, smiling softly but avoiding his gaze, afraid he’d see just how deeply he affected you.

"Y/N." He came to a halt, prompting you to stop as well. His tone was composed, yet there was an unfamiliar weight behind it.

"I would love to take you out more… What I mean is, would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?" His face remained impassive, but you swore you caught the faintest hint of a blush gracing his cheeks.

Your heart nearly exploded.

"I would love nothing more, Zayne."

Rafayel

Being an art enthusiast, you often found yourself wandering through exhibitions, losing yourself in the beauty of each piece. Tonight, however, felt different. This was Rafayel’s exhibition—a name that had long held a certain power over you. His art possessed an almost hypnotic quality, evoking emotions so profound that you struggled to put them into words.

As you moved through the gallery, your gaze inevitably found him. Rafayel stood amidst a small group of admirers, answering their questions with an effortless confidence. His voice was smooth, steady, rich with an underlying intensity that made it impossible to ignore.

But it wasn’t just his voice that captivated you. He was a masterpiece himself—dressed in a crisp white blouse, his dark hair slightly tousled, his sharp eyes carrying a quiet depth. There was something about the way he carried himself, as if knowing the effect he had on people.

You didn't want to appear as just another admirer swooning over the artist. Your fascination went beyond that—you were genuinely intrigued by his mind, his process. So, when the crowd around him began to disperse, leaving him momentarily alone, you took a steadying breath and approached him. He stood before one of his paintings, his gaze heavy with contemplation.

"You truly know how to capture a moment," you mused, your voice steady but tinged with admiration. "This piece in particular—it feels almost melancholic, like someone longing for something just out of reach."

Rafayel’s eyes flicked toward you, scanning your face, weighing your words. For a brief moment, you feared he might dismiss you with the same aloofness he granted others, but instead, his lips curved into something almost thoughtful. And just like that, an unspoken understanding passed between you, giving way to a conversation that carried on far longer than you had expected.

That first meeting was the spark. You found yourself returning to his exhibitions more often, drawn not just to his art but to him. It became a quiet routine—the two of you engaging in deep discussions, learning the intricacies of each other's thoughts and mannerisms. At first, Rafayel maintained his usual air of arrogance, teasing and enigmatic, but with time, you glimpsed something more—something raw and unguarded beneath the facade.

It wasn’t long before your admiration deepened into something more. You had fallen for him, hopelessly so. And you liked to think, in stolen moments of lingering glances and fleeting touches, that perhaps he felt the same.

One evening, you found yourself in his studio, sitting on the floor as he worked, the only sounds being the occasional stroke of his brush against canvas. The atmosphere was comforting, intimate in a way words couldn’t quite capture.

“You’re unusually quiet,” he remarked, his tone laced with amusement. You rolled your eyes, looking up at him from your spot on the floor.

“And you’re talkative, as always.” A soft smile played on your lips as you stood and walked toward him.

“Rafayel, can I ask you something?” The hesitation in your voice made him pause. He turned to face you, one brow arched in curiosity.

“Why so serious?” he asked, studying you intently.

You scoffed lightly. “Never mind, then.”

He let out a small sigh. "You’ve already started. Might as well finish."

You hesitated for a beat before finally speaking. “Do you… have someone you like? More than a friend, I mean.”

For a fleeting second, something unreadable passed through his gaze. Then, a slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Curious, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle before answering, “There is someone. She’s insufferably stubborn, a little reckless, and quite possibly the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.” His gaze softened, a rare warmth creeping into his tone. “And yet, she’s also the most endearing.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. “You need to be more specific.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “If you weren’t so oblivious, you’d figure it out.”

A teasing smile spread across your lips. “Wait—are you talking about me?” You nudged him playfully.

He said nothing, his focus returning to his painting.

Oh.

“YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT ME?” you blurted, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just a small crush,” he scoffed, though the faint pink dusting his ears betrayed him.

A laugh bubbled out of you, pure and unrestrained. “Aww, Rafayel! I like you too.”

His expression flickered with surprise before he quickly masked it with his usual confidence. “Of course you do. Who wouldn’t?”

Despite his words, his actions spoke differently—pulling you into his arms, he pressed a tender kiss to your temple, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Perhaps, just this once, he didn’t mind wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Sylus

Sleep had eluded you, leaving you restless and craving the crisp night air. The city was bathed in the gentle glow of streetlights, the sky an endless expanse of inky black adorned with shimmering stars. Their quiet brilliance was captivating, an ethereal distraction that kept your gaze skyward as you wandered aimlessly through the quiet streets.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the figure in your path until you collided with him.

“Oh! I’m so sorry—” you started, but your words caught in your throat as you looked up at him.

The man before you was striking. Towering in stature, his silver hair gleamed beneath the moonlight, tousled in a way that made it appear effortlessly elegant. But it was his eyes that truly seized your breath—deep crimson, piercing and intense, as if they could unravel every secret hidden within you. His features were sharp, sculpted to perfection, and his presence exuded an air of undeniable dominance.

He regarded you with a smirk, his amusement evident.

“Worry not, sweet thing,” he murmured, his voice a velvety caress against your senses. The smoothness of his tone sent a shiver down your spine, deepening the warmth blooming in your cheeks. His gaze flickered over your face, noting your reaction, and his smirk grew ever so slightly.

Only then did you realize what else you had stumbled upon. A few feet away, a man knelt on the pavement, head bowed, his entire posture trembling before the silver-haired stranger. The sight sent unease prickling up your spine.

What exactly had you just walked into?

The silver-haired man followed your gaze before exhaling softly. “Ah,” he mused, as if debating what to say. “A young lady like you shouldn’t be wandering alone at this hour. The night is filled with monsters, after all.”

The way he said it, with that knowing glint in his crimson eyes, sent a fresh wave of unease through you. Somehow, you knew he wasn’t speaking metaphorically. But instead of pressing for answers, something in you decided it was best not to ask.

“I was just out for some air. I should…probably head home now.” You forced a steady voice, willing your body not to betray the apprehension creeping into your bones. Every instinct in you screamed to run, yet your legs remained locked in place, unwilling to reveal your fear.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Allow me to escort you.”

Your breath hitched. “You seem more dangerous than whatever else is lurking out here.”

A rich chuckle escaped him, dark and amused. “A fair observation.” He leaned in slightly, his gaze never wavering. “But that decision, my dear, is entirely yours.”

Despite every warning sign flashing in your mind, you hesitated. There was something about him—his presence was undeniably commanding, yet oddly reassuring. And then, there was the nagging feeling that he was familiar, though you couldn't place why.

Eventually, you gave a small nod, curiosity overpowering reason.

And so began your entanglement with Sylus. The enigmatic man came and went like a shadow, slipping in and out of your life at his whim. Some nights, he would appear unexpectedly, gifting you your favorite sweets or leaving a new dress draped across your doorstep with no explanation. Tickets to your favorite concerts would mysteriously find their way into your mailbox, the sender unstated but obvious.

It was infuriating. It was intoxicating. He was impossible to understand, yet he made you feel desired—seen in a way no one else ever had.

But after monthsof his unpredictable vanishing acts, your patience wore thin. So when he strolled into your apartment one evening, pouring himself a glass of the wine you had bought earlier, you finally snapped.

“You’re confusing me,” you blurted, frustration lacing your tone. “What am I to you, Sylus?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. He raised the glass to his lips but paused, considering your words. Slowly, he set the drink down and approached you, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. When he reached out to cup your cheek, you instinctively pushed his hand away, resolve burning in your gaze.

He sighed. Vulnerability did not come easily to him; that much was clear. But you were different. You had made him a little softer, a little weaker in ways he didn’t quite understand.

“I can’t keep living in uncertainty,” you continued, voice steadier now. “Either tell me what you want, or leave me alone.”

A beat of silence stretched between you before he spoke, his voice low, certain.

“I want you.”

The simplicity of the statement sent your heart racing. You hadn’t expected him to be so direct, nor for his words to carry such weight.

Your face grew hot. “You’re an idiot.”

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest as you sighed, resting your head against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He smelled of something rich and warm, a scent you couldn’t quite place but already found comforting.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mumbled, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Sylus merely hummed in amusement, his arms wrapping around you with the quiet possessiveness of a man who had no intention of letting go.

Caleb

After your reunion with Caleb, an unfamiliar feeling took root in your chest—no, not unfamiliar. It had always been there, buried beneath layers of friendship and denial. But now, it was impossible to ignore. Suddenly, you were hyper-aware of just how much of a man he had become.

His kind yet brooding eyes, that boyish grin, the intoxicating scent that lingered on his clothes—had he always smelled this good? Broad shoulders, strong arms, hands that had always handled you with ease, lifting you effortlessly whenever. The thought alone sent heat creeping up your cheeks, and the man sitting across from you clearly took notice.

“What’s got you all blushy-blushy, pipsqueak?” he teased, pinching your cheek with that infuriatingly smug smirk.

You scoffed, turning your face away. “Don’t touch my face, Caleb! I have makeup on.”

Lately, you’d found yourself caring more about your appearance around him. It was absurd. He’d seen you at your absolute worst—bedhead, tears, even the aftermath of too much liquor. Yet now, every glance he sent your way made you feel… shy? What was happening to you?

He only chuckled in response, leaning back against his chair.

The two of you had met up at a café to play Kitty Cards, an old favorite. He always let you win, though he never admitted it. You pretended not to notice, but every time you did, it made you smile—just a little.

“Alright, come on. The movie’s gonna start soon.” He stood, extending his hand toward you. Without hesitation, you took it, savoring the warmth of his rough palm against yours.

The movie of choice was a horror film—Caleb’s idea, of course. You had agreed, partly to humor him and partly because any excuse to spend more time with him was welcome.

Inside the theater, you sat beside him, the glow of the screen illuminating his sharp features. The flickering light made his eyes glimmer, and for a moment, you were caught staring. You quickly looked away, but not before he noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You’re acting weird.” His gaze lingered on you, his voice laced with curiosity.

“I—uh—I’m on my period,” you blurted, grasping for an excuse. “That’s all. I just feel a little unwell.”

His expression softened instantly. “You should’ve told me. Do you want to go home? I’ll cook you some soup, and we can watch something there instead.”

There he was again—always caring, always thinking of you. It made your heart race, and you hated how easily he could do that to you.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s just watch the movie.”

As the film progressed, it proved to be far scarier than you’d anticipated. Without realizing it, you had latched onto Caleb’s hand. He chuckled at your reaction but didn’t pull away.

Then came the jump scare.

Out of reflex, you turned toward him, seeking comfort. But at the same moment, he turned toward you.

Peck.

Your lips brushed against his.

Your breath hitched. His eyes widened slightly, and for a few heart-stopping seconds, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. Just stared.

“I’m so sorry!” you yelped, whipping your head away in mortification.

“Hey, it’s fine, pipsqueak.” He gave you a reassuring smile. “It was an accident.”

You didn’t know why, but his words stung a little.

“…Yeah.”

By the time you returned home, your shoulders were weighed down with something heavy, something unspoken. It gnawed at you, clawed at your chest.

Caleb, as if sensing your turmoil, placed his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face him. “Alright, that’s enough. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to the floor before gathering the courage to meet his eyes.

“Caleb… would it be selfish of me if I said I want to kiss you again?”

Silence. A single, tense moment stretched between you, thick enough to drown in. Then, without a word, he reached for you. His hands cupped your face, disregarding your earlier complaint about ruining your makeup, and with a quiet exhale, he pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was brief, tender—yet it held the weight of something long overdue. In that moment, you knew he was no longer only your best friend.

[beef-brisket]

Adam waved to Bel as he lect the room and smiled when he saw Lucifer in the waiting room.

When Lucifer locked eyes with Adam, he stood and smiled. He could tell he looked more relaxed and had his thoughts about him.

Lucifer gave him a kiss: Hey, love. How did it go-.

Adam pulled him in for a hug: I'm sorry for how I've been acting... I'm getting myself together for you and Avery. You guys deserve better than what I've been giving you.

Kissing Lucifer, Adam pulled away, but held onto his hand: I-I love you Lu. Really.

Lucifer: I know you do, Addy. It makes sense that things from Eden and Earth would still affect you. I don't blame you, love. Would you like to book another appointment?

Adam: I've already got three booked in. Ones next week.

Lucifer: Oh! Very good. Shall we get something to eat, then?

Adam: Sounds like a plan.

-

Seeing as they were in Sloth, Lucifer found a nice cafe that had the best views. It was cozy and pretty much empty, so they got their food and drink quickly.

When they were eating, Adam felt his baby move again. He decided to breathe through it, trying to keep his panic levels down.

Lucifer: Ad? You okay? Y-you're not in pain, are you?!

Adam smiled as best he could: I'm fine Lu- Av's moving again... I'm just... trying different ways to deal with it.

Lucifer smiled: Would you like me to breathe with you?

Adam: Oh... uh... I mean, if you'd like.

Smiling, Lucifer joined and matched his breathing with Adam. Watching his face, Adam could help but chuckle.

Lucifer: What?

Adam: Nothing! You just look like one of those cock birds.

Lucifer laughed: "Cock birds"? I hope that's a good thing!

Adam: It is! Their adorable- uh... what are they called... cockatiel!

Lucifer: Oh, I see! And why do you say that~?

Adam blushed and pocked Lucifer's red cheeks: These and your hair. It kinda stands up when you're angry.

Lucifer: Does it, now?

Narrowing his eyes, Adam laughs as Lucifer's hair bristles and stands up. Hot as high as the bird, but you can see the difference.

Adam: Yeah! Like that!

Lucifer laughed and kissed Adam's hands.

Adam: Do you think Av will have your cheeks?

Lucifer smiled: You knows, love. Charlie is pretty much my little twin. Maybe Avery will be your twin. Or a mixture. Or maybe she'll look like some of the other angels. Genetics are strange, darling.

Adam smiled, thinking of his daughter, and for the first time, he rested his hand on the slight curve of his stomach.

Adam: I... I can't wait to see her.

Lucifer: Me too, Addy. Me too.

I really need some FtM Adam feeling comfortable wearing a dress.

I'm having some gender issues, so I'm craving some trans!Adam.

Rp of sinner!trans!Adam??

Oh are you okay? We can do that! ☺️

-

Adam brushed off any little crumbs that were on his dress, it wasn't very often that he wore feminine clothes anymore since transitioning but something about a nice dress every once in a while made him feel so fucking hot.

Not to mention that it was just his color, Adam swore he was meant to be rich why else would be look so fucking amazing in gold?

He should probably finish getting ready, his husband was waiting on him downstairs.

Adam slipped on some gold heels and earrings before going down to meet Lucifer.

Lucifer: There you are I've been-...... Wow

Adam: Looks nice right?

Lucifer: You look gorgeous my dove.~

Adam blushed as he took his hand and kissed it.

Adam: Worth the Wait?

Lucifer: More than worth it. You'll put everyone to shame at that party. Kinda wish we didn't have to go now, so I could poke around up your skirt.~

Adam giggled: Luci!!

Ugh, his voice cracked that hadn't happened in a while. But that's how flattered he is! Cheeky man working him up.

Lucifer: What?~ There's always time in the limo.~

He took Adams hand and they got in the limo. Lucifer put up the tinted window divider so the driver couldn't see them. Adam laid back in the long seat, he bit his lip as his husband went up his dress and pulled his panties down before disappearing underneath to eat him out.

((Adams outfit))

[wolfram-but-art]

i have art block but i just had a burger (more like 2,5) so perfect in flavour combination and texture that i wanted to cry and life was so beautiful and all my worries went away it was like a spiritual experience this picture represents maybe 1/6th of what that felt like

[kerosene-saint]

I'm so tired

[neverendingford]

.

[yardsards]

those funny tumblr comics weren't lying, senshi dungeonmeshi DOES materialize in your brain to encourage you to practice basic self care

me (tired, walking back to car from airport): i'm kinda hungry but ehhh, i'll just wait til i get home. no need spending money when i have food at home i can cook. besides, i ate well this past week, i can afford to skip just one meal.

the senshi that lives in the shared singular brain cell of every dungeon meshi fan: it's been nearly 6 hours since you last ate, and it'll take at least another hour and a half for you to get home. if you wait that long to eat, you'll get sick with hunger!

me: hmmm, yeah. i think i've got a baggie with like a handful of crisps at the bottom of my backpack. and a few pieces of candy in my purse. i could probably eat those to tide me over?

self care senshi: that's no good, you need way more than that. you can afford to pay for a restaurant; you CAN'T afford to risk putting yourself and everyone else out there in danger by driving while distracted by hunger.

me: you're right... i'll find a diner nearby to stop at.

(also the diner food was good + when i sat down to eat i realized i was starting to get a hunger headache that could have progressed into a migraine if i left it unmanaged. thank you imaginary senshi.)

[thebibliosphere]

Every time someone well-meaning suggests I see a chiropractor for my migraines, I have this little moment of "ah, you're new here. You weren't here prior to 2018 when a chiropractor very gently adjusted my neck for my migraines, and I ended up having to get an emergency MRI because the ensuing symptoms were indicative of a brain bleed."

It wasn't a brain bleed. The muscles on the entire right side of my neck "just" tore (Spoiler there is nothing "just" about that kind of traumatic injury. I am still in physical rehab for it), and I couldn't hold my head up, see straight, walk or do any of the things I'd previously taken for granted until several weeks later when the area finally started to heal.

This was before I knew I had Ehlers Danlos, btw. But this is true even for people who don't have a connective tissue disorder: Don't let chiropractors touch your neck.

There are a lot of vital nerves and blood vessels there, and even gentle adjustments of the area can have life-threatening consequences.

I know chiropractic care can be pain relieving--I still get it for my lower back and hips because I work with a chiropractor who knows about Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, and sometimes my hips need to be popped back in at short notice, and it's easier to hop walk in and see her than wait for physical therapy--but it is a short-term relief that doesn't actually correct why something is happening.

If you can afford it, physical therapy will likely help more in the long term. I know not everyone can afford it, and that's why chiropractors have such a booming trade in the US, but please, I'm begging you, don't get your neck adjusted.

The spinal cord specialist I saw after my injury told me the number one reason he used to see people for traumatic brain injuries was car wrecks, followed by other major roadside injuries. He said those numbers were still the highest, but after that, the majority of his patients were survivors of chiropractic injury.

Do Not Get Your Neck Adjusted.

It's been over 5 years, and I still can't move my neck properly on my right side. I still struggle to eat and drink because my muscles will randomly seize up. It feels like my skull no longer fits on top of my spine because of the scar tissue. Please. I just want people to be safe.

And if you are a chiropractor reading this and thinking, "Well, I've never injured anyone, skill issue." No. You Have Gotten Lucky. Rethink how you apply your trade. Please, you can still help people while recommending safer options for specific body parts. Learn to do pressure point release and acupressure. Teach patients how to stretch and relax the area safely. Just fucking stop cracking people's necks like pop rock candy.

[undressrehearsal]

dare to be stupid

summary: a drunken game of truth or dare overtakes your study session

tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs, alcohol, drunk sex, oral (r receiving)

a/n: listen idk how this turned into 7.5k. idk what happened. also this is my first time writing smut. idk if the sex is good but it was already so long. if y'all like this one i'll write a sequel or something idk

part 2

“Truth or dare?” 

It had become a tradition for the two of you shortly after moving in together. It was common for the air in your tiny apartment to grow heavy, the stress and anxiety tangible in the air - often around midterms or finals, or if your roommate had a particularly infuriating project. During these times when the bags under your eyes grew too heavy to carry or the lines around your roommate's mouth deepened into canyons, one of you would barge into the other's bedroom - frequently in disarray with notes and textbooks strewn across every surface - slam a bottle of vodka down on the desk, and utter those stupid, little three words, and the game would begin.

And so you didn't even jump when you heard your bedroom door slam against the wall, heavy boots against the carpet. You had been bent over your desk for so long that your neck ached, your eyes swimming with letters that didn't quite make sense and didn't fit into any of the medical terms laid out on your flashcards. When Ellie slammed the bottle of vodka on your desk, you blinked your eyes clear and looked up to meet her eyes. 

She smirked when she said, “Truth or dare?” 

You didn't waste time in clearing off your desk, shoving your books and cards aside into a toppling pile. Ellie, without waiting for permission, set a shot glass down in front of you, kicked off her boots, and plopped back onto your bed. 

Scooting your chair closer, you propped your feet up against the mattress, pursed your lips, and said, “Truth.” 

Ellie groaned, flopping over onto her side and propping her chin in her hand. She had stripped off her jacket, leaving her in a dark t-shirt that almost made her skin look pale in the low light from your desk lamp. “You're such a fucking pussy.” 

You rolled your eyes even as a grin pulled at your lips. “I've known you for too long, Els, and I know that I need a few shots before I'm willing to shove anything anywhere for your amusement. So, respectfully, eat my ass.” 

“You'll have to dare me to,” she quipped back immediately. She wrinkled her nose as you choked back a laugh, tapping a finger against her lips. You tried to ignore how endlessly cute it was as she said, “Where's the weirdest place you've pissed?” 

Another sound burst from your lips, some mixture of a laugh and a shout. You gaped at her, watching as a laugh crept up, a smile tugging at her lips. 

Shaking your head, you said, “Weird, but that's a pretty tame one. Not gonna ask me about my favorite sex position or if I ever snuck drugs into our dorm room last year?” 

Ellie only shrugged. “Gotta warm you up a bit first, babe.” You ignored the way your heart jumped at such an innocent word. After a moment's pause, she added, “But have you?” 

“You'll just have to ask me. One truth per round, bitch.” You pretended to think about it for a moment, though you already had your answer. “Okay, so you remember when we first signed the lease here and we were a bit short on rent?” 

Ellie nodded, her brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Like, a week before it was due, some girl on Tinder hit me up. She was passing through town and only staying for the night, and she was bored. So, she paid me.” 

Ellie's frown deepened. “To, what, have sex with her?” 

Laughter bubbled up your chest as you said, “No, she paid me to piss in her mouth.” 

There was silence for several long moments. Ellie’s jaw hung loose, her eyes wide as she simply stared at you. Several emotions flashed across her face like a movie reel - confusion, shock, disbelief - before finally landing on pure, unfiltered amusement. The corners of her lips quirked up, her open mouth turning up at the corners until a loud, sharp laugh burst from her throat. When Ellie laughed - really, truly laughed - she did it with her chest, a sound so fathomless and full it filled up whatever room she was in. 

In your small bedroom, her laughter bounced off the walls, echoing in the alley outside of your open window. You couldn’t contain your own giggles, muffling your laughter with a hand over your mouth, snorting as Ellie buried her face in your mattress. 

When she finally looked up, her eyes filled with tears, she only said, around her subdued giggles, “How much?” 

You grinned. “$200.” 

Ellie’s mouth fell open again - you’d have to pick it up from the floor at this rate. “Dude, you’re fucking with me.” 

“I swear,” you said, holding up your hand like a scout. “I’ll show you the Venmo if you don’t believe me.”

Ellie fell back against the bed, throwing her head back. “You have to go find this chick on Missed Connections, she can help with the rent.” 

You threw one of your pens at her. Catching it in midair, she stuck the end in her mouth to chew on it. You wrinkled your nose at her, but she only grinned, the pen hanging from the corner of her lips. 

“You're so gross,” you said, though you were still giggling. 

“Bold words from you, Piss Girl. That's, like, the worst superhero name in existence.” 

You threw your hands up, trying your hardest to glare at her and failing miserably. “Hey, $200 is $200. I'm not one to kinkshame.” Ellie threw the pen back at you. You grimaced when it hit your arm, leaving a small spot of spit on your sleeve before clattering to the floor. “God, it's your turn. Truth or dare, bitch?”

Propping herself up on her elbows, Ellie said, “Dare.” A grin pulled at her lips, her voice low as she added, “Because I'm not a fucking pussy.” You stuck your tongue out at her, ignoring her when she mockingly said, “Mature.” 

Your desk was pressed up next to the only window in the room, cracked open to let the cool autumn air in. Your curtains fluttered in the breeze, the dying sunlight creeping in, casting light like liquid gold over Ellie’s skin. As you thought, scrambling to think of a suitable dare, you could not control how your eyes grazed over her exposed skin, the sunlight dipping in her collarbones like pools of ichor. 

Blinking, you met her eyes once more, your throat tight. Your words came out almost choked when you said, “Okay, I dare you to make a spicy two-sentence story about something in this room.”

Ellie scoffed, sitting up and kicking her legs over the side of your bed. “I’m gonna take a wild guess that your drawer of sex toys is off limits?” 

You sputtered, stammering over your own tongue as you felt heat rush to your ears. “Yes, that’s off limits. You don’t even know what’s in there!” 

Ellie hummed, standing up from the bed and taking a few steps around the room. She didn’t look at you, but you could hear that fucking smirk when she said, “That’s what you think, babe.” 

You watched her, tracking her movements as she slowly stepped around your room, scanning for inspiration. Your bedroom was about what you’d expect from a broke, overworked college student - aside from the furniture that came with the place, it was pretty barren. Ellie scanned the little touches you did have - her finger traced over the Funko Pop of Zuko on your bedside table, her eyes lingering on the pile of fantasy books you kept atop your dresser. She smiled at the posters hung crookedly on your walls, depictions of your favorite video games. She hummed again, looking back at you over her shoulder. 

“So many options to choose from,” she murmured, running her finger along your jewelry box. She had her face turned away, so you could only see the corner of her smirk as she lifted the lid, pulling one of your necklaces from its home. You watched her warily as she approached you, the chain dangling from her slim fingers. She stepped behind you, out of your line of sight, and slipped the necklace over your head, the cold metal resting against your collarbone. 

“She looped the chain around her lover’s neck like a collar,” Ellie said. You felt her cool fingers against the back of your neck, hooking around the chain and pulling it gently against your throat. You coughed against the awkward silence; your roommate had always been a little handsy, but this was something else entirely. What the fuck is she doing? you thought. “She pulled it taut against her throat and leaned in to whisper,” you felt Ellie’s lips against your ear, her rough voice sending a chill up your spine when she murmured, “good girl.”

Reaching back, you shoved Ellie’s head away; her laughter echoed through the room as she rounded in front of you, sitting back against your bed and grinning. 

“Oh, you’re so fucking proud of yourself aren’t you?” you teased, trying - and failing - to keep your cheeks from turning red. Your skin felt aflame, a tingle lingering right where Ellie’s lips had pressed to your ear. You rubbed at the spot under the pretense of scratching your head, willing the feeling to go away. 

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hardly hear her when she said, “Hell yeah, I am. I should’ve been an English major. I could write a whole fucking slutty novel and get famous. I'm an expert - I've done enough research.” 

You rolled your eyes at her cocky smile, but Ellie only winked at you. 

This is how your truth or dare games went - with Ellie being far too cocky, prancing around doing whatever dares you could think of and asking any outrageous questions that popped into her pretty little head; and you, simply trying your damnedest to keep up with her. You flailed, flustered, when she asked you about your toy collection, and begrudgingly relented when she dared you to bring out your favorite. Ellie took a shot before you had even finished daring her to text her last hookup (“I’m not reopening that bag of crazy,” she said, scrunching her nose at the taste.) You took a shot when she dared you to go mix all of the liquids in the fridge (which included pickle juice, old broths, and orange juice) into one amalgamation and chug it (“I’d rather chug the rest of the vodka, Els.”) 

“Truth,” you said before Ellie could even ask the question. You were three shots in and could feel that lightness pressing against your temples, just at the threshold of tipsy. You had moved to join Ellie on your bed, where you sat with your back against the headboard and Ellie’s head on your thigh. The vodka bottle was balanced precariously between you. 

Ellie rolled her eyes, but looked up at you and asked, “Out of our friend group, who have you fantasized about the most?” 

She had not even finished her sentence before you served yourself a shot, a few drops splattering on your shirt. Wincing at the taste, you looked back down at Ellie; her eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree, her jaw slack.

“Don’t-” 

“You have to,” she interrupted you, pinching your thigh and grinning when you squirmed away. “You have to tell me. You can’t leave me hanging here - you didn’t even let me finish the question!” 

“Why did you even assume I’ve fantasized about any of our friends-” 

“Because I know you.” She was scrambling up now, unsteady in her movements as she came to her knees in front of you, leaning back against her heels. She planted a firm hand on your thigh - your skin was still warm where her head had been - leaning into it, her eyes drawing so close you could almost see every speck within the hazel. “And I know that bitches like us always have somebody in the group they fantasize about. So, who is it?” 

“Bitches like us?” you repeated, raising your brow. You were sure each line of her palm was going to be branded into your thigh. “So, there’s somebody you think about too?” 

Ellie’s smile was on the very edge of teasing, a small quirk at the corner of her lips that screamed at you just how wrapped around her finger you were - and, somehow, she didn’t even know it. Her voice was low, nothing more than a murmur that you could practically feel in your own chest when she said, “You really wanna know?” You didn’t answer - couldn’t, really, not when her fingers dug into your thigh and you could count each freckle across her nose. You couldn’t answer when she leaned in closer, her warm breath brushing against your cheeks, smelling of the weed you knew she had smoked that afternoon. You could hardly hear her over the rush of your own heart when she whispered, “You’ll just have to ask me.” 

Maybe it was the vodka warming your chest, tingling in your fingers - or maybe it was the way the light from your lamp cast sharp shadows across Ellie’s face, turning her skin into liquid gold - but you did not push her away. Your grip tightened around the neck of the bottle, but you held her gaze when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?” 

Her voice was soft, her half-lidded eyes holding yours as she said, “Truth.” 

“Who have you fantasized about?” The words rushed out of you before you could hesitate.

And for a moment, you believed she would answer. You let yourself believe that she would give you the answer you craved. It prickled at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arm, spreading warmth through your stomach. But your roommate had never been so straight-foward - had never given you an easy answer. She wet her lips, drawing your eyes to her mouth involuntarily, but she only pried the vodka bottle from your fingers. She held your gaze as she raised it to her lips, drinking straight from the bottle without even wincing. 

“I can play that game too, baby.” She backed away, finally giving you a moment to breathe. She settled back against the wall, laying her arms over her knees, the bottle dangling from her fingers. The skin of your thigh still burned, branded with her fingerprints. 

You looked away, huffing out a laugh that you prayed sounded sincere. You could feel her eyes on you when you leaned your head back against the wall, counting the cracks in your ceiling like they were the most interesting thing in the whole world. “It’s getting late, Els,” you said, even as your phone flashed that it wasn’t even nine yet and here you were, too many shots in, your roommate’s presence like a fire blazing in your room. “I should get back to studying.” 

“Do you want to, though?” There was an edge to Ellie’s voice, as though that question was a dare itself. You lifted your head to look at her and found that she was already watching you, her eyes soft in the dim light. 

You took a deep breath - and the vodka must have reached your brain, because before she could ask, you said, “Dare.”

You could see the vodka in the lazy tilt of her smile, in the way her head lolled against the wall. Her eyes were half-lidded, and yet there was something hidden behind her slow, sleepy gaze, something you were too afraid to name - something you were sure was only the imagination of your tipsy fantasies. 

“Close your eyes,” Ellie said, words lazily falling from her lips, as deep and rich as the strings of a guitar. 

It took you several moments longer than usual to process what she had said. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, as if the two of you were underwater. You shouldn't have felt like this after a few shots - you'd usually only be tipsy at this point. But something about the way the shadows dipped into Ellie's collarbones and the way her shirt rode up, exposing her boxers and the sharp cut of her hips, was intoxicating on its own. 

So it took you several long, heavy moments to say, “What?” 

She chuckled, but there was no malice behind it. There was something soft in the tilt of her head, the way she tilted her chin down to look at you through her lashes. Her hair fell in her face, brushing against her nose; you fought the urge to brush it away, knowing that if you did you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from running your fingers through her hair. You wouldn't be able to stop yourself from grabbing a fistful of the auburn strands- 

“Close your eyes,” she repeated in that same honey-thick voice, breaking you from your thoughts. “For thirty seconds. And don't open them no matter what.” When you only stared at her for several silent moments, she added, “How long have we been friends? Don't you trust me?” 

And the thing was, you did. You trusted her with your entire heart, and so you closed your eyes, and you waited. 

You felt the bed shift next to you but you did not open your eyes. You did not open them when you felt her long fingers grip your shoulder as she struggled to steady herself. You felt her hair first, fine strands brushing against your cheek, smelling of sweat and her shampoo. You did not open your eyes, even when you felt the gentle press of a warm mouth against the side of your neck. You hardly dared to even breathe, your hands tangling in your sheets, afraid that you would not be able to control yourself otherwise. You counted the long, torturous seconds, biting down on your lip when you felt Ellie’s mouth part, the warmth of her tongue pressing against your pulse. 

You had counted to twenty-six when she pulled away, a chill settling over your skin where that warmth had been only seconds ago. When you got to thirty, you opened your eyes to find that Ellie had settled back into her spot, leaning back against the wall. The only sign that she had even moved was the thin sheen over her lips, wet with her own saliva, and a small, pleased smirk. 

You did not allow yourself to think about it, ignoring the way your skin burned where she had touched you as though she were a wildfire. You sounded breathless even to your own ears when you said, in barely more than a whisper, “Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.”

“What are we doing here, Ellie?” The words were out before you could stop them, slipping from between your teeth and hanging in the air like helium. The words felt almost tangible, and yet you couldn't grasp them, couldn't draw them back into your throat. 

For a moment, you thought Ellie would grace you with an answer. She opened her mouth, and you thought maybe she would finally stop playing this game and let you breathe. Instead, just like before, she brought the bottle to her lips and held your gaze. You tried not to watch the way her throat moved as she swallowed. 

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and recapped the bottle, settling it between you. “Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” You felt you could no longer trust yourself with any dare she gave you. Your hands were already shaking from clenching the sheets.

“How would you rate your last kiss?” 

You squinted at her, confused by the innocence of the question after everything that had happened in the past hour (had it only been an hour?). “My last kiss was with that one girl I met at the bar a few weeks ago. She was drunk and way too sloppy, but she was hot. I guess I'd give it,” you paused, trying to remember the moment past the haze; you couldn't even remember the girl's name, “a six.” 

Ellie raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening. “A six?” She shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “You’ve got to be fucking with me. A girl like you deserves more than a six.” 

“A girl like me?” Your voice sounded deafening in the quiet. You thought it had started to rain; you could hear the pitter patter on your window, could see the way it broke up the streetlamps outside like a mosaic. 

Ellie was nodding almost absently, watching the rain. Her lips parted, and you didn’t expect her to hesitate before she said, “Yeah. A girl like you… deserves to be kissed like it’s the last gasp of air to someone drowning.” You watched her mouth as she spoke, even as your mind screamed at you to look away. You scolded yourself, screaming to end this now, but your body refused; it ached to draw her near, a tangible pain in your chest. “A girl like you should get one of those movie kisses - you know, like when the hero saves the day and shit and he kisses his girl and it’s like the world didn’t matter as long as he saved her. The kind that has the whole fucking theater holding their breath. A girl like you…. Fuck….” She trailed off her rambling. Ellie ran a rough hand through her hair, making the strands stick up at odd angles, and finally looked at you. There was a fire in her eyes, blazing in the dim light. “You deserve to be kissed like they’ll die if they can’t have you.” 

Something had stopped in your chest - maybe it was your breath, maybe it was your heart. Your blood rushed in your ears, and you feared the thrum of your heartbeat was so loud it filled your entire bedroom. Your traitorous heart pressed at your bedroom walls, filling up the space and leaving room for little else. 

Your voice was only a whisper, and you wanted to kick yourself when you said, “We should really go to bed. I have an exam tomorrow.” 

Your roommate pressed her lips together, and she did not break eye contact as she said, “Dare.” 

You shook your head, looking away from her to try, desperately, to break whatever spell had taken hold of you; but your eyes were drawn back to her as if she were the only fucking light in the dark. You had to get a hold of yourself before you did something you’d regret, but you felt intoxicated with something far stronger than the cheap vodka you had bought from Walmart. 

“You’re drunk, Els,” you said, and you sounded so breathless you may as well have given up then and there. 

Ellie leaned closer, holding your gaze, and you could see the exact shade of desire in her eyes. She was so fucking warm - your head spun from it, heat radiating from her skin when she planted a hand on the bed right next to your hip. Her wrist brushed against the bare skin under your shorts, and you felt her voice vibrating in your chest when she said, “Dare.” 

And it was like she had finally pulled the last fucking thread that made you unravel, because you couldn’t stop yourself - didn’t even think to - before you said, “Kiss me.” 

You only had a second to register the smile pulling at the edges of Ellie’s lips before she grabbed your face and pulled you in to smother it. You had never imagined what kissing Ellie would be like - had never allowed your imagination to wander so far over the edge - but she did not kiss like she was drowning. She kissed with the same slow gentleness as when she played the guitar, her long fingers plucking at the strings with the careful deliberation of a lover. 

And she felt so fucking warm. You were high with it; high with the heat radiating from her fingers pressed to your cheeks; high from the way her breath snaked past your parted lips, gentle huffs of warmth against your skin. Your head swam as you pressed into her, your hands tangling into the fabric of her shirt, fingers unsure even as you ached to pull her closer. 

Ellie pulled back for a moment - for only a moment, but each second her lips weren't on yours caused an ache in your chest. Her eyes hovered inches from yours, so fucking green it was dizzying - though you couldn't see much of the color passed the eclipse of her pupils. Her cheeks were flushed - from the vodka, from something else entirely - her freckles popping against the color. You could only imagine how you looked, could feel the desire written across every inch of your face. 

Your fists tightened in her shirt, and you used the leverage to pull her back into you; and suddenly, it felt like you were the one drowning. You couldn’t breathe as Ellie devoured you, the gentleness replaced with a hunger you hadn’t known lived inside her. She pressed her tongue against the seam of your mouth until you relented, opening up to her, a soft sound escaping your throat when her tongue ran along the roof of your mouth. 

That sound - nothing more than a breathy sigh - ignited something in Ellie. Suddenly, she was all teeth and tongue and hot, hot breath in your mouth, sucking your bottom lip between her teeth. She bit down when a shaky sigh forced its way from your throat, soothing it with her tongue and swallowing the moan it elicited. Her hands were in your hair, the strands twisted between her fingers, and when you bit down on her lip, she pulled - you gasped at the sharp pain on your scalp. 

“Fuck,” she cursed against your lips, and you could feel that single syllable, hot breath in your mouth that you wanted to swallow. She didn’t continue for a long time, couldn’t form any other words past the way her lips made you unravel. Her hands trailed down your shoulders, fingers grazing lightly over the bare skin of your arms, before finding your hips, gripping them in a vice and tugging you closer. “Fuck, come here,” she said, her voice nothing more than a low growl that you felt in your chest. 

And you were drunk - from the cheap vodka and sleep deprivation and Ellie. You were drunk on the way her eyes were eclipsed, her lips red and bitten and swollen, parted so you could feel each exhale against your cheeks. Her eyes were dark, hooded. Her fingers dug into your hips, and you were drunk, but shit, how the hell could you say no to her? How could you possibly say no when she was looking at you like she was starving? 

Her hands guided you closer so you swung a leg over her hips and settled in her lap, your hands braced on her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the wall and just looked at you for several long moments, biting down on her lip. You couldn’t stop watching her mouth, mesmerized as she said, “Fuck, look at you.” 

And then she was kissing you again, her hands gripping your hips like it was a lifeline. Your hands found their way to her hair, curling your fingers in the short locks, using it as leverage to pull her closer. You could feel how each point of your body fit into hers; your thighs against her legs, her hands curling perfectly over the swell of your hips. You could feel the swell of her breasts against your chest, and you so badly wanted to feel her skin against yours. You felt like you’d go crazy from the raw want radiating from your body. 

Ellie’s lips traced a map across your cheek, down your jawline. You tilted your head so she could kiss the hinge of your jaw, the spot right below your ear. She paused there, planting hot, open-mouth kisses across your neck, before her teeth bit down on that sensitive spot, pulling the skin into her mouth, and you practically melted into her. You couldn’t control the sounds falling from your lips like honey, gripping at her hair as she soothed the bruise with her tongue. 

“Ellie….” Your voice was nothing more than a whimper; you swallowed hard and tried again, pressing a hand firmly at her shoulder. “Ellie.” 

She only hummed against your skin, and you could feel the vibration against your pulse. The sound went straight to your stomach and dipped even lower when she bit at your collarbone. 

The next time you said her name, it came out as a moan; you cleared your throat. “We can’t do this - you’re drunk, Els.” 

Your roommate hummed again, but she relented, leaning her head back against the wall to look up at you. And - fuck. Her lips were red and swollen, still wet from the kiss. Her cheeks were flushed, and - God, her eyes. You had never understood the term bedroom eyes, but Ellie looked at you as though she wanted to devour you. Like any second her hands weren’t on you was torture. Like she wanted to bite and kiss and taste every inch of your skin. 

“Truth or dare,” she said, her voice so hoarse you had to clench your thighs around her hips. 

“What?” 

“Truth or dare,” she repeated, her eyes never leaving yours. And this wasn’t part of the game, but you played along anyway, unable and unwilling to tell her no. 

“Truth,” you sighed. 

One of Ellie’s hands traced up your side. She ran her fingers across your collarbone, up your throat, before stopping to cup your jaw, her skin rough against yours. “Do you want this?” 

You nodded, the vodka making it impossible to feel shy. 

“How long have you wanted this?” Ellie’s thumb pressed at the seam of your lips, and you let your mouth fall open. She watched, hypnotized, dipping just the tip of her thumb between your lips before withdrawing. 

It was against the rules - two questions for one truth - but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. “A long fucking time.” Your voice was weak and breathy, and you couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about that either. Your attention had narrowed in on Ellie, and the way her fingers skirted across your chest, the way her other hand gripped your hip - how you could feel the warmth of her thighs between your legs. 

Taking your chin in her hand, she drew you closer, and you could feel her lips moving against yours: “So what the hell is stopping us?” 

This time, when she kissed you, you did melt into her. You gripped her hair in your fists and swallowed the moan it drew from her, shivering when her teeth caught on your lip. She had both hands on your hips again, and she gripped them so hard you were sure you’d find bruises there in the morning in the shape of her fingers. She pulled you closer, pulling your hips down into her; the friction through your pajama shorts made you moan against her lips. 

And you decided to play her game. 

“Truth or dare?” you said, drawing away just enough to see the eclipse of her eyes. 

Ellie, always stubborn, murmured, “Dare.” 

You tugged at the hem of her shirt, your fingers brushing the warm skin beneath; you marveled at the shiver that ran through her body. You ducked your head to kiss along her jaw, pressing the words into her skin. “Take this off.” 

She didn’t waste any time tugging the shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor before skidding her fingers over the bare skin above your shorts. You lifted your arms and let her pull your shirt over your head before realizing you weren’t wearing anything beneath. Who wears a bra to study in their own apartment? 

But you didn’t have a moment to cover your body in embarrassment before Ellie’s lips were on you again, as if it pained her to not taste you for even a moment. Her hands spread across your back, pulling you into her as she peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collar; you hissed when her teeth bit down over your collarbone, soothing the pain with her tongue. 

“Tell me to stop and I'll stop,” Ellie said, her voice muffled as she kissed down over your chest; you shivered when her teeth sank into the skin of your boob, sucking another bruise there. She certainly loved leaving her signature on any inch of your skin that her mouth could reach. 

You groaned low in your chest, your fingers tugging at her hair, pulling a gasp from her lips. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice - breathy and thick with desire - when you said, “Please don’t stop.” 

The next thing you knew, Ellie was shoving you off of her lap; your back hit the mattress, your head just barely missing the headboard, but you couldn’t even think about that. Your roommate was crawling over you, and you were hypnotized by the way her muscles tensed, her arms caging you against the bed. Her skin was fucking obscene, smooth plains stretching for miles, cast in liquid gold in the lamplight.

“God, look at you,” she said again, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. Her hand was like worn clay when it traced a teasing line over your hip. Her voice was muffled against your skin, but you caught the end of her sentence: “- so fucking pretty.” 

Your only response was a choked gasp when Ellie pressed the flat of her tongue to your nipple. You gripped her shoulder, feeling her lips close around you as she sucked your skin into her mouth; you winced when she released it, feeling her teeth graze maddeningly over your nipple. 

“Truth or dare?” she said into your skin, her voice vibrating in your bones. 

You groaned, gripping her shoulder when she licked a line over your other nipple. If you had thought about this (which, if anybody asked, you didn’t), you never would have imagined your roommate being such a fucking tease. 

She hummed, and you could feel the vibration in every nerve. For a moment, you couldn’t find your tongue, your voice caught in your chest until she released your skin with a pop of her lips. She looked up at you, batting her eyes, and dammit if your body didn’t arch, searching for her mouth again. 

Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched you through her lashes, an intoxicating smirk across her lips; they were still shining wetly. She broke you from your thoughts when she murmured, “Use your words, angel.” 

Your thighs clenched around her words, automatically and unconsciously. You were sure you could get drunk on the way her voice filled the room, rough and rich as the chords she played. It was through clenched teeth that you said, setting your pride aside, “Dare.” Your cheeks burned when it came out as a moan. 

You could feel her smile against your skin as she kissed down your stomach, silent for several long, torturous moments. You felt her teeth sink into your hip bone briefly, your hips jerking at the sensation. It earned you a chuckle before you felt Ellie’s hands pressing your hips into the mattress, holding you still. You groaned low in your throat when you felt her tongue against the skin over the band of your shorts, licking a stripe right above the fabric before taking the elastic between her teeth and tugging. You jumped when she released it, the band snapping back against your skin. You didn’t have to look at her to see the sparkle in her eye. 

You swore your heart stopped completely when she murmured, “I wanna go down on you.” 

Despite this game she was insistent on playing, it wasn’t said like a dare; it was said like a question, or a request. There was no expectation behind it. Ellie was asking, you realized with dizzying satisfation, for permission. 

“Fuck.” It came out as only a breath, a whisper against your tongue. Your fingers ached from gripping the sheets and she hadn’t even touched you yet. “Fuck,” you tried again, and it was a groan this time but at least it was louder. “Yeah. Yeah, please, fuck.” Words were just falling from your lips because when you looked down, Ellie - your roommate, your friend - was watching you, propped between your legs with that fucking smirk, and how could you possibly string together a complete sentence? 

And Ellie… didn’t. She didn’t follow up on her dare. Not immediately, at least. No, she took her sweet fucking time - always so damn precise, taking her time in hooking her fingers over the band of your shorts. She pulled them down so slowly you could feel every inch down your legs. And then you were lying beneath your roommate in nothing but your underwear - and dammit, if you had known this would be happening, you would have opted for something a little sexier than a cotton pair with constellations on them. 

Ellie smiled. “Cute,” she said, before sinking her teeth into the flesh of your thigh. You were thankful it was cold out - you’d have to wear layers to hide all the places her mouth had been. 

Your roommate ducked her head, and you gasped when you felt her press a featherlight kiss against the fabric of your underwear, right where warmth pooled between your legs. 

You huffed, twisting the sheets between your fingers. “God, you’re such an asshole - fuck-” You were cut off when Ellie licked a stripe up your panties, warm tongue pressing against your throbbing clit. You moaned at the relief, feeling the wetness of her mouth through the fabric. It wasn’t enough - you needed to feel her against you, needed her tongue to unravel you piece by piece. You pressed your hips down against her lips but her hands held you in place. 

You huffed out a breath, her name slipping from your lips when you moaned. “Ellie….” 

And then she was yanking your underwear down your hips; you gasped, lifting your ass to help her shove them down. She had only gotten them just below your knees before she was pressing back in, too impatient to finish the job. 

And - fuck, her mouth. Ellie’s mouth was fucking magic. You moaned into the quiet room when she pressed the flat of her tongue against your pussy, licking a stripe between your lips. You couldn’t control the curses slipping between your teeth when her tongue made teasing circles around your clit until you were whimpering, aching for her. She had released your hips to dig her fingers into your thighs, nails digging in, and you’d surely have crescent-shaped bruises there tomorrow - even more to cover up. You pressed your hips down against her, groaning, her name only a whisper: “Fuck, Els-” 

And then she finally, finally, gave you what you wanted. 

Ellie ate pussy like it was her fucking job, like she was clocking into a shift and working her ass off for those tips. She lapped at your clit like she was starving, pressing her lips against you until you were dizzy, your entire body tuned in to the warmth of her tongue and the gentle graze of her teeth. You shuddered when you felt that tongue press into your core, a brief pressure that pulled curses from your lips, words tripping over each other: “Ah - fuck - fuck, Ellie - oh my God, fuck-” 

It didn’t take long for tension to build in your stomach. You were intoxicated; you were tipsy, yes, but something about the way Ellie moved her tongue - long, slow circles around your clit, using the flat of her tongue to draw you closer to the edge - was like a damn drug. You got what you wanted: She unraveled you with her tongue, tugging curses from your lips. You could hear your own moans echoing against your quiet bedroom and you couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it. 

Ellie took your clit between her lips and sucked, pulling you into her mouth and-

A long, low moan pulled at your throat when you came. Your hand came up to grip at her hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands. She moaned when you pulled, and the vibration against every nerve pushed you further; you could feel your orgasm in your chest, could feel it trembling in your thighs. 

Ellie worked you through it, her tongue dancing against you as you rode out your high. She didn’t stop, pressing her lips against you, dipping her tongue into your core again, until you were shoving against her head, your hips bucking at the sensitivity. 

When she raised her head, she was grinning, that wicked, infuriating grin she always had when she was pleased with herself. She rested her head against your thigh for a moment, watching you as you blinked the stars from your eyes. You relaxed your fingers in her hair, smoothing your thumb across her temple. 

The only thing you could say, breathless and dizzy, was, “Fuck, Els. What the fuck?” 

Ellie laughed, the sound unarming the silence around you, the anxiety of what this meant. She pressed a kiss to your thigh, right over the little indentations where her nails had dug into the flesh, and just said, “Yeah?” 

You giggled, tugging at her hair gently. You looked down at your roommate - and you didn’t know what this meant for the two of you, but that could be a problem for tomorrow, when you weren’t drunk and sleep-deprived and naked beneath your friend. For now, you only said, “Truth or dare?” 

Ellie blinked, raising an eyebrow, and said, “Truth.” 

You considered not asking for a moment, unsure if you wanted to know, but curiosity pressed at you until you asked, “What do I taste like?”

The grin spread wider, Ellie’s eyes sparkling as she pushed herself up. She crawled up your body, taking a moment to press a kiss to your stomach, to the bruises she had left littered across your chest - you moaned when she took a nipple briefly into her mouth. She kissed her way up your neck, across your jaw, sucking at the skin beneath your ear - another fucking bruise to worry about. God, it was like she wanted her signature on you, branded in every inch of your skin. 

Her face hovered an inch above yours, propping herself up on her elbows, smirking. She leaned in close, leaving room for you to turn away if you wanted. Instead, you tilted your chin up and kissed her again. 

You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste of yourself against her lips. You didn’t like it, the way your own scent wafted over you. But fuck if you didn’t open your mouth when you felt Ellie’s tongue pressing at the seam of your lips. She moaned when your tongue ran along the roof of her mouth, pressing into the taste of you. 

When she pulled back, her eyes were soft, her cheeks flushed. “Like that.” 

You rolled your eyes, turning your face away; you had to admit, even if you hated how you tasted - tasting yourself against her tongue sent a wave of heat between your legs all over again. You only said, “Gross.” 

Ellie leaned in again, and you felt her lips ghosting against your jaw. You felt her breath against your skin when she whispered, “Truth or dare?” 

You lifted your chin to give her access to your neck, sighing when she pressed a kiss against your pulse. “Truth.” 

Her breath huffed against you when she chuckled before raising her head to meet your eyes again, that same cocky smile spread across her lips. “Was that better than a six?” 

“Oh, fuck off.” You shoved against her until she rolled off of you. 

She flopped back against the mattress, still laughing, but she was holding her arm out for you. You only hesitated for a moment - but even if she was your roommate, she just made you see stars, so it’s not like cuddling would push against the boundary you had already broken. You curled into her, laying your head on her chest, the sports bra she was still wearing soft against your cheek.

You sighed, skimming your fingertips against the warm skin of her stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. “Definitely better than a six.” 

You were starting to fall asleep, your eyes growing heavy, your study notes effectively forgotten. You burrowed into her further, wrapping your arm around her and pressing your fingers against her hip. You briefly wondered where the vodka bottle had ended up in the mess, but Ellie didn’t seem in any particular hurry to untangle herself from you, so you figured it could wait - surely it would be okay if she slept in your room for one night.

Just before you dozed off, you heard Ellie murmur, “You left the window open.” 

[odinsblog]

“I first started noticing the journalists dying on Instagram. I'm a journalist, I'm Arab, and I've reported on war. A big part of my community is other Arab journalists who do the same thing.

And when someone dies, news travels fast. Recently, I pulled up the list that the Committee to Protect Journalists has been keeping and looked at it for the first time. There are 95 journalists and media workers on it as of today.

Almost everyone on it is Palestinian. Scrolling through, I started to get angry. These were the people carrying the burden of documenting this whole war.

Israel is not allowing foreign journalists into Gaza, except on rare occasions with military escorts. These people's names are being buried in a giant list that keeps growing. What I want to do is lift some of them off the list for a moment and give you a glimpse of who they were and the work they made.

I'll start with Sadi Mansour. Sadi was the director of Al-Quds News Network, and he posted a 22-second video on November 18. That was a report from the war, but it also gave me a picture into his marriage.

Sadi's wearing his press vest and looks exhausted. He's explaining that cell service and the Internet keep getting cut off, and it's often impossible to text or call anyone, including his wife. So they've resorted to using handwritten letters to communicate while he's out reporting, sending them back and forth with neighbors or colleagues.

He ends the video with a picture of one of these letters from his wife. In it, she writes,

‘Me and the kids stayed up waiting for you until the morning, and you didn't come home. We were really sad.

I kept telling the kids, Look, he's coming. But you didn't show up. May God forgive you.

Come home tomorrow and eat with us. Do you want me to make you kebab or maybe kapse? Bring your friends with you, it's okay.

And give Azeez the battery to charge. What do you think about me sending you handwritten letters with messenger pigeons from now on? Ha ha ha.

I'm just kidding. I want to curse at you, but we're living in a war. Too bad.

Okay, I love you. Bye.’

A few hours after he shared that letter, Sadie and his co-worker Hassouna Saleem were at Sadie's home, when they were killed by an Israeli air strike that hit his house.

His wife and kids, who weren't there, survived.

Gaza is tiny, and the journalist community is really close. Reading the list, you can see all the connections between people. Like with Brahim Lafi.

Brahim was a photojournalist, one of the first journalists to die. He was killed while reporting on October 7. He was just 21, still new to journalism.

On his Instagram, you can see that in his posts just a few years ago, he was still practicing his photography, taking pictures of coffee cups and flowers. Then he started doing beautiful portraits and action shots. You can really feel him starting to become a journalist.

Clicking around on Instagram, I found a tribute post about Brahim from his co-worker Rushdie Sarraj. In this photo, Brahim staring intently at the back of a camera, his face lit up by the light from the viewfinder. He looks so young.

The caption reads, My assistant is gone. Brahim is gone. Rushdie himself was a beloved journalist and filmmaker.

And I know that because he's also on the list. He was killed just two weeks after Brahim. I read the tribute post to him too.

I saw this over and over again. Journalists posting tributes, who were then killed themselves soon after. And a tribute goes up for them.

And then the pattern continues.

Thank you.

Something else I saw over and over on the list, journalists later in the war who had become aware that they could be making their last reports. They'd say it at the beginning of their videos. And those were the hardest to watch, especially when it was true.

One video like that was posted by Ayat Hadduro. Ayat was a freelance journalist and video blogger. Her videos before the war covered a wide range from what I can tell, interviews about women in politics.

She even appeared in a commercial for ketchup-flavored chips. She clearly liked being in front of the camera. Once the war started, Ayat's pivoted to covering bombings and food shortages.

On November 20, she posted a video report from her home. You can hear the airstrikes hitting very close to where she is. It's scary.

‘This is likely my last video. Today, the occupation forces dropped phosphorus bombs on Beit Lahya area and frightening sound bombs. They dropped letters from the sky, ordering everyone to evacuate.

Everyone ran into the streets in the craziest way. No one knows where to go.

But everyone else has evacuated. They don't know where they're going. The situation is so scary.

What's happening is so tough, and may God have mercy on us.’

She was killed later that day.

Targeting journalists, in case you didn't know, is a war crime. So far, the Committee to Protect Journalists has found that three of the journalists on the list were explicitly targeted by the IDF, the Israeli military. Investigations by the Washington Post and Reuters, Human Rights Watch and the United Nations have also raised serious questions in these three cases.

And the Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating 10 other killings. When we reached out to the IDF for comments, they said, quote, the IDF has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists. That's the answer they always give in these situations.

Meanwhile, dozens of seasoned reporters have fled Gaza. Journalists who worked for Al Jazeera, the BBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Reuters, Agence France-Presse. So many media offices were demolished in Israeli airstrikes that the Committee to Protect Journalists stopped counting.

It's not just individual lives that have been destroyed. It's an entire infrastructure.

Thank you.

The name on the list that was hardest for me to look at was Issam Abdullah, because I'd crossed paths with him once. Issam was a Lebanese journalist, a video journalist for Reuters for many, many years. He had just won an award for coverage of Ukraine.

I'm Lebanese and still report there sometimes, and I'd worked with Issam a couple of summers ago. He helped me film a sort of random story in Beirut. I was interviewing this entrepreneur who had started a sperm freezing company after an accident where he spilled a tray of hot coffee on his private area, burning himself.

I know, ridiculous. It was a really silly shoot. Right after we said cut and started to rap, Issam started this whole bit about being in his late 30s, reconsidering his own sperm quality and everything he now realized he was doing to hurt it, and no one could stop laughing.

It was a really good day that felt good to remember and to remember him that way. Issam was killed by the IDF on October 13. His death was one of the three that the Committee to Protect Journalists has identified as a targeted killing.

He was fired upon by an Israeli tank while standing in an empty field on the Lebanon-Israel border with a small group of other journalists. Everyone was wearing press vests with cameras out. They were covering the Hezbollah part of this war.

A few other journalists were injured in the attack, which was captured on video. The IDF says they were responding to firing from Hezbollah, not targeting the journalists. But multiple investigations, including by Reuters, the United Nations, Amnesty International and the AFP, found no evidence of any firing from the location of the journalists before the IDF shot at them.

The journalists in the group and video footage confirmed that there was no military activity near them. I had only met Issam once, barely knew him, but it affected me so much when he died. I know that he understood the risks of his job, but somehow it still felt so random and unfair that he would be struck down like that, following the rules, wearing his press vest and helmet, and a pack of reporters on a sunny day in an open field.

I find myself thinking about him all the time. His last Instagram post was commemorating another journalist, this iconic reporter Shereen Abou Aql who had been killed by the IDF. When I first saw that post in October, I thought how ironic because a week later, Isam also was killed by the IDF.

But then, after spending time reading the list, I realized how common this had become. I still haven't finished going through the list and looking up the people on it. I keep finding things that stick with me, like the funny way this one radio host would cut off a caller who was rambling on for too long.

A tweet from reporter Al-Abdallah that quoted Sylvia Plath. It read, What ceremony of wars can patch the havoc? I'm going to keep going down the list, even though this story is over now.

Just for myself. My own way of bearing witness. Which is, in the end, all that these journalists were trying to do.”

—DANA BALLOUT, The 95. Dana sifts through a very long list—the list of journalists killed in the Israel-Hamas war, and comes back with five small fragments of the lives of the people on it. Dana is a Lebanese-American, Emmy-nominated documentary producer.

[rosenclaws]

Would You Fall In Love with Me Again || Worst!Logan x Reader

Would you fall in love with me again If you knew all I've done? The things I cannot change Would you love me all the same? I know that you've been waiting, waiting for love

warnings: angsty af, happy ending, sad logan.

wc: 1.5k

alternate version

a/n: I heard this song and immediately pictured Logan so this fic was cooked up! I hope y'all like it <3 I'd recommend listening to the song while reading or before or after! Its a great musical btw

Logan holds the small piece of paper in his hands. It's been crumpled and flattened countless times. He turns it over in his hands, the faded black in is just bright enough to read. He glances down at it again. Written on it is an address. Laura's words playing over and over in his head.

Find her. She would want to see you.

Would you? Would you want to see him? He's not the same man that you knew. He's not your man. He's not the hero you remember. He's just a broken, tired, old man. He's a coward.

Laura gave him your address shortly after he came to his world. But he never went. He was afraid. This tiny slip of paper would keep him up at night. If the nightmares didn't get to him first than this stupid, little paper did. He debated on throwing it away.

You didn't need him. You were better off without him. But was he? You were his better half. Always had been. Just one look, a meeting. Closure. So he set off to find you one last time.

Each foot step weighs heavy as he marches to your front door. A small cabin tucked away from the the busy town only a few miles away. This is his handiwork. Logan always promised you that he'd build you a house one day, when you two were done with all the X-Men bullshit.

He had already written out the plans back before...before he lost you. Initials are carved into one of the wood boards. His fingers running over the letters, tracing them as his mind floods with memories of you.

He raises his fist and knocks at your door. His ears straining to hear you move behind the wooden door. Though if you didn't answer he couldn't blame you. He's the ghost of the man you once loved standing on your doorstep. He waits and waits and nothing.

His shoulders sag in defeat. What was he thinking? This was stupid. He takes the paper and crumbles it up in his hands, throwing it as far as he could into the woods.

"Pretty sure that's littering." He freezes at the sound of your voice. He knows it's you. He doesn't need to see your face, this voice had been haunting his nightmares for years.

"Logan?" He nearly falls to his knees. His name sounds so sweet coming from your lips. He hasn't heard it in so long. Ever so slowly he turns around, a part of him afraid this is another dream.

"Is it really you?" You're holding a grocery bag, dressed up for the cold weather. He's frozen as you walk up to him. Your eyes shine with tears as your hand reaches out for him.

"Please tell me its you." Your hand cups his face.

Thumb lightly brushing over his face. He looks different. He looks tired. So much pain behind those gorgeous eyes. He melts into your touch. He clenches his fists at his side as he leans his head into your hand.

"My love, how I've missed you." Logan opens his eyes to see the wedding band sitting on your finger. He never got the chance to give that to you.

"Sweetheart...I'm not the same man." He wishes he was. God he wishes he could sweep you up in his arms. Runaway and live in this cabin for all eternity. You smile softly. Your hand leaves his face and he visibly sinks.

"Come inside yeah?" Without thinking he takes the grocery bag out of your hands and follows you inside. There's not much inside.

"Laura told me about you, she sent letters when she came back." You explain as you reach into the fridge and pull out a beer, his favorite.

"I buy a new pack every week, in case you ever showed up." You smile when you talk but Logan can only focus on the bottle in front of him. The guilt eating him alive.

"I'm so sorry." He chokes out.

"For what?" You ask. He looks at you in disbelief, how could you be so forgiving, so welcoming.

"I'm not your husband. I-I'm not the man you fell in love with." He places the beer on the counter. If he closes his eyes he can picture you and him in this little cabin. Be the family you both always wanted. But he's not yours.

"I know you aren't. I'm not a fool Logan. But..." He's not your husband, he's different. He's not a replacement for the man you once loved but your love for Logan was stronger than anything you've ever felt.

"Would you fall in love with me again? You don't know what I've done. I'm not worthy of the love you gave to him." A tear slips down Logan's face.

He sinks to the ground, on his knees. Silently begging to be loved by you once again. The shame of his past chains him to the ground, he can't even look at you.

"What did you do my love?" You cup his face and tilt his head up.

"I lost you, I lost everyone. I can still smell your blood, I can still hear your voice calling to me. But I walked away." He grabs onto your wrists and holds onto them desperately.

"I walked away from you." You wipe away a tear that falls down his cheeks. His normally stoic face crumbles into a mess of despair and loneliness.

"I needed to numb myself. I started drinking, I started killing. I left a trail of blood in my wake." He expects you to cower away from him. To be disgusted with what he's done.

"Once I started, I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I was so angry, so buried in my grief that the only thing I could feel was rage." The grip on your wrists is firm and tight. Not to the point of pain but he's locked around your hands. Please don't leave him again, please.

"Forgive me." You drop his face and it hangs low, ashamed of what he's revealed to you. You've been waiting for him, all this time only to come and disappoint you.

"If you think that's true, that you're not the same man I feel in love with. Then leave."

"W-What?" He's taken aback.

"You want me to leave?"

"I don't want you to leave but you keep saying you're not the same man. So if you truly believe that, than leave." Logan is stunned to silence.

"No." He says without thinking. He's spent every night missing you, thinking of you. You're here in front of him, it's not the same you but he still loves you. He will always love you.

"I can't leave you, I just found you again I...I won't." He stands up and takes your hand.

"This wedding band, I bought it after out first date. I knew, that I was in love with you but I was so scared to lose you." Tears fall down your face as he presses your hand against his face.

"I ended up losing you anyways."

"He told me that story when he proposed." You say softly. He may be from another universe but he will always be the love of your life.

"You asked if I'd fall for you again, how could I not?" He presses his forehead to yours, noses knocking together as you get to take in the man before you.

"I will always love you. I don't care how you got here, where you're from or what you've done. " You close your eyes as Logan wraps you up in his arms. Holding you close as he whispers apologies.

"No matter how long its been, you're mine." You kiss Logan fiercely, tasting the man who you've longed to hold in your arms again.

He's equally as desperate to feel you. His hands squeezing your sides gently as he walks you back until you hit the wall. Your hands run through his hair, the feeling of your wedding band in his hair only eggs him on.

Silently he thanks the universe for bringing him to you, for your forgiving, loving nature. He would have begged on his knees for a chance like this. He growls when you tug on his hair. His hand slipping up your shirt just to feel your skin. When you finally part he refuses to stay too far.

"Tell me Logan, how long as it been." Your heart aches to think of the pain he's been through. The life he's had to live without anyone to calm his self loathing thoughts.

"I can't even remember." He sounds so tired as he buries his face in your neck.

"It's okay, I'm here now."

"I love you." He whispers, a sense of relief washing over him as he utters the words he thought he'd never get to say again.

You had been waiting for him to come home and you would have waited until the day you too your last breath. He's worth it, all that waiting was worth it for you to call Logan yours.

"I love you too Logan, forever."

[transformation4life]

Big Ol' Gains

(Trade with: @bigwishes)

I never understood why my body just wouldn't grow. I've been going to the gym for months now and my body hasn't reflect that at all! My chest is flat, no abs to be seen, and twigs for arms! It's just not fair. I see the big guys around my local gym and I get so jealous... But that changes today! I found something that will most definitely change that. It's called... "Big Ol' Protein". I found an ad for it that promised results or my money back and I couldn't resist guaranteed gains. I even paid for express shipping so it arrived before my next workout. i waited patiently by the door until i heard a bell ring and the box arrived. I was so giddy that I unboxed it and looked at it in awe. The first thing in the box was some sort of warning and side effects of using the protein but like I care! I make a shake and put it in the fridge for tomorrow. I'm gonna get some gains!

The next morning I wake up bright and early and grab my workout bad along with my shake arriving at the gym soon after and dousing the shake in one sitting before getting on with my routine. Compared to my last gym session this time it felt amazing! Maybe this stuff actually worked! I was dripping in sweat and felt like I had the best pump of my life. I looked down and it looked like I've gained some bulk! It worked! I just need to consume more of this stuff and I'm set.

One week later...

God, this stuff really works... I've gained so much bulk in just a week. I even took a selfie to commemorate. The first I've taken since I've started working out!

I wasn't expecting to start growing facial hair but maybe it's the extra testosterone in my veins and I'm definitely not complaining. I could even fear my rear and "down there" growing... For the first time other gym goers have asked ME for advice and even seasoned gym goers want to talk to me! My life is finally coming around! Although I still need to get bigger... I'm not done yet...

Three weeks later...

I can't get enough of Big Ol' protein I've started putting it in my food and day to day drinks. A meal without Big Ol' protein is a meal not worth eating. I've gotten some friends who want to bulk up just like me and are happy to take progress photos for me. Don't I look even huger than last time?

Every part of my body has bulked immensely since I started. Just looking at anything is euphoric. My legs are like two thick trunks of pure beef.

Some of my workout buddies are getting concerned with how much Big Ol' protein I've been consuming, but they just don't understand the grind of getting big. My rear has also blossomed into two bouncy balloons of pure muscle. I can't help but give 'em a squeeze.

With that mind however I must do whatever it takes to get big. Nothing else matters. I must get bigger... I need to get BIGGER.

Three months later...

It's been so long since Big Ol' Protein changed my life. All my clothes are getting too small for and I couldn't be happier to find that out. I live, breathe, and of course eat Big Ol' Protein. Testosterone is flowing through my veins and it's exhilarating. I don't care if I'm addicted I love it almost as much as my gains. I'm even sponsored by the company now it's great! My workout buddies look at me in awe now and I'm basically the kind of my gym now. People fawn over to me asking for advice. All I say is start consuming Big Ol' protein. God I love my big Bulking body more than anything, but I'm not done. I will never will be done. I need to get bigger and bigger and bigger and bigger. And also a flex wouldn't hurt.

"Fuck yeah look at those biceps..."

[whisperofwonder]

Oh, Baby | Part 2

part 1 is here - pregnant!reader

Haikyuu men as new(ish) fathers

Featuring: Miya Osamu, Kuroo Tetsurou, Kageyama Tobio, Sakusa Kiyoomi

You don't really have to read part 1, but these are set after those drabbles, and they each do call back to them in some way

MIYA OSAMU

At the jingle of the familiar bell, Osamu looks up, smile breaking across his face at the sight of you walking through the door. Your son is bundled up in his carrier, sleeping soundly after all the excitement of his six week doctor's appointment. Osamu steps around the counter to meet you, reaching to grab the carrier as he steals a quick kiss. "How'd the appointment go?" He asks as you settle into your usual stool at the counter, situating the baby carrier next to you.

"Good," You nod, looking down at the peaceful face of your sleeping son, still drinking him in after all these weeks. "Everything is going well. He's growing so fast." You look up at your husband and catch him still looking down at the baby. You wonder if your emotions are as obvious as his, drawn so clearly across his face.

"Good," He finally tears his eyes away to look at you, softness still lingering. "Are ya hungry?" He asks next - the question you've been waiting for.

"Starving," You say emphatically. With the busyness of the morning, you haven't had time to eat much. The delightful smells coming from the kitchen are only making you hungrier.

"What're ya in the mood for?"

You know immediately. You usually do. "Spicy tuna."

"Ya sure?" He quirks an eyebrow. You frown as he leans in closer across the counter, a smirk growing on his face. "I mean, it sounds so normal."

"Oh, stop it!" You huff. "It's been months!" You aren't sure if he'll ever let you forget the bizarre onigiri combinations your pregnancy cravings had produced.

"Yer lucky I love ya," He says fondly, ducking back into the kitchen before you can make any kind of retort. It isn't long before he returns, setting the plate of onigiri in front of you with a flourish.

"Thank you," You say, tilting your chin up in invitation. Osamu glances around, the few regulars in the restaurant familiar enough with the two of you, before taking you up on the invitation, kissing you a little more deeply than he might have otherwise.

"Yer welcome," He says softly as he pulls away, "Better eat it before it gets cold." You don't need any more prompting, eagerly reaching for one of the onigiri and taking a big bite. You close your eyes in delight, savoring it. Across from you, Osamu rests his forearms on the counter, content to watch in silence as you enjoy the food he'd prepared for you.

You're nearly finished when the bell above the door jingles again, and Osamu greets the customers who have just entered.

"We should get going," You murmur to him, and he nods. You pop the last bite in your mouth and gather your things while he takes the order, stopping back by your seat after dropping it off in the kitchen.

"I'll see you both when I get home," He says, brushing his fingertips against your son's soft cheek.

KUROO TETSUROU

"Go ahead," Tetsurou insists, "Go take a shower. A long shower. Or a bath, even. I've got this." He bounces your daughter in his arms, still fussing even though she's just been fed.

"But, Tetsu," You look down at her scrunched up face, the sounds of her unhappiness tugging at your heartstrings.

"She'll be fine," He says in a soothing voice - you aren't sure whether it's for your sake, or the baby's. "And you deserve it. When's the last time you've taken a shower that lasted longer than five minutes?" He asks pointedly.

"Dunno," You mumble, resting your hand on her tummy. She does seem to be settling down, just a little. "If you're sure," You say, beginning to relent.

"I'm sure," He says, in a tone you usually know better than to argue with. "I'll get her changed and all ready for bed by the time you're done," He promises.

You do as he says, taking an admittedly much-needed shower. You take your time washing your hair, even using the fancy hair mask and body scrub your friend had gifted you at the baby shower - a little something for you, she'd said with a small knowing smile. You hadn't even opened them until today.

You're surprised by how much better you really do feel, afterwards. You're warm, your hair is soft, and you smell good. Once you slip into your cozy pajamas, you're almost ready to fall asleep right then and there. You have to check on your husband and daughter, though.

They aren't in the nursery. The bedroom sounds suspiciously quiet. Slowly, you push the door open, not expecting the sight you're greeted with.

Your husband is lying on top of the covers, head tipped back against the pillows as he dozes. On his chest, your daughter is snuggled up, her pudgy cheek smushed against him, fist clutching a handful of his t-shirt. He has a hand resting protectively across her back, holding her close. For a few moments, you're frozen in the doorway, taking in the sight before you. You press your fingers to your lips as the emotions well up in your chest.

You must make some kind of sound, because Tetsurou soon stirs, turning his head to look at you. "Hey," He says blearily, "I was just resting my eyes."

You smile softly, finally making your way across the room to them now that the spell is broken. "Sure," You tease gently, not begrudging him the moments of sleep he'd managed to steal.

"How was your shower?" He asks as you curl yourself against him, cheek resting on his shoulder as you look down at your sleeping daughter.

"Good," You whisper. "Really nice. Thank you." He presses a kiss to the top of your head in response. You watch her in silence for a few moments, sleeping so contently snuggled against her daddy's chest. "You got her to sleep," You comment softly. It shouldn't come as a surprise - it's one of your favorite places to fall asleep as well.

"Yeah," He hums, "I think she just wanted some snuggles." He tucks the fingers of his fee hand beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing aimless shapes there. "Sounds a little bit like someone else I know," He adds with a soft chuckle.

"Well, we can't help it that you're just so snuggly," You murmur. You reach out to gently brush your fingertips against her fist. You don't want to wake her up, but you can't resist. You tilt your head up to look at him. "You help us feel safe," You add.

He shifts her on his chest, just enough that he can crane his neck far enough to kiss you. "Good," He murmurs against your lips.

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

You wake with a start. It comes back to you - Tobio had gotten up to check on your daughter when she started fussing, and you'd been waiting for him to come back to bed. You must have drifted off, but he still isn't back in his spot beside you. His pillow is cold now, and you aren't sure just how long he's been gone.

The house is quiet, but you can't shake your concern. Slipping out of bed, you pad to the nursery just a few steps away. In the warm glow of the night light, you see him sitting in the rocking chair by the crib, arms folded on the edge of it and chin rested on his arms.

"Tobio?" He jerks his head up, turning to look at you. "What are you doing?" You move beside him, taking in the sight he seems so enraptured by. Your daughter is sleeping, her small chest rising and falling with her soft breaths. Her nose scrunches, just for a moment, then relaxes again. It makes your heart twist in your chest.

"Sorry. Got distracted, I guess," He whispers, lowering his head to his arms again. "I was just thinking, her nose looks a lot like yours. Doesn't it?" He turns to look at you.

"I guess so," You murmur back.

"It's a nice nose," He says matter of factly.

"I guess so," You repeat with a quiet laugh. "Don't you want to come back to bed?"

"Soon," He nods, "Just a couple more minutes." You both fall silent then, and he slips an arm around your waist, pulling you down onto the arm of the chair. Slowly, you lean your head against his. You find yourself thinking that you could stay like this forever - pressed up against him, looking down at the perfect little person that is your daughter.

Sure, you'll be tired in the morning, but what else is new?

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

"That doesn't go in the dishwasher," You say from your spot on the couch, the one seat with a perfect view into the kitchen. You're feeding your son, and Kiyoomi is cleaning up.

"I know," He says evenly, turning and setting the bottle next to the sink with the others. "I'll wash them after the dishwasher is loaded."

"Oh," You say softly. It's been harder for you than you'll admit, accepting so much help from Kiyoomi. You'd been so confident that you could still do everything, even after the baby came, but it's proven to be much more difficult than you'd so naively anticipated.

"I'm sorry," You say with a sigh, watching as he rinses off the dinner plates before slotting them in the dishwasher. "You shouldn't have to be doing this. I could have done it, right after he's finished eating."

Kiyoomi stops, putting the mug he'd just picked up back in the sink. He crosses the kitchen, sinking down next to you on the couch. You put down the bottle, adjusting your son in your arms.

"Hey," He says quietly, dipping his chin to meet your gaze. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" You ask, tugging a wrinkle out of your son's onesie and using the action as an excuse to look down at him instead of into your husband's eyes.

"Think that you have to handle everything. We're a team, remember?" You make a sound that he could interpret as agreement if he wanted to. He sighs. "You're incredible, and I love you," He says, tilting your chin up with his fingertips so you have no choice but to look at him again. "A month ago, I watched you do the hardest thing you've ever done, and I couldn't do anything to make it easier for you. The least I can do now is wash a few dishes."

You want to smile. You want to cry. Hormones are stupid. "Kiyoomi," You say softly as his thumb swipes away a tear you hadn't realized slipped down your face.

"I'm going to keep doing my part, so you might as well accept it." He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple. "Okay?"

"Okay," You say, smile growing on your face. "Kiyoomi?" You add after a beat, when it's clear he isn't getting up quite yet, "The dishwasher isn't going to load itself, you know."

He opens his mouth, then closes it with a shake of his head, trying to disguise the smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yes ma'am."

[pomefioredove]

Hello! I hope you feel better soon :) remember to drink lots of water!!

Could I request a one-shot with Idia, where reader brings him a meal they cooked themselves since he hasn't had much to eat in the past few days? (Sorry if this is too vague I've just been having thoughts of taking care of Idia)

no this is perfect! <3 actually just what I needed to write rn

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ you have that effect on him

type of post: fic characters: idia additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, food, mentions of eating and not eating, depression👍, actually cute, reader is not there much sorry,,,

One breath in. One breath out.

Idia has been counting the snicks and scorches on the ceiling all weekend.

They're mostly his. Haywire robots and Ortho mishaps, which he always takes the blame for. One dark smudge is from his shoe, when there was a bug on the ceiling and his brother was out of the room.

Each like a star in his own sky, memories of the days he could get out of bed.

This is not one of them.

Nor was yesterday. Or the day before that.

Just one of those weeks.

One breath in, one breath out. Idia feels painfully aware of the rise and fall of his chest.

He'd sent Ortho on some pointless sidequest for the day. He needed to be alone- well, not really. He just didn't want his brother to worry about him.

He gives up sleep, and lies on his side instead, opening his phone to doomscroll again. The harsh blue light makes his eyes water in the dark of his room.

It feels like he's been locked in an unskippable cutscene all week.

What would you think of him if you could see him now?

He doesn't want to picture it. Idia feels pathetic enough as a cringey, awkward, social reject, even if you like him that way.

There's no going up. When he hits rock bottom, he starts digging.

Knock.

Idia cringes at the sound. He was hoping to be asleep before Ortho came back.

Knock, knock.

"Come in,"

But he doesn't. Idia finally looks up, at the door. Ortho will give the compulsory three knocks, then wait for a verbal command, and then come in. He was programmed that way. He usually talks, too.

But, nothing.

Not Ortho, then.

Idia cozies himself back up in bed, dressing himself in blankets as if they were... well, a shroud.

Another hour goes by. At nine PM sharp, Ortho's melodious knocks, his happy chiming, and the light from the hall follow.

"Find that thing?" Idia asks. He can't even remember what he asked Ortho to get.

"Yep! And guess what! You have a present!"

Psh. Wut? Idia looks up from his phone.

Ortho hovers to the edge of the bed and hands Idia something lukewarm, in a covered glass dish.

"Whatsit?"

His brother giggles. "Can't you guess? You don't even need a scanner for it!"

Idia can't help but crack a smile at that, and he slowly sits up. He peels off the lid of the dish. It's soup.

"Did you make this?" he asks, inspecting the lukewarm dish.

Ortho gives a negative chime. "It was by your door when I returned. Would you like me to heat it up for you?"

"Uh..." Idia hums. "...Yeah. That'd be good."

Within a few minutes, it's back in his lap, hot again. Idia cautiously takes a bite. It's rich, filling, and good, clearly homemade. Not some cheap junk out of a can. One spoonful is more filling than any of the garbage he'd eaten in the past week.

"Your hormonal levels and body language indicate that it's satisfactory. Do you know who left it?" Ortho asks.

Idia shrugs. "Someone came by earlier, but I didn't get the door. Who'd leave me a home cooked meal, anyway?"

He eats some more. It's hard not to enjoy himself, if only a little.

"Well..." Ortho says. "...I may have mentioned to the Prefect that you've been unwell."

Idia almost does a spit-take. "WHAT?! WHA- WH?! This is- th-"

"Calm, Idy! I just said you weren't feeling well! They must have thought you were sick!"

He almost collapses on his bed. His hands are shaking. How humiliating. And he already looked lame enough as it was.

One breath in, one breath out.

"They came all the way out here..." he mutters, stirring the soup around the dish.

"They must really care about you, Idy!"

Idia's face goes bright red. "Don't say it like that..." he mumbles.

But he'd be lying if he wasn't secretly hoping that was true. The thought of you having made something like this just because he felt bad... well... it's a nice one.

You care.

Idia makes a mental note to send you a DM later. As thanks. And to ask if you have any soup left. It's pretty good...

Maybe the promise of you coming over will motivate him to get out of bed.

You have that effect on him.

[taintandviolent]

Master ; Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: [PART ONE HERE!] It's been a few days since Eddie Munson and reader had their little hookup in the back of his van, and she's jonesing for more. After a D&D campaign, Eddie invites her back to his trailer.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 4.8K | female reader, smut, use of pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby, etc.), light bondage, no use of y/n, fucking to music (because he would), eating out, p in v, slight cockwarming at the end.

a/n: i am so overwhelmed by the response to my first eddie fic!!! you guys are CRAZY! thank you though, from the bottom of my heart. i hope this part lives up to the last part! ps: i've never played d&d, so just ignore how bland that section is. thanks. ps #2: the album that eddie puts on is Ride the Lightning, so if you wanna' listen to that while you read.... please do. not beta-read, yada yada yada yada. divider by @/strangergraphics!!

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

For the most part, everything had returned to normal with the very welcomed exceptions of a few heated glances, some knowing smiles, and the occasional touch when he passed by you. All of which had you reeling, viciously fanning the embers of your desire for him. Many times throughout the week, you’d considered approaching him for one reason or another, but you were holding out for reasons unbeknownst to you.

In other news, Jason had requested a new lab partner - or tried - but Mrs. Cowan didn’t bother entertaining his request, much to your dismay. So the last period was spent with him, trying to remain cordial, but silently cursing everything he did. 

That morning, you’d woken up with a fiery craving for Eddie. It couldn’t be sated by merely thinking of him, or watching him from afar. You need to feel him again. Out front of Hawkins High, you bend down to retrieve your backpack, nestling your patterned Trapper Keeper in the crook of your arm. 

And as if on cue… 

“I’m your turbo lover! Better run for cover!” 

You freeze and straighten up, a chill shuddering up your spine. There’s no way someone is just playing that song. Your thighs press together tightly, as if doing so is inhibiting anything. You spin around, searching for the source of the music. And boy, do you find it. Eddie’s van screeches around the corner, just in front of you. 

You watch as Eddie then pulls into a parking spot, his arm hanging out the window of the van. He lifts it, giving you a casual wave, even though that gesture is anything but casual. For a moment, you’re almost mad. He’s all but ruined that song for you, because now all you can think about is him fingerbanging you in the back of his van. You let out a frustrated huff as the music dies off and the door creaks open.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says as he passes, his voice dripping with nonchalance. Your mouth gapes open, appalled that he didn’t tackle you in kisses right then and there. You watch, wordlessly, as he takes the steps two at a time and march after him, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He wasn’t getting away from you that quickly. Thankfully, this semester, you had two classes with him; English in the morning and History after lunch. The little game he was playing was vicious and mean, and you hated it. 

“Eddie, wait!” You call, trotting down the hallways. He slows his pace and gradually turns, a sly expression on his face. 

“Yeees?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Uh.. y’know… just going to class.” He answers coolly, nodding his head towards Miss Tipton’s door. You steal a glance at his body; he’s wearing a Metallica shirt with his go-to black jeans, and he’s got a black backpack slung over his right shoulder. His hand is clamped around the handle of that lunchbox he always carries, his rings clanking together as he adjusts his grip. You remember what those rings felt like, entangled in your own fingers. At the lewd thought, you have to withhold a sigh. He’s so… you dig your nails into the plastic of your binder, growling slightly.

“You can’t just…” You stutter, looking at him with big, pleading eyes. “I’m going crazy over here.”

“Yeah? So what do you want me to do about it?” Suddenly walking you backwards, he urges you against someone’s locker, his belt buckle pressing hard into your stomach. Your breath comes out in a rush. “You want me to do it right here?” 

He brushes the backs of his fingers along your jawline, teasingly. Your eyes drift behind him, watching people’s eyes flit to you and widen as they pass. A few people snigger and make some comments, likely disparaging in nature. Of course, they must be thinking, who would want to be that close to the Freak of Hawkins? You groan inwardly and lean your head back against the slotted metal. 

“No… we can’t.”

“Then you’re gonna’ have to be patient, aren’t you, sweetheart?” His voice is husky and low, his breaths washing over your face. You frown slightly, but nod. You’d gotten something… the warmed, lingering sensation of his hips pressed against yours was enough to get you through the rest of the day, at least. He backs off, smirking, and reaches for the door, pulling it open. With eyebrows raised, he holds the door for you, letting you duck underneath his arm. 

Once in the classroom, you pick a seat and settle in. After a few moments, Miss Tipton turns to the chalkboard to write something and in doing so, turns her back away from the class. A few seconds later, something hits your shoulder, bouncing off of it. You look down at your feet and spot a folded up piece of notebook paper. Making sure that the teacher is still occupied, you bend down and scrape your fingers against the floor, scooping it into your grasp. You quickly unfold it, your eyes scanning over the scrawled letters. 

Today after last period. Meet me in the theatre. 

EDDIE 

PS: I miss the way you taste.

Your stomach tightens. Tucking your face into your shoulder, you sneakily peer back behind you. To your right, a few seats down, Eddie meets your gaze and feigns innocence, widening his eyes at you before casually scratching the side of his face with a capped pen. You withhold a smile and turn back around, tucking the note into your binder. Class continues without a hitch. In fact, it goes by surprisingly quickly. 

After class, you hurry to the payphone outside, dial home and bring the receiver to your ear. It rings twice before you hear your mother’s voice.

“Hello?” 

“Mom, it’s me.” 

“Honey, is everything okay?” You can hear the worry in her voice.

You smile, leaning against the nearby brick wall. “Yes, I’m fine. I just wanted to call you and let you know that I’m going to be home later today. I’m uh… thinking about joining a club.” 

“A club? At school? Honey, that’s great. Just be careful, okay?” 

You straighten up, hunching over the payphone again. “I will, I promise. Love you.” 

“Love you too. Bye-bye.” 

Every class speeds by, having been spent fantasizing. You’re in deep, too deep maybe. Short of drawing hearts around his name, you’ve allowed yourself to become completely wound around his guitar-calloused fingers, you’ve imagined every scenario possible and succeeded in riling yourself up throughout the day. Prepwork, you’d call it. 

So, later that afternoon, when you make it to the theatre, quietly opening one of the double doors, you’re almost disappointed that it’s a room full of boys. Sure, Eddie’s there, sitting at the head of the table, but it’s a room full of boys all the same. Foolishly, Hellfire Club wasn’t a frontrunner in your thoughts, you hadn’t even considered it or the fact that he had invited you to one of the sessions, and you’d agreed. You grimace and take a few steps forward, bringing yourself out of the shadows.

“Ah, she arrives.” Eddie’s voice booms, echoing in the acoustics of the theatre. He’s oozing confidence, and you bite your lip, silently talking your own arousal down. 

“Hey guys,” you say, trying to mask your nerves with a casual wave. “Eddie invited me.”

“Indeed I did.” He’s perched on an ornately carved chair, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced together. Eddie then jumps over the arm of the chair and bends down, retrieving something from his backpack. Casually, but almost theatrically, he strolls over. Once he’s in front of you, he reaches for your hand, pulling it up and carefully lays the item in your hands, his fingertips grazing the edge of your palm. It’s a Hellfire Club shirt, just like the one he wears. A smirk crawls across your lips; you were now technically in possession of two of his shirts.

After changing behind the heavy velvet curtains, you get situated in one of the empty seats, and Eddie explains the campaign, setting the scene with all of his elaborate, fantastic descriptions. This guy was a natural born storyteller, and you could tell he had a passion for this silly little game. Too quickly, it came to be your turn. You had no idea what you were doing, and you realize that you haven’t been paying attention at all. Your attention was… elsewhere the entire time. Panic grips your throat as everyone’s eyes are on you, waiting for your roll. 

“Uhhh,” You look apprehensively at the dice in your palm. Unlike regular dice, they have way too many sides and you don’t know what you need to achieve. Eddie assured you that you’d get the hang of it, but so far… you haven’t. “I have no idea but roll a one-hundred to charm the DM?” 

“One-hundre— WHAT! That doesn’t even make sense. She’s not even playing!” The kid with the curly hair – Dusty? Dustin? – sounded frustrated. He took this very seriously. They’d all briefly introduced themselves as you’d sat down, but your attention had been on and still was on Eddie the entire time, so you hardly retained any of their names. You are enchanted with his energy tonight; the way he masterfully navigates the campaign, engaging with each of the rolls and weaving an intricate story that none of the other players can predict, but adore all the same. 

You two make eye contact. Eddie withholds a smile. You can see it — the middle of his plush lips start to spread across his teeth but he reels it back in. It takes an immense amount of self control, but you don’t make finger guns at him. Instead, you toss the dice back onto the table, not bothering to watch what you’d rolled. With a groan, you lean back in the chair, which creaks in protest. “Fine,” you lamented, lacing your fingers behind your head. “I’ll just watch. I don’t understand this anyway.” 

“Lady Terowyn,” he starts, saying the name that he’d given you at the start. He holds your gaze strongly, leaning forward in his chair and gripping the sides of the table, his rings clanking against the wood. “You seem to have acquired a ferocious malady. You can roll again in hopes that Blossom Tealeaf will assist you with a cure…”

“Who was Blossom Tealeaf again?” You ask, almost exasperated and look around at the other players. Dustin rolls his eyes, slumping down in his chair. “Alright, alright. Sheesh. I’ll accept this… illness and just watch this time.”

“Alright, then. Lady Terowyn succumbs to the vicious curse and perishes. What shall you do?” 

The boys fall into a heated discussion and Eddie’s eyes find yours again. Without saying anything, he’s saying a lot. He’s smiling like he did before he kissed you, and the thought drives you insane. You have half a mind to climb across the table and go sit in his lap, sweeping your hips back and forth until his cock hardens underneath you, but you wouldn’t dare interrupt his campaign; it means too much to him and the others.

So, you sat. You sat, commenting, cheering the boys on when they figured something out, and gasped when their fearless dungeon master bested them yet again. Eventually, they warmed up to you, the coldness gone from their responses, even going so far as to involve you in some of the discussions. This went on for a few hours, until finally, they lost against the merciless beast that they’d been fighting. After the group dispersed outside, Eddie towed you to his van, promising he’d take you home. 

He pulls you into a kiss, his tongue dancing along your lower lip and slipping inside to wrestle with yours. You moan into his mouth, and slide your hands into the warmth inside his leather jacket. Never breaking the kiss, he gently pushes you against the side of his van, the metal cool behind your back. One of his hands moves to your leg, hitching it up around his waist to bring you even closer to him. He bucks his hips into you once, and your breath hitches. 

“It really is fun,” he starts, brushing his lips against your neck, trailing delicate kisses down the length of it. “Y’know… if you’d actually try playing it.” 

You whine, tilting your head to the side and allowing more space for him to kiss. “Listen, I was distracted, okay?” 

“Oh, by what?” 

“Like you don’t know.” 

Eddie chuckles, a breathy sound just underneath your earlobe. His lips ghost down your neck, stopping at a place between it and your shoulder, and he sucks the skin into his mouth. You wince at the sudden pressure, but don’t protest. It’ll inevitably leave a mark, and it seems he knows it. Smiling at the reddened skin, he leans back to look at you, to gaze into your half-lidded eyes. 

“You wanna’ go back to my place? Wayne’s outta’ town…” 

You aren’t sure who Wayne is… but the implications of that hang heavy between you two. For a moment, you say nothing, letting your gaze drift back and forth between his eyes and his lips, but finally, you nod. Eddie grins and is dragging you around to the passenger side before you have a chance to change your mind. He throws open the door and circles his hand in front of it, beckoning you inside. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.” 

You can’t help but smile – the theatrics of his campaign are clearly still lingering. Once you’re in, Eddie shuts the door and hurries back around to the other side, retrieving his keys from his pocket. Tossing a confident smile your way, he stabs them into the ignition, turns them and the engine of the van roars to life.

The drive from the high school to the trailer park takes about ten minutes, but feels like twenty. Every time he pulls up on a stop sign, his hand drifts over to your thigh. He kneads it, his rings bumping together. Just when it starts to get good, just when his hand starts to drift up your skirt, he pulls it away, and accelerates. 

Once you’re inside, Eddie flips on the lights and turns to you, expectantly. He knows what’s coming. He’s been riling you up the entire ride. The second the door is shut, your lips are on him, smearing hot, wet kisses all over his neck and jawline. Eddie’s laughing breathily, his hands roaming around your waist and ass. “So needy,” he says. 

“I’ve been thinking about this since we….” Your voice trailed off, meeting his mouth in a sloppy kiss. Eddie keeps you there, holding your face tightly. He walks you backwards past the kitchen towards his bedroom until the back of your calves hit the mattress, and you wrap your arms around his neck. His hands trail up your waist, winding around the front of your body. It’s warm to the touch, and Eddie smiles as his large hands cup your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze.  

“Fuck, Eddie, oh my god…”

You claw at his leather jacket, trying to push it off his shoulders. You can’t get enough of him, and want him naked on top of you immediately. Enough teasing, enough foreplay. You’re desperate for him. 

“Someone’s grabby. We’ll fix that.” He pushes you lightly backwards onto the bed, your ass bouncing against the mattress, the springs squeaking in protest. 

He reaches around, pulling the black bandana from his back pocket, and shakes it out from its folded state. The heat that blossoms between your thighs is only worsening, becoming unbearable. One knee pressed into the bed, his body tilted slightly forward towards you. “Hands together, m’lady.”

At first, you stare, dumbfounded, up at him. He was… so cute. The dim, yellow lighting of the table lamp behind him creates a halo around his fluffy hair, akin to a renaissance painting. Some artist had to have painted an angel from this point of view… but there was nothing angelic about what was taking place. Nothing, because you were about to —

“Hello?” You blink once, twice. Had he been speaking the entire time? He quirks a brow, very obviously waiting for your response. His warm, chocolatey eyes hold yours in a death grip as he wraps the bandana around your wrists, tying it tightly in a knot. He hadn’t told you to look at him, at least not verbally. Deep down, you knew that you couldn’t look away if you tried. He knew that too. “Hands to yourself until I say so.”

“Yes, master.” He freezes, with his fingers still on the buckle of his belt and raises his head back up to look at you.

You try to speak, to undo what you’ve said, but only squeaks and a nervous string of ‘Uhhh’s come out. You drop your bound wrists into your lap with a dramatic huff, and roll your head back, staring embarrassed at the ceiling of his trailer. Truthfully, you hadn’t even known where that came from; you’d never called anyone ‘master’ in your entire life, and even mocked the concept. Master and Servant was a Depeche Mode song, not something you practiced in the bedroom.  

“I don’t knoow — dungeon master? I don’t know where that came from, I’m — Eddie, please — PLEASE!” Your head snapped back up.

“Hey,” He cooed, brushing your bangs from your eyes. “It’s okay. I liked that. I just couldn’t tell if you were being serious or not.”

Eddie brings his face close to yours, nuzzling his nose against your cheeks. “Lay back for me, sweetheart.” 

You do, bound hands resting on your stomach. Eddie shrugs out of his jacket, and pulls his shirt up from behind his back, tossing it onto the floor to join the rest of the clothes. You haven’t seen him shirtless before; the visual has your cunt clenching as your eyes dance over his tattoos, memorizing them. 

You watch him with hearts in your eyes as he strolls half-naked over to his stereo, pops in a tape, shuts the door and hits play; the heavy sound of Metallica fills the small room. You smirk. He would. As the song builds, Eddie returns to the edge of the bed, creeping closer, walking his hands on the mattress until he’s close enough to press a kiss to each of your kneecaps. Just like before, he unzips your skirt and peels down your tights, taking his time with the action. Your breath catches in your chest when you feel his calloused fingers ghosting along the outside of your thighs, sweeping along the flesh as it prickles with goosebumps. It’s not cold by any means, but the sensation of his fingers has your skin reacting.

“Now that’s a sight for sore eyes…” he says, admiring the way you look, pantsless but still wearing the Hellfire Club shirt. “God damn… you should be on the cover of an album or something.” He tilts his head, staring for a moment longer before he’s pulling the shirt over your head, and yanking your panties over the wide curve of your hips. 

The rest of your clothes join his on the floor of his bedroom, and you’re naked, lying on his stained sheets, writhing in anticipation. Eddie pulls your thighs apart carefully but forcefully, like he’s opening the jaws of a lion. He slots himself underneath your legs, hoisting your thighs onto the curve of his shoulders. As soon as you realize what’s about to transpire, he feels the sudden tension in your body and slides his hands up your waist tenderly.

“Just relax. I know what I’m doing.” His voice is commanding and heavy with desire. 

Your eyes roll back in your head, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip; you feel your cunt clench at his lusty tone. You can feel your face flush with heat. Something about him makes you trust him, turn to putty in his grip – in fact, you’ve never trusted a man more in your life. You nod, inhaling a deep breath as he presses a kiss to your cunt. Some of your pathetic, shuddering whines are lost in the heavy guitar and drums of Metallica, which you’re grateful for. The feeling of his lips against her makes your whole body jerk violently, and Eddie’s hands are suddenly pressing down on your hips, holding them tight to the mattress. 

“Easy, baby…” 

You clench your jaws and shut your eyes, trying to slow your breathing, but that does little to pacify the feelings and how deeply he’s turning you on. His lips hover, his breath washing over her in small, warm gusts before he kisses her again, nuzzling his nose against the soft mound before his tongue slips in between the folds, flicking upwards. Still tied together, all you can do is lift your hands and wad them into tight fists. You could reach forward and push his head further into you, but he’d specifically ordered no touching. You whimper and writhe against the mattress, to which Eddie softly shakes his head against your cunt, muttering a ‘Mm-mm’, and again grips your hips tightly again, holding them in place. 

“You like that?” 

He swallows hard, before his tongue juts out again, toying with your clit, mercilessly flicking it back and forth and up and down. He encircles the swollen bundle of nerves and hums into your cunt, pleased at the visceral reaction from your body. Even over the music, you can hear the slick, suckling and slurping sounds he’s making, and above all, how wet you are, which is slightly mortifying, considering he’s only just started. Your juices leak onto his mattress, leaving yet another stain on his sheets.

“Words, sweetheart…” He pauses to say. One hand drifts between his legs, where he palms himself over his dark jeans. Eating you out has his cock achingly hard, and he wants nothing more than to sink it into you. 

Words? You don’t even know what those are. You can barely form a single word, let alone an entire sentence as his tongue laps at you again, flattening out against your sensitive flesh. It takes you a few tries, but you finally manage to squeak out: “Huhhh- mmm-yeah. Gonna’... gonna’...” 

Eddie pulls back slightly, pressing a single slick kiss against your inner thigh. “Yeah? So soon?” 

You whimper, nodding. “Mmmh…. So…. so good…” 

Bringing his hands underneath your ass, Eddie hoists your hips up, giving him a better angle to suck on your puffy clit. That does it – you’re unable to stop the floodgates. You cry out, bringing your bound hands to your face and pressing the balls of your palms against your mouth, pinching your bottom lip between them. Eddie swallows down your orgasm, bringing the tip of his tongue to your entrance as it squeezes.

As Eddie stands up and wipes the slick from his chin, the song changes, a single reverberating bell rings throughout the room. It brings a smirk to his lips. “For whom the bell tolls…” He says, running a single finger along the length of your quivering thigh. “The bell tolls for you, sweetheart.” 

Completely spent, you lift your head weakly, brows peaked together in question. “Wh…what…” 

Eddie palms himself again, stroking the swollen shaft through the fabric. His gaze is heavy, sweeping over your naked body as your chest heaves with laboured breaths. His long fingers move quickly, working to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans. The jeans fall loose at his hips, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of a lewd outline and a spot where the blue plaid fabric has darkened with pre-cum. He kicks them off and steps out of the circle, smiling at you.  

“Nothin’, baby. C’mere.” 

Eddie gets onto the bed with one knee first, and walks his way over to you. You turn your head to look at him and heave a shaky sigh as he reaches underneath your torso, twisting you so you’re laying rightways on the bed, your head on a pillow. 

“You ready?” 

“R-ready for what?” You breathe. 

“To have your world rocked, sweetheart.” 

“Again?” You coo, looking up at him with big, dreamy eyes. 

Eddie hooks his finger around the bandana and twists it around his index finger, tightening the fabric around your wrists. He yanks your hands up over your head, pressing them against the wall above. With his other hand still free, he pulls the waistband of his boxers down over the curve of his ass, allowing his heavy cock free. It slaps against his tummy, bobbing dangerously in front of your core. It occurs to you then how turned on he is over eating your pussy… his cock is leaking and twitching in front of you, begging for release. 

Fuck. 

At first, Eddie leans down, pressing his cock against your tummy as he kisses you. The kisses are sweet, tender, but passionate with a lingering hint of animalistic demand. He’s being gentle now, but you can feel the unbridled want behind his actions. 

“Do it,” you say. “Fuck me.” 

Eddie runs his tongue along his bottom lip and grins, taking hold of his cock with his free hand and giving it a few long strokes. A bead of precum oozes from the tip, stringing down to your stomach. He lines the tip up, and a warning pressure builds at your waiting entrance. You clench around the velvet soft head, and Eddie lets out a deep groan. 

“Holy shit…” he says. 

He tries to be gentle, but as soon as the tip breaches your slick hole and he feels how wet, how warm you are, he can’t help but sink every inch deep into you. He bucks his hips once, forcing his cock deep inside, and halts, allowing you a moment to adjust to the feeling of fullness. You gasp and tighten around him again, pulling a throaty sound from him. 

He begins rocking his hips back and forth, his shaft sliding wetly out of you. It doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to find a mind-shattering rhythm that has you gasping and clawing the wall above you. He holds onto your bound wrists still, pinning them tightly against the wall. The power in his thrusts come from his core, bucking relentlessly up into you. 

You lift your legs slightly, scooting up and pressing the roundness of your ass against his torso. As he thrusts, his palm presses low into your stomach, rings denting the flesh. 

Over the drums and guitar, the slick, hollow slop slop of his cock hammering into you fills the room, and your vision goes blurry as your lids drift shut. 

“F-fuck, Eddie… fuck!” 

His wanton, concentrating gaze drifts between your legs, watching as he impales you over and over again. You moan loud, much louder than James Hetfield was singing. Eddie shudders and groans, making a deep, almost pained sound. 

“You’re gonna kill me, you know that? Those moans are gonna’... Jesus Christ.”

You smile devilishly and meet his thrusts, rutting your hips against his. You see him clench his jaw, the muscles fluttering on the side of his face. The feelings are tantalizing him, and each jerk of his hips brings him closer to an orgasm. 

“Jesus Christ,” he repeats, looking down at your sweat-glistened body, watching as your breasts rock back and forth with each movement of his hips. You strain against his grip, wanting so desperately to touch him. 

“Master,” you whimper. “Let me touch your body… please….” 

The singular word makes his cock twitch inside you. His other hand joins the right, and quickly undoes the knot of his bandana, tossing it behind him. Your greedy fingers immediately snap to his torso, clawing their way up his toned abdomen. Your digits trail over his tattoos, tracing them absentmindedly as Eddie keeps fucking into you, his jaw hanging slack, expression completely blissed out.

“Harder, Eddie,” you moan, pressing your head back into the pillow. 

He obeys. Happily. He takes hold of your thighs, pressing them back against your body, exposing more of your cunt to him. His cock leaves you for a moment before he’s slamming back into you, heated and heavily.

It doesn’t take him long to reach a climax at this angle, or for you to reach your second one. You scream out, clawing at his abs as you clench around his dick, squeezing it in a vice-tight grip.

“Shit-shit-shit—” Eddie curses, looking down at your pussy. You feel the swelling throb of Eddie’s cock inside you as he paints you insides white. Your own orgasm has you shuddering against him, crying out his name. 

Eddie collapses atop of you, his cock still inside, and nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck.

“That was…” 

“Yeah,” you echo. “Yeah. It was.”

After a few minutes, you turn your head, and press a single kiss against his plump lips. “Soooo, can I sit at your table now? I’m tired of sitting at Jason’s preppy table.” 

“Absolutely.” 

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley Drabble

Hi lovelies! Lia here again, I've been quite busy with school so I hope you guys can be a little patient with content since I've been stuck on a slump and there's a lot of things I'm currently busy with at the moment because of school despite posting so much last week. Here's the weekly content and I hope you all enjoy :)

Also how do you all feel if I write works inspired by old gacha songs? And yes I used to be a gacha girly, it was some wild phase AHAHAHA

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000

Brainrot, Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley who decided he wanted to get a divorce with you because things weren't working out between the both of you, so you had to share custody of your daughter.

You managed to get yourself together, having no time to grieve that part of you that he took with him because you had a little one depending on you. You loved that girl for all she was, however she brings you and Simon together.

Not that you resent her for it, god no, it wasn't her fault you and your husband couldn't see eye to eye.. that he refused to retire after everything, maybe it was just your paranoia getting to you. You couldn't stand the fear anymore, the fear of one day he's not the one you'll see when you open the front door but Price.

You forgot how difficult it was doing this on your own until now, you could barely get up, your head was actually killing you. You pushed through, making your daughter breakfast.

You felt like you were about to throw up, ears started to ring and everything else felt numb. The next thing you know was your eyes rolling back and everything going black, the last thing you heard was your toddler panicking, calling you over and over on the verge of crying.

All while you were unconscious, your little one runs to your room to look for your phone to call her dad.

"Listen I know we—" Simon said expecting you on the phone before getting cut off by his daughter..

"Dada! Momma's dead, dada. Momma's not breathing!" In a panic, she cried it out like a mantra. Simon was in a panic, he got up from where he was and was speeding towards what used to be your shared home.

The next thing you know, you were hearing the beeps of a heart monitor. All your senses were working, all except sight.. you didn't have enough energy to open them, in the coldness of your whole body from the well ventilated room, you felt warmth on your hand.

It was all too familiar, calloused but so gentle and warm. Simon.. it was Simon. All while processing this situation, all that's going through Simon's head are the what ifs.

"Fucking hell, help her.. My wife, she's been unconscious for thirty minutes. She's breathing but it's faint and she's burning" Simon almost yelled in a full panic, he was doing his best not to snap at the hospital staff but how couldn't he? Hadn't even realized that he called you something you weren't anymore, the title he took with him.

Your little one holding her dad's hand in the waiting room, she was observant, an emotionally intelligent little girl who holds her dad's hand. Simon keeps reminding himself to calm down, how much his bumblebee must be terrified, far more than he was so he takes her in his arms.

Sooner or later they were allowed to enter, doctor said you were stabilized and only collapsed from a horrid fever and so much fatigue. Thinking of losing you, just like that with no warning would be the second time Simon would lose you.

Now watching you unconscious, IV tube connected to you because of course you haven't been eating well either. It made him rethink everything, was it a mistake to give you those papers? Was it worth it losing the one person in his life who he would give his life for with no hesitation?

All he could do for now was sit next to you, no matter how long it takes for you to wake up because he doesn't have the strength to leave, maybe in a day or two but not now..

Part 2 anyone?

[woso-dreamzzz]

Different II

Katie McCabe x Teen!Reader

Summary: You get your diagnosis

There's a lot of hoops to jump through to finally work out what's wrong with you.

Mam doesn't like you using those words. She doesn't like referring to it as 'what's wrong with you'. She tells you that you're perfect. Nothing is wrong with you. You're perfect the way you are.

There's nothing wrong. You're jumping through these hoops so Katie can finally understand how to help you.

You meet with the paediatrician who makes follow-up appointments for you with a psychologist and an occupational therapist.

The psychologist rules out things like dyscalculia and dyslexia. She says you don't have anxiety and depression either.

You go to the occupational therapist. He runs you through a series of tests. At first, it's big things like jumping or using a skipping rope before he moves onto the smaller things like holding a paintbrush and placing weird pegs things into small holes.

You go back to the paediatrician.

"Dyspraxia," Katie says that evening as you both sit on her bed together," That's what it's called. Dyspraxia."

"I know," You say," I was in the room with you when we got told."

She's holding the pamphlet and folder that the doctor had given you, explaining all the ins and outs of the condition.

It's nothing that you haven't experienced first-hand. You imagine all of these documents were made for parents of little kids who got diagnosed. You imagine it's more for Katie's benefit than your own.

You know what it's like to live with this condition. You know what to expect and how to adapt.

Katie is the one that will be reading those pages front to back, well into the night even though she's got training the next day.

You're off school for the week.

One of the gas taps in the science laps has started leaking so the whole school was shut down as a precaution.

You're more than happy to tag along to training, stealing one of the muffins from the dining hall to eat by yourself out on the pitch.

"So," Kim says as she sits next to you," I heard from Katie that you finally got that diagnosis."

You shrug. "It's nice to have a name for it now. I think Mam's read that folder at least ten times now. I don't know if she even got any sleep last night."

"That sounds like Katie." Kim nudges you with her knee. "How are you feeling about it?"

"It is what it is," You reply, picking at your muffin," Mam said that she's still trying to take it all in. I don't know if that's good or bad."

Katie had been resistant at first. She hadn't wanted you to get tested for anything. You were perfect the way you were and she didn't want anyone to make you think otherwise.

She was all denial.

Deny, deny, deny.

You were brutal acceptance.

There was something that made you different to the other kids. There was something that made you different to most other people you had ever met.

You don't know now what Katie thinks of your diagnosis, this new label to stick on yourself.

You don't know if it'll change how she thinks of you. If she'll think you're less perfect now that you've got something official to say that you aren't.

"Katie loves you," Kim says," That won't ever change. You're her kid."

"I'm not a kid," You grumble and Kim laughs.

"You're her teenager then," She corrects," But she does love you and all she wants is to give you the best possible life."

"Yeah but-"

"It's not going to change anything," Kim insists," Okay? Katie loves you."

You don't doubt that. You've never doubted that.

You just hope Katie doesn't doubt it either.

She paces in front of you that evening and you hold your breath.

"I've talked to your school," She says," They're working on getting you a school-issued laptop but for the time being you're allowed to bring in one of ours from home. You'll get extra time for your exams and the teachers are going to start giving you more handouts rather than making you write everything up."

"Wait...what?"

"What do you mean what?"

You frown. "Mam...I...I don't get it."

"You're getting accommodations," katie says, sitting right next to you," Because you're different to the other kids and need a bit more support. You're a smart kid. You just need to do things a little differently. We're getting you help."

"Mam, I..." You don't quite know what to say. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Katie says," I love you. I'm just making sure you get what you deserve."