#joint pain toe big

[bestreviewsmclu]

JOINT PAIN RELIEF: 6 SIMPLE TIPS FOR A PAIN-FREE LIFE | JOINT PAIN THUMB | ARTHRITIS | MENOPAUSE

Welcome!!!!l! Are you searching for effective joint pain relief? Look no further! In this video, we'll share six simple and powerful tips to help you find fast and lasting relief from joint discomfort. Say goodbye to pain and hello to a more active and enjoyable life!

[anxiously-going]

I understand the mechanics of why we elevate above heart level for swelling and what not, but it is annoying that my foot keeps falling asleep.

[childofeberron]

its so crazy having shoes that fit properly like what do you mean my toe and ankle pain have reduced by at least like 25%. has anyone else heard of this shit

[evadingreallife]

Me: owwwwie my foot hurtsssss

The physiotherapist: ok now move it dumbass

[nutrisage]

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[doberbutts]

Went to the doctor because sore footie

Doctor poked and prodded the joint of my big toe where I said it hurts if I step down. After roughly 30 seconds she declared that it seemed fine to her because there was no pain when she touched it. I told her it hurts when I step down on it not when I touched it. Told her family history of bunions. Mom thinks it's a bunion. Multiple friends think it's a bunion. What can I do to fix? She takes an xray, tells me there's nothing wrong with my foot, and sends me home.

I go to the Walmart across the street from the doctor and bought new insoles as well as bunion supports. Almost instant relief.

[impala-dreamer]

You Only Want Me When You're High

A Story from The Boys Universe

~ As the newest and most useless recruit to The Boys, Y/N is tasked with keeping an eye on Soldier Boy while Butcher sorts things out. Annoyed to be given such a ridiculous job, she tries to keep the defrosted supe at arm’s length, but there’s something in the drugs and in his eyes that makes him hard to resist…~

Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader, Hughie Campbell, Billy Butcher

5,426 Words

NSFW, Sexual Acts, Excessive Drug Use, Just NSFW all around… 

“I’m going to put my clothes on before you say anything else” for @jacklesversebingo

JacklesBingo Masterlist ~ My Full Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Sunlight illuminated a cloud of bluish-gray smoke and Ben took another hit. He breathed deeply, willing the drugs to seek out every cell in his preternaturally powerful body and corrupt them long enough to give him a little buzz. 

It wasn’t easy. It would take enough drugs to kill a mortal for him to feel that sweet high, but excess was a word he wasn’t familiar with.

Eyes closed, he exhaled another stream of musky vapor into the rented room. He felt his brain shift to the left for a quick second as a faint bit of dizziness struck him. He grinned, leaned back against the headboard, and stretched his long legs over the hideous bedspread. 

“There it is…” 

Another hit boosted his mood and Soldier Boy sighed happily, momentarily at peace.   

He cracked open an eye when the bathroom door opened. 

He licked his lips when Y/N walked out with a dingy white towel wrapped tight around her damp body; her hair pinned up and safe from the shower. 

He whistled when she crossed the room, heading for her duffle bag. 

“Fuck off,” she snapped, rolling her eyes as his grew darker and more locked on her form. 

Ben chuckled under his breath. “Hey, sweetheart, you can’t walk around naked like that and expect me not to get stiff.” 

He shifted on the bed, tugging at his pants to accommodate the growing length against his thigh. She stared at his hand as it teased the shadow creasing the fabric, and swallowed hard. He was gorgeous but the price of a quick romp wasn’t worth the pain in the ass. 

He winked. 

She groaned. “Asshole.” 

“Oh, come on-” Ben took a long pull on the blunt and held it in, voice tight on the inhale. He grabbed his cock. “You know you want some of this.”

“The weed yes…” She turned her back on him, grabbed the bag, and tugged open the noisy zipper.  “Your dick… no.” 

He scoffed. “You’re shit at lying, Y/N.” 

Her cheeks burned but she tried to ignore him as she searched the bag for her clothes. “Am I?” 

The wide tip of his pink tongue flashed over his lips and Ben sat up, focusing on her. “Sure are,” he replied, tracing her spine with his gaze. “You’ve been acting like you don’t want to get on your knees, but I know you’re hot as hell for me. You’d suck my dick in a second if I whipped it out right now, wouldn’t you?” 

He watched the muscles in her back tighten as she struggled to hide the shiver that slid from head to toe. 

“You’re a pig.” 

“Maybe.” He shrugged and leaned back again, bringing the joint to his lips. “Don’t mean I’m not right.” 

Y/N glared at him over her shoulder. “Butcher should have left you on ice.”

Ben grinned. “I’m still a little chilly,” he teased. “Why don’t you come warm me up?” 

“In your dreams, Grandpa.”

He patted his thigh. “Come on, Sweet Cheeks, hop on up here and show me those perky tits.” 

Arousal and anger swirled in her gut and Y/N grit her teeth. “Things don’t work like that anymore. You can’t just snap your fingers and have women swoon over you. This isn’t the ‘40s.” Her glare cut through him as sure as Homelander’s laser eyes could and his nostrils flared in annoyance. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put my clothes on before you say anything else.” 

She turned to head back to the bathroom, but he moved like lightning, blocking her path. She gasped when his big hand locked around her arm. 

“What are you doing?” She twisted her hand to break free and the bundle of clothes fell to the floor. “Let me go.” Her voice was shaking but as firm as she could make it. 

He laughed and tightened his fingers around her wrist. “Your pulse is racing.” 

She looked up and sneered. “That’s because you’re annoying the crap out of me.” 

“Or maybe, it’s because you want me to do this-” 

Soldier Boy tugged her arm and she crashed against his firm chest. She inhaled quickly, sucking in the heat of him, the dark woody scent of his body, and the stink of the drugs. Her head clouded and he took advantage, pressing his lips to hers in a rough kiss. Unconsciously, she opened for him and his hot tongue snaked against hers. She couldn’t hide the way her heart pounded- he could hear it. She couldn’t conceal the flush of her skin- he could feel it. She couldn’t obscure the dampness between her legs- he could smell it.  

When he let her go, Y/N stumbled back and shook her head to clear her vision. 

Towering over her, Ben smirked proudly and licked her taste from his lips. “Told ya.” 

Her palm cracked hard against his cheek and he cringed for her benefit. 

“Fucking asshole!” 

Staring up into his emerald eyes, she felt herself weaken but refused to give in. She hit him again.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!”

Another slap made a soft smile pluck the corner of his mouth and Y/N raged, giving into the rushing arousal that swarmed her thoughts and pushed away her common sense. She raised her hand again, but instead of a slap, she clawed at the nape of his neck and drew his lips down to hers, kissing him hard. 

Ben sucked in a breath, shocked by her aggression. He hummed when she licked into his mouth; slipped his free hand down her sides when she bit his bottom lip. His fingertips dug into the meat of her hips and she pulled back, looking up into his freckled face.

The end of the joint smoldered between his fingers, crumbling to ash like a pillar of Pompei. Y/N wrapped her delicate hand around his wrist and brought his fingers up to her mouth. 

Holding his gaze, she puckered her lips and sucked in a deep breath, pulling the drugs into her lungs. She shuddered and coughed, senses overtaken by the strength of the bud.

“Fuck…” 

Ben bent down to take a final drag and the cherry died. He dropped the dregs and pulled her close, slowly exhaling the smoke through her parted lips. 

She inhaled and her eyes rolled. Her balance skewed and she swayed against him. 

“Now…” He cleared his throat and slid his hand against the back of her head, holding her there. “How about you get on your knees and show me what a good girl you are.”

Y/N laughed and shook her head. “I have a better idea.”

He cocked a brow. “Really?” 

“Mhm…” 

Taking a step back, Y/N released the knot in the towel and let it fall to her feet. Immediately, Ben reached for her, but Y/N caught his hand, shoving it away. 

“I told you, things are different now.” 

Reaching up, she dragged her fingertips down his cheek. He leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering slightly. 

“It’s not just take, take, take anymore…”

Her hand moved slowly down his throat, tracing the thick muscle down to his shoulder. 

“Sometimes, you gotta give.”

His forehead creased in confusion, and Y/N explained without words, pressing his shoulder down and urging him to his knees. 

In awe of her suggestion and high as a kite, Ben slid to the floor and looked up with full-blown pupils and wet lips. As he watched, she ran her hands over her breasts, plucking each nipple until the flesh darkened. He swallowed hard. Her right hand dipped down between her thighs, carrying his gaze to her pussy. She spread her legs and rubbed gently, slicking her fingers with arousal. 

He parted his lips, ready to shoot another one-liner her way, but Y/N silenced him quickly. She pushed her wet fingers into his mouth and rubbed her juices on his tongue. 

His eyes closed and he moaned around her fingers. “Fuck…” 

She spread her legs and grabbed a handful of his thick hair. “Time to give, Soldier Boy…”

Y/N forced his face into her cunt, but he needed little prodding. As soon as her flesh hit his face, he started to lick and her body arched back in mounting pleasure. She tugged at his hair as he sucked on her clit; bucked her hips against his mouth when he pressed two hot fingers into her. 

He came up for air, sitting back on his heels and craning his neck looking up at her. His face glistened and his lips were swollen. He pressed his palm down over his cock and groaned. 

“Wanna fuck you,” he breathed, roughly stroking himself through his sweats. 

Y/N smiled devilishly and shook her head. “That’s so sweet,” she mocked, “but no.” Again, she grabbed his hair and yanked until he fell forward. “This is all you get.” 

Ben sank into her pussy, driving her wild as lingering smoke faded around them.  

He watched her through the car windows, staring as she walked down the street with Hughie by her side. They were arguing about something he couldn’t hear. Hughie’s lanky twig arms were waving in the wind as Y/N stood with her arms crossed and a hip popped in annoyance. Ben couldn’t give less of a shit what they were fighting about, he just wanted out of the damned car. He wanted to stretch his legs and wreak some havoc on that bleached blond, cape-wearing dickwad Homelander. 

Instead, he crushed another pill in his strong hand and snorted it back, humming loudly as the jolt hit his brain. “Goddamn, that is good shit.” 

Again, his eyes flew to Y/N and he licked his lips, remembering the sweet taste of her pussy and the noises she made while cumming on his tongue. 

As if she could feel his eyes on her ass, Y/N suddenly turned and met his gaze. She shuddered a bit but didn’t look away, staring into his eyes from across the street. 

Hughie waved a hand in front of her face, drawing her attention back. 

“Hello! We’re not done here,” he snit; baby face screwed up in anger. 

Y/N tilted her head and shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Hughie. I’m not in charge of this shit. I’m just a babysitter.” 

She looked at the car again and found Ben still admiring her form. He had his right arm on the window ledge and his forehead against the door. She couldn’t see his left hand, but she could imagine where it was as he pressed his tongue against his top teeth and dropped his eyes down her body. 

Y/N sighed out a delicate moan. 

Hughie gagged. “Are you serious?” 

“What?” 

He grabbed her arm, turning her back around. “Are you fucking him?” 

Y/N startled and dropped her arms. “What? Who?” 

Hughie’s face reddened. “Who? Soldier Boy!”

Shaking herself, Y/N cringed. “Ew. No! Why the fuck-” 

“Well, you’re staring at him like he’s a fucking vibrator.”

Y/N laughed. “First off- that’s disgusting. Do not insult my vibrator like that. She’s one of my best friends.” She rolled her eyes. “Secondly, if I was gonna fuck anyone around here, it would not be that sexist junkie.” Hughie held his breath and stood up a little straighter. She laughed again. “Calm yourself,” she advised, turning away. “It wouldn’t be you either…” 

Ben slowly rubbed his cock through his pants, eyes glued to her curves. He laughed when she threw her hands up, obviously annoyed with Hughie and his problems. The twig man cowered slightly and his face blushed hot red. 

Soldier Boy laughed. “What a pussy.”

Three hours later, Y/N was half asleep in the front seat of the busted Lincoln, desperate to stay awake 

Night had fallen as they waited in the woods, trapped in a car by her sharp-tongued, bearded leader Butcher. Y/N wanted to get into the fray and stab something, but she had been bound to Soldier Boy’s side, tasked with keeping him content and docile until needed. 

She hated it. 

He was humming to himself in the backseat, happily learning how to access porn on her smartphone. It had taken some time to get him to understand the mechanics of the swipe, but once he did, he was off like a racehorse, Googling the most depraved acts he could think of. 

“Holy shit-” 

Y/N rubbed her tired eyes and looked at him in the rearview mirror. His face was lit by the screen and his green eyes were wide; his plump lips stretched into an awed smile. 

“What now? You find Hentaied yet?” 

Ben looked up, confused, but immediately went back to his discovery. “No. What? No. There’s… well, there’s two girls… and one cup… and-”

“No! No. No.” Reaching into the backseat, Y/N grabbed the phone from his hands and quickly shut it down. “You’re not watching that crap on my phone.” 

He laughed. “Crap.” 

“Ew.” With a heavy sigh, she tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. “You’re gross.” 

“It was on your phone.” 

“Because you looked it up- I- It doesn’t matter. Just shut up. Please. My head hurts.” 

Ben watched as she rubbed her temples gently. “Ya know… I have something that’ll cure your headache.” 

Y/N glowered at him. “Don’t you dare take your dick out.” 

“Not yet.” He chuckled and produced a prescription bottle, quickly popping the top. “This.” 

She leaned over to look at the three white tablets as they tumbled into his palm. “What is it?” 

He grinned. “My old friend Bennie.” 

“Um… pass.” 

“Oh, come on. You’ll feel better… it’ll… wake you up.” Ben winked and closed his fist, crushing the pills to powder. Unfurling his fingers, he offered the drugs again. 

Y/N declined with a simple shake of her head. 

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” With a loud snort and a flip of his long hair, the pills were gone, launched up into his brain like a rocket ship. “Fuck!” He shook himself and laid back, pupils wide and skin tingling. 

Y/N couldn’t look away. He looked normal for once. The grumpy, disgusting aura was gone, replaced with a relaxed yet wired look that was more appealing by the moment. 

She huffed. 

He tapped a single tablet into his open hand. 

She held his gaze and nodded. 

“Good girl.” 

The drugs flew up her nose and instantly shook her brain. A bolt of lightning struck her head and every part of her came alive. Her pulse rose, her skin prickled, her pussy throbbed. She felt elated and wild. She wanted to rip her clothes off and run through the trees, feel the earth beneath her bare feet, howl at the half-moon. 

“Nice, right?” 

Ben smirked and her attention shifted from the fantasy of a naked nature waltz to a dream of him. 

Y/N bit her lip and reached over the seat to grab the collar of his shirt. The cotton rumpled in her tight fist and Ben fell forward, pulled by her lustful tug. 

She kissed him. 

He hummed and shifted closer. 

She pushed her tongue between his soft lips. 

He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her delicious neck. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he growled, pressing his lips to her pulse. “I wanna eat you alive.” 

Y/N moaned and dipped her head to look into his eyes. The move pulled her hair harder and the pain spread like concupiscent fire through her system. “Maybe later,” she teased. 

Her tongue shot out and lapped at his lips. 

He sighed lustfully. “For now?” 

Y/N bit down on his bottom lip and let it fall slowly from her teeth. His eyes rolled and she kissed his deeper. 

“For now…” Her lips slid across his cheek and settled by his ear. “... I want you inside of me.” 

Ben growled and grabbed her waist, easily lifting her over the seat and into his arms. She fell into him and went back to tasting his lips, moaning with every electric kiss, every twitch of his fingertips over her skin. 

He snuck his hand beneath her shirt, pawed at her tits, and teased each nipple in turn.

She pushed down on his lap, shivering when she felt his erection poke through the layers of fabric between them. 

“Please,” she moaned. “Please fuck me.” 

Her hands fell down his big chest and Ben’s breath grew ragged and heavy. He kissed her one last time and then shoved her away. She gasped at his strength as she ended up on her back with her jeans tugged away. He moved with lightning speed, removing her panties and kicking away his clothes. 

There was no hesitation when he was ready, no need to warm her up. Y/N was wet and tight, ready for him like she’d been edging herself for weeks. 

The moment his cock pressed against her cunt, she was gone, clawing at his arms and letting out wild curses of pleasure. 

He fucked her hard, pushing in deeper with every thrust. He watched her eyes roll and her muscles clench. He heard her heart struggle and the blood flow to her pussy. He knew her then inside and out and used every bit of his power to bring an orgasm crashing down upon her. 

“Fuck!” She dug her nails into his shoulders while the pleasure wrecked her body. “My god!” 

A cocky smirk played on his lips and Ben grabbed her hips. He lifted her like a doll as he settled back against the seat. Her legs spread around his trim hips and she instinctually sank on his cock, impaling her still throbbing pussy. 

“Fuck, fuck!” She bit her lip and locked her tiny hands around his thick neck, holding on as she began to ride him. 

The threat of her fingers on his pulse was enticing and Ben bucked his hips hard, fucking up into her as she struggled to stay upright. When she crumbled, he held her up, his big hand closing around the nape of her neck and keeping her spine straight. She was truly a ragdoll in his hands: a wet, hot, sexy toy for him to use. 

Y/N shuddered with another orgasm and Ben let go as she tightened around his cock. With a rumbling growl, he came, shooting up into her with a powerful spray that she could almost feel going deep into her core. 

Butcher had one foot out the door. He would have had both out and halfway down the motel hallway if not for Y/N’s hand fixed around his elbow. 

Her fingers dug into the soft leather of his sleeve and he paused, looking down at her. 

A strange mixture of anger and pathetic innocence filled her eyes and Butcher laughed. 

“You’ll be fine, kid. He ain’t gonna bother you none.” 

Y/N groaned. “Please. Just give me something else to do. I can’t stand it anymore. He’s such an asshole. He spent forty minutes this morning talking about Susan Summers and how good the ThighMaster was at tightening her pus-”

Butcher held up a hand, silencing her. 

“I gotcha, but ya need ta realize I got a lotta balls in the air right now and I need that ball under lock and key.” He pointed behind her to the bathroom. The edges of the closed door were glowing as smoke and steam escaped, leaking an odorous marijuana and Old Spice vapor into the room. “And you, darlin’,” he continued, poking Y/N in the chest, “are the lock.” 

She shook her head. “And where’s the fucking key so I can get out of here?” 

Grinning, Butcher shoved her back a pace. He grabbed the door and stepped into the hall, pulling it behind him. “That’d be me.” 

Her fist hit the door and her knuckles bruised instantly. 

“God- fucking- damn it!”

One door closed and the other opened. 

A naked Soldier Boy emerged from a dense fog of spiked steam like Jesus descending back to earth on a cloud. 

Y/N caught herself staring at his dick and shook herself, turning quickly away. 

“You can look,” Ben said, planting his bowed legs wide apart and setting his fists on his hips. “I don’t mind.” 

She gagged dramatically. “No thanks.” 

“Come on,” he urged proudly. “Take it all in. Bask in the glory!” 

“You really are a tremendous piece of trash, aren’t you?” 

With a shrug, he broke pose and went in search of pants.  

“You didn’t seem to mind it last night,” he mused, bending over a bag of random clothing articles. 

Y/N tried not to stare but his tanned skin was glistening with wetness from the shower and the muscles of his back were tight and twitching as he searched. Her eyes fell down his spine, lingered on his ass a moment, and then sank into the thick muscles of his legs. His thighs looked like tree trunks, his calves like branches she could entangle herself in and dangle forever. 

“Yeah, well… I’m an idiot sometimes.” 

Ben fished a pair of soft white boxers from the bag and turned, eyeing her as he toyed with the elastic hem, finding the front. 

“Sometimes?” 

She cleared her throat and narrowed her gaze, pushing every bit of annoyance into her stare. “Fuck off.” 

Ben smirked and tugged on the shorts. “You know, you’d get a lot more attention if you were nicer. Smile more. Be respectful. Put some damned makeup on.” 

Anger sizzled in her gut. “You didn’t seem to mind last night,” she echoed. 

Pressing his tongue between his lips, Ben nodded. “Touché.” 

Time passed slowly. 

Y/N sat at the head of the bed, leaning on the headboard with a bottle of Jim Beam slowly emptying into her.

She stared at Ben despite herself, always looking away, arguing with herself, and then looking back, getting stuck on something about him. His hair was so perfectly long in all the right places, and somehow gorgeously always in place. His beard was thick but soft like he’d been grooming himself for the last forty years. His eyes cut right through her resolve anytime he looked at her. At times she wondered if he had x-ray vision or could see into her soul. 

Still shirtless and refusing to get dressed, Ben paced the room. His bare feet dug into the thin carpet as he walked back and forth, seething with energy. 

“Sit down already!” Y/N yelled. “You’re making me dizzy! You’re like a fucking pendulum going back and forth.” 

Pausing by the door, he grit his teeth and glared. “Give me something to do, then.” 

Y/N shrugged. “If we had anything to do, do you really think I’d be sitting here? With you?” 

Giving up his worn route, Ben took a seat at the little round table in across from the bed and grabbed a wrapping paper. 

“Why do you hate me so much? What’d I ever do to you? Kill your grandmother?” 

“What? No.” Y/N scoffed. “I hate you because…” 

Her thoughts trailed off when her eyes fell on his broad shoulders. They moved languidly as he rolled a giant spliff, muscles rippling under her gaze as if her world had switched to slow motion. 

“Uh…” 

He brought the joint up to his lips and Y/N gasped slightly when his tongue jutted out to wet the seam. 

“You…” 

Green eyes locked onto hers and Y/N felt her pussy throb. 

“I, um…” 

Ben chuckled to himself and twisted the ends of the paper tighter. He sat back in the chair and clicked the lighter Butcher had left him. 

“You know what your real problem is?” he asked, letting the flame grow high before setting it to the end of his cigarette. 

Her heart was pounding, her skin on fire for wanting him. “What’s that?”

“You only want me when you’re high.” 

It was so absurdly true that she laughed out loud. Y/N shook her head and tipped the whiskey back, taking a deep drink. “You’re incredible, you know that? It’s like everyone has to love you but when they don’t, you make some shit up. Nuh-uh. You’re… shut up. I hate you.”  She took another sip for good measure and huffed in his direction. “You suck.” 

Ben licked his lip and took a drag. The exhaled smoke haloed his gorgeous face and Y/N hated every drop of booze in her system. They were all dragging her mind to nasty places that she’d rather not go. 

“It is true,” he argued, blowing a smoke ring high about his head. “And I think you like it.” 

She stiffened. “I do not.” 

“I think you do.” Ben sat forward and pulled in another hit. The drugs flooded his brain and he smiled happily. A few moments of bliss before trauma struck again. “I think you need it.” 

“Need what?” 

She watched with building lust as Ben stood up and walked to the foot of the bed. With the fag balanced on his thick bottom lip, he crawled onto the mattress and moved towards her. 

“You need the release,” he explained, hand over hand moving closer. “You need to be high so you can forgive yourself for wanting me.” 

Her heart skipped when he reached her feet. He was right and she hated it. He was terrible and she loved it. He was right there and she wanted him. 

“And honestly, toots- if that’s what you need, that’s fine with me.” Sitting back on his heels, Ben offered her the joint. “Go on. Smoke the guilt away.” 

As if moving in a dream, she took the pot from him and pressed the wet end to her lips. He held her gaze as she inhaled, set his hand upon her ankle while she closed her eyes, and slid it higher when the smoke billowed around them. 

“There’s a girl…” 

Whiskey and cannibus swarmed her senses and Y/N ran a finger down the middle of his chest. He was smooth and firm and covered in constellations of pale freckles. She leaned forward as he bent down and her lips caught his left nipple. He hissed when she sucked hard. 

“Damn…” 

Y/N looked up innocently while dragging her hand down lower. It brushed against the base of his cock and he sucked in a quick breath. 

“Another,” he urged, pushing the joint back up to her mouth. Her lips parted and she breathed deeply. “So fucking hot…” 

Eyes fluttering and thoughts swimming, Y/N gave in and reached into his shorts. She fit her fingers into a tight circle and stroked down the length of his cock, waking him up fully and making his chest expand with heavy breaths. 

“Fuck…” 

She grinned when he cursed; drooled as his head fell back with a pleasured moan. “More?” 

Ben dipped his chin and chewed at his lip, nodding. “Oh yeah.” 

Another hit did her in and Y/N shifted onto her knees. She pressed up against him and licked at his lips before shoving the joint between them. Ben breathed deeply and the cloud rose around them as she kissed her way down his body. She opened her mouth and lay it over his erection, breathing out, hot and heavy. He shuddered and his ass clenched. 

“Fucking hell…” 

Feeling somewhat outside of herself, Y/N looked up with hungry eyes and hooked her fingers into his waistband. “Oh, just wait,” she whispered, tugging his shorts down to his knees. “It’s my turn to give…” 

She licked at the tip of his cock and sucked a wet kiss over the groove underside. Falling fully onto her hands and knees, Y/N teased him with her lips, running her mouth up and down his shaft until he was bouncing on her tongue, fully engorged and leaking. 

“We need to keep you stoned off your ass twenty-four-seven,” he mused, halfway between a moan and a whimper. 

Y/N pulled back and gently rubbed his sack. “Why don’t you get more comfy?”

Ben cocked a brow and grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

He turned and fell onto the bed, taking up her old spot against the headboard. She fit perfectly between his knees and went right back to work, shoving her hot mouth down his cock. She gagged and he groaned. She slurped and he yanked at her hair. She swallowed and he pushed her face down as far as she could go. 

“Now this- this is fucking fantastic.” 

Ben took a deep drag and blew the smoke down into Y/N’s face. She inhaled and her eyes rolled back, deeply aroused and stupidly high. 

She used her whole body to pleasure him. She scrapped her nails down his sensitive inner thighs, swirling her tongue over his sack, rubbed his cock between her tits. Her ass wiggled and her pussy dripped, throbbing and so close to cumming from simply sucking him off.

When she slowed, he bucked his hips. When she choked, he pushed her down further. When she shuddered with an unexpected orgasm, he egged her on with gravelly moans and curses that stunted her thoughts.

“Gonna drown you in cum, sweetheart,” he grunted, straining to hold still while she worked her magic. 

Y/N hummed rapturously, daring him to do it, to murder her with his release.  

Ben lay his hand flat on the back of her head and gently held her there. He was ready to explode and he wanted her to stay and swallow every single drop. 

When the door opened, he was mildly surprised, but unwilling to stop. He jerked his hips up into her pliant mouth and Y/N squirmed between his legs. 

“Holy fuck! Come on!” Hughie quickly shielded his eyes, but the damage was done. Y/N was sucking Soldier Boy’s dick like a porn star while the hero smirked like a moron. 

“Hey! It’s Baby Hughie!” Ben tapped Y/N on the head, but she refused to stop. She was enjoying the slick slide of his cock over her tongue too much to give it up. 

Hughie shook his head and turned away. “Y/N! What the fuck!”

Ben laughed before a tight groan worked its way through his chest. “Don’t get pissed at her,” he warned. “She’s a fucking expert cocksucker.” 

Y/N swallowed hard and his thighs shook. 

Hughie gagged visibly. “I’m gonna- this is- gross.” 

Taking one last hit of the dying joint, Ben narrowed his gaze on the lanky man shadowing the doorway. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “Did you wanna get down on this?” He held out his hand, offering both the drugs and Y/N’s ass. 

Shocked, Hughie shook his head. “What? No!” His cheeks burned bright pink and Ben laughed. 

“Come on, ya pussy. I’m sure she won’t mind…” 

Y/N voiced her opinion with a harsh scrape of teeth down his cock. 

Ben hissed at the pain and shrugged at Hughie. “Sorry. It appears she does mind.” 

Taking a deep breath, Y/N pushed her face into the soft patch of hair around his pelvis and Ben lost his mind. He gripped her hair tight and pulsed his hips in quick, short thrusts.

Hughie gawked at the scene and then struggled to leave. He spun in place and grabbed the doorknob, unable to turn it and escape with quaking hands and blurry eyes. 

Y/N could feel Ben’s need throbbing on her tongue and she pulled back for a second to scold her friend. 

“Get out already!” she shouted, shooing Hughie off with a wave of her spit-soaked hand. 

Ben called her back, grabbing her cheeks in one big hand and pinching her lips into a tight circle. “Oh, he’s leaving,” he told her, guiding her mouth back to his throbbing cock. “Or he’s gonna see some things he can’t forget.”   

Hughie slammed the door behind him and braced himself against the wall. His head fell back with a thud and he struggled to wipe the memory clear. He didn’t care that Y/N had lied about fucking Soldier Boy, but seeing her blitzed and working his cock was more than Hughie could take. An old “Say No To Drugs” poster from grade school flashed through his thoughts and he cringed. 

When Ben’s orgasmic roar flooded out into the hallway, Hughie booked it, strangely looking forward to spending the night alone in the car. 

[sunrisesfromthewest]

Playing Hard To Get Pt 2

Summary: The aftermath of the club left you bruised, agitated and with a little more pocket change. Although you didn't get exempt from completing your report......you're not exactly by yourself when everyone excepts you and Armando leaves to go home.

Warnings: Guns | Rated R Words | N-word used | Suggestive language and actions

Previous Part: Pt 1

Thanks for the Armando pictures @yeahnohoneybye 💓💓

Watching multiple women walk out the back had everyone on their toes as they didn’t see you among them, but hearing one of the dancers say something along the lines of how BP was about to go crazy had Armando alarmed.

Beckoning one of the women over he sees her glance at her friend with a smirk before walking towards him with a sway.

Acting as if he was interested, he lets her dance a bit before questioning her about all the girls coming from the back.

“You see that pretty thang from earlier perform.”

Humming he waits for her next reply, hands practically itching to push her off of him.

“BP likes to get a taste from newcomers but don't worry about that baby we can have our own fun as well."

Before he had time to even react to her words, gunshots go off causing the whole club to erupt in chaos. Pushing the girl away he quickly pulls out his gun from underneath his shirt and head towards the dressing room.

“What the hell was that!” Rafe yells over the still loud music and screams of the once vibrant club patrons.

"Sounds like it came from the back room!" Armando responded.

Shooting a few bodyguards, he hops onto the stage and runs towards the direction that you exited through a few moments earlier.

Gun drawn he walks through the short hallway, senses heightened from the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

"You one brave Bitch to think you could just pull a gun on me!" Big Papa shouts, keeping a tight hold on your bruising wrist as he fights against you.

Turning the corner, Armando entered the room just as the suspects manages to backhand and disarm you. Falling back into the wall vanity, you groan at the stinging sensation from the impact.

"Don't you make a fucking move!" Armando ordered, shifting his gaze between you and the suspect.

"OH, I see now your ass five-o!" he growled, keeping your gun trained on you as the other entrance opens to reveal the squad entering with their guns aimed at the man.

"Put the gun down, you don't want to add more to your charges or worse leave out of here in a damn body bag!" Mike insisted, moving forward a few steps.

Reaching out a hand behind your back, you pat the hard surface in search of a weapon to defend yourself.

"Nah y'all pigs done came in and fuck up my joint and you think a nigga leaving here in handcuffs......fuck that shit!" Raged BP as he tightens his grip on the weapon.

"Shit! This nigga finna crash out, we need to do something now!" Marcus yelled keeping his gun on the suspect.

Making eye contact with Armando, you see him widen his eyes and mouth no as you grab your discarded purse.

"I'LL SHOW YOU A FUCKING CRASH OU-" before he could finish you hit his wrist hard with your purse and slam your heels into his groin area.

Dropping the gun, he falls to his knees clutching his private, while cursing you out with a high pitch voice.

Lunging forward you grab your gun and press it against his sweating forehead, "WHO'S THE MOTHERFUCKING BITCH NOW HUH!"

Shifting your agitated eyes up you see all the men staring with a pain-stricken expression.

"Damn Y/N I ain't think you was gonna do all that!" Armando gulped, slipping handcuffs around the groaning suspects wrists.

"What I have to work with what I got and plus he fucked up my weave!" you explained, removing your gun from BPs head to put on your silk robe.

Arriving at the precinct, you sit down in your chair and place your sparkling heeled feet on top of your desk. While setting your small tote in your lap to double check that no money didn’t fall out after using it as a weapon.

"Y/N I can't let you keep that." Rita stated walking over to you to collect the money for evidence.

"Come on Rita, the man messed up my hair and I'll consider this as compensation y'all know my beautician isn't cheap!"

Laughing Kelly steps in,“Hey! Y/N put that work in on that pole, she deserves every penny!"

Muttering thank you; you continue to count your money while smacking Rafe's hand away as he tries to steal a bill and pointing your heeled feet at Dorn's approaching form.

"Aye I'm just coming to collect that twenty you owe me.”

Smacking your lips you remove your feet from the desk and scoot forward to hand him his change, "Y'all bet not start that 'You owe' me mess, at least wait till I get my hair done."

"Only thing I want is you, baby."

Turning your chair in Armandos direction you give him a small glare as you watch him cross his arms while leaning against his desk with a smirk.

"Like I said tell that to your little work girlfriend."

"And Like I told you......I just did."

Moving away from his desk, he walks over to stand in front of your sitting form causing you to peer up at him with raised brows. Placing his hand on your arm rest he cages you in and leans his lips towards your left ear.

"Second warning, princess."

Shifting away from his warm looming figure, you gaze into his brown eyes and briefly peer down at his dangling chain.

"Those warnings don't mean nothing to me." you commented, leaning back some more to catch his reaction.

Blinking down at you Armando traces his eyes down your face, "You’ll learn after you receive your third one." he replied in a low tone, before standing back upright and walking back to his desk.

Shivering from his words , you glanced around to see the team gazing between you and Armando awkwardly.

"I thought we was still at the strip club for a second." Marcus mutters as he and Mike heads to the breakroom.

Right when you turn to your desk to start your report, you feel a bill being snatched from the stack in your hand and seeing a familiar tattooed form dash by had you growling out their name.

"Rafe! You luck my feet hurt to damn much to chase after you!" You shouted, quickly sticking your money into your bag and placing it into your drawer.

As time passes by you continue to fill out the information from tonight's case with tired eyes, everyone had already finished theirs and left......well except for Armando who was currently typing away on his computer.

Yawning you get up to walk towards the breakroom, bare aching feet being soothed by the cold tiles of the precinct floors.

Entering the room, you make a beeline straight towards the coffee machine and after pressing a few buttons you hop onto the counter beside it as the machine works it magic.

Closing your eyes you release a content sigh from the smell of the beverage beginning to waft through the air but while you take in this peaceful moment you failed to notice Armando's approaching figure.

Feeling hands brush against your thighs had you jumping and shooting your eyes open, only to relax a bit when you see Armando standing in front of you.

Running his hands down your exposed shimmering legs, he pushes them apart to stand in between them.

"Why you keep fighting against this?"

"Against what?" you asked stopping the movement of his tan hands, already feeling yourself becoming hot just from his simple touch.

“The possibility of us.” Armando answered, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter while keeping a soft grip on the back of your knees.

"I already told you before I'm not interested."

"You're saying one thing, but your body says another, mami." he remarked, moving his hand under your robe, and playful pulling at your thong strap.

Rolling your eyes, you try to scoot away from his overwhelming figure but his grip on your hips keeps you in place.

"What are yo-"

"Tell me if you want me to stop." he stated, cutting you off while pressing his front against yours.

"Arma-" before you could utter his name, your mouth drops open as he begins to press firm hot kisses down your exposed neck.

Mind becoming scattered you don't know whether to keep him close or push him away.

"Use your words baby.... let me know if you want me to stop." he muttered pressing his warm lips against your soft ones.

Digging your nails into his firm shoulders,he wraps your thick brown legs around his waist causing you to moan into the kiss.

However, the sensation of his hard covered member grinding against your thin thong had you pushing at his firm chest, "W -wait, Armando!"

Freezing his movements he sucks in a deep breath, staring you down hungrily while waiting for you to speak.

The nerves in your belly were going crazy from the way his intense dilated eyes trail down to your partially opened robe.

Looking back up he sees the dazed look on your face making him gently grab your right hand.

"Don't go quiet on me Y/N," he breathed bringing his lips to your bruised wrist.

"Tell me what's on your mind, baby."

Shaking away the lustful thoughts clouding your brain, you use your other manicured hand to move him back.

"You really wanna know what's on my mind?" you smirked, hopping off the counter and turning your attention to the coffee machine.

"Wouldn't have asked if I didn't." he taunted, rolling his lower half against your ass,resulting in you gripping the counter to prevent yourself from meeting his movements.

Wrapping his arms around your waist,he gives your flushed brown cheek a kiss and reaches a hand down to play with the strap keeping your robe together.

"Just thinking about how you went all day ignoring me and trying to make me jealous but the minute you seen me twirling on that pole you went back to begging." you commented, fixing you and him a cup of much needed coffee.

"Ain’t nobody was begging sweetheart,I was just simply returning the same energy you been giving to me." he growled ,extending his hand to grab the cup you prepared for him while releasing you from his hold.

"Oh yeah and what was that."

"Teasing me as if you want to take this to the next level but then acting like I'm just a 'colleague'. " Armando explained, keeping his eyes on you while taking a sip of the hot beverage.

"Oh, you're so cute to think that's how I tease." you added, heading back to your desk,no longer interested in drinking your coffee.

Following after you amused, he watches you log out your computer and gather your things.

Causing him to turn his attention to his own desk to complete the same motions.

Missing the sight of you sliding a certain piece of clothing down your glittering legs.

"If what you been showing me this whole time wasn’t your form of teasing then I can’t even imagi-”

Before he could finish, a soft material hits the side of his head making him freeze on the spot as his eyes land on your thong.

" See ya on Monday!" you purred, walking fast to the front of the precinct.

Snatching up the discarded thong and stuffing it into his pocket; he grabs his few belongings and quickly chase after your retreating figure with newfound desire.

"Your gonna learn to stop running from things you start, Y/N!"

Author’s Note🎙️:Hope you guys enjoyed I had to dig deep on Pinterest for that visual of Y/N stripper outfit😭 and I got carried away with typing a Mike Lowrey x reader one-shot😁.

Let me know if I should do one more part to this ⬆️.

Tag-list: @poppetbaby02 @livirosa@dyttomori @cibresworld @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @theclownmimi @blackgirlmagicforever @3amvaiya @thesizzler @bitchyglittersuit @leahnicole1219 @babywinter @housewifewithnohusband22 @undevidedattentionsblog @delusionalbutterfly @ky44 @thatwassofetch @pandorafrost @yeahnohoneybye

[fandumb-whimsey]

Scarecrow Leg Observations/Headcanons

aka I thought about it too much and now it's everyone else's problem.

(important note: I am not in the medical field and I learned/looked up a lot of this with the help of Dr. Google)

The leg brace seems like a simple detail which can be overlooked in the larger design. On the surface, it's pretty straight forward: leg got damaged and now needs an orthopedic brace to function. This in and of itself is interesting since the artist undoubtedly referenced actual braces, specifically old ones, to fit Scarecrow's aesthetic:

This is a running theme with him; he seems to favor old, antique items and will repair things (like the use of duct tape or zigzag stitching for tears on his costume) before replacing them, which fits an image of someone coming from a background of poverty. Not entirely important to the conversation, just an interesting aside.

There is official material which states his leg is "permanently broken", which is probably the easiest, most succinct way to state this issue, but it's not entirely an accurate way to put it. If a leg is considered broken beyond repair, it's likely to be amputated. Bones which don't heal correctly the first time can be broken again and realigned to heal properly, often through surgery with the use of pins, rods, plates, and/or screws. However, "permanently broken" could also be implying he has suffered irreparable nerve damage which affects the use of the leg (more on that in a moment). One possibility: The bones in Scarecrow's leg do not heal properly due to the severity of his fractures likely needing surgery. Unable to access such resources after his run-in with Croc, this results in a malunion. In his case, the misalignment could be subtle as there is no obvious bend or twist in his leg, but still causes problems which requires use of a brace.

Another possibility: Perhaps he is lucky and his leg does heal well. Maybe there's no malunion at all. Unfortunately, whether the bones mend together well or not, evidence strongly implies that it was broken seriously enough that it damaged his peroneal nerve, leading to muscle weakness and foot drop, which necessitates the use of the brace to function.

If you look closely, you can see there is additional support around Scarecrow's ankle that would otherwise prevent rotation of that joint. You can see this in the game when he circles Batman on the airship:

When he takes a step with his good leg, the foot remains more parallel to the floor. Compare that to the foot in the brace, where the toes point upward with each stride due to being in a fixed position. I feel this is a strong indication of him having lasting damage here (such as foot drop) and part of why the leg brace is vital to his mobility (and undoubtedly one of many reasons why he's so furious at Batman).

Something like this often has trickle down effects. Having to compensate for a weaker limb can throw the body off balance, especially if it's a leg. This can create joint and back pain outside of (or in addition to) the issues related to the initial trauma. Combined with the other things he has had to deal with, there is something to be said of Scarecrow's tenacity. He is very driven and ambitious, even if it's the pure, seething drive for vengeance which causes him to persevere. It's a quality one can admire. :)

The rambling ends here, thanks for reading. And an extra big thanks to a very special someone who, without their help, none of this would be possible...I'm of course talking about my guy KILLER CROC for going absolutely feral in those Asylum sewers, really gave Jonny here a spooky glow-up, am I right?

Pictured: Scarecrow regretting his fear toxin frivolity into the sewers.

[yellowballoondogs]

Giving the x-men disabilities so they can suffer like me

I just think it’s cool how much people can relate to the x-men in marginalized groups no matter the group. Just like how they’re all gay, POC, religious minorities, etc.

Cyclops- Scott Summers

C’mon this is the most autistic man to ever autism

He’s got model plane sets and shit around his otherwise empty and perfectly cleaned room with the sheet corners tucked in and everything

He stopped stimming because of O’Diamonds and Sinisters abuse but started again when he got more comfortable with the o5 team. He definitely does flappy hands

He probably hyper fixated on an obscure engineering subject

photophobia- light sensitivity

Idk if it’s cannon or not but it would make sense with his brain damage and all (plus I have it and I’m projecting) it’s also an autism symptom so double whammy- his glasses will help

Migrainous stroke- basically stroke with migraines. It ties into brain damage and photophobia with migraines which would make so much sense. Frequent strokes too? Fuck yeah let’s highlight how his childhood trauma and overwhelming power effect him- how mutant powers aren’t always good.

He should have really shitty vision- canonically colorblind- wears glasses all the time so low light, his eyes basically fucking glow. This man cannot see for shit

“cut the red wire cyclops!” “They’re all red!”

Storm- Ororo Monroe

She’s canonically claustrophobic but it’s really only used as a once in awhile plot device

I think it should tie into anxiety a lot more

Ororo is the kind of person who uses a planner to manage every aspect of her day so she’s never caught of guard

She’s got only one timer set up to take her meds instead of 10 like the rest of us (she’s simply better)

She would have actual panic attacks that don’t end the second she’s out of a confined space. Full run-

For her a panic attack would cause a lot of derealization. She doesn’t feel like she’s in her body, she feels out of control, like she can’t breathe, dizzy, both hot and cold at the same time.

Nightcrawler-Kurt Wagner

syndactyly- fusion of fingers or toes. This is basically cannon. He’s got 2 big fingers and toes so like no explanation really needed. He’s got it even if it’s for different reasons.

This greatly effects his ability to do certain things- our boy can’t use a controller can he? How’s he meant to play Mario cart with the rest of the team ):

Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome- bendy bones and stretchy skin that causes lots of joint pain

He canonical has bendy bones so like this is also half canon. Plus I’m giving my blorbo chronic pain to project.

Pretty sure there’s a Spider-Man with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome too so that’s very slay.

Rouge- Anne-Marie

Hear me out- HPV It’s the whole- “I can’t touch anyone” thing

She was born with it

It causes a lot of pain for her but she hides it around people she’s not comfortable with (so really just unmasking in front of remy and her family)

Also stds just need to be a lot more normalized. And her having to be so weird about people with it fits so much with the whole “ew mutants” thing

Xavier

Yeah yeah he’s a paraplegic

They should be better about it though. No more of this curing him so often he’s like the one famous character wheelchair bound people get

Stop making him so weak, he runs a school to learn how to kick ass, man can probably box, who needs legs. They always just make him useless once someone kicks over his chair or something

Chronic migraines again

Listen hearing all those thoughts all the time can’t be all sunshine’s and rainbows. Make him suffer (this goes for all telepaths)

Gambit- Remy Lebeau

He canonically has brain damage (via lebeatomy) (haha get it)

He’s getting hit with migraines too. Making all these losers suffer

He probably also has very bad vision because of his eyes- probably not very good with light just like cyclops (likely worse)

I’m going to give him the worlds worst period cramps via dysmenorrhea. Yeah he’s trans to me I’m a romy t4t Reuther

Rapid fire listings let’s go!

Jubilee canonically has Dyscalculia- like dyslexia for numbers

Wolverine canonically has memory issues and ptsd

Magneto canonically has ptsd

Legion canonically has multiple personality disorder or DID- dissociative identity disorder. It’s not always portrayed the best but rep is rep

Angel canonically has hollow bones- I’m gonna gc him with osteoporosis

Headcanoning Madelyn Pryor with post partum depression

Scarlet witch gets head cannoned half of all the mental disorders- depression, psychosis, ptsd, and anything you wanna give her. Girl needs a staff of therapists, psychologists, and a cocktail of pills

Quicksilver gets headcannoned with ADHD. Boring I know but I’ve got it and it fits him so projection time

Let marrow have ptsd. Girl witnessed a genocide of her people and her moms death as a child. Why do they skim over that? Girl is suffering

Pyro canonically had the legacy virus which was like a big euphemism for AIDs so he gets that. Plus he also gets hit with the autism beam

Toad is autistic. No further questions

Jean grey gets the psychic migraines but I’m also giving her autism cause her relationship with Scott is nowhere near neurotypical. The biggest disability marvel gave her was liking wolverine though. He canonically smells like shit and is an asshole. I love him.

Kitty pryde gets type 1 diabetes- I cannot explain why it fits her it just does

Cable gets lupus cause he canonically had a fantasy space tech autoimmune disease so let’s just make it more realistic

Daken gets lactose intolerance (he’s fine because he doesn’t really actually eat dairy)

Iceman gets lactose intolerance (he’s not fine because he loves all things dairy)

Dust gets celiac disease

[whumpandothercomfort]

maybe one more thing with masochist whumpee?

Whumpee has, perhaps, ended up with Sadistic Whumper specifically BECAUSE their pain tolerance is so high. Whumper keeps finding it a little too easy to break their toys. A stronger will is required.

Whumper was not specifically looking to purchase a masochist because half the fun of inflicting pain is the fact that it hurts. But they're open to experimentation.

Whumper straps Whumpee down to a table, immobilizing the major joints to make struggling difficult. There are a lot of torture implements hanging on the walls. Like, a lot.

"I'm going to muzzle you."

Whumpee swallows.

Whumper retrieves a fairly standard muzzle -- straps to cover the mouth and hold it closed. Then they pause. "Open up."

"Please-" Whumpee begins.

"Open up."

Whumpee obediently opens their mouth. Whumper slides a small metal plate behind their teeth -- just big enough to dig into the roof and bottom of their mouth, just thin enough to cause pain.

Whumpee is almost silent as Whumper fits the muzzle over their face. They only make a noise when Whumper tightens the straps to force their teeth together, making the metal bite harder. It's a desperate whimper, their muscles twitching spasmodically, their eyes wide.

"Good pet," Whumper murmurs. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

Whumpee closes their eyes, nodding just the tiniest fraction.

Whumper strokes their cheek with a thumb. "It's good, isn't it?"

Whumpee whimpers again.

"Look at me."

Whumpee's eyes open, but their gaze is unfocused. Glazed. Their pupils are huge with helpless, unwanted pleasure.

"Good," Whumper says. "You're nice and obedient like this. I think we'll just have to keep you in a little pain all the time, won't we? Is that what you need?"

Whumpee's soft, muffled protest is undermined by their body's response. Their fingers and toes both curl, their eyes rolling back, breathing heavy.

"It's good you found your way to me, really," Whumper says. "There's no one who can take better care of you than me."

[livwritesstuff]

The first pair of shoes Eddie purchased for himself when he started rebuilding the life he’d lost when his trailer was destroyed was a pair of Doc Martens.

They were new (well, not new – he’d still thrifted them, but they were barely worn, probably surrendered by some yuppie who liked the style but couldn’t handle the pain of breaking them in) and big and black and heavy with steel toes and thick woven laces.

Those boots went everywhere with him – navigating those first few years of recovering from all the trauma he’d suffered in ‘86, finally leaving Hawkins in 1990, his move to Washington in ’94 to live with Steve while he finished out his psych program, their joint move to Boston a couple years later, his first book release in ‘95 and his second in ‘99, not to mention all the countless big and small adventures that filled in all those gaps.

When Eddie and Steve’s daughter Moe was born in 2001, Eddie temporarily retired the boots.

There was a period during those first few years of her life when she was both very small and always underfoot, a combination that meant concerns about tripping on her were high enough without Eddie adding steel-toed boots larger than his kid into the mix.

So for a while, the boots sat on the floor in his and Steve’s closet collecting dust.

Then Moe got a little bit older and the boots started collecting other things.

“Ed, come look at this,” Steve snickers.

He’s in their closet, trying to tackle the cataclysmic mess that has accumulated over the last year and a half, because trivial things like cleaning had kind of taken the backseat the second they met Moe – as they should; Eddie maintains that there is literally nothing he’d rather do than spend time with his daughter, bar none. Alas she does need to nap sometimes, and he supposes that’s when all the other shit gets done.

He joins Steve in the closet to see that he's holding one of Eddie's Docs.

“Look what Moe did,” Steve continues, holding out the boot.

Eddie takes it, immediately noticing that it’s even heavier than usual. He peers inside to see that it’s filled to the brim with stuff – a small wooden car, a travel deodorant from his last trip to New York for work, a pair of socks, sunglasses, several loose bandaids, one of Steve’s combs, a roll of Smarties (it’s a wonder she didn’t eat them), a veritable cache of treasures in the eyes of their eighteen-month-old. 

The other boot is pretty much exactly the same.

“Oh my god,” Eddie beams, “She’s fucking incredible.”

“She’s inheriting your raccoon behavior," Steve replies with a wicked grin.

“Alright.”

[wormshirt]

As someone who uses a mobility aid and has muscular tension that cause me general body and joint pain and stiffness from the hips down on both sides what would kill me with doctor who wouldn't be the running it'd be the fucking stairs. They don't always have stairs in doctor who but oh boy when they do. I can run super fast and then inevitably injure my hips and suffer through it and keep limping along through the pain but if it's a flight of stairs between me and safety I'm so dead. If I don't take those stairs 1 step at a time my knees WILL lock or my muscles will throw such a massive hissy fit that it'll take me TWICE the time it takes your average person to go up those stairs and I will be killed or kinapped or put through some strange and unusual scifi horror by step 3. The doctor and I (limping) run down 50000000 hallways and we reach the end of a hall with only a reasonably sized staircase on the other end of it and the doctor immediately starts vaulting up the steps 3 at a time until he turns around and notices that I have stopped completely at the bottom of the steps to stare at him blithely. He starts trying to get me to go up the stairs or ask what the hell I think I'm doing and I slowly lower myself back down to the ground and cross my arms over my chest and begin reciting funeral prayers with a serene smile. The big evil monster comes after me and I am eaten. Badly. The doctor yells NOOOOO really loud and cries a little maybe idk and then is emo about it for like half a season until they end up back by the staircase in a season finale or something and it's revealed that the stairs are magic stairs that preserve the conciousness of any ugly ass bitch who hates staircases enough and the doctor is implied to have know this all along. and the doctor gives me some heartbroken major depressive disorder poster child look and a little speech about how they "couldn't have come back here for blah blah excuses reasons" and I smile sweetly and say "why the fuck didn't you have an emergency exit strategy or some shit incase the guy who uses a fucking cane couldn't do some shit like go up stairs super fast because he uses a fucking cane. Hello. Not even mad. Are you stupid. You are a timelord. Your people let your gay ass fuck off to who knows where because you're the dumbest timelord ever and they couldn't stand your stupid ass. I can't believe I'm stuck on this gay ass space station with this lame ass death for all of eternity because you didn't think that the guy who struggles to go up stairs would struggle to go up stairs. You wanna know what the alien said to me before he ate me. He said hey that dude you're here with sucks so bad and is stupid and gay and lame as hell. And I would have said 'yeah lol' but then he ate me. He ate me because of stairs doctor. Stairs." And then I'd stay forever trapped with my soul in that staircase just so I could spend the rest of enternity sending spam calls and telemarketers to the tardis phone. The doctor's investigating something outside an alien bar somewhere and sees ads like XXX Brittany Wants To Spend a NIGHT With YOU Sexy! Hot Singles in your area! Call here for a night of FUN! HOT SINGLE Xxeksifloryean Milfs Looking For a MATE in GALAXIES NEAR YOU!!!!❤️❤️❤️ and softly puts a hand on the posters and goes "I'm sorry I couldn't save you....." five seconds later jerry from *TOTALLY REAL* intergalactic statefarm NOT A FAKE NOT A SCAM calls up the doctor on the TARDIS phone to ask about the doctor's insurance info. Somewhere I kick an ugly ass step on a stupid fucking staircase and break my ghost toe. I hop around and start swearing.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 34 - Dominic Monaghan

Lizards have a distinct smell, turns out. Kinda dry and dusty, but also…mildewy? Or at least this overgrown cave lizard does. You focus on that as you drift in and out. The pebbly hide, not slimy at all, presses against your cheek as you come more and more into your own body, and you shift your focus to the movement of muscle underneath. Wonder if big boy here is more a komodo dragon, or more a dinosaur. It’s warm, whatever it is.

It’s too had to keep both eyes open. Especially with your head pounding so bad. You open the one any wider and it’s gonna pop right out.

Every drag of air into your lungs hurts. Cause you’re folded over the back of a lizard like a fucking saddle bag. Feet tied together so tight all you feel is a scorching ache up your shins. Your knee joints is filled with ground glass. Hands still bound and every step and shift of that lizard sends shooting pain blasting up your arms.

They ain’t untied you. Didn’t even loosen the ropes. Your fingers is gonna die and drop off and them bitches called you a slave but slaves need hands to work.

They’re gonna kill you. Soon as they figure out how to get past the fucking brainworm.

Your bladder wakes up. And you realize you feel air on your ass crack. Cloth draped over your legs, but not between. A skirt? Your memories is shredded meat, but one bubbles to the surface: something breaking during the pain and hot liquid on your legs.

You pissed yourself at some point.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to bury your face against the rough hide.

They must’a stripped your pants and them panties (Astarion made that for you and now it’s gone, too). Probably so you don’t smear on and stink up the side of the lizard.

You twist your head enough to spot the actual saddlebag next to your head. Recognize the spider design worked into the leather.

Bitch Queen sits perched in that saddle, back so straight you could use her as a leveler at a construction site. You don’t say nothing. Stay still and quiet—don’t draw attention, give them nothing—but soon, your bladder don’t give you any option. And you say, in Common (sweet jesus you miss Gale), “Piss.”

They do stop. Untie your feet and drag you off to the side. Your toes don’t work no more. Feet won’t take your weight. Skinny stands there over you as you hobble on your screaming knees. He makes no move to help (not that you was expecting it). Your hands don’t work enough to hike up the wrap they tied around your hips, and eventually, Skinny scoffs and leans down and wrenches it up so hard you almost fall.

You try not to think. At all. Certainly not about the wet on your own thighs.

You want this to be over. Want all of this to go away. But it don’t. It just drags on minute by minute, second by second, and you got to be here for every part of it.

Astarion got away, at least. He’s out there, somewhere. You could reach out. Could check. Know for sure if he left you. He said he would after the river. He’d save himself. Leave you to torture and death. And as Skinny hauls you back, lifts you onto the lizard again and sets to work trying your feet back together (the pain takes the air outta your lungs), you almost reach for the group chat.

But you don’t. You can’t.

Too much of a coward. Too much a wounded animal, trying to slink to its den and lick the gaping wound shut.

Off y’all go again, and you’re stuck in the present, in your body, an unwilling passenger to all of it.

***

You know y’all’ve stopped for the day when hands yank you off. You startle, and then hit the ground.

They leave you where you fell. Lead the lizard off and Skinny pulls some kinda something outta his pack to feed the big boy, murmuring and stroking its pointy muzzle as it chomps. Bitch Queen and Short King Shithouse talk in a huddle to the side as the others lay out bedrolls and distribute rations.

They do not give you food. They do drive a stake into the ground, produce a leather cord, and tie your bound, screaming feet to that. Aside from that, they leave you be. They do not speak to you, do not sink spectral claws into your mind, and they don’t give you water.

You’re gonna die. The knowledge seeps into you, lying there in the dim light of surrounding mushrooms. People feed prisoners they intend to keep alive. Their disregard speaks for itself. You’re nothing but cargo to them. A piece of mail to take back and open up and then discard. You can only watch as they crunch and slurp through their food and drink. Notice Skinny sitting off by himself. The others ain’t really taking to him. Haven’t the whole time you been awake enough to register that. Some kinda pecking order?

And then he notices you watching. Cocks his head and looks to the huddled group of women. Stands.

You tense.

He comes over. Stops, standing over you. Looks down a second, and then pulls out his water skin and crouches down.

“Drink?” he says in Common.

Gotta be a trick. You look from the water skin to him and back. His face is blank, neutral. Your tongue sticks to your mouth, so dried out it feels it’s gonna crack like a slug under a sprinkling of salt. But Skinny just crouches there, waiting. It probably wouldn’t help them if you keeled over of dehydration? Which means y’all have to be at least another day to wherever they’re taking you?

You tentatively open your mouth.

Water gushes over your face. You try to twist away, hacking and sputtering, but he only dumps more, following you. Water sloshes up your nose, catches on an inhale and then you’re really choking. Coughing and gagging shit up. Can’t even thrash with half your body rigid with pain. Can only lie there and pant, eyes and nose streaming.

Then you manage to glance up. Catch a flash of movement in the dim light. Pain crunches into your face. His boot. White agony bursts through your skull, boils your brains. You lose a moment or three, and come to, choking again. Not on water or snot, this time. It’s blood.

Bitch Queen says something, voice cracking like a whip. The blur that is Skinny backs away and folds into a bow. One of the women nearby shakes her head.

Pretty sure your nose is broken. Pretty sure your front teeth might be cracked. Your eyes water so bad that you lose sight of everything else but dim movement. Can only roll yourself to your side—a human can drown in, what, a couple teaspoons? You remember enough of basic first aid to know the recovery position.

They leave you as you lie there in torment. You’re there a long while. Or maybe not. Can’t tell. Everything is hurt and cold. You’re alone. Always, always alone. Even when you had Uncle Randy and your cousins, you was alone. Because that’s what you know. All you know. And despite ten fucking years and counselors and therapy and medication, you don’t know how else to be when it comes down to it.

You don’t trust how else to be. Because it always ends in something like this.

You’re gonna die. Hurting. Alone. That tiny ember in you will try, as it tries now, to stay lit. But you always known that someday, something would come along and finally snuff it out. It won’t up and just let you die—you’ll keep on breathing to the end. You’ll even marginally pay attention, keep an eye out, just in case. But someday, and someday soon it seems, it’s gonna—

The drow are quiet. Not a peep. Not a breath. They’re completely still, until you catch the flutter of hand movements. Are they signing? Hard to tell in the dark with your eyes streaming.

They’re all staring intently in the same direction, though. You try to wriggle yourself enough to follow, but your body’s too fucked up. It gives out and you drop back, panting.

And that’s when you feel it. Shift to press the side of your face to the ground like some “good guy Indian guide” from some dumbshit western.

A rumble. Steady and low, it shivers through the ground.

Somebody says something. Gear rustles.

The rumble don’t change pitch or frequency. It’s kinda…familiar? You blow a blood bubble outta your nostril and try to pop your ears…

That’s a fucking birdshark. The fuck is another goddamn fucking birdshark doing out here? And is it…it’s getting louder.

Oh hot fuck. It’s getting closer. Coming right towards this camp. Why in the sweet, flying fuck—

A presence taps at your mind. It feels like bare feet on cold sand laced with sharp rocks just beneath the surface. Silver bright, like the flash of a trout in the murky depths. A hint of dark humor like licorice flavoring in a strong drink.

You crack open the door to your mind. Just a little. Still trying to keep your wibbling guts from spilling into the connection.

And there he is.

Something hisses. Thwips. A drow rasps horrifyingly and stumbles. One of the women clutches her throat. There’s something wrong with it, with the shape…

Oh. Yeah. An arrow would do that.

Drow draw knives and curved short swords. The rumble gets louder and louder, and Bitch Queen finally breaks the silence to snap an order.

A flash in the dark. Something pale. Something fucking fast erupts out of the shadows. Tumbles into a roll as several arrows hiss over his head. He comes up in a crouch, bow already drawn.

He releases. Catches Skinny, standing in the back, right in the thigh.

“Hello, darling!” he says in Chondathan. And then, in your mind: it’s his turn, now.

Which is when the birdshark explodes outta the ground just behind him.

[leasstories]

I want to be there for you

Eddie x gn!reader

TW: Chronic pains

WC: ≈ 1K words

Dedicated to my big sister who has the courage to live with chronic pains every single day. I love you big sis

You’ve had chronic pains for a few years now, but a crisis like this never happened in front of your boyfriend, Eddie. You’re currently curled up on the couch your joints and muscles hurting. Every part of your body aches but the most painful ones are your hips, your ankles and your knees as well as your fingers and toes. You’re boyfriend just got back from work, all excited, as usual.

“Baby?” Eddie sing songs.

“Yeah?” you ask, voice weak, trying to hide in how much pain you are.

Eddie rushes to the living room without taking his shoes off.

“Baby, is everything okay?” Eddie asks concerned.

You nod, biting your lip to hide in how much pain you are.

“Baby…” Eddie coos. “I know you’re not well”

“Just hurting a bit.” You say trying to minimize the pain crisis you’re currently experiencing.

Eddie hurries to take his shoes off and slide on the couch, right behind you, holding you close.

“How can I help?” He asks, motivated in helping you as much as he can.

“Eddie… You really don’t have to…” You tell him, scared to be a burden.

“I don’t have to, I want to Sweets, so please just let me help.”

You nod.

“What usually help is warmth…” you didn’t even have time to finish your sentence that Eddie got up and hurried to the kitchen.

Eddie put the water to boil and prepared your hot water bottle.

Eddie screams from your kitchen.

“What else can help?” Eddie asks.

“Soft fabrics, for clothes or like covers” You answer weakly, the pain becoming so unbearable that you’re becoming teary eyed.

While the water is boiling, Eddie runs to your room and take your softest blankets and runs back to the living room, wrapping the blanket around you.

Eddie runs back to the kitchen, turns the stove off and put the boiling water inside the hot water bottle.

“Where do you want the warm bottle?”

“Maybe on my hips.” You answer.

Eddie delicately put the water botthe on your hip and stroke your arm.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Eddie asks.

“Stay here please” you ask Eddie.

“I’m not going anywhere Sweets, I promise” Eddie says sitting next to you.

Eddie starts stroking your hair, whispering sweet nothings into your hear and telling you how much he loves you.

“Did you do anything that might have triggered the pains?” Eddie asks you.

“Maybe it got triggered when I cleaned up the apartment” you tell Eddie.

“Baby… next time tell me and I’ll do it for you…” Eddie suggests.

“Eddie it’s fine…” you say, not wanting Eddie to have to suffer from the consequences of your own chronic pains.

“It’s no big deal, I swear” Eddie tells you.

You sigh “I just couldn’t do the laundry… it was too much for my body…” you reluctantly confess, ashamed.

“Let me do it for you” Eddie says, getting up, careful not to hurt you furthermore.

Eddie does your laundry while you lay down, the warmth does little to calm your ache, you know another thing that could help but you’re afraid to tell Eddie what it is.

Eddie comes back with the clean laundry and starts folding it and putting it in your closet. Eddie never folded clothes as well as he just did.

You get up from the couch and goes to your room even though it hurts every fiber of your body.

“Stop, I’m gonna do it Eddie.” You tell him softly, wincing in pain.

“No Sweets, let me do it.” Eddie insists.

You look at Eddie folding your clothes baffled. “I didn’t know you knew how to do it” you say chuckling.

“’s not cause I don’t do it that I don’t know how to do it” Eddie pouts.

You go closer to Eddie and hug him from behind, pressing your body tight against him as you know pressure points help.

Eddie chuckles. “Hey, ‘s not hurting Sweets?”

You shake your head before saying, “pressure points helps, the tighter you hug me the better.” You tell him.

Eddie put the t-shirt he was folding on a shelf and hugs you as tight as he can. “Better?” he asks.

You nod. Eddie and you stay like this for a while until he asks. “Would a massage help?”

“I don’t know, I never had anyone massaging me” you confess.

“Lay down Sweets” Eddie tells you.

You lay down and Eddie starts massaging your knees, careful of not hurting you.

“Does it hurt?” he asks several times.

Every time you shake your head no.

Then Eddie massages your hips, you hum in content. It doesn’t suppress the pain, but it makes it more bearable.

“It helps.” You confess while Eddie massages your wrist and fingers with his warm hands.

Once Eddie finished massaging you, you look at him, feeling a bit better, “Lay on ly body please, as I said earlier, pressure points help.” You shyly say.

“Are you sure I’m not going to crush you?” Eddie asks, afraid of hurting you.

“You won’t” You say, laying on your back. “We can do it like a hug if it feels less weird for you.”

Eddie nods. He takes his denim and leather jacket off and lay on you, you wrap your arms around Eddie and the two of you stay like that for a little while. It feels good, it makes the pain hurt less and you feel so loved. Eddie is literally crushing you, but not in a negative way, in a way that makes you feel loved.

“Thank you” you mumble in his neck.

“Anything for you Sweets” Eddie says.

You stayed like this, Eddie crushing you for a while and then, Eddie decided that you were on bed rest. He made dinner to you and you both ate in your bed, in front of your comfort movie. Eddie even decided to stay the night and you fell asleep, your body tightly held by Eddie.

It feels good to feel held, firstly, it makes your joint and muscles hurt less and secondly it makes you feel loved and comforted.

Taglist: @abellmunsonmovie

[momma2boys]

Many thanks to @calaisreno for the prompt that got me writing the story that's been rattling around in my head for a few weeks.

John Watson has been invalided home from Vietnam and is desperately trying to keep Watson's Tri-State Trucking, the family business, solvent. As he travels across New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, he notices a slender stranger. Late one night, they meet.

Prompt for May 1: Open

Everything ached. Everything from his shoulder to his big toe. The ache in his shoulder was dull and heavy. John tried stretching his neck from side to side to loosen it; experience told him it would be useless to try rotating the joint itself. The ache traveled down his arm in buzzy pulses that pierced his elbow and froze his ring and middle fingers. Lifting his hand from the steering wheel, he shook it violently before rhythmically squeezing it into a fist and releasing it.

Harder to bear was the burning pain from buttock to toe. No matter how many times he shifted his weight from one cheek to the other, the pain was constant. Ten miles outside of Binghamton his thigh began to throb. Just a little farther, he thought. Get to a truck stop or rest area, someplace populated and he’d catch forty winks. The lost time would be better than driving his rig off a bridge in desperation.

On the far side of Binghamton he pulled into a truck stop, parking well away from the other semis. After a quick trot to the head, he swallowed two aspirins with a swig from his flask and settled down in his bunk. The aptly named coffin sleeper provided just enough room to pull off his boots and shimmy out of his jeans before pulling the blanket over himself, but he didn’t care. His rig was paid for—much as he admired the newer Peterbilts with their fancy cabs that were as well-appointed as a Newark studio apartment, the 1962 Mack belonged to Watson’s Tri-State Trucking one hundred percent and only needed the occasional bit of doctoring and prayer.

Two days on the road with minimal breaks—the client in Buffalo paid a bonus for early delivery—meant John was exhausted. Despite the pain, he was asleep in minutes. His dreams were painless, pleasant, in fact. He was two-stepping ‘round the dance floor at the Bluebonnet, feet sliding on the smooth wooden floor, slow-slow, quick-quick. He swayed in sync with the music and his hips moved easily. Slow-slow, quick-quick. His partner was vague, as happens in dreams, but he didn’t care. His body felt loose, moving to the music—some cover band playing classic hits--and his partner was gracefully leading him around the floor. The hips beneath his hands were slender and their gentle motion filled him with a tingling that was the opposite of pain. Together they moved in perfect harmony like a set of well-matched horses at the county fair. Slow-slow, quick-quick. A welcome warmth surged below his waist and he pulled his partner closer. John threaded fingers through his partner’s belt loops to tug their bodies closer, allowing him to feel a bulge there, matching and meeting his own. Slow-slow, quick-quick. As he dug his hips against theirs, his partner came into focus; not a woman, but the man from the truck stop. Dark curls, sharp cheekbones, pale skin, cupid bow lips. A little closer and he could kiss that plush mouth.

Suddenly, the twangy music was overpowered by the screeching whine of artillery.

“Incoming!” John yelled as he pulled the stranger off the dance floor.

Cover, they needed cover. John scanned the bar for a table, an alcove, anywhere that might provide shelter. This was a complete clusterfuck—his head ached from the constant whine of missiles and the acrid stink of explosives. The dance floor was littered with spent shells and disembodied limbs. John pulled on the stranger’s arm, sending them both skating through the slick of blood covering the smooth wooden boards. His eyes were watering now, his nose dripping from the smoke and the smell of burning flesh. This is it—this is how he’ll go home, another body bag, another nameless number on the evening news— He is shaking, huddled on the floor with a stranger in his arms because there is no escape, unless….Unless this were a dream, if he were dreaming, he could wake up. Wake up, he willed himself, wake up, dammit…wake the fuck up, asshole!

He shut his eyes and covered his head with his arms—he owed it to Harry, to Dad, to at least try to survive—

“You’re all right,” soothed a resonant voice.

“It’s not all right,” John heard himself say, “it will never be all right…”

Cold. He was cold despite being soaked in sweat.

“Yes, I know,” the voice answered, “but you are all right.”

There was a hand on his back, firm and steadying. Whoever was with him was close enough that he could smell the coffee and peanuts on his breath. John found himself matching his own breaths to those of this nameless, faceless companion. He didn’t realise how disordered his breathing had been until it slowed into an ordered rhythm. In, two, three, out, two, three. Slow, slow, slow.

“That’s it. Breathe. Good.” The strong hand traced circles on his back in time to their respirations.

John squeezed his eyes tightly shut before opening them. The world around him came into focus. It was night—he was in his truck—the 1962 Mack that his father had paid off before he died—tangled in his blanket. Kneeling on the driver’s seat was the stranger he’d seen in Gouldsboro and Norristown and Buffalo.

“What…how’d,” John croaked, he swallowed hard and tried again, “what are you, how did you get into my truck?”

“Hanger,” the man said, “left your window rolled down enough to work it through, which makes sense given the temperature and humidity this evening, but you might want to consider a different sleeping arrangement if you are opposed to uninvited guests. An inch and half of space is an open invitation, although I wouldn’t have taken you up on it if you hadn’t been screaming your head off. I rather thought you were being attacked, but now I reckon it was just a nightmare.”