#knee pain cure

[secret-sageent]

Arthur Lester laughing??? In my Malevolent??? more likely than you'd think

[chronicillnesscaneffoffplease]

They should invent knees that don’t hurt.

[laniidae-passerine]

I know some people are talking about Sally and Barry attempting to emulate their mentors in certain situations, which backfires on them, but I don’t think Barry gave up on trying to be Fuches halfway through. Actually, it was a perfect impression. When he started screaming down the line at Hank, it’s because that’s what Fuches does. Whenever Barry tells him firmly that it’s over and he’s not going to help Fuches anymore, Fuches loses his shit; he yells at Barry that he’s pathetic, he won’t survive without him, when I find you motherfucker! Barry’s mistake was failing to recognise that Hank isn’t him. Hank respects himself, genuinely cares about other people and, most importantly, won’t degrade himself just to feel like somebody loves him. But Barry absolutely would and, with all his other damage, that’s why he’s furious that Hank somehow says no to him.

[autisticlee]

having some sort of chronic pain and tiredness issue and joint problems and whatnot but not knowing exactly what the problem is is really good at leading you feeling like you're faking it or making a big deal out of nothing or making it up. especially if there's a good day where it's not as bad and you can walk straight without limping for the first time in a year. but then you can wake up the next day and can barely walk and wonder why you can't just walk normal. it's hard to not guilt trip yourself into dealing with pain by trying to ignore it and force yourself to walk "normal" all the time

[daisies-on-a-cup]

i think god listens to children more often than adults, but also that god only really gives children what they pray for when what they're praying for is something like a second chance

[happywitch416]

13 year old me is screaming in glee over the amount of sparkly blue eyeshadow I wear. That kid was on to something because it is immensely fun.

And rn I need all the fun I can get because I am so nervous about my doctors appointment I may throw up. Fun times.

[bakerchiropractic]

Can Chiropractic Treatment Provide Relief from Chronic Neck Pain?

Chronic neck pain can feel like an unyielding burden that shadows every moment of your day. It disrupts work, relationships, and even the simplest tasks. But within this struggle lies a path of resilience and determination. For instance, try searching “Chronic neck pain Relief in Cincinnati“ for more tailored results.

[dashinghealth]

When Weight Loss is a Concern: When Should You Worry?

Weight loss is a common topic in today's society, with many people striving to achieve their ideal body weight.

While maintaining a healthy weight is important for overall well-being, the pursuit of weight loss can sometimes become concerning.

In this blog post, we will discuss when weight loss should be a cause for worry and what steps can be taken to address it.

First and foremost, it is important to understand that weight loss can occur for a variety of reasons, and not all of them are cause for concern.

For example, if you have recently made changes to your diet and exercise routine, it is normal to experience some weight loss.

Additionally, if you are going through a stressful period in your life, it is possible that you may lose weight due to a decreased appetite.

However, there are certain red flags to watch out for when it comes to weight loss. The most concerning sign is when weight loss occurs without any intentional changes in diet or exercise.

This could be a sign of an underlying health issue, such as an overactive thyroid or cancer. If you are experiencing unexplained weight loss, it is important to consult a healthcare professional to rule out any potential medical conditions.

Another cause for concern is rapid weight loss. Losing a large amount of weight in a short period of time can be harmful to your health.

It can lead to nutrient deficiencies, loss of muscle mass, and a weakened immune system. Crash diets and extreme exercise regimens may result in initial weight loss, but they are not sustainable or healthy in the long run.

Furthermore, if you have a history of disordered eating or body image issues, any weight loss, intentional or unintentional, should be addressed with caution.

These individuals may have a distorted perception of their bodies and may not recognize when their weight loss becomes unhealthy.

So, when should you worry about weight loss? If you are experiencing unexplained or rapid weight loss, it is important to seek medical advice.

Additionally, if you have a history of disordered eating or body image issues, any weight loss should be monitored closely by a healthcare professional.

Now, let's talk about what steps can be taken to address weight loss concerns. If a medical condition is causing the weight loss, treatment for the underlying issue is necessary.

In cases of disordered eating, therapy and support from a healthcare professional can help address the root cause of the weight loss.

In general, a balanced and healthy approach to weight loss is always recommended. This includes following a nutritious diet and engaging in regular physical activity.

Fad diets and extreme exercise regimens should be avoided. Instead, focus on making sustainable lifestyle changes that will lead to long-term weight management.

In conclusion, while maintaining a healthy weight is important, it is equally important to recognize when weight loss becomes a cause for concern.

Unexplained or rapid weight loss should not be ignored and should be addressed with the help of a healthcare professional.

A balanced and healthy approach to weight loss is always the best way to achieve and maintain a healthy weight. Remember to prioritize your overall well-being above any societal pressure to achieve a certain body weight.

https://dashinghealth.com/weight-loss-faqs-answered/

[pucksandpower]

Kiss It Better

Charles Leclerc x medical student!Reader

Summary: your boyfriend has a habit of faking injuries in order to receive some tender loving care

Warnings: 18+ content and non-life threatening health issues

You let yourself into the Monaco apartment you share with your boyfriend, dumping your heavy backpack by the door with a sigh. Another long day of classes and clinical rotations. Being a medical student is exhausting.

“Charles? I’m home!” You call out, slipping off your shoes. No response. Frowning slightly, you pad down the hallway toward the living room. “Charles? Are you here?”

That’s when you hear it — a muffled groan coming from the bedroom. Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush over, pushing open the door. There’s Charles lying on the bed, face contorted in apparent agony.

“Charles! Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You hurry to his side, dropping to your knees by the bedside. His eyes are screwed shut, jaw clenched as he lets out another pained groan.

“It hurts,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “So much pain ...”

“What hurts? Where does it hurt?” Your mind is racing, trying to diagnose based on his symptoms. Does he have gastritis? Kidney stones? A twisted intestine? You reach for his wrist to check his pulse.

Charles doesn’t answer, just squeezes his eyes shut even tighter and groans loudly. You feel a surge of panic. This could be serious!

“Charles, you have to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you! Where’s the pain?” You grip his arm urgently. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No … no ambulance,” he manages to choke out, shaking his head minutely. “Just need … you ...”

“Me?” You stare at him in bewilderment. “Charles, I’m just a med student, if you’re really sick we need to get you to a hospital right away!”

He cracks open one eye to look at you piteously. “Please … you’re the only one who can make it better.” His voice is strained as he reaches down to grasp your hand, guiding it lower … lower ...

You suck in a shocked breath as his hand moves yours to cup his crotch over his thin athletic shorts. “Charles! Is that what hurts? Your … special place?”

He lets out a shuddering breath and nods weakly. “Yes … I need you to take care of it. Only you can fix this pain.”

It hits you then — the dramatic groaning, the vague answers, guiding your hand … Charles isn’t sick or injured at all. He’s turned on beyond belief and putting on this whole pained act to get you to help relieve him.

You gape at him, caught between exasperation and reluctant amusement at his antics. “You complete dork! I was so worried something was seriously wrong!”

Charles finally breaks into a sheepish grin, though he’s still palming himself urgently through his shorts with your hand. “What can I say? I’ve been thinking about you all day. Imagining you in those tight little scrubs … bending over examining patients ...” He gives an unconvincing whimper. “The ache has been unbearable, ma chérie.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips or the warmth unfurling low in your belly. Even after all this time, Charles can still make your heart flutter with his flirtatious charm and that roguish smile. You lean in closer until your face is just inches from his.

“Is that so?” You murmur, voice dropping into a sultry register. You give him a lingering stroke through the thin fabric and he draws in a sharp breath. “Well, we can’t have you suffering, can we Mr. Leclerc?”

“Please, no more suffering,” he whimpers unconvincingly, eyes sparkling with mischief now. “You’re the only one who can cure me, Doctor.”

You chuck softly at his overacting and lean down to kiss him, long and deep. Charles moans into your mouth, hands coming up to tangle in your hair as the kiss turns hungry, passionate. When you finally break apart, you’re both panting harshly.

“Well then, I better take a look and get you … taken care of,” you murmur, slowly inching his shorts down over his straining erection. His hips rut up shamelessly as you wrap a hand around his hot, silky length.

“Oh god … yes ...” Charles groans, head tipping back against the pillows as you start to stroke him firmly. His eyes slip shut again and his breath comes in harsh pants as you steadily work him over. You drink in the sight of him like this — cheeks flushed, lips parted, utterly lost in the pleasure you’re giving him.

“Tell me if it still hurts,” you tease lightly, swiping your thumb over the slick head in a way that makes his body jerk. “We have to take care of all your aches and pains.”

“It hurts so good, mon ange,” he gasps out, hips rocking shamelessly up into your fist now. “Don’t stop … please don’t stop ...”

You lean down to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the taut cords of his neck, relishing the whimpers and moans you pull from him. Charles always loves a bit of teasing during sex. You torture him sweetly by licking and sucking at the sensitive spots that drive him wild even as your hand continues to steadily pump his length.

“You like that, don’t you baby?” You tease against his skin as he writhes beneath you, mewling and chanting your name. “Can’t get enough of your girlfriend playing doctor for you.”

“Yes, oh god yes,” he gasps, hands fisting tightly in the sheets as his hips stutter. You can see his abdomen tensing, muscles clenching as he nears the edge. “I’m so close … I’m going to-”

You silence him with a searing kiss, swallowing his cries as you jerk him firmly through his climax. Charles bucks and shudders, body pulled taut as a bowstring for long moments until he finally slumps back against the mattress with a ragged groan. There’s a sticky mess between your bodies but neither of you care in the least.

“Better now?” You tease lightly, gently stroking the sweaty curls from his forehead. He blinks up at you looking utterly blissed out and sated.

“I’ll say,” he rumbles throatily, pulling you down for another lingering kiss. “My own sexy doctor, taking such good care of me.”

You grin at his playful tone, happiness blooming in your chest. You’re so lucky to have this man in your life — this kind, generous, funny, impossibly charming man who somehow loves you just as much as you love him. What did you ever do to deserve someone like Charles Leclerc?

He seems to read your thoughts in your eyes and smiles softly. “I love you, do you know that? So much.”

Your breath catches and you lean down to rest your forehead against his. “I love you too, you big goof. Even when you pull crazy stunts like this to get my attention.”

Charles chuckles unrepentantly, cupping the back of your neck to hold you close. “What can I say, ma belle? I’m skilled at getting what I want.”

His eyes are shining with quiet devotion and you know, without a doubt, that underneath the teasing bravado Charles truly means those words. He loves you, wholly and completely. A swell of emotion rises in your throat.

“Yeah, well, lucky for you I don’t mind playing doctor,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him again. Charles’ arms come around you, holding you flush against his body as the kiss turns heated once more. You’re breathless when you part again.

“If I get sick, will you put on that naughty little doctor’s outfit for me?” He waggles his eyebrows at you comically.

You laugh out loud, swatting his arm in mock chastisement. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t send you to a real hospital and leave you to the not-so-tender mercies of Nurse Helga.”

“No need for jealousy, mon amour,” he croons, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as he leans down to nuzzle your neck, making you shiver. “You’ll always be my favorite caregiver.”

And with that, he shows you just how much he appreciates your caregiving in a very thorough, very passionate way …

***

A few weeks later, you’re settled on the plush couch in Charles’ motorhome, legs tucked up under you as you watch replays of the post-race interviews on the large TV screen. Your heart swells with pride as your boyfriend appears, beaming and sweaty in his race suit as he answers questions about his thrilling come-from-behind victory today.

“It feels incredible to get this win,” Charles is saying, running a hand through his tousled hair. “The team worked so hard and we’ve had some tough races recently, so to finally get back on the top step is amazing.”

You can’t help but grin at his obvious elation. Few people know just how driven and dedicated Charles is — how much time and effort he pours into racing at the absolute highest level. Seeing that hard work and sacrifice pay off never fails to fill you with joy.

“I just want to thank the team again for all their-” Charles breaks off, wrinkling his nose and reaching up to dab at his lip with a finger. When his fingertips come away smeared with red, you frown in concern. Is he hurt?

“Ooh, looks like I bit my lip out there,” Charles says with a rueful chuckle, still prodding gingerly at his mouth as a thin trickle of blood runs over his chin. “Must have been clenching my teeth a little too hard battling for position.”

“I didn’t realize you were injured!” You start to rise from the couch with worry etched on your face, moving towards your now off-screen boyfriend. “Here, let me take a look ...”

“No, no, it’s just a little cut.” Charles tries to wave you off, smiling reassuringly even as he winces again, dabbing at the fresh flow of blood. “No need to fuss, mon cœur. Just a tiny thing.”

You hesitate, hands on your hips as you scrutinize him skeptically. Charles has a bit of a flair for the dramatic at times, always playing up little hurts or mishaps as if he were holding vigil at his deathbed. But you know from experience that he tends to downplay any actual significant injuries.

He senses your continued concern and lets out a theatrical moan, tipping his head back dramatically. “Oh, the AGONY! So much pain … so much … if only there was a way to make it stop ...”

Your eyebrows shoot up as realization hits. Oh, you know that tone. And the coquettish look he’s giving you from under his lashes, lower lip caught between his teeth … yes, you definitely recognize those signs. You shake your head slowly, fighting a grin.

“Seriously, Charles? Not this again.”

“Non, I fear it’s no use,” he groans pitifully, draping a hand over his eyes. “My poor, mangled mouth … so damaged and bloody … the pain is becoming … unbearable ...” Charles pauses to peek at you from between his splayed fingers, eyes twinkling mischievously.

You put your hands on your hips and arch one eyebrow at his antics. “Uh huh. Is this the part where I’m supposed to swoop in all concerned and give you a bunch of sympathy kisses to make your agony all better?”

“If you insist,” he quips, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fresh smear of crimson at the corner of his mouth.

You can’t help but laugh softly as you move closer, cupping his stubbly jaw in your palms. “For someone so good with their mouth, you’re just a giant wimp, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Charles allows with a roguish grin. “But you love me for it, no?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” You trace your thumb lightly over the plump curve of his lower lip, wiping a smear of blood. “Now hold still, I guess I better give you a little tender loving care for that gaping wound.”

“Oh please, doctor! I need your magical healing touch, I’m in so much — mmph!”

You cut off his theatrical plea with a firm press of your lips, kissing him hard and insistent. Charles moans into your mouth, the sound sending a shiver down your spine even as his hands come up to grip your hips and pull you flush against him.

The coppery tang of blood mingles on your tongues as the kiss turns heated, deep and wet and dizzying. You suck lightly on his split lip, gentling when he winces, and Charles rewards you by dragging blunt nails over the sensitive skin at the small of your back.

When you finally part, you’re both panting harshly, staring at each other with heavy-lidded eyes. Charles’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and slick.

“Better?” You murmur, voice low and throaty.

He gives a slight shake of his head, tendrils of curls falling over his forehead. “No … I need more treatment, I fear. The pain … it still lingers ...”

You chuckle at his dramatics, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as you tug him back in for another searing kiss. Charles releases a noise that’s almost a growl against your lips, big hands cupping your backside and grinding you firmly against him.

You can feel him, hot and hard already as he ruts shamelessly against you. The desperate urgency of his movements thrills you, sends sparks of arousal zinging through your veins. Charles always gets so worked up so quickly when you two play these little games.

This time it’s you who pulls back first, sucking in a shaky breath. His eyes are blazing, swollen lips parted invitingly. You deliberately rake your gaze over his disheveled appearance — the tousled curls, the swipe of crimson over his mouth, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“Mr. Leclerc, are you quite sure your … condition requires such aggressive treatment?” You try for a clinical tone but it comes out more of a lustful purr. Charles’ nostrils flare and his fingers tighten convulsively against the curves of your ass.

“Yes, yes, it absolutely does,” he rasps out urgently, already trying to pull you back in. “Please, you must heal me ...”

He captures your lips again in a fierce, demanding kiss and you melt into him with a soft moan. His clever tongue is doing wicked things, slick and hot as it slides against yours in a sensual mimicry of what’s surely to come.

A teasing nip to his swollen lower lip makes Charles gasp and jerk against you. Taking shameless advantage, you swiftly divest him of his sweat-damp race suit until he’s bare from the waist up. Muscles rippling beneath tawny skin, his toned chest and abdomen shiny from his hours in the cockpit.

It’s a deliciously debauched look that makes arousal curl hotly in your belly. You drag your lips in open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat as he tips his head back with a groan.

“There … is that helping with your … condition, Mr. Leclerc?” You tongue at the hollow of his collarbone, tasting salt and musk as your hands skim over his chest in teasing caresses.

“Ohh god, yes … but I need more ...” He’s panting harshly now, muscles jumping as you rake sharp nails over one reddened nipple. “Please … more ...”

“Good. Then you’d better hold still for me to examine the problem area more thoroughly.” Before Charles can blink, you’ve shoved him back to sprawl gracelessly against the soft leather couch. He stares up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted enticingly as his chest heaves.

You drink in the sight for a long moment, satisfaction curling in your belly. Sometimes it’s nice to be the one calling the shots, to see Charles squirming and flushed and desperate beneath you for a change.

Slowly — torturously — you strip out of your own clothes until you’re equally bare. Charles tracks your every movement with burning eyes. When you sink down to straddle his hips, both of you groan at the scorching friction as bare skin meets bare skin.

“God, you’re exquisite,” he husks out reverently, hands trailing up the dips and curves of your body with something like awe. “An absolute goddess ...”

You can’t resist leaning down to capture his mouth in another heated, messy kiss as you grind down shamelessly against his rigid length. Charles muffles a hoarse cry into your lips, hips jerking up to meet your movements.

You let the kiss turn sloppy and wet and deep, both of you luxuriating in the hot slide of tongues and the delicious glide of bare skin. Charles’ hands roam greedily over your body, squeezing and caressing as you rock together in a sensual push and pull.

“Please … I need you ...” he growls against your lips when you momentarily break apart. His voice is wrecked, eyes dark with lust. “Need to be inside you … now ...”

You shudder at his heated words, arousal a molten ache between your thighs. Reaching down, you grasp his rigid length and line him up with your slick entrance. Charles sucks in a sharp breath, muscles going taut beneath you as the swollen head catches on your folds.

“Like this?” You breathe, swiveling your hips in a teasing grind that has him throwing his head back with a guttural groan.

“Yes! Putain, just like that ...” He bucks up helplessly, trying to force you to sink down onto him, but you resist with a low chuckle.

“Patience, Mr. Leclerc. Don’t you want me to take care of your … condition properly?” You murmur, lips brushing the shell of his ear. You punctuate the words with another maddeningly slow roll of your hips and Charles legitimately whimpers.

“Yes, yes … anything! I’ll do anything, just please ...” His eyes are wild, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs hard enough to leave marks. “I need you so badly, ma chérie ...”

Smiling, you finally take pity and sink down in one smooth glide until he’s sheathed to the hilt. The sensation of being utterly filled, stretched and burning in the most delicious way, makes you throw your head back with a long moan. Beneath you, Charles lets out a broken litany of French and English and Italian curses as his hips pump up in short, jerky thrusts.

You set a driving pace, lifting and dropping in a dizzying rhythm as Charles matches you stroke for stroke. The room is soon filled with the lewd sounds of slick flesh and harsh breathing, punctuated by grateful whines and moans. You lean down to capture his mouth again, the angle shifting to let him plunge even deeper until you’re both trembling on the razor’s edge.

“You feel so good, so incredible,” Charles pants harshly against your lips between sloppy kisses. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, using the leverage to somehow take you even faster and harder. The pace is almost punishing but you can’t get enough. “Always so tight … so perfect for me ...”

His praise and the delicious drag of his thick length have you quickly spiraling higher. You brace your hands on his heaving chest as you throw your head back, overcome. Every nerve in your body feels electrified, set alight from the inside by the sheer intensity of your joining.

“Oh god … Charles, I’m gonna-” You cry out sharply as he aims for that one angle that has stars bursting behind your eyes. He latches onto your exposed throat, sucking a stinging mark as his thumb finds your pearl and begins rubbing merciless circles.

That’s all it takes to send you shattering apart with a keen, clenching down with bruising force as your climax rips through you. Charles pounds up twice more, teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, before following you over the edge with a guttural roar. His hips stutter erratically as he empties himself in hot pulses that you can actually feel hitting deep.

You both gradually come down, slumping gracelessly together as your harsh breathing slowly evens out. Charles carefully rolls until you’re cradled against his sweat-slicked chest, nuzzling languidly at your temple. His palms stroke up and down your spine in a gesture that’s somehow both possessive and worshipful.

After a few minutes, you let out a breathless giggle that has him pulling back slightly to look at you quizzically.

“What’s so funny?” His voice is gravelly and well-fucked.

You tap the wound on his lip lightly, tsking in playful reproach. “I’ll say this — you certainly know how to get my attention when you’re … ailing. I think you milked that little injury for all it was worth.”

Charles doesn’t even have the grace to look sheepish. He breaks into a slow, self-satisfied grin and shrugs unapologetically. “What can I say? Worked, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight your own matching smile as you lean in to kiss him softly, carefully avoiding his split lip. When you pull back, you brush back the tendrils of hair from his forehead with a tenderness that makes his eyes go warm and molten.

“You’re ridiculous, Charles Leclerc. Completely ridiculous … but I love you.”

His smile somehow grows even more blinding. “I love you too, mon ange. And I always will.”

His sincerity washes over you in a wave. You know without a doubt that despite his antics, his words ring completely true. This funny, passionate, caring, magnificent man truly does love you with every fiber of his being. And you love him just the same.

Maybe you’ll both drive each other crazy for the rest of your lives … but at least you’ll never be bored. Settling back against his chest, you let your eyes drift shut contentedly. Yes, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here in Charles’ arms.

***

A few months later, you’re woken abruptly in the dead of night by the sounds of muffled groaning coming from beside you. At first you think it must just be a dream, but then Charles lets out a pained whimper and your eyes fly open.

“Charles?” You blink groggily and prop yourself up on one elbow to peer at him in the dim light filtering through the curtains. “Hey, are you okay?”

He’s curled into a tight ball on his side, arms wrapped around his midsection as if cradling his stomach. A sheen of sweat glistens on his brow and his face is pinched in an unmistakable expression of agony.

Alarm spikes through you and you quickly reach over to grasp his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. “Charles? Baby, what’s wrong?”

Charles just groans again, a low wounded sound that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He’s trembling finely against you, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut against the obvious wave of pain rippling through him.

“Talk to me,” you urge, trying to keep the rising panic from your voice. “Where does it hurt? Should I call an ambulance?”

For a long moment he seems incapable of speech, muscles going rigid and a harsh gasp tearing from his lips. You watch helplessly as he rides out the spasm, cold dread coiling in the pit of your stomach. This is bad … this doesn’t seem like one of his pranks or games to get attention. Charles looks to be in genuine, serious distress.

“Charles?” You try again once he’s relaxed slightly, dragging in shallow panting breaths through his nose. His eyes slit open to mere glassy slits, unfocused and hazy with pain.

“M’stomach ...” he finally gets out through gritted teeth, voice thin and strained. “It hurts so bad … like I’m being stabbed ...”

Your own abdomen clenches reflexively at the words as your brain kicks into high gear. Severe, stabbing abdominal pain that seems to be localized in one area and radiating out … it could potentially be appendicitis. That would definitely explain the excruciating nature of Charles’ discomfort, as well as why he’s curled in the fetal position. Appendicitis is considered a medical emergency — a ruptured appendix can lead to a life-threatening infection if left untreated.

“Okay, we need to get you to a hospital now.” You scramble out of bed and quickly throw on some clothes, grabbing your keys and phone. “I’m calling for an ambulance to come get you. Just stay still and try to breathe evenly.”

Charles doesn’t argue or even crack one of his customary smirks or jokes, just nods weakly and tries to pull himself into an even tighter ball. It’s frightening, seeing the normally confident and charismatic man so thoroughly debilitated by the waves of torment rolling through him.

The emergency dispatcher responds promptly and assures you that an ambulance is being dispatched to your address straight away. You quickly relay the situation to them — the acute pain, localized in the lower right quadrant of the abdomen, along with the nausea, fever, and Charles’ otherwise good health. They seem to share your suspicion of appendicitis and promise to give you further instruction once the paramedics arrive.

In the meantime, you hurry back to Charles’ side and try to keep him as comfortable as possible. You gingerly help him out of bed inch by agonizing inch, grimacing at the stifled cries he can’t quite bite back. It’s slow going, but eventually you have him propped up against the pillows and headboard in a semi-upright position that seems to ease his suffering slightly. You grab a cool damp washcloth and gently sponge the beads of sweat from his ashen face, murmuring soothing nonsense as he pants through another visible spasm.

“You’re alright, just keep breathing,” you coach him. “In and out, nice and slowly … the ambulance will be here any minute now.”

“Hurts so much ...” he whimpers, looking utterly pitiful and nothing like the cocky, self-assured star athlete he normally is. It nearly breaks your heart to see.

“I know, I know ...” You stroke his sweat-dampened curls back off his forehead. “And I’m sorry, but please no joking right now, okay? I want to stay focused in case … in case this is really serious. Like, potentially life-threatening serious.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, there and gone in a flash. “Trust me … m’not … feeling cheeky right now.”

You press a feather-light kiss to his clammy forehead, relieved that he seems to understand the gravity of the situation. “I didn’t think you were. Just hang in there for me, okay?”

Ten long, agonizing minutes later, you finally hear sirens blaring outside. The paramedics move swiftly once you let them in, whisking Charles onto a gurney and starting an IV line. They pepper both of you with rapid-fire questions as they assess him, all while carefully not jostling his abdomen too much to avoid exacerbating the pain.

All too soon, though, it’s time for them to whisk him away to the hospital. You trail after them anxiously, only pulling up short when Charles suddenly grasps your hand like a lifeline.

“Wait … wait!” His eyes are still hooded with pain but there’s fierce urgency there too. “Kiss me one more time? Before they take me in?”

Your heart clenches in your chest at the pleading in his tone. Brushing your thumb soothingly over his cheekbone, you lean down and press the sweetest, gentlest kiss to his parted lips. Charles sighs and seems to melt into you for a moment before the gurney is jostled and he grunts in agony again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you,” you promise softly. “We’ll get you all taken care of.”

He nods weakly and blows out a harsh breath as the paramedics start wheeling him back towards the elevator. You let his hand slip from yours reluctantly as you watch him go, then hurry to grab the essentials and follow. The whole way to the hospital your mind whirls with fearful possibilities as you pray that whatever is causing Charles such terrible pain, it isn’t life-threatening.

Hours later, after CT scans and blood tests and evaluations from the E.R. doctors, you finally get confirmation — it is indeed acute appendicitis. Charles is swiftly admitted and prepped for emergency surgery to remove the severely inflamed organ before it ruptures.

You’re pacing anxiously in the pre-op area, wringing your hands, as nurses bustle around him getting the I.V.s ready. In the harsh fluorescent lighting, Charles looks small and pale against the crisp white sheets. But he greets you with a wan smile when you approach his bedside.

“Well … this is certainly not how I thought this day would go,” he quips tiredly, always looking for an opportunity to try and lighten the mood. You snort a quiet laugh despite yourself, allowing your fingers to brush against his arm in a gentle caress.

“Yeah, you and me both. Believe me, I didn’t think the first time I’d ever have to rush you to the emergency room would be for a burst appendix of all things!”

Charles frowns thoughtfully, looking exhausted and drained but mercifully no longer in dire, crippling agony. “Remind me … have I ever pretended to have appendicitis before?”

“No, somehow that particular organ didn’t come up in any of your medical fantasies,” you tease lightly. Then your smile falters as you recall just how horrifically bad it had looked earlier. The memory of Charles stifling those tortured groans, jaw clenched and body wound tighter than a bowstring, has a sobering effect. “But I’m really glad this wasn’t some dumb prank or act this time. You were … it seemed so awful, I was really terrified there for a while.”

His eyes soften and he captures your hand to give it a comforting squeeze. “I know. I’m just sorry I put you through that kind of scare with all my previous fake bouts of pain to rile you up.” Charles grimaces ruefully. “Not my finest habit, in retrospect.”

“Well, we can discuss suitable penance for all that later.” You try for a playful wink though it falls a bit flat against your lingering nerves.

Just then a nurse bustles over, all brisk efficiency as she prepares to wheel Charles back to surgery. “Alright Mr. Leclerc, we’re going to take you back now. The anesthesiologist is ready.”

You squeeze Charles’ hand one more time before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?”

He nods bravely even as the nurse starts pushing the bed toward the operating room doors. “See you soon, mon amour. Try not to worry too much.”

“Me? Worry?” You force a small smile, desperately attempting to keep things light despite the knot of tension in your gut. “When do I ever do that?”

Charles chuckles weakly before disappearing through the swinging double doors. You stand there for a long moment staring at the entryway, running your hands through your hair agitatedly. This entire situation is your worst nightmare — your loved one being wheeled into surgery, their life quite literally in someone else’s hands.

Blowing out a shaky breath, you turn to find a place to wait during the procedure. It’s going to be a tense few hours, that’s for sure. You just have to trust that the doctors and nurses will do everything in their power to get Charles through this safely.

Several agonizing hours later, a surgeon in scrubs finally appears to fetch you from the waiting room with an update. Your heart leaps into your throat but the man is smiling, so it can’t be too terrible, right?

“Ms. Y/N? I’m Dr. Beaumont, I operated on Mr. Leclerc. I’m pleased to report that the surgery was a complete success. We were able to remove his inflamed appendix without any complications before it could rupture.”

You nearly collapse with relief, legs going watery. “Oh, thank god! He’s okay then?”

“He’s doing very well, all things considered,” Dr. Beaumont confirms with a nod. “Of course, we’ll need to keep him here for a few days to monitor for any signs of infection or complications from the anesthesia. But barring any unforeseen issues, I expect him to make a full recovery within a couple weeks.”

“That’s … oh, that’s wonderful news. Thank you, Doctor. Truly.” The words are woefully inadequate but you hope he can hear the depth of gratitude behind them.

A few minutes later, you’re settled into a chair at Charles’ bedside in the recovery ward. He’s still unconscious, face lax and peaceful in drugged sleep as the anesthesia slowly wears off. His chest rises and falls evenly with each reassuring breath. You reach out to gently brush some wayward curls from his forehead, relief crashing over you in waves.

It’s only been a few hours, but it already feels like a lifetime ago that Charles was writhing and groaning in unspeakable agony. To see him now, resting comfortably with the threat neutralized, it’s almost surreal.

You lean forward to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead, breathing in the familiar, grounding scent of him. “You really gave me a scare today, Leclerc,” you murmur against his skin. “But I’m so thankful you’re okay.”

His eyelids flutter slightly, lashes brushing high cheekbones as he starts to slowly swim back toward consciousness. You sit back and simply watch, letting the tension finally drain from your shoulders as he gradually blinks awake.

“Hey there, champ,” you say softly when his eyes find yours, still looking a bit dazed and glassy. “How are you feeling?”

Charles considers this for a moment, taking stock. “Floaty … but not too much pain anymore.” His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “Did they ...”

“Yeah, they took out your appendix,” you say, unable to stop the relieved smile that curves your mouth. “Surgery went perfectly, and the doctor says you’re going to be just fine.”

He returns the smile, looking exhausted but still radiant with that dimpled grin you love so much. “Well … maybe there is an upside then.”

You tilt your head quizzically. “An upside to your burst appendix nearly killing you?”

“Of course.” Charles releases a tired chuckle, leaning back against the pillows. His gaze grows impish despite his pallor. “At least now I’ll save some weight in the car, no?”

You stare at him for one long beat of silence … before bursting into somewhat hysterical laughter, tears of sheer relief and exasperation pricking the corners of your eyes. Trust Charles to find the humor even in the most dire, frightening circumstances.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You roll your eyes fondly as your giggles taper off, leaning forward to take his hand and squeeze tightly. “Honestly Charles, what am I going to do with you?”

His expression grows impossibly tender as he squeezes back just as firmly. “Just keep loving me, ma chérie. No matter how many stupid jokes I make or stunts I pull to get your attention.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, letting the warmth and sincerity of his words wash over you. Despite his recent trauma, you can see the pure devotion shining in his eyes. How could you ever want anything else?

“Always,” you whisper, fiercely meaning it with every fiber of your being. “I’ll always love you, Charles Leclerc. No matter what.”

[7653245328746]

IF YOU ARE SUFFERING FROM A CRONIC KNEE PAIN HERE ARE SOME EXERSICES YOU CAN PRACTISE TO CURE KNEE PAIN AT HOME

https://youtu.be/BnibN9p0Tpo?si=d10WkqaCh_YYDovO

[medicinemane]

I really do think one of the biggest problems in the world is people's inability to accept shades of grey

Thing is, a lot of people are totally willing to accept shades of grey... unless it's something they care about, and then they're gonna say "no, only my way is correct!"

It's just like... if we can't talk about things like adults, if we can't talk about what the costs of each way of doing things are without covering our ears and pretending our plan has no costs because we don't want it to have any... well we can't figure out a solution, can we?

[oreo-creampie]

‘𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞’

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: monster fucking; werewolf!toji, light size kink, biting, knotting (twice), breeding, belly bulging from the cum, re-mating (already together but toji likes to bite), possessive!sweet but mean!toji, encouragement/teasing/taunting/praise, light mind break/dumbification, light pussy slapping, pain kink, mostly from toji biting, little bit of blood, toji licks up that blood, Toji’s in a rut, a lotta manhandling, mating press, eating some of his cum out of your pussy, toji is straight nasty and thirsty for you but so soft at the same time, aftercare, kissing, daddy/mama/sweetheart/princess etc..., some aftercare,

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 2.1k - 7 minutes

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: were toji breeds wife? 🥵

Gliding his puffy knot out with a gentle tug, his warm cum trails after his cockhead. “‘M still hard, wanna make you a mama. It's all I can think about.” Toji spreads your puffy lips, thick cum dripping from your sloppy, sore cunt.

Toji stuffs his tongue into your cum filled cunt. Loudly groaning, dragging the sharp tips of his claws along the curve of your hips. Digging his nails and thick fingers into your hips' squishy crease.

You whine from the sweet sting of pain, your sensitive cunt clenching. Tugging Toji's soft dark hair. “Can't cum anymore!” Toji growls, slapping your ass, instinctively jerking your hips back. Crying, "Daddy!" Pain erupts in your left hip, his nails digging in deeper. Thin rivulets of blood trickle from the wounds.

Dragging his tongue out, kissing your lips. "You think I can't get your sloppy cunt to cum on my cock? That's cute.” Licking up some of the blood on your hip. “Poor mama, so sore, bloody, and sensitive, belly swelling up with my cum." Smacking your cum soaked cunt, whining from the sweet pain. Gliding his fingers in, spreading them apart, watching your hole stretch.

Pushing on your stomach, pumping his finger into your messy cunt. Thick, white cum gushes out. "I'm going to make your belly swell with my cum again." In his rut, his balls make more cum, but this is something else.

Trailing sloppy, loud kisses away to your squishy thigh. "Can't stop thinkin' about ya with that baby." Gently rubbing your g spot. "You've been dropping hints, sending me into a rut. Making my cock ache and my balls too full of cum. Needa fuck ya into a milf." Spreading his fingers apart, gliding them out.

Pressing his fingers together, smearing his cum on your lips. You suck on his fingers, swirling your tongue, a tangy flavor of mixed cum coating your tongue. Toji lines his thick head up, rolling his hips forward.

Whimpering, your cunt squelching, back arching, toes curing, and thighs trembling. Your cunt is too sore, too sensitive. "Needa make sure you're stuffed, make your tits drip with milk." Gliding his fingers out of your mouth, grabbing your neck.

Toji pins you to the bed, hunching over, biting around your nipple. An intense tingling warmth spreads from your chest. His venom overrides how painful having fangs puncturing deeply into your breast should be.

Heat pools between your legs, and a lustful haze numbs your mind, consuming you. Slowly retracting his fangs, lapping up your blood, kissing the wounds. Grabbing the backs of your knees, pin you in a mating press. "Look at that, I'm so worked up I'm making venom." Biting your neck, careful not to sink his teeth in too deep.

Scratching Toji's nail backside, he ruts his hips faster. Whining, your sore, cum stuffed cunt quivering. You're getting off on how primal the way your muscular husband is restraining, fucking, and breeding you.

Letting you go, licking up your neck, groaning roughly. Your body bounces with each rough thrust. Fucking you like he hates you. "I love ya mama, love your gorgeous fuckin' smile, the way ya look after me and cream on my cock." Kissing your bloody neck.

Your sensitive cunt squelches, his balls slapping your ass. You mewl, "Love how you're all mine, your cocky smirk, I love how soft you've become for me." Pulling Toji's hair, clenching your dripping wet cunt. It's beautiful watching his massive body trembling because of your cunt.

"I think you make me hard mama, love seeing you jiggle, watching your eyes roll back when I fuck ya good." Gliding your fingertips along his cheek to his lips. Swiping your thumb along his bottom lip.

Crooning, "Cum in me Toji wanna make you my baby daddy." Trailing kisses along his chiseled jaw, roughly biting his neck. Whining when Toji digs his claws into your thighs, retracting his claws when blood trickles. Lightly dragging his nails toward your cock stuffed pussy.

He grunts, "I'm all fuckin' yours! So tight mama, so fuckin' wet n' tight!" His venom dulls your pain, increasing your sensitivity. Acutely feeling the slope of his cock head down to the soft ridge.

Every puffy vein is thicker in his rut since he cums so much more. The gradual thickening of his cock spitting you wider makes your toes curl. His knot swelling, tugging on your cunt, getting harder to glide out.

Squeezing your hips, lifting you off the bed, pumping his hips faster. The headboard thumping the wall; the bed scrapping the floor. His strength forces his thick knot into your hot, sloppy wet, tight cunt.

Curling your toes, your eyes rolling back. "That's it, good girl, cum on your cock. Lemme feel your sweet pussy clench my cock tighter till it's too much!" Your gush when his knot tugs on your cunt. Your slick drips onto his balls, and down your cheeks, soaking the sheets between.

His veins pulsing, cock twitching, cum spurts, thick and warm. "I love seeing you swell with my cum." Wrapping his arm around your waist, lifting the rest of your body off the bed. Holding you close, he shifts on the bed, sitting down with you in his lap.

Gliding his hand down, sinking his fingers into your squishy hip's crease. Massaging his fingers into you. Arranging the pillows quickly with the other hand, leaning back. His knot is too thick to glide out, trapping his cum inside. The soft pressure of his warm and thick cum is comforting.

"I love being so full." Scattering kisses on his thick pecs, splaying your fingers on his hard abs. Grinding your hips, rubbing your clit on his navel, he whines. His hard cock shifts inside you, rubbing your soft, wet cunt. Just barely rubbing your sweet spot.

You croon, "Wanna make you a daddy." Toji cups your breasts, stoking your soft puffy nipple. Clenching your cunt, groaning, gliding your hand up to his pecs, over his broad shoulders. Gliding your fingers into his dark hair, pulling him in for a kiss.

Parting your lips for his tongue, keeping your hips grinding steady. Fueled by Toji's venom coursing through your veins, made only during a rut to ensure their mated partner could keep up. You can't think of anything else beyond milking his cock.

Moaning, your tongue following along with his. Toji pinches, pulling your nipple till you whine into the slow, deep passionate kiss. Lifting your hip. Barely gliding part of his knot out, sinking your hips down. Getting a little more of his shrinking knot to slide out. Breaking the kiss, mewling, "Does daddy need to stuff mama's cunt again?"

Gliding your sloppy cunt along Toji's big, throbbing cock. His thick cum trickling out of your cunt, soaking his balls, and the bed. He groans, "Such a waste, all that cum trickin' out." Toji grabs your neck to slam you down onto the bed. Gliding his cock out, grabbing both hips. Flipping you over, pulling your hips in the air.

Slapping your cunt, "Need to fill ya back up, break your sweet cunt and make sure you can’t walk." Lining his cock up, pulling your hips back. Filling and stretching your drenched cunt in one harsh thrust. Propping one leg up, grabbing your head, pinning it down into the pillows.

Toji leans over you, putting his heavyweight into the thrusts. Grunting, "Fuckin' take my cock, good fuckin' slut." The bed shifts, scraping the floor. His heavy balls slapping your clit. Your cunt squelching louder than his groans and your muffled moans.

Slapping your ass roughly, carefully digging in his nails. Thin rivulets of blood trickle down your cheek, following the trail with his finger. Slipping into his mouth, groaning at the taste, "You smell so damn sweet!" More thick cum trickles down your thigh. You're craving more, to have his knot plugging another thick load.

He groans, "Your cunt, blood, soft squishy body, and every little whine are keeping my cock hard." Angling his thrust, rubbing your sweet spot, hitting your cervix. Curling your toes, your eyes stinging with tears, yanking your hips away.

Toji croons, "Trying to run away?" Tightly grabbing your neck, the sudden restriction makes your cunt clench Toji's thick cock.

Lifting you up by your neck and hip, getting off the bed. Holding you with ease, his cock buried in you. Stopping in front of the vanity mirror, "You can watch yourself get fucked without being able to do a single thing, but let me fuck ya stupid." Your body is tingling from the lack of air.

Between the lack of air and venom coursing through your body, there isn't even a thought detected of cumming. All you can do is feel his thick cock filling you up. Admiring the beautiful woman in the mirror getting split wide open by her handsome husband.

Her plush wet lips for a pale, veiny thick cock. Loosening his grasp, "Tell me how good I'm makin' my pussy feel." You try to steady your breath, unable to process his words. breath, "Am I that good that your cock-drunk and dumb already?" Rubbing your clit, making your cunt clench his cock harder.

"Shit that's too tight mama. But unnnnn ahhh mmmm you feeeels so goooood." Temporarily leaning back his head, loudly groan. The raspy needy sound getting you off, your cunt spasming around him. "Fuck!" Toji's legs tremble, and he stumbles back, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Bouncing you on his cock, planting his feet, steadying himself thrusting up. Making you meet his thrusts. "Whatareya doin'tomemama!" His words slur together, yanking your head to the side. Hunching over gently sinking his fangs in, marking you as his.

Any supernatural creature would be able to sense the mating, singing to back off. At least they had trouble with someone else. To any human, it's a scarring mark of four puncture wounds you wouldn't explain.

Toji's knot swells catching on your cunt, "I'm so close, gonna stuff ya full. Beg for at least, use the last brain cell my beautiful baby has left. Use it to beg for my cum like a cock drunk slut." You can't you're too far gone.

Lost in the bliss of getting fucked, only able to moan, "Daddy!" A couple more pumps and Toji wraps his arm around your waist. His knot merely tugging on your cunt, unwilling to easily slip out.

Groaning his cock twitching, thick cum spurting filling and stretching your cunt. Your thighs trembling and toes curling, it feels too good to be cummed in. Roughly breathing, leaning back with you resting on his chest.

Toji takes a moment to gather himself. Massaging your stomach, his hand drifting down your navel and back up towards your breasts. His cock softens, his knot swollen, plugging his cum inside.

Closing your eyes, smiling, resting your head on his chest. Toji groans, "That's it mama, fuck you feel so damn good. Gonna have to stuff you again in a few hours. You mind if I wake you up?" During his week-long rut he could never go long without burying himself into your cunt. Leaving you pleasantly sore and still feeling his cock hours after when he comes back for more.

When you don't answer Toji chuckles, "Damn mama, take your time Daddy's got you." He needs fresh raw meat to tear into, the surrounding woods of your cabin are perfect hunting grounds.

His cock softens, his knot gradually de-swelling. His cum trickles out, "I'll clean up for I go, don't even think about bitchin' about it later. You better thank me for being so nice, knowing most ." You're too full to hold it without the full size of his knot.

Gathering your sense of self and thought, "You're cleaning 'cause you know I can't walk." Gliding you off his cock, his thick cum gushes out like your squirting. Biting into your lip.

Your cunt has been ruined by Tojis's too-fat cock, the sweet swelling of his knot, and how much he cums during a rut.

Toji groans, "Gonna make ya swell with more than cum. You're gonna be the prettiest mama." Kissing the top of your head, standing up. Cradling you in a princess carry towards the bathroom.

Placing you down on the toilet, "If ya can't walk, good I'll come back for ya." Taking care of business and not bothering to trust your wobbly legs. Listening to the blankets rustle in the bedroom.

"I don't wanna wait too long! I want to hold you close." Toji comes back with your phone. Scrolling away the minutes trickle by of him putting the bed together with fresh sheets.

Picking you up, setting you on the counter, propping your feet up on the counter. Grabbing a rag, getting it wet, wiping your inner thighs. "I got your favorite stuffed animals on the bed. I'll stay until you fall asleep" He kisses your cheek, wiping the cloth between your lips slowly.

“I love you daddy.” Smiling up at him, admiring the his handsome face. The sweet feeling of getting cared for, after getting ferally fucked has you on cloud nine.

Toji grabs the disinfectant, pouring some on the rag. Lowering your legs, gently dabbing clean the small marks on your left hip. Rubbing your clit, the pleasure distracting you from the stinging of the disinfectant.

“I love you too mama.” Kissing you sweetly, parting his lips with yours. Letting you lips your tongue past, following your lead. Groaning into the kiss, stroking your clit softly.

tagging: @butterflieskeepcominback @bvblackarmy @linadiablo @hinata7346 @aechmea01 @movlul @namjoons-t1ddies @valentxi @erp1007 @shussshs @deft0n3sss @ryutotsukai0824 @saintydainty @insomniac-h3art @lov3rbody

4k event

oreo creampie’s m.list

[incorrectbatfam]

One thing I rarely see in injury and chronic pain fics is the grief that comes with missing out on stuff you love because you can no longer do them without hurting yourself. Writers who have been disabled their whole lives (or at least a long time) tend to forget that not all disabled people are used to being disabled. For able-bodied characters, especially athletic ones like vigilantes, a serious injury could mean a jarring change that includes giving up the things that mean the most to them.

I was physically fine until I was 18. Back then, my sense of self was entwined with interests that required a lot of movement and dexterity. I started doing MMA in middle school for self-defense. I loved parkour and even had a few hundred subscribers on my old YouTube channel. I learned to shoot and was gifted my first gun when I was 16. I took up multiple instruments. You get the idea.

My motorcycle accident fucked up the joints on my left side—my knee and shoulder especially, but also wrist to an extent. When it first happened, I thought I'd be on crutches for a bit but things would eventually get back to normal. The pain didn't go away even after I got rid of the crutches but I figured it was just residual and I should do what I'd been doing before. It's why I turned to substances—to block the pain and do what I love, but that's another topic. I didn't recognize my injury as a disabling thing until the end of the pandemic, when I put my parkour channel on an indefinite hiatus because it was seriously wearing my body down. It might sound silly to you but I was devastated. It's like if Spider-Man wasn't allowed to swing from buildings. It took me a long time to make peace with losing that part of me.

Another piece of that grief is even when you can do stuff, it's not the same because you have to exclude certain aspects of it for your own health. It's like the Robin that died and came back wrong. I can't use certain gym equipment and I have to tell my sparring partners what to avoid. I don't go to the shooting range much now because I can't extend my arm and hold a rifle for the amount of time it takes to aim without it starting to hurt. I'm a drummer, but I need breaks throughout the setlist and I can't do anything too fast or complex with the pedals, which means I can't play some of my favorite songs and my band is limited in what we write and perform. I can't take my motorcycle on road trips without frequent rest stops. Making accommodations helps physically, but emotionally, they're not always easy to accept because that means accepting the pain as a long-term disability rather than a temporary setback.

This got super long because I think it's unexplored in fics so some tips for creators:

First, learn how the body works and how stupidly fast and easy it is to get hurt. Mine was on a residential road because I didn't pay attention for 0.2 seconds

Learn the difference between internalized ableism and being upset over becoming disabled. I think a lot of writers skip over the feelings someone would naturally experience because it can be construed as ableism. Let them be in denial, sad, angry, etc. upon finding out because acceptance almost never happens right away. That's different from being a dick to themselves or others based on disability

Also, not everyone uses the same labels or has the same vocabulary to describe themselves. Different characters will have different ways of describing depending on their personality, level of knowledge, where they come from, and their relationship with their disability. I still don't really call myself disabled since I don't have it as bad as others so I tell people what happened instead (anyone who says "differently abled" will receive a different ability from me in the Denny's parking lot)

Think about how they cope with their new disability. Do they realize it's a disability right away? Do they talk to someone? Search desperately for a cure? Numb the pain? Turn to alternative methods? Do they worry about something else first, like money? Do they develop something else because of it, like a mental illness? Again, coping poorly is not ableism

What stays the same and what changes? I think about the difference between Forrest Gump and Lieutenant Dan after they were both wounded in battle

If they have a passion they can no longer pursue, it doesn't make much sense for them drop it so readily. Maybe they find a way to continue with accommodations (a good place to get creative!). Maybe they try and push through anyway. If they do ultimately resign, include the thought process and internal conflict behind it

[mybrainproblems]

The thing is... hate crimes md is a bit of catharsis and wish fulfillment when you have some sort of ongoing undefinable health issues (or have dealt with them previously). Because yeah, this guy is gonna commit all the medical malpractice but holy fuck he's gonna get you that diagnosis, ethics be damned.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

What You Do

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving, fingering), light angst, light fluff, sex pollen, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this.

But the asshole is still going to try.

Author's Note: Back on my (not) sex pollen bullshit. Enjoy!

Title from Shadowboxer by Fiona Apple

Word Count: 7.6k

Sometimes you wish Dean was just a little bit worse of a person. 

He seems to think he’s a worse person. He thinks he’s a bad person. 

He’s not. 

Because a bad person would have left you to writhe and moan on the floor after you got hit with this stupid curse, snapping at you to stand up and pull it together. But Dean had fallen to his knees at your side, brushing away your hair and wiping sweat and blood from your skin. With his hands. Big hands. Big, warm, rough hands with strong, deft fingers that always move so deliberately, that can bruise and mark your skin and fill you up and-

You wished you’d had the strength and mind to push him away in that moment. To grab those hands and shove them away from your face, because where they were usually sparking fireworks, they were setting off nuclear explosions. You wished you’d screamed at him in that moment to at least stop cradling your face, brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones and sending lighting through your blood and into your gut.

But you hadn’t understood what this was. You’d really thought that you were just high on adrenaline and Dean’s touch, the combination making you hornier than usual. 

You’d been so fucking wrong. And now Dean won’t stop being a good person, and it’s going to kill you.

He’d insisted on carrying you. You’d taken two, shaking steps, your knees had bucked in an attempt to relieve the pressure between your legs, and Dean had simply refused to let you fall.

“Dean, I can get it, I just need to keep-“

“You say trying,” He’d snapped your name, hooking his arm under your knees and hauling you up his chest. “I’ll fucking shoot you.”

Normally you would’ve protested—insisting that you did need to keep trying, and Dean was just being dramatic—but he’d been warm and strong around you, muscles flexing and shifting as he walked back to the Impala, and your face had come into dangerously close contact with his neck. 

You’d bitten through your lip in order not to brush soft kisses over his jaw, suck a spot on his neck, or bite him and see what he’d do to get you back. You’d only made it to the car—and later, into the motel—because you’d been able to bury your face in his skin, and it had tided you over. The smell of Dean—evergreen and spice and gunpowder and something you knew to just purely be him—acting as an anesthetic. Dulling the stabbing, throbbing, and aching pain between your legs and in your gut, soothing your heart back down from the franticly paced rhythm it had set since you’d been hit by that spell.

When he’d set you down on the bed, there had been a brief moment of relief—no more reason to worry about accidentally jumping on him at the worst possible time—before it had all gotten worse. Dean had drawn away, and everything had become a white-hot flame on your every nerve and a sore, blistering cold on your skin. You’d screamed, Dean had rushed back to your side, and he’d started to touch you again. Looking for a wound or mark on your body that he could blame.

There wasn’t one. This was entirely the curse. And every time Dean drew away it was worse—sweat staining your clothing and shivers moving up and down your spine—so you’d agree for him to just stay near you. On the edge of the bed, not touching you because that made everything worse in a different way. Proximity was the best he could offer. 

But it wasn’t a fool proof. You were still going out of your mind with desire. And Dean was not helping. He was still being a good fucking person, and he wouldn’t leave you alone. You’d been rolling and moaning into the sheets, whining and humping the air, and Dean had just sat there. 

His arms had been braced on his knees. You’d almost started crying as the memory of those knees being shoved between your thighs had sent a newer, stronger wave of desire through your body.

Just another reason Dean needed to go. He’d been refusing to look at you—only staring at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen—and that makes your lungs feel like iron in your chest because why. Why wouldn’t he look at you.

It could be is that he was disgusted by the sight of you. That he’s only ever seen you like this in low, glowing darkness, and when you’re cast in the shifting sunlight between the blinds, he can’t pretend you’re just another body in a bed. Maybe this is making that too real for him. That you’re the one that makes those desperate sounds that always make his hips stutter. You’re the one who grinds like this onto his dick, and who scratches at his back the same way you’ve been scratching at the mattress.

But then sometimes Dean would look at you, and it was far worse. You couldn’t read that expression, either because he didn’t want you to, or because nothing existed outside of Dean when he looked at you. Things like reading him—studying his every breath and shift in the chair—didn’t matter. He was so handsome. Strong jaw and tanned skin, small freckles you could map in your sleep—you’ve certainly done it before, in the dead of night when he couldn’t know—and green eyes that were almost too pretty. They were like falling stars. Bright and colorful and never yours to just reach up and take. Passing by you in the night. Never colliding with you in a way that would leave a damage you’d love to suffer through.

Dean would look at you, and you’d get lovelorn and drunk on his attention, and then you’d make a lewd sound you couldn’t swallow and buck off the bed. 

And he’d cough, sit up a little taller—more vigilant, like he could just defend himself for the horrible sight of you—and look away.

And you’d be left in pain and want again.

He’d kept trying to talk to you, while you waited for Sam to call him back with a name for this curse, and a way to cure it. 

“So, uh.” He’d cleared his throat, the sound had been gravely and rough, and you’d almost flown out of your skin. “We’re gonna have to stick around for a few days, to make sure this isn’t a coven situation, but we can do whatever the hell we want. Long as we’re in town. I was thinking, I saw a movie theatre-“

You’d gasped, something jumpstarting in your chest and shooting into your gut at the idea of going to see a movie with Dean. His hand on your thigh in the dark, wandering up your leg and tracing pattens, leaning down to your ear to whisper bad jokes, chuckling when you told him to shut up, but fully laughing when you’d joke back-

“Shit, are you-“

“I’m fine.” You’d said, and you don’t think he’d believed you. Fuck, you hadn’t believed you. “Movie sounds good.”

“Yeah, uh, I saw a diner too. We could do a movie, and get dinner.”

You hadn’t been able to see him. You’d started to lie flat on your back a few hours ago, and Dean had been nothing more than a deep, strong voice that sounded like rainfall and crackling fire in your head. Drowning you in the sound and echoing it around your skull, ravaging through you with just noise and igniting an iridescent light on every part of you he’d touched before.

He’d touch you everywhere before. He’d touched you at a diner. Bumped his foot with yours under a table, raised his brows in a silent question, and smirked when you’d given a small nod. He’d knocked on your door that night. He’d been gone from your bed the next morning. 

And dinner and a movie wasn’t what you and Dean did. You did things like that.

But Dean had been suggesting it. Saying it casually in that impossibly powerful voice. You’d had to bite down a scream at the idea of getting to lean over the table in the diner—wiping some crumbs off his lips as he grinned at you—and he’d still been talking- 

“Then I saw an awesome looking carnival a town over, we could check that out-“

You’d passed out. 

When you’d woken up, Dean was hunched at the side of the bed, muttering low words into his phone. 

The first one you’d been able to make out was Sam.

You’d never moved faster in your life.

You’d grabbed the phone out of Dean’s hand, ignoring his grunt of protest and how touching his hand had made you a little dizzy. “Sam Winchester, if you can’t tell me what the fuck is wrong with me, I’m going to throw your fucking hair mousse-“

“I don’t- Uh-“ Sam had cleared his throat through the speaker. “How did you know about-“

“I get bored and snoop.” You’d snapped. “Nothing gets past me, Samuel, and I swear to god I’m going to take all the razors you hid and let Dean shave your head-“

“Jesus,” Sam had muttered your name, and it hadn’t been a good sign that the didn’t sound mad or annoyed. He’d sounded like he pitied you. It had made your whole body tense. “It’s really that bad, isn’t it.”

You’d frowned into the air. “I don’t-“

“The curse. You’re really pissed, Dean says you get like that when you’re, um…“ Sam had trailed off, and you’d scowled.

“When I’m what?”

 “I don’t wanna say it.”

“Sam-“

“Pent up.” Sam had muttered, the words clipped through the speaker, and if the thought of him dead didn’t make your heart fracture and splinter, you would’ve killed Dean right there. The asshole.

He’d still been sitting on the bed. If you’d leaned a little closer, you would’ve collapsed over him. He’d needed to stop looking so fucking worried. Being so warm you could feel it radiating from his body and seeping into your skin and stoking that need-

“Sam,” you’d whispered, your fingers curling in the sheets and your nails pushing into your skin. “What’s going on?”

He’d let out a long breath, only static silence on the phone for a long moment before he spoke. “I think it’s a famine curse.” 

“Oh.” You’d said, then blinked into the air as the words actually sunk in. “What?”

“Look, just so you know, I told Dean it was a sex curse. This isn’t really my thing to tell him, and it’s not technically a lie, but you are going to have to tell him or this, it will kill you-“

“It will what?” Your voice had cracked, and Dean had frowned. 

“Are you-“

You’d given Dean a thumbs up, lowering your voice to a hushed, nervous whisper. “Sam, please just say it, I don’t know what going on and I’m so tired and it hurts-“

“It’s-“ Sam had sighed, his voice far too fucking gentle. “The thing you’ve been starved off and craved the most, you need to have it, or you’ll die.”

 You’d shaken your head, falling flat onto your back. “I don’t know what I-“

“Yeah, you do.” Sam had said, and now you understood the sympathy. The pity. The rambling and awkwardness.

Because Sam knew. You’d gotten really drunk and cried about the thing to him a year ago. He rarely mentioned it, but he knew.

And this wasn’t going to get better. Not until you made it better. 

Until Dean made it better. 

So you were fucked. 

“What do I do?” You’d whispered into the phone, closing your eyes to pretend Dean wasn’t only a few feet away. “This isn’t going to- There’s nothing that will- Sam, what do I do-“

You’d started to cry, Dean had moved to hold you in a flash—taking the phone and muttering to Sam that he’d deal with it before hanging up—and after your breathing had steady back to a ragged rhythm, you’d gotten a text from Sam.

Tell him.

You’d stared at the screen, ready to throw it across the room or smash it to pieces so you could just die in peace, and another message had come through. 

Please.

And now you’re here. And Dean’s still being a good person, and you can’t do this.

He thinks it’s a sex curse. Sam had apparently said that you needed intimate connection, Dean had taken that to mean sex curse, and Sam hadn’t correct him. In Dean’s defense, it really does seem like a sex curse. You’re twisting and grinding and moaning on the bed, your skin long bare because clothing stuck to your skin and felt acidic on your body, and you’re pretty sure he can smell your arousal, but you don’t crave sex.

Dean offers you plenty of it. You haven’t wanted for sex in almost three years. 

What you want is going to be impossible to have. Because Dean Winchester doesn’t do love. 

And he still won’t stop being a good person.

He tells you it’s okay to rub one out. He cares so much that you’re comfortable. He keeps putting water on the bedside table so you don’t pass out again, and he coaxes you out of bed for food with slow, firm words.

“You need to eat.” He mutters, reaching for your body but flinching back at the last second. You have to bite down a whine. “You look like shit, sweetheart, and until you let someone help you, we’re going to need to keep your energy up.”

You shake your head, burying your face in a pillow and bunching the blankets between your legs, managing to relieve enough pressure to speak. “I don’t wanna.”

“Don’t wanna-“

“Move.” You mumble, rubbing your thighs together. “It hurts-“

Dean says your name, his voice low and rough and not at all helpful. “I’ve told you I’m okay dealing with this-“

“No.”

“Why the hell not? It’s nothing I haven’t done before, and you know we’re good together-“

Your gaze goes a little blurry, and you almost pass out again. He can’t keep saying shit like that. 

“Dean, I-“ You roll onto your back to glare at him, and it’s a mistake. He looks concerned. And handsome. And a little flushed as he watches you hug your chest and fuck the mattress. 

You can’t look him in the eyes. 

You can’t really do anything at all.

“Please just drop it.” You curl further into yourself, praying he’s started to stare at the floor again. “Please.” 

Dean lets out a long breath, but he does. He drops it, on the condition that you eat. And when you do, he keeps trying to talk to you, and you’re too exhausted to tell him to shut up.

“What’d you mean, when you told Sammy you snoop?” He asks, and it takes three steady breaths to answer him.

“Sometimes you guys go out, I stay behind, and I get… bored.” 

“Bored?”

You nod, fidgeting with your fingers and trying not to hump your chair. “I go around and find where you’re hiding things.”

“Like...” Dean pauses and you can hear his confused frown. He’s probably making an adorable face. You wish you could look at him and not moan. “Hair gel and razors?”

“And romance books. And a secret laptop for personal use.” You drop your brow to fully rest on the table, raising your voice. “And a Taylor Swift cassette tape, and a very soft blanket, and three emergency pies-“

“Alright, alright I get it.” Dean chuckles, and the sound rolls right through your body. “You’ve really just poked in our business, huh, sweetheart?”

“You poke in mine all the time, Dean-“

“I don’t know where your secret stash of shame is-“

“And you never will,” you mumble, a small smile pulling at your lips. “I hid it where even demons wouldn’t want to go.”

Dean hums. “Sammy’s room.”

“No.”

“Your room?”

“That would be a terrible hiding spot-“

“My room?”

You’re silent for a second too long, and Dean’s tone becomes disbelieving.

“You hid it in my room?! What’d you do that for?!“

“Shut up.” 

“Nah, baby, you’re gonna have to explain that one-“

“Dean!” You snap, glaring up at him. “Shut up!”

You’re looking at him. His eyes are darkened. And you’d misread his tone. It’s awe on his face. Awe and confusion.

You fall out of your seat with a moan.

Dean catches you. 

“Fuck this,” he mutters, half dragging you back to the bed and placing you carefully on the mattress before digging through his jeans. “If you’re not going to let me help you, I’m calling Sam and he’ll- fuck- he’ll do it-“

“Dean, no-“

“Yes.” He snaps, shooting you an almost violent glare. “I don’t know what the fuck I did that you don’t want to touch me, and I’m not gonna cross that line, not for nothing, but we’re still fixing this. You don’t want me, you get Sam. You don’t want Sam, I’m calling Cas. You don’t want him, you better start brainstorming, sweetheart, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to just fucking sit here and watch you die-“

You’re going to start crying again. It’s all too much. He sounds angry and your cursed and addled brain can’t handle it. You’re burning up from the inside. You’re breathing and it doesn’t feel like oxygen because Dean’s mad and you can’t do anything-

“Please don’t call them.” You mumble, pulling your knees up to your chest. “They won’t be able to help.”

Dean shakes his head, his focused, furious determination not breaking. “Then what the hell will help?! Because you’re going to have sex! You’re not allowed to clock out on me,” he shouts your name, and now he just sounds pained, and it’s worse. “I don’t- I’m not- If I can’t be the cure for this we’re finding someone who can-“

“It won’t work-“

“Yes, it will! Sam said you needed to fuck, you’re-“

“That’s not what Sam said.”

There’s a long pause as Dean blinks at you, and then-

“What are you talking about.”

“He said I needed an intimate connection.”

“Yeah, sex-“

“No-“

“It’s a fucking sex curse, baby-“

“Stop saying that!” You scream, and the room seems to be spinning a little bit. “Stop calling me baby! It’s not fair, and I- I can’t- You’re making it worse, Dean! Just stop being so fucking nice!”

The silence is going to suffocate you. It’s like oil and gasoline leaking into your lungs and surrounding your body, and you’re going to drown in what feels like nothing at all as Dean’s just silent-

Dean says your name, his every word slow and measured. “What kind of curse is it.”

“Dean-“

“You said it’s not a sex curse.” He snaps. “So what the hell is it.”

You swallow, and you’re too far gone now to push back. “Famine curse.” You whisper. “I- I need something that I’ve been starved off. And craved.”

You can hear his frown. “But we fuck all the time-“

“We do.” You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your palm over your pussy. It doesn’t really help. “It’s not just about the sex. It’s- I need more.”

“More…” Dean trails off, and you’re defiantly crying now. “More intimacy? Would we like, need to cuddle or something-“

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “More than cuddling. It’s- You’d have to- I-“

Dean says your name in a low warning, and you might break that hand between your thighs. ‘What-“

“You’d have to mean it. You’d have to, um, fuck me and-“

“And mean it? I always mean it-“

“You have to love me!” You almost scream, your mouth moving faster than any sense of self-preservation or will, and you’ve fucked it.

You’d said the thing. You weren’t even supposed to think it. You’d trained yourself to keep it only a ravenous, deep and insatiable feeling inside your body that picked up and rioted when Dean was around you and grew bitter and heavy when he wasn’t.

But you’d said it. 

And he’s not gone. He didn’t fly out the door or scramble off the bed with wide eyes. He’s not reminding you in gentle but firm words that that is not what you two are supposed to be. 

But what he does is worse. He leans over your body to look at you, takes your face between his hands and scans over your slack, open features, and says your name.

You pass out again.

It’s not hard, waking up. This time it’s simple and slow, a comfortable weight draped around your shoulders a sense of ease filling your whole body. 

There’s a strong arm wrapped around your stomach, and a warm thumb rubbing small circles on the bare skin of your waist, and nothing is aching or painful at all.

Oh.

Oh, no. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is low in your ear, and you almost moan again. He’s not naked behind you, but he’s changed into sweats, and his shirt is gone. You can’t stop the frantic grind of your ass back into him, or the desperate sound that leaves you when Dean’s grip tightens, stopping any further attempt to move on him.

“Please,” you whisper, squirming against him, because if you’re going to die from something as dumb and pathetic as this, you might as well go out with Dean buried inside you. “Dean-“

“None of that right now.” He mutters, completely pinning you against his chest. “Not yet. We gotta talk first.”

“Dean-“

“You want me.” 

“Yeah.” You mumble, and Dean hums, his voice slightly hoarse.

“You love me?”

“I love you.” You can’t stop the words, and he’s still not gone.

His hand starting to drift lower. And when he speaks, and his voice is almost a growl, and you’re going to implode or explode or something. Burst into flames somehow, because that’s his I’m going to fuck you so good, baby, voice.

“You need me to mean it?” He mutters in your ear, and you nod weakly.

“Yeah, Dean, but you don’t have to-“ 

Dean grabs your chin and angles your head back, slamming his lips into yours with a bruising but careful force, and you don’t explode. You melt. Molding against his body and going slack in his arms, leaning your head back to try and devour the taste of him. Cheap coffee and mint and that purely Dean thing that’s always been like a drug. Always hooked you and dragged you right into him. 

This won’t be different. It might end in your heart literally breaking, but you’ll still be chasing him until your legs give out. If he catches you, he catches you. If he doesn’t-

There are worse deaths that this.

“Sit back, sweetheart.” Dean murmurs against your skin, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. “I’m going to mean it so hard you’ll see stars.”

“Dean, I- It’s more than that-“ 

He cuts you off with another kiss. He needs to stop doing that, because now he’s being soft and sweet, running his tongue over your teeth and letting you melt all the way into his touch without thought. Teasing you with a deep hum that you can feel in his chest behind you, making your eyes flutter close as you let yourself get lost in him. How good he is, how he good tastes, how good his hands feel as they start palm at your tits-

You gasp as he pinches and rolls a nipple between his fingers, and you’re already so overstimulated from nothing at all that it’s like being slammed with a freight train. A good freight train. A freight train that’s made of Dean’s mouth starting to wander down your neck, and his thumb rubbing soothing circles around the peak of your breast.

“I know, baby.” Dean keeps speaking against you, and it only stokes the borderline maddening need for him in your body.  “Trust me. I’ve got you.”

He’s got you. You’re drowning in this almost primal need for him, and he still hasn’t said the thing that would save you, but he’s got you. 

And you’d trust him. With everything you have, you trust Dean. Every single shadowed and scarred and mauled part of you has long known that, even when you have nowhere and no one, you have Dean. Not the way you want, but at your side in the day and above you in the dark. He can be a protector and a secret. You really could’ve lived with both, if it wasn’t for this stupid fucking curse. 

But Dean says he’s got you, and you can’t think of anything to do but believe him. Especially because this isn’t the dark. There are lamps on, and he can see you. All of you, naked in his arms, and making lewd sounds as his knee shoves between your legs and his mouth starts to suck small marks on your neck.

He’s never done that before. Dean’s only marked you between your thighs and on your breasts. You think he’d liked that only he would be the one to see them. He’d been possessive every time he’d put laid them there, muttering low praise and gripping you tight enough to bruise your hips, tracing rough fingers over the dark spots with a gleam in his eyes you’d never allowed yourself to read into.

He’s being possessive now, too. Every time he moves to a different spot on your neck, he kisses the mark he’d just left, and he’s trapping you against his knee with an arm over your stomach, growling as you grind against him and throw your head back on his shoulder.

“Dean,” you gasp, your nails digging into his skin as he flicks your nipple. “God, please, I- I need- Need it-“

“’S alright, pretty girl.” He mutters, and your hips jerk against him. “Just let go, I’m here-“

You scream as you cum, and Dean grabs your chin, keeping your head against him as he swallows the sound with a groan.

“There’s one.” Dean smiles against your lips, and your wiggle against him as he rubs his knee back and forth on your cunt. “Good work, baby.”

For a second, everything is okay again. Dean’s kisses wander over your jaw, he’s still holding you, and the bliss in your body is only a clear, dazed light in your head and gentle warmth in your gut. 

But then the light becomes blinding and searing in your skull, and the warmth becomes fire. Leaving blisters on your organs and making your skin spiked and wired and burnt-

You barely have a moment to shriek before Dean’s kissing you again, and it dulls everything but the pleasure. Just Dean’s tongue pressing onto yours, his hands gripping you by your hips and rolling you onto your back, his body covering yours entirely as he pulls away with a wide, almost boyish grin to look at you.

You’re a mess. You must be a mess. You’re wet in every possible sense of the word—arousal leaking between your thighs you know he’d been able to feel on his knee, sweat pressing your hair to your brow and staining the sheets below you—and you’re flushed and panting and a little fucking dizzy as you hang on the edge of. This isn’t how you’d want Dean to see you. Not like this, not for the first and last time, not when your breathing is ragged and you’re already wrecked and he looks like a god-

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, shaking his head like he almost can’t believe. “Shit, baby, you’re gorgeous.”

You whine, because it’s all your mouth can manage to figure out how to do, and if you’re hot Dean’s volcanic. His nostrils are flaring as he scans over you, his skin looking like it fucking glows and his body carved from your deepest desires, and his cock is big and proud and poking on your thigh, and his eyes-

There’s a gleam in them. The possessive gleam you’ve never seen in full light. It’s intoxicating, and aimed at your soul like the barrel of a gun. 

Dean starts to move again, and all you can do is let him work. Let him leave those same marking kisses down your chest—between and across your breasts, briefly sucking each nipple between his lips and flicking it with his tongue before moving on—and over your stomach, trailing feather-light touches over your torso and arms and waist, driving you out of your mind as you focus on breathing. Just breathing as your body starts to roll and rush with pleasure, and your head just spins around Dean. Everything smells like him, and you can hear him groaning against your skin, and you can feel him everywhere.

He’s reached your abdomen. And when his mouth finally drops lower, all he does is press one, soft kiss right over your clit before drawing back. Letting two broad fingers run over and between your pussy lips, spreading your folds wide for him to see and pressing his thumb right over your cunt without breaching inside.

“So fucking wet,” Dean says your name, and you really wish you could see his face right now. See if he looks as awestruck as he sounds.

You make a strangled sound that’s supposed to be his name, and he chuckles.

“Jesus, babygirl, you’re fucking soaked. Bet this pussy is ready for a proper fucking.” He presses his thumb slightly down, and if you had the energy to spring off the bed, you would. “But I think you’re going to need to hold it for a second. Let me get you nice and ready to take this cock.”

Your fingers curl in the bedsheet as you try to figure out how to scream at him to just take you, to stop being so fucking good and just fuck you, but you can’t. All you can do is listen to Dean’s deep, lustful drawl and hope you look half as pretty as he pretends you are.

Dean drags your hands from the sheets to tangle in his hair, and all you get is a small squeeze of your thighs before he’s shoving them fully apart and burying his face in your cunt.

It’s unfair, how good Dean is at this. He can’t be handsome and funny and able to ruin you with just his mouth, but he is. He knows exactly how to touch and taunt and toy with you, how to play with your pussy until you’re higher than fucking heaven. He tongue-fucks your cunt with an almost brutal fervor, and his strong nose rubs back and forth of your clit, and fuck, his hands are teasing at your thighs and keeping your legs split open for him to devour you. 

You’ve never made these sounds before, and it’s spurring him on. Dean starts to circle your clit with his tongue, licking and sucking and rolling until you’re in a frenzy, and his stubble is perfectly soft and rough on your skin, and his teeth are grazing you ever so slightly-

You don’t scream this time. You moan and choke on air as you cum, and a flood of warmth rushed through your dripping cunt as you tug at Dean’s hair. 

He rises up, wiping his face of something shiny and wet that you might have put there, and grins at you with bright, sparkling eyes. 

“I didn’t know you could squirt.” He examines his fingers, looking back to you with a wide grin “We’re gonna have to figure out how to make you do it again, though, because that was fucking hot.”

You didn’t know you could squirt either. And you’d linger on how you might not have an again, but this relief is lasting longer, and Dean decides it’s a good idea to lick his fingers clean. 

You’d had just enough strength to push up on your palms. You almost collapse back down at the sight, the ache starting to reignite between your legs. 

But it’s not enough to hurt, though. This orgasm seems to be cresting, tiding you over for a little until the curse regains its hold on your body, and you plan to take full advantage of that. Dean’s still hard. And massive. And fucking throbbing.

You need him. Now.

When you move to your knees, crawling forward on the bed, Dean’s eyes widen.

“Shit, wait, sweetheart-“

You surge up when you meet him, crashing your lips to his and hanging off his body as he holds you upright. Thank god, he lets you have this. Dean groans into your mouth and ruts into your thigh, tugging on your hair to grant himself further access to your lips and throat. 

You lower yourself to your knees and take Dean’s cock in your hands, slowly pumping him as he keeps a hand in your hair, shaking his head slightly.

“Baby, you don’t have to-“

“I do.” You whisper. You have to. Not for the curse, but for you. He needs to feel good too. You have to taste him, feel him heavy on your tongue and hear him groan when you touch him-

“I-“ He lets out a low groan as you run your thumb over his already weeping slit, and God, he’s so handsome. “Are you feeling-“

“I’m good. I promise.” You stroke him one last time before leaning back, rising your arms over your head as you hold his gaze. “Please.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters your name, rubbing his jaw. “You’re- shit, okay.”

You smile at him as he moves to straddle your chest, bracing one hand on the headboard and the other in your head. 

“Don’t know what the hell I did to deserve you, baby.” He mutters, pressing his dick on your lower lip and grunting when you part for him. “So fuckin’ pretty. Gonna fuck your mouth until you scream, sweetheart, so you need to-“

You grip Dean’s thighs, fully opening your mouth in a silent invitation, and his eyes flash, his hand tightening in your hair.

It’s all the warning you get before Dean shoves his cock between your lips and starts to rut into your mouth. He’s bumping the back of your throat and groaning your name above you, and he looks divine and tastes like salt and earth and Dean. 

“God, you feel so good,” his words are fully slurring, low and almost a growl as you hollow your cheeks. “Shit, babygirl, you’re a fucking sin, look so beautiful suckin’ my cock, so fuckin’ good-“

He’s so fucking good. Dean’s head thrown back and his eyes hooded and trapped on yours, his biceps flexing as he leans forward and angles your head, and the ache is starting bubble over again so you drift a hand between your legs, and every time his hips jerk you whine and swallow around him-

“Fuck-“ Dean hisses, and he pulls away from you with a pop and groan, grabbing your wrist and pinning it back above your head. “Can’t do that yet, I told you we need to hold on-“

“Please,” you whisper, the pain starting to become overwhelming again. It’s worse this time. You feel like you’re being flayed alive every second Dean’s skin isn’t pressed to yours, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on for. “Dean, I need you, please.” You almost sob, and his jaw clenches. “I’m sorry, I just, it hurts-“

This is the softest kiss so far. Just a press of his lips on yours, the type of kiss you’d give a real lover, just to assure them you’re there. That you’ve got them and you’re never letting go.

“I know, sweet girl, I know. I’m gonna take care of you.” Dean scans over you, his voice so painfully gentle. “How do you-“

“However you want.” Your voice is barely a breath, and you spread your legs as wide as you can, praying he’ll just take what he wants.

But he’s a good person. So he doesn’t. Dean presses one last kiss to your brow, rolls you above him, and guides you down onto his cock. 

You make a loud, shameless sound of relief as he bottoms out. You’re in a daze of pure Dean—filling you up and pressing deep inside of you and so good—and when you start to rock your hips, he lets you. Dean just watches you grind onto his dick with a dark, slightly glazed expression, grunting when you roll in a circle and holding you upright by your waist.

He lets you set the pace, lets your hands wander over every scar on his chest and your body writhe above him.

“Dean-“ You gasp, falling forwards to kiss him deep and desperate into the pillows. “I- you’re- God-“

He sucks on your upper lip, his voice only a growl that rumbles right into your cunt. “Say it again.”

“Dean-“

“No.” His hips jerk up, his grip tightening slightly. “Say the thing.”

“I love you,” you moan, and this time there’s no panic. He already knows. And whatever he asks of you, you’ll offer. Anything to stay here. Stuffed with Dean’s cock, a little high on how he’s watching you like you’re the first sunrise. “I love you, Dean, you’re- fuck, you’re so good-“

The sound that leaves Dean is feral, and he flips you over without effort. Pulling out briefly to reposition you beneath him, slapping the head of his cock on your clit, and shoving back into you with a groan and deep, rough kiss. 

His pace doesn’t change from what you’d set. It’s almost in perfect time, rolling his hips to press against the deepest part of you and kissing all over your face as he drags you right back up to the edge. 

“Look at you, baby. Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ good,” he grunts in your ear, his skin slapping against yours. “So pretty, such a tight, sweet pussy, so good, all mine-“

You moan, squeezing around him, and Dean groans, speeding up just enough to slam against at gooey, needy spot inside of you.

“There we go, sweetheart, gimme one more-“

You shake your head, clinging to his shoulders as he starts to rub furious circles on your clit. “Dean- I can’t-“

“You can. I know you can, baby, you gotta cum-“

“Dean-“

“C’mon!” He growls your name, and he sounds almost desperate. “I’ve gotcha, baby, I’m here, you just gotta cum for me, fuckin’ cum-“

You think you scream his name. You’re not really sure. Pleasure numbs your every other sense as your orgasm hits, and all you can hear is your blood pounding in your ears and Dean’s voice, right next to your ear.

“I love you,” he says your name, and you really wish the world wasn’t just light and hazy warmth right now. “So much, and I- fuck- I need you. Please.”

The next few moments are utter oblivion. You can’t tell if you’re cured or not, because all you can smell and feel is Dean and warmth leaking between your thighs, but all you can hear are Dean’s words bouncing around your head, and all you can see is white.

He loves you. 

He needs you.

And when you come back down, your vision clearing and every bit of pain evaporating into the air, you feel good.

Dean’s no longer above you. He’s moved you into his lap, and he’s holding you to his chest as if you’re a stuffed animal. Your face his pressed into his neck, and his voice is low enough you can’t make out exactly what he’s saying, but it sounds like he’s praying. 

You wait a second as your mind returns to your body, and he’s not praying. He’s mostly just saying your name, over and over again, but his tone is heavy and rough, and it sounds like a prayer.

“Dean,” you whisper, pushing slightly off of his chest to meet his wide eyes. “I-“

He kisses you. But this isn’t one of the soft, reassuring kisses, or the heady, lustful ones. It’s long and deep and careful, and it feels like he’s trying to push his breath into your throat. He’s holding you like you’re fragile and—when he pulls away and presses his brow to yours—looking at you like just his gaze might turn you to mist in his hands.

“Did it work?” His voice is strained, his fingers digging slightly into your skin like he’s trying to tether you together, or drag you into his body. “Are we good?”

You nod, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth because you can’t help yourself. “We’re good.”

“Thank fuck.” He lets out a long breath, his eyes squeezing shut. “Son of a bitch, I had the three orgasms down, but Sam said you I’d have to say it during climax, and he didn’t say if it would be mine or yours so I had to take the gamble-“

“Sam said?!” You lean away from him, gaping slightly. “When did you ask Sam-“

“After you said you love me, then passed out.” Dean gives you a flat look. “You weren’t going to be helpful, sweetheart, and I needed to know how to fix this.”

“You-“ You swallow, flushing as you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Did you- Did you know you could fix it? After I told you how?”

Dean nostrils flare, and he nods. “Yeah.”

“And did you mean it?”

A small smile plays on his lips. “Curse wouldn’t have worked if I didn’t, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, whacking his arm. “Shut up, I’ve had a long day-“

“You’ve had a long day?” Dean raises his brows, his grin becoming shit eating. “The girl I love almost just died because she would just let me fuck her-“

“Well how was I supposed to know you loved me! You’d never said it-“

“Neither had you-“

“Yeah, but- you-“ You scowl at him, even as you drop your brow back to his. “You never fucked me with the lights on.”

“You never asked me to fuck you with the lights on.” Dean lets out a long breath, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I thought you just didn’t want me to.”

“Oh.” You sigh. “Well, fuck.”

Dean chuckles in agreement, nodding. “Also, did you tell Sam and not me-“

“By accident-“ You pause, your eyes widening on Deans. “Wait, he didn’t know that you-“

“He was the only person that knew. The little bitch.” Dean grumbles, and you giggle, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Sam is not little.”

“He’s gonna be little when I’m done with him. Letting me think you didn’t love me when he fucking knew-“

“I did tell him not to say anything.” You offer. “There were threats of stabbing.”

“He shoulda risked it.” Dean snaps, and you just hum against his skin. 

You could get used to this. 

You really need to make sure it’s real, and that the oblivion wasn’t actually death, and you’re not just in heaven right now. You probably wouldn’t actually make it to heaven, but it could also just be a really creative hell, so you have to check.

“Dean?”

He grunts, tracing pattern on your hips, and you let out a slow breath.

“How long have you… loved me?”

“I-“ He sighs, not quite meeting your eyes. “A while.”

“How long is-“

“Long enough that I don’t remember.”

“Oh.” You mumble, and he lets out a dry chuckle.

“How about you?”

“Forever.” You whisper, scanning over his face to figure out if you can find what you’d somehow missed before. 

And there it is. In the light, it’s easy to see. Clear, soft and solid love written on Dean’s every feature, all of it designed for you. It’s not really in his eyes or the curve of his lip, or how he’s holding you or shifting to keep you comfortable above him. It’s all of it together, spelling out so obviously that Dean loves you.

You wonder if he can see something similar on you. If that’s why his eyes flash and his lips part, his hands stilling on your body and his voice growing rough.

“Are we- Is this it?”

“This-“

“Us.” He mutters, and you’ve never seen him nervous before. Bowing his head as he blushes, leaning a little closer to your body like he could move into you forever. “Together.”

“I-“ Your fingers trace over a scar on his abdomen, and you take a long breath. “Do you want to do this? Us?”

“More than anything.”

“Oh.” You swallow, and Dean looks up at you with an almost panicked expression.

“Do you- I get it if you don’t, Sammy and I don’t have a great track record, but I fucking swear, baby, I’d-“

It’s your turn to cut him off with a kiss. And when you pull back he looks a little dazed, and you smile.

“I want you, Dean. More than anything.”

Dean drags you into a deeper longer kiss, he really is the best person you’ve ever known. 

A worse person wouldn’t hold you like this. A worse person wouldn’t say they love you and make sure you feel it in your bones. A worse person could never smile like Dean does—wide and toothy and bright—or light up your whole world with just his presence and voice.

“You and me, baby?”

“Okay.” You smile back, and he’s so good. “You and me.”

“Awesome.”

End Note: Is it even porn if it isn't emotional??? Am I even me if I don't make it emotional??

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber