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sirfrogsworth · 6 months

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Froggie's (Almost) Very Productive Day

I try to fit as many out-and-about chores as possible into a single day so I only have one set of post-exertional malaise consequences instead of consequences after each day of doing a thing. So any time I decide to drive, I try to find several tasks to accomplish all at once.

My first stop was the Family Services Division in the hopes of getting some help with grocery bills. I am making ends meet, but it seems to be getting harder each month. And maybe I could have skipped my trip to Florida and saved that money, but if I don't do something drastic for my mental health, I fear this first holiday season without a parent could send me into the darkness.

I needed to do an interview to finish applying for SNAP. I wanted to do a phone interview, but the next appointment was in January. So I went to social services where they allow walk-in appointments. I waited in a tiny plastic chair for several hours until they called my name. She yelled out "Benjamin" because when most people see "Grelle" they aren't really sure how to say it. (Rhymes with belly.)

She started my interview and it was going swimmingly at first. But then she started asking questions about the house and my inheritance and my trust. I had no idea what to tell her. It feels like a mistake now, but I have had pretty much no involvement in that process. I have no idea how it works. And I started to panic because she was acting like I was committing fraud or something by not mentioning the trust. But the entire point of the trust was to protect my benefits. Nothing is mine. I own nothing. I have no access. But I had no idea how to explain that.

Maybe my lawyer can help me apply, but I did not want them investigating everything and screwing things up before we even have the estate through probate. We specifically hired a lawyer and went through this convoluted process to make sure everything was on the up and up. But she really made me feel like I was doing something wrong. And that made me panic, which probably made me look even more guilty of something. So I just canceled everything and left.

After a few hours in a crowded government office, I decided to head to a different crowded government office.

I know I didn't need it until 2025, but I decided to go ahead and get my Real ID thingie before my first flight. I was kind of hoping they'd retake my picture because my current driver's license is... well...

And I'm so glad they took my big terrible picture and made it into a smaller, more terrible picture.

People complain about the DMV, but the one near me runs like a machine. It was filled with people and I still only had a 10 minute wait time.

I'm starting to wonder if all of those 80s comedians who were all, "What's the deal with the DMV?" were exaggerating.

Good stuff, Jerry.

I head up to the counter and ask for a Real ID. She asks for two pieces of mail and my birth certificate.

And this disappointed me a little bit.

I did my research. I went to the Real ID website and used their interactive guide to figure out exactly which documents I would need. They gave me this entire checklist and I printed it out and went through all my records and mail trying to find everything.

I had to wait a week for my internet bill to come because it's the only thing I forgot to change to paperless. This took a lot of effort and I was ready to be validated for being so prepared.

And she asks for two pieces of mail.

Any mail.

So I was off to get new tires.

Driving around on 8 year old bald tires was giving me anxiety. I didn't have the money for new tires, but I remember the guy saying they had financing. Recently several of my past debts went past the statute of limitations, and so my credit score lifted itself out of the pits of "poor" and into the realm of "fair." So I decided to take a chance and apply for a Discount Tire credit card. It's a 6 month payment plan with no interest, so that didn't feel as predatory as all the credit card offers I get in the mail with 8000% interest.

We started going through the approval process and I was answering all of the questions and then I saw the name of the bank offering the credit. It was the same bank that tried to sue me and also the bank that can longer collect due to the statute. I was worried they put me on some sort of list and would deny me. But, to my surprise, they approved me instantly. And wouldn't you know it, they gave me almost exactly the amount needed for a new set of tires.

I'm hoping we'll be doing another auction of the house stuff soon, so I plan to pay off the card and then cancel it, but this was the only solution I could come up with to drive safely until then.

I was having a weird day where photos of crusty rich wide dudes followed me everywhere I went. Here is my good ol' boy governor at the entrance to social services.

And at the tire place, I noticed this fella...

Why does every rich CEO think they are a font of wisdom capable of creating compelling quotes?

Does he think no one has ever said "work hard" and "have fun"? And after he said this was he like...

"That's gold, put that in *every* store."

"Oh, and use that picture of me where it looks like a handsome gal just grabbed my undercarriage."

He probably thinks, "Well, no one has put these specific generic platitudes together into a single mega-platitude. I am a genius."

"Be honest, work hard, have fun, be grateful, pay it forward" sounds like he had a bunch of motivational posters on his wall and started reading them all at once.

Like, every line could have a picture of an eagle above it.

In any case, the guy at the tire store, Dakota, was really nice. He made the experience very low anxiety. And he really liked my Thor's Hammer keychain with built in fidget spinner.

He went around showing it to all his coworkers. "Look, it even spins!" And they were like, "Dude, where did you get that??" And I was like, "Amazon." Now I'm just imagining 10 dudes at a tire store all fidgeting their hammers.

As nice as he was, Dakota was still a salesman and had a job to do. He gave me two tire options and tried to upsell me. The cheapest tires had a "1" rating for winter. He said they get "super hard" in the cold... I tried not to giggle. But I explained I drive about twice a month and mostly to the grocery store. If it is a bad winter day, I'll just wait or get delivery. He understood and set me up with the cheaper tires.

He then checked out my car and noticed my tire pressure sensors were dying. I keep getting a warning light on my dash. Apparently they all have tiny batteries in them that die after 7 years. And you can't just replace the batteries so you have to install brand new sensors.

And this is where my social anxiety got me into trouble.

I don't actually need these sensors. They are usually inaccurate. I prefer to test my tires with an actual gauge. But I got so caught up in his sales pitch that I agreed to replace them... at $60 each. For that I could have gotten the fancier tires. I really don't care if an orange light shows up on my dash. And I looked up the price online and a pack of 4 is $30. Though that is without installation.

But still... I wasn't thinking and he was so nice that I was just like, "I want to please Dakota. Saying no might make Dakota sad." Dakota's job is selling me but that doesn't mean I have to buy anything. He would live if I had said "no thanks."

To make my blunder more blunderous, when they finished the tires he asked for my key fob. And it decided that was the time for the battery to die. And in order to reset the system for the new tire pressure sensors, you have to press two buttons on the fob for 7 seconds. Thankfully I had a spare fob at home, but if I want my fancy new $240 sensors to work, I have to return to Dakota and have him initialize them.

I really hope these are the Cadillac of sensors.

Or, like, the ones they use on Cadillacs?

They better be accurate, is what I'm saying.

I do feel safer with new tires. So I am glad I did that. And I gave them a good obligatory kick and felt the tread. They seem nice enough even if they get boners in the winter. It's crazy how bald my other tires were in comparison. Like, I can fit half my finger down into the tread on the new ones—which did not get them super hard.

The way I drive, I probably won't wear them down. They'll probably start to rot before I do.

Before I do, meaning before I wear them down.

Not before I rot.

I am not in a rotting competition with my tires.

I was then off to Sam's. I decided all of my hard work accomplishing 2 out of 3 goals deserved some sushi. So I grabbed some California Rolls and headed home. On my way out, a Hummer and a Porsche nearly collided in the parking lot. And they sort of got stuck facing each other. One of them needed to back up and they both signaled at each other like "You back up, I'm not backing up." And it was just this weird standoff between the two douchiest looking cars you could imagine.

I mean, you have to be a douche to drive a Hummer.

I still remember the mystery Hummer dialysis patient from when my dad was going 3 time per week. We could never figure out who owned the Hummer, but we knew it was not the underpaid nurses and techs. So it had to be one of the patients. And none of them seemed the type. We never solved that mystery.

That hummer started off a delightful safety yellow. (Elon would cry.)

They decided this wasn't extra enough... so they did this...

Katrina and I could never decide... are these cow spots or the world's least effective camoflauge?

There was another patient who drove this old beater...

And I loved seeing this car because we had the same one when I was a little kid. I'm afraid the aesthetics of the 1980s Caprice Classic did not stand the test of time, but it had great sentimental appeal for me.

But this maroon beast that squeaked and sputtered its way from here to there belonged to a very sweet older gentleman. Sometimes he and my dad would be dialysis buddies—sitting next to each other in the recliners. And the worst thing about dialysis was the boredom. All you have to do is watch broadcast TV with 4 channels.

All of the TVs require headphones. They give you your own set of super cheap headphones in the dialysis welcome bag. They were very uncomfortable so I ordered my dad better ones with cushioned ear cups.

His dialysis buddy noticed them and thought they looked nice. And then he revealed that his free headphones broke and he didn't know how to get new ones. He had been watching TV with no sound for weeks. So, I bought another pair with the soft ear cups and my dad gave them to his friend. And it just made me happy imagining the two of them watching The Price is Right in matching headphones.

I do have to make fun of this sweet old man a little bit. When I walked passed his car I noticed he implemented the world's most effective anti-theft device ever created.

That's right... The Club™.

If someone decides they have to have a 40 year old car with an engine that sounds like a dying hyena and a hubcap missing... they are out of luck.

But hey, you gotta protect what is important to you. And if I needed a getaway car and my choices were between his beater and the Cow Hummer, I'd take his ride for sure.

Well, I'd try... and then get arrested because The Club™ is undefeatable.

Do NOT look that up on YouTube. It's 100% true. (And the Lock Picking Lawyer doesn't count due to him being able to break into Fort Knox with a paperclip and then doing it again to make sure it isn't a fluke.)

The dialysis center is in the same complex as my local Tolerable Schnucks and I still see that maroon boat of a car every once in a while. I always smile whenever it is there because it lets me know he is hanging in there and hopefully still has sound for his TV.

Wow, I went off on a mega-tangent.

I didn't even finish talking about my day. Where was I? Oh, the douche standoff finally ended. The Porsche Douche capitulated and backed up. Probably due to the fact the Hummer Douche has 0 visibility behind him.

When I got home I started devouring my sushi. I finally heard back from my lawyer. He submitted the last of the evidence for my appeal. And I was finally able to confirm he got the records of my ECT treatments from 20 years ago. I worked so hard to get those. At first, they forgot to send all records before 2011. I had to call back and figure that out. They shipped them and they didn't arrive until a week before we had to file. Everything was so last minute and my anxiety has been... palpable. It felt like when I did my science fair project on Sunday night.

He's hoping to get a decision at the beginning of next year. He warned me that these appeals are usually rejected. And that the most effective method of approval was a hearing in front of an administrative law judge. But that could be delayed by up to a year. So I might need to figure out how to survive until 2025. As long as my brother does what he is legally required to do, I should be okay. But counting on that also gives me palpable anxiety.

And that was my day.

Every time I go out is always an adventure.

But remember...

BE NICE. EAT YOUR VEGGIES. PET CUTE DOGS. DREAM BIG. KEEP YOUR TIRES WARM... FOR REASONS. 5 LIFE LESSONS -Froggie, Mildly Famous Internet Person

#long post

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topguncortez · 8 months

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A Gift To Remember || Whumptober Day 10 - B. Floyd

whumptober masterlist

synopsis: you and bob had been trying for a long time to start a family of your own. and right when you start to see the light at the end of the tunnel, it gets snuffed out

@ailesswhumptober prompt: abandoned

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of miscarriages, failed IVF, mentions of female anatomy, cursing, grammar errors.

You wanted to cry. The hot tears behind your eyes held both the excitement and fear you had been holding in for the past three minutes. You tried your best to not look at the ticking black dots on the small screens as you waited. It was only driving you crazier, but you couldn’t look away either. Everything that you had been waiting and praying for was about to be determined in a matter of seconds.

It had been three years of being treated like a human science experiment. Three years of being told your chances of conceiving were slim to none. Three years of doctor’s appointments, spreading your legs so some doctor could take a swab of your uterus to test the thickness of the lining. You didn’t even know that was something that had to be done. The lining of your interior organ was too thin apparently, not suitable for an embryo to latch itself onto. Three years of being treated like a pincushion, dropping your pants for Bob to inject you at the same time, in the same spot, every day. Three years of tears and failed transfers because your body decided to not do the one thing you were put on this planet to do.

Bob never blamed you. He had supported you, holding your hand through all the procedures and tears shed. He was right by your side, making sure you took your meds, that you were mentally okay, and injecting your thigh with hormones. Bob was your rock, always staying strong as you were broken after every “failed” appointment.

But your most recent transfer had been a success. Your lining was thick enough and your doctor went ahead with the transfer, transferring one of the three fertilized embryos. Bob held your hand tightly, watching the screen as the doctor implanted the egg into you. He had stayed up for hours, talking to your belly, encouraging them to grow, as if they could hear him, or if they had even stuck. It had been over two months since the transfer when you had started noticing the small changes. The constant headaches, the nausea, and the achy breasts were all signs you normally got but the one that stood out to you was the lack of a menstrual cycle. You had sprinted to the drug store, buying a 3 pack of Clearblue pregnancy tests and a bottle of water.

The small screens were haunting you as the words read back. The wording ingraining into your eyes: POSITIVE. All you could do was grab onto the sink to stop you from collapsing. They had never said that before, they were always negative. Not once did you ever get back a positive pregnancy test. You let out a squeal of excitement, covering your mouth as you cried.

The sound of a car door slamming shut, had you turning your head to the closed bathroom door. You could hear Bob greet your dog: Bosco as he came in. You quickly grabbed all three pregnancy tests and ran down the hall. Bob smiled as he kneeled down to pet his dogs and noticed your frantic running down the stairs.

“Whoa babe where’s the. . . “ All you could do was hold the pregnancy tests up, as Bob’s eyes did his best to read them, “. . . fire. Are those positive?”

“They’re positive!” You smiled big. Bob stood up from the ground and ran over to you on the stairs, taking all three in his hand.

“Oh my god. . . oh my god! They’re positive! Oh my god!” Bob yelled and threw his arms around your middle hugging you tightly. He kissed your cheek and nuzzled his head into your neck, letting his own tears fall down his face.

He had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had. He had never shown you his emotions throughout this process, to him, it was important he was the strong one. He wasn’t the one who was being injected and examined and their body was failing them constantly. Bob hid his emotions well, locking himself in the bathroom at night while you were sleeping, putting a towel underneath the door jam, and breaking down. Silent sobs would leave his mouth and he prayed that you wouldn’t wake up and hear him. He cried almost every night, feeling like a failure too. He didn’t understand, it was so easy for the people around him to get pregnant without trying, but for some reason, it was mission impossible for you guys.

Bob let you go, setting you back down on the step carefully. He leaned his forehead against yours, cradling your face in his hands, “I love you, so fucking much.” He whispered against your lips.

“I love you too, Bob,” You whispered back, your hands finding their way to his face. You two stood there in silence, in each other’s embrace, soaking in the moment. The moment that you had wanted since day one. Bob always wanted to be a dad, and you always wanted to be a mom.

------------------------

You and Bob had been on cloud nine for a week after finding out you were pregnant. Bob had told the dagger squad. The boys had known about your guys’ fertility issues, they had also been a rock to help you and Bob stand tall after failures. Bob had confided in each of them, Jake more than his own brothers. They had gotten close after the Uranium Mission, Jake considering Bob to be one of his brothers.

They were beyond ecstatic that you and Bob were pregnant. They all had their own little families, and could see the painful looks on your guys' faces anytime they would come visit. Jake and his wife did their best to give you time with their babies, but you had started to gently decline, your own pain becoming too much to bear, and didn’t want their pity.

Bob held your hand tightly as his knee was bouncing quickly. You guys were at your first doctor's appointment, the first time you will be able to see your baby. Bob’s hands were shaking and your heart was pounding in your chest. Usually, these appointments were disappointing, telling you guys that the transfer process was being halted or had failed because of you. But for once you were optimistic. The hardest part was over, and now you just wanted to see your growing little baby.

“Knock, knock,” The doctor said, poking her head inside the exam room. You smiled up at her as she walked in, “Y/N, Bob, let’s take a look at that baby, shall we?”

“Oh fuck yeah,” Bob breathed out. You smiled at him as he kissed your hand. He stood up from the chair he was sitting in, standing by your head, his eyes trained on the ultrasound machine screen.

“This is going to be cold,” The doctor said, picking up the gel and squirting it on your belly. You were used to the feeling by now, once a month you had an ultrasound to get lining measurements.

The doctor placed the transducer on your belly, and moved it around, getting the view of the inside of your body. You looked up at Bob with a smile, who shot one back down at you, before his coffee colored eyes went back to the screen. Your eyes went to the doctor, who had a puzzled look on her face. She clicked on several keys on the keyboard, while moving the transducer around to get a better look. She moved it around several times, pressing harder as she moved along. She glanced over at you, a grimm look on her face as she took a picture of the inside of your uterus, and put the transducer down.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, Bob, but I’m not seeing anything,” She said softly.

“What?” You asked, your voice light and confused, “B-But I’m pregnant. I took three fucking tests and they were all positive.”

“I’m sorry, it was a false positive. Your blood work sent up a flag, but there’s nothing on the ultrasound. I’m afraid you're not pregnant,” The doctor said. You bit your lip and shook your head, not wanting to believe anything she was saying. Bob’s grip on your hand loosened as he was absorbing the words the doctor had just said.

“T-this doesn’t make fucking sense!” Bob yelled and you flinched at the sound of his voice, “H-How can three fucking tests be wrong!?”

“I don’t know,” The doctor answered honestly, “But I do see some good signs, your lining looks within good measurements, your hormone levels do too. I know this transfer had failed, but things look optimistic for the next one.”

You nodded and looked away from her. She handed you a cloth to wipe up your belly, and you took it, mumbling a thanks. She apologized once again before leaving you and Bob alone in the room. The feeling of dread falling over the both of you. You were back to the beginning. The feeling of heartbreak and misery filling the room. Neither of you two spoke as you walked out of the room and back into the main waiting room, which was filled with expecting mothers. You felt like they were all mocking you with their protruding stomachs and bright smiles on their faces.

You two also didn’t say a word as you drove home. You didn’t even touch each other, being as far away in his car as you could possibly get. Bob pushed past the dogs, not greeting them like he usually would as he walked into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle and filling it up. You greeted the dogs and slowly walked into the kitchen as Bob had his back to you, looking out into the backyard. You sat at the kitchen island and put your head in your hands.

“At Least there was some good out of that,” You sighed. Bob scoffed, still looking out the window, “My lining is still thick and my hormone levels are good. That’s something is positive.”

Bob pushed off from his spot as the kettle started to whistle, opening up the cupboard and slamming it shut, mumbling something under his breath. You squinted at him, feeling the anger rolling off his body.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“It’s nothing,” Bob grumbled. He still had his back to you as he poured water into two mugs, placing tea bags in both.

“No, what is it.” You demanded from him.

He sighed and finally turned around to face you, “I can’t keep doing this. The false positives, the tears, the appointments, the ounce of fucking happiness for it to get stripped away in a matter of seconds.”

You stood up from your spot, and walked over to him, placing a hand on his bicep, rubbing your hand up and down it slowly, “I’m sorry. But when it’s our time, it’ll be our time. We still have frozen eggs and you heard the doctor, things are looking really good right now.”

Bob looked you in the eye, his face unreadable, as he shoved past you, “Your optimism makes me sick.”

Your jaw dropped. He had never said anything like this to you before. Usually Bob was the one picking up the pieces after disappointing appointments like todays. You followed Bob into the living room, as he set his mug down on the mantle, and ran his hands through his hair. His body language looked like he was ready for an argument, but his head and heart were telling him to just let it go.

“What the fuck!” You sneered, “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because you don’t realize this shit is fucking with me too!” Bob’s voice cracked as he yelled, turning around to face you. Tears were running down his face, leaving red streaks down his cheeks, “I am here too! I go through this pain too! I lost a child too!”

“I’m not saying you fucking didn’t, Bob! Or you’re not in pain too!”

“You don’t fucking acknowledge it!” Bob yelled, and stepped back, running a hand over his face, “I told my brothers and my best friend. I told my mother. Now I’m supposed to say ‘sike! It was all a lie! Y/N’s still not pregnant, again.'”

“You’re not the one who’s walking around like a constant fucking failure!” You screamed, “You’re not the one who is constantly getting asked when we are having kids! Everyone around me has kids and everyone looks at me like I’m fucking broken!”

“That’s not my fucking fault,” Bob said back, shaking his head and pointing to himself, “I have done everything I can to help you, Y/N!”

“I never said it fucking was, Bob!”

“You’re fucking acting like it!”

You screamed and stormed back into the kitchen. Bob hot on your heels. You two had never fought like this before. You both had a mutual understanding that this was hard on both of you. It took two to make a baby, no matter how that baby was made. Bob had felt just as guilty and sad about the failures along the way as you did. Bob had promised you time and time again that he never blamed you for what couldn’t happen.

“Real fucking mature, Y/N! Throw a fucking tantrum!” Bob yelled, as you gripped the counter, your back to him to hide the tears running down your face now too.

“I’m immature!?” You yelled turning around, “You’re fucking immature Bob!”

“It’s not my fucking fault your body can’t do the one thing it’s supposed to fucking do! I’m not the fucking defective one!”

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted it. The look in your eyes said everything you were feeling. Bob had felt like he had just punched you in the chest, and that’s what it felt like. You covered your mouth as you let out a sob. Bob said what you had been feeling all along, defective. From the moment the doctor had told you about your fertility issues you had internally labeled yourself as defective. You had even broken down to Bob, calling yourself out loud defective and broken. Bob assured you that you were neither of those things and that your time to be a mother would come one way or another.

You shook your head, digging deep to find your voice, “If I’m so fucking defective, how about you just leave.”

“Fine,” Bob scoffed, “I will.” Bob turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen to the front door.

“If you walk out that door. . . don’t plan on ever coming back.”

Bob froze his hand on the knob. His mind couldn’t even think clearly, as he pulled the door open and walked out, letting it slam shut. The only sound in the house was the sound of your sobs as you fell to the kitchen floor in tears.

taglist: @els-marvelvsp @sarahsmi13s @topgun-imagines @cassiemitchell @xoxabs88xox @seitmai @a-reader-and-a-writer @bradleybeachbabe @kmc1989 @senawashere @beautifulandvoid @ohtobeleah @rogersbarnesxx @oatmealisweird @dempy @devil-angel-winchester @gillybear17

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yourlocaldisneyvillain · 10 months

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a little treat (nsfw)

AO3 link

Summary: Larissa decides to treat herself to a massage. ;)

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

♥ please do not hesitate to leave me a comment on ao3 if you feel so inclined -- it makes my heart sing ♥

taglist: @opheliauniverse @dumbasslesbi @bychrissi @scream-queenlover @muffintopxs @bigolgay @gwenslucifer @weemswife @zephyr-is-tired @yourhauntedhead @carnivorousflowers @i-have-insane-that-i-am-paper @softshrimpy @willowshadenox @syrenacrainn @pro-weems-places @weemssapphic @dianneking @imprincipalweemspet @kimiinou @ninelesbien @i-love-nerdy-stuff @eveymay @myzzjolanda @pluied-ete @brienneswife @gwenzone @principal-weems09 @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @gela123 @emilynissangtr @gwendolinechristieiscute @h-doodles @winterfireblond @farahissaiamyloves @alexusonfire @missmacfire

It’s 10am and Larissa can’t focus for the life of her.

She’s wound too tight, her shoulders are achey, she has a throbbing headache and she feels a deep discomfort in the pit of her stomach. It’s the final month of the winter semester, and the stress is really getting to her. Wednesday’s latest stunt caused more grey hairs to appear on her temples and everybody seems to be on her case — the mayor, the parents, the teachers, the students.

She needs a fucking vacation.

She can’t afford to take a vacation — the school would collapse without her. Wednesday would probably burn it to the ground if Larissa took a single day off.

She could, however… perhaps… maybe… take an afternoon off. Nobody has to know. It would be just one afternoon — it could even be today. She desperately needs to unwind somehow.

But what should she do? Just… take a nap? Is she even physically capable of taking a nap? She doubts it — she’s far too anxious for it. She’d just end up working again.

She arches her back, cracks her neck. Her shoulders are terribly stiff.

Perhaps she should get a massage.

She’s never had a massage before. She never seems to find the time for something like that, and quite honestly, she always thought it a waste of money. However, her shoulders don’t seem to share her opinion — they might just petrify if she continues to live like this.

She googles massage places nearby. There appear to be plenty — but one in particular sticks out. People seem to love it. It has many reviews, all of which are excellent.

"really REALLY enjoyed my massage :) 10/10" "Ask for Tilly when you come if you like gentle hands. Fantastic experience." "The Best message place……. reccommend…….." "I’m a regular here. I always leave satisfied. Highly recommend." "my first time getting a massage like this.. but i loved it!"

Before she knows it, Larissa is calling the massage place and booking an appointment, and, fortunately, they seem to have an opening this afternoon. The woman on the phone asks her if she wants a regular massage and informs her that they only have female masseuses — Larissa finds that a bit odd, but thinks nothing of it. She just wants her massage. A regular one — whatever the hell that means.

She spends the rest of her day working and anxiously waiting for the time to leave. She answers parents’ phone calls, deals with insufferable teenagers, schedules an appointment with the Mayor for tomorrow afternoon — her headache gets worse when she thinks about how she’ll have to debase herself, grovel and beg for more funding. She, however, ignores most of her emails, despite the angry red notifications popping up on the app annoying her to no end. She makes a pact with herself to look at those after the massage.

The time to go finally arrives — she lets out a sigh of relief as she locks her office and goes to exit the school building. She loves Nevermore, but you can get sick even of your favourite things if you look at them every day.

She gets in the car, ignores the phone that buzzes incessantly, new emails arriving every couple of minutes. The massage will need to be out of this world if she wants to forget about all this stress — and she doubts it will be. She already regrets doing this — it will probably be a waste of time and money. She wonders if she’s capable of relaxing at this point. Does she even remember what being relaxed feels like?

She's lost in thought as she drives to the massage place. She thinks about emails that need to be answered, anxiety pooling in her stomach, and listens to the robotic voice of her phone navigation — before she knows it, she’s already arrived.

She parks the car and enters the establishment — the place seems decent. A young, cheerful receptionist greets her as she approaches the desk.

“I have a 5 o’clock appointment,” she says, not bothering with a greeting. She thinks about her emails.

The receptionist checks her laptop, and Larissa checks out her cleavage. She considers the outfit a bit inappropriate for the workplace, but Larissa isn’t one to complain about a pleasant view. However, if any of her employees dressed like that, she’d have a word with them.

“Ah, yes, I have you right here. Miss Weems, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“A regular massage, is it?”

What is it with these people and their “regular” massages? What even is a “regular” massage? And does that imply there’s such a thing as an “irregular” massage?

She doesn’t, however, ask any of those questions — instead she just says yes and impatiently taps her fingers on her purse. She wants to be done with this as quickly as possible so she can return to Nevermore. She’s getting quite fidgety. What if she returns and finds the school in ruins?

“Alright. You can always change your mind during, you know that,” the receptionist says and Larissa ignores her, still tapping her fingers on her purse.

“You can go inside and get comfortable. Your masseuse will be with you shortly.”

Larissa just curtly nods and goes to the massage room, eager to get this over with. She anxiously checks her phone. She has 36 unanswered emails. She feels nauseous. Maybe this was a bad idea — maybe she shouldn’t have taken an afternoon off. God knows what Wednesday will do if she realises Larissa left the school grounds. She then remembers her appointment with the Mayor tomorrow and her stomach churns. She has to think about how to best present her case — balance the grovelling with the persuading, and maybe throw in a bit of flirting for good measure…

Her mind is racing. She eyes the emails again. Maybe if she just responds to a couple of urgent ones… it will take a minute or two at most — and then she can undress.

She responds to three emails — none of which are truly urgent, but should probably be addressed sooner rather than later — when she hears a knock on the door that brings her back to reality, and she realises she’s still dressed.

She opens her mouth, wants to ask for five more minutes, but the door opens before she can speak and the prettiest young woman Larissa has ever seen enters the massage room.

“Hi! Miss Weems, I presume?” she asks.

Larissa drops her phone on the ground and swears out loud.

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You enter the massage room and the first thing you see is a tall, gorgeous, blonde woman in her forties, still fully dressed. You’re a bit confused — doesn’t she know how this works?

“Hi!” you say. “Miss Weems, I presume?”

The woman drops her phone on the ground.

“Fuck,” she says, and immediately covers her mouth, as if surprised by her own reaction. “Fuck,” she repeats. “Yes. Sorry.” She bends down to pick up the phone.

She — Miss Weems — is, by all accounts, rather odd — the tallest woman you’ve ever seen, dressed like a 1940s movie star, with hair so blonde it’s almost white pinned in an intricate updo, swearing instead of a greeting (to be fair, she has the most beautiful, velvety voice and a British accent that would probably make anything she says sound sensual and sophisticated), apparently unaware you have to be undressed for a massage.

You are immediately enamoured with her.

“I can give you a couple more minutes,” you say as you watch her fumble with her phone, shoving it in her purse. “You do kind of need to be undressed for this.”

“I'm sorry, I seem to have lost track of time — I just needed to respond to a couple of emails. They were quite urgent.”

“That’s alright, Miss Weems, but we do have a limited amount of time.”

You have no one scheduled for another half an hour after her, and for this woman, you’d gladly cut your break short — but you don’t say that, deciding to remain professional.

“I apologise,” she says, taking off her coat. “My head seems to be elsewhere. I’ll undress in a moment.”

“You can leave it on the hanger there,” you say. “I’ll leave you to it, I can give you another ten minutes.”

“Oh no, we shouldn’t waste time,” she says. She strides across the room, hips swaying in the tight skirt, to put her coat on the hanger. A pleasant scent of subtle, citrusy perfume reaches you as she passes by you. “I’ll undress in a moment.”

She hangs the coat, then pauses, turning towards you. “Do I need to… fully undress?”

She seems a bit nervous. You find her confidence and charisma mixed with clumsiness and nervousness absolutely irresistible.

“People generally do, but you can undress to your comfort level. You’ve booked the regular massage, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been asked that about a dozen times today. Yes, I’ve booked the regular massage,” she says, sounding annoyed as she unbuttons her shirt.

“We're required to double-check. Just know that if you change your mind during, we charge a higher fee.”

Larissa ignores you. You have a feeling this woman can be a handful.

You don’t mind.

You try not to be creepy and stare at her chest as she takes her shirt off, so you go fumble with the massage oils, even though you already have everything ready.

She shimmies out of her skirt, and you can’t resist — you stare at her long legs, clad in nude stockings that are held up with garters. Who even wears garters nowadays? And why does she look so hot in them?

As she undoes the garters and pulls her stockings down, your eyes drift from her legs to her lacy underwear. Your throat is suddenly dry.

Small talk would probably be a good idea. You have to remain professional.

“So, this is your first time getting a massage?"

"Is it that obvious?" she asks, giving you a pretty, practiced smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. You can tell her mind is elsewhere.

"How come you’ve never had one before?”

“Oh, I’ve just never really had the time. But the back pain has really been getting to me lately. I’ve been feeling rather stressed.”

You can believe that — despite being absolutely stunning, the woman is as stiff as a stick. You can tell the woman hasn’t relaxed in decades. Her shoulders and neck appear rigid, her jaw seems to be perpetually clenched, and she wasn’t even able to put her phone aside for five minutes to undress for a massage.

“Oh? Is your job usually stressful or is it just a rough period for you?”

She scoffs. “I think it suffices to say my job requires me to deal with teenagers on a daily basis.”

“That does sound stressful,” you say, deciding not to pry further. You need to shift the conversation away from her job — get her to relax. “I'll try my best to make you forget all about that today, Miss Weems.”

“I do hope you manage that, darling, but I’m afraid I’m a tough case. And no offence, but how much experience do you have with this?” She flashes you a bright smile — it reads as condescending. It pisses you off — and turns you on. “You seem awfully young. Are you in college?”

Definitely more than you since this is your first massage, you want to say, but instead you decide to be polite. “I’ve had sufficient training. And yes, I’m in my last year of college.”

“I must tell you, I’m not sure I believe a massage could relax me — but I’m willing to give it a go, since I’ve already put the time aside for it.”

Oh, you’re never the one to back away from a challenge.

“I hope to change your mind then, Miss Weems.”

She gives you a saccharine, patronising smile, but says nothing.

You’d like nothing more than to fuck that smile off of her face.

You no longer bother averting your gaze as she removes her bra (a sheer, lacy thing that doesn’t cover much anyway) and reveals small, beautiful breasts. Your immediate thought is they’re the perfect size to put in your mouth.

No matter if you’re attracted to your clients or not, you are always professional — you’re here to provide a service that you’re well payed for. You always manage to keep your own feelings and thoughts hidden and under control.

It isn’t every day, however, that you have an actual goddess on your massage table — and one who challenged you, saying you couldn't possibly help her relax. Oh, how you wish she hadn’t chosen the regular massage…

Suddenly, a devious thought pops up in your mind. You could… entice her a bit during the massage. Make her want it.

She appears a bit self-conscious walking to the massage table clad only in nude lacey underwear, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, but she keeps her head high and shoulders back, channeling confidence you aren’t sure she actually possesses. She’s still a vision, however, self-conscious or not. You watch her thighs and ass jiggle as she walks and it’s the most erotic thing you’ve seen in a while.

Should you do it?

She climbs onto the table — she struggles to do it elegantly, as she’s a bit tall for it. You somehow find that very cute. Her ass jiggles as she finally settles face down on the table. You resist the urge to slap it.

Oh, fuck it. It’s your last week on the job anyway.

You smirk as you rub the oil between your palms, warming it up.

You’re going to play dirty.

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Larissa tenses up as she feels soft, warm hands touch her shoulder blades. She isn’t used to people touching her. And to be quite honest, it’s been quite a while since she was naked (or almost naked) in front of anybody. She feels vulnerable.

“Allow yourself to relax, Miss Weems. This is your time.”

Her time — she hasn’t had an hour to herself in… who knows how long. She wants to relax, but it’s just so hard and…

Oh.

She lets out a groan as the girl presses on just the right spot. Oh, that feels good.

“Does that feel good, Miss Weems?”

She hears the smugness in her voice, and she’s tempted to say no just to be spiteful, but then she presses on that good spot again and Larissa melts into the massage table.

“Mhmmm,” Larissa manages to utter.

“Oh? I thought you were hard to please, Miss Weems.”

Now the girl is just being cheeky.

“In my school I punish the smug students when they talk back to me,” she breathes out and then moans as the masseuse finds another spot that makes her brain go fuzzy.

“Oh, you’d like to punish me? That’s kinky.”

Well. This seems to be going in a… direction. Not that Larissa would mind if the situation was different — she’s very much attracted to the girl — but this isn’t that sort of massage place…

….right?

“Are you… allowed to talk to me like that?” Larissa asks.

“Well, if you upgrade to the erotic massage, I can talk to you however you’d like. I could tell you how I’d like you to punish me. Or anything else you want, for that matter.”

Oh. So that’s why everyone kept checking if she wants the regular massage. And why the woman on the phone made sure to inform her they only have female masseuses available. And why the upgrade was so much more expensive.

The masseuse ventures a bit further down Larissa’s back, warm hands slick with oil gliding over her skin until they reach the band of her underwear. She rubs little circles around the edge of the fabric, sticking her thumbs underneath it, teasing, but not going further, and then going upwards again, following the line of Larissa’s spine. Her feather-light touch makes Larissa shiver.

It’s been some time since Larissa was touched like that — couple of years, for sure. Four? No. Six? Oh, heavens. How has it already been that long? She’s just always so busy, and one night stands require so much effort, and dating requires even more, and…

Larissa’s brain is empty as the pretty masseuse runs her hands up her legs and starts to massage her buttocks, oiling them up, squeezing and kneading. Larissa moans quite loudly, and immediately feels her face go red with embarrassment at the sound she just produced.

“I…”

“Of course, there’s no obligation,” the masseuse says, rubbing circles with her thumbs just where Larissa’s buttocks meet her legs. Larissa feels heat pool in her core. “You can have the regular massage.”

“And what does an… erotic,” she stumbles over the word, “massage usually imply?”

“It implies sensual touching, dirty talk, if you want, and we do offer mutual touch for a higher price. Oh, and we guarantee an orgasm.”

Larissa scoffs. “You guarantee it? That’s confident.”

Suddenly she feels hot breath on her ear. She shivers.

“Let’s make a deal, Miss Weems — if you don’t finish, I don’t charge you anything.”

Larissa hears herself speak before she’s aware she even made a decision.

“Deal.”

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You glance at the clock as Larissa accepts your proposal. You have 40 minutes — that should be plenty of time. Worst case scenario, you extend the appointment into your break.

You don’t know what it is about this woman, but you yearn to make her come undone. She’s wound so tight, seems to be some sort of a sick workaholic, and yet you can sense the suppressed desire radiating off of her. It’ll be a special pleasure to make her lose her composure.

You rub her shoulders and back, trying to relax her as much as you can, finding the spots that make her moan, venturing lower and lower on her back.

“Can I take these off?” you ask, lightly pulling on her underwear.

“Yes,” she says, and lifts up her hips to help you slide it off of her.

You fold her underwear, putting it to the side, but not before noticing the distinct wet spot on it.

“I will undress — is that alright with you?” you ask.

“Yes,” she breathes out as you massage her lower back and buttocks. There’s a spot that makes her shiver when you run your hands over it — you make sure to repeat the motion, and you are rewarded with a loud moan.

“Be aware you can revoke consent at any time,” you recite the obligatory line as you strip naked swiftly and efficiently. You do a quick job of rubbing oil on your breasts and stomach and then climb onto the massage table, straddling her legs and pressing your body against hers. She lets out a high pitched moan as you rub your breasts along her back.

“You said something about punishment, Miss Weems? Tell me, do you prefer good girls or bad girls?” you ask as you slide your hardened nipples against her oiled back.

“Fuck,” Larissa groans.

“Or do you prefer being called a good girl yourself?.”

Larissa whines.

“Do you like that, Miss Weems? Wanna be a good girl for me?”

“I— fuck,” she groans as you start running your palms over her thighs, squeezing and caressing, getting closer to her chore with each stroke.

“Is this alright? Be aware you can revoke consent at any time.”

“Yes,” she says.

“So you want to be a good girl, hm?” you say as you finally brush your thumbs against her core. Despite the slick massage oil, you can tell she’s wet. She spreads her legs as you touch her.

“Yes,” she says, quietly — as if she has a hard time admitting it.

“Will you turn for me?”

You help her turn on her back beneath you. Her blue eyes are dark with desire, pupils blown wide, and a few stray hairs are sticking out of her updo. She is flushed in her face and chest, which somehow renders her milky, freckled skin even more attractive.

“Good girl,” you say as you quickly grab more oil and rub it between your palms. She blushes a deeper shade of red.

“I just have to say that I don’t usually… do this,” she says.

Sometimes people feel the need to justify themselves, especially if it’s their first time having an experience like this — and even more so if they’re indulging in a fantasy they consider embarrassing or dirty — no matter if it’s something as common and innocent as being called a good girl.

You rub oil around her breasts and on her stomach. You feel her getting self-conscious, tensing up, glancing around nervously and fidgeting.

“What a pity,” you say, palming her breasts, making her gasp, “that a pretty thing like you doesn’t know how to let herself be worshipped. You’ve been so good, worked so hard — you deserve to be taken care of.”

She produces a quiet whine — she seems to like that. Good. You’re back on track.

“Relax for me, that’s it,” you say, making sure to arch your back prettily, providing a nice view for her as you massage her breasts. You can feel she's slowly relaxing under your touch. “Good girl,” you praise her and run your thumbs over her nipples at the same time. She lets out a throaty moan.

“Is it okay if I use my mouth?” you ask, lowering your head to her chest that's slightly heaving under your touch.

“Yes,” she says with a hoarse voice. You leave a trail of kisses across her chest, the oil greasing your lips, before you take her right nipple in your mouth and suck on it. She keens and her hands immediately fly to your head to press you harder against her chest.

“Fuck, sorry,” she breathes out. “Can I do that?”

“Yes,” you say. “Want me to suck harder?”

“Yes — ah — and bite, please — mmmm, fuck,” she mewls as you suck and bite on her nipple while you pinch the other one with your hand. You use your free hand to caress her torso, her hips, knead the soft flesh on the side of her upper thigh.

“Such a good girl,” you murmur against her breast, taking her hard nipple between your teeth. “Asking for what you want. Is there anything else you want, hm? Or like?”

You run your hand in the inside of her thigh, teasing.

“I, ah… I like… dirty talk,” she manages to say between moans as you bite on her nipple and gently run your fingers through her folds — she’s soaked.

It isn’t a common thing for you to be so turned on by a client — it’s just a job, after all — but the feeling of Larissa’s wetness on your fingers, her wanton, broken moans, her slow, but certain relinquishing of control… it’s just so delicious. You want to fuck this woman every day.

You kiss your way upwards to her neck and plant a hot kiss on her jaw. “Is this okay?” you whisper into her ear. She nods.

“I need you to be a good girl and use your words,” you murmur. Your obligatory line is “I need verbal consent” — but Larissa inspires you to be creative with it.

“Yes,” she says with a breathy voice.

“So you like dirty talk, hm? You’d like me to tell you how hot and wet your cunt is against my fingers? And how much it will turn me on to fuck you?” you whisper, spreading her wetness across her clit, making her gasp and buck her hips into your hand.

“Yesyesyes, please fuck me,” she whines, rolling her hips into your hand. “Fuck me like you’d fuck a dirty slut.”

You feel heat pooling in your own core at her words — and at the idea of fucking this uptight woman like a dirty slut.

You slowly slide a finger inside of her, curling it, and she spreads her legs further. She looks absolutely magnificent like this, flushed, chest heaving, eyes closed, mouth agape and head thrown back, all spread out for you, begging to be ravished. You start pumping your finger in and out — slowly, curling it inside — and she grabs your back and pushes you closer to her. Her gaze is hazy and hooded as she looks at you. “Harder,” she rasps, and the sheer lust in her voice makes you shiver. You go harder.

Her moans are becoming louder as you continue to fuck her, and you decide to add a second finger. “Fuckyes,” she groans and moves her hips to meet your thrusts.

“You look so pretty while I fuck you like a dirty slut,” you say, voice breathy with exertion. “Such a good girl. You look so hot.”

She whines and tangles her hands into your hair. You wouldn’t usually let a client do that — but you let her.

“Add another finger,” she says with a husky voice. She throws her head back and moans as you slip a third finger inside of her, then pushes your head towards her chest. You suck and bite on her nipples, alternating between both breasts as you fuck her hard and fast, making sure to angle your palm so it hits her clit every time you pound into her.

“Go harder,” she pants. Your hand kind of hurts at this point, but you oblige. The pain is immediately forgotten as you feel her starting to clench around your fingers.

“Your cunt feels so good around my fingers,” you murmur before sucking on her nipple.

“Fuckfuckfuuuck,” she whines as you pound into her. You can sense she’s very close. She’s bucking her hips into your hand and digging her nails into your shoulders, and her moans are becoming higher in pitch. You make sure not to falter in your movements, keeping a hard and steady pace, and soon her moans become high-pitched whines and intelligible swearwords.

“Be a good girl and come for me.”

As you say it, she grabs your hair, pulls your face up towards herself and kisses you.

Usually, you’d pull away if a client did that.

You don’t pull away.

It’s a hot, sloppy kiss, and she cries out into your mouth and closes her thighs around your hand as you fuck her through her orgasm. She spasms with the aftershocks and you can taste her cries of pleasure and her hot breath in your mouth. It’s raw and filthy and erotic.

You slowly pull your fingers out of her as she comes down from her high, her breathing slowing down, her grip on your faltering. She's putty in your hands, completely relaxed.

You stay like that for a moment. Her eyes are closed, her chest still heaving. Your hand hurts, but you don’t care.

You glance at the clock — three minutes to spare.

“I’m sorry,” she says, opening her pretty blue eyes. Her mascara is smudged. She looks absolutely ravishing, thoroughly fucked and flushed. “Do I have to go? What time is it?”

“No,” you say. “Take your time.”

She smiles nervously. You can tell she doesn’t know what do say or do — and to be honest, for the first time since you’ve started this job, you don’t really know either.

“Take your time, calm down, and then I’ll help you clean yourself up. I have half an hour to spare. I don’t want you to rush. I don’t charge extra for that.”

She nods, and closes her eyes. You stay like that for a couple of minutes — you rub hear arms, gently and reassuringly.

“Well,” she says after minutes of silence, and smirks. She opens her eyes. “You won the bet. I’m pretty relaxed right now.”

You both laugh.

The cleanup process is not as awkward as you expect it to be. The silence is somehow pleasant, rather than awkward. When you're both dressed and Larissa is heading towards the door, makeup freshly reapplied and her updo redone, she nervously glances towards you.

“So, uh, if I were to… come again,” she says, then pauses, and you can see her wincing at herself for the accidental pun, “would I be able to, um, I suppose, make sure you will, uh—”

“It’s my last week here.”

“Oh.”

She stands at the door awkwardly. “It’s been…” she pauses, glances nervously around the room, clearly struggling to find words. After a couple of moments, she finally meets your gaze, and you shiver under the intensity of it.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice clear and genuine. You can tell she means it.

She turns to leave, but you stop her.

“Wait,” you say. She waits, watches you grab a piece of paper from the side table and scribble on it. You approach her, awkwardly extending your arm, giving her the paper.

“My number,” you say, looking up at her.

She takes it. The corners of eyes crinkle in the loveliest way as she smiles at you before leaving.

She calls you a week later.

#larissa weems #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems smut #larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #wednesday 2022 #gwendoline christie #i will produce my own garbage and also consume it

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its-the-pilot · 6 months

Text

Waves | 9 | Rooster x Reader

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | Waves Masterlist | Masterlist |

Sorry this took so long, first time writing smut in over 10 years! Please forgive ❤ and enjoy!

Summary: You get some unexpected news and share an unexpected night with Bradley. (Mav's niece!reader)

Warnings: smut! 18+ only minors DNI (oral (f receiving), unprotected sex) swearing, adult banter

Length: 3.8k words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Message or comment to join the taglist!

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Chapter Nine

“Get your boots off my desk, Seresin,” you said, walking into your office with your nose buried in a file.

Jake was wearing his flight suit, his steel-toed boots propped up on the wooden surface, balancing the chair he was sitting in on its back legs. He leaned his head back to track you as you rounded the desk to sit in your chair, a smirk on his lips. “There you are, Doc. Been waiting for you for a bit.”

You put the file down and cocked an eyebrow at him. “The locked door should have made it clear that I wasn’t here.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t feel like waiting out in the hall, so I picked it,” he countered, his fingers laced together behind his head, his feet still on your desk. “Were you and Bradshaw gettin’ busy?”

“You have issues,” you replied, leaning forward to push his boots to the floor.

He chuckled, the heavy boots making a loud thump. “Have you been talking to my therapist?”

You couldn’t help but smile, even as you rolled your eyes. “Don’t you have to be in the air today?”

“In a while,” Jake answered, shrugging his shoulders. “Had some time to kill, so I thought I’d come chat with you.”

In the few weeks since the current TOP GUN class started, the initial annoyance you had upon meeting Jake had blossomed into a strong friendship. Most days, when you both had time, he found himself in your office, hanging out and chatting. Technically, you were his therapist, but even outside of your weekly sessions, you found yourself sharing things with each other that you hadn’t shared with anyone else.

He had told you about his family, the reasons he wanted to leave his small town in Texas to join the Navy, and why he felt like he wasn’t worthy of a committed relationship. In turn, you had told him about your boyfriend from college who used you for the trust your parents had set up, only to leave you for someone else when the money ran out, something you weren’t even ready to tell Bradley yet.

You were in the middle of a conversation about plans for the upcoming weekend when a sharp knock came on the doorframe, your door left open from when you had entered earlier. Looking over his shoulder, Jake scrambled to his feet when he saw Admiral Beau “Cyclone” Simpson, saluting him.

“Good morning, Admiral,” you greeted, standing from your chair behind your desk and working to suppress the smile that threatened to cross your lips at Jake’s reaction.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Cyclone grunted, turning his attention to you when Jake did as he was told. “I need to speak with you, Doctor Mitchell. Will 11:30 work for you?”

You took a quick peek at your schedule on your computer and nodded. “It will, Admiral. Your office?”

He gave a simple nod and turned on his heel before walking out of your office, leaving you and Jake alone again.

“Wonder what that’s all about?” he asked, turning back to face you.

“No idea,” you said quietly, sitting back down at your desk, racking your brain for reasons why the Vice Admiral would want to see you. Finally, after a moment of quiet, you shook your head, offering Jake a smile. “I have an appointment in a few minutes. Fly safe, okay?”

Hangman nodded, giving you a wink as he headed for the door. “Will do, Doc. Talk to you later.

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You weren’t sure what Admiral Simpson wanted to talk to you about, and as you waited outside his office for him, you found yourself getting more anxious about it. Had he found out about your relationship with Bradley? Was he going to kick him out of TOP GUN or fire you?

“Doctor Mitchell?” The voice of the Admiral’s secretary pulled you from your thoughts and you turned to look at her. “He’s ready for you.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, standing to enter the office. Once inside, you stepped toward the large desk and nodded in greeting, clasping your hands in front of you. “Good morning again, Admiral.”

He looked up from his desk and nodded, motioning to the chair beside you. “Good morning. Please, sit.”

You did as you were told, sitting in the chair across from him with your hands in your lap, trying to hide your anxiety. “Sir, if this is about Lieutenant Bradshaw and I…”

Simpson cocked an eyebrow, shaking his head. “What you do in your free time is your business, Doctor. I have no interest in your private life so long as it doesn’t interfere with the Navy,” he reassured you. “So, no, this is about something else.”

He slid a file across his desk toward you, nodding for you to pick it up. “I have TDY orders for you. They need someone at Oceana for a week or so. There was a crash, and two aviators died.”

Picking up the file, you flipped through it as you listened to him explain how during a demonstration two of the jets crashed, immediately killing both pilots. The base had two psychologists of their own, but all of the squadrons had been watching and every member needed an evaluation before returning to duty. There were simply too many to get done in a timely manner.

“Sounds like an awful accident,” you frowned, closing the file and setting it on your lap. “Of course, I’m happy to help if they need me.”

“Excellent,” he replied, pushing another folder across his desk to you. “Here is your flight and accommodation information. I’ve taken the liberty of having your appointments rescheduled for the first week of September, you should be back by then.”

You looked over the information you were given, noting that your flight was early the next morning. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Take the rest of the afternoon,” he suggested. “Your flight is early, if I recall.”

“It is. I will see you next week, Admiral,” you said with a nod, standing to exit his office with the files he gave you.

Once you were in the hallway outside of his office, you leaned against the wall and sighed. You and Bradley were just starting to get comfortable, falling into a routine and forming a strong relationship that you hoped would be able to withstand being on opposite coasts for a while. Now you were being forced to test it out.

Pulling out your phone, you sent a quick text to Bradley, letting him know that you were going home and that you would see him later, before heading to the locker room to change into your workout clothes and going home to pack.

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Bradley had gotten used to seeing you all the time, effectively moving out of the Navy Lodge where the TOP GUN recruits had been staying and into your bungalow. You had been focused on spending as much time together as possible, knowing that in two months you would have a whole country separating you.

That’s why he was surprised when you didn’t meet him for lunch in the mess like you normally did. Instead, much to his chagrin, Hangman sat down across from him, a smirk on his lips.

“No Doctor Sexy today?” He asked, taking a bite of his turkey sandwich.

Bradley rolled his eyes and pointed his fork at Jake. “I swear to God, if she hears you call her that I will kill you,” he promised, stabbing at the salad on his plate before taking a bite. “But no, I don’t know where she is. I haven’t seen her.” In fact, he hadn’t heard from you at all since he drove you both to the base that morning.

Jake nodded, continuing to eat his lunch. “Cyclone stopped in and asked her for a meeting earlier, maybe it ran over?”

“Yeah, it could have,” he mused, curious what you were meeting about. The thought was fleeting though, quickly replaced with a slight irritation at Hangman and his unexpected friendship with you. “Wait. You talked with her today?”

“Almost every day,” he replied, shrugging casually. “I swing by her office sometimes between flights to chat.” Jake paused, his smirk spreading across his lips again as realization dawned. “You’re still jealous? Damn, Rooster, she thinks you’re over it.”

Bradley turned his attention back to his lunch, ignoring the redness he felt rising up his neck in hopes that Jake would do the same. “I’m not jealous. She wants to be friends with you, that’s her business.”

“She’s gonna be pissed if she finds out,” he laughed, unable to stop himself despite the scowl on the brunette’s face. Jake sobered after a moment, leaning forward a bit as he lowered his voice. “I know what you think about me, Bradshaw. But I’m not out to steal your girl, I don’t do that shit. She’s yours, that was clear from the first night at the Hard Deck.”

His words took a minute to sink in before Bradley nodded. “Sorry,” he apologized, hoping his sincerity showed through as he looked the blonde in the eye.

Jake shrugged it off. “She’s a good woman, you’re lucky. Don’t fuck it up,” he warned with a slight grin playing on his lips.

“I don’t intend to,” Bradley countered, finishing his salad and piling his trash on the tray, preparing to leave.

“People usually don’t intend to hurt others, Rooster. It just happens.” Hangman watched as the other man stood, taking his tray with him. “Just take care of her like she deserves.”

Bradley nodded with a grunt of affirmation. “See you around, Hangman,” he replied, dropping his tray off on his way out the door of the mess. Checking his phone, he read the text message from you, confused as to why you were going home in the middle of the day, but not wanting to press you. He sent back a quick ‘OK’ with a heart emoji and sighed, heading to the ready room to get ready for his next flight.

-------------------------

After taking a long run to clear your head, you went home and showered, dressing in a pair of shorts and one of Bradley’s Navy t-shirts before you set to packing for your trip. Once your bag was packed and placed near the front door, you settled on the couch with a blanket and decided to take a nap while you waited for Bradley to come home.

The sound of the Bronco pulling into your driveway woke you a few hours later, and you managed to sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes just as he walked inside dressed in his khaki uniform, smiling when he saw you on the couch. “Hey, baby,” he greeted, kicking off his boots near the door. He was about to drop his duffle in the same spot he normally did when he noticed your suitcase was there instead. His brow furrowed in confusion as he looked over at you. “Everything okay?”

You nodded, patting the spot next to you, an invitation for him to come sit. “I have to leave tomorrow morning,” you explained, offering him the file once he joined you. “There was a crash at Oceana, and they need another psychologist to help with the debriefs.”

Bradley read over the file you handed him, shaking his head. The men who died weren’t from his squadron, but he had seen them around base and knew they were well liked. He didn’t know what to say, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he set the file on the coffee table.

Shifting closer to him, you ran a hand over his back, leaning in to kiss his shoulder. “I should only be gone for a week. You can stay here, if you want.”

He turned his head to look at you over his shoulder. “Are you sure?” he asked, smiling when you nodded in affirmation. “This will be good practice for when I go back to Virginia.”

“I was thinking the same thing, even though I don’t want to be apart,” you frowned, letting him pull you against his side when he sat back against the couch cushions.

“We still have tonight,” he assured you, smoothing his hand over your back. “And like you said, you’ll only be gone a week.”

You leaned up to kiss him, your fingers gripping the collar of his khaki shirt as you spoke against his lips. “Good, because I want to make tonight memorable.”

He released a quiet groan as his fingers gripped your waist, pulling you gently onto his lap. Your hands fell onto his chest, feeling his toned muscles under your palms as his large hand wrapped around your neck, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss. You reached up to gently stroke his jaw as his hands slid down to find your thighs, thumbs circling the soft skin that was pressing against his hips. He was only willing to go at your pace, which you appreciated.

Biting your lip, you looked down between your bodies and rocked your hips against his length, earning a grunt from him. His calloused fingers pressed into your thighs, threatening to leave bruises. “Careful,” he warned, his voice low.

A devilish smirk pulled at your lips as you repeated the movement, knowing it was a bluff. He made no move to stop you from grinding against him, and so you continued, enjoying the way he kept showing you how good it made him feel. The thin fabric of your shorts did little to create a barrier between his erection and the growing wetness between your thighs, forming a wet spot on the front of his uniform pants.

“I want you, B,” you whispered, unbuttoning his khaki shirt slowly, pushing it off of his shoulders and moving to rid him of his undershirt. He allowed you to undress him without a word, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, feeling your nails scratch their way down his chest gently, settling on his belt buckle.

You nodded, noting a subtle shift in his breathing when you leaned back to take off his Navy shirt, leaving you topless. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure about something.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, running his hands up your sides, exploring your freshly bared skin.

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks, and before you could reply, Bradley was rolling you over, your head falling back onto the couch cushion as he hovered above you. He resumed kissing you, alternating between deep, tongue-filled kisses and soft pecks, your hands roaming each other’s bodies the whole time.

After some time, your lips were swollen and you were flushed, your hair a tangled mess covering the couch beneath you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care, your hands grasping at his dog tags as they hung between you, silently pleading for him to come closer.

One of Bradley’s hands began to wander lower, his fingers grazing the skin just above your shorts, causing your body to rise, chasing his touch.

He smirked at that -- the smug asshole.

His lips returned to yours before moving down to your neck and sucking softly, leaving red marks on your tender skin. He finally pulled back after a few moments, smiling down at the blissed out look on your face. Without warning, he pushed himself off the couch and lifted you into his arms, carrying you into your bedroom where he dropped you on the bed unceremoniously, his hands moving to unbuckle his belt and shed his khakis, leaving him in his black boxer briefs.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, licking your lips at the sight of him standing at the end of your bed. He moved forward slowly, his hands sliding up your thighs until he reached the waistband of your shorts, tucking his thumbs into them. He slowly dropped to his knees as he slipped your shorts and the accompanying panties down your legs, tossing them aimlessly behind him as he focused on his prize, spreading your thighs gently.

“Is this okay?” Bradley asked, meeting your eyes. You were sure that he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear your consent. “C’mon, baby, you can say it.”

His voice had deepened further, a seductive purr that sent a wave of pleasure straight to your core. “Please, B,” you managed, a whimper escaping the back of your throat.

You gasped as he leaned in and licked a stripe up your folds, the sudden stimulation making your body shudder a bit. His tongue gently traced circles onto your clit, and you tugged on his hair, drawing a moan from him as he repeated the movement, craving more of you and your reaction.

He buried his face between your legs, the freshly groomed hair on his upper lip tickling your sensitive clit. “Oh, wow.”

His lips twitched, and the way his smirk felt against your throbbing clit was something that you wouldn't soon forget. He moaned happily against your sensitive flesh as you ground yourself onto his mouth, his heavy hands holding your hips.

It didn’t take long, only minutes of his deep sounds, his big hands and his talented tongue. “I’m gonna come, B,” you whined, pulling on his hair as your whole body tensed. It was easily the most intense orgasm you had ever experienced, leaving you panting when you finally relaxed, releasing his hair as he kissed his way back up your body.

His chin and mustache were wet with your juices as he smiled down at you before leaning in for a kiss, letting you taste yourself. “That was so fucking hot, Dimples,” he said breathlessly, his hard length pressing against your thigh as he hovered over you. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You let your fingers drag through the sparse dark hair on his chest as you moved lower, teasing at the waistband of his boxer briefs. Meeting his eyes, you slid your hand even lower to palm at his bulge, a quiet moan escaping your lips.

Bradley’s head dropped to your shoulder with a matching moan as your hand rubbed against him. “Jesus, baby… do you have condoms?”

You shook your head, squeezing his length gently through the fabric. “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill,” you whispered in his ear. “Please, Bradley… remind me what else I’ve been missing.”

With a growl he leaned up and pushed his shorts down, kicking them off the bed before settling between your spread thighs once again. He could feel the heat radiating from your core and he grabbed his cock in his hand, guiding it to your entrance to tease your clit with the head.

“Ready, baby?” he asked. When you moaned, begging him to continue, he pressed into you slowly, inch by inch until his hips were flush to yours, making you both moan at the feeling of finally being reunited in that way.

Your walls felt tight against him and he didn’t move right away, giving you time to adjust. When you finally bucked your hips to meet him, he pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back in, causing your head to fall back with a whimper and your hands to grab his muscled arms for support.

The grip of his own hands tightened on your hips as he started thrusting into you at a slow but steady pace, letting you feel every inch of him while he enjoyed every inch of you. Under him, you were a squirming mess of moans and whimpers, your hands roaming all over his back, nails digging into his skin as the pleasure was too much and not enough simultaneously.

Your eyes were closed and your neck on full display as you begged for him between moans. “Bradley… so big… please, faster…”

Bradley didn’t hesitate to oblige, increasing his pace as your back arched against him. He kissed down your neck to your breasts, teasing your nipple gently with his tongue before taking the stiff peak into his mouth and sucking on it, giving a sharp thrust at the sound you made.

“You like that, Dimples?” he panted, repeating the motion on your other breast and groaning as you clenched tightly around him. “You feel so good, baby, so wet for me.”

You couldn’t respond, too lost in the pleasure he was providing you. It was all you could do to moan his name and respond to his thrusts by digging your heels into his ass, pulling him deeper inside you. For the second time that night, you felt yourself getting close to the edge, and you knew Bradley could feel it too as he sped up, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust.

“Bradley!”

He growled against your throat, feeling his balls tighten at how hot you sounded crying out his name, at the way you were clenching around him with your tight, wet heat. “What is it, baby? Tell me what you need.” His voice was deep and hoarse, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he struggled to hold out, wanting you to come first.

“I… please, B… I need to come. Please!” you whined, feeling yourself rushing toward your climax.

A few more thrusts and your thighs were shaking against his hips, which continued to move back and forth tortuously. Bradley brought a hand to where you were joined and pressed his thumb to your swollen clit, circling it. Before you knew it, you were coming, screaming his name and your walls squeezing him so tight he couldn’t hold back any longer, spilling himself inside you.

With a hoarse moan of your name, he emptied himself and let his body fall over your trembling one.

You were still coming down from your high when he pulled out gently and laid beside you, gently pushing your hair away from your forehead before kissing you. “Let me clean you up,” he whispered, moving from the bed to the bathroom and returning a moment later with a warm washcloth.

He gently ran the cloth between your legs, kissing your hip when you hissed at the contact against your sensitive folds. When he was done he tossed it away and pulled you into his arms, your head resting on his chest. “That was…” you sighed contentedly, tracing the defined lines of his abdomen. “Did you…?”

Bradley chuckled, tipping your chin up to kiss you. “I did. You are amazing.” He rubbed his hand over your back as you both relaxed, then glanced at the clock before speaking. “Have you eaten since breakfast?”

You shook your head, only just realizing that you hadn’t. With the way your day had gone, there just hadn’t been time. “We can get some takeout?”

“Sounds great,” he grinned. “And we still have the rest of the night together.”

Chapter Ten

#bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw smut #Youtube

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songmingisthighs · 7 months

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Genesis

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. lxxi - tequilla shots, 10 to be exact

fashion mogul!mingi × reader

tw : mentions of sexual harrassment

buy me coffee ?

!! A T T E N T I O N !!

things aren't always what it seems but when even the truth is left unheard, what can people do? one musn't lie but what if the lie is more accepted than the truth? the scariest thing in this world isn't monsters or demons. it's people with no agenda and time to waste.

It musn't have taken a long time from the time Yunho opened the door to where you were next.

One moment you were folding Mingi's laundry in his room and the next thing you know, you were with the man whose underwear you were folding, the man who had been actively avoiding you, in the hallway, facing each other whilst sitting diagonally with a bit of space between you two. Neither of you had talked since Yunho excused himself out the door. It had been 10 minutes since you both sat down and it felt like one of you was waiting for the other to open a conversation first. It was a waiting game between the two of you.

Until one cracked first.

"I... Won't blame you for keeping things from me, I don't blame you at all," Mingi spoke out, voice cracking slightly as if his emotion was trying to get the best of him, "I just want to know why," he didn't look at you for one but as he spoke but you understood why he did that. You understood why he didn't want to be influenced by the look on your face as you uncovered the secret behind your break up with Hongjoong.

"Hongjoong and I met when I was still an intern at Couvang and he was an associate in his previous company, learning how to be a merchandiser and I contacted him to get connected to his boss which I failed to do and he felt bad for the rejection so he took me out. We officially dated two months after the rejection and we helped each other with our respective careers. Then he moved to work at The Gallerio and I was so happy for him because he got his dream job at his dream company and I got to accompany him. Considering the demands in his line of work and the clause in my contract, we decided to keep our relationship as close as we could by severely limiting our couple tweets and drowning those couple tweets in other tweets. We tried our best and it was proven to be effective, no one cared that we were together or they simply didn't know because after Hongjoong got his recognition, he stopped tagging me upon my request. Then comes the wedding. You would've thought that we broke up because of budgeting issues or guest lists or maybe an issue with our exes but nothing of the sort, the wedding planner even said that we were one of the most decisive and in tune couple she had ever worked with. Hell, we even went under budget and over the top somehow. I remember... It was one night after my dress-fitting, I brought my cousin whom we appointed as the flower girl and I told him about how her mom was grateful that we involved them simply because she now had something to do other than chauffeur her kids and attend to her husband. Hongjoong said that he felt bad that she had to go through life as a stay-at-home mom and I told him that I could see why she decided to become a stay-at-home mom because raising kids, being a chauffeur, taking care of her husband's needs, whilst still being expected to have a social life is a whole circus of its own and it was worth it and that I was thinking that once we start having kids of our own, I'd quit my job and be a stay-at-home mom myself. That night, we didn't talk more about that but I had a feeling that Hongjoong kept something from me. Turns out, by the end of the week, he packed his things while I was at work, waited for me to come home, then tearily said 'I'm sorry for doing this, I just can't respect someone who'd throw away their career, what they worked so hard for, to be a stay-at-home parent' then he hauled his ass out of my life and apparently to Europe before I could understand what he meant and it wasn't until I called his aunt from the countryside that I realized what had happened. He left me because of something that hadn't happened yet and I was so embarrassed that I failed in my relationship that I haven't even told my friends because I don't want them to think of me the same way," you chuckled bitterly.

You hadn't realized that you were crying because you were so focused on telling your side of the story until your face was cupped gently and you saw Mingi looking at you with a broken-hearted look on his face. When did he even got that close to you? It was true, Mingi expected that the reason for your breakup was differences or clashing opinions when you were planning your wedding. He even considered the possibility of one of you cheating and he hated himself for hoping that if that were the case, it was you who cheated because he was pissed at the situation. Something, anything that could justify your action which may or may not be based on shame. But never could he have imagined that it was because of something as stupid as employment or the lack of to focus on being a mom which he thinks is a noble thing.

In all honesty, Mingi had nothing to say about your situation because he felt disgusted. He was disgusted by himself for basically forcing you to revisit such a painful memory. How could he have done that? He wanted to apologize, he wanted to let you know how he never should have done that, forced you to share something so sensitive. But he didn't want to make things about him. He didn't want to make it about him because if he apologized, he knew you'd accept it and that would only alleviate his guilt but not take away your pain.

Mingi thought that the least he could do was to open up to you himself.

"H-have I told you about the gay allegation? M-my gay allegation?" He started meekly, afraid that you'd react badly. But through teary eyes that he soon helped wipe away with the calloused pad of his thumb gently, you stared at him with only curiosity and that got him to crack a small smile, the smile that you missed over the past couple of days. "Well... I... I also haven't told my friends this because over time, I think the truth became irrelevant and I'm just... Desensitized to it."

You could see that it was hard for Mingi to talk about it judging by how long it took him to form his sentence. "Mingi... You don't-" But he cut you off immediately.

"I used to have a mentor. He was my college professor and a prominent figure in contemporary fashion and he was like a father to me. He helped me land an internship at a creative house that often works with big brands and even after I started working there, he still mentored me. When Men's Today poached me to be an associate editor, he threw a party in my honour. That was the first time the photographer I had worked with often times groped me. He cornered me when I was alone in the men's room and he grabbed my ass, pulled me close to him and told me how his wife wouldn't mind him tasting me just to see how talented I was. I pushed him away and ran to my mentor and I told him everything, I told him what happened while crying and when he heard that, he cried too but he congratulated me. He said that it was... Part of the job, to be flirted with and even touched inappropriately without my consent and I can't complain. I can't report them. Not if I want to succeed and make a name for myself. But I was determined to break the cycle, I wanted to stop the harassment and just be known for what I can do but through every situation I was cornered and forced, and abused, I realized that these people are smart. There was no way I could prove that they sexually harassed me and they made sure I know that I will never be able to work in the industry if I report them. So I made a choice to work within the corrupted, broken system to protect people like me. Through the groupings, hand holdings, arm linking and cheek kisses in public, I let them happen because I didn't want to lose the reputation I had built on crying every night because I felt disgusted by myself for not having more spine about this issue, why did I let myself go through it? It never got easier, I just got numb, I guess."

The tears you shed before were from reliving your own pain but this time, it was for Mingi who had to endure all the pain and shame all by himself. Not to mention the fact that he couldn't even tell his friends, For you, your friends were aware of the things going on with Hongjoong except for the part where he said he couldn't respect you if you decided to give up your job. But Mingi couldn't even tell his friends that he was being taken advantage of.

"Mingi, oh my god, that's not just harassment, that's assault I think," you sighed, closing your eyes in dejection. Mingi bitterly smiled and nodded, "At best, I guess."

"Why are you telling me this?" you asked, hiccuping slightly.

At first, Mingi just pursed his lips, wanting to tell you that it was because he wanted to return the favour of being vulnerable. But he knew it wasn't true, it wasn't as simple as sharing pain because he could've told you about the time his dad left him which was a more common pain. He could've told you about the time he was bullied all through elementary school because he was lanky and nerdy and didn't seem like he had much in him. So why did he decide to tell you something traumatic that was still going on?

"I... I trust you," he said, shoulders relaxing as if admitting that relieved him of burden. "Don't you trust your friends too?" that question could've stumped Mingi because it was true, he trusted his friends. But with you, it felt different.

Carefully, Mingi let his hands envelop yours, the warmth that transferred slowly from his skin to yours, comforting you as soon as you felt his warmth, "I trust them a lot. They're basically my brothers, that's why if they didn't trust me, if they mocked me, or if they rejected me because of this, I wouldn't be able to take it. But you? I'm not saying that you're broken, but you've had your fair share of bitter pill in life, hard decisions you were forced to take, paths you were put on that was never your plan, hopes that were squandered by someone you trusted, you loved. So I believe that you'd trust me, you'd accept me despite what I faced."

Your heart clenched at his words. All this time you thought that he was an indecisive dumbass, a product of coddling, a stereotypical stupid jerk. Turns out he was just a child at heart who was never given the opportunity to make his own choice, that's why he didn't know what kind of decision to make when he actually had the chance to, how to react in situations that's troubling. It's not his fault he's a dumbass, he had just been living life the way people forced him to and he had been desensitized by his situation that he has the emotional ability of a 5-year-old. He's just a child at heart.

More tears poured down your cheeks, causing Mingi to panic, thinking that he had said the wrong thing to you. But before he could even apologize for making you cry, you reached over and hugged him as tightly as you could without harming your belly. "I'm sorry for not telling you about me and Hongjoong, not giving you a chance to choose how to react and not trusting that you could handle the information," you sobbed into his chest, taking him completely by surprise. "I shouldn't have done that, I should've told you but I was scared and ashamed of what happened between me and him. I thought it wouldn't have mattered anyway until Hongjoong showed up at the hospital and ever since then, I have been making the wrong decision." Slowly, Mingi's arms wrapped around your waist, reciprocating your guilt and accepting your apology. "I'm sorry too for leaving just like that, not having a conversation first," sneakily he peeked down at your belly and smiled tearily, "Thank you for accompanying your mom while daddy was being a dodo, bean." You pushed him, laughing genuinely for the first time in two days, "You're such a dork," you said as you pushed him lightly on the shoulder, now in a lighter mood.

You were about to sit back down in your previous spot when Mingi pulled you in gently flush to him so he could rest his cheek on the top of your head. It felt nice, you felt safe. Mingi felt secure like he was a fortress made out of the most comfortable, sturdy material. If that's a thing.

"So..." You sighed, nervous slightly, "What do we do now?"

"We face whatever comes next," then you felt him slink a hand around your waist, resting his palm on your stomach while his other hand used his thumb to caress the back of his palm, "Together."

network :

@cultofdionysusnet @sandsofire @kflixnet

taglist :

@ateezourstars @phenomenalgirl9 @90s-belladonna @yunhorights @yuntokkie @stopeatread @aestheticsluut @spooo00oky @kodzukein @galaxypox @mayonnaisehoeshit @maddiebabyxoxo @dreamlesswonder86 @charreddonuts @jwnghyuns @angelicyeo @axo-l0tl @gxlden-bxbyy @bbymatz @blaaiissee @kyume02 @aurora-tiny @senpai-of-doom @meowmeowminnie @thesolarplanetarysystem @seonghwaddict @miaatiny @soobiverse @alyssajavenss @yayaistime @juicy-red @moo-moo-bitch666 @camillelafaye

@randomness7198

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bit-dodgy-innit · 2 years

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Trying for Two

Part of my 500 Follower Celebration set in my SHAPE OF YOU AU

The Prompt: You and your husband begin talking about if you’re ready for baby number two. Steven, being the sneaky little shit he is, does everything he can covertly to make sure you conceive so he can get your milk-filled tits back

Requested by: a few lovely fellow heathen nonnies and the wonderful @fangirlfreakingout

Pairing: Steven x afab!reader, with background Marc x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system

Word Count: 2k (short but horny I promise!)

Spice-o-meter: 🌶🌶🌶, Rated Explicit, Minors DNI!

CW/TW: Talk of pregnancy, breastfeeding, lactation and conceiving, p in v sex, nipple play, lots o’dirty talk, daddy!kink, breeding kink, mention of bondage, unprotected sex, a smidge of unprotected cumplay

A/N: THANK YOU EVERYONE for the amazing response to last full, hope y’all enjoy this fun romp!! Our 🍈🍈 loving daddy!Steven is back in full force in this one, using his big brain and…other things for horny purposes!!

It couldn’t have come at a more unexpected moment. You and Marc had finally wrestled Nyla down for bed and collapsed on the couch with the telly on, watching 8 Out Of 10 Cats of all things. Perhaps something on the quiz show had prompted Marc, inspired him to share with you, but you nearly dropped your wine glass when your husband remarked, seemingly out of nowhere, “It’d be good for Nyla to have a sibling.”

Out of the four of you, Marc had been the hold out on Baby Number Two. Steven had wanted another kid basically as soon as you’d popped Nyla out, and when you mentioned it to Jake about a year ago, he was on board. Understandably, Marc had his reservations. He was so protective of your daughter, and you knew however irrational it may be, Marc was petrified that a similar fate would befall his children as he and Randall.

It was almost a blessing in disguise that Nyla had been a surprise, since she drastically reduced the potential overthinking about kids. Once you’d discovered a baby was already on the way, both of you knew wanted her without much doubt.

You schooled your face to appear cavalier and casual, the last thing you wanted to do was spook him. “That’d be nice wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“I’ll give Doctor Slater’s office a ring in the morning.”

Your statement was a test. If Marc walked it back, then you knew he really wasn’t ready. But he didn’t say anything, so you took his lack of protest as confirmation. It was downright strenuous to keep your cool for the rest of the night and quell any urges to rejoice now that Marc had finally caved on another baby.

It was not a surprise however to wake up next to Steven since he lectured on Wednesday mornings. When your alarm went off and you rolled into his arms, the first thing he whispered to you was “We’re having another baby.”

“We‘re having another baby,” you echoed with a wide grin.

The two of you shared a chaste kiss, then Steven pulled you closer to him, no doubt for you to feel his morning wood. “What do you say we start trying right away?”

It was a tempting idea, but it was also a miracle that Nyla hadn’t burst into your bedroom yet.

“Later baby,” you promised him. “She’ll be up any minute.”

Steven surrendered with another kiss. He was willing to wait…for now.

***

This time conceiving was so different than with Nyla. There were cycle tracking apps, appointments with Dr. Slater, and not to mention a two-and-a-half year old to manage in the midst of everything.

Most experts said the best way to ensure a pregnancy ASAP was to have sex everyday, which of course the boys were thrilled to hear. Even though you had no trouble getting hot for each other still, the difficulty was finding the time and energy. You had been back at work for a while now, and Nyla was non-stop.

So Steven decided to take things into his own hands to help the process along. He started waking up extra early to jog on the mornings he fronted, since exercise supposedly helped sperm count. He threw out Marc’s beer and Jake’s “secret emergency” pack of cigarettes due to a study he’d read about them compromising one’s virility, royally pissing off his alters in the process. Your husband wouldn’t let you so much as move after sex either, fetching everything you’d desire to keep you still and try to increase conception.

Disappointment was inevitable when you got your period the first month after you and your husband started trying for Baby Number Two. The last thing Steven wanted to do was put pressure on you, stress was the worst thing for fertility. Besides, he loved you and didn’t want you to feel like you were lacking in any capacity.

He did however, intensify his covert conception efforts. He read that yams increase one’s chance of fertility and added it to the weekly shop. You were slightly puzzled that Steven was suddenly so keen on having sweet potatoes at least once a week for dinner, but Nyla liked them and your husband always offered to cook when you had them so you weren’t going to complain.

He also learned that morning sex was marginally better for conceiving, so he began waking you up with head so you’d be all pliant and open to sex first thing. Though that was no great effort on his part, his favorite thing to eat was your pussy.

Obviously, Steven wanted to have another child with you because you were his soulmate, and the vision of two little pairs of feet pattering around your home never failed to choke him up. But there was another, more selfish, more horny reason he was so eager for you to get pregnant again.

He’d hidden it well until you two had a date night. Nyla was at home with your trusted sitter Sam, and Steven took you to a restaurant on the river you both loved. Despite his steadfast commitment to veganism, your husband insisted on ordering oysters for the two of you (another fertility-friendly food, not to mention an aphrodisiac too). It hadn’t helped that you’d worn a low cut top that perfectly framed two of his very favorite parts of you.

When you’d gotten home, you wanted to check on Nyla even though Sam had reported she’d fallen asleep a few hours ago without much fuss. Steven undressed in your bedroom while you kissed your daughter in hers, sporting a very prominent hard on by the time you joined him.

“Mmmm, is that all for me, Doctor Grant?” You purred as you climbed on the bed and reached into his boxer-briefs.

He answered you with a groan and crashed your lips together.

“I think I’m feeling the effects of those oysters,” you lilted while you stripped out of your top and jeans.

A devilish smirk spread across his lips. “Let’s hope so.”

Steven had tremendous willpower, but all bets were off when he was inside of you and you talked dirty to him.

“Oh yeah Daddy,” you moaned as he hammered his throbbing cock into your slick cunt. “You gonna fuck a baby into me?”

“Mmhmm,” he responded, his tongue darting out to wet his lips while he pounded you from above. “Gonna shoot so deep in your pussy.”

You whimpered, “Make me all big and swollen with your baby.”

“Fuck…ungh, yeah,” he assented, and you clenched down around him, which short-circuited his brain “Can’t wait to watch you grow so big with Nyla’s little sibling.”

You dug your fingertips into his biceps. “You’ll have to take good care of me when I do.”

“Going to take the best care” he vowed. “I’ll rub your feet and shoulders, lick this tight little cunt whenever you want…and-ah-I’ll drink from your titties when they get too full.”

There it was. Steven was bloody desperate to get your huge, milk-filled boobs back, and in his opinion, they couldn’t return soon enough. Thankfully, you were turned on enough to go with it without asking any questions for the time being.

“Wanna start as soon as your milk comes in,” Steven revealed, cupping your boobs in his hands, trying to recall the size they’d grown to when you were breastfeeding. “We wasted so much time before.”

“You can have as much as you like,” you told him, mewling when he licked over a nipple.

Steven straightened up and hoisted your hips to wrap your legs around his waist, effectively putting you into a version of a bridge yoga pose. The switch in position made him even more frantic as he watched your boobs bounce harder from the force of his thrusts.

“Good, because Daddy needs his milk,” he rambled. “Need to bury my face between your huge, dripping titties, suck all of your sweet milk down.”

You keened at the image your husband described as he speared you on his cock, the incline allowing his pubic bone to grind against your clit just right. “Ohhh honey, gonna come.”

He spurred you on. “Yeah? You gonna come for Daddy?”

“Uh huh!” You shrieked as your climax surged through you, the force of it strong enough to white out your vision for a moment. That didn’t stop you from babbling, “Come on, Daddy, fill me up with your cum…give me that big load.”

“Bloody hell,” he swore. Steven was so aroused by your back-and-forth he could hardly keep his grip on your hips while he hurdled toward his release. “Want me to pump you full?”

“Please,” you whined through the haze of your post-orgasmic fog.

Steven came so hard he was sure that he triggered a switch, since he had no memory of flopping down on the bed next to you. As soon as he came back to himself and waved a thank-you in the mirror toward Jake who presumably laid him down, Steven scrambled upright in bed, fighting off the lethargy that always followed a particularly good orgasm.

“Don’t. Move.” He whipped back the blankets to make sure none of his cum had leaked out of you.

Your husband did in fact spotted a little drop trickling from your hole, and swiftly collected it on his finger to push it back in. A little whimper escaped you when Steven did, still sensitive from your climax. “Sorry babe, but we gotta make sure it takes.”

“We only just started trying,” you countered.

“True, but we’ve already waited ‘cause of Marc,” he pointed out, rising from the bed to grab both of your pajamas. “We’re also not getting any younger, you know?”

Part of you wanted to slap Steven for making even the faintest reference that you were aging, but it was then you started to put two and two together. “Is that why you wanted to try out bondage last week? Because if you tied me to the bed I wouldn’t move after sex?”

“No!” he denied while pulling on the old UCL t-shirt and boxers he slept in.

Your husband was a lot of things: brilliant, nurturing, incredible in bed, but one thing Steven was not was a good liar.

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed. “The morning runs, the oysters…it’s all to make sure you knock me up!”

Steven blushed. Come to think of it, his body was in great shape for its age, and most people were having kids later. Doctor Slater didn’t have any concerns on your end either. So when the source of his enthusiasm dawned on you, you couldn't believe you hadn’t reazlied it sooner.

Unlike your husband, you weren’t in a tremendous rush to get pregnant. “You want my big boobs back as soon as possible!”

“I…” Steven had no leg to stand on.

You obscured the breasts in question when you pulled on your nightie. “Steven Grant!”

“Shh!” The last thing either of you two needed was Nyla waking up. “I’m sorry, alright? And no, I don’t want to conceive as soon as possible only because we’ll get to…you know…revisit everything we enjoyed when Nyla was born. I do truly want another kid.”

It was impossible to stay cross with Steven when he spoke to you like that, his eyes so earnest and vulnerable. “I know, I know. But, you just…you didn’t need to be so sneaky! I’d expect that shit from Jake, but you?”

“I’m cunning too!” he protested. Leave it to him to get defensive about the strangest things.

“You are, but in other ways usually,” you relented, pulling the blankets back up again. Steven followed suit when you settled yourself against the pillows, turning off the lamp on his nightstand. You laid next to him in the dark for all ten seconds before you asked, “do you think it took?”

He shrugged “Dunno, but I can’t remember the last time I came that much.”

It more thoroughly debauched sex, but soon you, your husband, and Nyla were celebrating the confirmation that Baby Number Two was well on their way.

Taglist: @twwcs @rmoonstoner , @hot-mess-express1 @murdickdocked @toracainz @saahmi @unspokenmoon @winterbiipp @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6 , @harrys-tittie , @ninebluehearts , @lucianadraven32 , @dawnsutopia , @strawberry1042 @nikitawolfxo @stormkobra-5

A/N: It’s baby number two time!! This one came out quickly and while it’s not exactly the 10k fuckfest my last one was I know it was a popular fill so I hope everyone enjoyed!!

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the-lady-writes-what · 2 years

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I had a very bad and emotionally distressing day today, please enjoy some self-indulgent smut

Had a doctor's appointment today. Waited an almost an hour just to talk to the doctor for 10 minutes and she tried to berate me for complaining about waiting nearly an hour, even after I arrived 15 minutes before the scheduled time. Then, I had to wait another 20 minutes for the new prescription, even though it had been TWO HOURS since the doctor put it in to the pharmacy. I get to go in at almost 9 in the morning tomorrow for blood work because at the end of my appointment today I didn't feel like sticking around any longer than I had to.

So, yeah. People and the US health care service sucks. Now you guys get to enjoy some self-indulgent, frustration relief in the form of raunchy smut.

Shouta Aizawa/Eraserhead x Fem!Reader

Yu = Female Reader/OC I'll be writing this as third person instead of second because I don't feel like writing the latter. Reader has straight-ish hair. This fic is mostly for me. I normally don't include hair, but I REALLY need something for me. I promise most of my other stuff is much more inclusive. Let me have this, please.

Content: hair-pulling, bondage, dacryphilia, rough sex, rough blowjob, pet names "good girl", degradation, breeding kink

Yu cut the vegetables with vigor, slicing a little too close to her fingers. The slices were scrapped into the boiling pot with similar regard to the bubbling hot water that splashed on her apron. Sweat bled in her eyeballs, increasing her furor. One unrelenting onion that refused to peel was met with the blunt end of wood hammer for mashing. She succeeded in mashing the onion, peel and all, but splattered its guts all over herself and alerting Shouta, the worrisome husband. Awakened by the sound of onion-smashing followed by thuds and profanities coming out his wife's mouth, Shouta eased himself off the couch. He followed the sounds of frustrated screaming into the kitchen where Yu took out her rage on innocent vegetables. Her mashing with the hammer became less about preparing dinner, and more about unleashing whatever beast she let out of its cage.

Shouta grabbed her wrist which wielded the hammer. He spun Yu around and dragged her away from the counter. His grip was so tight that it made her let go of her weapon.

"Oi." Said Shouta sternly. "What's all this then? What did the produce ever do to you?"

Heat rushed to Yu's face. She glanced down as her cheeks and the tip of her ears burned as if scalded. Yu glanced at the mess she made and regretted everything. A tear trickled down each cheek.

"I-I'm sorry. I...just...I had a really bad day. I waited an hour for my doctor's appointment. She told me I was getting overweight and didn't understand why I was upset about being told that. People at work were terrible and rude. And I still had to wait to pick my new prescription though it had been hours since the doctor sent it in. I nearly pissed myself driving home because of fucking train." Yu took a deep breath. "And I'm just fucking mad! I just...I just need to do something. God, I either need to hit something or fuck something!"

Shouta's brow quirked upwards. With his free hand, he cupped Yu's face. He scratched her chin like a kitten. It seemed wholesomely affectionate until he shoved his thumb past her lips. Yu's eyes flew open, though tears were still streaming down her face. Shouta's rough thumb pried open her mouth. Drool began to pool at the corners of her mouth.

"You need to fuck something, you say? I can arrange that," said Shouta.

He left Yu panting for breath as he left to turn off the stove and shove ingredients to the side. Shouta turned, grabbed Yu's wrist, and dragged her across the house to the bedroom. He didn't bother shutting the door closed. Shouta tore off his clothes and Yu's before flinging her onto the bed. The mattress bounced when she landed. Shouta reached into the bedside table to retrieve a very special item, one of her favorites. A gray scarf similar to the one he wore for his hero uniform.

"Turn around," he ordered.

Yu quickly rolled unto her stomach. Instinctively, she put her hands, crossed, at the small of her back. Shouta gripped them hard to almost leave a bruise. He wrapped and tied Yu's wrists together.

"How does that feel? Can you wriggle your fingers for me?" Shouta asked.

Yu did so. Her fingers flexed and curled without issue.

"It feels good. Not too tight, not too loose," Yu answered.

"What's your safe word?"

"Indigo."

"Good girl." Shouta gave Yu's ass a spank. "Now, turn around and face me."

Shouta knelt on the bed with his legs open. Yu manuevered around on the mattress with some difficulty now that her hands were bound behind her. Nevertheless, she managed it. She looked up at Shouta with expecting, pleading eyes. Shouta stroked himself to the watery look in her eyes. He grabbed a fistful of her hair at the back of her head and forced her mouth down on his cock. Shouta hissed as his cock reached the back of Yu's throat.

"You fucking love getting your throat abused like this, huh? Throw a tantrum in the kitchen just to get some dick in you? Is that how good girls behave?" His hips retreated a little, pulling his cock midway, and then thrust back into Yu's waiting mouth. "No, I don't think so. Now, you're going to suck cock like a good girl and maybe I'll think about letting you cum. Yeah? Does that sound good?"

Yu moaned around his cock and looked up at him with doe-eyes.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, little slut. Not unless you want me to tan your hide," said Shouta.

With his fist still knotted in Yu's hair, he guided her head up and down the length of his cock. Yu gagged and drooled as she tried to take him deep into her mouth and throat. The lewd sounds she made while doing so didn't lessen Shouta's grip on her hair. Even when she was choking on his cock, there was no mercy. Yu's spittle dribbled down her chin when he finally pulled out. His cock was coated from the base to the tip with her creamy saliva. Pre-cum was already leaking out of the tip.

Shouta shoved Yu's face into the mattress then moved behind her. With quick, harsh adjustments, he moved her ass into the air. His calloused fingers reached between her legs to find her soaking wet.

"Are you still feeling good? Wiggle your fingers," demanded Shouta.

Yu wriggled her fingers. "Please..."

"Please what?" Shouta husked against her ear.

"Please let me cum. I need you so bad," Yu whimpered.

"There's a better way to ask for it. You know that, don't you?"

"Please let me cum, sir!"

"Good girl. That's how good girls get what they want. They ask nicely. They beg like good pretty little sluts instead of brats making a mess in the kitchen. I'm being nice because you had a rough day, so I'm letting you cum. But in the future..." Shouta elicited a loud moan from the woman beneath him as he filled her cunt with his cock in one thrust. "You'd better learn to manage to your frustration and ask me to help you relieve your frustrations before taking it out on the produce."

He grabbed Yu by the hips and spread her legs open further with his knees. Her face was planted into the mattress and she rested on her cheek. Through tear-streaked lashes, she watched behind her shoulder Shouta rutting into her cunt like a vicious animal. She could do nothing but take it. Her fingers curled and unfurled in the bond of the scarf. She so badly wanted to touch him, but the inability to do so made the pounding of her cunt feel more intense. She felt her cunt grip Shouta's cock like her body never wanted to let it go. Shouta snapped his hips against her ass, always filling her up to the brim. Yu couldn't help but let her eyes roll back and tears flow. Shouta knocked the wind out of her each time to the point where she couldn't scream for him, just moan and whimper helplessly.

"All out of words now? Have I fucked the brains out of you?" Shouta jeered.

Yu couldn't reply as her cunt was being laid to waste. She felt bruises forming on her hips where Shouta gripped her so hard. With every thrust she began to see stars.

"We were in such a rush, I forgot to put a condom on. I'm so close too. Where do you want it? Should I paint your ass and back with my cum or do you want me to fill you up like the good slut you are? Give that pretty pussy a cream pie?"

Yu had barely had conscious thought enough to nod her head. Only at the last suggestion.

"Oh? You want me to stuff your cunt. Do you want a baby? Is that it? You want me to fuck you stupid AND put a baby inside you?"

"Y-Yes, please!"

"Yes, please, what?"

"Yes, please, sir! I want your baby, Shouta! I want to cum and I want your baby."

Shouta did not respond this time. His efforts redoubled to fuck Yu senseless. He knew that he had to loosen his grip on Yu's hips or she really would be sporting bruises shaped like his fingerprints. He sped up his thrusts until he felt her cunt tense and squeeze around him. His thrusts began to falter. Shouta wrapped his arms around Yu's waist when he reached that ecstatic peak. His hips stuttered against Yu's body. His eyes rolled backwards from the force of the most powerful orgasm he had to date. He groaned as he emptied himself into Yu's pulsing cunt. His fingers moved to her clit and rubbed fast, infinite circles on it until he felt her coming undone around his cock, which was still buried to the hilt inside her cunt.

They stayed conjoined for what felt like hours. Shouta's arms shook with effort when he tried to keep his weight off Yu, whose arms were still bound in the scarf. Their bedroom smelled like sex. Shouta waited until they both caught their breath before peeling himself off her. Shouta untied Yu's hands and massaged her wrists. She squeezed her legs together.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"I don't want it to leak out," Yu answered.

"You really want a baby?"

"Y-Yeah. Do you?"

Shouta kissed Yu's shoulder. "If it's with you, yes."

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heyitssashag · 9 months

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I went to refold a blanket and noticed some of Steve’s 🐈‍⬛ fluff on it. As I picked it off, I broke into tears. Sigh. I miss him.

The kid and I went into town to run a few errands. We spontaneously decided to catch a movie. I couldn’t sit through The Little Mermaid (our first choice) because it was too long and the seats in our local theatre are awful. Instead, we watched The Miracle Club. Amazing actors. Mediocre movie.

After 30 minutes my pain was borderline excruciating. I had to keep readjusting and self massaging my shoulder/back area.

We took an Uber home and the driver had quite the stash of complimentary favours. Even tampons. Great service.

Yesterday, I got my MRI results. I have mild progression on my C4 vertebrae. Fuck. I also discovered that the oncologist didn’t order this MRI. It was the nurse practitioner I saw back in March. I was concerned and complaining to her about the hardware possibly failing so she wrote in the requisition to assess hardware stability. Since then, she, of course, didn’t know I got my surgery already so this was a big fluke. Normally, no one ever asks for hardware assessments on my scans. It’s also a fluke that I didn’t get this MRI for almost 5 months later (it’s usually every 3 months). Anyway, drum roll please: one of the new screws added to my T1 is way too long. It’s going into the nerves on both levels (of my T1 & T2). This is why I’m in agony and I feel like someone’s standing on my upper back. I would need another surgery to get this corrected. Double fuck.

So that’s that. I’m not sure what I’m going to do at this point. The thought of having another surgery any time soon makes me want to barf. I’ll probably wait a few months and contact the neurosurgeon. Besides, if I’m actually having cancer progression, I need to get it stabilized first. I can’t go off my medications for another month (due to surgery) knowing my cancer isn’t being properly treated.

Today I went for lab work with an old requisition from like 5 months ago because no one at the cancer agency has sent me new ones even though I’ve asked them ten times to send me a standing order. My neutrophils are good. Luckily, I have some leftover medication from when I didn’t finish a cycle last year because I was sick. So I’ll use that for now until I can get a new box. I’ll be leaving another message on the nurses line tomorrow (aka: the oncology abyss) because no one ever picks up the phone (but then they complain if you leave multiple messages). I was supposed to have had another oncologist appointment this month. They’ve hired so many newbies in reception - they’re dropping the ball when it comes to appointments. The communication is horrendous. I do have an appointment with the Cancer Agency’s psychiatrist tomorrow morning so I’ll be blasting all of my concerns on to him. It’s really hard to not get sad, mad, hurt, frustrated when you feel forgotten. I miss my old oncologist office where she had an actual reception desk that picked up the phone and would get me immediate answers to things. I’m so tired and fed up. Sigh.

To perk me up, I’m re-reading a self-help book called You are a Badass. Technically, I’m only listening to it on audiobook. It’s funny, light and interesting. I initially read it back when it came out almost 10 years ago and then read it again after my first cancer diagnoses. (So I guess I’m averaging every 5 years.) Most self help books are garbage but this one is a good read. So I’m going to drink my tea, listen to my book while staring out the window (like Steve used to do) and decompress from this day.

#metastatic breast cancer #why do I eat popcorn it doesn’t agree with me #thanks for reading #blogging on my blog

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iwanttoleavethisblankbuticant · 6 months

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little collection of my brain tangles, relating to my OCs that I previously abandoned… part 2

Wow, I wrote again. Who would have thunk it. Just an fyi these posts aren’t connected beyond they have my oc’s in them. This is just my one shots for my oc’s basically. Anyways on with the fic. Hopefully this one won’t be neglected like part 1…. Hopefully.

TW: swearing, gay, sickness, coughing, brief mention of parental induced mental trauma and neglect, one sneeze (I’m sorry, my brain isn’t braining on the sneeze stuff idk why it just wants to write fluff and angst…)

———————————————————————

Knox woke up with scratchy throat. Nothing to horrible. It could be put to ease with sips of water though out his day. It wasn’t an inconvenience, it wasn’t a problem. He didn’t pay much mind to it. That was then. Now it’s now. And his throat hurts. It takes up all of his focus, he coughing constantly and he can feel the beginnings of an itch in his sinuses. Least to say, Knox was not having a good time. He didn’t particularly want to go to the doctors, it took a long time, most the time nothing was really wrong with him, it was a long drive, sitting in the germ infested lobby probably would only give him more illness. But he would go if he needed to. With that in mind, he wondered out into the living room. There he spotted Mackie.

“Ma-” he immediately starts to cough and hack, doing so into the cuff of his sleeve.

“Mackie” he finishes, his voice so scratchy Mackie could hear his pain. Between the hacking coughs and the pitiful state of his roommate, Knox had all his attention.

“Yeah?” Mackie questions.

“Can you look at my tonsils?” Knox’s chokes out.

“Sure, come’er” Mackie says, using his soft voice that is reserved for vulnerable matters alone.

Knox nodes and stumbles up to the couch where Mackie’s sitting. Tiredly he sits down beside him.

“Come on, lay your head down bub.” Mackie coos gently, patting his lap.

Knox hums in response and lays down on the couch, head resting on Mackie’s lap.

“Say ‘ahhh’” Mackie whispers fondly, looking down at him with a soft smile.

Knox’s starts too. Then his breath hitches and he turns his head to the left so he’s facing away from Mackie. He hitches for about a minute, Mackie waiting patiently. But the sneeze never comes. After a minute or so, Knox tentatively moves his head so he’s facing upwards once again. Then he opens his mouth for Mackie to take a look.

Mackie, not saying a word but understanding, leans over Knox and looks down his throat. Sure enough, his tonsils are swollen and inflamed.

“Poor thing…” Mackie coos, stroking his head.

“You ought to go to the doctor.” Mackie adds, a certain gentleness in his voice.

Knox turns his head to look at Mackie

“Yeah-” Knox starts but the once forgotten sneeze rears it’s head all of a sudden.

“Hurrshchu!” Knox snaps forward with a sneeze, right into Mackie’s uncovered belly, having been wearing only his binder.

“Shit. Sorry.” Knox mumbles, sounding disappointed in himself.

“I didn’t mean too-” but he’s cut off.

“Aww, it’s alright. Your sick, it’s to be expected. I just want you feeling better.” Mackie interrupts.

“Now, how about I call you in a doctors appointment. Then I’ll drive you there. That sound good?”

All Knox could do is nod his head as tears well up in his eyes. He hadn’t ever been taken care of like this. From the time he turned 10 Knox had been expected to do things for himself because he’s a man.

Maybe it was the fever, maybe it was just a freak occurrence. But Knox let a few tears slip as Mackie called and made an appointment for him.

The soonest he could go was tomorrow morning, so Knox began to get up and go to his room. Mackie had other plans. He looped his arm around Knox waist and pulled him back down.

“Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just cry then expect me not to cuddle you.” Mackie says with a grin.

Knox wanted to say so many words of thanks but his throat wouldn’t allow it. So he just nods and sinks back into Mackie.

Not long later Asher and Vex get home from their separate work places.

“Wha??? Cuddles without me? How dare. Move your feet, I’m joining.” Asher announces.

“I’m sick” Knox’s warns.

“That doesn’t mean you can pick your feet up for two seconds so I can sit down.” Asher say with a smile. Knox giggles lightly, the giggles quickly turning into coughs. Once he’s done coughing and laughing, he picks his feet up and Asher slips under him. Now Knox is laying on top of the both of them, feet in Asher’s lap where he teasingly tickles him, head in Mackie’s lap where he plays with his hair. And where’s Vex in all this? He’s in the kitchen, scrolling through Walmarts app and preemptively buying soups for when they all inevitably get sick.

#snz kink #sneeze kink #snz fic #snzblr #sneeze blog #sneezefucker #snz things #blank strikes again #snz fet #One snz #fluff with tiny angst #sick strong boi #sneeze fic

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tightjeansjavi · 8 months

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How’re you feeling babe?

Adding to the iud conversation bc I don’t know a single person who hasn’t had a traumatic experience w them- having a successful iud placement was still one of the worst things I’ve ever done in my life. It’s been awesome to have. But definitely wasn’t worth it. I got it a couple days after I turned 18, I was given zero information about the process, I couldn’t find anything negative about it. This being at a clinic with all women staff that heavily advocate for iuds and use them themselves.

Because I was 18, and had a couple of decently sized tattoos that I more or less napped through, I treated them like they would be the same kind of physical trauma. Eating a substantial meal before hand and hydrating as much as I could. Otherwise I was completely clueless. So I drive myself there (they asked about this but didn’t say anything which still baffles me). I’m supposed to go to work after my appointment. The first thing they ask is if I’ve taken any kinds of medication before hand, give me 800mg of ibuprofen, and send me to wait.

The placement went perfectly fine. And still no one tells me what to expect afterwards other than that I might have some mild cramping and that I could leave whenever I was ready. I was in so much shock that I was completely numb and left way before I should’ve. I didn’t make it to checkout before I needed to sit down so I didn’t pass out. I didn’t make it to my car before threw up in the parking lot. By this point the pain started to kick in. My 10 minute drive home took over 30 minutes from the amount of times I had to stop on the side of the road to vomit from the pain alone. I called into work crying (at this point I was still working my first job at a family owned business where calling in was more or less quitting). I was in too much pain to leave bed for at least the next day. As an insanely anxious teenager I really thought something had gone wrong and I was dying.

10/10 do not recommend. Would not do again. And I am dreading the day I have to get this pulled out of my body. I tried to get it taken out early (at 5 years instead of 7 or 8 or whatever) and my doctor refused unless I was planning on having kids 🤠

All in all, having a successful placement, imagining what it would be like to have something go wrong, I can’t even comprehend what you’re going through. It’s mentally taxing without having the physical component attached. Make sure to take the time to treat and take care of yourself. You deserve all of the best things in the world. 🩷

Nonnie,

I’m so sorry that I am just seeing this now 😭

I am feeling a lot better than I was last week, but still pretty upset (I’m just doing a good job of hiding it) I have no words to describe what you went through, and I am so so sorry that you had such a traumatic experience ☹️ I’m hearing more and more horror stories about people get IUD’s and I definitely don’t think I will be getting one in the near future after what happened to me, but maybe down the road. I wish that we didn’t have to worry about the possibility of getting pregnant and have to pump our bodies with hormones that actually have done more harm than good (in most cases) I’ve been taking the birth control pill since I was 17 and while it has helped me in some capacity (cramps, heavy bleeding, acne) it’s definitely also had a long lasting negative effect on my mental health.

I appreciate you so much for sharing your experience, and I hope your removal process when the time comes, goes smoothly!

-Gi

#talkswithgi #tw iud

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mandana-the-service-pup · 1 year

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I may not be happy about the vet taking her to the back for the injections but boy did it work.

This morning she ran to the treadmill like usual but instead of walking the entire time she started to tentatively run. When she realized it didn’t hurt she took off sprinting with her tail wagging. I didn’t get a video of the sprinting but this is towards the end and she was still moving a lot better than she has been lately.

I don’t leave her unattended but she usually just walks so I’ll hook her up and do a few things in the same room while she’s walking. I set a timer for 10 minute intervals to give her a chance to get off if she wants. When she started running all on her own I was happy to stop what I was doing and cheer her on. I hope this is her new normal.

The acupuncture was a mix of saline & B vitamins. She got 8 injections along her back and next week they will give her the injections while she is sedated for her back X-ray. I’m still going forward with the X-ray because this has been an issue for a long time and if it’s something more serious than a strained muscle it could be career ending.

The vet said she wanted to do them in the back room because she already had the stuff set up, but any injections after next week will be done with me in the room. I love my vet but I don’t care if I make things inconvenient. I need to maintain Mandanas trust for the rest of her life and that means advocating for her when she’s stressed. If she gets too overwhelmed during an appointment then I would rather stop the appointment. There are exceptions but most injections are not so time sensitive that they can’t wait a week while I do more training to lower the stress.

#belgian malinois #2 years #service dog in training #service dog training #vet #vetblr #service dogblr #dogblr #injured dog #canine rehabilitation #canine conditioning

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nettheworldonfire · 2 years

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The post that almost wasn’t...

I started writing this post in April. Yes, April. Five months ago.

Then I got sidetracked and tried to finish in May, but the end of the school year had me too crazy to actually finish it. Then it was summer and well, I couldn’t be bothered with opening a computer most days. Too much fun in the sun to be had. Now it’s the beginning of the school year and I’ve never been more stressed out and tired, but it’s Blood Cancer Awareness Month and I’m due for a post...

So, be patient with me as I retell this story(ies?)...and try to keep things reported in a timely fashion from here on out.

On Sunday, August 14th, I had my 30th Lanreotide injection and tomorrow I’ll have my 31st. It’s been two and a half years of this medicine, and it has been working to keep my tumor growth to a minimum. I am very thankful for that.

Back in mid-April, I had been experiencing significant pain under my right rib for about five days, and since that’s the general spot my liver is in, I was super stressed that it was my tumors acting up. After some convos with oncology, they asked me to come into the Perlman Center at UPenn to see the oncology urgent care team and get my scans done a bit early. (They were scheduled for May 3rd). So on April 26th, I made the hike into the big city. I forgot about how annoying it was to drive into West Philly (damn you, Schuylkill!) since I was re-diagnosed in February 2020 and only had one in-person appointment at Penn due to the pandemic. I hate figuring out parking and being lost in a hospital, then anxiously hanging in waiting rooms. I don’t mind meeting new nurses, techs, phlebotomists, and nurse practitioners who are always pretty incredible. But since the logistics of huge hospital systems gives me heart palpitations, I always ask the person who schedules me where I should park and how I’ll find my floor and the office I need — and the scheduler this time was also super helpful…until I got there and multiple roads were blocked with police and construction. I ended up parking a little ways away and taking a shuttle which wasn’t so bad - even if the driver was repeatedly screaming that she was gonna punch someone right in the face. I would have had anxiety leaving my car in a garage with my work computer and other such valuables, however because I haven’t cleaned out my car in forever — it definitely appears like I live in it — and certainly doesn’t look like it would be holding anything of value — so I think joke’s on you, robbers!

They took me back to get my CT scan pretty quickly but then I had to wait while they asked about doing a scan of my chest as well as the pelvis/abdomen, as my CT scheduled for the following month was for both and insurance likely doesn’t want me getting two CT scans within one week. Once they got that approval, I got the scan with and without IV contrast of my abdomen, pelvis, and chest. It’s cute how they always ask me if I have an underwire bra on or any such thing. I have to remind them — I’m a pro. (Who wore a metal-free slob suit to work also). I didn’t have to drink a Barium smoothie — so that’s a plus. As the CT tech was taking out my IV, he asked if I wanted him to leave it in because I was getting an infusion afterwards, which was news to me since I haven’t had an infusion in 10 years. So he took it out, and I went to “infusion” where it turns out they sent me for a blood draw and would have used the same IV had we left it in. Another needle in the opposite arm, and all is done. Then I waited for a nurse practitioner, Marie, to go over things with me. In the meantime, I got a notification that my bloodwork results we’re already in my portal (less than ten minutes after they drew it). Holy quickness. Things looked normal to me, and I was told someone would call me to review. Marie said that they would get results of the CT scans that day, but definitely not for a few hours — so I should go home and wait there. She did call me later that night and assured me that all was status quo. Nothing looked like it changed and my liver was probably not taking over my body like an alien life form.

Dr. Teitelbaum and I had our normal follow-up telehealth appointment the next week and she confirmed, things are still growing so very slowly, there is nothing to worry about it. It didn’t appear that my liver was causing the pain, and since the pain subsided in time, there wasn’t much else to do.

I had my injection in April, May, June, July - and then had new scans done. This time, still only minimal growth, but Dr. Teitelbaum said she doesn’t want to become complacent, and asked me to schedule an appointment with Dr. Soulen in interventional radiology to see if he things I should be moving to next steps. I was originally told this medicine works for 3-5 years in most patients, before the cancer outsmarts the meds. It makes me pretty nervous to be creeping up on the low end of that timeline. Especially since any cancer of mine is of course going to be smarter than the average cancer, right? So I can’t be shocked if they say that next steps should be considered soon. But I was kind of getting used to the idea of just pretending it’s not there and getting my backside injected once a month, forever. I thought the appointment with Dr. Soulen was this past week, but realized I missed a call where it was rescheduled for October 5th -- so I will update again after that one.

In addition to all of my routine cancer screenings/scans/treatments, I have also been subjected to other diagnostics recently. My OBGYN has been increasingly more demanding and the appointments are all so time consuming. I went in for an annual visit and the doctor recommended an endometrial ablation. Two weeks ago I had to get a mammogram (simply because I am nearly 40 and well, that’s the kind of fun stuff you do when you’re middle-aged). It took 8 days, but I received a little letter in my electronic file that started with this sentence...

WOOT WOOT! Again, not that we (or anyone) had any concern about my breasts -- but hearing that a part of me is cancer-free is always so uplifting. However, the radiology results lag makes me a little stressed, because I HATE waiting. Apparently there is a major radiologist shortage right now. And every other kind of shortage, but I can handle waiting a little for food or slightly longer lines places...

A few days later I got my ultrasound reports (abdominal and transvaginal) which also appeared normal (although they couldn’t find one of my ovaries, so I guess they can only say they are 50% sure they are normal). This Thursday, I have an endometrial biopsy and then HOPEFULLY NovaSure -- the endometrial ablation. Just one thing I’d like to get under control, ASAP. Fingers and Ovaries crossed that it comes back normal or whatever is needed so I can schedule this procedure. In the meantime, I am not opposed to rain-dances for menopause or an approved hysterectomy.

In December, I will have another Gallium scan -- you know the one so wild they only do it on certain days of the week at certain times and they tell you not to hold your kids after for a day or so because you’re still radioactive -- cool, cool. And that’s to make sure it’s still only in my liver and not traveling elsewhere, without a passport.

And to end this with a dose of kid-comedy... This weekend my kids asked me why I get the injections at home and I told them I like when the nurse comes and gives me a shot in our house...and they translated that to, “Mommy likes getting it in her butt in the dining room.” Hoping this isn’t the overshare they decide to present in school this week.

So that’s the update for now -- more to hopefully come soon. Love to you all for being patient in hearing “news” for me, but no news is typically, “Sam still has cancer but she’s alive and her normal, albeit crazy, self” (aka good news, I think?) Until next time...

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