#and the whole constantly-in-my-faceness of it
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
misayani · 2 days ago
Text
MAGNETIC — SQUID GAME WOMEN + THANOS AND YOU BEING THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF THEM HCS
Tumblr media Tumblr media
◜ featuring ... kang mi-na (player 196), no eul (guard 011), se-mi (player 380), jun-hee (player 222), hyun-ju (player 120), young-mi (player 195), + thanos (player 230)
𔗨 author's note — IM FUCKING BAAAAAAAAACKKKK RAWGHHRRR !!!!!! writing this had me SWEATING considering the lack of information of them in the show. anddd im closing the requests for now. id like to work on the current requests in my inbox before i open it again ♡ [lowercase intended]
Tumblr media
mi na —
- at first you were hesitant to confess your feelings to her because why  would she want to be with someone like you?
- and then you kept avoiding her and denying your feelings to avoid getting hurt 
- then, life surprises you, she kissed you on the night she took you out for a 'girlFRIEND date'
- AND THEN BAM !!! dating
- she's feisty and confident, you're gentle and shy
- mi-na is the type to be sassy and bitchy to everyone and then when it comes to you she turns into a total softie
- "thanos, i swear if you don't shut the fuck up—" "mi-na?" "yes honey?"
- SHE LOVES CALLING YOU SWEET NICKNAMES JUST TO SEE YOU MELT
- you'd think mi-na likes to be treated like a princess and then it turns out that she's the one treating YOU like a princess
- when you're speaking and someone completely cuts you off, without a second thought, she'll speak up
- "my girlfriend is speaking??"
- when someone's rude to you, she'll handle it for you
- "excuse me? watch your words when you're talking to her."
- she doesn't do this all the time though
- she wants you to learn how to speak up for yourself 
- but she definitely doesn't let it pass when someone crosses the line
- there was this one time where mi-na legit got into a catfight after someone humiliated you in front of many people
- she got humiliated in front of the people too but she DIDNT feel humiliated at all
- the bitch just messed with her girlfriend, and she just stepped up for you. what's humiliating about that?
- (outside squid game) let's say thanos is a mutual close friend you both have
- whenever he pisses her off, he immediately runs to you for defense since mi-na has a soft spot for you
- overall, mi-na likes taking care of you and you're gentle to her sooo it's a win-win for the both of you !!!
- she loves her shy gf so much, it makes her all mushy and softie
no eul —
- she's hard, you're soft
- oops i may have worded that wrong
- GRUMPY X SUNSHINE 
- you always wake her up with kisses and she'll open her eyes to the sight of you smiling at her
- then she'll complain, grumbling about your "unreasonable" optimism. but she literally lets you kiss her the whole time anyways !!
- no-eul constantly furrows her eyebrows at your cheery attitude as if she was judging you. BUT DEEP DEEP DOWN, her heart swells for you
- she might be grumpy through words, but it's the actions that speak louder
- if someone's mean to HER sunshine, expect their face to get fucked up
- her love language is acts of service btw!!!!
- you will never ever get to hold a door ever again when you're with her cs she'll always open them for you
- AND SHE LOVES GIVING YOU 'JUST BECAUSE' GIFTS
- "here." she hands you a boquet of sunflowers with A CUTE LITTLE NOTE ON THE SIDE THAT SAYS I LOVE YOU, "awhh thank you! but, what's the occasion?" and then she just shrugs
- back then, whenever the two of you got into an argument, a bad trait she used to do is to shut you out. while you, on the other hand, always wanted to talk things through and find solutions 
- after a few attempts, you eventually break her walls down and then she finally lets you in
- "...i'm sorry" "it's okay! we're in this together, 'kay?" 
- she feels so bad because what if you're just trying to put up with her 
- and then that worry completely washes away when she feels that you're actually genuine. 
- you don't just say sweet shit, you act them out.
- and she'll forever be thankful for you
- you're the reason why she wakes up everyday, you're the reason why she takes care of herself, you're the reason why she learned to love herself
se mi —
- this woman has a sharp tongue
- which can definitely be used in multiple ways but mostly for saying sarcastic remarks
- (in the games) she's expressive but then she's emotionally guarded at the same time. she won't be scared to speak her mind but she rarely shows her expressions physically
- oh gosh. her and her fucked up humor
- others may think she never takes shit seriously, but it's actually THEM she's not taking seriously
- she absolutely doesn't like openly-vulnerable people. it's not anything personal, she just thinks that it's stupid to show emotions like that in a death game like this where anyone could literally take advantage of you.
- and then here comes you, kind and empathetic
- you're the type to put others first before you, and she hates that fact, but not you
- you're expressive with your feelings also, but instead of being like her, who masks it perfectly with her sarcastic exterior, you're genuine.
- you believe that showing real emotions is a way to connect with people
- se-mi had observed you during the six-legged pentathlon. it amuses her seeing you work well with your team.
- she fucking hates the fact that you're just so kind and open to every one, not even thinking twice to help others.
- (outside squid game) while se-mi sees the world as harsh and unforgiving, you always tell her about the bright side and hope and some happy shit. and she didn't like that
- she didn't like how you're actually starting to make her see even just the tad bit good in some things
- and then the next thing she knows is that she literally starts to think about you in every single fucking thing
- she sees sunlight, she thinks of you. she sees flowers, she thinks of you. she sees butterflies, she thinks of you. man, even whenever she buys her favourite cherry ice cream, somehow the ice cream legit reminds her of you. because apparently, to her, ice cream gives off positive vibes ????? 
- and positive vibes are YOU !!
- over time, she may not admit it but she definitely cannot deny that she's starting to soften under your influence
- and who knows? maybe she's starting to see that kindness isn't always a weakness. 
jun hee —
- she's an introvert, you're an extrovert. need i say more
- junhee mostly keeps to herself, but unlike no-eul, she isn't totally closed-off
- she's quiet and won't react unless needed
- you on the other hand, reacts to everyfuckingthing
- somebody's hand gets too close to her belly? "GET AWAY!"
- you even audibly gasp when someone gives her a dirty stare
- (outside squid game) when jun-hee gets excited about something, she'll just smile. but it immediately drops as soon as she turns her head to look at you who almost fell on the floor, face first, because of jumping around like crazy.
- it amazes her a lot how you make it look easy to just start a conversation with a complete stranger
- now whenever you make friends, she also makes new friends, because you always introduce your girlfriend to them !! <3
- between the two of you, you're the one who usually initiates physical touch
- just simple and cute hugs here and there, sometimes kisses, sometimes more than kisses
- she's the type to show her love to you through simple gestures like making you your favorite tea, playing your favorite song on the TV, writing you notes before she goes out while you're still sleeping (awwhdjsjssk)
- and then you're the type to express your feelings VERY LOUDLY
- telling her "i love yous" whenever you always get the chance to which is like every minute—but you mean every single one everytime—, giving her tight hugs, prepping soft kisses on her face, demanding her to give you cuddles.
- everything needs balance, so jun-hee learned to socialize more and have fun while you learned to be more mindful whenever she needs her own quiet time
hyun ju —
- hyun-ju tends to be cool-headed and calm in most scenarios, while you are always on your toes and stressed and just so energetic overall
- hyun-ju shows love in subtle ways, like doing your hair or giving you quick pecks on the cheek ♡
- she never fails to notice it when you're stressed. she'd grab your hand and start massaging it softly
- whenever your friends invite you to a night out, you always ask them if you could bring hyun-ju !!!!
- it's simple: they refuse, you aren't going. if they say yes, then be prepared to have one of the best nights out in your lives BECAUSE hyun-ju is fun!!!! hello ? being an introvert does not mean you're not any fun
- hyun-ju would literally chug up every drink your friends give her
- and then theres you who's worried as fuck because what if she vomits???? and you HATE vomit, eugh !!
- the next morning comes and then hangover finally hits her
- you, being a good girlfriend, always brings her water and some pills to help her with the headache
- 'hyun-ju drink this' 'hyun-ju drink that' which results to her needing to pee like every 5 minutes
- she calms you down, telling you that she's fine and all she needs is you beside her
- literally just your presence
- and then despite having a headache, she would ask you to yap for her, she just loves hearing your voice
- overall, hyun-ju is forever thankful for you. she appreciates the fact that you're always alert about things but she also reminds you to let loose sometimes.
young mi —
- she's shy, you're not
- you're so mean for always teasing the poor girl
- but you can't help it, not when you always catch her staring at you
- "do you need anything? or do you just need me?" 
- give her a damn break
- not a day goes by without you hugging the hell out of her
- "you're so flufffyyyyyy babyy" "...thank you?.." 
- she always seeks comfort in you, since you're the one who keeps things exciting
- in public, young-mi doesn't speak up much, so you speak for her when needed
- "excuse me, you got her food wrong." "it's fine i swear!!"
- it's surprising but she's actually the one who initiates affection most of the time, she'd just shyly do it
- during arguments, she might struggle to express her feelings sometimes through words, and even when you're supposed to be mad at her, you still try to keep your calm and help her speak for herself
- it always ends up with the both of you apologizing to each other. you would never let your girlfriend sleep with a heavy heart, never.
- sometimes you'd surprise her with cute gifts like small trinkets or cute plushies !!! 
- as time goes by, young-mi slowly learns to speak up for herself, because, of course, you're not always going to be by her side. 
thanos — 
- PLAYFUL BF + SERIOUS GF
- he thinks you have such a hot resting bitch face
- LIKE HE'D LITERALLY INTERNALLY SQUEAL LIKE A HIGH SCHOOLER
- babygirl bf + girlboss gf <3
- you're never scared to speak up for yourself. thanos insists on punching anyone who does you wrong but you assure him that you're fully capable of doing that yourself
- "THAT'S MY GIRLFRIEND BRO!!"
- literally brags you to nam-gyu and talks about you almost all the time
- nam-gyu's fucking tired of it.
- people thinks this man fears no one?? he's fucking scared of YOU
- FOLDS WHEN U CALL HIM BY HIS FULL GOVERNMENT NAME
- "cmon baby, give thanos a kiss." "choi su-bong." "what:(("
- but when nam-gyu learns about his full name and starts teasing him about it and calling him that:
- "hey, only she's allowed to call me that. mind your business." "dang okay bro" 
- literally goes crazy when he texts you something and you reply with an "ok."
- "the fuck did i do nowww"
- he internally cheers when you're on your period because that'll mean you'll ask him for kisses and hugs
- "baby, let's cuddle please" "oh look at what we have here now—" "nevermind." "NO! yes, yes, let's cuddle"
- to others, he's tough and mighty but when it comes to you, he submits
- LMAO when he tries to call you by your full name to try and reverse the roles, you just give him a weird look and that made him want to bury himself 6 feet under.
- he's very very clingy, would literally sulk when you don't give him a goodbye kiss before you leave the house 
- when you're in a bad mood, he tries his best to cheer you up, like rapping random sweet shit to you or attempting to dance in front of you. keyword: attempting
- and as soon as he saw that small smile form on your face, he almost felt like everything went slow motion
- you're so gorgeous, he's down bad for you
- but he genuinely feels happy once he knows that you're fine now because of him !!
- he's so silly :3
Tumblr media
@misayani
𝓜isa mentions — @joc3lynx @mymel1008 @justredsw @wlvlurvsfimmia @azansstuff @dvrk-hoon @yersang-dreams
Tumblr media
640 notes · View notes
bachissidehoe · 2 days ago
Text
in which you're Reo's princess, and Nagi's his treasure. (w.c. 1049)
At first, you found it strange the way Nagi Seishiro would so casually throw his arm around your shoulder and hold you close to his chest. You were Reo’s girlfriend, after all. The girlfriend of his best friend.
“What are you playing?”
He sighed. “It would be a hassle to explain. You can watch though.”
And you did. You sat next to him on the couch, forcing your gaze past his toned muscles and shaggy, tangled hair to watch his little mobile game.
“Come here. It’s hard to play when you’re leaning on my arm.”
And he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his side so he could access his screen better. Apparently, this position made him more mobile.
You were flushed. You didn’t think something like this would be allowed. You were nestled into the gorgeous, soft body of your boyfriend’s best friend.
“Oh cute! My princess and my treasure.”
That’s all Reo had said when he saw you. It surprised you, to say the least.
But it’s not like you were complaining. Where lying on Reo’s chest was warm, Nagi’s was cool. Where Reo was obvious with his praise, Nagi was nonchalant. You found yourself wanting the affection of both of them, in a weird way.
And it started to be less surprising when Nagi asked to hold you. In fact, you started to hope he would.
“Your thighs are soft, like pillows. I need a nap.”
And Nagi collapsed, right there on your thighs, letting his eyes flutter shut. So calm.
“Aren’t they?” Reo agreed from the opposite couch, encouraging the physicality.
What the two didn’t notice was how you shifted in your seat, affected by the warm breaths that dusted your inner thighs. It wouldn’t be comfortable for the snowy haired boy to sleep in a puddle, so you held on for dear life, your hands clenched around the fabric of the couch rather than tangled in his messy hair.
You hadn’t realized the effect Nagi Seishiro really had on you. How his subtle, casual affection had trained you to become a secret mess for him. For your boyfriend’s best friend.
But Reo- your smart, charismatic, beautiful boyfriend- he had realized. In fact, he’d been encouraging this for a reason.
“You’re bothered, aren’t you princess?”
For a moment you thought you may be in trouble. It’s wrong to get turned on by your boyfriend’s best friend. But the look on Reo’s face, the devious smirk, said otherwise.
So you nodded.
“How cute.” He moved to hover over you, Nagi still restful on your thighs. “My princess and my treasure get along so well.”
It became pretty obvious what your boyfriend wanted after that. You just didn't realize how you didn't notice it before. The way he looked at Nagi. The way he encouraged you two. He wanted Nagi just as badly as you did.
The burning growing between your thighs wasn't enough for just Reo to satisfy anymore. And he knew that.
"Princess, hm? That what you want me to call her too, Reo?" Nagi mumbled, his groggy eyes opening just enough to look up at your flushed face.
"You should." Reo pulled Nagi upward by his shirt, removing him from the comfortable spot he created on your thighs.
Nagi complained the whole way up, of course, he was never one to enjoy being forced out of a cozy position.
"You should also let her ride you." Reo smirked, bringing Nagi's face close to his, nearly touching his lips.
You gulped.
But Nagi Seishiro was less than nervous, the nonchalant type of person he was. He only glanced back at you, not struggling at all under your boyfriend's tight hold on his shirt.
"Yeah fine." Nagi agreed.
It was hard for you to tell whether Nagi really wanted to fuck you, whether he was interested in you at all or if he wanted to shut Reo up. But as it turned out, Nagi Seishiro was stubborn and ruthless. He wanted you just as badly, his cock constantly straining against his shorts whenever you were close to him, wanting any excuse to stuff his face into your pretty thighs. But he'd never admit it.
Not until you were bouncing on his thick cock, mouth hung open and hands relentlessly tugging on his hair. Right there on that couch. With your wet cunt soaking him, your movements squeezing juices into a messy coating for Nagi's bare thighs.
That's when Nagi Seishiro decided to be honest. "Fuck, I needed you. Fuck~ yes I need~ ah-"
And Reo couldn't have been happier about the beautiful scene he created. "You don't mind, hm? Can't expect me to just watch." He lined up behind you, letting his familiar, flushed tip plunge into the depths of your unused hole, forcing you to lean forward onto Nagi's chest.
"I'll get ya both off. Fuck~" Reo spat, his thrusts creating the friction both you and Nagi so desperately craved, your heavy breaths mixing into each other in the small space between you.
And you kissed him, because you couldn't help it. Your sloppy, drooly lips pressed to Nagi's in a desperate display of hunger.
As it turned out, Reo had been thinking about this for a long time. Longer than you had. Longer than the stubborn Nagi Seishiro had.
He rocked his hips in perfect rhythm, your cunt sliding and squeezing around Nagi's perfect cock while your ass was lubed and stuffed by your pretty boyfriend.
Reo was right about getting you both off, too. It took him practically no time, with your clit rubbing against Nagi's skin and the friction forcing Nagi's tip into your g-spot over and over again, it wasn't difficult. But that didn't matter to Reo, he never specified how many times he expected to get you two off. And it became clear very quickly that once wasn't enough for him.
He'd been holding back his desires for too long, he deserved to see you shaking, tears streaming down your face, cum dripping from all your holes. He deserved to see Nagi fucked out, hair sticking to his forehead, arms wrapped around you and lips attached to your bruised neck.
Your boyfriend deserved that much. After how long you made him wait to fuck his princess and his treasure.
612 notes · View notes
lamphous · 1 day ago
Text
not to make a long post longer, but here's the whole thing:
"The Abortion Absolutist" By Elaine Godfrey
Warren Hern has been performing late abortions for half a century. After Roe, he is as busy with patients as ever.
May 12, 2023
The sky above Boulder was dark when the abortion doctor picked me up for dinner. I had to squint to recognize Warren Hern in his thick aviator glasses and fur-trapper hat.
At the restaurant—a kitschy Italian spot along a pedestrian mall—Hern ignored the table the waiter offered us, pointed at one in the corner, and clomped over in his heavy hiking boots. He’d like to order right away, he said: the osso buco and a glass of Spanish red. How long will that take?
Hern spent the next two and a half hours of our dinner correcting me. A baby is a fetus until it is “born alive,” he told me as I chewed my bucatini. His dear friend, the Kansas physician George Tiller, was not “murdered” in 2009, he was assassinated. The activists who scream outside his clinic are not “pro-life,” they are fascists.
Pausing, Hern sighed. He is very busy, he said, and there are many things he’d rather be doing than talking to me. “But I can’t complain that the pro-choice movement has completely failed” at communicating, he said, “and then turn down an opportunity to communicate.”
I’d met Hern before, so I wasn’t surprised by his gruffness. The 84-year-old can be a curmudgeon—he’s obstinate, utterly certain of his position, and intolerant of criticism even as he dishes it out. Useful qualities, perhaps, for someone in his line of work.
Hern is now nearing his fifth decade of practice at his Boulder clinic; he has persisted through the entire arc of Roe v. Wade, its nearly 50-year rise and fall. He specializes in abortions late in pregnancy—the rarest, and most controversial, form of abortion. This means that Hern ends the pregnancies of women who are 22, 25, even 30 weeks along. Although 14 states now ban abortion in most or all circumstances, Colorado has no gestational limits on the procedure. Patients come to him from all over the country because he is one of only a handful of physicians who can, and will, perform an abortion so late.
During the first 13 weeks of pregnancy, when about 90 percent of abortions in America are carried out, the fetus’s appearance ranges from a small clot of phlegm to an alienlike ball of flesh. At 22 weeks, though, a human fetus has grown to about the size of a small melon. The procedures that Hern performs result in the removal of a body that, if you saw it, would inspire a sharp pang of recognition. These are the abortions that provide fodder for the gruesome images on protesters’ signs and the billboards along Midwest highways, images that can be difficult to look at for long.
Many of the women who visit Hern’s clinic do so because their health is at risk—or because their fetus has a serious abnormality that would require a baby to undergo countless surgeries with little chance of survival. But Hern does not restrict his work to these cases.
The phone at Hern’s clinic rings constantly these days. Since the overturning of Roe and the corresponding blitz of abortion bans, appointment books are filling up at clinics in states where abortion remains legal. Women who have to wait weeks for an appointment may end up missing the window for a first-trimester procedure. Some book a flight to Boulder to see Hern, who is treating about 50 percent more patients than usual.
These later abortions are the less common cases, and the hardest ones. They are the cases that even stalwart abortion-rights advocates generally prefer not to discuss. But as the pro-choice movement strives to shore up abortion rights after the fall of Roe, its members face strategic decisions about whether and how to defend this work.
Most Americans support abortion access, but they support it with limits—considerations about time and pain and fingernail development. Hern is reluctant to acknowledge any limit, any red line. He takes the woman’s-choice argument to its logical conclusion, in much the same way that, at this moment, anti-abortion activists are pressing their case to its extreme. Hern considers his religious adversaries to be zealots, and many of them are. But he is, in his own way, no less an absolutist.
In May of 2019, an envelope landed on my desk at work with a nature calendar inside. The photos—an arctic tern landing on a hunk of ice, a shock of mountain maple in the Holy Cross Wilderness, two sandhill cranes taking flight—were all credited to Hern. I’d interviewed him a week earlier for a short article about abortion-rights activism, and it amused me that a working abortion doctor was making wildlife calendars and express-mailing them to journalists. This past December, I flew to Boulder to meet him.
The Boulder Abortion Clinic is a single-story, yellow-brick building, partially hidden from the road by a wooden fence. Someone tried to shoot Hern once, back in 1988, so now the front windows are made of bulletproof glass. You have to show ID to gain access to the waiting room, and the blinds are usually drawn, leaving the whole place slightly dim. Stepping inside is like going back in time: The office is a maze of wood paneling, vinyl chairs, and faded green carpet.
The first day I visited, no protesters were chanting outside; it was a Monday, and they tend to show up on Tuesdays, which is patient-intake day. Hern’s staff sat me in an office near the front desk, where I could hear calls coming in. I listened as a receptionist told a patient named Lindsey that it was okay to be anxious; she paused a few times while Lindsey cried.
“The fee will be about $6,000,” the receptionist said. Late abortions are expensive because they are medically complex. For patients who need financial aid, the National Abortion Federation may cover some of the cost, and local abortion funds often contribute. The receptionist told this to Lindsey, and offered her the organization’s number. “You can do partial cash and credit card, yes,” she said. Often, if a woman cannot afford to pay for her hotel, her transportation to Boulder, or some part of her procedure, Hern will foot the bill himself, staff members told me.
Hern stopped performing first-trimester abortions a few years ago; he saw too much need for later abortions, and his clinic couldn’t do it all. The procedure he uses takes three or four days and goes like this: After performing an ultrasound, he will use a thin needle to inject a medicine called digoxin through the patient’s abdomen to stop the fetus’s heart. This is called “inducing fetal demise.” Then Hern will insert one or more laminarias—a sterile, brownish rod of seaweed—into the patient’s cervix to start the dilation process.
When the cervix is sufficiently dilated after another day or two of adding and removing laminarias, Hern will drain the amniotic fluid, give the patient misoprostol, and remove the fetus. Sometimes, the fetus will be whole, intact. Other times, Hern must remove it in parts. If the patient asks, a nurse will wrap the fetus in a blanket to hold, or present a set of handprints or footprints for the patient to take home.
I interviewed half a dozen of Hern’s former patients. Most of the women who agreed to talk had wanted a child. But they’d received serious diagnoses late in pregnancy: disorders with disturbing names such as prune-belly syndrome, trisomy 13, Dandy-Walker malformation, and agenesis of the corpus callosum. Some said they considered their abortions a kind of mercy killing.
“I put my baby down,” Kate Carson, who’d gotten an abortion at Hern’s clinic in 2012, told me.  She’d been 35 weeks into a much-wanted pregnancy when her doctor diagnosed multiple brain anomalies. Carson’s daughter, the doctor said, would have trouble walking, talking, holding her head up, and swallowing. “It’s euthanasia. That’s the kind of killing this is,” she said. “But I would do it again a million times if I had to.”
Amber Jones, who terminated her pregnancy at about 24 weeks in 2016, told me that her baby’s diagnosis meant he would not survive. Hern reassured her, she said, that she “shouldn’t be made to carry the pregnancy. That it’s bullshit, and we have the right to access health care.”
Carson and other patients described Hern as brusque. But they seemed to take comfort in that brusqueness, as though Hern’s fierce assurance helped them feel more sure themselves. “I wouldn’t say he has a great bedside manner,” Carson told me. But “the degree of respect that I felt from him was enormous.”
Abortions that come after devastating medical diagnoses can be easier for some people to understand. But Hern estimates that at least half, and sometimes more, of the women who come to the clinic do not have these diagnoses. He and his staff are just as sympathetic to other circumstances. Many of the clinic’s teenage patients receive later abortions because they had no idea they were pregnant. Some sexual-assault victims ignore their pregnancies or feel too ashamed to see a doctor. Once, a staffer named Catherine told me, a patient opted for a later abortion because her husband had killed himself and she was suddenly broke. “There isn’t a single woman who has ever written on her bucket list that she wants to have a late abortion,” Catherine said. “There is always a reason.”
The reason doesn’t really matter to Hern. Medical viability for a fetus—or its ability to survive outside the uterus—is generally considered to be somewhere from 24 to 28 weeks. Hern, though, believes that the viability of a fetus is determined not by gestational age but by a woman’s willingness to carry it. He applies the same principle to all of his prospective patients: If he thinks it’s safer for them to have an abortion than to carry and deliver the baby, he’ll take the case—usually up until around 32 weeks, with some rare later exceptions, because of the increased risk of hemorrhage and other life-threatening conditions beyond that point.
Even within the abortion-rights community, Hern’s position is considered a hard-line one.
Frances Kissling, the founding president of the National Abortion Federation, the professional association for abortion providers, admires Hern and his commitment to women. But she has misgivings about his work. “Later-term abortions are more serious, ethically, than earlier abortions,” Kissling, who left NAF after a few years and went on to lead Catholics for Choice, told me—and only more so in cases that involve women who have not received any serious fetal diagnoses. “My ethics are such that I would say to them, ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I cannot perform an abortion for you. I will do anything I can to help you get through the next two or three months, but I don’t do this,’” she said.
Hern bristles at the label abortion doctor. Too simplistic, he says. He will correct you if you use it. He is a physician, he says, who happens to specialize in abortion. Worse still is abortionist. He remains angry about a 2009 story in Esquire in which the author referred to him that way, again and again. It’s a pejorative, Hern says. He is more than his profession, he needs you to know. He is many things: an anthropologist, an epidemiologist, an adopted son of the Shipibo Indians in Peru. Abortion was never the destination for Hern, he insists; it was a detour.
As a child growing up in the suburbs of Denver, Hern dreamed of studying diseases in faraway places. During medical school, he worked as the unofficial doctor at a mining camp in Nicaragua, where he learned to speak Spanish. He spent six months in Peru, studying the culture and practices of the Shipibo. In 1966, the Peace Corps sent him to Brazil, where he learned Portuguese and trained under physicians who had started a family-planning association. Hern toured a maternity ward where one room was full of women recuperating from childbirth. Two other rooms held patients suffering from complications related to illegal abortions; at least half of those women ultimately died. This, he says, was formative.
In 1970, Hern accepted a job at the now-defunct Office of Economic Opportunity in Washington, D.C., where he led the effort to open family-planning clinics across the country and launched a voluntary-sterilization program for adults in Appalachia. Given the link between the eugenics movement and the early birth-control movement, the word sterilization can carry an ominous ring. Hern says, though, that his work was intended to give low-income people choices and reduce their financial hardship. “Families like these,” he wrote in The New Republic at the time, require housing, clean water, food, and sanitation. “But one of the most important needs is freedom from the tyranny of their own biology.”
In 1973, Hern was back in Colorado—the first state to decriminalize abortion in some circumstances—acting as a consultant for family-planning programs when the world shifted. Sarah Weddington, a lawyer friend of Hern’s from D.C., had won the Roe v. Wade case before the U.S. Supreme Court, and abortion was now legal in all 50 states. Hern wrote op-eds defending the decision and an explainer about the procedure for The Denver Post. One day, he got a call from a Colorado group that wanted to start a nonprofit abortion clinic in Boulder. Would Hern be their medical director? Of course, he told them. Absolutely.
The Boulder Valley Clinic opened in November of that same year. Hern designed the medical protocols and performed all of the abortions himself. Although one major battle for abortion rights had been won, a larger war was just beginning. Demonstrators began gathering outside the new clinic. Two weeks after it opened, Hern received his first death threat—a late-night phone call at his secluded cabin in the mountains. The man on the phone said he was coming for Hern. The doctor began sleeping with a rifle next to his bed.
In 1975, Hern took out a loan and started his own practice. He named it the Boulder Abortion Clinic—avoiding euphemisms like women’s care because he wanted patients to be able to find him. At the time, Hern had never performed any second-trimester abortions, for which the standard procedure then was to inject a saline solution into the uterus to induce labor. But Hern had read about another method in a textbook that explained how Japanese doctors were using laminarias to end abnormal or dangerous pregnancies. The method took longer, but it was safer. Hern studied the technique, ordered laminarias, and got to work.
Soon, Hern had published the first research paper on this multiple-laminaria method in American medical literature. Other clinics adopted the procedure, with modifications, and it’s been the dominant method for second- and third-trimester abortions for nearly 50 years. Hern and his staff carry out up to a dozen such terminations every week.
Hern was 34 when he performed his first abortion, a year before Roe v. Wade would be decided. A friend in D.C. who ran a local clinic invited him to come learn the procedure. Hern’s patient was 17 and in her first trimester of pregnancy. She wanted to be an anesthesiologist, he remembers.
Hern had learned how to do a dilation-and-curettage abortion in medical school, but still, he was terrified—and so was she. He recalls that after he finished and told her she wasn’t pregnant anymore, she wept with relief. He did too. “I was overwhelmed by the significance of this operation for this young woman’s life,” he told me. “This was a new definition, for me, for practicing medicine.”
But the work sometimes got to him. He would often retreat to his office to compose himself after an abortion. Partly, it was the high-stakes nature of the procedure. But he also needed time to process how the dead fetus looked, how removing it felt. Sometimes he’d sit in his office and think, What am I doing?
He had bad dreams too. In the 1970s, physicians did not induce fetal demise during abortion, and once or twice, during a procedure at 15 or 16 weeks, he used forceps to remove a fetus with a still-beating heart. The heart thumped for only a few seconds before stopping. But for a long while after, a vision of that fetus would wake Hern from sleep. He could see it in his mind, the inches-long body and its heart: beating, beating, beating. In one dream, Hern angled his own body to shield his staff from catching a glimpse.
Other people might have decided that this work wasn’t worth the haunting images, the pricks of conscience. They might have quit. But for Hern, the psychological stress of the work was the necessary cost of helping patients. He saw it as his job to carry some of the emotional weight. Over time, that stress became easier to manage. He stopped needing to compose himself between procedures. The bad dreams went away.
In 1978, Hern presented a paper before the Association of Planned Parenthood Physicians in San Diego titled “What about us? Staff Reactions to D&E”—dilation-and-evacuation abortion—in which he concluded that, though medically safe, surgical second-trimester abortions are clearly more emotionally difficult for providers than earlier ones.
Some part of our cultural and perhaps even biological heritage recoils at a destructive operation on a form that is similar to our own, even though we know that the act has a positive effect for a living person … We have reached a point in this particular technology where there is no possibility of denying an act of destruction. It is before one’s eyes.
I quoted that paper during a conversation with Hern, as we sat shoulder to shoulder at a bar in downtown Boulder. He was nodding before I finished. Many of his colleagues were annoyed by what he’d written, he said. The abortion-rights movement isn’t exactly eager to talk about these visuals, mostly because it gives fodder to the opposition. Hern’s comments about “destruction” still appear on a number of anti-abortion websites as evidence of the horror of the procedure.
But the point of his report was to be honest, Hern said, and he stands by it. Why not face the truth that abortion late in pregnancy is, at least in one way, destructive? He still believes that such destruction can be a profoundly merciful act.
Regardless of the circumstances of pregnancy, in Hern’s view, a woman’s life—her humanity, her wishes—isn’t just more important than her fetus’s. It is virtually the only thing that matters. That approach is diametrically opposed to the view of anti-abortion advocates, for whom pregnancy means motherhood and, often, self-sacrifice.
Hern understands that few share his total conviction. “This is a grotesque conversation to many people,” he said at the bar. “But this is a surgical procedure for a life-threatening condition.”
During that conversation and the ones following it, I prodded for cracks in Hern’s certainty. At one point, I thought I’d found one: Hern had told me about a woman who’d sought an abortion because she didn’t want to have a baby girl. I thought he had refused. But when I followed up to ask him why, I learned that I had misunderstood. Hern said he had done abortions for sex selection twice: once for this woman; and once for someone who’d desperately wanted a girl. It was their choice to make, he explained.
“So if a pregnant woman with no health issues comes to the clinic, say, at 30 weeks, what would you do?” I asked Hern once. The question irked him. “Every pregnancy is a health issue!” he said. “There’s a certifiable risk of death from being pregnant, period.”
Hern met the Kansas abortion doctor George Tiller at a National Abortion Federation conference in the late 1970s. The two talked on the phone nearly every week for 30 years. Tiller was the opposite of Hern—gentle, soft-spoken, churchgoing. “George was a normal person,” Hern told me once. “That distinguishes him from me right away.” Yet Tiller was murdered for doing the same work.
The phone rang at Hern’s house one morning in May 2009, and Jeanne Tiller was on the line. “George is gone,” she told Hern. An anti-abortion fanatic had shot her husband at church, where he was serving as an usher. Hern flew to Wichita for the funeral, and helped carry his friend’s casket down the aisle of the packed College Hill United Methodist Church. Sixty federal marshals stood guard at the service, he said. They told him that he would likely be the next target. Later that week, Hern performed abortions for all of Tiller’s remaining patients at his clinic in Boulder.
Thirteen years after Tiller’s death, Hern and I stayed up late talking in the restaurant of my hotel. Hern was speaking so loudly—about Donald Trump, fascism, and anti-abortion violence—that the bartender had begun to stare. Opposition to abortion has long been “the hammer and tongs to power” for the Republican Party, Hern was saying, “because of their allegiance to the white Christian nationalists and white supremacists.” Christianity, he told me, not for the first time, “is now the face of fascism in America.” That moral arc of the universe bending toward justice? “That’s the belief, but I don’t believe it.”
I asked Hern whether he ever worried that now, in a post-Roe world, he might have an even bigger target on his back. I wondered whether it was a bit reckless for him to be so outspoken with reporters like me. Actually, it’s the opposite, Hern replied. Being so vocal “increases the political cost of assassinating me.”
“That’s dark,” I said.
He simply shrugged. “This is what I have to think about.”
Suddenly, he remembered that he’d brought me something. He dug around in his coat pocket, and pulled out a fridge magnet he’d made from a photograph he took a few years ago near the island of South Georgia: penguins diving off an iceberg into the deep blue ocean.
Hern is known for presenting such gifts to people—and for regularly mailing out his latest published works. In addition to the magnet and the calendar, Hern sent me a copy of his poetry collection and his new book on global ecology. In the latter, titled Homo Ecophagus, he compares mankind to a cancer on the planet, writing that our unrelenting population growth will ultimately lead to the demise of every species on Earth. To view human beings as a scourge seems a rather ominous perspective for a man who ends pregnancies for a living. Could he see his work as, even subliminally, a form of population control? When I asked about that, Hern shook his head vigorously, waving my question away, as if he’d been ready for it. “Being concerned about population growth is consistent with the idea of helping women and families control their fertility on a voluntary basis,” he said.
Hern lives in a modest gray split-level cluttered with landscape photographs, Shipibo pottery, and mounted fossils. Some of the photographs were taken by his wife, Odalys Muñoz Gonzalez, who is 27 years his junior and whom he refers to as “mi amor.” Gonzalez is originally from Cuba, though they met at a conference in Barcelona in 2003. Back in Spain, Gonzalez directed her own abortion clinic. Now she works at Hern’s, performing nonmedical tasks and translating for Spanish-speaking patients.
Gonzalez sometimes worries that Hern comes across as too intense. “I always tell him, ‘Don’t look like Bernie Sanders,’” she told me, in her thick Cuban accent. Part of her hates that he can be so angry, so severe. “But another part of me loves,” she said. “Because how many people do you know that live with the level of passion that Warren does?” Still, Gonzalez wishes he would retire so that they could have more time to travel together and photograph wildlife.
During my stay in Boulder, I did occasionally look at Hern and wonder: Would I want you in charge of my complex medical procedure? Next month, he’ll be 85, and when he shuffles around the clinic in his turquoise scrubs and white lab coat, he looks it.
Younger providers have opened a handful of new late-abortion clinics in recent years. Some of these providers and others in the field argue that Hern’s abortion procedures take longer than they need to, and that his methods are out of date. Hern should have retired decades ago, these critics say. “Being 84 and doing procedures is problematic,” one physician, who requested anonymity in order to speak candidly about Hern, told me. (When I asked Hern about the criticism of some of his methods, he said he has always emphasized patient safety and will alter his procedures if they make the abortion safer. “If people don’t agree with me, I don’t really care,” he said. “I don’t give a shit.”)
Hern is working with two other doctors in the hope that eventually they will take over the clinic. But he’s hard to please. “I have to find the right people, train them, get them to know what needs to be done,” he says. “Finding physicians willing to do this work—who will do it well, do it carefully—is difficult.”
One morning during my visit, Hern and I climbed up the hill behind his house. The ground was muddy, and, thanks to a recent skiing injury, Hern was unsteady on his feet. I briefly wondered if this hike might bring about the end of one of America’s most famous abortion physicians. At the top of the hill, Hern pointed up toward a grassy crest of land above us called the Dakota Ridge. A big problem with modern society is that we’ve forgotten that we’re part of all this, he said, waving toward the ridge. The Bible says to “go forth and multiply and dominate the Earth and blah-blah, but that is exactly the wrong advice.”
He’s read the Bible a few times, he said. But he’s not religious; he’s spiritual. “The natural world, the forest, is my cathedral,” he said. To watch the sunrise, to see a wild animal, “just to be there, that’s a spiritual experience for me.”
And then, suddenly, Hern was connecting it all, drawing everything together: religion, Republicans, the Supreme Court, the future of American society. “These people believe stuff that’s out of the medieval times. The Pleistocene!”
He sighed. “I’m holding back,” he said, not holding back at all.
On my last day in Boulder, a few of the clinic staff gathered in the kitchen for an unofficial Christmas party. They’d finished the week’s procedures, and all of the patients had been sent home. Now it was time for eggnog. Gonzalez poured some into mugs, and the clinic administrator offered to spike it with a bottle of his homemade rum. They passed around a box of chocolate cupcakes that someone had brought in.
Hern congratulated his staff on a good year, and they listened, amused, while he explained that he wasn’t able to find any good Audubon calendars at Barnes & Noble for their annual staff Christmas gift. He made a joke that he’d already told me more than once: “I could just give you the calendars from last year to pass on to your Republican friends,” he said, with a laugh. “They won’t notice for about 300 years that they’re out of date.”
A dozen Christmas stockings hung on the bulletin board, each displaying a staff member’s name in glitter glue. Buttons were pinned on the board, too, including some emblazoned with George Tiller’s face. You will be greatly missed, one said. Someone had propped open an outer door for circulation, and a stack of papers near the phone rustled—instructions for how to talk to someone calling with a bomb threat. “TAKE A DEEP BREATH,” they read. “Questions to ask: When is the bomb going to explode? Where is it right now?”
Hern seemed not to notice the strange juxtaposition of it all—the eggnog and the abortions, the cupcakes and the bomb threats. The buttons with the image of his murdered friend and the fact of his own stubborn survival. Of course he didn’t. He has spent five decades living with these contradictions.
This was an interesting read. Surprisingly nonpreachy given the subject; and well worth the time.
51K notes · View notes
fgumi · 2 days ago
Text
⋆˙⟡♡ CHALANT
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; non-idol!jaehyun x reader, GENRE; fluff, uni!au, headcanon, WC; 2.1k, WARNING(S); mildly suggestive, A/N; oh to be loved by chalant myung jaehyun. TAGS; @onedoornet @en-dream @heeheesang @httpenhoon @r1kification @seungheartyou, @starfallia @sugarikiz @hoondolls @prettyange1 @bee-the-loser @pumpkg @lucky-wy @leehanwish}
Tumblr media
chalant!myungjae has never been shy about his crush on you. hell, he made it a public affair. anyone and everyone knew about it, including you. you didn’t really know what to think. this good-looking guy was openly proclaiming that he’s interested in you. it sounded like a trap, something that’d hurt you. at first, it was just words. people that knew you both would comment.
“did you know myung jaehyun likes you?” “can you tell your boyfriend to shut up about you?”
he’s not my boyfriend, you’d reply. you started feeling bad for these people at some point. here’s this guy that you knew next to nothing about and he’s talking people’s ears off about how he’s so in love with you. what is he so in love with? he’s never even talked to you. when it was people that you mutually knew, you didn’t think much of it. but then, there were strangers coming up to you.
“uh, are you y/n?” yes. “this dude, jaehyun, is like really into you. he would not stop talking about you at the party.”
so i’ve heard, you’d say. how is this guy telling everyone but you? you started getting annoyed, so annoyed that you finally confronted him. you tried to avoid when he was with his friends, not wanting to embarrass the guy further, but he was always with someone. so, one day, when you spotted him in the library, you decided that enough was enough. you marched right up to his table. what about me are you so in love with? you asked.
if anyone else said that and others overheard, they’d think you were crazy and narcissistic. but, because it was you, no one batted an eye. actually, they all leaned closer, hoping that this was the day jaehyun would finally shut up about you. jaehyun’s face went from shocked to goofy. he had this lopsided grin when he started.
“what’s there not to love? you’re insanely smart—i’ve seen the way you lead discussion sections. you’re really kind—you helped all those freshmen pass genetics even though you were clearly stressed about your stuff. you’re very particular about your drinks, but not in a rude way—i hear you apologizing to baristas about how specific your order is and then you leave a big fat tip. you love the sun. i always catch you sunbathing in the quad around 2pm after class—i swear i’m not stalking you! i just have a class in the quad. you’re funny—the side-eyes you give the people saying the dumbest things make me giggle. you—” you get it.
gosh, if only you could hide further into your hoodie. your face was bright red. all his friends were giving you exasperated looks, as if to say “please go out with him so he’ll finally shut up.” you didn’t realize you ran into him that much. you were constantly stressed, rushing to class, that people were just blurred faces to you. you barely managed to make eye contact with jaehyun and then you saw. he looked at you like you held the answer to all his prayers.
“if i take you on a date, will you stop bothering people about how you’re so in love with me?” you muttered. then, this guy has the gawl to shake his head. “absolutely not. but! i’ll shut up for a day.”
his friends nodded rapidly, begging you with their whole bodies to do it. a day was better than anything, they supposed. so, you asked him out. jaehyun’s grin couldn’t get any wider.
chalant!myungjae stayed true to his word and never shut up about you after that one (blissful) day. just like before, he talked about you with anyone that’d give him the time, even your professors. because you were in the same major, you and jaehyun had the same classes, just not the same section (much to jaehyun’s dismay). so, he’d hang back a few until you arrived so he could give you his notes.
“it’s a preview! so you don’t have to rush to catch everything.”
in those few minutes that you take to arrive, jaehyun’s talking to your professor.
“you should totally make my girlfriend, y/n, your ta! she’s always the top scorer and is helping out other people anyways!” “this is us on our second date. look at how pretty she is! i think she’s the love of my life.” “do you think you could transfer me into this section so i could be with her?” no, they’d say exhaustedly.
if your professors were at all bitter, they would’ve hated you. having to hear about you so much was tiring. but, they all appreciated love when they saw it—or, in this case, heard it. though they didn’t let it show too much, they did tend to favor you after hearing how much you enjoyed the class and helped others. you were certainly helping their ratemyprofessor scores.
chalant!myungjae was a confident person. but, he was never more confident than the times he could acceptably brag that he was your boyfriend.
you took part in dancing as an extracurricular, something that helped college be a little more bearable. because of this, you had performances and recitals. these were college events that jaehyun could finally look forward to.
he always came early just so he could grab a front seat. he was always the loudest, cheering you on whenever you were on stage. when he felt like he wasn’t loud enough, he forced his friends to come along. at one point, he made t-shirts for all of them to wear. we’re here with y/n’s boyfriend. of course, he wore his own shirt. y/n’s boyfriend on the back and the cutest (you didn’t find it all that cute) picture he had of you adorning the front. he was very very proud to be your boyfriend. and, of course, he needed to get you the world’s biggest bouquet every time. you told him that he didn’t need to get you such expensive flowers every time, but he shook his head.
“these aren’t expensive compared to what i really wanted to get you.”
later, you found out that he wanted to get you a thousand lilies of the valleys, your favorite. every time. you scolded him about it, saying how you were broke college students and couldn’t afford things like that.
to that, he said, “yet.”
chalant!myungjae didn’t care for possessing things, you included (because women aren’t possessions, he said), but, man, did he love being possessed by you. anything he could get to let people know he was yours, he’d have. his lockscreen? you. his desktop picture? you. he even had one of those photocard holders attached to his backpack with a polaroid of you. he had half the mind to get the big photocard holders, but he didn’t think you’d like that (you told him that was embarrassing). it didn’t stop at just pictures, though. he even bought himself a necklace with your last name attached. you asked him why he didn’t get your first name or even a necklace for you with his name.
“i want to take your last name! and i didn’t want to buy you something like that without your explicit permission.”
you just sighed adoringly. shouldn’t he have asked your permission for his necklace then?
chalant!myungjae wasn’t just all for show. he also did things that were less noticeable—like having a hair tie around his wrist at all times. you always managed to lose yours and were put out whenever you couldn’t put your hair up. when he saw your cute little pout, he vowed to always make sure you had a hair tie available to you whenever you were together (even if he loved your pout).
another thing he did was carry around a second hoodie—for himself, of course. sure, it made his backpack bulky, but you were worth it. there were days that you’d think the weather was going to be a mild temperature or the buildings weren’t going to blast the ac, so you’d opt out of bringing a sweater. but, when you sadly realized that it was freezing, he’d hand you his hoodie—the one that he was already wearing. you mentioned in passing how much you liked wearing his clothes, but only when they smelled like him, so he always gave you whatever he was wearing at the time and put the second hoodie on (that way you couldn’t say no with the reason that he’d be cold).
chalant!myungjae was always respectful towards women. his mother raised him right after all. there were times though when he wasn’t. like, when he’s getting hit on. you never said anything, never showed an ounce of insecurity. but, he made it his mission to get these girls away from him.
on your late-night outings, both of you dressed up. you looked good. you were bound to attract attention. but, one thing you told jaehyun from the start was that you wouldn’t subject your friends to feeling like they were with a couple when you went out. so, he let you do your thing while he did his. you guys always danced in the club near each other. that’s why you were privy to seeing him turn people away. in an odd fashion.
there were times he’d bark at them. there were times he’d act like he batted for the other team. there were times he’d point at you and show them that he was a taken man. but, the one time this girl didn’t catch the hints—the necklace, the photocard, his lockscreen, his blatant denial—everyone was in for a show.
“your girlfriend doesn’t have to know,” the girl purred, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. you see this happening out of the corner of your eye. you just said a silent prayer for her because you knew jaehyun was about to embarrass her. what you didn’t know was how.
he scoffed. “i tell her everything, even my poop schedule. she’ll know.”
the girl didn’t back off. “well, i don’t see her. she left you here all alone with me. can’t i just have you for the night?”
she’s persistent, you’ll give her that. that’s when you feel someone pull you away from your friends. you’re spun around and a kiss was planted on your lips. your eyes widened before you realized it was jaehyun. you let yourself enjoy the kiss, thinking it was going to be short. but it wasn’t. it was one of the most mind-blowing kisses jaehyun has ever given you. if you were sobering up, jaehyun’s kiss pulled you right back into a haze. he cradled your neck, kissing you deeper, as his other hand pulled you closer. even when the girl finally got the hint and left, he didn’t let you go. if anything, he seemed to take it as his cue to continue. when you heard your friends cheering you on, you let this be the exception to your one rule. when you finally pulled away for air, a string of saliva followed you. you just blinked at him while he had this goofy grin on his face.
“sorry, i had to show her who my girlfriend was.”
safe to say, he didn’t let you go for the rest of the night and you didn’t mind one bit.
chalant!myungjae didn’t really post on his social media. sure, he was active on it, liking his friends’ posts and yours (obviously). he became really active on it once you started dating. jaehyun skipped the soft launch and went straight into the hard launch. every story he posted, his friends could bet that it was going to be you with some corny caption about how much he loved you or how lucky he was. when he did post, they’d just be photo dumps from moments with you. at this point, his account became a y/n fan account. if anyone were to stalk him, trying to see if he was taken or not, they’d know immediately. in his bio, he had your user. his pinned post was your first anniversary date, where you looked absolutely stunning. his profile picture? it was the two of you.
oh, and was he in your comments.
first! i would’ve built rome in a day for you had to pick my jaw off the ground i won’t you. bad. i’m framing this something’s wet and i move my phone to my left hand…
ya... he was getting creative with his comments.
chalant!myungjae makes sure that you know, and the world knows, how much he loves you. he’ll never let a single doubt enter your mind about how he feels about you. you are his girl and he is very much your boy.
Tumblr media
disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too!
316 notes · View notes
anastasia12 · 2 days ago
Text
lower your inhibitions
lower your inhibitions ; simon “ghost” riley.
Tumblr media
You love Simon, you really do.
How could you not? How could you not fall for him? He’s the one who rescued you from a fate worse than death, the one who washes your body for you even though the both of you know that you’re fully capable of showering alone (he loves you so much, he’s constantly craving to touch you in any way he can), the one who took apart one of his honorary medals for his services and melted it down so it could be manipulated and turned into the band on your engagement ring.
(Did you know that the medal he used is the one he got from the mission where you two first met, the fateful mission where he both saved and changed your whole entire life?)
And you know that Simon would do absolutely anything for you. He whispers it to you in the dead of night, holding you so close to his chest like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. He lets you be the one who removes his mask, and if he can do something so intimately vulnerable, then you suppose you can do this for him.
This is giving into one of his latest fantasies, one that he’s been hinting at for quite some time now.
You know that his line of work is difficult at best and life-threatening all the time. You know that he bears a heavy burden on his shoulders — it’s not just his weaponry and equipment that weighs him down, but the fact that so many lives are resting in his hands. You do your best to relieve him of any stress when he gets home: a warm meal waiting for him, fresh clothes set out for him to change into, long nights where you spend all your time and energy determined to give him the reward he deserves for being a hero.
He mentions it in passing, usually when you’re so far gone in the throes of pleasure that you don’t even consciously acknowledge his little comments. Sneaky bastard; he’s been making sure it stays ingrained in your subconscious, though.
Baby, I could spend forever here. You’re certain that’s what he was groaning out the last time you had spread your legs for him and allowed him to eagerly lap at your pussy. You’re not entirely too sure, though — the only thing you can clearly remember through the foggy haze of intense passion was the feeling of him pleasuring you with just his mouth and bringing you to climax on his tongue at least twice that night.
You can only imagine what he must have planned for you tonight.
You’re sure that Simon has an insane amount of stamina as a result of his work. The only thing keeping you, his little soon-to-be housewife, still alive from all of these little entanglements is the fact that you love him enough to do anything he asks of you. So when he tells you that the only thing that’ll help him take his mind off of his latest assignment is to have you sitting on his face, you oblige.
According to him, this is a foolproof plan because only an idiot would be thinking about something else when he’s got the prettiest pussy in the world on top of him.
You could feel your face heating up at his vulgar compliment, but you’re not entirely innocent. The heat was building up towards the lower half of your body after that comment, too.
And now you find yourself nervously straddling your fiance, looking into his eyes.
“You know where you need to be, pretty girl,” His voice is already thick with arousal, and you recognize that hungry glint in his eyes. You pray to anyone out there who’s listening to pretty please give you the strength to survive tonight.
“B-but Simon—” You’re whispering, even though this house is the only residence in the area. (Thank God for that; if the two of you had neighbors, they surely would have filed a noise complaint.)
“Yes, my love?” You can recognize the teasing tone in his voice, and you can hear the smirk he must be wearing on his face.
“How am I supposed to… You know, get on your face and let you do what you want when your mask is still on?”
His infamous balaclava with the skull design etched onto the fabric seems to taunt you. It doesn’t scare you, especially since you’re well aware of who the man behind the mask truly is, but you can’t quite figure out why he hasn’t taken it off yet.
“Oh. I didn’t tell you yet?” He has to be smiling underneath the mask because your reaction to his next words is enough to have him chuckling.
“I’m not eating you out ‘til you’re so wet for me that I can feel you dripping through the mask.”
You immediately freeze up, wondering if he truly means what he just said.
(It’s Simon; of course, he meant every word of it.)
“Sweetheart, I thought you were going to be a good girl for me tonight.” The disapproval he douses his words with isn’t real — you know he’s just trying to tease you because it’s what he loves to do. Still, you find yourself nodding your head and slowly but surely making your way up his resting body before you find yourself hovering uncertainly above his face.
You let out an adorable little yelp of surprise as he suddenly grips the back of your thighs and forces you down on his mask-covered face. For a man his size, the strength isn’t surprising, but it’s his stealth and dexterity that always catches you off guard.
“Can’t wait to taste you.” His voice sounds muffled now due to the pressure being applied to his mouth, and you can feel the slight movements of his mouth despite the thick fabric of his balaclava acting as a barrier between you and him. His eyes are already deepening with desire, and you swallow hard, knowing that it’ll please him if you truly give it your all. You’ve known him for what feels like forever, and you’re engaged to the man. There’s no more room for shyness to take root in this relationship.
It’s time for you to lower your inhibitions.
Your first movements are a bit uncertain, but his groan of appreciation acts as reassurance. You move back and forth slowly, carefully grinding against the mask, and occasionally, your clit will brush against the covered tip of his nose, only adding to your pleasure and allowing you to give into your depravity without worry.
“Just like that, love. You’re doing so well for me.” You can barely make out the words he’s saying, but you give him a shaky smile as you continue to grind against him, your hands finding purchase on the pillow he’s resting his head on. You grip it, trying to hold yourself steady as you continue to buck against him, your arousal practically leaking out of you, a constant stream of juices that is soaking through the fabric, leaving a distinct wet stain on the front of it.
Simon grins at a mission successfully accomplished. Not only can he feel your arousal through the mask, but you’re so soaked for him that he’s certain he can taste you already, too.
One strong hand grips your waist, pausing your jerky movements, and you look down, blinking and trying to ground yourself into reality. You watch as he uses his other hand to tear off the balaclava, tossing it somewhere on the floor of your shared bedroom.
His chin and lips are already shining just the slightest — just how wet for him are you? He gives you a cheeky grin, and you’re still so close to him that when he speaks, his lips brush against your slick folds.
“Don’t stop now, darling. You promised you’d sit on my face.”
He’s so close to helping you get rid of the ache in between your legs, and you find yourself lowering yourself fully, your soft thighs encasing his head, and your soaking cunt landing right on his mouth. You’re already leaking all the way down to his chin, and his groans of pleasure only serve to make you even wetter.
He can’t speak right now; not when he’s too occupied with the meal you’ve so generously decided to grace him with. The room is filled with the obscene sounds of him lapping up everything you’re spilling out.
His tongue slides through your entrance with ease, and you moan in ecstasy, throwing your head back as you start to instinctually buck against his face, practically riding his tongue.
He’s sucking up your arousal, eager to please you but also insanely happy at the position he’s finally in. This is exactly what he needed: pure, unadulterated access to your pussy. Your thighs are surrounding him, and he uses both hands to squeeze harshly at your ass. The slight pain only makes you squeal and jerk up just the slightest, but he growls before forcing you back down on his face, right where you belong.
The ministrations of his tongue are entirely too much. The noises the two of you are making sounds as if the two of you are filming a porno, and you know you can’t last much longer.
Using both of your hands, your fingers curl into the thick locks of his hair, tugging just enough to him groan against your pussy, and you mewl out his name as you cum all over his face.
Your body feels like jelly; this isn’t the first time that Simon has fucked you boneless before, but this orgasm was intense. You think you can still feel some aftershocks of it, and you moan out weakly as you struggle to remain in your seated position on his face.
He’s still lapping everything up, his tongue still exploring every centimeter of yourself you have to offer him. After that climax, your poor pussy is feeling too sensitive, and every time he slightly moves his head, his nose continues to bump against your clit. You’re ultra-aware of every movement of his, extra susceptible to every flick of his tongue and the pleasure is only painfully heightened. You’re too weak to fight him off and while giving in will surely leave you unable to leave the bed all day tomorrow, you can’t find it in yourself to ask him to stop.
“Si-mon.” You whine out his name, but it comes out garbled and broken. Your mind doesn’t know how to react to the constant pleasure he’s inflicting on you and your sensitive little cunt. Your body, though, is eager to receive more of what he has to offer. It’s evident in the way your hole starts to clench around nothing every time he teasingly withdraws his tongue to force you to beg him for more. Even though you feel like you’re unable to move, you still find enough strength left in you to grind against him, rubbing your pussy and spreading your slick all over his face before you cum once again, this one leaving you all the more disorientated.
His visage is a sight to behold: cheeks are flushed red, eyes wild and dark with desire, the lower half of his face stained with your cum and arousal. You should be embarrassed at what a mess you’ve made of your fiance, but he only licks his lips. His eyes almost roll back as he realizes the taste of you will forever be on his tastebuds.
“Taste so good, love.” He gasps out. His hair is messy from the way you’ve shamelessly tugged at his locks. “I need more. You gonna give it to me?”
You’re nodding, but he doesn’t even wait for your affirmation before forcing you down onto his mouth once again.
He wasn’t lying when he made the claim that he could live in between your legs forever. After tonight, you know you’re never going to deny him the chance to prove it, though.
comment if you want your @ in heree
167 notes · View notes
revelboo · 2 days ago
Note
Tumblr media
HELLO I was the anon who got a random blockee and was hoping for the soundwave figures and while I didn't get him I got Scavenger and he has my whole heart 😭😭😭 he's my lil booboo 🥰🥰 (I will be ordering soundwave tho and more I'm doomed)
Tumblr media
He’s lonely. He needs friends 😃 Scrapper finally showed up after his tracking stopped updating Dec 31st and he disappeared off the face of the Earth. Two more to go.
Tumblr media
Drive Pt 4
Constructicons x Reader
• “Thank you?” Part of you wants to ask if they’d hurt anyone stealing this stuff for you, but honestly? You’re scared to. Because it looks like Long Haul and Bonecrusher probably went on a crime spree. And Bonecrusher just keeps producing stuff out of nowhere to add to the pile. Food, clothes, small electronics, soaps and candles. Maybe they’d just demolished a mall? They mean well and they’re trying to take care of you, but you really hope they didn’t hurt anyone. Even as a guilty part of you is ridiculously excited about the food and soap.
• Bending, Long Haul begins setting your new things in the mini habsuite they’d made you. Noting that Scrapper and Scavenger had been busy while he’d been out and had tapped into the base water lines to make you a tiny wash rack and waste disposal area. Your little habitat now even bigger as they all keep adding to it. “You needed food and human stuff,” Long Haul mutters, embarrassed when you offer him a small smile. And it’s not like he’d minded. Getting to really let loose and destroy things had felt good. Freezing when you limp closer and lay a soft hand on his ped, he hesitantly brushes a servo over your head before turning away. “It’s either feed you or watch you die,” he adds gruffly, uncomfortable with your affection.
• Venting as you smile up at Long Haul, Bonecrusher reaches to gently scoop you up. Feeling little hands on his servos as he carries you over to his berth and lays back carefully rubbing your jaw. So small you feel insubstantial in his hands, and something about that fragility fascinates him. “You missed us?” He asks, stilling as you grab his servo and smile up at him like you’re not the least bit frightened. That trust shocking him. How can you be so small and not cower?
• Watching Long Haul pimping out your alien, Barbie dream house, you wrap your arms around Bonecrusher’s servo to keep him from petting from neck to navel and further south. It’s not like he knows better or means anything by it, but putting a stop to it as quickly as possible seems a smart move. “It was quiet,” you say opting for honesty. Because the six of them are constantly laughing and jostling each other. Loud and raucous in a way that reminds you of a frat house. Complete with the alcohol, or high grade as they’d called it. After realizing you’re safe as long as you play along at being their collective pet, you’d started consciously trying to make friends. After all, your survival depends on them.
• “Must have been boring,” Long Haul calls from the floor as he arranges boxes of food stuffs in a tidy pile in a corner. You’ll need storage space so this stuff isn’t just lying around. “I’m thinking cabinets and shelves,” he adds, looking at where Mixmaster and Hook are working on reports. Waiting for Mixmaster to vent at him, but set aside his report to help.
• Glancing at his brothers fussing with your space again, Hook checks on you and Bonecrusher. Making sure the much bigger mech isn’t being too rough with you, but so far he’s been shockingly gentle. And right now the huge mech is making a grumbling purr of his engines at you. Something he’d call out anyone else for. Getting punched in the face by Bonecrusher not exactly on his to do list, though, because his brothers definitely don’t warrant the same gentleness you do.
Previous
138 notes · View notes
eldritch-spouse · 3 days ago
Note
Fucking robot. Why does he always bother me during breaks? He doesn't even need breaks.
“Hi Xavier. Was there something that you needed?”
You know he likes you because he bothers to address you by your name. As opposed to a serialized string of numbers and letters.
The numbers before your shift code and initials make you wonder just how many of them there were before you. How many he tossed away after an unfortunate workplace accident. That tag on your uniform is more of a death sentence than anything.
'Like'... As if this tin can is actually able of feeling.
It's more realistic to say he sees value in you, for some reason, and employs some kind of social algorithm to fabricate a twisted sort of relationship.
" You have been consistently distracted lately. "
Is that a warning?
Two red abyss-like orbs cast a crimson filter upon your face. It always feels like Xavier is watching you a little too closely, monitoring more than just your verbal responses.
" Ah, my bad! " You force a wobbly smile. " I promise it doesn't get in the way of my wo- "
" It does. " He silences you immediately, imposing and unforgiving in his cold corrections. " Clients notice when you zone out. Your movement speed is drastically reduced and the chances of committing errors -which you have by now- is considerably increased. Spacing out this much is in no way acceptable behavior for a multitude of... "
Only the very real notion that he's noting your facial expressions stops you from rolling your eyes at the robot's tireless monolog regarding the dangers and consequences of being distracted at work. One of your eyes still manages to twitch, as if in defiance.
" Yes sir, I understand. " You try to cut in, try to abort that speech before it turns into a whole lecture.
One camera cranes down slightly. " Your reputation as the exemplary employee is being damaged. "
Xavier says this like it should make you anxious. You hate that he thinks of you as an example, that he emphasizes it constantly. Not only is it putting unnecessary pressure on you for no compensation, it's also costing you the few mild friendships you have worked to maintain in this hostile minefield of an environment.
The more he speaks of you as some ideal of professionalism, the more others give you judgemental side-eyes. Sneers. Avoid you. Spread snide comments that then find their way to you through gossip.
Maybe if Xavier stopped exalting your mediocre performance, your asshole coworkers would stop murmuring that you've been orally pleasing the glorified microwave.
Xavier doesn't even have a dick! Why would he?! He's an artifical stand in for a manager that only cares about the dehumanizing process of maximizing profit.
He doesn't have a penis. You think.
You only realize a long silence has installed itself this whole time when the robot breaks it.
" ... Are you ill? "
" Huh- No. No, I just have a lot on my mind. I'll work on it boss. "
There's another pause. This time, you presume Xavier is waiting for you to cave under pressure, or counting the pores on your complexion. You bet he'd know the exact number.
" You have not allowed access to more in-depth medical records. If I had such a permission, I would be able to rework your current shift into something more suitable for any preexisting conditions such as- "
" Uh no sir, no. I don't think that's relevant, it's probably just my sleep schedule. " The thought of Xavier knowing about your health beyond what is strictly necessary for employment is chilling to the core.
He takes the rejection silently, lenses refreshing.
" I know who is bothering you. "
Xavier says, so naturally and spontaneously that you gawk for a moment, forever surprised by his eery bursts of casual remarks.
" ... Pardon? "
These moments make it seem as if there's more than mere cold calculations running through his processor components.
Xavier drifts that much closer to you, now suffocating your personal space. Only the crimson of his camera lenses light the dingy alley you've chosen as your break spot.
" Incubus, Babesley. Masseur. He has self-inflicted carvings on his body consisting of infatuated statements and your name. "
You rattle for a second, the memory of the demon's mutilated chest surfacing, his wild and desperate eyes searching yours for a hint of approval that wasn't there, only disgust and fear.
" Wrathfolk, Mozgrag. Trapper. Teamed up with the incubus upon being confronted, effective in forcing his way to you at any cost. "
Another memory flashes by, burly hands carelessly tearing the horns out of someone's head, he'd look at you when the screams rang, attempting to prove something you only saw as terrifying murderous intent.
Shaken, irritated, afraid, you openly glare at Xavier.
" Why haven't you done anything... " It was too quiet to sound as confrontational as you wished.
There's a split second where his stiff arms twitch, like the machine was trying to roll its shoulders. Cameras tilt and reposition, erroneously assuming the light from his lenses is what's causing you to tear up.
" The customer is always right. " Faintly, or perhaps just in your head, his words sounded dragged out.
" Then what's the problem?! "
You can't help the childish irritation, the desire to pluck your hairs out of your scalp in a pull that might just tear your skin asunder. You want to scream and kick this stupid fucking machine until it shuts off. Why does he bother you during your breaks to ask things that make no sense, to unnerve you, to create contradictions. You've never had a positive interaction with this robot. Why would he mention those two if he seemingly has no problem with their attitudes?
You know he doesn't care, because your coworkers are also living through their own cases of harassment at the hands of the denizens of Hell. You've had to pretend you didn't hear the sound of a cashier's arm being twisted in all the wrong directions before. Reminded that quitting is not an option, that you can only pray such doesn't happen to you.
" Your performance- "
No. Shut up.
" Okay, let's do some math, Xavier. " You growl. " My precious work performance is being impacted by a lot of things, but mainly those two. Those two are customers, and the customer is always right, aren't they? So there's nothing to be done, yeah?! Stop- "
Your confidence begins to falter when you realize you've stepped out of line, that you snapped at your own superior. The fear of consequences flashes very briefly across your eyes. That's enough, you need to calm down. You need to leave.
Xavier's silence doesn't help.
" I'll... I'll be heading back to work now. "
Head hanging low, you attempt to swiftly retreat into work, halted quickly by cold metal wrapping around your arm.
His grip is as frighteningly solid as it is sudden.
You don't remember Xavier having ever touched you before.
When you squirm around to glance at him, ask what he thinks he's doing, those two cameras pin you into silent obedience. You could never hope to free yourself of his grasp, only if you wished to tear a limb out of its socket.
" Do you think I enjoy these limitations? "
There's a mute gasp. Then the pain of his grip tightening, restricting your blood flow into a tingling soreness. Your teeth bare themselves.
" I don't think you enjoy anything at all, machine. "
It was ruthless, yet, deep down, you almost believed it.
Xavier stares at you for another prolonged period of time, unaware that the pain in your arm is only worsening. You have no idea what occurs behind those lenses, what those words might mean to him.
Metallic fingers unclasp with the slowness of a decompressing blood pressure monitor, allowing you to yank your own limb back and hold it to your chest like an animal licking its wounds.
" ... This issue will be resolved. "
He doesn't make a move to follow after you. In fact, Xavier remains staring forward, at the empty space where you once stood.
Maybe you broke him. Who cares, he might give you peace for the rest of your shift.
68 notes · View notes
red-writes · 2 days ago
Text
unknown
Tumblr media
yandere! izuku x reader
you went from being scared of the unknown caller that constantly blew up your phone with creepy messages and texts to somehow staying up late waiting for his call so you could moan into the phone while he tells you how to touch yourself.
cw: yandere behaviors/words, phone sex, ft sex, pet name princess is used.
a/n: ughhhhh pls I’ve hard this idea for forever now but I only just now decided to write it
Tumblr media
he was such a creep. he knew everything there was to know about you. your bra size, your shampoo and conditioner brands, even what the password was on your phone. it was creepy, he was creepy. and yet. somehow every night like clock work you'd shower and get ready for bed only to not sleep. at around eleven pm, your phone would ring. it would be a different number, with a different area code each day. today it was a 917. you answered with a quickness that could only be labeled as desperation. you held the phone to your ear.
“hello?” your breathing was already so heavy and he hadn't spoken a word, did he really have that much of an effect on you?
“good evening princess, how was work?” he inquires. his voice is so deep and it sends shivers throughout your whole body and the night had barely begun. you cleared your throat before speaking again, a sort of effort to keep yourself from melting into a pile of lusty goo barely 2 minuets into the conversation.
“annoying, as per usual. you?” this part of the conversation was strictly a formality, Izuku is meticulous and organized, there are some things that need to happen first before the fun.
“hard, but I wouldn't trade it for any other in the world” he quips and you sort of smile, apparently he was a big time pro hero, he claimed that you definitely saw him on tv and in magazines everywhere. 
“well, I'm glad you weren't hurt” you say and he gives you a gentle hum of agreement. there's silence for a moment before Izuku says anything else. 
“that co-worker of yours..denki, I think he might have a thing for you” Izuku expresses and your stomach drops but at the same time your cunt begins pulsing with need. he was jealous, its always more fun when he gets jealous.
“oh? why do you say that?” you respond and Izuku gives you a deep chuckle that has your hand twitching with the need to slip underneath the elastic of your panties.
“he always brings you lunch, hands always touching you in some way, it’s starting to irritate me you know” you hear him sigh from the other line and you’re giddy with excitement.
there’s a small buzzing coming from your phone and you pull it away from your ear to observe it, it’s a video call from Izuku. you’re quick to answer. he never shows his face but you have to show yours, so you turn the camera to face you and give him a small smile.
“hi izu” you whisper and you hear him chuckle, “aww, you sound so shy, are you embarrassed or eager? It’s hard to tell” he says.
“definitely both” you admit and with an amused huff of air falling from his mouth that concludes the small talk portion of the evening, Izuku’s camera turns on and you’re able to see everything except his face. his neck, chest and torso all on display. he was well built, he definitely had the body of a pro hero that’s for sure, his body was also covered in a light dusting of freckles that you thought were actually kind of cute.
“turn that camera around for me princess” he says and you do so, hitting the reverse camera button with your thumb.
“pretty panties, you’re finally wearing the ones I sent you, good girl.” he rewards and you’re preening from the praise. you angle the camera a bit lower so he can see directly between your legs,
“I’ll admit that.. I've been thinking about you all day” the light from your phone shows the dampness of your underwear and for some reason, it feels good to know that he's watching this, watching you. 
“I see. you're soaked my love, how about you take off your undies and show me how wet you are” 
You rested your phone on the bed before shimmying out of your panties and tossing them off the edge of your bed. You pick up your phone and angle the camera once again between your legs. 
“God you're so pretty aren't you?” he mumbles, more to himself than you and it does nothing but cause your nipples to stiffen under your shirt and a small ‘please’ to fall from your lips. 
“Go ahead and gather up some of your pretty pussy’s arousal and start rubbing your clit nice and slow for me” he says and you can see him gripping his cock in his hand and slowly stroking it with a focus on his tip, squeezing it a bit and he sucks in a breath when a drop of pre-cum lands on his abs. 
The show he puts on for you acts as more incentive to follow his orders. You gather up slick from your drooling hole and begin drawing small circles on your clit and the pleasure is immediate. You're unsure of what it is about tonight but your moans were already beginning to leak from your mouth and this slow pace was only frustrating you.
“I-Izu..can I speed up?” you asked and he chuckled from the other line
“Already starting to feel it? You weren't kidding when you said you'd been looking forward to this, were you ladybug?” 
When you don't reply he sighs softly, “You're so sensitive tonight, stop for me little one, I got a surprise for you” 
Your brain is a little hazy when you pull your fingers away from clit, it throbs visibly and Izuku coos. 
“Surprise?” 
“Mhm. check the first drawer on your night stand” 
“Can I set the phone down while I go check?” and he hums in approval. 
You place your phone on your bed and walk on slightly shaky legs to your large oak nightstand. You hook your fingers in the loops attached to the first drawer and a small gasp leaves your lips at the sight of a pink vibrator. 
It’s small enough to fit in your palm, with a bulbous head and a tail that trailed behind it you could guess where this was going. 
You climb back in bed and pick up your phone, “Found it.”
“Good job ladybug, grab some lube, don't want you to hurt yourself” he says and you feel your heart skip a beat at the caring sound of his voice.
You grab the lube resting on the bedside table and you lay back in bed. You wet the toy and gently push it inside of yourself. You whimper at the stretch it provides you and Izuku praises you from behind the screen. 
“You know what's special about this toy? I’m the one controlling it.” he mentions, you can see his cock twitch on the screen and he shows you the small plastic remote in his hands. He clicks one of the buttons and it causes the toy to activate, low vibrations course through your body and instantly you clench down on the toy. 
“O-oh..wow” you say and Izuku hums softly at your reaction.  “Tell me you want more and I’ll give it to you, I'll give you everything and anything you want” he says and you can see him resuming the slow stroke he paused earlier.
“I want more Izuku. please” you huff out and as soon as the words leave your mouth the vibrator is turned on the highest setting and it causes your back to arch off the bed and the phone to drop from your hand. 
“Tell me you're mine” he says and you can hardly respond, trying to get used to the feel of the strong vibrations that cause your cunt to squeeze down on the plastic down desperately. Slick pours from your cunt causing the sheets under you to become sticky. 
“I-I’m yours Izuku!” you whine and you him hum in approval. 
“Pick up the phone, I want to see that desperate little cunt of yours”
You do as you’re told and spread your legs, showing off your pussy with shaky hands. 
“Atta girl, you're so good for me” 
You can feel the knot in your stomach threatening to snap, your cunt is already spasming around the toy, threatening an orgasm. 
“Izu- g’nna cum, please can I cum?” 
“Mmm..” he says as if he's thinking about it. Your whimpers of desperation continue and Izuku’s hand on his cock speeds up, assuringly approaching his own orgasm. 
“Please please ‘m so close” you pant and a shiver runs through your body.
“Cum for me lovely” he grunts, cum splashes on his own abs and that pushes you over the edge and it forces your orgasm to brush over you like a wave, a gush of liquid shot out of your cunt and onto the camera lens. you dropped your phone as your body spasmed. 
Once you came down from your high, Izuku had ended the FaceTime and reverted to normal phone call. Only your heavy breaths were heard from behind the phone.
“How was it?” he asked and you giggled tiredly 
“Really good” 
“You sleepy ladybug?”
“Mhm..”
“Make sure to clean up before falling asleep lovely”
“Mhm” you yawned. 
“Want you to get some sleep then tomorrow I'll call you same time okay?”
“Yeah..see you tomorrow” you slurred and he chuckled softly from behind the phone
“Goodnight my love”
75 notes · View notes
lastoneout · 2 days ago
Text
They were also SO weird about my daily meds. I wasn't allowed to take them on my normal schedule that my regular doctors have signed off on, apparently this hospital has a special rulebook for when and how often I'm "actually" supposed to be taking any given medication which takes priority over my current regular medication schedule and thus I was forced to adhere to it, so between that and the whole "the nurses are so busy they are constantly late bringing me my meds which HAVE to be taken at a specific time each day, meant I felt extra mega like shit. (Like I'm on Lamictal and you CANNOT just fucking stop taking Lamictal and they wanted me to skip a dose and take it in the morning "like I'm supposed to" even though my actual fucking psychatrist said I can take it morning or night, whichever is more comfortable for me, it literally doesn't matter at all. I also kept missing the times for my Propranolol which meant my POTs was out of wack and making me dizzy and my heart race.)
Also the on-site pharmacy didn't carry one of my usual medications so they gave me a choice between switching to an "equivalent" one the doctor approved of(a decision I was not present for so I couldn't even give informed consent, like I didn't get any info on this other med aside from it's name and the assurance that "it would do the same thing" which I found dubious at best given that this was prescribed by a specialist and my assigned doctor was not trained in that field at all) or just not taking it at all, and I was explicitly forbidden from touching my meds from home(my usual hospital has no such rule so idk why they were being like this about it, I had no reason to think me bringing them was against the rules) and they nearly forced my fiancé to take the ones I brought—since I knew I'd be there for two days and figured I'd like need my meds—back to my house, so I couldn't even just take my usual meds which I literally had in my bag, I was forced to take something else.
So yeah like the constant inability to sleep or eat given the cycle of intense nausea and excruciating pain no one cared to treat correctly was already stressing me out to the point that I knew I was going to have a fibro flare that would make it harder to recover, plus the whole "ignoring me for several hours when I was sobbing from how badly I had to pee despite being unable to on my own because they just didn't believe it was possible for me to have to pee that bad until my fiancé was pissed enough he went and found them(literally actively shit talking me when he walked up too) and essentially forced them to check again, which the assistant who was in charge of that did so carelessly it make the pain so much worse and she refused to even speak to or really look at me while she did it too, and then they had to rush to give me a catheter which meant they couldn't find a smaller tube(my urologist has told me I have an uncommonly small urethra and bladder opening) or be careful so it hurt really bad" thing, AND the saying they'd give me enough pain meds to help at home only to change the dose to a lower, less effective one which I only found our about after they discharged me and I was told because I'd been discharged the doctor wouldn't speak to me(the pharmacist literally said once you're discharged you're treated as "out of sight, out of mind" like he said those exact words) AND the surgery team just straight up not returning any of my calls today to try to get the medication thing fixed, I think this hospital is run by inhumane monsters who don't give a shit about their staff or patients, which in turn makes their staff unwilling to care for their patients basically at all and they should probably face serious consequences for treating people this way.
Oh, also I just remembered the surgeon said they would tell me what setting my shunt was at because I would absolutely need that information, but no one ever told me and right as we were leaving we realized that and mentioned it and the nurse was like "idk I can't find it written in your chart so I guess you'll just have to call the neurosurgeon" and then lectured me again about the dangers of pain meds before vanishing and not returning. Which I'm sure is fine and normal.
God I fucking hate that hospital with every fiber of my living being. Also they should decriminalize all drugs and I'm not kidding.
And I'm filing a fucking grievance.
I'm home from the hospital and I can confirm that the opioid crisis has made these places fucking insane about literally all medications.
395 notes · View notes
fee224 · 3 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Catching up to your friends
Rafe Cameron x topper thortons baby sister reader
Warnings: manipulation, sex, underage sex. (Not proofread!!). Perspective is spoke in a young and naive perspective on purpose!!
MASTERLIST
Tumblr media
You slammed the door of your big brothers forest green jeep as he pulled up to the Cameron residents. Soon you were promised a matching white jeep for you’re sixteenth birthday. Topper was seventeen and so was rafe.
Rafe seemed older but you always put that down to how big he was, being in the gym almost half of his life and his miserable undertone that disappeared when he noticed you staring at him from across the table at Sunday brunch, or midsummers.
“Look I don’t give a shit, You’re a Little snitch and you’ll tell mom and dad I left you and they’ll give me shit” topper rubbed his forehead and I rolled my eyes as he lead me through the door.
“Topper I’m not a baby! Im fifteen. I don’t need babysitting from you or…” the one boy you want to see you as a woman. You constantly worked your baby status in the family in your favour but that might be your worst nightmare if rafe saw you that way “any of your friends!”
“Hey I’m not any of his friends, am I?” Rafe startled you as you kicked off your shoes at the front door. Walking bare foot, admiring your mani pedi, into the kitchen where rafes back faced you making a drink.
“Yes you are” topper coughed as he stole the drink off the counter “nerves” he winked at rafe as he downs what looks like raw whiskey. Topper never told you where he was going but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
You wandered over to his living room making yourself comfortable. A door slams and a few seconds later rafe is plopped down on the couch next to you.
You gulp, attempting to ignore his presence until “you know I’m fifteen, I don’t need babysitting. I do babysitting, this whole arrangement is ridiculous” you roll your eyes and pout with crossed arms.
“Yeah I can fucking see you aren’t a baby y/n” he shakes his head, focussed on his phone, texting someone.
“You gotta girlfriend?” You blurt out and his head spins towards you.
“No” he exhales dropping his phone down on the couch “you gotta boyfriend?” You shake your head with a small smile you’re trying to hide.
“Why not, you’re a pretty girl” he states and you look away to conceal your blush trying to not think about his words. He didn’t mean anything by it, it was a fact more than an opinion, nothing personal.
“Just don’t…… most of my friends do” you admit turning back to him and resting your cheek on the back of the couch. “Everyone’s loosing their virginity to them and I-“ you pause helplessly.
“You’re fifteen…. You’re way too young for that shit”
You raise your eyebrows amused “and what age did you loose your virginity, saint” it rolls off your tongue like an insult.
Thirteen.
“Fair point” he nodded “you’re still too young”
“No! I’m not….” You roll your eyes.
“You want to have sex?” He raised his eyebrows kicking his feet on the plush footrest as if your dangling virginity was amusing.
“Sure why not” you giggled as a joke.
“With what boy? They’re all…. dumb and cocky at your age” he was staring at you as if this conversation should be happening. As if it was about homework.
“I never said a boy my age” you roll your eyes and purposely don’t make eye contact.
“What does that mean” he scoffed shaking his head, as you gulped. Your smile was long gone and now all you could feel was sick to your stomach with nerves.
“Whatever you think it means” you quickly glance at him and then enter into a staring match with his dark oak coffee table.
“I don’t think it means what I think it does” his thumb was toying with his bottom lip. His soft bottom lip that he probably had kissed a lot of girls with.
“We’ll just because I’m two years younger doesn’t mean our brains are on other sides of the universe” you folded your arms, assuming again, making a fool of yourself again.
“I think it means you want to fuck me” he stated confidently and correct. Your mouth gaped staring at him weakly.
“You can’t just say that!”
“Why not!”
“Because I have feelings, and your toying with them!”
“Toying with them because I want to fuck you back?”
“Fuck off rafe, you don’t get to fuck me, and then ditch, and then brag, and be you in your full dick form afterwards” you rambled with a small tear running down your hot cheeks.
“Y/n” he palmed his forehead “just stop with the thinking” he kneeled forward in-front of you, touching your bare thighs with caution as you watched him with wide wild eyes. “Shh, if not going to ditch, kay?”
You gulped. What the fuck.
Rafe Cameron. The boy you’ve liked since forever. Your brothers best friend. The older boy. The in front of you boy who was offering to take your virginity.
“I guess I know you” you bit down “and your not dumb and cocky” you squinted your eyes, a beg for reassurance that he wasn’t.
He nodded agreeing solemnly “like boys your age” he grinned beneath you, his hands inching closer up your thigh.
“And I guess I like you a little” you giggled brushing a hair behind your ear.
“Definitely like you a lot back” he winked. His movements were calm and his words rolled off his tongue with no thought but his breath was shaky, matching yours.
“You do?” You smiled cheesily inching forward.
The moment you did, years of anticipation exploded into a kiss. He picked you up of the living room chair, his hands sliding from your thighs to your ass and scooping you up. His lips hungrily attacking yours and left you in a dizzy haze as you softly kissed him back. Rocking against his hips as he took the steps two at a time.
“You walked past Sarah’s familiar room and then wheezies, not veering this far down the hallway since you were young as his door was kicked open and slammed shut you gasped as he pulled away to place you on the bed, contrasting to give you his gentle side, and the furniture a more normal rafe.
He was in between your legs kissing your neck as you hummed softly, gasping as he gave you purple bruising hickeys. Damaging your heart with every swirl more than anything he could ever do your body.
His massive muscled arms were wrapped around your body holding you still as you shook with temptation and nerves.
“I’ve never showed anyone my body, I- I’m the only person who’s ever seen you know my…. Body” your voice slowly drifted into a lull as you kept talking, feeling dumb. His head was lifted to look at you and give your words attention.
“You trust me right” his head tilted softly. You nodded making eye contact from underneath him. “Kay, then don’t be embarrassed with me, or shy.” His tone was kind and his volume was low. It was seeming more appealing being connected to this boy. Physically intertwined.
You lifted up, as he backed up. You sat across from each other on the bed as your head bowed and reached for the buttons of your top, fumbling but managing. Revealing your rose budded, perky small breasts as he gulped trying to maintain eye contact, any other girl, he wouldn’t remember her face while being inside of her, but you, how you were feeling and making you comfortable was all he could think of. His eyes darted between you to your chest. He practically dived into you, laying you on your back as he kissed everywhere urgently. “So fucking pretty, fucking beautiful” was the only sound filling your ears, blocking out the sounds of your own embarrassingly loud pleasure.
“Rafe when are you going to do it” you muttered, clawing at his neck. His shirt was off and he had scratches on his back you were trying to ignore.
“You want it now pretty girl?” He whispered into your ear, unbuttoning your denim shorts, the feeling made you tingle and squeeze your eyes shut fully.
“Now” you whispered in confirmation as he pulled them down cautiously, bringing your polka dot underwear down with them. Leaving them on the end of the bed.
You watched intensely as his pants came off, followed by his underwear. A thick cock sprang out, hitting of his toned stomach and all you could do was gulp at the sight, praying you wouldn’t break in half. He reached into his drawer as the pair of you looked each other in the eye, smiling soothingly.
His hands were pressed into your hips as he finished you off in one deep thrust. Not moving till your face went back to normal from the current distortion.
“S’okay, take your time, can I put anymore in yet” his thumb was rubbing gently on your hips as you opened your eyes and stared at him.
“There’s more” you panted, before collapsing back into the pillow. “Okay, b-be slow ra…” your eyes rolled to the back of your head as more of him filled you.
He thrusted in and out intensely, he was vocal as you suppressed shudders. “You feel so fucking good around me”
You felt like you were entering another universe, seeing a purple orange haze. Giggling softly as you felt your body shake and almost levitate of the bed.
“Ride it out Baby, just feel it” he was still caressing you as you blinked away tears. Ultimate heaven. If a unicorn flew over this bed, which was actually a magic carpet, you wouldn’t be surprised.
This was so epically strange. You wanted rafe to ask you to do it again, but when he got off the bed and came back with a wet towel, it was all over, all too soon. Holy macaroni.
Tumblr media
- fee xxx
40 notes · View notes
berryispunk · 22 hours ago
Text
Eres Mi Vida
pairing: Frankie Morales x gn! reader
summary: This man is your whole life. And maybe you are his, too. An argument turned into a fight and now you're here.
tags: argument, fighting, all the angst, slight mention of alcohol, mention of past addiction, mention of trauma, curse words, sprinkle of smut, spanish nicknames (mi alma, mi vida, mi amor...), established relationship, Frankie being a cute puppy, soft! Frankie, Frankie being an idiot, did i mention angst ?
notes: one of my besties imagined there's a voicemail of Frankie after an argument, so i just rolled with it.
word count: 1,2 k
Tumblr media
You lay on your bed, face buried in the pillow. Your eyes are puffy and red from all the crying in the last hour.
How did this happen?
How could you let a man dictate your life like this? 
It would be so easy to walk away. 
Never look back, turn off your feelings like you always do.
But you can’t. 
Not this time.
He’s etched onto your heart, seeped into your soul, made a home so deep inside of you and thrown away the key, it’s impossible to simply move on.
You hate him. No, you really do.
The way he looks at you, eyes so full of warmth and genuine interest when you continuously talk about something you’re passionate about. 
He and his damn baseball cap he always claims is part of his personality. He never takes that thing off, only under the shower and in bed. It’s honestly a little disgusting.
He and his silly love for everything spicy. 
He and his cocky smirk standing in the kitchen, something you yourself hate so much, humming a melody to himself, thinking you don’t hear him but you only pretend you don’t. 
All the love he pours into every meal and it tasting good every fucking time. Even if he claimed to be a poor cook at first which is obviously a lie. His satisfied smile when you lean back into your chair and exclaim you’re full for days. 
Maybe you love him for all of these things instead?
Always showing up, never making you question his love for you even once.
The endless public displays of affection, constantly intertwining hands even when you don’t expect it, the warmth of a big hand on your lower back when he’s guiding you through crowds of people or a squeeze to your thigh under the table when you’re out with his friends, thinking nobody else will notice.
His reassuring smile whenever you feel insecure or anxious. 
He made you fall for him so fast it’s scary. The sheer intensity of your feelings for him are dangerous, because you never felt like this before. He made a huge crack in the wall you mentally built around yourself. You’ve never let someone see this unsheltered version of you and it makes you so weak. 
But it never felt like actually falling, because he was there to catch you every time. His kind, soulful eyes on you and his breath ghosting against your temple. “I’ve got you, mi vida,” when he makes you climax for the second time in a row with his skilled tongue.
And now you’re here. Crying your eyes out, your chest painfully tight with anger and hurt. 
Because even if Frankie is perfect in all the right ways, he’s equally messed up in all the wrong ways too. 
His history of addiction, his short temper, his nightmares. 
All things that scare you to no end. 
When he’s suddenly wide awake in the middle of the night, sweaty and breathing heavily, suddenly covering you to shield you from imaginary bullets, it scares you. 
It always takes some time for him to come back to reality and you holding him for a bit, raking your hand through his bed hair until he falls back asleep snuggled up so close against you there’s not a single inch of space between you. 
His temper always gets the best of him when he’s either drunk or the two of you fight. This ugly side of him rearing its head faster than you can say whiplash or even understand the fact you’re in a fight.
Being the hothead you are it’s not like you can’t bite back, but he finds a way to go lower every time. Targeting your issues, making you feel so small. Catapulting you back into your childhood home where screaming and making you feel worthless was on every day’s agenda. 
It causes you to cry in anger, close yourself up, all defense mechanisms flaring up instantly. 
He keeps apologizing in the best way he knows how, his lethal pleading eyes on you make you melt every time. It’s hard being mad at someone who looks like a damn puppy. 
In your head there’s two Frankies: 
The one that worships the ground you walk on, makes you feel so loved and desired like no one's ever done before. The Frankie that may not be the best with words and rather let his actions speak. 
And then there’s this broken version of him. The hurt, the insecurity, the temper all bundled up in a dangerous mix that makes your blood boil. 
How can this be the same person? 
Your vibrating phone almost makes you jump out of your skin. You don’t need to look at the caller ID, you know it’s him. It’s the fifth time he calls. You let his call go straight to voicemail. 
You can’t talk to him right now or you say things you’ll regret, or worse, forgive him immediately. 
You take your phone, unlock it and see he’s left three messages in your mailbox. 
With a heavy heart you lift the phone to your ear. 
“Mi amor, look… I am an idiot. I am so sorry, you know I don’t mean it like this. Please call me back, bye” 
You sigh and press play on the next message. 
“Hey, it’s me, your moron of a  boyfriend. You know that you’re incredibly smart, talented and drop dead gorgeous right? Damn, I swear when I first saw you, I was so intimidated by you. I mean… Did you ever really look at yourself? Because hell, I do. You’re incredible and I know you deserve way more than what I have to offer, but fuck...I—”
There’s a short pause. 
“I love you so much and I am sorry. Please… Call me back, yeah ?”
The tears prick hotly in the corners of your eyes and you take a shuddering breath. 
How can one man be such an intricate mess?
You press play on the last message while you nervously fidget with one of your rings. 
“Okay, you may not wanna talk to me right now but I still need you to know that I fucking love you. I may be a stupid idiot but I am your stupid idiot .. If you still want me, that is. What can I do so you talk to me again? I’ll do everything. Just say a word… mierda! This is the third message I leave you, I-I guess… lo siento, baby. You don’t even know how much. I know I’m a mess…”
You hear him sighing, probably running a hand through his hair in frustration. He clears his throat before continuing to speak. 
“Where was I? Oh right, I’d be damned if I don’t tell you you’re the most precious thing in my life ever and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Eres mi vida, mi alma. I hope I didn’t fuck this up for good. I could never forgive myself.” 
Suddenly there’s silence, the message has ended and there’s another tear streaming down your face. Snuffling, you decide to call him back this instant, or you’ll end up ugly crying again. You can’t help it, you love him too much.
After three rings that feel like an eternity, he answers his phone and your heart stops for a beat. Your breath shudders three times when you start to speak.
32 notes · View notes
inez-winchester-cameron · 2 days ago
Text
dean winchester finding out reader can bake (fluff)
cw: like 2 suggestive lines, baker!reader
mornings with dean were your favorite. after over two years of dating the hunter, you found that your favorite moments were the ones spent in his bed before he left for the day.
you two lay in bed together, your head on his bare chest and your legs intertwined. a thin blanket is all you two sleep with, due to the multitude of heat you two share. your eyes slowly flutter open, immediately making contact with those of the older hunter.
"hey sweetheart," dean mutters, raising a hand to run it through your hair, "how'd my girl sleep?"
"good.." you mutter back, sleepily. you shut your eyes again and try to savor the feeling of dean's chest before he has to go. you hear him take a breath to speak and you say something before he can, "don't even say it. i know. five more minutes please?"
you look up at him with a small pout and he chuckles, "as much as i love our morning banter, i've gotta hurry. sam has a whole list of places we need to check out."
"when do you think you'll be back?" you ask, moving to lift yourself off of him. you sit up in bed and he follows shortly after, throwing the blanket off of himself. he lets you take it all to wrap around yourself.
"no later than nine. do you want me to bring dinner back?" he asks, swinging his legs over to the edge of the bed, before looking back at you. his hair was messy, his voice was extra deep, and his eyes were uncharacteristically soft as he talked to you.
"mm no, text me when you're on the way back and i'll cook something up for us. if that's good with you, that is." you say, laying on your stomach as you watch him get up and get ready.
"that's fine, babe. i'm going to hop in the shower," he says, leaning down and cupping your face. you smiled up at him and he smiled back, leaning down and pecking your lips, "love you, sweetheart."
-
after dean leaves, you find the energy to drag yourself out of bed. once you assured that sam and dean were long gone, you left the bedroom, dressed only in a pair of panties and dean's shirt. your feet padded against the hardwood floors of the bunker as you made your way to the kitchen.
you sat at the island while a fresh pot of coffee brewed and scrolled through pinterest on your phone, coming across an apple pie recipe. apple pie was dean's absolute favorite pie in the whole world and he constantly raved about how good it was. you looked over the recipe and concluded that it would be easy enough. shortly after discovering the recipe, you hatched a plan in your head and put it into action.
you got dressed before heading to the store and getting ingredients for the pie, as well as picking up the things for dinner. roughly an hour later, you were in the kitchen, baking dean an apple pie.
there was a few curves and bumps but eventually the pie was in the oven. just as you placed it in the oven, your phone buzzed with a text.
dean: hey sweetie omw ❤️
you sent a quick reply, saying you loved him and started making spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. soon after, the table was set with a big bowl of spaghetti, a bowl of sauce and meatballs, and a plate of garlic bread on the table. additionally, a pie sat atop the stove, covered with a towel to keep it warm (and to keep it a surprise from the very nosy winchesters).
you hear the door open and shut and a voice call, "we're home, baby."
you quickly call back, dusting off your clothes, "hi! dinners ready in the dining room!"
sam heads off to take a shower while dean comes into the dining room, smiling as he sees.
"hey gorgeous," he greets, approaching you. he places a hand on your waist and gives you a kiss, "dinner looks delicious." he pulls out a chair for you and pushes you in once you sit before sitting down himself. you two enjoy the dinner together, chatting about your individual days and making a multitude of plans for the future.
conversations with dean were always filled with 'what ifs' and speculations for the future, it was amazing. it always made you feel so warm and fuzzy inside, knowing that he wanted a future with you.
dean goes to get up and you stop him, standing up, "wait! i have a surprise."
he raises an eyebrow but sits back down, tapping his fingers on the table in anticipation, "go on then, sweetie." he wiggles his eyebrows and gives you a cheeky wink.
"no it's nothing like that!" you quickly assure before going into the kitchen and coming back, "okay close your eyes."
dean plays along, shutting his eyes and a moment later the freshly baked apple pie is in front of him and you're saying 'open your eyes'.
his eyes open and his face lights up, "oh hell yeah. thank you, baby. where'd you buy this from?" he starts cutting a slice, helping himself, and you smile.
"actually, i made it myself." you say, waiting to hear what he had to say about it while bouncing on your heels. he pauses, the fork between his lips slowly retreating as he eats the first bite.
"you serious? this is like — one of the best apple pies ever." he comments, quickly taking another bite, "like it's actually amazing."
"yeah! i got a recipe from online and i thought you'd really like it. is it good?" you ask, still genuinely very nervous. dean stares at you for a moment before speaking.
"are you freaking kidding me, sweetheart? it's so good. i think you just got more attractive." he mutters, scooting his chair out before saying, "come here." he grabs your arm and pulls you onto his lap, wrapping a muscular arm around your waist and feeding you a bite of apple pie. you giggle and cover your mouth as you chew the bite up. dean quickly finishes up that slice, and sets his fork down, wrapping his other arm around you.
"so you liked it?"
"loved it. best damn apple pie i've ever had. thank you, darlin'." he says, kissing your lips. after a brief moment he pulls back, smiling at you, before muttering, "god you're hot. and you're a good cook and baker. guess i hit the damn jackpot, huh?"
you blush and quickly go to argue but you're interrupted by dean pressing his lips against yours. he pulls back, giving you a smug look before muttering, "love you, baby. thank you."
you two spent the rest of the night, snuggled up together in various spots but rest assured, the pie was gone by the next morning.
37 notes · View notes
e-dubbc11 · 1 day ago
Text
On My Way
Tumblr media
Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.
Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader
Warnings: Some swear words, sexual reference(mostly PG-13), Billy’s violent side shows a little, fluffy ending.
Word Count: 1.8K-ish
Summary: Told from Billy’s POV. Billy has an assistant that’s a little too flirty and he already has someone very special to him. She threatens to ruin what he’s waited so long for.
A/N: I was perusing Tumblr the other day and found THIS post with the following dialogue prompt…”After everything you have done. How will you sleep at night?"
“Next to my wife.”
I want to give credit to @myladyship This prompt basically punched me in the face, I got really excited when I found it so thank you! And thank you Katherine @k-marzolf for the basis of this fic, I appreciate you! I really like the way it turned out so I hope you like it too 💙
As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕
It bothered your love at first; the way your assistant danced around the office in her tight little dresses and short skirts, it was painfully obvious she wanted you to notice her, to flirt back when she flirted with you, and she wanted you to forget all about…her.
But you had no idea how far your assistant, Isabel, would take it to get what she desired.
“THAT’S your assistant, Billy?!” Your love exclaimed as she handed you the cup of coffee she picked up for you on her way to work.
Your lips curled into a shy smile.
“Isabel’s not just MY assistant, baby. She’s all of ANVIL’S assistant but yeah she does do a lot of work for me.” You said.
“She gave me a dirty look when she let me in here, ya know.” She said, pressing her lips together in a straight line. “Has she dropped anything on the floor in front of you so she can bend over and pick it up?”
She was always making you laugh and you thought her jealousy was “cute” so you started to chuckle as you replied, “If she has, I didn’t notice. You’re the only one I wanna see bend over in front of me, sweet girl.”
You pulled her in close, tilted her chin up so she was looking into your eyes, and gave her a kiss so deep that you know she felt a tingle throughout her whole body, all the way down to her toes.
She had called you a “cocky little shit” and said you weren’t playing fair but you knew it was difficult for y/n to resist your charm.
“You’re such a cheater. You never play fair, Mr. Russo.” She purred into your ear and bit down on her lower lip to try and stop herself from smiling.
You loved her so much.
“I know I don’t play fair but I like giving you something to think about while you’re at work. Thank you for my coffee, beautiful. I love you.” You said with a warm smile.
She snaked her arms around the back of your neck, kissed you again and replied, “I love you too, handsome. Have a good day, Billy. I know you have a big job today so be extra careful.”
“Always. Now get outta here so I can slap you on the ass and watch you walk away.” You replied with a wink.
Looking over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed a bright red as she walked out of your office to head to work.
You couldn’t wait to see her later.
**********
The problem with crime bosses was there’s always another one in waiting if the current one falls and they were constantly making deals with shady politicians so it was just a vicious cycle...new boss, new deals.
Cut the head off of the snake and two more take its place.
And no matter how crooked those politicians were, they never got their hands dirty and if they did, they made sure they weren’t caught or they had someone else take the fall for it.
They had the distinct privilege of hiding behind their private security and leaving no paper trail. No matter how many mob bosses you took out, there was always another one to take their place but you always did the job you were hired to do…and you never missed.
But today, they had forced you to get your hands dirty. Whatever deals were made, had turned sour, and blood was spilled on the cold city streets tonight. Y/n would understand but you would have to call her and tell her you were going to be late.
Your assistant was privy to certain information, took notes during meetings, and even saw things she probably shouldn’t have but the NDA she signed when she took the job at ANVIL prevented her from talking about it…to anyone.
She was supposed to just be quiet and do her job. She understood that. But she thought you could be tempted, enticed into doing what she wanted, or blackmailed into cheating on the love of your life.
The sleeves of your crisp white dress shirt were rolled up to your elbows as you tried your best to remove the fresh bloodstains from your suit jacket. Your shirt had large spattering of blood across the front, it couldn’t be saved, but maybe the jacket could.
As you scrubbed the dried blood from your hands, you sensed someone was standing behind you, watching your every move, and waiting for the perfect moment to speak.
“This kind of thing happens more than I thought it would when I took the job, Mr. Russo.” She said in a sly silvery tone, leaning against the doorframe.
“It’s the nature of the beast…bound to happen from time to time. You’re here late.” You said as you turned around to face her while you dried your hands.
She was wearing a black pencil skirt and a black and white pinstripe dress shirt. You knew she had been trying to get your attention all day before you and your team left for the job but to no avail.
“I’ve seen and heard a lot of things that go on inside and outside of this office. I know how many people you’ve killed, Mr. Russo. Does your girlfriend know EVERYTHING about what you do for a living? Or does she need someone to tell her?” She asked, seductively rubbing the palm of her hand against her skirt.
An evil smile stretched across your lips as you quickly glanced up at the ceiling then back down to meet her gaze. You knew exactly what she was fishing for so you inched closer to her and angrily asked through clenched teeth, “What are you getting at, Isabel?”
She reached out and gently pulled your tie toward her, she let the fabric run through her long fingers and with a devilish grin, replied, “What I’m saying is…I want you Mr. Russo and if you fuck me nice and hard on your desk right there, I won’t have to tell her about all of the horrible things you do and have done.”
A low guttural growl escaped your lips as you hissed in her ear, “You think she doesn’t know? She knows all about what I do…what I have done and guess what, sweetheart? She loves me anyway and she is the ONLY one that has loved me when I didn’t think anyone ever could.”
Quickly, you grabbed and tightly squeezed her wrist, while her nervous breaths drifted against your skin, and you saw the angry defeated look on her face as she let go of your tie.
“What makes you think I can’t make you disappear too, just like all the others? Hmmm?” You hummed as a wide Cheshire cat smile stretched across your mouth. “Gut you like a fish and then dump your body like the piece of trash you are. They’d NEVER find you.”
She tried to pull her wrist free from your crushing grip but she wasn’t strong enough. You released her and calmly walked over to your desk so you could collect everything you needed for home.
The chilling words you uttered frightened her and you could sense the cold spike of fear radiating off of her body as you intensely watched her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath which is when you decided to remind her of one very important thing.
“Remember Isabel, that NDA you signed prevents you from telling ANYONE about what happens here. Also…you’re fired.” You said, glaring at her with your mouth tipped up in half a sly smile.
Storming off toward your office door, Isabel stopped, turned and asked sheepishly, “After everything you have done. How will you sleep at night?”
That was it.
That was the question you have waited your entire life to be able to answer with confidence.
“Next to my wife.” You replied with conviction and zero hesitation.
A look of surprise suddenly appeared on Isabel’s face. She obviously didn’t know. She never bothered to look at your wedding photo on the desk. A simple gold band dangled from a chain around your neck underneath your dress shirt, not visible to anyone because you didn’t want to wear it on your finger while you were out on a job. However, the tattoo band around your finger was always there and y/n had one to match.
Y/n, your wife, was everything you had ever wanted and needed. In your story, the boundaries between hero and villain were blurred but not to her. You were a hero in her eyes and weren’t cursed to go unloved forever.
Your curt bravado collided refreshingly with her soft strength to work through your pain and haunted memories. She helped to mend the parts of your life that had been fractured by betrayal and little by little, she will continue to heal the visible and the invisible wounds left by the people that were supposed to care for you the most.
Her smile and gentle touches relieved your everyday tension. She washes away all of your daily problems and they drift out to sea as she tenderly scratches your scalp and asks “How was your day, baby?”
No one had ever done that for you before so you weren’t going to let anyone try and take that away from you whether it’s through temptation or anything else.
“Get out and don’t come back. I’ll mail you your things.” You snapped.
She didn’t look back as she hurried out of your office.
**********
The room ceased of sound and movement as you quietly admired the photo on your desk. You smiled as you stared at y/n’s beautiful face, her body tucked perfectly under your arm like she was meant to be there, and her long fingers grazing your tie like Isabel had tried to do earlier.
You never wanted any woman touching your tie again unless it was being touched by your wife. She was the only woman that you would ever let murmur soft sounds to calm you when you had nightmares. She was the only one you opened up to, let see who you truly are, and you never wanted to do anything deliberately to fuck that up.
“Well hey there, handsome. You on your way home?” She said, answering on the first ring.
You paused briefly before answering her.
You thought about how it wasn’t that long ago, you didn’t think it was possible that anyone could love you, that you could allow yourself to be vulnerable enough to love someone else, or even smile just by hearing their voice.
And how you would do anything to protect that love, even if it means doing very bad things.
You were excited to see her and tell her all about what happened today.
“Yes, baby. I’m on my way.”
Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @snowkestrel @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @fictional-hooman @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @vaguekayla @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @aoi-targaryen @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @rachlovesactors @qu1etwolf @sweetserendipity65
Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @ittybxttykxttytxtty @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso @colereads @jediwizardelf @thejanecampaign @folkloreofyennefer @milea @mysweetlittledesire
If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) my tag list for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again
29 notes · View notes
themayorautumn · 2 days ago
Text
i have never written fanfiction in my entire life.
"work is the one redeeming thing that gives them purpose."
fuck me. here's something. i had to get it out of my system. i think about them. a lot.
“He was wearing a green coat, not blue.”
A dark haired man sits in a worn out office chair, face illuminated by a flickering desk lamp. His shirt is half unbuttoned, tie hanging loosely on his neck, begging to be taken off. He fidgets with the knot absent mindedly, as if it brings him some sort of comfort. Maybe he can't bear the thought of it being taken off, the last facade of performative professionalism.
His partner is pacing around the desk he’s sitting in front of, slicking his hair back constantly. It’s obvious that it’s a habit that has stuck around with him from his youth, back when his hair was fuller and eyes were brighter, and a small wink paired with a slight smile would be enough to end his night with a pretty chick in his bed. Tonight, there is no chick, and there is no bed. There is the sound of pen on paper as the man sitting by the desk crosses something off a list. Every single word on it is utterly illegible.
“Blue or green,” the man walking takes a break to light a cigarette. “It was a winter coat, puffy, expensive, you don't see that shit often around these parts. The color is a distraction, Vicquemare.”
“Yet she insisted it was sage green, didn't she? Who the fuck says that? She wouldn't have been so insistent if the color didn't matter, somehow.”
“She’s a wolf, that’s why. It’s a con. She knew what she was doing.”
“Alright,” the dark haired man, Vicquemare, gets up lazily and holds his hand out for the pack of cigarettes. His partner hands it to him. “You’re really speaking out of your ass now, Harry. What the fuck does that mean, ‘she’s a wolf’?”
“Extravagant eye makeup. Crimson red. You been to that bar called ‘Plume du Phénix’? I went there last month with that journalist guy, what's his name-”
“Pierre.”
“Right. Him, he told me it was the perfect place to get some connections. Meet people from the inside, if you catch my drift.”
“Fucking hell. You blew off work to go to a fucking strip club, did you?”
“Didn't blow off work. We went to that stakeout after, don't you remember Vic?”
“Oh yeah. You were complaining about your fucking headache the whole time.”
“Crimson makeup. They wear it there, it’s like their signature look. Blood of their former selves or whatever. Some new age bullshit. They’re dead fucking serious about it though. They don't let you in without it.”
“You wore makeup?”
“Easy now. Don't get too excited.”
Harry walks over to the desk to ash his cigarette, but doesn't get back to his pacing. He stands next to Vicquemare, staring at the ground, lost in thought.
“I did. Pierre made me wear it. They’re fucking wild in there, man. You wouldn't believe it.”
“Why didn't you invite me?”
“Are you jealous?”
“We’re partners. If you’re going somewhere to ‘get connections’, feel like I should be involved.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time. It really is a shame. You would look good in crimson.”
Vicquemare looks away from him for just a second, not enough to mean anything tangible, but enough for Harry to crack a slight smile. He puts a hand on his shoulder and keeps it there as he continues.
“They have this thing against authority of any kind. They preach ‘anarchy’ or their performative version of it, which is where they get together in back alley bars and drink until they don't remember what they're there for. Then they wake up and do it all over again. Fucking idiots, the lot of them.”
“And this is good for connections, how?”
“They're stupid but they're bonded together like a pack of wild wolves. They know everyone in the pack and protect each other like they're blood bound. Probably are too, the freaks.”
“So she was protecting the guy? Cause she knew the coat was actually blue, but saying sage green specifically would make it seem like it would be impossible for it to be any other color?”
“Look at my boy, learning so fast under my coaching. Exactly, Vic. She’s misleading us.”
Vicquemare tugs on the knot of his tie even more insistently, as if an internal fight is going on in his head about whether or not keeping that piece of cloth there is as important as he seems to think it is. Instead of coming to a conclusion, he lights another cigarette and looks back over to the list.
“Wish we talked with her sooner, then. This fucks over our entire theory now, doesn't it? We gotta start from fucking stratch. Find that blue-sage green coat guy. Whatever his name was.”
“We can find him. We can find him, tomorrow.”
Harry reaches for a drawer in the desk and takes out a dark red bottle. He grins and holds it out for Vicquemare to read the label.
“Aged merlot. Been saving it for a special occasion.”
“Oh yeah? What’s the occasion tonight?”
“You do not give me enough credit, Jean-y boy. You do not think I am a man of class, a superior officer who cares for his lieutenant.”
He takes out two glasses from the same drawer and pours two very generous servings.
“Happy birthday, Vicquemare. Here’s to us surviving another year in this fucking shithole.”
Jean looks at his glass wordlessly, his hand still on his tie. He’s stopped fidgeting with it now, as if he’s reached a conclusion but is too afraid, or too cautious to act on it. He smiles. It looks strange on his face, laborious, but genuine. It reaches his eyes and accentuates the wrinkles around them, too many for a man celebrating his thirtieth birthday.
“Thank you, shitkid.”
And it’s clear he means it.
They drink one glass, then one more, then Harry procures another bottle of whiskey this time, which they also finish, and as Vicquemare digs in his jacket pocket for that pack of Astra Reds he’s sure he bought earlier that day, Harry bursts out laughing.
“To think it would ever come to this, huh, Jean? Is this how you imagined entering your thirties?”
Jean finally finds the treasure he’s been looking for and takes a long drag of the cigarette. The ashtray is overflowing, which seems to bother neither of them as cigarette butts litter the desk and the floor. He stumbles over to Harry and smiles, a larger grin than the one before, but it doesn't reach his eyes. They look sad, desperate, and appropriately gray, as if any semblance of color on them would be a disservice to the way they look at the world. Harry sees himself in them, not sure if he’s imagining it or not, and not caring. It’s hard to care, when it’s the only time his reflection doesn't terrify him to death.
Jean takes Harry’s hand and puts it on his tie, curling his fingers around it and tugging on it gently. Harry knows what it means. He’s seen him do it time and time again, always in a different context, but always with the same intention. ‘You take the first step, Harry. You make me believe that you want me, you allow me to pretend.’. It’s his role, he knows it, and he unties the tie.
“I didn't imagine anything. I couldn't imagine anything. What is there to imagine? What is there to fucking want?”
It’s a question that doesn't have an answer. It doesn't have an answer that can be spoken out loud. It doesn't have an answer that can be given without empty bottles clanging around on the desk, without the assurance of their blurred memories, without their hands trembling as they reach for each other, something to hold onto as if nothing else in the world matters. They have to keep moving, they have to keep reassuring each other that they still have this one thing. That the taste of smoke on each other's lips, the crumpled case files surrounding them, and Harry’s rough fingers on Jean’s disheveled hair are enough to make them forget the emptiness that they both feel.
At the end of the day, they don't have anything else.
46 notes · View notes
katzkinder · 21 hours ago
Text
Me balancing Tooru and Kuro’s relationship between “this is now my second nephew who I love a whole lot” and “ah fuck this is a vampire right”
Like, to me, that’s the most fascinating thing about the Shirota household setup because yeah, usually, Kuro is perfectly happy to have Tooru treat him like a regular teenager he has to look after because let’s face it, he’s yearning for some kind of familial connection and the protection that provides him.
But Tooru is also a flawed human being trying to raise his dead sister’s kid while being part of a clandestine organization and the results of that mean he inevitably has fucked up and will continue to fuck up with regards to Mahiru, who is Kuro’s priority in the house
So sometimes Kuro is no longer Tooru’s cute nephew who he has adopted, but an immortal advocating for his much younger human friend when his guardian is dropping the ball
He just so happens to also be the type of immortal that Tooru grew up being taught to fear because the other ones were like. Killing his friends and their families. He even personally knows one of his own coworkers who came back as a vampire and killed another one so it’s Extra Fucked Up, so he’s having to like. Both view Kuro as a family member he loves but also someone way older than him who might not even necessarily be right but sometimes he is and Tooru has to like. Figure out which is which and communicate his own feelings properly to a guy who is probably constantly worried about whether or not Tooru is respecting him as a human being, much less an adult with a fuck ton of lived experience.
This is also one of the things about the vampire cast in general that’s so interesting for me, this difference between their apparent age and their immortality, because so many of them are so traumatized they’ve effectively stopped maturing past the ages of their deaths. Like Sakuya, for instance, is very much an adult chronologically and well within the bounds of “feasible age for a human being”
If he hadn’t died, he’d be a young adult right now!
But he did, and his behavior is explicitly that of a moody teenager, which matches his appearance and allows him to blend seamlessly with his other school age peers. But he’s also like. An adult. Being stuck in the body of a fifteen year old doesn’t really change that. (This is also why I like the little reminders when Strike is writing down the ages of the vampires because they use wording like “looks x” “appears y”. It’s a good reminder that their ages are kinda vague and throwing spaghetti at a wall)
The psychological aspect of vampires in Servamp and their circumstances is just fascinating to me because it’s not like you can have them pick! Both the immortality and relative maturity are them and frankly it’s a pretty good vehicle for exploring the ableism behind how people treat the Neurodivergent and the traumatized
28 notes · View notes
dmitriene · 21 hours ago
Text
writing i had to let out from my system.
viktor returns here, to this place, with itching, slaughtering grief and a craving for what he has long lost scrabbling somewhere in his body, bypassing the forever frozen, disfigured bodies of those who once sought salvation, and can no longer utter a word, buried in the silence of a world that will no longer speak and move along.
looking at the hexgates surface under his feet, sophisticated by multi colored splashes of turbulent lines, the arcane images to which he had long been accustomed, which he himself had brought, having decorated the whole world with them, not knowing that this would bring out the destruction, as he bears those marks even on his own skin, forever trapped.
spreading greenish coral cobwebs over the fabric of his cloak, hiding his face, which is dotted with the same destructive forms atop his beard, as viktor moves forward with his staff tapping a staccato rhythm, until he stops before the one for whom he constantly comes here again and again, the one who will no longer speak and touch his shoulder, the one whose golden brown eyes will not shine with the persistent, slightly childish delight of puppy's gaze, jayce talis.
how he misses and remembers his face, even though now, jayce is nothing more than the same motionless, identical doll as everyone else, back hunched, defeated on his knees, with his hands tightly, almost desperately clenched around the hammer to which he is attached, body covered with cracked lines, uneven holes and greenery that will break even through dead soil and boundless space.
viktor returns here to cling to him one last time, defenseless, curled up tiredly against his cold, lifeless back, wondering over and over again what could have been different if things had turned out another way, and his only answer is the empty movement of jayce's eyes, although, they are difficult to call his, because there is no color or softened shape in them that he will miss for eternity, to which he is now doomed.
maybe, in another timeline, they will be luckier, but now, viktor cradles jayce's unresponsive, cold face and presses a lingering, trembling kiss just between where his eyebrows suppose to be, mouthing a whispered, mournful goodbye, even through knowing that he'd come back tomorrow, to this place, again.
39 notes · View notes