#Pain Management Market Share

[acumenblog]

Pain Management Market Sales Projected to Climb to USD 83,348 Million by 2030 with a 6.5% CAGR

Acumen Research and Consulting has recently published a research report on the Pain Management Market for the forecast period of 2023 – 2032, wherein, the global market has been analyzed and assessed in an extremely comprehensive manner. The research report on the Pain Management Market offers an extensive analysis of how the postoperative pain therapeutics landscape would evolve through…

[mitalipingale]

https://justpaste.it/g1dwv

The Veterinary Pain Management Market in 2023 is US$ 1.92 billion, and is expected to reach US$ 3.29 billion by 2031 at a CAGR of 6.9%.

[tiyawnyana]

The idea credit goes to @hell0-ki55y, and tagging @naabbie 🫶🏻

A/N: saw this and 👀 immediately had to write something while it was slow at work tysm for the idea!!

Characters: Sevika x (fem) reader

Warnings: nipple piercings, surprise, praise, dirty talk, thigh humping, nipple sucking, cunt slap, hint of strap usage

Men and Children DNI

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Surprise

You had kept a surprise hidden for months now from your partner; meticulously wearing mesh bras to hide them, only engaging in sex where your shirt or bra stays on (you both were so busy- quickies being the only way to really fuck for the last few months), or straight up complaining about your tits aching.

Granted, the last one wasn't a lie, sometimes they were sore. Because of the new nipple piercings.

Your partner would most often offer to relieve your pain- stepping behind you and smirking into your neck as she cups the underside of your boobs, lifting, but her fingers would get too close to one of the piercings so you'd thank her- by dropping to your knees, tugging her pants down to distract her from your chest.

Finally, you got the okay that your nipples were healed- thank Janna for it only taking a few weeks, so you planned to surprise her.

You're perched up in your shared bed, a new lingerie set bought from the brothel- they had good quality stuff too, besides the workers-

Sevika is showering. You'd made a nice dinner, got her favorite things from the flea market and after, sent her to shower.

You assumed today had been a particularly rough one, the smell of bionic fluids wafting in on her clothes.

You'd washed those for her, too, hung up to dry on the small balcony.

You hear the shower stop, finally, nerves now settling in to your bones before you shake your head.

Sevika will love this. She will!

The door in the hallway creeks open, her soft footsteps coming closer.

She's towel drying her hair, clad in boxer briefs and a loose cropped shirt before groaning at the sight of you.

"Fuck, baby," she murmurs eyeing you up and down.

"Hi, Sevi," you smirk coyly, watching her step closer, dropping her towel before she kneels before you, large, rough hands grasping your knees and spreading your legs before moving her hands up your thighs. Her hands trail over the soft fabric, a hum of satisfaction heard in her throat.

"Fuck," she repeats,"This for me?"

You nod, peering down at her,"This- and something else.."

She quirks a brow in question.

"Why don't you take these off and find out?" You manage to speak with a sultry tone.

"Fuck- I want to fuck you with this on-"

You giggle softly,"Then just the bra.."

She looks momentarily confused before reaching up behind you to unclasp it, sliding the straps from your shoulders and tossing it aside before her eyes go wide.

Her mouth is slightly agape, eyes drifting back and forth between both piercings before she licks her lips.

"What-"

"Got them pierced a few weeks ago.. wanted to surprise you," you cup the side of her neck.

She swallows, lifting her hands and carefully thumbing over your hardened nipples and the piercings going through them. A tingle rolls down your spine.

"How did you hide these-"

"With a lot of meticulous effort," you snicker softly.

She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head fondly before tugging out the box beneath the bed, ruffling through the various toys before grasping her strap belts and looking to you to choose.

"Hm.. the blue one," you murmur.

She smirks up at you as she places it down beside you before rising, hands place on either side of your legs as she leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

"You're too good to me, Baby," she murmurs against your mouth before pushing you back against the sheets.

You giggle softly before quieting down as she hovers over you, admiring the piercings.

"Are they sensitive?"

"Unbelievably so," you respond.

She smirks at that, before blowing over one of your nipples.

You jolt, sucking in a breath before moaning softly as she presses a soft kiss over it, then licks over it boldly. Her other hand comes up to rub over your other nipple, thumb and pointer finger pinching over it slightly.

You're already so turned on, have been since Sevika had walked through the door with water droplets dripping down her body.

"Mmph- Sevi," you speaks softly, head tilting back against the sheets. You grasp her shoulders carefully before grunting as she presses her thigh between your legs, grinding right up against your cunt.

"Think you could cum just from this?" She hums against you, nipping over your flesh,"Or do you need to hump my leg, like a dog?"

You huff, hips bucking against her leg in embarrassment,"Please- fuck," you groan,"Don't tempt me-"

Your cheeks are rosy with embarrassment, desperation evident as you cling to her shoulders.

She huffs out a soft laugh, then leans down to take your nipple into her mouth, sucking with a smirk. Her tongue flicks, curling around the bud and it has you whining breathlessly.

She pulls back and leans in to slot her lips against yours again, tongue pressing in between your lips with a quiet greed.

She's grinding her knee into you, taking delight in your desperate little humps and feeling how wet you were for her.

Her fingers trail up to pinch and flick at your nipples as she tilts her head to kiss you deeper, huffing into you with a satisfied hum.

When she pulls back, she bites on your lower lip, pulling just slightly then releasing with a smirk.

"C'mon, baby.." she hums,"Hump my leg, you can do it- you're always so good to me.."

You release a soft whine, eyes fluttering up at her and watching as she maintains eye contact whilst ducking down to give attention to the other nipple.

Her metal hand moves down to grip your hip, guiding you over the muscle of her thigh, her hold tight and getting quicker by the minute.

"So wet-" she mouths against your tit,"Fuck, these looks so good on you-"

You smile with a soft, breathless laugh before moaning, clit perfectly grinding down on her thigh.

"Sevi, please-" your hands grip her shoulders tighter, eyebrows scrunching up as you buck your hips,"Fuck, touch me already-"

"I am touching you," she smirks, tongue licking broadly over your nipple.

You narrow your eyes at her, panting as you growl out,"You know what I mean-"

"No, I think I like you like this," she lightly bites over your nipple then releases it,"Knowing you're so desperate for something, you'll hump my leg.."

She grinds her thigh into you harder, grip tight and unforgiving as she helps you hump against her, clit rubbing onto her muscle deliciously.

"Mmph- fuck, pleasepleaseplease-" you ramble, face tensing as you get closer to that peak.

"That's it," she coos, leaning closer to your face and brushing her nose against yours,"Almost there, hm?"

"Yes- yes, fuck," you moan, tilting your head up to brush your lips against hers but she pulls back, a cocky smirk on her lips as she pinches over your nipples, reveling in your punched out moan.

Your hips grind harder, whines and moans becoming louder and she just watches you unravel.

"Cum on my leg," she murmurs,"You're so good for me."

Your eyes peer up at her, almost teary at the overwhelming pleasure, both new and usual.

She then lifts her metal hand from your hip and carefully but firmly tweaks your other nipple, the stark contrast of her warm flesh hand to her cold metal hand, along with her thigh pressing against your cunt harder has you crying out, clinging to the blankets below you as you cum.

She admires her work. You're slumped against the bed, a slight blush to your cheeks as you pant softly. Your eyes flutter, gaze settling back onto her.

She pulls her leg from between yours then with a cocky smile, smacks her hand over your cunt, smirking at your yelp.

"C'mon, baby," she lifts up her strap, placing the toy into position in the garter,"We're not done yet, need to repay you for this thoughtful gift of yours."

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A/N: again ty for the idea!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[shivt123]

Osteoarthritic Pain Management Treatment Market – Industry Trends and Forecast to 2029

[cherrychilli]

18+ Perv! Steve Harrington x Perv! reader, F reader, friends to lovers, scent kink, reader being a bit of a creep but Steve's into it because duh, masturbation (f) sexual acts in public, mentions of and allusions to oral sex (f)

WC: 5K

A/N: I was going to split this into two parts but fuck it. Two for one special. Still feeling rusty when it comes to writing so go easy on me, yeah? Also, this one's kind of gross at times. Just a little bit. Nothing extreme but just letting you know incase you're someone who gets squeamish easily. Enjoy!

The hair? sure. Everyone liked his hair.

People usually fell into two camps when it came to Steve Harrington's signature do; either they envied it or they hoped to be one of the lucky ones who got to run their fingers through it.

You used to daydream about the latter when you only knew him from afar but now that he no longer ran with a particular kind of crowd, now that he's just Steve and no longer the King, you managed to get close enough to find out that he smelled nice too.

Really nice.

So, figuring out that he used women's shampoo shouldn't have been the revelation that it was because it made so much sense, his tresses never scented with a wintry pine or spicy cedarwood like most scent profiles marketed to men.

You had your friends to thank for your stumbling upon that discovery, the group of them arriving at your home to bully you out of your PJ's and into a pair of jeans and shoes, uprooting you from your room on a Saturday afternoon for an outing to the fancy part of the mall.

While they searched for new make-up, you wandered a section of the store by yourself, uncapping the pretty bottles in the hair care aisle whenever the sales assistants' attention wandered elsewhere, squeezing each one carefully to sample the array of scents. You did this idly and with no real plans to purchase anything, just something to pass the time while your friends crowded another display a few aisles away, chattering blissfully and swatching lipsticks.

Picking up a fifth shampoo from the lineup of bottles, you brought the uncapped rim up to your face, lightly skimming your cupids bow with it as you gently inhaled. While fun, you'd spent most of your time at the mall feeling a little bored, a small part of you still desiring to go back home where you could lounge and laze in peace. That was until you began to recognize the scent of the newest shampoo you had clutched in your hand, the familiarity of it triggering a whirlpool of memories.

In seconds, your mind plunged back to the night of Jack Sullivan's graduation party. The first time Steve Harrington had spoken to you – really spoken to you since he’d parted ways with Carol and Tommy, seeming much more approachable than he had in the past.

The two of you had ended up sharing the patio swing outside where the air wasn't as thick with smoke and the smell of spilled booze. Making conversation, he offered you a beer he'd originally intended to give Robin before she'd slipped away into one of the guest bathrooms with your best friend Sally. You both knew why, sharing a look of understanding but never mentioning the obvious out loud out of loyalty to your friends.

Then there was the only day it rained in July, remembering the way your fingers brushed against his as you handed him your umbrella. You'd discovered him taking refuge under the awning of the diner you worked at that morning, face twisted all worrisome as he looked up from his wristwatch to the downpour in front of him, forced into walking to work that day due to his car still being in the shop. The only light that shone that day was the gleaming smile he gave you when he thanked you for your kindness.

And then there was the time when you had your head down while scanning a tape at Family Video, bumping face first into Steve's chest when you rounded the corner, his name tag catching on your bottom lip. It was the tiniest sliver of a cut, barely noticeable or painful but oh, how he fussed over you like you were made of porcelain. He’d gone so far as to sit you down on his chair behind the counter as if you might collapse from blood loss at any moment, whizzing into the break room and back with a fist full of napkins to dab the miniscule wound that had already stopped bleeding.

All of those memories and more linked by one scent. This scent.

With your pupils dilating like a cat prepared to pounce, you flipped the bottle over to read the contents.

White frangipani blossoms, toasted coconut, bergamot waters, sea salt breeze and sunkissed musk.

Steve Harrington in a bottle. And the quickest 16 dollars you've ever spent.

And with that purchase came the self-imposed reminder to exercise caution. Upon leaving the mall with your friends, your mood much chipper than when you'd arrived, you made sure to hardly ever use the shampoo when you bathed, afraid that if Steve smelled it on you later, somehow, he'd be able to put the pieces together and know why you'd bought it, even as wildly unlikely as that seemed.

So instead, you huffed the bottle in private on most days, only using it when you knew you'd be spending the day at home. On those eagerly awaited days you luxuriated in the scent as you applied the shampoo in your shower, mind and fingers wandering, working your peaked nipples and your firm clit up to the thought of Steve joining you in your shower and fucking you dumb – tits pressed up against the cold, wet tiles, ass bouncing on his hips as he stretched you open and used you well.

But now that you'd discovered this new kind of hunger you had to make sure to keep it well fed and when the shampoo didn't feel like enough anymore, you set out to purchase his cologne.

The scent was one you had memorized from all of your trips to the video store, hanging around the counter while Steve talked to you about which movie you ought to rent next. You could smell it on his neck whenever he leaned in close on his elbows, face inches away from yours, wishing he'd close the distance and meet your lips with his.

Another trip to the mall had you scouring the men's section like a wolf tracking the scent of injured prey, sampling bottle after bottle of cologne until you found it.

Aromatic sage, dark tonka bean and rich sandalwood. Priced at a cool $39.50 which you gladly forked over because to you, it was all money well spent.

The cologne became part of your nightly routine after that, dabbing drops of the heady scent on your body when you went to bed, the smell making your arousal climb before lulling you to sleep an orgasm later, evoking dreams of Steve throughout the night that made you wake up to your panties all damp and sticking to your core by morning.

You were content that way, the shampoo and the cologne enough to satiate your fixation on the way Steve smelled all while managing to maintain your friendship with him without things becoming weird.

What ended up shattering that peace however was running into him a few weeks later coming out of the Y, just done with a game of basketball as he spotted you passing by and happily waved you down.

He smiled at you just as brightly as he had all those months ago in July, this time dressed in his gym clothes; a pair of green shorts that showed off the thickness of his toned, hairy thighs and a grey t-shirt, the sleeves filled out well by his tanned biceps and its collar darkened by sweat.

Up close, you could smell the exertion on him and that was what became your undoing.

It took every iota of self-control not to rush him to the ground and pin him beneath you, feeling more and more like a caged animal the longer the conversation went on and you were forced to compose yourself.

It was the kind of scent you wanted to sink into, more so than the cologne or the shampoo because this was Steve completely unadulterated – that earthy musk, that rugged, almost spicy all-natural scent that you wouldn't be able to find on any shelf.

Barely managing to hold it together until parting ways with him, you knew you wouldn't be able to rest without it, mind already working to devise a plan.

~

"Risve- what?"

You chuckled as the word died on Steve's tongue, knowing he'd trip up on the pronunciation. Reaching for a pen and a scrap of paper sitting on the counter, you wrote the word down for him. "Risvegli. It's Italian", you explain, handing it to him as you do your best to repress the shiver that runs through you when his slender fingers graze yours, trying hard to quieten your mind after all the ways you’ve imagined those very fingers touching you in your most sensitive places.

"It's kind of an obscure flick but I like that sort of stuff. D'you think you could have a look and see if you've got a copy in the back?", you try not to bat your lashes too much when you ask, not wanting to overplay the sweetness to the point that it comes off as insincere or worse, suspicious.

Steve looks down to study the paper, cheeks dusted a pretty pink, you can’t help but notice. The ends of his hair are still damp from his shower at the Y, just as you expected now that you knew which days he spent there before clocking in for work.

"For you? Definitely", he looked back up and smiled at you in that way that made your heart somersault. "Be right back". He leaves you alone at the counter and you make sure to wait for him to disappear out of sight into the back, stamping down a flash of guilt for having sent him off to search for a movie that didn't exist to buy you time.

You'd planned it all last night, stepping away from the counter before heading towards the employee break room, able to sneak in without fear of running into Robin because you knew she'd be spending the day with Sally on her day off from working at the diner.

Steve’s duffle bag is in plain view as you shut the door to the little room behind you quietly, resting on a chair that'd been pulled out from the table where you imagined he probably shared his lunch breaks with Robin.

Striding up to it, you find the zipper and tentatively, you pull it open to reveal the contents. What you're looking for is balled up at the very top, picking up the sweat damp t-shirt with clammy, trembling fingers. You're really crossing a line this time and you know it, your teeth close to piercing the soft skin of your bottom lip as you bite down on it but you can't deny that there's just something so exhilarating about the whole thing too. The lying, the sneaking around, the risk – it's all a little too much and your mind grows foggy with it, dulling your once sharp intuition and giving way to a moment of weakness that has you abandoning caution now that you're alone.

Waiting to do indulge your urges until you're safe at home feels impossible now that you've got your hands on it, eagerly pressing your nose into the damp t-shirt, eyes nearly rolling back as you filled your lungs with the smell of him. It must have been the pheromones, it had to be, awakening that primal kind of desire in you that had you parting your lips and pressing the tip of your tongue to one of the sweat stains, sucking on the sour, salty musk that had soaked into the cotton.

What you're doing is so dirty, damn near repulsive and knowing that just fuels you even more as you begin to salivate. You're too wrapped up in the earthy scent of him, too lost in the taste to notice when the door handle jiggles behind you, too drunk on the sick thought of what Steve’s used boxers must smell like if you were to pull those out of his duffle next when all of a sudden, it's too late.

The door to the break room swings open and in walks Steve, the world screeching to a sickening standstill when his eyes fall on you.

Your own eyes bulging, you watch in mute horror as he takes in the sight before him, the scrap of paper you'd handed him earlier slipping from between his thumb and forefinger, fluttering to the floor like the wings of a dying butterfly.

It's impossible to know what he's thinking. Is it disgust? if so, he hid it well. Bewilderment? You weren't sure. Ice crackles over your bones as the two of you stare for a few seconds longer, Steve's expression still unreadable.

The whole thing's all the more uncomfortable because of the way he continues to watch you like you’re something to be studied, looking contemplative as you trembled in place, wishing for the ground to break open beneath your feet and swallow you away into a never-ending crevasse.

But as the seconds tick by and the ground stays perfectly intact you're left to seek your own respite.

Despite what feels like the blood retreating from your veins, your body shifts into auto pilot as you wordlessly place the rumpled t-shirt back in Steve's duffel and do the only thing you can do in a fucked up situation like this – walk away. Even as he tries to call after you, you ignore his shouts, continuing on a path towards and out the exit, mortified.

You don't go back to Family Video after that. In fact, you avoid that entire street for a whole week.

The days following being caught out by Steve were some of the worst you've had to endure. Shame made a home in your body, making you ache with a belly full of thorns and your thoughts growing increasingly heavy and abrasive as they flood your throbbing head.

For those seven days you carried around the dread of knowing that Steve had discovered that secret side of you, the feeling worsening at the thought of him telling others what he had seen and rendering you some kind of town pariah – even though a tiny, hopeful whisper inside your raucous head told you that he probably hadn't said anything, at least not yet since Sally hadn't even seemed to have gotten word of the incident from Robin.

But that's all it was. A tiny, fleeting whisper that did nothing to calm you.

At home, you buried yourself in your blankets, letting your anxieties exhaust you to sleep and at work you moved as if you were fighting your way through thick slurry – slow and dragging your body from table to table, unsmiling as you took patrons' meal orders and served them their food.

You continued like that all throughout your shift, waiting for the moment you could peel your polyester uniform off in favour of your own clothes and drive yourself home. With only 30 minutes left before closing, your shoulders which had been pulled tight all day with tension began to sag, a momentary wash of relief coursing through you. That was until you smelled it – smelled him.

Whipping around, your stomach plummets when your eyes fall on Steve walking through the door – and to make things worse, he’s carrying that duffle on his shoulder.

He's yet to have spotted you, taking a seat at one of the empty booths though you notice the way his eyes are scanning the diner, searching.

It's obvious that you’re the one he’s looking for as worry courses down your spine like a lightning strike. Was he going to confront you? right here? in front of all these people? Normally you wouldn’t peg Steve as someone who’d do something so cruel but after what he’d caught you doing, a little public humiliation doesn’t seem all that undeserved, you had to admit.

So, carefully you retreat into the breakroom without drawing his attention, pulling a perplexed Sally along with you once you'd caught hold of her by her elbow.

Once safely inside, you all but blubber in her face, begging her to wait on Steve's table, even promising her all your tips for the next week in exchange.

Seeing the distress contorting your face must have made her feel sorry for you because she pulls you in for a quick, tight hug, running her hand up and down your back in an attempt to calm you. You'd only given her little snippets of what had happened at the video store, making sure to alter a few details for the sake of concealing how far you’d actually gone that day. To her, the gist of it was that you'd embarrassed yourself horribly and that was all she really needed to know, springing into action as the compassionate best friend to the rescue.

"I've got it, okay? just breathe", she'd repeated soothingly into your hair, giving you a quick squeeze and her best reassuring smile before you reluctantly unwind your hands from around her, allowing her to step out of the break room ahead of you.

Outside again, thirty minutes drag on like hours while you purposely stick to the part of the diner that's furthest away from Steve's table. You don't dare look at him but you do sneak a glance when Sally walks by with his order, a single black coffee and nothing else which he sips leisurely while you tremble.

If his plan was to confront you then what the hell was he waiting for? There was nothing stopping him from walking up to you while sweat collects between your shoulder blades as you clear the tables of customers who’ve settled their bill and since left. Nothing to prevent him from stepping up to the counter while you nervously rubbed the surface of it free of crumbs and stains to demand an explanation for your bizarre behavior last week. Nothing to stop him from simply walking up to you at any moment and ask to know what the fuck your deal was.

But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he finishes his coffee and casually waves down Sally for the bill while smiling politely. Somehow that causes you even more unease.

In that moment you lose sight of Steve when you’re called over to serve the only other table of customers left, a family of five keen to fit in one last round of milkshakes before they call an end to their meal.

You see to their order despite your shaking limbs, returning with a tray crowded with the cold, sweet drinks, setting each one down carefully in front of the smiling children and their parents before you head back behind the counter with your tray clutched close to your chest. The whole thing must have taken you ten minutes and when you sneak one more look in Steve’s direction you find his booth empty this time.

Eyes frantically searching the diner, you manage to catch a final glimpse of him walking out the front door, bell chiming above him as he departs, leaving the diner and you with even more questions than you had when he'd first arrived.  

Had Steve changed his mind? Had he just wanted to make you sweat for the hell of it? Taken pleasure in watching you try to keep it together in his presence while you traipsed around the diner all too carefully like a petrified newborn deer?

Why had he shown up at all today if he wasn’t going to...do anything?

You get your answer fifteen minutes later when wearily, you trudge into the staff room at the end of your shift, pulling open your locker and all but fainting at the sight of what’s been placed inside beside your belongings.

Neatly folded inside is Steve's grey t-shirt, the same one you'd tried unsuccessfully to "borrow" last week The scent of him is instantly recognizable as you inhale shakily, fingers reaching out to touch the slightly damp cotton to confirm to yourself that you weren’t in fact hallucinating the whole thing.

When your pulse starts to settle and the static crackling in your ears starts to cease you notice a little scrap of folded paper placed inside too. Picking it up and pulling it open, it's with a deep, dreamy sigh that your chest blooms with sunny warmth as you read the note, a smile gracing your lips for the first time in a week.

Three months later...

The only good thing about working the graveyard shift at the diner was that Steve always insisted on coming in an hour before you clocked out so he could drive you home.

Occupying one of the booths inside the sleepy diner, he'd keep himself busy with his phone while you worked, perking up whenever you came by to freshen up his coffee or sneak him a piece of pie he hadn't ordered with all his favorite fixings.

It was during those moments that he liked to have a little fun with you, quickly surveying the room to make sure no customers or staff were looking over in your direction before he'd slip his fingers under your skirt and pinch your ass. Sometimes you'd see it coming and other times he'd catch you off guard, cruel delight curling his lips into a smirk whenever you had to stifle your surprised squeals.

And that's as far as he usually took, patiently waiting until he could get you in his car for more but today felt different.

With no new customers coming in in the last two hours, Sally had taken to the break room to work in a nap while the kitchen staff had stepped out back to smoke and deal cards to pass the time. That left just you working the front with Steve as the diner's only patron.

Having no one else around meant you could flirt freely with him now, making sure to look over your shoulder every now and then just incase to make sure you didn't get caught.

You spent that time alone together with his boot gently tapping against your shoe under the table, reaching out and fiddling with his fingers because you always liked to be touching him while you happily teased each other as the minutes passed by.

Somewhere in the middle of your playful banter you noticed Steve's cup was now empty, picking yourself up from the booth to bring over more coffee. As you leaned over the edge of the table to pour, you anticipated the glide of his fingers on your thigh, inching up your skirt to situate them between your legs.

"You're going to get me fired one of these days", you chide him, still holding on to the pot of coffee once you'd finished refilling his cup.

"Good – then I can have you all to myself", he teased back, index finger drawing patterns on your inner thigh, just a few inches below the lacy trim of your panties.

"Steve", you attempt to scold but there's barely any heat there for him to take it seriously, fingers daring to trail higher.

Meeting his heavy gaze, you watch him search your eyes for a moment, the soft smirk that had been tugging at the corner of his lips slowly fading away as something more serious clouds his expression when he leans forward to whisper to you.

"No one's around, baby. Please? Can I?"

It takes you a second before you know exactly what he's asking for without needing him to specify, heat rising up from the depths of your chest and gathering in your cheeks.

He's got that look in his eyes too and you know that this is what it must have looked like the day he caught you with your face buried in his sweaty t-shirt. That feverish glint of potent want making his iris' gleam.

"Steve, it's too risky", you try to reason quietly despite the way your thighs are already parting for him, allowing him to skim the pads of his fingers over the seat of your panties, teasing your waiting folds through the thin later of fabric.

"Never stopped you before", he's quick to reply with wink, making you grow warmer at the reminder.

He's got you beat there.

"I promise I'll be quick", he pleads again softly and it's almost comical how quickly you buckle under the weight of his needy gaze.

"Shit, okay", you concede as you step closer to the edge of the booth and he pulls himself closer too, hand moving higher to cup your ass under your skirt.

You sigh contently when Steve leans forward and presses his nose against the front of your uniform, right over the juncture between your legs. You're careful to keep your grip tight on the handle of the coffee pot you're still carrying when he takes in a deep breath, inhaling your scent right through your clothes.

Steve liked to joke that you brought out this side of him, the one that made the both of you realize how alike you really were.

It started with the way he liked to linger between your legs after he'd finished eating you out. Your ruined panties spilled out of his back pocket, never to be returned to you as he took his time pressing sweet kisses against your swollen folds and spent clit with his sticky lips, clearly pleased with himself as you fought to catch your breath from the orgasm that'd rippled through you.

And as things progressed, he wasn't secretive about wanting to fuck you so hard and often that the smell of you would linger in the air long after you were done. Or how he liked to nestle his nose in the curls on your mound once he'd finished laving at your pussy – the moreish combination of sweat, saliva and your natural musk making his twitching cock stiffen all over again as he rut into the mattress for a second time, painting his sticky boxers with another generous load.

Other times he'd get on his knees for you, pulling you close by your hips so he could place his face against your clothed cunt and mumble dreamy praises about how good your pussy smelled. And you always loved it when he got like that, even now as your free hand strokes lazily through his caramel hair, letting him do this to you in the middle of your place of work, your coworkers unaware but not far away enough that they couldn't walk in at any moment and find the two of you like this.

"Stevie", you whined softly as you tried to get his attention, a reluctant reminder that the two of you should probably stop before it's too late.

"Jus' a little more, please? need it to tide me over before I can get you alone". His eyes are all glazed over when he looks up at you, tentatively slipping his other hand up the front of your thigh to hitch up the hem of your skirt ever so slightly, his gaze all pleading as he waits for your permission.

With the way he's managed to work you up, your panties more that a little tacky from his attention and your belly tightening with warmth, how could you possibly refuse when you needed this just as badly as he did?

"Fuck. Yes, okay – just be careful", you urge gently because 'be quick' doesn't seem likely anymore.

A look of pure bliss breaks out on his reddening face. "Christ. Thank you, baby", Steve groans appreciatively, pushing your skirt up to expose your panties before burying his face against your clothed mound. He can feel the outline of your cunt perfectly when he's this close – so soft and plump, his mounting greed has him battling the urge to pull the soaked cotton down to your knees and start sucking the tangy slick from your pretty, swollen pussy lips before pressing deeper to lick at your tight hole and all it has to offer.

Restraining himself, he lets out a muffled moan against your core that has your clit swelling and throbbing, your eyes slipping shut while you give yourself to him. It's almost soothing the way he savors you so shamelessly, head partially ducked underneath your rucked up skirt, fingers gently squeezing your ass with his blunt nails making light indents in your skin.

You let him breathe you in for a while longer until you begin to feel a little floaty and more than a little needy from it all, expecting Steve to pull away soon because how much longer could you get away with doing this in public? Stopping him isn't what you want, not really but you knew better than to push your luck by now.

But instead of him reluctantly withdrawing away from you, what you feel next is the wet drag of his tongue along your messy panties, warm, firm and sudden.

Although definitely not unwelcome, under the circumstances, the feeling of it startles you and you can't help but cry out with a yelp, arm jerking backwards as a splash of coffee makes its way onto the checkered diner floor.

Hearts hammering, the both of you rip apart from each other then, Steve with his wide eyes and ruffled hair as he plasters himself to his seat while you very nearly lose what's left of your balance when your shoes skid over the wet mess of spilled coffee. You manage to catch yourself though when you grab the edge of his table with your free hand, finally placing the damn coffee pot down to hurriedly pull your skirt back into place.

Silence overtakes the room as the both of you peer wordlessly in the direction of the kitchen and breakroom, waiting to see if you'd accidentally drawn the attention of any nearby diner staff.

Seconds turn into a minute and when no one comes through either of the doors you allow yourself to sigh out in relief, turning back to Steve.

"Shit. I'm sorry I couldn't help it – had to taste you, honey. You just – fuck, you just smell so fucking good. I needed a little more", he tries to explain when your eyes connect, his cheeks sheened with a thin layer of perspiration and flushed a deep pink.

You were foolish to think you could let him do all of that and endure waiting until the end of your shift to take things further in his car. Leaving him with his lips parted and his jaw slack, you stride away to the diner's entrance to quickly flip the 'open' sign over to read 'closed', rushing back to tug Steve up and out of his seat urgently, grinning when you catch sight of the stiff bulge straining in his jeans.

"Supply closet. Now. Need you to put that mouth of yours to good use."

[p0orbaby]

The Lion in the Jungle Shows No Shame

summary: you go into labour

warnings: some minor mention of contractions but that’s it

a/n: rich!reader is me; not the rich part, but the so over everyone part

word count: 1.7k

-

The boardroom at the training ground is frigid, an oppressive sort of sterile, painted in a corporate beige so calculatedly devoid of warmth it borders on offensive. The colour has clearly been chosen by a committee, signed off by no less than five department heads, all with the express goal of sapping any ounce of levity from the room. The walls bear only the club’s logo in gleaming gold, catching the light like a freshly polished trophy, austere and daunting. You’re seated at the head of the table in a chair meant to look sleek and modern but which you’ve always thought resembles a throne, albeit a minimalist, joyless one. You take pride in this spot, preferring the vantage point of a monarch observing her court, where each word, each glance can be read as an unspoken directive. A panel of finance officers sits to your left, expressionless and obedient, while the marketing strategists and department heads to your right wait, perched on the edge of their seats, eager to impress, or perhaps, not be dismissed. You’ve made your mind up on all of their fates already, but they don’t need to know that.

You sit back, legs crossed, and let your gaze drift to the person currently holding court—a sponsorship officer droning on about a potential partnership with an energy drink. The whole affair is tedious, but you feign interest, allowing only a flicker of annoyance to register as you twist the cap of your Montblanc in slow, deliberate turns, a small, repetitive comfort amidst the boredom. The sponsorship officer is yammering on about margins and high-profile market share. You nod, keeping your expression intentionally neutral, a carefully cultivated mask of polite detachment.

Nine months pregnant isn’t ideal, but that doesn’t mean anyone gets a pass. If you’re still here, they have no excuse for underperforming. You’ve kept every meeting, every review, every grueling evaluation on schedule, so there’s no room for them to slip up. Your presence is a reminder that leadership doesn’t come with compromises or concessions—not even now. Alexia might have opinions about it, but she knows better than to question your commitment. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Then, there’s a twinge—a faint prickling in your lower back. You tell yourself it’s nothing, just the sort of trivial discomfort you’ve brushed off for weeks now. You shift slightly, adjusting in your seat. Subtle, hardly noticeable. But someone—some unfortunate junior in marketing, possibly fresh out of his MBA programme and clearly untrained in discretion—glances over. He catches it, the flicker of discomfort. There’s the faintest suggestion of concern on his face, a furrowed brow, a hesitant question half-formed before he thinks better of it.

Good.

You meet his gaze and reward him with a smile—half genuine, mostly a warning. He gulps, as if he’s swallowed something sharp, and turns his attention back to his notes.

Then the pain intensifies, sharper this time. It tightens low and fierce, radiating like an overstretched muscle, and you have to will your expression to remain steady, blank, entirely unaffected. Your eyes fixate on the PowerPoint slide, as if by staring hard enough you can dissolve the discomfort into the soulless white glow of the projector. But no, it’s there, settling in like an uninvited guest who intends to stay.

The marketing intern glances up again. This time, he actually manages a look of pity. He’s hardly subtle about it. You almost laugh—almost—except the contraction twists hard enough to force you to hold your breath, and your fingers press a touch too hard against the table.

The finance officer drones on, oblivious, his voice a steady monotone against the quiet hum of the air conditioning. Someone in the corner clears their throat. The sound cuts through the room like a scalpel.

“Ma’am,” he says, hesitant, looking anywhere but at you. “If you’d like to take a break—”

You wave him off with a flick of your wrist. “I’m perfectly fine. Let’s keep this moving, please.” Your words are clipped, precise, the kind that leave no room for doubt. You feel the weight of the room’s collective discomfort settle around you, like fog gathering, thick and stifling. The intern looks at you again, wide-eyed, uncertain, and you catch his gaze with a look so cold he almost recoils.

“Of course,” he mumbles, fumbling with his laptop, frantically tapping keys as if the sheer speed of his typing will save him from your wrath.

The next contraction slams into you with a ferocity that makes your breath hitch. A sharper, hotter pain spirals down your spine, and you grip the edge of the table, harder this time. The finance officer is rambling about revenue share and high-growth potential, but his words are disintegrating, merging into the mechanical hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, until they’re nothing but a dull, meaningless drone.

“Ma’am?” The intern speaks again, tentatively. “Are you sure you’re… alright?”

You turn to him with a look that could shatter glass. “Do I look unwell to you?”

His face drains of colour. “No, of course not,” he stammers. “Just… checking”

There it is again, that shift. It’s slight but palpable, a crack in the air. Power slipping. The assistant to your left, normally so silent and obedient, dares to glance your way with what might be concern. Another staffer coughs, hiding his expression in a notebook, though you can see his eyes darting nervously across the table. They’re all shifting now, uncomfortable, glancing at each other in a silent exchange, a web of tension growing thicker with each stolen glance.

You grit your teeth, willing the pain to dissipate, willing them all to get back to their work and stop—just stop looking at you like you’re some fragile artefact about to shatter.

Then, your assistant, Julian, a man so dependable you’d have trusted him with your life savings, makes the first move. He stands, smoothing his tie, clearing his throat in a way that’s maddeningly self-assured. “I think we need to get someone,” he says, his voice gentle but insistent, like a fatherly reprimand. “Just… in case”

Your eyes narrow into slits. “Sit down,” you say, your voice a low, dangerous murmur. “Now”

He hesitates, and the silence stretches, taut as a wire. Then, inexplicably, he defies you. “I’m calling Alexia,” he says. His voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a blade.

The shock is visceral, immediate. You can feel it rippling through the room, see it in the furtive glances darting across the table. You, the unassailable chief, suddenly vulnerable, and worse, defied. You hear murmurs, soft but unmissable, as if they’re collectively holding their breath, waiting for you to explode.

Alexia. Coming here. The idea sends a fresh wave of mortification rolling through you, sharper and hotter than any contraction. Alexia, with her bluntness, her inability to mince words. She’ll walk in here, she’ll see you, and she’ll say exactly what she’s thinking, in front of everyone.

The finance officer clears his throat again, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Maybe we should… reconvene another time?” He avoids your gaze, wisely. His voice is tentative, as though he’s testing the air for danger.

“Absolutely not,” you bite out, voice like ice. “We’re finishing this meeting. Right now”

But it’s too late. The tension is too thick, the unease in the room too palpable to ignore. You can feel their eyes on you, hesitant, searching, a quiet mutiny blooming under their skin, as though you’re something fragile, a rare beast they don’t quite know how to handle. You grip the edge of the table again, willing the pain to subside, to vanish, anything to regain control of the situation.

Then, the door swings open, and there she is: Alexia, in her training kit, her hair damp with sweat, her eyes blazing with a fury so palpable it sends a ripple of shock through the room. She locks eyes with you, her expression a lethal blend of exasperation and concern. The silence deepens, everyone watching with barely concealed curiosity.

“You’re still here,” she says, each word clipped and loaded, a statement more than a question. It lands like a slap.

You force a smile, though it’s tight and strained. “I’m fine”

She sweeps a gaze across the room, her eyes taking in the faces of your subordinates, each one frozen in various states of unease and fascination. When she looks back at you, her expression is a mix of incredulity and… pity. She almost smirks, as if to say, Look at you now.

“You’re in labour,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear, her voice filled with a quiet, unmistakable fury. “And you’re… what? Leading a meeting?”

You can feel the weight of their stares, the barely-concealed smirks, the disbelief. You, their fearless leader, brought low, bossed around by your own spouse in front of them. You can already hear the whispers, the knowing chuckles that will ripple through the ranks for weeks, the stories that will morph and grow.

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” you manage, but your voice is weak, a mere shadow of its usual authority.

“Necessary?” Alexia repeats, crossing her arms. “You think it’s not necessary to go to the hospital when you’re about to give birth?”

Someone stifles a laugh—an intern, no less. You shoot him a look that promises retribution, but it’s lost amidst the pain that surges again, more intense, unrelenting. Then, Alexia’s arm is around you, firm yet gentle, steering you toward the door with a resolve that’s unyielding.

You give one last, desperate protest. “There’s no need to make a fuss. Really, I—”

“Enough,” she says, and her voice is a balm, a force, something that both steadies and infuriates you. Her arm around you is warm, grounding, and for a moment, your frustration melts, replaced by something softer, something you won’t allow yourself to name.

As Alexia guides you out, you catch a final glimpse of the boardroom, your staff looking back at you with expressions ranging from bemused pity to unspoken amusement. You know, with chilling certainty, that this will be the story of the month, if not the year. But with Alexia’s arm wrapped around you, her presence beside you, that irritation begins to fade.

The door closes, sealing you from their whispers, from their smirks. Just this once, you let it go.

[kyseya]

Once upon a time

‘Prince’ Yandere x reader

Imagine a reader in modern day society. She lives in a normal little town, went to your average school, lives in a normal house and has your everyday friendly neighbours. Like I said, her life is nothing out of the ordinary.

She feels lucky to have so many kind people in her life. Everyone knows everyone and isn’t afraid of lending a helping hand whenever someone is in trouble. The town is on the smaller side but very cozy. They have their own traditions like the annual Christmas market or the summer fundraiser. Nice stuff like that.

Everything is simply perfect! Or…well it would be if not for one tiny detail.

Unfortunately there’s one guy who just can’t seem to take a hint. Reader feels kinda mean thinking of him as a stain on the idyllic life she’s built. She doesn’t understand why he can’t take a ‘no’ for an answer. Everyday this hunk of a man walks right into her workplace like he owns the place and demands reader’s attention. With the way he’s acting you would think he’s dying and reader’s attention is the one and only cure.

It’s not like he’s ugly or anything, but a guy who doesn’t listen is just a 🚩

That’s not even the worst part. Another big issue is his…delusions.

Like, one time when reader was walking home she decided to stop by the market square since she needed some groceries. And guess who was in the middle of the square, somehow managed to climb onto the water fountain and proudly shouting at the top of his lungs? Part of reader’s soul disintegrated that day. What in the world was he doing!? He didn’t seem to be embarrassed either. No, with his nose pointed upwards he said he was going to reveal a big secret about the whole town. Silence filled he air, everyone was curious about what he was about to say.

What was this secret? Had someone committed a grave crime and was about to be exposed? Thoughts like that circled in everyone’s mind. Their imagination came to life and dreamt up various scenarios to what the deal was. People anticipated something foul, raw and sinful only to be met with grave disappointment.

You see, the man had suddenly declared himself as royalty in front of an entire audience. He claimed that the whole town was under a spell and had forgotten about their origins; being fairytale characters. And right now, only he was able to remember the truth. Alright, what the hell? That was ridiculous. What made it worse was the fact that he appointed himself as the towns prince and leader. Yikes. He said most- if not all- of the citizens where peasants and therefore his subjects. That’s why the had to listen to him from now on.

Reader wanted to peel off her skin and scream in that moment. The secondhand embarrassment was too much.

Bringing down shame upon yourself and your ancestors was one thing, but did he have to drag reader into it?? He claimed she was also royalty and should be treated with outmost respect. Why? Because he’s her husband! Of course his spouse need the 5-star treatment as well.

After the painful incident he’s always stopped by her workplace to talk her ear off. No matter what she said or did(or how much others complained) he never left. At least not permanently. In rare instances he did go with a downcast expression but he’d always be back full force the next day.

The man tells reader about the wonderful life they were going to have. If only the curse wouldn’t have been placed and they’d all been transported to the world they currently live in. It pains him so to know she’s forgotten all about him and the great love they shared. But it’ll be alright. After all, they found each other again and he refuses to let go.

Reader only half listens(he will throw a tantrum if he realises she’s not paying attention to him) as he drones on about how they first met in the forest. Of course he found her by hearing a wonderful song travel through the woods, he followed it all the way to her. They danced together and met every sundown from then on. It was so romantic. It’s impossible not to roll your eyes at the cliche imagery, it’s just so corny.

Yandere ‘prince’ also demands reader to refer to him by his royal, ‘real’ name. It’s not his real one, it’s something else. Everyone knows that- except him, apparently, since he refuses to respond to it. If you do use it, he’ll ignore you and pretend you didn’t speak at all. It’s very tiring, more so since he tries to enforce this delusion onto reader. He also won’t use her actual name and instead settles for this medieval one. Apart from that, he calls her ‘love,’ ‘darling’, ‘my heart’ and other cutesy nicknames that are far from appreciated.

It doesn’t matter what reader says, he won’t stop.

He insists he wants to be her saviour again. Sadly for him there is nothing to protect you from except the occasional spider that makes its way inside your house.

‘Well, it’s better than nothing.’ He would say before smacking and tossing it out.

He is willing to do anything for his lover. And that really does means anything. Nothing is off the table. It wasn’t before and it definitively isn’t now simply because of some lame curse. It can’t keep him form his soulmate.

He was your prince before, he’ll show you that he still is.

———————————

[This is kinda based of Once Upon A Time, though it’s been ages since I watched it. ]

[sevcasejay1chicago]

Hi! Would you please write one with Matt/Kelly/Jay x reader where the reader is walking home or something and gets attacked. Roughed up a bit maybe a concussion and like a dislocated shoulder... but she manages to get away before anything too bad happens and just runs on instinct to 51. Kelly and Matt all worried and trying to comfort her but she’s in shock. Sylvie and Violet take care of her and take her to med. Jay meets them there. Maybe with worried brother-in-law Will and a Connor appearance?

Messed with the wrong one- Matt, Kelly, and Jay

Warnings: attack briefly described, vomiting, possibly wrong medical jargon

————————————

You have always been decently independent, which is something that your boys love and hate at the same time. You enjoy doing the grocery shopping and often find yourself walking the short distance to the small neighborhood market around the corner from your shared home. Today was no different.

It was late in the afternoon. The sun was just starting to set and you were happily enjoying watching the beautiful colors change in the sky. Jay was still at work, you having been able to leave early since you finished your paper work, but Jay still had a few files left to tidy up. Your errands could have waited, but you had the time now. So, while Matt, Kelly, and Jay were all still at work, you planned on getting a head start on dinner.

You were two blocks from the market when you felt four hands grab you and drag you into a nearby ally. All your training kicked in and you fought back as hard as you could. All you could think about was getting home to your boys. You kicked and punched, having to drag yourself off the ground twice. The second time you found yourself on the ground, your head also found purchase on a brick wall. You quickly shook it off and stood, laying one guy out and dodging the other, bolting down the ally and running as fast as you could. You didn’t dare look back.

Next thing you know, you are running through the bay doors of 51 and Kelly is snatching you up in his arms. You are violently shaking, blood tricking down your neck and face. You don’t respond when Kelly talks to you, given the fact that you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears. You notice blurred figures run past you and out of the bay doors, others running out of the firehouse to see what the commotion is all about. Matt comes to your side, but you flinch and scream when he touches you.

“Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just Matt.” Kelly whispers, rocking you back and forth in his arms. He isn’t sure you hear him, but you relax as you bury your face into his neck and breath in his familiar scent.

Matt doesn’t attempt to touch you again. Not yet anyways, but he thinks he understands why you screamed now. Your left arm is cradled between you and Kelly protectively, leading Matt to believe that your hurt. “Kelly. She’s hurt pretty bad.” Matt whispers, walking around you slowly to examine you with only his eyes.

Kelly nods. “I know. I know baby. Let’s sit down, yeah?” Kelly says, acknowledging Matt and guiding you to sit in his chair at the squad table.

Brett and Violet are standing at the ambo with the doors open. They are both assessing you from afar until Matt and Kelly can get you focused or give them permission to approach. Brett can tell you are slipping into shock, but she doesn’t want to make things worse, so she waits.

It doesn’t take long after Kelly gets you sitting down. His hands pushing your shoulders to lower you down has you screaming in pain. Matt steps aside and waves the medics over, allowing Kelly to keep a hold on you since he got to you first.

“Y/n? It’s Sylvie Brett. Can you hear me?” Brett asks, crouching down to find your tear filled eyes. When you nod, Brett smiles warmly at you. “Good. Good. Can you tell me what hurts?” Brett asks, not yet laying a hand on you.

You gently run your right hand over your collar bone and then touch the back of your head. When your hand comes away with blood, you start shaking harder and hyperventilating. You didn’t feel that.

“Hey. Hey. Baby. It’s okay.” Kelly soothes, taking your hands in his. He carefully wipes them off with a towel that Violet offers as Brett stands to examine your head wound.

“Pretty deep.” Brett comments. At this point, you have lost most of the color in your face and are sweating pretty heavily. Brett can tell, without checking your vitals, that the shock is fully setting in. “Kelly. Get her loaded up. Violet, run inside and tell Boden what’s going on then drive us to med. Matt, call med and have them set up a trauma room and have x ray and CT ready upon arrival.” Brett instructs, putting her feelings as your friend aside to get you help quickly.

Everyone jumps to their tasks. Kelly scoops you up and apologizes as you cry out in pain from the movement. Brett gets in the ambo and immediately pulls out some pain killers and an Iv tray for you. She hands Kelly a towel to keep pressure on your head wound as she hooks you up. You barely flinch as the Iv is stuck in your hand, but begin to calm slightly as the meds take over.

When you stop whimpering, Brett moves to check your chest. “Y/n. I gotta look, okay? No pressing. I promise. Just gotta make sure that everything is still relatively where it’s suppose to be.” Brett said, not wanting to scare you with the fact that your bone could potentially be out of your skin or at an alarming angle or something.

You nodded, leaning your head further into Kelly’s hold as Matt finally jumped in and the ambo began moving. You groaned as the movement caused nausea to spike as your head swam. “Mmmm.” You ground out, trying to breath through the nausea.

“What’s wrong hunny?” Brett asked, pulling back from looking at your collarbone, which seemed to be in place, to look at your face. You had gone pale once again, your face scrunched up as you shakily brought a hand to your mouth. “Okay. Hang on.” Brett said, pushing Kelly forward to lean over and grab a sick bag for you. Matt immediately took it and held it under your chin so that Brett could keep examining you.

“M-Matt.” You gasped, clutching onto his wrist when he came into view. It was like you were just processing that he was even around at all.

“Shhhh. I’m here baby. Kelly and I are here.” Matt soothed, using his free hand to wipe tears from your face. “We are almost to med. We gotcha now.” Matt murmured, hating to see the pain and fear in your eyes. He wanted nothing more than to find whoever did this to you and lay into them, but you were his first priority.

Matt’s thought process was cut short when you heaved, flying forward with a scream of pain at the end of it. Kelly stood, holding your forehead in one hand and the cloth to the back of your head with his other hand. Matt held the bag around your mouth, holding one of Kelly’s arms to stop from trying to steady you or put his hand in the wrong place and hurt you more instead o comforting you.

“Brett. You gotta do something.” Kelly said, trying not to burst into tears as you threw up, screaming when you had enough air. You were shaking violently again, the pain and the vomiting causing your body to go into overdrive.

“Kelly. I can’t. We are two minutes out. I gave her enough to take the edge off, but they gotta assess her before she gets anything else on board.” Brett tried to reason, wiping tears from her own face as she attached wires to you to check your vitals. “I’m so sorry Y/n. I’m so sorry. We are getting you to med.” Brett whispered, her heart aching as she watched her friend get sick and scream while her other friends desperately tried to help.

As soon as the ambo got to Med, Conner Rhoads, Maggie, and your brother in law, Will Halstead, were pulling open the doors. Will stood slightly away, knowing he couldn’t treat you, but he also couldn’t leave you and the boys until Jay got there. Luckily, Jay had been notified by Will when he found out, so he knew his brother would be there soon.

“What do we got?” Conner asked, helping Brett get the stretcher out of the ambo as Kelly kept up, one hand still holding the cloth to your head while the other held the bag Matt had to secure it under your chin as you gagged.

“Deep head lac and suspected broken collar bone. The vomiting started about 4 minutes ago. GCS 6, 140/97, pulse 120, O2 95 on room air.” Brett spout out. “Iv in the field. Left hand. Administered 5 of Morphine to take the edge off.” Brett said, getting your sheets in her hands.

“Okay.” Conner said, “On my count. 1, 2, 3.” Conner counted, then helped transfer you onto the hospital bed. You screamed out again as they moved you, then proceeded to pass out. “She’s out. Elevate her feet. Tip the bed.” Conner instructed, following your head down as you were moved. He checked your pupils and palpitated your collarbone while you were out. “I can feel some inflammation around her collar bone on the left side. Most likely broken, but still in place. She also has a minor concussion. I’m gonna have them do an xray and CT just to make sure on both.” Conner said, standing and looking at the monitor. “Maggie, put her on 5ML of oxygen. Her stats are dropping some. Probably from the pain. Let’s go ahead with another 15 of morphine and some Zofran too.” Conner said, typing it all up pretty quickly.

You began to stir as Kelly pushed some fly away back. Conner was quick to get to you, repositioning the bed to a more comfortable position and checked your head lac. Your eyes fluttered open just as Conner was stepping back.

“Welcome back.” Connor said with a smile. “Your gonna be okay. We need to run some tests, but I think that you’ll only need a few stitches and all you’ll need is a sling to stabilize that arm while your collar bone heals.” Conner supplied, smiling as he heard Matt, Kelly, and Will sigh in relief.

You nodded, then winced. “Hurts.” You whispered, throat raw from throwing up.

Conner nodded and moved aside for Maggie. “Mags is gonna give you more morphine and some Zofran. Sound good?” Conner asked, searching your face for confirmation. When you you gave a shaky thumbs up, he smiled. “Good, I’ll check back in a bit.” Just as Conner was leaving, Jay skidded to a stop as he came barreling through the door, almost hitting Conner in his haste to get to you.

“Baby girl.” Jay breathed, patting Conner on the shoulder and going around him to get to you. He was sweating, eyes wild as he searched your body for injuries, hands and bottom lip shaking.

“J-Jay.” You immediately sobbed out. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You wailed, covering your face with your right hand.

Jay shook his head as he laid a hand on your leg. “Shhh. No baby. No. It’s okay. It’s not your fault sweet girl.” Jay soothed, rubbing your leg over the blanket. “We got them. Voight and Antonio have them. Your safe.” Jay soothed, smiling sadly at you.

“She was so smart and so brave. She ran straight into the bay doors of the fire house.” Kelly praised, kissing your forehead.

“You know your always safe with us.” Matt said, rubbing one of your feet over the blanket.

“I-I didn’t even think. I j-just ran.” You sniffed, wiping your face with the back of your arm. “I just thought a-about you guys. I-I needed to get h-home to you guys.” You murmured, tears streaking down your face again as the horrors of the event began to creep into your head.

“You’ll be home tonight sweet girl. Until then, we are here.” Jay soothed, moving forward as Maggie walked out, kissing your forehead gently. “You did so good Angel.”

“I’m home here with you guys. Wherever you are is home.” You whispered, finally relaxing as the drugs numbed the pain and the nausea. You were exhausted and you knew your boys would keep you safe, so you allowed your eyes to slip closed.

——————

Tag list:

@treehouse-mouse

@shadowmeadowsworld

@sorry-i-spaced

@zephyrmonkey

@allisonargent144

@amie134

@lane-rodgers-barnes

@pensfan5871

@dumb-fawkin-bitch

@marvel-and-chicago-fan

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@stellakiddsblog

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@senjoritanana

@celtic-shadow-wolf

@starset21

[mostlysignssomeportents]

AI is a WMD

I'm in TARTU, ESTONIA! AI, copyright and creative workers' labor rights (TOMORROW, May 10, 8AM: Science Fiction Research Association talk, Institute of Foreign Languages and Cultures building, Lossi 3, lobby). A talk for hackers on seizing the means of computation (TOMORROW, May 10, 3PM, University of Tartu Delta Centre, Narva 18, room 1037).

Fun fact: "The Tragedy Of the Commons" is a hoax created by the white nationalist Garrett Hardin to justify stealing land from colonized people and moving it from collective ownership, "rescuing" it from the inevitable tragedy by putting it in the hands of a private owner, who will care for it properly, thanks to "rational self-interest":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/04/analytical-democratic-theory/#epistocratic-delusions

Get that? If control over a key resource is diffused among the people who rely on it, then (Garrett claims) those people will all behave like selfish assholes, overusing and undermaintaining the commons. It's only when we let someone own that commons and charge rent for its use that (Hardin says) we will get sound management.

By that logic, Google should be the internet's most competent and reliable manager. After all, the company used its access to the capital markets to buy control over the internet, spending billions every year to make sure that you never try a search-engine other than its own, thus guaranteeing it a 90% market share:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Google seems to think it's got the problem of deciding what we see on the internet licked. Otherwise, why would the company flush $80b down the toilet with a giant stock-buyback, and then do multiple waves of mass layoffs, from last year's 12,000 person bloodbath to this year's deep cuts to the company's "core teams"?

https://qz.com/google-is-laying-off-hundreds-as-it-moves-core-jobs-abr-1851449528

And yet, Google is overrun with scams and spam, which find their way to the very top of the first page of its search results:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

The entire internet is shaped by Google's decisions about what shows up on that first page of listings. When Google decided to prioritize shopping site results over informative discussions and other possible matches, the entire internet shifted its focus to producing affiliate-link-strewn "reviews" that would show up on Google's front door:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

This was catnip to the kind of sociopath who a) owns a hedge-fund and b) hates journalists for being pain-in-the-ass, stick-in-the-mud sticklers for "truth" and "facts" and other impediments to the care and maintenance of a functional reality-distortion field. These dickheads started buying up beloved news sites and converting them to spam-farms, filled with garbage "reviews" and other Google-pleasing, affiliate-fee-generating nonsense.

(These news-sites were vulnerable to acquisition in large part thanks to Google, whose dominance of ad-tech lets it cream 51 cents off every ad dollar and whose mobile OS monopoly lets it steal 30 cents off every in-app subscriber dollar):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

Now, the spam on these sites didn't write itself. Much to the chagrin of the tech/finance bros who bought up Sports Illustrated and other venerable news sites, they still needed to pay actual human writers to produce plausible word-salads. This was a waste of money that could be better spent on reverse-engineering Google's ranking algorithm and getting pride-of-place on search results pages:

https://housefresh.com/david-vs-digital-goliaths/

That's where AI comes in. Spicy autocomplete absolutely can't replace journalists. The planet-destroying, next-word-guessing programs from Openai and its competitors are incorrigible liars that require so much "supervision" that they cost more than they save in a newsroom:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/29/what-part-of-no/#dont-you-understand

But while a chatbot can't produce truthful and informative articles, it can produce bullshit – at unimaginable scale. Chatbots are the workers that hedge-fund wreckers dream of: tireless, uncomplaining, compliant and obedient producers of nonsense on demand.

That's why the capital class is so insatiably horny for chatbots. Chatbots aren't going to write Hollywood movies, but studio bosses hyperventilated at the prospect of a "writer" that would accept your brilliant idea and diligently turned it into a movie. You prompt an LLM in exactly the same way a studio exec gives writers notes. The difference is that the LLM won't roll its eyes and make sarcastic remarks about your brainwaves like "ET, but starring a dog, with a love plot in the second act and a big car-chase at the end":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/01/how-the-writers-guild-sunk-ais-ship/

Similarly, chatbots are a dream come true for a hedge fundie who ends up running a beloved news site, only to have to fight with their own writers to get the profitable nonsense produced at a scale and velocity that will guarantee a high Google ranking and millions in "passive income" from affiliate links.

One of the premier profitable nonsense companies is Advon, which helped usher in an era in which sites from Forbes to Money to USA Today create semi-secret "review" sites that are stuffed full of badly researched top-ten lists for products from air purifiers to cat beds:

https://housefresh.com/how-google-decimated-housefresh/

Advon swears that it only uses living humans to produce nonsense, and not AI. This isn't just wildly implausible, it's also belied by easily uncovered evidence, like its own employees' Linkedin profiles, which boast of using AI to create "content":

https://housefresh.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/Advon-AI-LinkedIn.jpg

It's not true. Advon uses AI to produce its nonsense, at scale. In an excellent, deeply reported piece for Futurism, Maggie Harrison Dupré brings proof that Advon replaced its miserable human nonsense-writers with tireless chatbots:

https://futurism.com/advon-ai-content

Dupré describes how Advon's ability to create botshit at scale contributed to the enshittification of clients from Yoga Journal to the LA Times, "Us Weekly" to the Miami Herald.

All of this is very timely, because this is the week that Google finally bestirred itself to commence downranking publishers who engage in "site reputation abuse" – creating these SEO-stuffed fake reviews with the help of third parties like Advon:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/03/keyword-swarming/#site-reputation-abuse

(Google's policy only forbids site reputation abuse with the help of third parties; if these publishers take their nonsense production in-house, Google may allow them to continue to dominate its search listings):

https://developers.google.com/search/blog/2024/03/core-update-spam-policies#site-reputation

There's a reason so many people believed Hardin's racist "Tragedy of the Commons" hoax. We have an intuitive understanding that commons are fragile. All it takes is one monster to start shitting in the well where the rest of us get our drinking water and we're all poisoned.

The financial markets love these monsters. Mark Zuckerberg's key insight was that he could make billions by assembling vast dossiers of compromising, sensitive personal information on half the world's population without their consent, but only if he kept his costs down by failing to safeguard that data and the systems for exploiting it. He's like a guy who figures out that if he accumulates enough oily rags, he can extract so much low-grade oil from them that he can grow rich, but only if he doesn't waste money on fire-suppression:

https://locusmag.com/2018/07/cory-doctorow-zucks-empire-of-oily-rags/

Now Zuckerberg and the wealthy, powerful monsters who seized control over our commons are getting a comeuppance. The weak countermeasures they created to maintain the minimum levels of quality to keep their platforms as viable, going concerns are being overwhelmed by AI. This was a totally foreseeable outcome: the history of the internet is a story of bad actors who upended the assumptions built into our security systems by automating their attacks, transforming an assault that wouldn't be economically viable into a global, high-speed crime wave:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/24/automation-is-magic/

But it is possible for a community to maintain a commons. This is something Hardin could have discovered by studying actual commons, instead of inventing imaginary histories in which commons turned tragic. As it happens, someone else did exactly that: Nobel Laureate Elinor Ostrom:

https://www.onthecommons.org/magazine/elinor-ostroms-8-principles-managing-commmons/

Ostrom described how commons can be wisely managed, over very long timescales, by communities that self-governed. Part of her work concerns how users of a commons must have the ability to exclude bad actors from their shared resources.

When that breaks down, commons can fail – because there's always someone who thinks it's fine to shit in the well rather than walk 100 yards to the outhouse.

Enshittification is the process by which control over the internet moved from self-governance by members of the commons to acts of wanton destruction committed by despicable, greedy assholes who shit in the well over and over again.

It's not just the spammers who take advantage of Google's lazy incompetence, either. Take "copyleft trolls," who post images using outdated Creative Commons licenses that allow them to terminate the CC license if a user makes minor errors in attributing the images they use:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/24/a-bug-in-early-creative-commons-licenses-has-enabled-a-new-breed-of-superpredator/

The first copyleft trolls were individuals, but these days, the racket is dominated by a company called Pixsy, which pretends to be a "rights protection" agency that helps photographers track down copyright infringers. In reality, the company is committed to helping copyleft trolls entrap innocent Creative Commons users into paying hundreds or even thousands of dollars to use images that are licensed for free use. Just as Advon upends the economics of spam and deception through automation, Pixsy has figured out how to send legal threats at scale, robolawyering demand letters that aren't signed by lawyers; the company refuses to say whether any lawyer ever reviews these threats:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/13/an-open-letter-to-pixsy-ceo-kain-jones-who-keeps-sending-me-legal-threats/

This is shitting in the well, at scale. It's an online WMD, designed to wipe out the commons. Creative Commons has allowed millions of creators to produce a commons with billions of works in it, and Pixsy exploits a minor error in the early versions of CC licenses to indiscriminately manufacture legal land-mines, wantonly blowing off innocent commons-users' legs and laughing all the way to the bank:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/02/commafuckers-versus-the-commons/

We can have an online commons, but only if it's run by and for its users. Google has shown us that any "benevolent dictator" who amasses power in the name of defending the open internet will eventually grow too big to care, and will allow our commons to be demolished by well-shitters:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/09/shitting-in-the-well/#advon

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

Catherine Poh Huay Tan (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/68166820@N08/49729911222/

Laia Balagueró (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/lbalaguero/6551235503/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

@twilighttowayvision wanted a possessive and protective Vess, so here we are ladies and gentlemen. My offering.

Snogging inner demons

Vess is a quiet kind of possessive. He doesn’t use nor need to use his voice to get the point around. Even if he’s just like the rest of the boys and prefers to keep the circle of people aware of his personal life to the minimum, he has ways of making sure that everyone is more than aware that you are off the market.

His protectiveness stems from the shared fact that now that he had let you in. Let you see the darkest, loneliest, still aching parts of him. Now that you have chosen to love him with all of the broken parts, he doesn’t want you to go. Can’t imagine a world where you aren’t the one he gets to wake up to or one he gets to turn to when his head gets so loud it’s driving him mad.

So Vess doesn’t feel a pang of jealousy when his eyes fall on you. A backstage pass around your neck as you beam at everyone with the same enthusiasm as you always do. Even if sharing your light with others makes him feel a tad annoyed at times. Vess would never forget how you two had dragged yourselves out of your apartment close to 9 pm to go to the store for snacks and well… protection. Cause wrap it before you tap it, kids. And he stood there, condoms behind his back while you nodded at the story the elderly lady, who had just scanned your porches, talked about her grandson’s birthday party that was coming up. Your full attention on her as she ran through the list of possible gifts and how she didn’t understand kids these days.

So Vess takes his time, finishing the conversation he was having with the band’s manager before he walks right up to you. He doesn’t say anything as he stands behind you. One of his hands slithering up your hip as he pulls you back into him. The story one of the guys was telling dies down and from the way all of them are looking up, you know that Vess, even with his mask on, can send a pretty clear message. And no one even has a second thought about it. They wrap it up almost immediately, as you manage to spear them one more smile before they hurry away.

“You give me Dracula vibes at times”, you snicker, turning to face your lover, “Or even better, you remember the way Professor Snape flows into the classroom?”, another giggle slips past your lips and you can see the corner of Vessel’s lips curving upwards. “But did you see any windows closing? Or candles that stopped burning?”, he tilts his head to the side. “We don’t have these here so not a fair comparison”, you let your hands fall to his bare chest, carefully of the pain that’s still drying there.

“Sometimes I want to lock you up so you would only shine on me”, Vess carefully brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “Bad idea, III might just cry for the rest of his life”, you shake your head and this is enough to make Vess let out a low chuckle. “True, the boys love you”, he looks over your shoulder for a moment, before lacing his fingers through yours, “Come”, he mutters before pulling you towards a more secluded corner.

“You have a show in thirty minutes, Vess”, you warn him, not sure where his mind is going. “Plenty of time for what I want”, he mutters, pushing you in front of him, your body fully hidden by his frame. His lean fingers caress the side of your face before he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. The light and gentle pecks make you almost frown because this was not what you were thinking he had dragged you away for. But then his hand is on your neck as he turns your face to the side, his lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down to your shoulder. “Vess”, you hiss, yet your hands still pull him in by his hips. Soft touches turn into more intentional nibbling and soon you are more than aware as to what he’s doing. As he bites and bruises your neck. “Not a possessive boyfriend my ass”, you huff and it’s enough to make him halt, pulling a laugh that you can feel against your skin. He raises back up, fixing his mask, “Felt like marking the territory tonight”, he says so casually that you can’t help but hit his chest playfully. “Was this necessary? Here, with all the people?”, you point to your neck, which you sure is nice and purple now. Vess brushing his finger over your lips, “You got black paint on your face”, he smirks, “Everyone can already tell that you’ve been misbehaving”. You roll your eyes, “You are in trouble”, pointing a finger you, put the front camera on, whipping your face. Vess scowls, pushing your hand away, “Don’t wipe away my kisses”, you crock your head to the side, “Well, don’t kiss me like a manic then. It looks like I snogged my inner demon”, “Well, maybe you did”, he leans in pressing his lips to yours one more, this time in a way gentler way, “Here, no evidence”, smirking to himself he reaches for your hand once more, stepping back into the hustle of the pre-show.

[luna0713hunter]

I'm in love with your fics.

Do you have a Masterlist somewhere? 😎

Also, could I request something about Shanks x reader? Maybe a fight (with swords and everything) where Shanks save/protects reader and then full fluff at the aftermath? 💖 Shanks is my everything! 💕💕💕💕

Thank youuu!

Author's note : awww thank you! And yes!!!i just updates my master list!!its in my pinned message,and you can also search "masterlist"!! So understandable,Shanks is one of my favorites as well :))) i hope you like it!!enjoy~

Take my breath away

Shanks x reader

Warnings : none really, typical fighting and slight injuries,mention of Shank's lost arm,fluff fluff fluff,and ofc hurt/comfort ,pet names

*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘

When your back hits the ground,hard,you wonder how things ended up like this.

It was a typical day;the morning starting out when Benn spotted the land,then all of you going to the market to restore food and drinks (mostly booz) and any weapons needed.

It was a typical,calm day. Until it wasn't.

You were so close to your ship when another crew of pirates attacked you.

That's how you ended up on the ground, groaning as the pirate you were fighting with kicks you in the ribs. The action has you letting out a small yell while trying to get up and fight back,but the next kick to you temple has your eyesight darkening as everything starts to blur.

You dont lose consciousness,but you're close to it. So when you hear a distant shout of your name you think you might be hallucinating. But the arm around your shoulders and almost rough shaking of your body feels very much real.

So you squeeze your eyes shut and let out another pained groan before opening them once again.

Everything is a little fuzzy at the edge,but you manage to finally keep your focus on your savior.

Red hair is the first thing that gets your attention.

"Shanks?"

You internally cringe at how horse your voice sounds.

"Yeah baby girl,its me," the arm around you tightens as Shanks pulls you closer to his chest, "can you keep those pretty eyes open for me, princess?"

Oh, you think,when did you close them?

"It hurts."

"i know, I'm sorry my love."

"I'm sleepy too."

"you can sleep all you want once the medic takes a good look at you." His lips press to your forehead so gently that you close your eyes again. Shanks taps your cheek with his finger and smiles softly when you meet his eyes with your glazed over ones, "dont sleep yet,Baby girl."

You whine and rub your face in his neck,making him chuckle slightly.

"but I'm tiredddd."

"tell you what," his voice is so calming that it eases the pang behind your eyes slightly, "if you manage to stay awake by the time the medic comes, I'll reward you with anything you want."

At the offer,you perk up and look at him with gleaming eyes.

"promise?"

"promise."

So you try your hardest to stay awake,and by the time the medic finishes checking on you and tells you that you can rest,you immediately fall asleep in Shank's arm.

✧

You wake up to fingers carding through your hair and caressing your bruised cheek.

The mere action of opening your eyes take lot of effort,but when you finally do it, you're met with your Captain's concerned gaze.

When Shanks notices your eyes on him,he immediately bends over you and rests his hand on your forehead.

"Angel,baby girl,can you hear me?"

You give him a slight nod and upon opening your mouth to speak,you burst into series of dry coughs. Shanks rushes to pour you a glass of water and after helping you sit up and rest your back against his chest,he helps you drink it.

When your throat is once again working,you rest your head on his shoulder tiredly and look around; you're in your shared room with Shanks,which immediately makes you relax further.

"how's everybody?"

"the guys are fine. You should worry about yourself. You were the most beat up of us all."

You groan and throw your head back, "this is so embarrassing," you mumble, "cant believe i was so careless."

"what're you talking about," Shanks takes hold of your chin and turns your head so he can look at you while raising his brows, "have you perhaps forgotten i came back from a fight single handed?"

You frown, "thats different!!you were fighting a giant sea monster!"

"its not different at all. Its a battle;and getting hurt is absolutely normal." His expression softens as his fingers trace your bandaged cheek, "not that it makes it any easier to see you like this." He gently presses his lips to your forehead and murmurs a soft apology.

"not your fault. Dont ever apologize" You caress his cheek and suddenly give him a devilish grin, "so,i was promised a reward if i recall correctly?"

Shanks chuckles and presses his lips to yours softly.

"anything you want."

And when you laugh and pull him down to kiss him breathless, he's sure he's going to regret promising you that.

[hallowpen]

I don't personally follow a lot of BL khu jin because, as you are all probably aware, I am a sapphic-loving girlie. But the one pair that I've been following since their start is BounPrem...

And the reason why I have grown so incredibly fond of them is because of how genuine they are in their relationship with one another and with their fans. It also speaks volumes that despite the consistency of their work, they have amassed a loyal and growing fandom, both in Thailand and internationally.

I had the privilege of attending Prem's solo concert earlier this year in April. Boun was supposed to appear as a special guest, but during the rehearsal period he ended up getting sick from tonsilitis. Despite this fact, Boun was determined to show up for Prem's 'important day'... AND HE DID, making Prem and the fans super emotional.

This clip is from right after Boun had performed both a solo song and his first joint performance with Prem.

Prem's solo manager, P'Kwang, recently did a tiktok live where she spoke about this moment.

(source)

"P'Boun is so adorable! He was sick, and Prem said, 'P', you don’t have to come.' (Prem) was really worried. So the team and I started coming up with a backup plan, 'Okay, what should we do if Boun doesn’t come? We'll bring Mark on stage, we'll make some adjustments.' Boun was being stubborn and insisted on coming. Both of them were worried about each other. Boun was concerned about (Prem) and Prem was worried about Boun being in pain."

She goes on to talk about Boun continuing to insist that he go on stage (because he cared about how important this day was to Prem), how they had to ask the stylist to make Boun a mask last minute to hide all of the swelling on his face, how Prem was worried and didn't want Boun to force himself to go on stage... "They love each other so much."

The reason why I am sharing this now is because there are newer BP fans emerging since their move to GMMtv who might be unaware of their overall sincerity. It's never been 'an act'. They've been working together for six years, and remain two of the most humble artists I've had the pleasure of meeting... Boun has frequently stated how he doesn't believe that he could have so many fans come to support him and Prem for their various events across Asia. Any fan of theirs can point to numerous occasions in which you can tell these two, not only value each other and the work that they do... but the community for which they do it for (which is super important to me specifically).

So if you're maybe in the market for a Thai BL vampire series with a cast and director that respect queer media and its audience... LOOK NO FURTHER:

[darth-mortem]

A lil fic where Ghost and Soap eat taiyaki. A lot of fluff and a little angst, mention of Ghost's family. 870 words.

“Our plane will be in five hours.” Soap said, looking at Ghost, who was lying on the bed in their hotel room, mindlessly flipping through TV channels. 

The lieutenant didn’t respond. He was hellishly tired from the mission and only dreamed of spending the time before the flight in silence and peace. 

“Price and Gaz went for a walk.” Soap continued, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing his hand on Simon’s chest. 

Actually, that was not a very accurate way to put it. It would be more correct to say that Garrick had pulled Price out for a walk, and the captain wasn’t putting up much of a fight. 

“Come on, let’s go too.” Soap urged, making puppy eyes. “Please, Si! When else will we be in Los Angeles?” 

The strict and unyielding Lieutenant Riley could never resist the power of those charming blue eyes of his beloved, and Johnny knew it very well. So, with a heavy sigh, Simon turned off the TV and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. 

Ghost and Soap were out of the hotel in no more than five minutes. The noisy, neon-lit street overwhelmed the lieutenant, and he pulled the hood of his hoodie tighter, trying to avoid the gazes of passing people. He wasn’t looking around, so he didn’t immediately notice that after a few turns they had found themselves in a completely different place. But Soap noticed. He had frozen in awe, admiring the bright decorations of the city’s Japanese district. It seemed that there was some kind of festival, as crowds of people in colorful attire wandered through the streets, and booths with food, souvenirs, and other trinkets lined both sides. 

“Oh, Si, just look at this!” Johnny exclaimed excitedly, then grabbed Ghost by the hand and pulled him towards the market stalls. 

Simon had a terrible headache. He trudged behind his energetic sergeant, trying to look at everything that Johnny pointed out and share his enthusiasm. Without waiting for additional prompts, he bought Johnny a bracelet with hieroglyphs, a few netsuke figurines of cats and dogs, and an absolutely terrible quality tanto with a bright handle, which would probably will be confiscated at the airport. Johnny was happy, and that was the most important thing for Simon. 

“Lt.! Lt.!” Soap managed to run ahead to the food stalls while Ghost clumsily maneuvered past a flock of teenagers laughing loudly and taking selfies. “Let’s get something to eat, Lt.!” 

The sergeant was curiously examining the different yakitori and onigiri when Simon suddenly stopped by a nearby stall, where on paper plates lay rows of golden and brown fish-shaped pastries—taiyaki. He stared at them, but different images filled his mind. 

Warm yellow lanterns in a clear evening sky. Soft, pleasant music. Happy couples dancing on the wooden dance floor. Beth’s bright curly hair. Tommy’s cheerful smile. Joseph’s tiny hand squeezing his fingers and pulling him away from the dance floor towards sweets stalls, among which the fish-shaped pastries stood out particularly brightly... 

The vendor’s persistent voice was asking something of Ghost, and he barely managed to pull himself out of his memories, randomly poking at one of the pastries. In a minute he had wandered off to the side, holding a fresh and still warm taiyaki wrapped in a napkin. He barely had time to lower the simple black medical mask he wore in the city onto his chin and bite his sweet fish when a Scottish whirlwind flew towards him and grabbed him by the free hand. 

“What is this, Si?” Soap asked, looking curiously at his fragrant fish-shaped pastry. “Is it sweet? Can I have a bite? It smells so good!” 

Riley involuntarily smiled, forcing himself to push the pain and sadness deeper, and brought the pastry to Johnny’s lips. 

“This is called taiyaki.” He said as his restless sergeant chewed on the sweet fish, having bitten off nearly half of it. “Joseph… loved them very much.” 

Soap froze, and the joy in his eyes changed to a mix of concern and sympathy. He struggled to swallow such a delicious treat and tenderly placed his hands on Ghost’s waist. It was clear that he was confused and didn’t know how to react or what to say. Simon sighed quietly, ran his fingers along Johnny’s cheek, and finished the rest of the taiyaki. 

“Do you want another one?” He asked, smiling a little sadly.

“Aye!” Soap perked up. “Do they have them with chocolate? Or caramel? Are there bigger ones?” 

The ghosts of the past retreated under the powerful onslaught of energy and happiness radiating from Johnny. Simon’s smile became genuine and cheerful, and he led his sergeant back to the stall with the fish-shaped pastries, thinking about how his beloved man often acted like a child. 

“Johnny.” He called out when they sat on a bench nearby, and Soap began devouring the taiyaki that his lieutenant had bought him. “Thank you for bringing me out here. This is really so much better than lying in the hotel and watching that bloody TV.” 

Soap just smiled, quickly kissing Ghost with his lips sweetened by chocolate and anko, and popped another pastry into his Scottish mouth.

[aishabellasbigblogofeverything]

https://gofund.me/49a66e95 paypal.me/maiabuhamda

save us from the suffering of war and the burdens of life

Hello my friends, I'm Mai from Gaza. Before the war, my life was full of energy and joy. I was working in marketing, and I absolutely loved my job. Every new project made me feel accomplished. Hanging out with my friends gave me positive energy throughout the day, and everything was stable and peaceful. Life was simple and beautiful, full of safety and stability, and we were living happily without worrying about what the future might bring.

After the war, everything turned upside down. We were forced to leave our home suddenly, with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Before our eyes, we watched our memories and dreams shatter; everything dear to us was lost in an instant. We lost everything—our money, our jobs, our future, and all that we had worked so hard for was gone. That moment was more than my mind could handle; I felt like I was going to lose it from the shock and the enormity of what had happened to us.

My mother’s health was already in a very poor state even before the war because she has a heart device implanted. The medications she needs are not always available, and when we do find them, they are extremely expensive, making it difficult for us to afford them consistently. My brother also suffered a severe injury to his hand, requiring 80 stitches, which demands ongoing care and essential medications for his recovery. He also needs surgery on his hand to restore it to its previous condition. The health conditions of my mother and brother have been a significant burden on us, especially with the difficult circumstances we are living in.

The cost of basic and daily necessities has become extremely high. Food is not always available, and when we do find it, it's incredibly expensive. Most of the food we can get is canned, and shampoo and soap cost around $30 if we can even find them. Life has become exhausting and expensive—we struggle to eat, barely manage to drink, and meet our basic human needs with great difficulty. From early morning, I search for food and water, and if I find them, the prices are astronomical, allowing us to buy only a little. This life is filled with suffering, and I plead to God for salvation, and I ask those with a conscience to help save what remains of our spirit.

We are suffering from a severe shortage of everything—food, water, healthcare, medications, and basic living conditions. Sleep has become nearly impossible with the constant drone of noise above our heads. For the past 10 months, we’ve been struggling, constantly moving from place to place in search of safety. We wake up early just to fetch water that isn’t even safe to drink, just so we can use it. Life has become harder every day because we have no income to cover our needs, and if we do have any income, it doesn’t even cover 10% of our basic necessities. The situation has become unbearable, and with each passing day, the suffering and pressure increase.

The health conditions have become extremely difficult, with diseases, insects, and garbage everywhere. If you get sick, you can't go for treatment because medications are not available in the hospitals. This means you either die from illness at home or from the bombing. The situation is very hard, and the scarcity of medicines and their high prices are exhausting. The hardest thing is seeing your loved ones suffer in pain, and you're unable to help them because of the lack of medicine. I don't want much from life, only to live with a basic level of humanity that we were created for, and to be able to provide the simplest things for my loved ones, even if it's just a little.

We are in urgent need of your donations and support during these difficult times.

~

Please donate to this campaign by @maimohssin or share it if you can’t!