#it matters little what you actually feel we can only see what you do

[sodavizz]

Ohms nit the same person but could you PLEASE wrote more about daisuke and his like reskin that was so cute

sorry i only replied now, our Christmas break finally came 🙏🙏 (thank god)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Great minds think alike!!

(p. 2) ★ <- pt. 1 here

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Pairing: Daisuke x GN! Reader (can be platonic if u want)

Warnings: i feel like this is too short,,,, i'll probably add more some other day.

W/C: 100+

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Earth! Daisuke headcanons; (it means headcanons don't apply when reader and Daisuke are on the Tulpar!)

Daisuke is the type to bring you little gifts every time he sees you. A shiny pebble he found, a flower he picked on his walk, or even your favorite snack he saw at the store.

“I saw this and thought of you!” he says with the biggest grin, and you can’t help but melt and get all excited at the gesture.

Daisuke’s positivity is infectious. If you’re feeling down, he’ll go out of his way to cheer you up, even if it means embarrassing himself.

He’ll dance around the room, tell silly jokes, or even sing (badly) just to see you smile.

“Your happiness is my mission!” he declares with mock seriousness, then bursts into laughter.

He loves baking with you, even if he’s not the best at it. Half the time, you end up covered in flour because he starts a playful flour fight.

“Whoops!” He says with a cheeky grin plastered on his mouth as he ‘accidentally’ smudges frosting on your face and clothes.

“What the heck man!—” You reply as you get your revenge by dumping the bag of flour on his head. (It turned into a food fight)

As mentioned in pt. 1 before, Daisuke and you are a bit of a klutz, often tripping over your guy's own feet or bumping into things.

“I meant to do that,” he says, trying to play it cool, but you’re already laughing before receiving your own karma and getting in his position as well.

Despite his clumsiness, he’s incredibly gentle when it comes to you. He always holds your hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

He’s constantly hyping you up, even for the smallest things.

“You’re amazing, did you know that? Like, wow, how are you so cool?”

If you’re wearing something new, he notices instantly and gushes about how good you look and how he'd look good too if he wore it.

Daisuke loves exploring new places with you, whether it’s a hidden café, a park, or a quirky little shop.

He’ll grab your hand and excitedly drag you along, pointing out everything that catches his eye, you laughing so excitedly with him for a new adventure!

“Look at that! Isn’t it cute? Oh, we have to take a picture here!”

He’s super affectionate, always finding excuses to hold your hand, hug you, or rest his head on your shoulder.

If you’re sitting together, he’ll casually lean against you and sigh contentedly.

Encouragement King.

Whenever you doubt yourself, Daisuke is right there to lift you up.

“You’ve got this! I believe in you 100%. No, 200%! Actually, make that 300%!”

His enthusiasm is so genuine that you can’t help but feel more confident.

Whenever you two hang out and you absolutely matching his energe and humor, it’s like having double the fun. With you both causing as much havoc whenever you guys have sleepovers. (you definitely do each other's make-up and skin care)

He always insists on giving you a hug before you part ways, even if it’s just for a short while.

“Stay safe, okay? And don’t forget how amazing you are!”

Tulpar! Daisuke

If you’re working on something on the freighter, Daisuke is your biggest supporter.

He’ll sneak you in some sweetener that Curly secretly gave to him, cheer you on, and even help out if he can.

No matter how chaotic life gets, Daisuke always makes sure you know how much he cares about you.

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world, well— universe.” he says softly, his eyes sparkling with affection as you giggle at how sweet and passionate he is.

Daisuke LOVES staying up late with you.

He’ll share his dreams, his silly thoughts, and even random trivia he learned from the past.

“Did you know octopuses have three hearts? Isn’t that cool? Anyway, tell me more about your day!”

You two would definitely be talking about random things and maybe play a game once the conversation dries up.

If you're not in the mood to play and just feel tired he'd probably try convincing you to play with him. (You'd eventually give in.)

“Pleaseeee...! Just one round, promise.....!”

Spoiler: It’s never just one round.

“No way! You can’t just skip three spaces because you ‘felt like it’!”

“Why not? It’s a part of my rules!”

Your laughter's is uncontrollable as you guys compete, tell jokes, and make up ridiculous rules for the game. And of course with how much ruckus you guys would make you'd get caught eventually.

Captain Curly appears in the doorway, arms crossed, looking very unimpressed.

“And what, pray tell, are you two doing at this ungodly hour?”

“Uh… team bonding?” Daisuke offers with a sheepish grin.

“Yeah, we’re improving morale!” you add enthusiastically.

Curly is not amused but would sometimes let it slide with a warning. (keyword: sometimes)

I feel like you two would definitely get a lecture about respecting curfew and the importance of sleep.

Daisuke nods seriously, but the moment Curly turns away, he whispers, “Worth it.”

You tried to stifle a laugh, but would get glared at again.

By the time Curly finishes and leaves you both crawl into bed, exhausted but still grinning.

You both fall asleep almost instantly, dreaming of your next late-night adventure.

--

bye

[msilwrites]

Papa Bear Material Ch 9 (Captain Price Fic) - The Set Up!

Chapter 1  Chapter 1 (Shorter Version) Chapter 2  Chapter 3   Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8 Chapter 10

@darkangel4121@teenagellamaangel@madzzz0797@callsignferal(To the other’s who want me to tag you when there’s an update, just tell me at the comments) A/N: Hello, everyone! So, it seems the Captain has you right where he wants you. No matter how much you try to slip away, there’s no escaping him—he’s determined, and he will have you. 😉 This chapter might feel a little longer as I’ve focused on building up the chase and the tension between you two. But I promise, it’s worth it! If you’re feeling impatient, feel free to scroll ahead to when the Captain finally ‘captures’ you. 😏 LOL! Enjoy the ride, and let me know what you think! ❤️

The door creaked open, and in stepped the doctor, holding a clipboard with the results of Y/N's x-rays and scans. He gave her a once-over, then glanced at the paper before meeting her eyes.

"Alright, Ms. Y/N, good news. No concussion, your neck’s just a little twisted from the impact. Your arm, though—well, that’s definitely going to need some time to heal, but we can work with it." He made a note, looking at her bandaged face. "The cuts on your face will need some care, but nothing too serious. Just take some painkillers when you eat, and you should be good to go."

Y/N sighed in relief but winced at the sting of her injuries. She was just about to ask if she could leave without the next part when the doctor added, “Now, we need someone to sign for you to be discharged and for the medication prescription. I’m assuming your partner—” He paused, glancing at Price, who was still leaning against the bed, looking annoyingly perfect—“can handle that?”

Before Y/N could protest, Price was already nodding, a smirk playing on his lips. "Aye, I can do that," he replied smoothly, as though he’d been expecting it.

The doctor, clearly oblivious to the irritation bubbling up inside her, glanced between them with a raised eyebrow, then nodded and scribbled something down on his clipboard. “Great. I’ll get the paperwork ready. Just make sure she follows the painkiller instructions.”

Y/N glared at Price, her good arm crossed over her chest. “I swear, if you start acting like we’re actually a couple—”

Price shot her a quick, playful wink. “You’re gonna have to get used to it, love!”

The doctor left, and Y/N turned to look at Price, narrowing her eyes. “You’re unbearable,” she muttered.

Price leaned in closer, his voice lowering to something almost flirtatious. “You know you like it.”

Y/N groaned and rolled her eyes, but it was impossible to ignore the spark of something—embarrassment, frustration, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of... affection?

As the minutes dragged on, Y/N lay there, staring at the sterile ceiling, her mind racing but her body unable to do anything more than ache in protest. Price sat beside her, arms crossed, exuding a mix of concern and frustration, and it was clear to her that the tension between them was building. The hum of hospital activity around them did nothing to break the silence, only adding to the weight in the air. She could feel his eyes on her, practically searing through her skin, and she didn’t know if it was his gaze or the pain in her arm that was making her more uncomfortable.

Finally, Price broke the silence with an exasperated sigh. “You’ve got some bloody nerve, you know that? Running around like a madwoman, getting yourself hurt like that.”

Y/N turned her head towards him, raising an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement breaking through the discomfort. “Excuse me?”

He leaned forward, his voice low but filled with that trademark commanding tone she couldn’t escape. “The moment I found out... and then seeing all those bloody gifs from your colleagues flooding the chat... I knew I had to come see for myself. Make sure you weren’t in a body bag. All for what? A USB?”

She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the guilt trying to creep in. “I wasn’t the one in the body bag, now was I?”

“No, but you nearly bloody were!” He shot back, his voice sharp with frustration. “You fought someone twice your size, for god’s sake. What the hell were you thinking? And that slap to your face—” He gestured toward the ugly bruise on her cheek. “That wasn’t exactly part of the plan, was it?”

Y/N winced at the reminder but quickly covered it with a snarky smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry, should I have asked them to go easier on me? I had to do what I had to do, Price. That USB had information that would’ve blown the whole operation to pieces. If I didn’t keep it safe, we’d be looking at a lot more than a bruise on my face.”

Her tone shifted, just a touch of defiance in her voice. “I did what I had to do. And they fought the wrong bitch. Unfortunately for them, though, I’m too bloody good at what I do.”

Price scowled, his brows furrowing as he leaned in closer. “Don’t make it sound like it’s just another day at the office, Y/N. You’re not invincible. You can’t just take a hit and keep moving.” His voice softened slightly, but the intensity in his gaze remained. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Her eyes softened, a small, almost imperceptible smile pulling at her lips, but she wasn’t about to let him have the last word just yet. “What do you care? I’m an operator. It’s my job. It’s not like—”

She stopped, realizing she had said too much. But before she could backpedal, Price cut her off, his voice suddenly more serious.

“I care because, damn it, I don’t want to see you thrown around like that. You’re not just some bloody operator to me.”

The way he said it, with so much sincerity, made her heart stutter in her chest. His usual teasing edge was gone, replaced by something raw, something real. She didn’t know how to respond, how to fight back against the warmth creeping up her neck.

“John…” she whispered, her voice wavering slightly. She wanted to say something sarcastic, to brush off the strange flutter in her chest, but his steady gaze had her frozen. It was almost as if, for the first time, he was letting her see the concern behind the bravado.

“You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, haven’t you?” he said softly, almost to himself.

Y/N was silent for a moment, her pulse racing. She didn’t know what to say, how to make light of it, how to respond without revealing too much. Finally, she simply said, "You should probably stop before you start singing ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love’."

Price’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. But then his expression shifted—his gaze darkened, those piercing blue eyes locking onto hers with such intensity that her breath hitched. It was the look. The one that said more than words ever could.

Y/N felt her stomach flip, her heart racing faster than she could process. She tried to look away, but his stare held her captive, his blue eyes pulling her in like a magnet. The room seemed to shrink, the noise of the hospital fading into nothing as she became acutely aware of every inch of him sitting so close. She felt her face heat up, warmth spreading across her cheeks as she struggled to catch her breath.

“Price…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She had to look away, had to break the spell he’d cast over her. But her body wouldn’t cooperate. Her eyes fluttered, and for the first time, she couldn’t find the right words to shield herself from the effect he had on her.

He leaned in just a little, his gaze never leaving hers. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, his voice low, the teasing edge gone, replaced by something softer. Something that made her heart feel like it might burst out of her chest.

Y/N had never wanted to look away more in her life, but she couldn't. She swallowed hard, her mind spinning in a haze, cursing the fact that her face was no doubt as red as a tomato.

"Never mind," she muttered, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. She quickly turned her head, avoiding his intense gaze, though she could still feel the weight of it on her skin.

Her eyes darted to the side, desperate to find something—anything—to focus on other than him. But she swore she caught the smallest, most self-assured grin tugging at the corner of Price’s lips. It was as though he knew exactly what he was doing to her, and it made her feel utterly exposed.

She shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of how her pulse quickened every time she thought about his gaze. She didn’t know how to escape it, and for the first time, Y/N realized there was no hiding from the effect John Price had on her.

----------

Price insisted on driving her home, a suggestion that, under normal circumstances, Y/N might have entertained. But these weren’t normal circumstances. She was still too suspicious, too guarded to let him know where she lived. The last thing she needed was him showing up unannounced, and she wasn’t about to let him in on that little detail.

“I’m fine, Price,” she said quickly, sitting up a little straighter. “I’ll head to the unit’s base. My stuff’s there, and I’ve got work tomorrow. I’ll be better off just sleeping there for the night. You know, book in at camp, like we sometimes do.”

Price’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sharpening in that way she knew all too well. “Book in? You sure about that? Something smells off.”

Y/N waved him off with a feigned nonchalance, trying her best to sound convincing. “I’m fine, seriously. No need to worry about me.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You’ve got that ‘I’m trying to get away from you’ look on your face. What’s really going on?”

She met his eyes, her resolve firm. “Nothing’s going on. Just, you know, work stuff. Base. I'll go home tomorrow.”

Price just stared at her for a moment longer, then sighed, clearly giving in to whatever bizarre reasoning she had going on. “Fine. If you’re so determined, I’ll take you back to the base. But this isn’t over.”

“Great, thanks,” she muttered, trying to suppress a grin. She had won this round.

----------

Once they arrived at the unit’s base, Y/N made a swift exit, eager to put some space between herself and Price. She stepped out of the lift, onto her floor, and walked briskly down the hallway toward the unit’s office. Before she could make it inside, however, a loud chorus of voices stopped her in her tracks.

Her colleagues had clearly been waiting for her, and as she stepped into the room, they erupted into loud cheers and applause.

“Look who’s back! The turtle’s shell is tougher than we thought!” one of them called out with a wide grin, prompting an exaggerated cheer from the others.

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, but she couldn’t help but laugh. “Stop it, you lot. I didn’t ask for a bloody welcome back party.”

Another colleague, waving a mock trophy above his head, added, “Give it up for Y/N, the toughest of them all! No one’s messing with the turtle!”

Her teammates were practically in hysterics, and the teasing continued for several minutes before it finally died down. Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to keep her composure, but deep down, she couldn't help but feel a warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest. It was moments like this—surrounded by her quirky, loyal team—that made all the madness of the job worth it.

“Alright, alright,” she said with a raised hand in mock surrender, her grin impossible to hide.

As her colleagues finally began to disperse, she let out a deep breath, still chuckling at their ridiculous antics. But despite the laughter, her mind wandered back to her earlier encounter with Price—and how, for a brief moment, she almost didn’t mind the idea of him getting a little too close.

----------

Later that evening, Captain Price discovered the truth. Y/N wasn’t staying the night at the base as she had claimed. He saw her—half waddling, half hopping—onto the unit’s bus just as it was about to depart. It was meant to take staff to the nearby train station, a clear sign that she was heading home despite her earlier insistence.

The sight of her settling into a window seat on the crowded bus made him pause. Y/N, caught off guard, locked eyes with him through the glass. Her face froze in surprise for a split second before she quickly turned her head, pretending she hadn’t seen him. Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her bag as she tried to appear indifferent.

Price stood there outside, arms crossed, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. He didn’t have to say a word; the weight of his stare said enough. Y/N could feel it pressing on her even as she resolutely avoided looking back.

Her only saving grace was that tomorrow was the weekend. She wouldn’t have to face him—or his inevitable questions—for at least two days. ----------

Y/N stretched lazily on her sofa, her stomach pleasantly full from her third takeout meal of the weekend. A collection of cartons cluttered her coffee table, evidence of her commitment to staying in. Wrapped in her coziest blanket, she scrolled idly through the endless void of streaming options, her mind blissfully blank—except for the persistent notifications on her phone.

Captain Price.

The messages had started Friday evening, a steady stream of charm, wit, and mild exasperation, each one left on read. Ignoring him had been easy at first, the kind of defiance that felt both amusing and oddly satisfying. But by Sunday, the guilt was beginning to creep in, as was the awareness that she was, perhaps, enjoying his attention a little too much.

Friday Evening Price: "Ah, so you are seeing these. Leaving me on read, are we? Cheeky. How about this: a quiet drink, no fuss. Just say the word, and I’ll pick the spot."

Saturday Morning Price: "Still not a peep from you. I’ll bet you’re curled up in bed, hiding under a duvet and feeling quite smug. Enjoy it while you can, love. I’m not that easy to ignore."

Saturday Lunchtime Price: "Alright, Y/N. What’s it going to be—coffee, tea, or something stronger? Whatever it is, my treat. Unless, of course, you’ve decided to make ghosting me your weekend hobby."

Saturday Evening Price: "You’ve got a talent for this, I’ll give you that. Leaving me on read again. What’s the matter, too shy to say no? Let me make it easy for you—just meet me for a bite. No questions, no pressure. Don’t let me starve alone, eh?"

She chuckled softly at that one, but still didn’t respond. Her takeaway had arrived moments later, and her commitment to laziness outweighed any inclination to text back.

Sunday Morning Price: "You’re relentless, aren’t you? Can’t even send me a cheeky little ‘no thanks.’ Fine, I’ll play your game. But if you’re still hiding come midday, don’t think I won’t find out where that flat of yours is."

Her eyes lingered on that one a little longer, her lips twitching into a smirk. She shook her head and set her phone aside. He was bluffing. Probably.

Sunday Lunchtime Price: "Alright, love, this is getting predictable now. Another takeaway, is it? No shame in admitting you’ve run out of ideas. Let me take you somewhere. I promise I won’t bite… unless you ask."

Her laughter bubbled up unbidden as she read the latest message, a part of her almost tempted to respond. But the lure of her blanket and the promise of another nap won out. She placed her phone face down and curled up, thinking smugly that he’d give up eventually.

But then, her phone buzzed again. This time, something about it made her pause. She reached for it hesitantly, her heart skipping a beat as she unlocked the screen.

"You’ve got a wicked streak, leaving me hanging like this. But fair warning, Y/N—I’m even more wicked when I’m crossed."

A moment later, another message buzzed in.

"Monday’s coming, love. You think you’ve won this little game of hide and seek, but let me tell you exactly how it’ll play out. First, I’ll find you the second you walk into the office. Don’t bother looking for an escape—I’ll already be there, waiting."

"And when I do, you’ll have to face me, love. Every glance you’ve been dodging, every word you’ve ignored—it’s all catching up to you. I’ll stand so close you’ll feel my breath against your ear, hear every word I’ve been saving just for you."

"I’ll tell you how much I’ve enjoyed watching you test me all weekend, how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing that pretty face go red when you realize you’ve pushed me too far. And then, Y/N, I’ll make sure you know exactly what happens when you leave me on read again. Ignoring me wasn’t the safer option, was it?"

Y/N’s hand froze mid-swipe on her phone, her heart thudding against her ribs. She could practically feel the heat of his gaze through the screen. The words lingered like a challenge, daring her to respond, but instead, her thoughts raced.

Monday loomed ahead, and with it came the inevitability of seeing Price. If he caught her, there’d be no way to avoid the fallout. The office teasing would go from lighthearted to unbearable in an instant. After all, they were already buzzing with rumors that Captain Price fancied her. The jokes and side-eyes were one thing, but if she gave him an inch, it could spiral into something far worse.

Unprofessional. Embarrassing. Impossible to ignore.

She reminded herself that this wasn’t forever. Just one more week. One week of keeping her head down, playing cordial when necessary, and dodging Price’s relentless pursuit. When her reservist period ended, she could vanish—no awkward confrontations, no more tension.

With that plan in mind, she took a deep breath, determined to defuse the situation. Her fingers hovered over her phone screen, finally drafting a reply she hoped would put him off—without fanning the flames.

"I’m sorry, Captain, for the late response. My dominant hand is the one injured, and I can’t really type easily," she typed, knowing it wasn’t entirely a lie. Her arm had been hurt during the operation and again when she got hit by the police van. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

She hesitated before adding, "As for drinks and dinner, sorry—I’m not feeling well. The painkillers and meds are making me drowsy." Another half-truth.

Satisfied, she hit send, her heart still pounding as the message delivered.

A few minutes after sending the message, her phone buzzed again—this time, a call. She wasn’t even surprised. Of course, it was the Captain.

Y/N stared at the screen, debating whether to answer. She had already crafted the perfect excuse in her message; surely that should have been enough. But the insistent ringing told her otherwise. With a sigh of resignation, she tapped the screen, bringing the phone to her ear.

“Hello, Captain,” she said softly, infusing her voice with just enough weariness to sell her excuse. She wasn’t feeling her best, that much was true, but she leaned into the sluggish tone, exaggerating it just a touch.

His deep voice cut through, warm and laced with concern. “You don’t sound well, love. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“I didn’t want to trouble anyone,” she replied carefully, keeping her tone neutral. “It’s nothing serious, just the meds making me tired.”

“Still, you should’ve let someone know. You’ve been through the wringer; no one would’ve blamed you for taking it easy.”

She hummed faintly, feigning drowsiness. “I’ll be fine, Captain. Just need to rest.”

There was a pause, long enough to make her glance at the screen to check if the call had dropped. But then his voice came through again, low and insistent. “If you need anything—and I mean anything—you let me know. Don’t go toughing it out on your own.”

“Of course,” she replied, her tone measured. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Get some rest,” he added, the warmth in his voice undeniable. “And Y/N... don’t think for a second I’ll let you off the hook for dodging me all weekend.”

She smiled faintly despite herself. “Goodnight, Captain.”

“Goodnight, love.”

She ended the call, sinking back into her sofa with a quiet exhale. Neutral or not, conversations with Captain Price always left her feeling like she’d just walked a tightrope.

---------

And so, Monday arrived. Y/N was officially excused from the drills due to her injuries, leaving her with more downtime than she cared for. By the afternoon, she had retreated to the rooftop, seeking a quiet moment to herself. The crisp air and the hum of distant activity below offered a brief reprieve.

She wasn’t startled by the sound of footsteps approaching or the creak of the rooftop door swinging open. She didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was.

John Price.

The Captain strode toward her with the same calm, unshakable confidence he carried everywhere, his boots crunching softly on the rooftop gravel. His eyes locked onto hers, steady and intense, as he stopped just a few feet away.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, tinged with amusement, “I’d say you put up a good fight this whole time. But technically... you lost.”

Y/N sighed, her fingers momentarily clenching into fists at her sides. Of course. That deal. That ridiculous deal. If he outscored her in the drills, she’d agree to a date. Now, with her injuries keeping her sidelined, she hadn’t even had a chance to compete.

“That’s not exactly fair,” she shot back, leaning into her chair, throwing him a half-hearted glare. “I couldn’t even join the drills. Doesn’t exactly feel like a win for you.”

Price tilted his head slightly, a teasing smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Rules are rules, love. No score from you means my score wins by default. Doesn’t seem like a problem for me.”

She exhaled a quiet laugh through her nose, frustration mixing with reluctant amusement. “So, what? You’re here to rub it in?”

“Not my style,” he replied smoothly, though the glint in his eye said otherwise. He took a step closer, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m here to collect. You owe me a date. After your reservist period, of course. I’ll give you time to prepare yourself.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, caught between irritation and something else she wasn’t ready to admit. “Fine. After the reservist,” she replied finally, her voice firm, though her lips betrayed a faint, reluctant smirk.

Price grinned back, triumphant but impossibly charming. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Her lips twitched as though she might scowl, but she kept her composure. Instead, she turned her gaze back toward the horizon, letting his words linger in the air.

Keep cordial, her inner voice urged. Make it look like you gave up. Just until the reservist period.

----------

Throughout the week, Y/N kept things cordial with Captain Price, her responses measured and her expression neutral. She made sure to maintain a distance, neither too distant nor too familiar. Her usual sharp edge was subdued, but she wasn’t about to let herself get too comfortable, not with the promise of a date hanging over her head.

On the final day of her reservist period, Y/N made her rounds, bidding her chief and colleagues farewell. She offered a polite smile, keeping it brief. "See you all for the next round," she said, her voice calm and steady. She’d done what she came for—no more, no less.

She surrendered her building pass, her movements slow and deliberate, the weight of the week pressing heavily on her shoulders. Her mind was already elsewhere, focused on the quiet evening ahead. The plan was simple: order a ride from the app, go home, and finally take a moment to breathe.

But as she walked toward the gate entrance, her steps faltered. There, leaning casually against his vehicle, was John Price. Arms crossed, his expression unreadable, his posture relaxed but commanding all the same. The sight of him made her heart skip an unexpected beat.

She hadn’t expected him to be there, not like this, not after the deal had been made. She stopped a few paces away, the weight of the evening, the past week, settling into her chest.

Y/N schooled her expression into neutrality, masking the flicker of surprise that threatened to surface. She came to a stop a few paces away, meeting his steady gaze without wavering.

“Captain,” she said evenly, her tone as measured as her face. “What are you doing here?”

Price straightened slightly, his arms uncrossing as he pushed off the vehicle with an easy grace. His hands slid into his pockets, his demeanor as unhurried as ever. “Thought I’d drive you home,” he replied, his voice calm but laced with a teasing undertone. “Get you comfy, send you off proper.”

Her brows lifted, skepticism flickering across her features before she quickly subdued it. “I thought we had plans for the weekend,” she countered, tilting her head. “Isn’t that what you’re waiting for?”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, the faintest hint of amusement glinting in his eyes. “We do,” he confirmed, his voice low and deliberate. “But I figured tonight’s about seeing you off, not keeping you waiting. Besides,” he added, stepping closer, “I wanted to make sure you didn’t disappear on me.”

Y/N held her ground, her gaze steady despite the subtle tightening of her grip on her bag. “I gave you my word,” she said simply. “I’m not backing out.”

Price’s grin widened slightly, his head dipping in acknowledgment. “Good,” he murmured, his tone carrying the weight of certainty. “Then let me take care of you tonight. Call it a preview of what’s to come.”

She sighed softly, shifting her weight but making no move to walk past him. “I can handle getting home on my own, you know.”

Y/N sighed softly, her voice steady despite the weariness weighing on her words. “Captain, we’re already seeing each other this weekend. Can’t that be enough?” She straightened her posture slightly, trying to inject just enough firmness into her tone. “I’m tired. I’d really like some space tonight. Besides, I’ve already booked a ride—it’ll be here any minute to take me home.”

Price tilted his head, his lips quirking into that infuriatingly knowing smirk. “Booked a ride, huh?” he drawled, his tone edged with playful suspicion. “Sounds a bit fishy to me.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she let out a quiet, deliberately exasperated sigh, raising her hands in mock surrender. “Fishy? Really?” she asked, her voice drowsy, tired, as if the conversation itself was draining her. “What could possibly be fishy, Captain? You’ve already got me cornered, don’t you? What else is there?”

For a moment, he didn’t reply. Instead, he looked at her, his cerulean blue eyes piercing and unyielding. The intensity of his gaze felt like it could strip away every layer she’d carefully constructed, leaving her flustered and raw. Y/N could feel the heat rise in her cheeks, her throat tightening slightly as she swallowed hard. She considered looking away but found herself unable to break the moment. Against all odds, she held his gaze, her breath catching in her chest.

Her heart raced, and she wasn’t entirely sure if it was from the exhaustion or the way his stare seemed to unravel her with disarming ease. It was as if the entire world had narrowed to just the two of them, the quiet tension filling the air like a tangible presence.

Just then, the sound of a car pulling up shattered the spell. Y/N blinked, the moment breaking as her ride arrived, offering a welcome distraction. Price glanced toward the vehicle, his smirk softening into something less teasing, more gentlemanly. Without a word, he stepped forward, pulling the door open for her with effortless grace.

Y/N murmured a quiet thanks, slipping into the car with relief as her pulse began to steady once more.

----------

Saturday arrived, and much to Price’s chagrin, his suspicions were confirmed—she had ghosted him. His messages went unanswered, his calls ignored, and every attempt to reach her was met with the cold reality of being left on read. At first, he tried to rationalize it. She was recovering, after all—injuries from the last operation and being hit by a van weren’t minor. Surely, she just needed time to herself.

But the nagging doubt refused to be silenced. Something didn’t sit right. Price wasn’t one to let things slide easily, especially not when it came to her. Eventually, suspicion got the better of him. He picked up the phone and called Gaz.

“Check on her, mate,” Price said, his tone firm but edged with an undercurrent of frustration. “See if she’s alright or if she’s just... dodging me.”

Gaz, ever loyal, agreed with a chuckle and promised to get back to him.

When Gaz finally called back, his voice carried that unmistakable tone of amusement. “Price,” he began, clearly holding back a laugh, “I hate to break it to you, but it looks like Y/N’s ghosting you. She’s fine. Healthy, alive, and very capable of responding—injuries or not. She’s just… apparently not interested in answering you.”

Price groaned, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. Gaz's teasing on the other end only made it worse. “You’re really going to let her play you like that, Captain?”

Price shot back, trying to suppress his irritation, “I’m not letting her play me. I just need to get her attention.”

Gaz’s voice was laced with amusement as he responded, “Need some help, Captain? You want me to help smoke her out, get her to show her hand?”

Price paused, a thoughtful frown crossing his face. The idea wasn’t half bad. He might’ve preferred a more subtle approach, but if it came to coaxing her out of whatever funk she was in, he’d take any route that worked.

“Yeah,” Price muttered after a beat. “Smoke her out. Let’s see if we can get her to respond.”

Gaz chuckled. “Roger that, Captain. I’ll keep you posted.”

----------

A day later, Gaz messaged Y/N, inviting her out for another meal at the grill house. “Fresh out of reservist, thought you’d fancy a proper catch-up with the team,” he wrote, his tone lighthearted and familiar.

Y/N hesitated before responding. “I really can’t go out right now,” she explained. “Still healing from the injuries. Maybe once I’m fully healed up, I’ll join you guys again. Heck, I can’t even use my dominant arm to put on makeup or cover the scars on my face.”

Gaz read the message and nodded to himself, respecting her honesty. “Fair enough,” he replied. “Rest up. We’ll catch up when you’re back to full strength.”

The days turned into weeks. With time, Y/N began to recover, though it was a gradual process. The bruising faded within a month, and while her broken arm and leg required more time—closer to 8-10 weeks for proper healing—she was at least mobile again, albeit cautiously. By then, she could sense the weight of her inactivity lifting, her focus shifting toward regaining her full independence.

----------

Y/N opened her phone and checked the group chat, where one of her friends had organized a dinner at a sleek, smart-casual bar for the upcoming Friday night. It sounded like the perfect opportunity to get out, and nearly everyone would be there, including Gaz.

She typed a quick reply, “That sounds perfect. I have something scheduled that day, but I’ll be able to catch up with all of you afterward. I’ll be looking presentable enough after my meeting with the gallery curator. It’s a nice bonus that the bar is smart-casual, so I won’t have to worry about changing. I’m almost back to normal now—my arm’s almost fully functional, and I can walk without wobbling.”

The chat quickly filled with confirmation messages. It was settled—the group would meet on Friday night. Some of her friends couldn’t make it as they were deployed or on duty, but a good portion would be there, and Gaz would be joining them as well.

The meeting with the curator was later that day, and it went better than she’d hoped. He loved her work and was eager to feature her pieces in an upcoming exhibit. The only thing left was to wait for the official paperwork to sign once the contract was finalized.

After the meeting wrapped up successfully, Y/N headed to the bar. It was sleek and modern, exactly the kind of place where she could unwind after a busy day. When she walked in, the warm glow of the bar greeted her, and she quickly spotted her friends gathered around a large table. They greeted her with cheers and hugs, their laughter blending easily with the soft buzz of the place.

The table was filled with canapés, finger foods, and cocktails, everyone sharing bites and chatting comfortably. It was mostly her close lady friends, with Gaz as the only guy in the group. Some of the others couldn’t make it due to duty or deployment, but it didn’t dampen the mood. Y/N smiled as she settled in, feeling a wave of contentment as she finally had a moment to relax and enjoy the evening

As the evening wore on, more drinks and food made their rounds, fueling laughter and stories that bounced from one person to the next. The atmosphere was light, filled with the easy camaraderie of good friends catching up. Y/N, feeling the effects of the drinks and the good time, excused herself to the restroom, tossing a playful request to one of her friends. "Watch my bag for me, yeah?"

She returned moments later, her steps quick as she anticipated diving back into the fun. But as she approached the table, her brow furrowed in confusion. The table where her friends had been sitting was now empty. All the glasses and platters of finger foods that had once littered the surface were completely cleared away. Her eyes scanned the bar, only to find that everyone had vanished—everyone, including Gaz.

"What the hell?" she muttered to herself, half-expecting to find some sort of mix-up. Had they really just gotten up and left without a word? Why would they do that? It felt... off. Her eyes darted around the room, but there was no sign of her friends. No lingering goodbyes, no explanations.

And then, she spotted him.

Sitting where she had been just moments ago, as if he'd always been part of the scene, was none other than John Price. He was dressed in smart casual—fitting the ambiance of the evening, but with that added flair of his usual commanding presence. Arms crossed over his chest, he looked at her with that infuriatingly smug, victorious grin that always managed to make her feel like she’d lost some sort of battle.

This must be why everyone disappeared. A setup. A setup by John and Gaz.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of her Chanel bag resting comfortably on his lap. The bag, the one she'd inherited, and more importantly, the one that contained her essentials—her phone, her wallet, her cards, tissues, and yes, even her meds—lay there in his hands, as if it was a trophy.

She blinked, then stepped closer, feeling her lips twitch into a mix of disbelief and irritation. “Are you kidding me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

Price didn’t even flinch. He just leaned back slightly, clearly amused at the scene unfolding before him, and tossed a cheeky glance toward her. "You took too long," he said smoothly, his voice low and teasing. "Figured I’d make myself comfortable while I waited."

His blue eyes scanned her, taking in every detail from head to toe before returning to her face. A playful grin tugged at his lips. "You look stunning," he said, his voice smooth. "Didn't know there was this side of you—besides the muddy aprons, overalls, and tactical uniforms. Not that you weren't beautiful then, but... there's something about you when you're all put together."

She stood before him, dressed in an off-shoulder navy blue midi dress that elegantly flowed to mid-calf. The neckline revealed her collarbone and her petite, delicate shoulders—features that had him fighting the urge to lean in closer. The sleeves of the dress were slightly puffed at the shoulders, tapering down to fitted cuffs at her wrists, adding just the right touch of drama to her polished look.

On her feet, a pair of navy blue velvet pumps completed the ensemble, elongating her legs and accentuating her graceful posture.

Her makeup was understated yet stunning, enhancing her natural beauty. Her well-groomed eyebrows framed her eyes perfectly, while a subtle smoky eyeshadow with neutral tones made her gaze captivating. A thin line of eyeliner defined her upper lash line, complemented by mascara-coated lashes that gave her eyes a soft, smoldering depth. A rosy blush brought warmth to her cheeks, while a bold satin mauve lipstick drew attention to her lips.

Her jewelry was minimal yet refined—a pair of gold hoop earrings added a hint of sophistication, while a delicate gold necklace with an intricate blue-eye gem pendant rested lightly against her collarbone, catching the light with every slight movement.

Her hair was styled in long, loose waves that cascaded down her shoulders and back. The soft, voluminous texture of her hair, parted in the middle, framed her face beautifully, striking the perfect balance between elegance and effortlessness.

John’s gaze lingered a moment longer, his appreciative smile deepening.

She exhaled an exasperated sigh, stepping forward with determination as she reached for her bag. Yet, his long arms moved swiftly, keeping it just out of her grasp. Her frustration mounted, but before she could protest further, his other hand slid around her waist in one fluid motion, pulling her close. Her breath hitched as his head came to rest lightly against her stomach, his blue eyes gleaming with playful defiance as he looked up at her.

Heat rushed to her cheeks, her pulse quickening at the sudden closeness. His hold was steady—not forceful, but firm enough to leave no doubt she wasn’t going anywhere. The smirk tugging at his lips was maddening, and the noise of the room seemed to fade, leaving only the charged space between them.

To anyone glancing their way, anyone who might have seen them at that moment would have easily assumed they were a couple.

"Give back my bag, Captain..." she murmured, her tone a mix of frustration and amusement.

His reply came without hesitation, the timbre of his voice dropping low enough to make her shiver. "No," he said, his grin widening. "How about we strike a deal instead? You owe me for ghosting me, and now..." He paused, letting his words linger between them. "You're going to make it up to me."

She let out an exasperated sigh, though the telltale flush creeping up her cheeks didn’t escape John’s sharp eyes.

“Could you let me go?” she asked, her voice betraying a mix of frustration and embarrassment.

He didn’t budge. Instead, he shifted, turning his body fully toward her. Seated as he was, he wrapped his arm more firmly around her waist, trapping her against him. Her hips now pressed lightly against his chest, and he looked up at her with a gaze so intent it made her pulse falter.

“Don’t make this harder on yourself,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with challenge.

She crossed her arms defiantly and turned her head away, refusing to meet his smoldering blue eyes. “What are you playing at?” she muttered.

His smirk deepened. “I’ll tell you what. Keep this up, and I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.”

Her head snapped back toward him, eyes narrowing. “You’re a neanderthal!! Oh, You wouldn’t dare!!”

“Try me,” he said, his tone casual but laced with intent.

She stared at him, weighing her options. The sheer audacity of him left her fuming, but the steady determination in his expression left no room for doubt. He would absolutely do it.

For the sake of her dignity—and her reputation—she sighed in defeat. “Fine,” she muttered, her tone laced with reluctant surrender.

John’s victorious grin was infuriating, but she couldn’t deny the spark of heat that danced in her chest. Once again, Captain John Price had won.

John rose from his seat, and her eyes widened as she was suddenly reminded of just how tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing he was. Even in her heels, she barely came up to his chest. The sheer presence of him made her feel small in a way that was both frustrating and... a little disarming.

A slow smile spread across his face as he reached for her hand, his fingers naturally intertwining with hers. She noticed, with some irritation, that he was still holding her bag by the straps in his other hand—clearly not planning to return it anytime soon.

“Uhmm... wait,” she blurted, gesturing vaguely toward the bar. “I need to pay for everything.”

John’s smile widened, his voice calm and reassuring. “Don’t worry about it. Your friends took care of it. They send their compliments... and their best wishes for you to enjoy your time with me.”

Her lips parted in disbelief, and she let out an exasperated groan, her head tilting back slightly. “Ugh, of course they did,” she muttered, the realization sinking in that her friends had been part of this elaborate setup all along.

A/N: And now... the Captain has finally CAUGHT YOU! No more running, no more escaping—you're in his hands now. 😏 So, what happens next when you're completely at his mercy? Get ready for some intense and seductive moments to come... because John Price is about to seduce the hell out of you. Trust me, it’s only just beginning. 😉 Enjoy the ride, and don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Edit: Here is the next chapter------->

[hersiisi]

hey angel! wondering if you are up to write jungkook as the caretaker for someone in a age regressive episode, maybe she wants him to help her brush her hair or put her in pj's to cuddle her in. muchhh love!🩶

tall and gentle (jk)

in which... you start regressing before bed and your caregiver, jungkook cares for you ♡ daddy used (no kink), bathtime, short fic, pet names, no caps intended ~ 정국 x femreader.

genre is fluff :3

𐙚 my note ~ this is not p-dophilia, nor anything close to it! age regression is a mental coping mechanism and jungkook is merely taking care of the reader. thank you for the request, beautiful!

song rec - sweet boi by chevy

you sit on the floor by the tub, not mentally processing what you needed to be doing at that moment.

you whine softly and fiddle with the hem of your shirt, looking up at the ceiling with frustration.

jungkook passed the hall by the bathroom and glanced at you, "yn, what's the matter." he saw you doing this and took a moment to analyze, realizing you were in your regression state.

he walked towards you and placed his hand on top of your head, "mmh!" you hummed loudly with attitude as you pushed away his hand.

he chuckled softly, "baby, do you need a bath? how about your hair, has it been brushed? and your teeth?"

he asked these questions and you didn't answer any of them, only avoiding his gaze and looking down in your lap.

"okay, darling. if you don't answer, I guess I'll just leave you to tend to yourself..." jungkook's voice was a little teasing but he wouldn't ever actually leave you alone while you regress.

you whine, "n-no."

"no?" jungkook kneeled down beside you and brushed your hair from your face, "then tell me what you need help with, angel."

"I need- need..." you struggled with words, and this was normal for you when you were regressing.

jungkook gave your forehead a kiss, "slowly, peak slowly for me."

you do as he says, "I need a bath, and my hair too- my teeth...please."

he chuckled at your innocence and lifted you up to sit on the edge of the tub. he ran the water warm and walked over to the counter to grab the things you needed.

he grabbed a toothbrush with a pea-sized amount of toothpaste on the bristles, "open your mouth, sweetheart."

jungkook began to brush your teeth, holding your chin so you would stay in place. he knows how restless you are, especially while regressing.

"mmh-" you whine slightly, trying to push away.

"alright, alright...just a little longer sweetheart." jungkook kept you still for as long as you let him before he stopped brushing.

you rush over to the sink and spit out the excess of the toothpaste, "icky-" your words make jungkook chuckle.

"bath time, sweet pea." jungkook helped you take off your shirt and the rest of your clothing, keeping a respectful gaze as he helped you into the tub.

you sigh softly at the warmth, "mh, thank you."

"you're welcome, yn. how about we wash your hair, hm?" jungkook was gentle with you and always made sure to alert you when he would do something.

he gently held the back of your head as you laid back to get your hair wet, just enough for it to lather soap well.

jungkook sat you up and wiped the dripping water from your forehead and eyes, "such a pretty girl, huh?"

you giggle softly and see him grab the pink bottle of shampoo; strawberries and cream, the scent was. jungkook adored this smell on you.

"okay, just a quick wash I promise." he was gentle as he scrubbed your hair, making sure to get every inch of your head before rinsing.

"mh- daddy!" you feel the urge to shout and jungkook stops before he rinses your hair under the water.

"what's the matter, honey?" he asks.

you grasp onto his arm and pout, "scary-" the quiet little mutter leaves your swollen lips and jungkook kisses the top of your head.

"don't be, I've got you. I swear I won't let anything happen. can you trust daddy to help you?" he asks. you take a minute to respond, but you soon nod and jungkook continues.

he holds the back of your neck to keep you from fully submerging into the water as he rinses the shampoo from your hair.

"that's a good girl. you did amazing, sweetheart." jungkook sees a small smile spreading across your face and he couldn't help but admire it. "my pretty girl."

after your bath he helped you dry off before helping you into your clothes. he gives you the usual, one of his shirts makes you the happiest girl alive.

after, jungkook chased you all the way to your bed, hearing your giggles. "I'm gonna get ya!" he went to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, squeezing your waist because you're ticklish.

you kick your feet, "ahh! no no!"

"yes, sweet pea. you know how much I love your laughs?" jungkook gently put you into bed and looked around for a moment, seeing your pacifier on the nightstand where he left it last. "here baby girl, get some sleep."

you take the pacifier in your mouth and snuggle against the pillows, feeling jungkook's soft pats on your hip as you fall asleep.

jungkook felt warm seeing you so comfortable, especially regressing in front of him so freely. he felt as if you trusted him and he wouldn't betray that.

taglist: @dewnights

© hersiisi, 2024

[solarballs-confessions]

In the new episodes, everyone is talking about Planet X being an asshole, or Uranus being manipulated. But no one is talking about Neptune being actually kinda fucking depressed. Like, he’s losing his best friend because Uranus wants to have a “better life” or some shit. Don’t get me wrong I don’t blame Uranus for his actions, if I had a name that literally meant “asshole” I’d wanna change it too, but the way he’s trying to do it is making him drift away from Neptune. Uranus is willing to put the whole solar system in the risk just so that he doesn’t get made fun of anymore and that people can acknowledge his existence, but Neptune can see that it’s not worth it, and this puts their friendship in risk.

In the new episodes, Neptune, despite loving (Platonically) and caring for Uranus, he never acknowledges his new name choice, he always calls him “Uranus”. I feel like it’s not just because he’s used to the name, but also because he sees Caelus as a different planet, in Neptunes eyes, Uranus and Caelus are two separate celestial bodies. One of them is caring, and will be best friends with Neptune and no matter how weird he is, and the other is selfish, does only what’s best for himself, and sees Neptune to be a weirdo. In Battle of Planet X Part 1, when Neptune tries to go over to Uranus, you can obviously tell that when Uranus refuses to come over to hang with the other planets, that Neptune is sad as fuck about it, he just wants Uranus to be his friend again. You can obviously hear Neptunes misery when he says “okay.. mate?”.

HE IS FUCKING DEPRESSED! And when the next episodes come out, I bet he’s going to be even more depressed and sad. And can you blame him? If you’re best friend, whom you have known for years upon years, leaves you for someone else, acts like a whole new different person, and treats you like you’re the weirdest person ever, YOU WOULD BE DEPRESSED TOO! I think that Neptune is actually the smart one in this situation, he knows that Uranus isn’t just doing this for a “new name” or whatever, but it’s also partly for revenge against how all the other planets treated him, Neptune saw right through him. Neptune knows that even though if X wins, it will largely benefit him, but at the cost of all the Rocky planets and Jupiter’s and Saturn’s sanity. He honestly doesn’t give a fuck if he is smart or dumb or whatever, he just wants the others to be happy and safe. Neptune genuinely cares about the other planets, and would give up any opportunity to make himself happier just for them to be safe. Yet Uranus is the opposite right now, he would do ANYTHING to be even a little bit better off in the solar system, He doesn’t care if the Rocky planets lives are at stake or if people are losing their mind, he wants what’s best for himself. And this is tearing their friendship apart.

I genuinely hope that in the future episodes that they become friends again, these two are the best duo ever! (Or at least they were…) I hope that Uranus realizes that it’s not right to put others safety at risk just so you’re happier, I feel like that if he had this realization, he and Neptunes relationship would be fixed, and Neptune would be not depressed. I’m honestly really excited to see where all this will be headed in the next few episodes, and I just hope that Uranus gets his shit together and realizes that he doesn’t need a new name and orbit to be happy. WE NEED THESE 2 BLUEBERRIES TO BE BESTIES AGAIN!!!

.

[infiniteorangethethird]

I don't know where this "if you don't feel love/empathy you're evil" idea comes from like if you can only be decent towards people if you love them/feel empathy towards them then I'm pretty sure I'm not the one mistreating more people of the two of us

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[aquaheartgirl]

“the idea that ‘aging is unnatural and if you don’t spend a lot of time and money trying to minimize or cover up the effects it has on your face and skin (with makeup, surgery, avoiding the sun, etc) then you will be less valued as a person and be miserable’ is awful and toxic and causes a lot of damage to society and individuals alike”

and

“everyone’s body belongs to them and it is their choice what to do with it, including wearing or not wearing makeup, modifying their body or not, trying to reduce the effects of aging or just letting it happen, or anywhere in between”

and

“no one should ever be pressured (either directly or indirectly, intentionally or subconsciously) to look a certain way or put a certain amount of effort (whether that’s a lot or none at all) into how they present themselves”

are all statements that CAN AND SHOULD COEXIST

[nessvn]

I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABT RAYMONDE

[rowarn]

IF YOU NEEDED ME !

simon riley/reader – 7.1k words sale of a lifetime mini series !

tags: smut, childhood best friend!simon, virginity for sale trope, unrealized feelings, soft!simon, protective!simon, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader

cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, wet & messy, fingering, creampie, mid-sex love confession, a little arguing but nothing crazy tbh, petnames (love, lovie, sweetheart)

; he remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. he never thought he was deserving of such happiness. but now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you.

or.

he may not have been the first man you picked to give your first time to. but looking back, you realized he was the only right choice in the end.

Meeting some unknown, shady guy out on the street outside of a seedy bar wasn’t the smartest decision you’ve ever made. Nor was it how you actually intended to spend your Friday evening. But it was the only option you had at the moment, so you swallowed your nerves and forced yourself to stay put at the spot the guy had chosen despite the fact that being out on the street made you feel x10 more nervous and vulnerable. 

You could hear the loud music and chatter inside the bar every time the door opened to let someone in or out. There was a chill in the air that had you contemplating actually going inside and just telling the guy to meet you in there – you were about to give the bastard your damn virginity, the least he could be was accommodating to your temperature struggles. Plus, you could really use a drink.

A car, expensive by the looks of it, pulling up to the curb had you pausing in that train of thought. You recognized him from his profile picture when he stepped out of the vehicle – Lucas, you recall being his name. Whether that was really his name or not didn’t matter; all that mattered was he brought what he promised.

“You have the money?” you asked when he approached you, giving him a tight-lipped smile as a greeting.

“Yeah, got it in the car. All cash, I hope that’s alright,” he grinned, a sight that made a shiver go down your spine. His tone didn’t match the smile, all transactional and dull despite the glimmer in his eyes.

He wasn’t necessarily unattractive but he certainly wasn’t your type. There was a look in his eyes, one that made your skin crawl because you felt like you were nothing but a piece of raw meat in front of a starving, salivating predator. 

“We should get going,” he said, hurrying to open the backseat of his car for you.

You paused, “Aren’t we going to go inside or something?”

He looked confused, grip on the door tightening for a moment before he bursted out laughing. When he saw the shocked look on your face he sobered up, “Sorry, sorry, that was rude of me. Sweetheart, this isn’t a date. I’m just here to get what I paid for.”

“Oh…” you swallowed around the lump in your throat at the condescending tone, humiliation making your cheeks burn, “Right.”

Tears stung the back of your eyes and you quickly averted your gaze so he wouldn’t see how much that stung. Of course, you knew it wasn’t a date. This was a transaction. But you at least thought you’d get to know the guy who was about to take your virginity. You should have known better.

A man who was paying for your virginity wasn’t bound to be someone you could trust to feel comfortable around. You quietly sigh, resigning yourself to this all for the sake of some fucking money. 

You settle into the car, heart jumping into your throat when the door slams. It feels as if you’ve just sealed your fate and you can’t deny that you’re scared. 

But there’s an envelope next to you that you can see stuffed with bills and you clench your fists, trying to calm your racing heart by closing your eyes and breathing. 

You just hope this decision doesn’t cost you your life or something. You’d hate to imagine what that would do to a certain someone.

Suddenly, the car jostles. Your eyes snap open and you see Lucas is jacked up against the side of the car, a very familiar form caging him in. His scarred hands grip the man’s shirt in tight fists. You can’t hear what they’re saying but you can see Lucas is chattering frantically, gesturing wildly with his hands in an attempt to quell the angry man in the skull balaclava. 

You curse to yourself, a different kind of terror shocking through your system. Lucas is thrown to the side and you wince at how hard he hits the pavement before the car door is jerked open.

You can’t even say anything before a strong, rough hand wraps around your arm, yanking you out. You stumble once you’re on your feet, falling right into his chest. 

You try to pull away but his arm clamps down around you. 

Lucas is cursing and screaming his head off, words you don’t even bother to try and decipher because you’re too preoccupied with the masked figure that made his sudden appearance. Nerves make your knees shake and from the look of pure rage in his eyes, you know you’re in deep shit. 

Lucas opens the car door and slams it before driving off, tires squealing against the pavement before he vanishes. Along with that wad of cash that was going to be yours in just a short time. 

Suddenly you’re angry, shoving your hands against his chest to get him away from you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Riley?!” you shriek, shooting him the fiercest glare you could muster.

“I should be askin’ you that,” he sneers, “The hell were you doin’ with that prick?”

“I–”

“Don’t answer that,” he snaps, cutting you off swiftly, “I know what you were doin’. If you needed money that badly you should have told me.”

“It’s not your concern, Simon!” you cry, resisting the urge to petulantly stomp your foot.

You’re so pissed. 

Simon Riley and you went way back, childhood friends. The two of you had always been in each other's lives. Simon especially was always there when you needed him, a beacon of safety and protection. Your best friend and someone you loved to the ends of the Earth. 

But right now, you’re so angry with him that you can’t seem to think straight.

How dare he show up now, when you’re about to do the most humiliating act of your entire life. How could he show his stupid, masked face here when you didn’t even ask for his help in the first place for a reason. 

“You are always my concern,” he shoots back, scarred knuckles turning white from how hard he clenches his fists, “I have always taken care of you. You should have come to me for help instead of puttin’ yourself in danger like this. You didn’t know that guy, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Anger makes your skin hot, sweat beading on your forehead, blocking out the chill that once made goosebumps rise. You feel ashamed that you were caught in this situation – that the man you’ve known your entire life knew you were about to sleep with some random asshole for a fat wad of cash. You don’t like that he’s made you feel ashamed and confronted you with it.

“Just fuck off, Simon!” you shriek, the only thing you can think of before turning on your heel and stalking away from him.

You don’t glance over your shoulder to check if he’s following because you know he most likely is – from a safe distance to make sure you make it inside your apartment alright but far enough that you can’t get mad at him for it. Your jaw is clenched so tightly that you feel a headache radiating down your neck. 

By the time you reach your apartment, the anger has simmered and all you’re left with is a festering shame that makes tears fill your eyes. You wrap your arms around yourself and quickly shuffle yourself inside, not bothering to check if Simon is out there or not. All you want is to get a hot shower and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend. 

You do just that, letting the burning hot water scald your skin until you can’t feel any emotions except exhaustion. And then, you crawl into bed and let sleep overtake you without a second thought. 

When you wake up, it’s clear that it’s late into the afternoon. The sun is high in the sky and shining painfully bright through the crack in your curtains. You groan and roll over, slapping the bed to find your phone. 

You grab the device and unlock it, taking a moment to scroll through your notifications. There’s some angry messages from the guy from last night – cursing you out for setting him up to be jumped. It makes you roll your eyes before a particular notification catches your eye.

It’s from your bank – alerting you of a deposit. 

You sit up straight in your bed, brows furrowed before your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see your bank statement. It’s more than you needed and you know exactly who was responsible. 

You jump out of bed, not even bothering to dress out of your pajamas before you’re shoving some slides onto your feet and storming out of your apartment. 

You’re so heated that you can’t even remember the walk to Simon’s place, your mind racing a million miles a second. You storm up to the door and slam your fist on it, the hard wood making your hand sting from how hard you pound. 

The radiating tingle of pain is quickly forgotten when the door swings open. 

Simon stands there, looking down at you expectantly. He leans against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He wears an army-issued t-shirt that’s a bit too tight. The sleeves stretch taunt around his biceps and you can make out the swell of his pecs. It’s not very often that you get to see his tattooed arms, littered with scars since he tends to wear long sleeves most of the time. 

He doesn’t look at all surprised to see you, clearly having expected you. The apathetic look in his eyes just solidifies that you were right all along.

“What the hell is your problem?!” you cry without so much as a greeting.

He sighs, broad shoulders rising and falling with it before he opens the door wide and motions you inside. You duck underneath his outstretched arm, turning to watch as he closes the door and locks it. 

He wanders into the kitchen and you realize you can smell bacon. He doesn’t seem at all surprised by your outburst nor does he seem interested in acknowledging your question.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, only solidifying how unperturbed he is by your display of anger. 

“No!” you snap, “I want to know why you did that, Simon!”

He sighs again, much louder but doesn’t respond. You stand in the doorway to his kitchen, watching him plate his lunch – which is actually just breakfast food. He places the dish on the table and pauses, looking up at you.

“You needed the money, I had it,” he offered with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I was handling it on my own,” you say, “I-It was my problem to solve.”

“By sellin’ yourself to some prick?” he snarls, the anger he was masking coming out in a flurry.

“I wasn’t selling myself–” you refute but he slams his palms down on the table. His cutlery clatters with the action and you jump.

“I read that post you made,” he hisses, teeth bared, “There’s no fuckin’ reason you should be selling your virginity for some cash when I was right here the whole time!”

Your cheeks burn when he brings up your virginity, crossing your arms over your chest protectively, “I-It’s mine to sell if I want to! I needed that money!”

“And now you have it,” he says with finality. 

He takes a seat and you stand there, fuming. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding together as your mind races to find a rebuttal. He begins to eat, taking large, fast bites that just shows how he’s been conditioned to eat quickly by the military. 

“That’s not the point, Simon,” you huff, growing less angry and more frustrated by this conversation. You were just going around in circles. 

“Then what is the point?” he snaps, snatching his empty plate and angrily tossing it in the sink. He turns to you again, a frown evident on his face, “You got the money you needed safely. That’s all that matters.”

“It’s too much money, Simon!” you cry, “I was selling something in exchange for it!”

“I care about you,” he says, “That doesn’t matter to me. What’s mine is yours, you know that.”

You silently glare at him, wishing that the heated stare would get through to him. He stands unbothered, staring blankly at you with his fists clenched by his sides.

You hang your head, sighing, “I-I can’t take your money, Simon, alright? I’m already in debt and I’m not going to be in debt to you of all people.”

“You feel like you owe me, is that it?” he asks.

You nod your head, heart rate spiking when he stalks towards you. You’re close enough to smell his body wash and aftershave, a painfully familiar scent that you adore. He stares down his nose at you, brown eyes lidded and lazy. 

He reaches out suddenly, rough hand gripping your cheeks, smushing them together until your lips pucker, “Then give me a kiss as payment.”

“H-Huh?” you whimper dumbly, eyes wide in shock as his face grows closer and closer.

“It can be payment for a kiss, lovie,” he coos, syrupy sweet and soft, “Will that make up for it, then?”

The air in your lungs suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. This is a man that you’ve known almost your entire life so you’ve obviously thought about him in a romantic sense at some point. Hell, when you were a teenager you even had a crush on him. But he never once looked at you any other way than as a friend so you quickly got over it – or maybe that’s just what you told yourself. Because as you stand there, staring into his eyes, you realize that kissing him would feel like a dream come true. 

You find yourself nodding despite the inner turmoil going on in your head. Simon huffs through his nose before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. 

There’s a shock of electricity that goes through you at the contact. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into the kiss, letting him take over. He works his lips expertly against yours, eventually abandoning his hold on your face in favor of wrapping his arm around your waist. You gasp into the kiss when he suddenly yanks you closer, your body pressed close against his. 

He’s warm and sturdy against you, a solid form of muscle that makes you feel safe and content – just as he always has. His hands are big and rough as they grip your hips, kneading the soft flesh there as he gets lost in kissing you. 

“S-Si,” you find yourself muttering without realizing.

He hums in response, chuckling when you continue to mindlessly kiss him. He pulls back, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, thumbing at your jaw as your eyes slowly focus on him, “What is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”

“I-I don’t…” you swallow thickly around the forming lump in your throat, “I don’t know. I just…”

“Show me,” he breathes, softer than you’ve ever heard his voice. 

The sweet, tender look in his big, brown eyes is what gives you the courage to grab his wrist, leading it just under the hem of your shirt so he can touch your bare stomach. You give him a shy glance from under your lashes, hoping he’ll get the hint that you want more. 

You want him.

Simon, in all his experienced wisdom, understands immediately what it is you’re aching for. His hand travels up further, pausing at your ribs, just under the swell of your breast. Your heart hammers in your chest when your gaze meets his. His eyes are lidded, long lashes obscuring his pupils but still burning into you. 

He stares deep into your eyes, waiting for any sign of hesitation as his fingers creep higher and higher. You suck in a breath when he cups your breast in his palm, squeezing lightly to feel their weight. 

A large, calloused thumb creeps up, passing ever so softly over your nipple until the bud peaks and hardens under the attention. You sigh at the feeling, new shocks washing over you that you’ve never experienced before. 

Sure, you played with yourself plenty – you had a healthy masturbation life, you’d say. But you’d always just been focused on reaching an orgasm, never on the build up. You imagine, however, it would never feel as good by yourself as it does with him.

He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine, lips parting as the sound escapes. Simon takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. Your hands grab his shoulders, desperately clinging to his shirt as you lose yourself in the sloppy kiss. 

Drool drips down your chin – it's messy and hot between the two of you. His hand switches to your other breast to give it the same attention as the other. You tremble in his arms, overcome by the insatiable throbbing between your thighs. 

You shift on your feet, the fabric of your panties stick uncomfortably to your core. You’re so wet, wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. By the time he pulls back, there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips to his. 

“You want more?” he asks, voice gravelly as he speaks, as if he’s drunk. You nod your head and he clicks his tongue, “You gotta tell me, sweetheart.”

“I-I want more, Si,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks burn as you admit it. 

“Let’s go,” he hums, taking your hand in his as he leads you around the couch towards the hallway.

“Where?” you ask dumbly, hoping that making some kind of conversation would ease the nerves steadily building in your chest. 

“The bedroom,” he responds, stroking his thumb over the top of your hand as if he can sense that you’re nervous, “Wouldn’t want to be stripped down in the middle of the living room, I imagine.”

“N-No,” you squeak, cheeks burning even hotter at those words. 

You’re going to be naked. In front of another person for the first time. In front of him. Simon. 

“There now, lovie,” he whispers as he shuts his bedroom door behind the both of you. He takes your waist in his hands, kneading the soft flesh there, “It’s alright.”

“I-I’m just–”

“Nervous,” he finishes for you, smiling softly when you nod, “I know. We can stop anytime you’d like.”

“I don’t want to,” you rush out, hands coming up to press against his firm chest, “Just…d-don’t be upset when I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The tender way he looks at you sets your heart pounding like a little rabbit. A ghost a smile appears on his lips, “I would never do somethin’ like that.”

“I-I know, I just…” you look down at your feet only for him to catch your chin in his fingers, pulling you to look up at him.

You swallow thickly around the lump in your throat, holding your breath as he descends down. His lips find yours all over again, as exhilarating and mind-melting as the first time. 

Just the sweet, deep kiss he gives you has your nerves dissipating a bit – back to normal levels. You no longer feel the desire to flee, you just feel an intense longing and anticipation. You crave more from him.

As if sensing this, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. He slowly starts to pull it up, agonizingly slow. But you’re grateful for it, it gives you time to prepare before you’re bared completely to him. You lift your arms for him, a sign that you’re still okay with this. 

He pulls it up over your head and lets the fabric drop to the floor. But he doesn’t look down, he continues looking in your eyes, softly pecking your lips as his hands cup your breasts once more. 

When you sigh and lean into his touch, he finally lets himself break the eye contact. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees how pretty your tits sit in his hands. He touches them softly, sweetly brushing over your nipples in admiration. 

“Perfect tits, lovie,” he coos, chuckling when you whine in embarrassment. 

His head descends, pink lips parting to take one of your nipples in his mouth. It’s hot but his tongue is soft when it circles and flicks at the bud. He sucks, popping off lewdly before switching to the other one. 

The sensation makes you squeeze your thighs together, imaging what that would feel like around your clit. Your hole clenches around nothing, drooling messily into your panties. The fabric was so wet by now that it couldn’t soak it up anymore, leaving it to slick up your thighs instead.

Your core ached, a feeling only Simon would be able to soothe. 

“Please, Si,” you finally break, whimpering pathetically. 

He detaches from your breast, lips wet and swollen from the worship he had been giving your now sore nipples. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing brown and you were sure that yours looked the same. 

He stands to his full height, nudging you backwards until your knees hit the bed. They buckled at that, leaving you to fall back against the bed. Simon’s bedding was soft, the scent of detergent and his own body wash filling your senses. You relax at the familiar, comforting scent, sinking into the blankets with a bashful smile on your face.

To Simon, you’re an ethereal beauty. You take the air right out of his lungs with the way you look at him.

He remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. He never thought he was deserving of such happiness. But now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you. 

He scooches you up the bed, crawling on after you until he’s on top of you. Though you’re still wearing your pants, you feel so vulnerable beneath his weight. He’s heavy and warm and he smells so good. You can’t focus on anything except for him – he’s all around you and it’s exhilarating. 

Feeling bold, you reach up and tug at his shirt. He pulls it off with ease, revealing his toned, scarred upper body. You can’t help but trace over some of the ones you’re familiar with – there’s one from a time he fell out of a tree trying to rescue a cat that you had been crying about. He fell out of the tree on the way down, a jagged branch stabbing into his upper arm and slicing it open. There was another one from when you were teenagers, some other kids jumped him and he took a stab to his shoulder trying to protect you. You kiss that one and he softens, as if he’s remembering it too. 

He’s always been there for you, an overwhelming presence that you simply couldn’t live without. The fact you’re here, in this bed, about to give him your virginity is something that you never would have expected. 

And to think, you were planning to sell it off to some random loser. 

“I’m glad you stopped me,” you find yourself whispering. 

He looks confused for a second before he hums, nodding in understanding, “I am too.”

“I-I want it to be you, Si,” you whisper, the confession leaving you embarrassed. It’s true, all this time, you realize, he’s all you’ve ever really wanted. You had just buried it deep down so you no longer felt those sparks towards him.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers back, as if the two of you are sharing some secret little moment that no one else can hear about even though it’s just the two of you in this room. 

“You always do,” you respond, the words making his dark eyes light up. 

He kisses you deeply, moving his lips slowly against yours. When your hands come up to grip the back of his neck, he takes that as his cue to move down to your neck, then your collarbones, down the center of your chest between your breasts, the spot between your breasts, and finally your navel. 

You lay back, head in his pillows with your hands on either side of your head. You watch him, breathing labored as you wait for his next move. He pauses in his path, looking up through his lashes at you before his fingers find the hem of your sweats. You swallow thickly, holding your breath when he slowly begins to pull the fabric down. You lift your hips to help him, pulling your legs free while being careful not to kick him by accident. 

He keeps his gaze on you until you’re settled back down into the bed and the pants are forgotten on the floor to be collected later. Then, he looks down. 

Even though you still have your panties on, you know that the white cotton is soaked through and hides absolutely nothing from his view. 

You watch as he licks his lips, as if his mouth is suddenly bone dry. His hands are burning hot when he touches you again, sliding over your thighs to your hips. He leans down, pressing his lips against each of your thighs. 

His thumb reaches down, stretches over your pubic bone to touch the sticky fabric. You nearly jump at the sensation – someone’s fingers other than your own touching you there for the first time. Simon’s fingers.

As if he can’t help himself anymore, he tugs the waistband of your panties and yanks them down your thighs. You squeal when you’re jostled under the force. 

He holds the material up and you’re mortified to see just how wet they are. He runs his thumbs over the crotch and you whine, drawing his attention from them. He drops them to the floor and returns his hands back to you, gripping underneath your knees, so he can spread you all the way open. 

Your hands fly to your face, covering your eyes in embarrassment at how exposed you are. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing a kiss over the top of your hands before moving back down your body. 

You peek through your fingers only to find him already staring at you with a sparkle in his eyes. He carefully spreads your slippery folds apart with his thumbs, the movement causing a wet, sticky sound to emanate from between your legs. The little bud of your clit is hard and twitching as it’s exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. When he’s sure you’re looking he leans down, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. You stop breathing as you watch a fat glob of spit roll down the surface of the smooth muscle and splatter right on your clit. 

“Si-!” your squeal of his name is cut off when your eyes roll back in his head as that sinful tongue slides right over your bud. 

Your whole body twitches at that, hands falling away from your face so you can reach down and grab his hair. It doesn’t even seem like he notices your grip, focused on slurping up that sensitive nub into his hot mouth. 

You choke out a moan, tilting your head back into the pillows as your back arches. It feels just as good as you thought it would when he was giving the same, lewd treatment to your nipples. 

He continues to suck and lick your clit until your mind is completely blank and all you can think is him. Then, all at once it stops and he pulls back, letting your bud slip from the heavenly clutch of his lips.

“You ever have somethin’ inside you, lovie?” he asks, bringing up one of his fingers to swipe through the folds of your entrance, as if to show you what he intends. 

You swallow to moisten your throat before nodding, “J-Just my fingers.”

“How many?” he asks, growing more confident in prodding at the tight little hole. 

“T-Two,” you breathe, any embarrassment you felt long dissipated in the face of true pleasure.

“Alright, lovie,” he hums, “Just lay back, I’ll take good care of you, yeah?”

You nod and do as he says, turning utterly boneless against the blankets. The sweat already slicking your skin despite the fact you’ve only just begun makes the fabric stick to you. 

He prods at your entrance for only a second longer before finally, he pushes his thick middle digit inside you. Your cunt is so wet and pliant that it hungrily swallows it up to the very last knuckle. You clench around it intentionally, getting used to the feeling of the foreign finger inside of you for the first time. 

It feels so different compared to your own, thicker and rougher. The sensation is so strange but you can’t say you don’t like it – in fact, it feels amazing. You already want another, feeling like one just isn’t enough to give you that unknown feeling you’re chasing. It’s like you have an itch that needs to be scratched and only Simon can do it for you. 

As if sensing this, ever the reliable one, he carefully introduces a second finger. The stretch is unfamiliar, a burn around your entrance following as he reaches the last knuckle on that one too. His middle and ring finger stuffed snuggly inside your gooey little cunt as you whine and squirm from the feeling. 

Once you’ve adjusted, he slowly begins working them in and out of you. You slick up his fingers easily, streaks of creamy white coating his skin and making his mouth water. When he crooks his fingers up suddenly, prodding at that tender little spot inside of you, your entire body twitches and the most beautiful moan rips from your chest. 

He can’t resist leaning down and trapping your pulsing little clit under the flat of his tongue. He doesn’t slurp it into his mouth like before, instead, he just licks over it, pressing it down with the muscle. Your eyes are rolled up and your mouth hangs open as you moan and moan, tugging mindlessly at his hair as he works you towards your orgasm. 

It grows and grows, the unrelenting pleasure of his fingers fucking deeply into you and his tongue lapping sloppily at your clit like a mutt driving that knot in your belly to tighten. Drool spills out around his tongue, slipping down to meet his fingers where he easily fucks it into you – the added lubrication not needed but so very welcome with how much wetter and messier it makes you. 

“S-Simon…” you pant, gasping to catch your breath as the pleasure makes it hard for you to even think. 

He glances up at you through his lashes but doesn’t offer any other acknowledgement. There’s a knowing look in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s going to wring this orgasm out of your little cunt whether you like it or not. 

And fuck, do you love it. 

The orgasms you brought yourself in the deep of the night, little hands stuffed down your panties as you played with your clit and stuffed yourself with your own fingers was nothing like what you were experiencing now. Simon’s thick fingers and hot tongue were torturing your little clit until your entire body started to lock up.

You looked at him desperately, unsure what was even going through your mind besides him and how fucking good you felt right now. 

Just as you teetered on the edge of this orgasm, he suddenly changed up and swallowed your twitchy little clit into his mouth. He sucked, sending you flying over the edge with a shrill wail of his name. Your legs kicked and twitched, heels hitting him on the back as you trembled and shook through the orgasm that he eagerly fucked out of you onto his fingers. 

He suckled your clit, swirling his tongue around it until it was too sensitive and you were tearily pushing him away. When he finally released you, slipping his fingers from your cunt, you were boneless and twitching on the bed. You didn’t even try to close your legs when he pulled away, giving him the perfect view to watch your cute little pussy clench and messily drool cum in the aftermath of your orgasm. 

He popped his fingers in his mouth, eyes rolling and lashes fluttering at the taste of your cum tingling on his taste buds. As you came down, eyes closed and breathing heavy, he began pulling at his belt. 

You could hear the metal clinking as he dropped it to the floor, peeking your heavy lids open to see him pull the button of his jeans open. As he slowly pulled them down, his underwear went with and suddenly you were more aware than ever. 

His cock was something to behold. Thick and veiny, bobbing in the air where it hung – too heavy to actually stand upright. You’d seen dicks in porn before but none of them prepared you for Simon’s. Precum dribbled from the tip, creating a long, gooey string down towards the floor before it broke. 

He wrapped a big hand around himself, giving a few good strokes as he reached down to cup his own heavy balls. The hair wasn’t wild or offensive, but neatly trimmed short. 

“All good, lovie?” he asked, stepping out of the pool of his jeans and boxers so he could kneel on the bed again.

“All god-good!” you blushed as he laughed, leaning down over you to balance his weight on his elbows.

“You still want this?” he asks, hushed and sweet, 

You glance between your bodies to see that intimidating cock, drooling messily over your skin. You realize, quickly, that you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

When you voice such, he looks relieved, like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He sits back on his heels and spreads your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest.

“Hold them there,” he orders, which you follow immediately. 

Your elbows circle around your knees, holding yourself open for him as he asked. He whistles low in appreciation when your cum-slicked cunt was spread and exposed for him to prod his cockhead against. 

He swipes the tip up and down through your folds, humming appreciatively when your little hole tries to suck him in every time he grazes past it. He nudges your clit, the little bud still hard and sensitive from your orgasm but so eager for more. He couldn’t wait to grant your wish and make you cream on his cock. 

You watch him with wide eyes as he starts to push into you. Your jaw drops as you feel that burning stretch, an ache settling between your legs as he continues to sink himself into you. 

“F-Fuck, wait, Simon!” you squeal and he halts immediately. 

He’s only reached just past the head of his cock but he reaches down to pet your clit. The pleasure shoots through you, making your toes curl and your walls relax around him. He keeps his eyes on your face for any sign that you want him to stop as he moves his hips again. 

More and more of his cock sinks inside and his thumb keeps working little circles over your clit until his hips are flush with yours. Your voice breaks as you moan when you realize you’ve taken every single inch of him. 

He’s heavy and throbbing inside of you and you clench around him intentionally, forcing a moan from his chest. 

He leans down, arranging your knees over his shoulders, folding you up and pressing down on  you. He’s heavy and it makes it hard to breathe but that makes it even better – the pleasure of being speared on that fat cock and being utterly helpless underneath this man is better than any fantasy you could have made for yourself. 

“Fuck,” he snarls, rolling his hips back before rocking them forward again, heavy balls slapping against you as he does, “Can’t believe you were gonna give this little cunt away to some prick.”

“S-Si,” you whimper, biting your lip at the feeling of him slowly and carefully rocking his hips against yours, “‘M sorry, sh-shoulda been you all this time.”

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he hums, “No one else gets to love you but me, sweetheart.”

“O-Only you!” you agree, nails digging into his shoulders when he hits that spot just right. 

He can feel you soaking his cock, drippy cum lathering him up to make every glide of his cock wetter than the last. He sits back up on his knees, adjusting his grip so he can pin your legs wide open, giving him the best view of your greedy cunt swallowing his length up. 

He begins to fuck you in earnest, pulling out halfway before sliding home again - nothing like the little movements he gave you to prepare you. He was going to show you exactly why you should only think of giving him this precious pussy for the rest of your life. No one will ever be able to fuck you as good as he can, he’s going to learn your body like the back of your hand and you’re never going to be able to cum as hard as you can with him. You’ll never even want to use your own fingers again when he’s done with you. 

You can’t do anything but lay there and take it, take the pleasure and take his cock. He hits so deep, prodding at your cervix in a way that aches but it only feels that much better when it’s mixed with mind-numbing pleasure. 

Simon looms above you, panting and groaning as he fucks you like he was made to. He angles his hips just right, blunt nails biting into your thighs where he pins you open, neither of you caring if he happens to break skin while he does. You don’t even register the bite of pain underneath the way his cock prods you g-spot so perfectly. 

Your own fingers would have been tired by now, no longer able to work that little spot like you need. Simon’s cock, however, is unrelenting. The pleasure builds and mounts uninterrupted, every stroke of his length sending you higher. His body moves fluidly, rolling his hips tirelessly so he can give you every ounce of pleasure your sweet little cunt needs. 

You’re creaming around him, a frothy, milky ring forming around the base every time he sinks in and becoming visible when he pulls back. It’s filthy and messy and makes your cheeks burn but Simon seems to not mind in the slightest.

“So fuckin’ messy, love,” he coos, breathy and slurred, “Look at that, pretty cunt needed some cock, huh?”

“Y-Yours!” you manage to choke out.

“What’s that?” he asks, a crooked, teasing grin on his face. 

“Y-Your cock! Only needed your cock, Simon,” you pant, reaching up to grope your own tits, pinching and rolling your nipples meanly. It hurts so good, making you clench around his cock. He moans at the sight, his pretty little virgin tormenting your own nipples.

“That’s right,” he hums, reaching a shaky hand down to thumb at your clit, “Keep pinchin’ those pretty tits, sweetheart. Don’t stop.”

You nod your head, unable to form a vocal response from the new sensation of your clit being played with while he fucks you. It feels so damn good that you could go drunk from it all. Everything in your brain is slow, thoughts of only him and how good you feel are all that’s there. Your entire world, right at this moment, revolves around Simon Riley. 

He knows it too, a cocky grin on his face as he works you to your orgasm. You dangle, almost helplessly, staring unblinkingly at his handsome face as he works it out of you. 

After what feels like minutes, but is probably only seconds, you cum. Hard.

Your head slams back against the pillows, back arching as you cunt clasps tight around him. You cry out in pure, unadulterated pleasure as he fucks you through it. His thumb keeps working your clit as it twitches and pulses under the digit, cumming nice and pretty for him just like he wanted. Just like you deserved. 

You cream his cock messily, it drips down his balls and down your ass to the bedding below. So fucking sloppy and wet, a perfect little cunt made to take his cock. 

His brows furrow, mouth falling open as his own orgasm mounts and builds. Now that your well-earned orgasm is out of the way, he can finally let go and allow himself to experience it as well.

“Where do you want it?” he grits out, teeth clenched from the ache of holding back.

His balls draw up, heavy and full. He feels ready to positively explode when you gasp, “I-Inside!”

His head falls back, the loudest, most drawn out moan you’d never expected to come from a stoic man like Simon falling from his lips. It’s deep and primal, full of nothing but euphoria as he spills into you. His load is hot and thick, drooling out of the sides of his cock as he slows his thrusts to milk the least bits of pleasure from the orgasm. 

When he comes down, he collapses. Your legs lock around his waist and he draws you tightly into his arms, neither of you caring for the way his weight crushes you. All you care about is being wrapped up in his arms where you belong. 

He pulls his neck from your chest and kisses your forehead. Then he kisses your nose. Then your lips. 

“Pretty,” he breathes, still drunk on the endorphins of the sex so his lips are a little looser than they’d normally be, “Always thought you were pretty.”

“Really?” you prompt, cheeks heating at his confession. 

He hums, “Glad you’re finally mine.”

You beam, “No one deserved me as much as you.”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world, rolling off of you with a sigh. His cock unplugs your cunt and a gush of your mixed cum comes out, making you whine. He laughs softly, drawing you back into your arms. 

You’ve never felt safer and warmer in your life, knowing in that moment that you should have come to Simon all along. There’s no one in the world who would be there for you, more willing and able than he. 

this work belongs to rowarn. do not repost to third party websites or use for character ai. reblogs welcome and appreciated!

[strangeangel22]

i love being transgender i love doing my silly little t shot every week i am so proud of who i am and what ive done to get to where i am now I LOVE BEING TRANS!!!1!!!1!😸😸😸

[inkskinned]

it's because the bear wouldn't kill me just for being a woman. the bear doesn't kill me for fun. the bear can be shouted at, and will leave me alone. the bear won't make a tiktok complaining about how i crossed to the other side of the path when i saw him coming. if a bear kills me, it's just being a bear: it cannot understand logic. it is not acting out of malice - just fear or hunger.

bell hooks once wrote about how porches might be the only outside space left for women - it is still the domain of the house while it is also outside-but-safe. when i am in the woods, i am in the bear's home, and he has a right to defend his property. outside spaces - anywhere at night, certain parks in the day - those are often implicitly "owned" by men. i cannot explain the feeling of knowing when you have entered a man's "territory." you walk into a place and just know you are in their space. you get a sick sense - you're in danger.

the other day a group of about 8 men were fooling around in the woods while i walked my dog. i had to go around, take the extra 3 miles just to avoid them. it's okay, i like walking. this wasn't even a #feminism moment. it was just a tuesday.

what a plain and easy question. only one of the situations is seen as a tragic accident. i would rather die and have a park bench erected in my honor rather than have my family questioned about why they let me, an adult, walk in the woods in the first place when i should really be at home in the kitchen.

i worked in retail and food service. i have had women say and do absolutely heinous and abusive things to me - not because i was a woman, but because i was there, and they were angry. the way men treated me when angry was different - it was because i was a woman. you can always feel the difference, how there's an undertone of i'd hurt you worse if i could get away with it. i keep seeing people try to cite stupid statistics. why is there always a strange rage whenever women agree on things? like men can argue their way out of our lived experiences? it isn't a buzzfeed quiz - which of these traumas are you? 10 super cute ways not to fear strange men.

i have actually (thrice!) seen a bear in the wild, by the way. i died each time, obviously, and am a ghost writing to you. (it was scary but completely and utterly fine). the second encounter was a black bear with her cub. she looked at me like - do we have to do this or are we good? my dog was busy sniffing a bush, completely nonreactive. i felt like i was in a sitcom: feminist poet reacts - does she actually mean she'd choose the bear? my only thought was - she's so beautiful. her paws are massive.

and there's a part of me that feels the rage spinning out in a corner. why do we have to come up with quippy little comments in order to teach men empathy. would you rather die in a car accident or due to a mugging? and would you rather your house burn down due to an electrical fire or due to arson? gee willikers - it's almost like we're human people, and want to risk the accident versus the intention.

i would rather my last thought be oh shit, a bear rather than i'm a person too. why doesn't that matter? why don't you care?

[liedownquisition]

Oh boy. You know, I really love how you've cut some of those panels out. Here's a little more context on Oliver very clearly laying a solid chunk of what's wrong with Jason at Bruce's feet:

And you know what, you're right! No one's ever obligated to forgive everyone or anyone ever! But also guess what! You're also ignoring like... a lot of stuff actually. You think the batarang is the only thing people have an issue with.... as if it exists in a vacuum as the only thing Bruce has ever done wrong to Jason ever? Because most people aren't so much mad over a single incident as we are over it happening again and again and again.

RHATO Rebirth v2 #25

Batman and Robin uhhh Issue 6 I think? Going off the omnibus, sorry

Batman #138* *yes I'm aware that Bruce is being influenced by "Zur-En-Arr" in this, but honestly? I've always felt that this & the Batman & Robin one were some of the more in-character examples of Bruce's flaws manifesting in abusive ways

Or maybe some of these are too recent. Let's talk my personal favorite little beef that I like to contrast with Ollie:

Batman #424-425 The Diplomat's Son & Consequences

Ollie, on the other hand, when his charge commits a murder that Ollie thought could be prevented:

Now there's something to be said for how the writers for these stories had very different opinions of the sidekicks that were responsible, Starlin, for example, fucking hated Jason (Well, Robin in general) and wanted him dead, and it's deliberately set up to be a question of whether or not Jason actually did. Regardless, Bruce pretty cleanly absolves himself of any wrongdoing in his upbringing of Jason, whereas Ollie takes responsibility for Mia being in the position that she even could/would make that kind of call. And at this point, Oliver had Mia with him for a lot less time than Bruce had had Jason.

If it was Just the batarang, then, frankly, I think it's be a lot less controversial. This isn't even everything OR the worst panels from those incidents!!! I'm just cherrypicking, just like you were. And you know what, let me add this:

According to Bruce, Ollie's a pretty forgiving guy, it looks like. And if we're taking more Rebirth into account, Oliver was pretty chill about Cheshire hanging out with his family, and she's definitely caused her fair share of problems for the family and world at large on scales Jason has yet to even touch*, regardless of if she's Lian's mom. *some of Jade's crimes are dubiously canon, but with the reality mashing from Convergence in a way all of it is.

Ollie is a lot of hot air. I love the man, and he'll rip anyone and everyone a new one at the drop of a hat for any godsdamned reason. Pretty sure he's called Bruce and Barry and Hal all fascists before, so he has no hesitation in saying the absolute worst about people while... still having a relatively decent relationship with them in the long run, actually. Hal even used to be a villain for a while and Oliver was forced to kill him and now they're buds again. An alternate version of Hal that is STILL that villain continues to torment Oliver and his family.

Would Jason need to actually work to earn forgiveness from the Arrows? Probably. But he's still friends with Roy now (yes, CURRENTLY. AS HE HAS BEEN FOR OVER A DECADE he hasn't even been features in much w/ Roy lately but it has been REFERENCED), and even if it was small that olive branch of helping Roy and Lian reunite (and their general friendship, actually) isn't something that Ollie would just brush off, just as he wouldn't just brush off the events of Seeing Red.

But, in the grand scheme of things, kidnapping her, sending him on a wild goose chase across town, "having a talk" (mia's words) then letting her leave unharmed, and blowing up a building behind her is honestly small potatoes in comparison to the Repeated incidents of textbook abusive relationships that goes on between Bruce and Jason. (And I cannot overemphasize how little Mia was injured by this incident.)

Of course Olie was talking shit about Jason in the interim, Red Hood is incredibly dangerous, and he's scared for her safety. You can SEE how stumped he is by her coming out of this completely unharmed. Plus! This is hot on the heels of her return after the Dr Light Incident, and Ollie has every right to be scared out of his fucking mind.

But when it comes down to it, Mia Was Not Harmed. I will not stop saying that. Because in the world of villains and superheroes and red Hood doing significantly worse shit to other characters, this is NOTHING. Even actually within Arrow comics???? This WAS NOTHING.

And oh my god "He did the same thing Joker did" okay so where do I start with this

a) that was the point, obviously.

b) he didn't, actually.

c) that was the worst description of both incidents I've ever read in my entire life. Joker didn't "take a kid from his father and torture him and make him doubt his place in his family" unless you're talking about the fucking Arkham 'verse!

c2) actually let's break down that description: "took a kid from their father figure" Joker didn't take Jason, he was sold out by his mom. "Beat them up" understatement, but go off. "Tortured them mentally about their place in their family" not really. Joker just beat him nearly to death laughing for the most part, Jason's doubts about it came after he came back to life and saw news that Joker was still alive.

d) hmmm I wonder who said it was just Jason messing with Bruce...

Hm. Yeah. Bruce is definitely the most reliable source for Jason's intentions. I mean, was it generally to spite Bruce? Probably, yeah. But Jason's very good at multitasking and layering his intentions.

e) once again, Mia was not harmed. Jason spent most of their sparring match on the defensive, And only hit Her, physically, like, four times? and all of them in retaliation to her getting in close and hitting him first*? (And, trust me, if Jason can pull the hypercompetent bullshit that is "Seemingly shooting wildly but managing to hit nothing but THE STRING OF MIA'S BOW while also accounting for how she'd dodge" he could do sooooo much worse.) Notably, he briefly had her pinned to the floor with his hands around her throat... and then let up just after he held it long enough to make his point *Note: this is not a justification, she had every reason to fight back with everything she had and what Jason does is very fucked up on like...a normalscale. But it's worth noting he was Very Visibly and outright explicitly "teaching" her throughout it and it's soooo much less than any other villain has done to her.

This doesn't read to me "Making her doubt her place in her family" so much as "Emphasizing their similarities" this is the kind of speech the villain gives when he's trying to recruit the hero. (something which, hilariously, he mocked the idea of in UTH) But you know, all interpretations of canon are valid, although...

Funny enough, this also is very much not what Joker Did, actually. I mean, I don't recall Joker letting Jason have ANY agency at all, really. Just started breaking bones.

Now, I didn't post all of them because if I kept going it'd just be the whole comic, but yeah he does very much air out his daddy issues and compare them to her relationship with Ollie. It's clear that while he does know a lot about Mia... he also doesn't know much about Ollie. At least, not personality wise. Not how much genuinely better he is at this whole parenting gig.

This is so, so much easier to forgive, conceptually, than everything that goes on in the Batfam both from and to Jason and from and to OTHER MEMBERS OF THE BATFAM without involving Jason at all!!! (Birthdays, amirite?)

And, honestly, I'm probably seeing a lot of the posts that you are, and the ones making the Jason & Ollie bonding posts? Aren't really the same ones going on about the Batarang Incident. We've moved on to the rest of the, gestures above, Patterns of Abuse. If we discuss anything past post-crisis at all. (Speaking of post crisis, I actually remember Jason doing a pretty big solid for one of Oliver's close friends... hmmmmmm. Oh, yeah, he helped out when Black Lightning was framed for murder by Slade so good that even HE thought he did it! Granted, that was pre-Mia. So he's not going to stop being wary, but it's not like Jason hasn't done good things that affected people close to Ollie either.)

And if Jason's emotions aren't an excuse, than, well, Bruce's aren't really an excuse either, are they?

Jason's not even the only one who gets abusive treatment from Bruce. And regardless of your personal interpretations of whether or not it's a valid Batman characterization, after multiple writers have written this kind of thing across multiple continuities, there comes a point when you have to accept that this is a genuine flaw that Bruce carries and find a way to reconcile it with everything else.

And if we're going off of canon-gospel, Jason's own behavior has steadily trended towards more and more fangless, more palatable, in a way that given exposure Oliver would probably tolerate, considering all the others that he tends to tolerate. He still seems to regard the Batclan in general as a dumpster fire, "None of my kids would take a shot at me" he says, completely correct, while Batman's kids wouldn't even hesitate. He rolled up with unsolicited advice about Batman's relationships multiple times, all correct, and gotten shot down or ignored as if his significantly fewer incidents of being a shitty parent that he's very self-aware about somehow make him unqualified to speak at all!

Sometimes the reason that people are writing this, is because they like Ollie more than Bruce, because he knows how to actually apologize and actually do better. And trying to ignore canon in favor of making "good dad" Bruce stories, can wear you down when you just keep seeing Bruce depicted worse and worse and worse, and so maybe you want to start seeing the people trapped in Bruce's vortex move away from that.

And among those in that vortex, Jason has it the worst. Like, this isn't a competition. Some of the shitty stuff that Bruce does to him could be argued to be just responses to what he does himself (victim-blamey, but you know what let's pretend it makes things okay) like uth, or RHATOv2#25 But... Batman & Robin? "Oh Bruce was upset about Damian."

What was it you said? Oh, that's right: "Your feelings being valid don't excuse the harm you do, guys."

Gotham War? I'm sure you'll make excuses for Bruce there. I mean, maybe implementing it was Zur, but, frankly, that "Failsafe"? That has "Bruce genuinely thought this" written all over it. Hypocrite. Considering what his response was to the last time someone messed with his mind.

Oliver... kind of is the canon version of fanon's "good dad Bruce" tbh. And sometimes people make that connection, see those parallels, and want to play with that. It's just a what if.

You know that thing about tragedies about how if anything happened any differently it could have been prevented, that someone could have been saved? Ollie fucks up, but, fundamentally, if Ollie had been in Bruce's position, he would have saved Jason, not by doing the impossible of making it there in time, but by putting Jason first and having healthy communication lmao. Because Bruce very explicitly didn't! He didn't want to talk about it because he was scared of the truth! Or, he was scared of what he believed to be the truth, which would be that Jason had killed. And that it wasn't Bruce's fault. Because it's never Bruce's fault if he failed to raise Jason in that way that took that instinct out. It's not his responsibility to have realized, as the adult in the situation, that Jason maybe shouldn't have been exposed to so much rape and murder at an impressionable age. It's not his responsibility to keep better track of his barely teenaged son who's going through severe trauma right in front of him because they failed to enact justice on someone.

And Bruce had a lot to say about what he thought about Jason that varied and, honestly, rang more as projecting his own issues onto Jason than matching up what was actually happening on the page. Better meta-writers than I have discussed how rarely we get Jason's POV in these situations, that we're TOLD a lot about Jason by everyone else who has an agenda to frame Jason in a certain way.

If you hate Jason Todd, or hate jayroy, then block the damn tags & add it to a content filter bcs generally the latter is always marked. if it's someone on your dash reblogging them and it's not tagged/hiding it then ask them to tag it so you can filter it or stop following them idc. Don't pretend your cherry picking of canon and willful out-of-context misinterpretations is any better than anyone else's.

I have seen many posts and fanfics who are going "Oliver works with Jason to annoy Bruce!", "Oliver protecting Jason from Bruce!", "Oliver deciding to annoy Bruce by being like a father figure to Jason!", "Oliver being so happy for Roy and Jason being together!", and etc, but in canon, Oliver HATES his guts.

Here is a compilation of Oliver thinking or talking about Jason from Seeing Red, which is the first Red Hood's story after Under The Red Hood, and the one time Oliver and Jason interracted in canon (if I'm not mistaken, they never did since):

For the last one, he is talking to Bruce and Jason is one of the "every damned manner of sociopathic fruit fly".

And like, Oliver and the Arrowfam are 100% justified in their dislike or hate. He literally pulled the same shit Joker did on them: took a teenager away from her father figure, beat her up, torture her mentally about her place in her new family and her usefulness, make her and her guardian think he was going to kill her, explode the building she was in in front of her father figure to make him believe he was too late... And all of that to get to Batman. He doesn't give a shit about Oliver or Mia, it's about Batman, it's about Bruce. Just like when the Joker killed him, it wasn't about him, it was about Batman.

And it doesn't matter that Jason changed, because others aren't obligated to forgive someone because they redeemed themselves. I do not believe that Oliver is fine with Jason, he is probably not very happy he hangs around Roy, and does NOT want him near Mia ever again, and certainly not his granddaughter, Liam. That's the man that kidnapped his daughter because he was mad at his own father, nope. He knows how it is to be annoyed with the Bat, and it doesn't justify this.

I can hear y'all seeing disregarding canon is fine, and yes, sure. But also, folks, you are such hypocrites if you want to keep in that Bruce threw a batarang at Jason's neck, and erase how it was an accident ("Batman doesn't make mistakes!" Firstly, he does, canonically, make huge mistakes sometimes. Secondly, the man was an emotional wreck, his son had come back to life and had been killing people and his other son, Dick, was maybe dead because his city just exploded. He is human, not a machine! Thirdly, it is simply fucking stupid for a character who is against killing to willingly inflict such a mortal wound.), but Jason being a huge asshole to others is either erased or excusable (your feelings being valid don't excuse the harm you do, guys). Talk about favoritism.

[idiopathicsmile]

School Gymnastics: A Tragicomedy

So one day when we were in third grade, our P.E. teacher divided us into girls and boys. (I don’t remember what the boys had to do. Wrestling? Tackle football? I don’t know, probably not at age nine, but that’s not the point. Gladiatorial combat? I still don’t really understand kids’ sports.)

What matters for this story is that all the girls had to do gymnastics. Now—and I suspect this won’t surprise you if you know literally anything about me—I was always terrible at any form of school athletics. I am intensely, almost impressively uncoordinated. This doesn’t affect my life much at 36, but it was often a miserable way to be a kid. The only playground game I liked was playing pretend, because when you are playing pretend, you don’t have a bunch of people ostensibly on your side screaming in your ear, “Pretend faster! Pretend over there! Pretend with greater accuracy!”

Anyway, gymnastics and my clumsy, doughy little body. I couldn’t do a cartwheel. I couldn’t do a backwards somersault. I couldn't do any of it. We had an entire unit on this business and I literally did not learn how to even safely attempt a single move besides the log roll (lie flat and roll sideways on your belly). In retrospect, this seems like maybe it was in part a teaching problem, not a me problem, but that’s actually not the point either.

The point is, at the end of the unit, we were told to divide ourselves into little teams and choreograph a group gymnastics routine. My group, faced with my long list of limitations (more limitation than girl, really) decide my role will be to just forwards-somersault around the rest of the group as they do their moves. (This is itself kind of embarrassing but trust me, it is but the appetizer.) My friend Ashley has the Lion King soundtrack and we all agree that it is a great choice. The movie has only come out a couple of years earlier, and it of course features some funny, peppy options. 'Hakuna Matata'? 'I Just Can't Wait to Be King'? It's all coming together.

Carried on a wave of youthful enthusiasm, none of us even think to double-check which track Ashley has picked. Foreshadowing!

So the day of the performance comes. Another group goes right before us. They had picked “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls, which was a huge hit at the time. I mean, it still is because it’s a classic, but then it was big and new. They step onto the mat and immediately begin to do choreographed dance moves, which they have worked into their routine. We had not thought of this. Oops. Dance moves, of course! So they incorporate the necessary gymnastics, it goes over really well, the energy is high, and now it’s my group’s turn.

I take my place at the edge of the mat, the mat we are required to stay on for the length of the piece. Ashley cues up the track she’d chosen.

A song starts up. Instantly, I recognize it from the movie. It is the very slow instrumental music that plays when Simba realizes his dad is dead.

‘Well, this is not optimal,’ I think. I've been on this planet for nine years; I can see that much. But it’s too late to change the track, and so I tell myself, ‘It’s okay. I’m a performer. I can sell this.’ I put on an extremely solemn face and begin to execute a series of the world’s saddest somersaults.

Friends, when I say “sad” I mean it, in every possible sense of the word. Picture a nine year old with the gravest possible affect, determinedly doing somersaults to the slowest, most serious music she can imagine, in a careful ring around her friends who have actually learned any gymnastics whatsoever. Okay, now as the music starts to pick up and get more hopeful, imagine she gets real dizzy and in front of everyone, she rolls all the way directly off the mat, careening dangerously towards the assembled students.

Somehow, I roll myself back onto the mat, we survive what feels like hours of humiliation, we stagger away, and I blessedly avoid adding “puking my guts out in front of all of my peers” to my very short list of gymnastics tricks.

Later, I asked Ashley what in the world possessed her to choose that song.

“It didn’t have any words,” she said.

(There was absolutely no rule against using songs that had lyrics.)

Anyway, that’s why being an adult is better than being a kid.

I may have to do laundry and make my own dinner and wrestle with more complex existential angst, but you know what I haven’t been asked to do in like 26 years? Somersault for three minutes straight to the musical shorthand for “this cartoon lion cub has no choice but to process the weight of unimaginable grief for his dead dad.” And you know what? If I live another 50 years, I can be pretty confident nobody will ask me to do it then, either.

[ataraxiaspainting]

360-Degree Vision.

Yan Silas x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, non-con, oral (male receiving), forced infantilization, Silas calls himself Mommy because he's a weirdo, and "force feeding".

Word Count: 700.

OC and art pictured above belongs to amazingly talented @meo-eiru!! i really love her art, so be sure to check her out!! <333

*~*~*~*

Silas only allows autumn leaves and snow to fall where your feet don’t touch but your eyes can still see.

It’s an odd sort of shape, the barrier he has around his tree. It reminds him of those little sketches you do he puts by his bedside table. He read from a book that human mothers do that whenever their children give them drawings, though you never gave yours to him per se. More likely than not you were waiting for a more special occasion, but he found them in your toy box whilst he was tidying up from another long day of taking care of you. 

What a unique art style you have – he read in the same book that human children’s little doodles can be nearly unrecognizable from what they are supposed to be most of the time, so he doesn’t question how the circles you drew kept going around and around and leading to nowhere.

A snail’s shell, perhaps? 

The spirals seemed too large and too filled… 

He’ll give you points for creativity. 

Positive reinforcement was key with these kinds of things, or so he’s been told – if you ever ask for a pet snail, he’ll get one for you in little to no time at all.

*~*~*~*

“Baby,” Silas’ smile is smaller because of the concern he has for you right now. “You have to finish your dinner. It’s good for you. When you finish we can go see little mushrooms and squirrels, okay? Only for a little bit though,” His right hand is still above your head, squishing you down when your body seems to want to get up too soon. “Mommy doesn’t want you to get sick again…”

Despite Silas sitting down, he was still more than half your height – your knees sink further into the mattress both of you are on.

They are shivering so much but he doesn’t notice.

No, it’s not that he doesn’t care – he’s too busy flaunting his length and chest to you to pay attention to how you actually feel, wanting you to pick your poison once again; seeing this as necessary to your development.

Last time for yesterday’s meals you chose his cock – the day before that you chose his breasts.

The more you suck from him, the more you’re given treats after. Something resembling those colorful markers you used to get at the local dollar store, containers of blueberry yogurt you hope came from his village’s cows or some similar type of animal, a new dress he had sewn himself or had customized and bought from a nearby elf tailor.

“I’ll even bring some paper and those pencils you like drawing with, hm?” Silas continues as he scoots closer to you – he holds your hair so gently now, but whenever he cries tears of pure happiness the grip will tighten quickly. “Maybe you can see a snail up close for those little spirals you like doing.”

…

No matter how much you rebel and kick and scream, the elf wouldn’t move back from you – if anything it gives him more of a reason to come closer, so you can have more of his ‘love’. After only a little bit of time, you learned how to let the frustration out in a way that didn’t have Silas doting over you so suffocatingly – drawing spirals. You were told once by a friend they can be therapeutic in times of stress. You most likely will never see her again but you would want to hug her because it works. 

You hid them amongst the dolls and building blocks you were given in times you were alone – staring at them made you feel less lonely, made you feel like you had more of a choice in how you spent your waking hours.

You didn’t expect Silas to find them. He never checks your toy box because you tidy it up so often.

You don’t know how to explain your drawings in a way Silas will understand. Not that he understands a lot of things that come out of your mouth.

You just nod. Maybe drawing a snail’s body below those spirals can help you too.

“Good girl! Listening so well!” His smile widens and you can see his eyes getting watery already.

[girltalkcollectives]

Double Standard Dictionary: A Guide to Things That Are Only "Problems" When Women Do Them

Let's have an honest conversation about something that drives me absolutely crazy. You know those little comments and judgments that somehow only seem to apply to women? Yeah, we need to talk about that.

The Professional Edition

When men vs. when women do the exact same thing:

He's assertive → She's aggressive

He's focused → She's cold

He's passionate → She's emotional

He's dedicated → She's obsessed

He's confident → She's arrogant

He's strategic → She's manipulative

He's busy → She's neglecting her life

The Dating Double Standards

The classics that never seem to die:

He's dated around → She has "a past"

He's a bachelor → She's "left on the shelf"

He's selective → She's picky

He's career-focused → She's married to her job

He's a social butterfly → She's attention-seeking

He's "finding himself" → She needs to settle down

He's direct → She's desperate

The Appearance Police

The endless contradictions:

Look professional, but not too try-hard

Be attractive, but not attention-seeking

Wear makeup, but keep it "natural"

Be fit, but not too muscular

Dress well, but not too sexy

Look youthful, but not immature

Age gracefully, but never look old

The Emotion Edition

How it's perceived:

His anger is justified → Her anger is hysteria

His sadness is deep → Her sadness is dramatic

His stress is from hard work → Her stress is from "not coping"

His excitement is enthusiasm → Her excitement is over-the-top

His concerns are valid → Her concerns are paranoid

His anxiety is pressure → Her anxiety is weakness

The Family Chronicles

The never-ending judgment:

He's babysitting → She's just parenting

He's helping around the house → She's doing her job

He's focused on work → She's neglecting family

He needs time to himself → She's selfish

He's weighing his options → She's wasting time

He's figuring out what he wants → Her clock is ticking

The Office Politics

Things I'm tired of seeing:

Men get mentored → Women get hit on

Men network → Women "sleep their way up"

Men are busy → Women "can't handle it"

Men are thorough → Women are perfectionists

Men delegate → Women are lazy

Men need work-life balance → Women are uncommitted

The Social Scene

The ridiculous expectations:

Be fun but not too wild

Be social but not too friendly

Be smart but not intimidating

Be successful but not threatening

Be independent but not difficult

Be strong but still need help

Be confident but still humble

The Success Paradox

What we're dealing with:

Be ambitious but not threatening

Lead but don't be bossy

Achieve but don't outshine

Negotiate but don't be demanding

Succeed but stay likeable

Excel but remain modest

Win but make it look effortless

The Reality Check

What this actually means for us:

Constant second-guessing

Walking on eggshells

Energy drain from overthinking

Imposter syndrome

Reduced authenticity

Limited self-expression

Unnecessary stress

The Way Forward

What we can do about it:

Call it out

Name the double standard

Question the logic

Point out the inconsistency

Support other women

2. Break the patterns

Reject unfair labels

Define success personally

Set our own standards

Celebrate authenticity

3. Change the narrative

Share success stories

Highlight achievements

Create new networks

Mentor others

To Every Woman Dealing With This

Remember:

You're not "too much"

Your achievements are earned

Your feelings are valid

Your ambitions are worthy

Your standards are important

Your voice matters

Your path is yours

[suiana]

yandere! gamer boyfriends who are always gaming and leave you alone.

they have you questioning everything and anything about your relationship. was it all just a joke? is he cheating on you? why doesn't he show you affection?

and it's not that he doesn't want to, it's that he doesn't know how to.

he's spent his whole life gaming and huddled up in his little room that he forgot how relationships work. he feels so bad whenever he sees you moping around. so he does what he thinks is best.

"baby, what do you mean you don't like my gift?"

he thought you'd like his gift. i mean, you were complaining about this person for a whole now, he thought you'd want them gone...

a picture of them in his basement, all tied up while he poses cutely for the camera.

he thought that would be enough to please you, but it turns out he was wrong. you didn't like it at all. in fact, you called him a monster and even tried to break up with him!

"baby calm down, I'm just trying to make you happy."

he's pouting now, unsure of what to do. he doesn't know how to be sweet. he was never shown taught how to be loving and sweet. he doesn't know how to be a normal and sweet boyfriend.

"why don't you tell me what you want then? i just want to see you happy you know."

he really does. i mean, even if he doesn't show it, his heart and mind both belong to you. while he's gaming, you're all he can think about. actually, when he's doing anything for that matter, you're the only one on his mind. he can never think like how he used to before and it's all because of you.

"leave you alone? baby you're upset at me and I'm not leaving you alone. why can't we just talk things out?"

he refuses to let you leave his sight and out of his grasp. what if you go to some other person? he can't have that now, can he? also, don't people talk things out in a relationship? why are you trying to get away from him?

"you're mine. so don't ever think about leaving me."

a sweet kiss to your lips is all it takes for you to calm down.

huh, maybe he should kiss you more then.

inumaki toge, GOJO SATORU (but specifically if he was a loser nerd), kinich, kenma kozume, chishiya shuntaro, all of your favs