#I might not be heat intolerant as much these days but that means I can withstand higher than 75

[stardustedknuckles]

I'm on day 3 of no walkies and I'm about to start biting people.

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Four (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: Ooh I really hope you enjoy this one! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. I so love to hear your feedback and chat more about this story! ILY :-*

Word count: 5.3k for this part. 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

The rest of the evening passes in much the same way as the rest. You rejoin the group out front, Benny injecting some much needed fresh energy into the pack. He regales you all with tales of his most recent fights, delivers excruciating detail about his latest training regimen, and proudly shows off pictures of his new puppy. 

“Why am I looking at a picture of you, Miller,” Frankie jests as he holds up the screen to reveal an adorable golden retriever. 

If anyone notices that Santiago seems quieter than he had earlier in the night, they don’t say it. If they realise that you are engaging in very purposeful, overblown interest in Benny’s chat, it doesn’t get called out. There are a few exchanges between the two of you and Santiago that simulate old patterns. Lend weight to the pretence that things could even return to normal between you and him, given a little more time. 

Still, every time your eyes glance off of one another there is this intolerable heat, and you find you still can’t meet it head on. At times, your gaze is dropped hastily into the sand. At times, your eyes needle Frankie pointedly so that he might come to your aid, even if he does simply shrug and clasp the neck of his bottle a little more tightly. 

You know Santiago. And in a sense, contradictory as it may be, the hardest thing is how easy it would be to fall into your old patterns. Eventually, you begin to wonder if this tension and this awkwardness -this disconnect – is simply manufactured, in a way. Your heart’s tactic to keep him at arm’s length. A defence mechanism, because you ran away from a whole continent and yet you still fear ending up right back where you started if you can’t extricate yourself from him. 

At some stage, you tire of the beer-addled chat, and especially of Tom. Even more so of the effort of trying to make everything feel normal, whilst at the same time fearing what might happen if you could actually achieve that. What it would mean. You announce to the group that you’re going to take a long soak in the tub, and you head upstairs to the main bathroom, languishing in the sweet-scented bubbles, and attempting to wash the burdens of the day from your body, along with the gathered sweat and sand and smoke. Of course, you seem entirely unable to scrub this urge humming beneath your skin. 

When you eventually emerge there is a hush over the house, a cocooning darkness in the hallways – and you realise that at least some of the group must have retired to bed already. You’re tired, sure; but you’re still a little buzzed and not sure that you could sleep yet. You certainly don’t like the thought of staring at the ceiling, thinking about who might be lying awake too on the other side of your wall. 

“Hey. Cat. Everyone gone to bed?” you ask Frankie softly as you see him round the stairs to the landing in his socked feet, his footsteps purposefully softened. 

“Yeah, chiquita.”

“Already? Such old men,” you snicker gently. “What the hell happened?” 

Frankie’s subdued throaty chuckle cuts pleasantly through the dark. “It was a long drive,” he defends playfully; then, his tone shifts, an injection of caution evident. It puts you on edge. “Pope’s still out there though, if that helps.” Frankie must feel you bristle, as he raises his palms in the air in surrender. Or, more than likely, absolving himself of any responsibility. “Do with that what you want.” 

“Mmm-kay,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, and, from the sidelong glance Frankie throws at you, you know he isn’t buying it for a second. 

“You two okay? Something happen in the kitchen?” 

A flare ignites under your skin. You remember a different kitchen entirely. Not the one downstairs. Instead, you recall the hot, close air of the Colombian night. The flash of cool metal against your flushed skin as Santiago pressed you back and-

“-It was fine,” you lie tersely, and before Frankie can wheedle anything further out of you, you quickly hook your arm around his neck for a distracting, albeit halfhearted, goodnight hug. “’Night, Cat. Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” With a grunt, he offers a quick, friendly kiss to your cheek, his scruff tickling up against you. 

“Yeah. G’night,” he returns, looking as tired as he probably feels. And, as you part ways in the hallway, Frankie watches with resigned interest at the fact you don’t similarly retreat to your room. That instead, you shuffle onward towards the mouth of the stairs. “Don’t let the Pope’s bite.” 

And then, with Frankie’s nonsensical and yet somehow apt warning ringing in your ears you head downstairs, meandering through the quiet house until you reach the exterior. 

You are arrested in the doorway at the thought of experiencing Santiago alone all over again, but at the same time, that is exactly the thought which propels your feet over the threshold and out into the balmy night air. 

You find him there, stretched out on his back in front of the dying embers of the fire, knees folded and pointed up to the sky. An orange glow is cast over the contours of his chest where his button-down shirt now falls completely open, the wire of his headphones snaking down and around his torso. He looks peaceful like this at first. Relaxed and loose, his chest rising and falling soporifically with his breath. His eyes are closed and he has his headphones in his ears, his fingers gently drumming and tapping where they rest against the softness of his bare stomach. Your eyes follow his happy trail, until the thatch of hair disappears beneath his shorts, now tugged tight over his thick thighs. 

You note the appealing cushioning around his middle forming rolls as he shifts marginally - to better prop his head up on a second cushion. He looks beautiful. Tranquil, at first glance. 

That is, until you see him tug in a huge breath, his ribs flaring with it. Until you watch him pinch the bridge of his nose before letting out a slow, sad exhale. 

You know in that moment that you should without a doubt turn around. That you should go right to bed, even if that does result in staring at the ceiling for hours with the image of his gorgeous body seared into your mind. But, you can’t do that. 

Instead, you already know exactly what you’re going to do. You’ve known since before you came downstairs. 

Truth be told, you’ve known since before you came to the beach house at all. You’ve known since your new fella asked you to be exclusive and you said “no”. You know, because you don’t know what’s good for you. 

“Santiago,” you say to announce yourself.  “Mind if I join you?” 

He pops a bud from his ear and opens his eyes. Somehow, he doesn’t even look surprised to see you standing there. 

He blinks at you wordlessly for a moment. He could say no, of course, but you know that he won’t. 

Because he doesn’t know what’s good for him either. 

He doesn’t respond to you at all in words. Instead, he rises, shifting to the corner of his tartan blanket, arranging himself cross-legged with a groan. He pats the opposite side invitingly, gesturing for you to join him. 

You hesitate. The setting, down on the sand on that measly square of wool, seems already far more intimate than the looming camp chairs had.

“Warmer down here,” Santiago encourages, as though reading your mind through how well he can read your body, evident tension snaking through your limbs. “Come and get comfy.” 

Okay. 

You hunker down, both legs folded to one side and your weight propped on the opposite arm. You take in the setting for a moment. The beach, shrouded in a blanket of dark. The sound of the waves shushing, and the gentle crackle of the fire. 

It would be calming, if the silence between the two of you wasn’t so taut. Still, you know Santiago will shortly reach to fill the silence. He always does. You don’t even have to wait all that long. 

“Good to see that Benny’s still… as Benny as ever.” 

“Yeah. Good to see some things never change.” You look at his lips. 

“His latest training regimen sounds pretty brutal, huh?“ 

“Uh huh.” Your eyes trail wantonly down his torso, and it’s not lost on you that he sucks his stomach in a little when your gaze drops to the soft rolls of him there. You’ve never seen a whiff of insecurity on the man before now. He’s confident as a rule - or so you thought. It’s appealing though, the softness of him. Sexy. You want to tell him that, but you don’t. Instead, you simply allow the soft smile to radiate over your face unfettered, your eyes warm and fond. 

“What are you listening to?” you nod down to his phone, headphones still strung from it and one bud remaining in his ear. Wordlessly, he passes you the spare bud and you slot it in, allowing the droning sounds to wash over you. Voices talking, and smatterings of financial and investment jargon. You quickly get the gist of it, and just as quickly relinquish the bud back to him. 

Your nose wrinkles. It’s not what you were expecting, honestly. “Financial podcasts?” 

He tilts his head to the side. Looks suddenly as old and mature and serious as you’ve ever seen him. “Gotta think about the future sometime, right?” He says it lightly, but even so, you are somewhat hurt by it. Hurt that he’s never managed to envisage any kind of future with you. 

“Right.” You nod, as neutrally as possible. 

He looks at your mouth. 

You note the brief fleet of pink tongue along the swell of his pillowy lower lip. 

You both let the silence hang there for a moment, full of possibility, and again, you know he will fill it. After all, you made it clear, right? You told him: don’t. Even if you want precisely what you asked him to deny you. “Did you see that documentary about the octopus on-”

“-I can’t get off anymore without thinking about you, Santi.” 

You interrupt him, and his jaw hangs slack for a moment, his eyes bugging out of his head as he fully registers your statement. Apparently, you don’t want to talk about Benny. Or podcasts. Or fucking octopi. You don’t want to fill the silence with meaningless chat. 

With Santiago, it had always meant something. You don’t want to stop that now. 

You let the words fall into his lap, and you aren’t even sure what reaction you were expecting. Therefore, you don’t even feel any particular type of way as you watch the multitude of emotions and stunted responses play out one by one across Santiago’s features. “Jesus, honey,” he eventually croaks. 

Then, his second-hand embarrassment finally jars you too. In a delayed flush of self-pity, you bury your face in your hands. “Fuck. How pathetic is that?” 

Santiago’s agape mouth finally closes then, a hard swallow bobbing down his corded neck. Your own self-deprecating laugh finally causes his face to split into a bemused and tentative grin. It is short-lived, however, his thick brows quickly drawing down. “You know. You’re giving me fucking whiplash over here, cariño.” 

“Shit. I know. I’m sorry. I just…” You tug your knees up to your chest for whatever comfort it can offer. “Honestly? I don’t want to talk about Benny, or whatever else. I love the guy but I… I missed you. I missed you and I just want us back. I want us to be okay, you know?” Santiago’s face twists in a mirror of your own, as if he doesn’t even know how possible that is anymore. “And, I don’t know how else to do that anymore – to make us okay - without… without that. I don’t know how to stop wanting you.” As you keep talking, your voice seems to break into a thousand pieces, as if sand in your throat is grinding it down, eroding the body and timbre of it away. “I try. I try, Santi, and it… I never…” 

Your name rises from his throat, and the sound is tired in his mouth. He knows what you’re asking him; and he doesn’t even seem surprised. “It’s a bad fucking idea.” 

“I know.” He’s not even wrong. “I know it is, but I… I don’t care anymore.” Emotion weighs down your tone. Makes it heavy. “It’s like a wound in me - the way we left it - and I just need…” Your eyes flicker and flit everywhere as you reach for the word, dancing around the scene, around his face, like the licking, greedy flames. 

You can’t find the word, the concept, the sentiment, but, as you search, Santiago’s voice filters through to you, certain and resigned. As though he understands perfectly what you crave after the wound that he left that night. “You need healing.” 

Your head whips towards him and you nod slowly, with conviction, searching his face for any sign that he might give it to you. For any sign that he might be able to repair you. He had hurt you, yes. But his fire was so hot that you think he is the only thing capable of cauterising the wound he left in his wake. The only one who can ignite you enough to heal you, as selfish and misguided as your desire may be. 

However, Santiago’s demeanour remains calm and cool even in the face of your desperation. You see only a vestige of desire dancing in his eyes now, as though all you had might truly be in the past. “You wanted out, remember?” he says thinly. With regret. He smiles even thinner than that. “No need to repeat your old mistakes, huh?” 

“I wanted out of that life, man. You were never a mistake.” 

“Heh. Don’t be so sure. If you know what’s good for you-“ 

Unconsciously, and with ill-timing, you shift on the mat in discomfort, rolling your spine to try and release some of the niggling, tight muscles – another old injury which continues to plague you long after the fact. 

“Still got that damn tweak?” Santiago asks, seemingly grateful for the diversion.  

You nod. “Mmm.” 

“Want my fingers?” 

You look into his eyes, mellow in the dancing light. How could you say no to that? “Please.”

“Come here then,” he encourages, shifting position to the edge of the porch step, his thighs spread wide apart and leaving space for you to settle on the sand before him. “Let me help you,” he insists, tipping up his chin, and his eyes softer and brighter again. 

You hesitate, but you can’t find it in you to decline the invitation. Can’t possibly find the strength to say no to his hands on you. To some relief, even in this form. “Turn around. Back to me, hermosa.” His voice is soft, so soft. Rough and undone around the edges like this frayed edge of land you perch on. 

You settle before him, and, just as he had promised, his fingers and his hands begin to inch over your body, on top of your clothes, seeking to unravel the knots. To bring you some relief. He used to do this for you all the time – always took care of you like this, and it’s bittersweet to recall a different, more innocent way his hands used to touch you. He would do this for you after training. After a mission. In the field. At the mouth of your tent when camped out in some desert or field or jungle. In the back of a Humvee on the way to the F.O.B.. At Benny’s fight nights when you’d had to sit in those shitty plastic chairs for too long. Whenever and wherever you needed it. 

His hands always knew how to fix you, long before you learned all the ways they could take you apart like a weapon in his palm. “Santiago,” you keen, as the pad of his thumb works into all your sweet spots. You don’t know what his name is in your mouth. A plea; a promise; a prayer; a poem. Perhaps all of these at once. 

“I know,” he soothes. “I know, cariño.” 

You close your eyes against the sudden tears you find threatening at the corners of your eyes. Knowing his touch again is everything you wanted, and, despite yourself, you are eminently glad it is happening like this. That he is giving, instead of devouring you, for if he did the latter, you don’t know that there would be anything left for him to take. 

His touch like this though, deft and tender, reveals that perhaps, there’s another way. That maybe, instead of burning you, Santiago could merely warm you. Maybe his flames only hurt because you had dared to get too close. Maybe you could simply learn to stay at arm’s length, where he had always attempted to keep you anyway. 

Still, that’s all very well, but… his touch - as it skims down your body - is enough to subsume you. It is a tide swallowing hot shores. It is a relief. A balm. Healing. 

“You’re so tight,” he complains gruffly, and you wonder if he is simply being careless, or whether his words were chosen ever so deliberately to remind you. To remind you of him praising you for that very same thing, under other circumstances. 

Regardless, Santiago shifts then, shuffling his hips closer towards you. His thighs -either side of your torso - boxing you in a little more tightly. Then, he braces one hand carefully against your shoulder, the other digging and kneading into your knotted muscles at the spot he always knew how to help you with. 

You moan for him, willingly, as he takes all your tension and melts it like butter. 

“Santiago,” you keen, and there it is again. A promise; a prayer; a poem. 

A plea. 

You hear him swallow thickly. Hear him exhale a sound like sea trapped in a seashell, his face dipped closer towards the shell of your ear in this new position. His breath continues to quicken as he manipulates your body, pliable under his sure hands, his warmth practically coiled around you like the fire around its fuel. 

“Do you want my fingers?” he repeats, voice now flecked with grit, even as he remains slow and languid, not whipped into any frenzy. “Tell me.” 

A stone plummets through your belly, sinking heat through your core at the mere suggestion he might touch you there too. 

“Mmmph,” you plead – a strangled affirmative wrung from your chest, and Santiago’s hand reaches around, calm and slow and tantalising. He winds his arms between your legs and his index finger trials along the seam of your shorts, up towards your clit like he’s following a carefully laid fuse line. Like he knows precisely how to detonate you, and all he needs is a spark. “You want my fingers here?” he purrs, and you moan his name, throwing your head back into the crook of his shoulder. “Want me to help you like this too?” 

You submit an unintelligible string of sounds to the air, which you hope he recognises as an affirmative. 

“Sssshhh,” he soothes, as his fingers deftly flick open the button of your shorts and you squirm in search of his friction. “It’s okay. I got you. I got you, cariño.” 

You sigh out a broken, guttural noise now, rolling your mound against his palm as his girthy fingers travel eagerly below the waistband of your clothing. Barrelling towards your want without dwelling on the implications even for a moment. On what this might mean. On what this may fix or further fracture. 

It is too much to think about that, and it is enough to know that you need some relief. 

Specifically, the kind of relief you have not been able to give yourself. The kind of relief you have not been able to find from elsewhere. The kind only Santiago knows how to give you. The only kind Santiago knows how to give you. 

“Fuck. You’re soaked,” he praises, all rusty-voice and practiced fingers, and with the ease that the thick pads of him glide through your folds you know it is true. “Holy shit, come here.” 

You would oblige if you were not so loose-limbed already; and so, in the next moment, Santiago is dragging you up towards him, settling your ass in the space before him on the porch step, so you sit a little higher. He is shucking your shorts and panties down and hooking your thighs over his parted, sturdy legs to spread you wide open. To give him better access to you so he can give you what you need. 

Your hands clamp down on his thighs like claws, your back flush against his chest and your head still languishing in the apex of his neck, feeling the steady rhythm in his shoulder as his arm reaches between your legs. With his other arm he simply gathers you up and holds you close to him, until the warmth of his skin seeps right through to yours. 

“Fuck! Santi,” you keen, voice ragged with need already as his fingers tease and circle where you need him. “More. Please, I need more.” 

He does not disappoint. He plunges a girthy finger into your heat, and the lack of resistance is telling, your cunt opened up and eager for him as the heel of his hand rocks a steady rhythm against your clit. He goes slower than you would like, but it turns out to be the exact pace you need -two fingers now- dragging molten heat through your core with each curl and pump and scissor he applies to your giving walls. 

“Ohhhh. Fuck!” 

“I know, baby. This is what you need, isn’t it? I know.” 

He does. He does know. He knows every damn inch of you and how to make you sing. 

“That’s it. I’ve got you. Don’t come, Princesa. Not yet.”

That’s easier said than done. Especially as his rough voice - all honey and grit - filters into the shell of your ear. As the fleck of his stubble rasps against your neck as he sucks an angry mark into your skin. Your core flutters in straight-out defiance of his orders then, and he feels you clamp down on him, tightening around his fingers. “Ah ah,” he scolds. “Hold on to it for me. Gonna get you there. Don’t worry. I got you.” 

Christ, you slosh around him as he makes you molten, and you feel his thighs begin to shake beneath yours. You feel his insistent hardness pressing at your back. “Fuck, princesa. I missed this pussy. Holy shit.” 

“Santi. I- I can’t hold on.” 

His thumb massages circles into your swollen, needy clit. 

“No, baby. Hold on for me. I know you can, huh? Don’t even think. Let me give you what you need.”

“Mmmphhh,” you moan out like a woman possessed as Santiago builds you up. 

He chuckles darkly into your neck, and smothers his spare palm over your mouth. “Shhhh. Quiet, hermosa. No-one else can take care of you like this, huh? I got you now.” 

The way he’s touching you, fingers speared inside your wet heat, is everything you’ve needed for so long. God, you’ve so needed him to help you like this. And now, he’s finally giving you relief. It’s welcome, and it’s good; but you still have enough about you, even in this state of becoming putty in his lap, to realise that he’s not giving you everything. You turn your head, tipping your lips wantonly up to him, but he won’t kiss you. His arousal presses insistently at your lower back but he isn’t making any move to get himself off. It seems obvious, even in this state of coming undone, that even as you lose yourself he won’t allow himself to get lost in you; not entirely. 

He’s navigated some extreme terrain in his time, but perhaps his feelings for you really are a jungle far too dense for him to navigate. 

Still, you certainly do not feel any lack, even if you get the sense he is holding back. It would be hard to feel any lack at all with his thick, warm fingers buried in you up to the knuckle, stroking and curling with precision against your swollen arousal, coaxing hoarse moans from your lips which he buries in the meat of his cupped palm. The pad of his thumb rubs haphazardly -almost roughly- in circles over your clit, puffy with need. Your thatch of hair is soaked, and your plumped folds are slick with your pearly, moonlit juices. 

“Holy fuck,” you rasp as Santiago’s  fingers draw a broad circle deep inside your walls, stretching you open and sending a delicious spiral of bliss through your core. He curls his fingers against your g spot, rocks his palm roughly against the mound of you, and God, it’s so good. You’re on the edge, but you still find you can’t quite let go. 

You don’t need him to give you everything, but you do need him to give you just a little more of what you’ve been craving. Just a little more healing. 

“Santiago,” you plead, tears of emotion and bliss and disbelief and sadness balling in your eyes. Relief at the fact you get to feel his touch again, and despair at how long you may next endure the lack of it. 

However, as though he senses what your body is telling him, that you are getting far too in your head by now to let go, you realise Santiago knows exactly what you need to get out of it. He always does. Always knows how to help you. “Mmpph,” you moan as he wraps his hand more tightly around your mouth and nose, playing with your air supply - just enough to provide a gentle thrill. To offer this simulation of a loss of control just long enough that you feel a secondary surge of adrenalin and arousal building within you. You gasp as he releases his palm and you suck his fingers easily into your mouth, wanting to feel full of him wherever you can. He obliges by shoving them deeper, over your tongue. 

“That’s it,” he praises, soothes, encourages, feeling it coming before you do, reading the signs in your body. Almost immediately, pleasure blooms out from your middle, completely engulfing you. 

You screw your eyes shut tight and you can barely even focus on his fingers pulsing in and out of your wet, suckering heat, or on this string in the middle of you being drawn so tight it’s about to snap. Instead you focus on him. On the warmth and sturdy form of him at your back. On the way he knows just how to touch you – where, and when, and how. The way he soothes you and relieves you. The familiar scratch of his stubble against your cheek. The soft, sweat-tacky rolls of his bare stomach cushioning your back, skin-on-skin where your t-shirt has ridden up your back. His meaty thighs. The familiar press of that hard promise up against you. But most of all his warm, sandy voice, slipping into the shell of your ear like the sounds and shushing of the sea. 

Hermosa. Cariño. Princesa. 

His words melting out of you like liquid pearls and making you shine. 

He praises you, and the sounds of him slip inside you just like his fingers, a smooth glide like the surge of the tide devouring an aching shore. His touch relieves the ache, the burn, the fire, the hurt, as you find your release. You gush over his hand, your mouth open with a hoarse, hollow moan, silently echoing the roar of the sea as your whole body becomes liquid on top of his. 

He holds you, and he works you through it, tears squeezed from your eyes with each wave of bursting, engulfing pleasure which radiates through your core – not blistering like the heat of your fire, but gentle and soothing. 

Your breath is ragged now. You have the feel of a tide between your legs.

You are sated, and yet you want more of him. You may feel healed in some ways, but your whole body still sings for him like a wound. 

He stays inside of you. Feels you for a moment, with a shuddered, satisfied moan you feel vibrate against your back before he draws his fingers out, painfully slow. You shudder too, your core still fluttering for him, and you would reach for him if you weren’t still boneless. Would seek to satisfy him too. 

“Fuck. I missed your fingers,” you purr. 

“Uh huh,” Santiago says, a little too morosely for your liking, and he unslots himself far too quickly from around your form. Far too quickly he comes to standing, leaving you feeling cold and alone on the porch stairs, shorts shunted down past your knees, exposing you to the night air. 

“Don’t you want… something for you?” you ask in confusion, in hope, eyeing the bulge tenting at his crotch and the way his hand is hung curled at his side, his fingers still shined from you. You enjoy all of that, but you certainly don’t enjoy the heaviness bedding down on his brow, and you reach to pull up your shorts as quickly as you can, the moment of relief fast-retreating, like the deceptive tide. 

“No,” he says firmly. “That was just for you.” 

You bristle at the implication in his words, your momentary bliss falling quickly away. 

He did you a favour. 

You were the one undone by your desire – your want. Not him. You were the needy one who couldn’t be without him. Couldn’t even get off without him. And damn. Here he is, slow and controlled and, for the better part, seemingly unaffected.

You know that’s not wholly true – that he does still want you, but your eyes still swim when you wonder if his desire is subdued compared to what it used to be. If it has lessened. 

Don’t you cause this frenzy in him anymore? This quickening, like he does with you? Is the flame burning in your chest -or your loins- not catching, any longer? Like the dying embers of this fire, is it almost out? 

Could there truly be an end to this? 

Soldiers. Friends. Lovers. 

What next? 

You had, at least, assumed something would be next. 

And so, as you regard him, stoic and impassive, you can barely even look at him. “You’re right, Pope. This was probably a bad fucking idea.” 

Of course it was. 

You should know better than to think you can take a piece of him without wanting to devour the whole. After all, you could never see him in fragments – only all at once. 

Had that always been your mistake, thinking that he could ever give himself over to you completely? He’s far too afraid of getting lost, even if he does hold the map to your heart in the palm of his hand. Strange then, because the palm of his hand is also where he has become so accustomed to yielding a weapon. Maybe for him, love and pain were always destined to feel the same.

You push past him, and you feel a pit open up in your middle. 

“Goodnight, buddy,” you say, your tone surprisingly sour so soon after that. “Thanks a bunch for the fingerfuck.” 

You guess the mindfuck came along for free.

You don’t want to hurt him. Don’t want to be bitter and to deepen this gulf between you all over again. But, apparently, you just can’t help yourself. 

You don’t know what’s good for you. 

[cebwrites]

Hiya! Can I request Law and/or Zoro x a male reader who constantly tries to work in couples/working together moves in fights as a his own kinda love language/flirting depending on if you think the relationship would need to be established first or not.

Like Reader and them are cornered mid-fight and Reader's just like, "Finally! I've been waitin to try out this new axe! Launch me, darlin! >:-)"

a/n: hi anon, I went with marimo since he's been on the brain lately <3

Zoro x M!Reader Battle Couple HCs

masc reader, transmasc Zoro word count: 0.6k

Whether Zoro meets you out in the wild as a bounty hunter (reader having to team up with Luffy and Koby to help break Zoro out of the marine compound is a cute idea though) or when he's already a Strawhat, the beginnings are typically the same - you catch Zoro's eye briefly because of his prowess but it's not until you're forced to work in close proximity that Zoro really takes interest in the your skills and you as a person overall

Beginning to care for you as one of his own, knowing that the other can kick enough ass on their own but having each other's backs not because you don't trust his strength or vice versa but because you love and still look out for one another, each of you powerhouses in their own right still

Not that Zoro would ever associate himself with anyone intolerant nor hide himself to begin with, but I think the moment he walks around topless (op or no) and you give no significant reaction, is when Zoro tells himself you're safe to be around and starts being a tad more buddy-buddy; this usually means more tussling in the bath and impromptu "wrestling" matches on the lawn, no weapons of course, just horsing around

Franky outright bans "serious" sparring matches on the Sunny after everyone comes reunites after two years, he'd heard about how much Zoro and Sanji tore up the Merry in the past with their squabbles from Usopp and has no intention to have to seriously patch Sunny up every other day - so you're both relegated to only having serious tests of strength on land (not that smaller skirmishes aren't allowed, Franky just keeps a close eye on you two so that it doesn't turn into anything more heated)

Zoro automatically has a vested interest in all the cool, sharp new toys his boyfriend brings back to the ship, whether you have a staple one like Wado, Sandai Kitetsu, and now Enma are to him, or you prefer a revolving door of weapons with no particular favorites

He helps you clean and take care of any blades you might carry, maybe even leading to cuddles and something more after the heat of battle you filthy animals, and though he doesn't know anything about guns he's willing to learn about the upkeep for your sake - and if it's anything more technological like lasers, well at least Zoro can enjoy looking at the pretty lights and the destruction that follows

Zoro doesn't let anyone else handle his swords lightly, let alone Wado, that privilege is saved solely for other Strawhats that Zoro's absolutely sure he can trust them to protect what are ostensibly extensions of himself - so when he first puts them in your care, it's a BIG deal, along with the first time he fully shows his back to you, be it in the heat of passion or something more akin to casual, tender affection

Zoro's used to fighting in tandem with other people, the chaos of the Strawhats usually forces one to adapt like that, but if you met him before all that, the level of synchronizing you'd have with him would be unparalleled, both talented blades in your own rights alone but together? Together you're unstoppable

Zoro trusts you with his back and you allow him to see tender, wounded parts of yourself that few others even know about and he protects them like a righteous sentinel, as you are with the parts of him that he seeks to hide away in shame - his guilt, his inadequacy, his mourning, you both take on each other's pain and forge it into a power that shakes the Grand Line in your combined wake

[lifewithchronicpain]

Intellectually, I love the concept of a crisp autumn day. I love the idea of pumpkin spice lattes, crockpot chili, and cozy scarfs. But in practice, the intense temperature swings are pretty horrible for me every year.

The cool fall weather here in Northern Illinois is always devastating on my body. Indeed, my chronic pain has been 10/10 the last few days as the temperatures start their yearly drop, and it rains non-stop.

It’s the same with spring too. Regardless of how much I’m longing for warmer weather every March, the shift from winter to summer means I spend most of the spring in too much pain to function.

To me, it is obvious that these weather changes impact my pain. I’ve been dealing with it for more than a decade now. And every year, spring and autumn are especially bad.

Surprisingly, the medical community still questions whether or not the link between weather and pain is real though – and if it is real, why it might be happening.

“Research still hasn't confirmed a cause-and-effect link between weather and joint pain, though many people insist they can predict the weather based on such aches,” writes Toni Golen, MD, Editor in Chief of Harvard Women's Health Watch, in a 2022 article in Harvard Health. (Read more at link)

Winter is actually the worst for me and the heat of summer is intolerable. I do get extra aches with rain but without the suffocating heat, seasonal depression, and worse pain in the cold, spring and autumn are the better seasons for me personally.

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Hey there

I just wanna so a question

The other day I was out with my mum and i was wearing a hoodie

It was really hot out and because of this I got really mad

Everything became annoying to me

Like every sound became too loud and that sort of thing if that makes sense

I just wanna know if over sensitivity to heat has anything to do with autism or am i just really dramatic

Thank you :)

Hi there,

I also have a hard time in the heat. I find unbearable. I’d rather be freezing cold.

I found an article going over heat intolerance and autism. Here’s a excerpt:

For those with autism spectrum disorder (ASD), this problem can be exacerbated. This is because many people with ASD may experience hypersensitivity and heat intolerance.

Hypersensitivity can make the feeling of sweat, warmth, and uncomfortable clothes even more unbearable. While not everybody with autism struggles with this, hypersensitivity is a relatively common symptom of the condition.

The article will be below in case you’d like to read more.

I also found another article listing some ways to cope during hot weather:

1. Water, water everywhere

Keep water, or herbal tea, or anything drink-wise that is non-soda based and caffeine-free with you at all times. Sip (don’t gulp) at regular intervals. If the heat is unbearable, simple tricks like sucking an ice cube can also work; it will cool you down and keep you properly hydrated. Try and avoid anything sugary or carbonated, as that can sometimes make you sweat more or even induce anxiety.

2. Let us spray

Do you have an old spray bottle or an atomizer? Fill this with cool water and use it to spray your hands, face, neck and head if the heat feels like it might be too much for you. It’s very refreshing and as the water evaporates, you will cool down.

3. Inhale “cool” essential oils

If you can tolerate fragrance, make up a blend of cool-smelling essential oils that can be inhaled from a tissue or handkerchief at regular points. Peppermint, eucalyptus and tea tree are all great ideas — they’ll clear your head and cool you down.

4. Adapt your clothing to suit your ASD

I hate the feeling of having my arms uncovered outdoors, even in extreme heat, so I’ve had to adapt my clothing accordingly. I’ll only really ever wear long sleeve shirts in light-colored, lightweight fabrics. I won’t ever wear shorts for the same reason, so I’ll switch to linen trousers or light jeans if I can.

5. Protect your eyes and your head

Sunlight and ASD can equal problems with sight and vision. Always have good quality sunglasses, and a few pairs so you’ve got them to hand. If you have to wear them indoors, do so and don’t apologize for it.

6. A once a day sunscreen can really help

There are some brilliant once-a-day application sunscreens on the market now, which can mean the difference between having to stay in because you burn easily and going out for at least a few minutes every day. Sometimes, ASD folks can be photosensitive to sunlight, and a product like this can help them tolerate the heat and light better.

7. If you need to shut out daylight, shut it out!

Close the curtains, blinds and drapes if you need to, and it doesn’t matter what time of day it is. Sunlight can be intrusive and cause pain. There comes a point in every day — usually about 6 p.m. — when I have to give in and close everywhere up. I become too tired to focus and concentrate and I find the slight darkness quietens my head down a little.

The link to this article will also be below in case you want to check it out.

I hope these sources help answer your question. Thank you for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ❤️

[spooniechef]

Japanese Curry (1 spoon)

I’m pretty sure anyone who reads this thing is probably thinking that I have a thing for curry. Said ‘anyone’ would be right, particularly now that I’ve discovered how relatively easy it is. Japanese curry is one of my favourites - it’s not insanely spicy - there’s kick, but not enough to distract from some of the subtle flavours in it. Most people who see it on restaurant menus see it with katsu of some description, but while I do plan to learn how to make gluten-free katsu someday, it’s not necessary. Japanese curry is basically just a kind of somewhat spicy stew, and you can use effectively anything you like in it.

There are a lot of complicated recipes for Japanese curry online, and that’s even disregarding the ones that ask you to make your own curry roux. While I do also plan to try that sometime, I thought I’d start simple this month and see if I could find gluten-free curry roux to get me started. My Google-fu is strong enough that I found gluten-free curry roux from a company called Emma Basic, which does a variety of speciality Chinese and Japanese items. So the plan was Japanese curry by one of the online recipes I found sometime this month. So if you’ve got gluten intolerances, it’s worth a look. (Though it’s a London-based company so unless you’re in the UK, probably better to look for a place like it in your area.)

Today, though, was a very bad pain day in an increasing line of very bad pain days. I didn’t want tandoori chicken three nights in a row, and I also wanted comfort food, which Japanese curry is for me. But all the recipes I found looked too complicated. So I decided to read what it said on the packet ... and that looked a lot easier. So I did that instead, and while I still hurt, I can’t be too depressed when I’m full of the first Japanese curry I’ve had in years. So assuming that any curry roux will work the same as the stuff I got, let’s start. There are going to be a lot of notes because I’ll go over what I did but there’s a lot of wiggle room to address.

Here’s what you’ll need

Curry roux

Two potatoes, cubed

Three carrots, chopped

One large onion, cut into eighths

Two chicken breasts, cubed

Note: what the box actually said was “use whatever leftover vegetables are in your fridge”, but living alone and being disabled means fewer opportunities to keep fresh vegetables in the house. So I bought the veggies I’ve had in Japanese curries before, but you can use basically anything. I might try cauliflower next time. You don’t have to use chicken either; prawns, pork, beef (so long as it’s not stewing meat or anything; that would take too long to cook), tofu, just stick with the veggies by themselves - whatever you like.

Here’s what you do:

Pour a little bit of oil (maybe 2 tablespoons) into a casserole pan or other deep pan. Add the vegetables and chicken and heat on medium high heat for 2-3 minutes or so

Add water - enough to more or less cover the ingredients. Bring to a boil, cover and simmer for 10 minutes.

Add your curry roux in whatever form you’ve found it and stir until it’s fully blended (it should be opaque, a faintly-orange tan colour and about the consistency of whole milk). Simmer for another 5-10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the mixture thickens a bit (so maybe the consistency of single cream).

Serve with rice

This is one of those ones that it’s actually hard to make any easier, just because the instructions are so basic. It’s little things like:

Already-cooked meat and vegetables will probably work as well as raw; you probably just don’t need to simmer them as much. You should still simmer them a bit, though, as that’s what helps get the flavour of your ingredients into the water, which further flavours the roux.

You could probably use frozen vegetables with this; you’d just have to defrost them first. Just put them in a bowl of cool water for a few minutes, then drain well.

Less a way to make it easier and more a thing to personalise it more - I spiced up the chicken a bit before I started heating everything. Just a little soy sauce, some coriander powder, some garlic puree and a bit of salt, but it gave the chicken a bit of extra niceness. So it’s worth a try if you have the spoons for it.

There we go - this serves about four, so it’s good for company, families, or just if you want a lot of leftovers to tide you over. One of these days, I will try a Japanese curry from scratch, or with some of the more complicated recipes, but for now, I managed one of my all-time favourites when I barely had enough spoons to remember to take my meds, so I call this one a win.

[scribblestatic]

More chubby boy brainrot (tw fat shaming, just in case)

I can't believe I haven't been putting these under the long post separators, I'm so sorry lol

---

Izuku squints his eyes closed as the kiss lands on his nose. A flourish of tingling later, and the burning sensation on his face is gone. He feels a bit of energy drain from him, but otherwise, he feels just fine.

"Well, that should do it. Here, have a little sugar. Looking at your medical records, it's alright in moderation."

"Oh, thank you..." Izuku looks at her computer. "Uhm, I noticed that people tend to get tired after you kiss them...uhm...why is that?"

"Hmm? Ah, it's because my quirk heightens a person's natural regenerative processes. So, to heal you, I'm using the energy you already have. Although, no one should take it too far--getting too excessively injured can override your body's healing energy, so even a kiss won't save you. Be careful, alright dearie?"

She pops a candy into Izuku's waiting hand as he nods quickly in agreement.

"...But...I guess..." He scratches at his cheek. "Why...maybe because the injury was so light..."

"Hmm..." The elderly woman tilts her head slightly as she thinks. "I'm not so sure about that. You have hyperthyroidism...while that causes the weight gain, sweating, and heat intolerance, you also have more DNA-synthesizing connective-tissue cells and shorter cell cycles. I wouldn't call it a benefit in the least, only that it can explain why my kisses don't make you too drowsy."

Izuku blinks, looking down at his hand, still holding the candy. If he looks closer, he can see the slight pale scars from previous wounds he'd gotten due to bullying.

Even back then, he found that bruises would fade with time, and he'd develop scabs pretty quickly if he got cuts. He'd also injured his fingertips during the exam, but Recovery Girl's kiss at that time made it as though such a thing never happened at all. So, part of the thing they were bullying him for also allowed him to recover faster.

"Don't take healing a little faster as an excuse to get hurt, young man," she says sternly, her gaze sent in a frown.

"O-Of course. Thank you."

He then pops the candy into his mouth, letting it dissolve on his tongue. It is quite tasty, like butterscotch, but with a more powdery sensation to it.

After giving his thanks, he leaves and heads back to class, sadly having to leave behind Eraser Head's signature. Though, Izuku understands why, since a particularly crafty student could possibly do bad things with it.

By the end of the day, he's practically glowing with delight.

Sure, there were a few hiccups, like being in class with Kacchan and realizing All Might's teaching at the school (not that these things aren't totally cool! it's just...personal circumstances and all.) But he can't help but feel quite positive over his future potential in the school.

After all, in the physical test, he didn't come last! His hard work has been paying off!

A hand on his shoulder startles him enough to squeak.

"Oh! My apologies, I thought you heard me!"

When he turns, it's Iida Tenya! They haven't exactly gotten off on the wrong foot. But also, knowing how annoying he can be, he can understand why Iida would react to him the way he did at the exam.

Still, the boy's scolding is still quite fresh in his memory, and he can't help but wonder if he's done something wrong again. Seemingly unaware of his conundrum, Iida begins to speak.

"I've been meaning to talk with you, but it wasn't the right time. First and foremost, I wanted to say how astoundingly you acted during the exam! In hindsight, I see you recognized the true purpose of the practical... As much as it pains me to say, you were the better man!"

As he gives this confession, his arms and hands move robotically. It surprisingly lessens his apprehension, feeling as though this guy is perhaps a bit awkward. Izuku could very much relate.

"Uhm...I didn't...realize it either."

"In a real scenario, I would definitely do the same as you did!"

Izuku stands there for a bit, listening as he summarizes what he could've done better. Then, when he turns slightly, Iida perks up.

"Ah, right, you were heading home. Do you ride on the subway back?"

"Oh...uhm...yes."

"I see. I do as well! Let's ride together, then."

Perhaps someone else would find it pushy, but Izuku feels that warmth bursting in his chest again.

Someone! Wants to ride with him! And talk with him! While Izuku doesn't have much he wants to say, he doesn't mind listening at all. And Iida seems quite talkative! Perhaps he's awkward, but, he really didn't mean anything bad at the exam. Izuku immediately puts it all behind him.

As they head off, Iida starting to talk about Aizawa's deception, Izuku hears another familiar voice.

"Hey guys! Wait up!"

They both turn around, and it's the nice girl that kept Izuku from falling on his face! The one he helped, and the one who waved at him today! Infinity Girl!

"If you're going to the station, I want to come, too!"

"We are! You're...the Infinity Girl," Iida replies.

Izuku's mouth opens in a little surprised gape. They even thought the same thought! Only friends do things like that, right? Are they already friends now?! But it's so sudden!!

"I'm Uraraka Ochako! You're...Iida Tenya, right? And you..." She looks at him with kind brown eyes. "Midoriya...Deku!"

Izuku stares blankly for a moment. Then, against his will, his mouth starts twisting in discomfort, despite not wanting to make everyone uncomfortable. Still, she notices it.

"Oh, did I get it wrong?"

"Ah...uhm..." Izuku looks down and away.

He doesn't want her to feel bad for getting his name wrong. She's such a nice girl, so he doesn't want to disappoint her. But being called Deku...

The thought of being called that in his new, fun school makes his stomach twist. So, he could just think of this as politely correcting her misunderstanding. Yeah.

Maybe she didn't mean it. Or...is this a new form of bullying? Well, it wouldn't be new. Sometimes, students would act nice to him before slowly becoming meaner over time. He was hoping he could get some friends here, but maybe...

Just...try it. Just try straightening it out, and see what happens.

"I-It's Izuku, actually," he replies anxiously, trying to hide it behind a wobbling smile.

"Izuku? Then, why did the explode-y guy call you Deku?" she wonders, looking confused.

"Hmm... He seems to have derogatory ideas about quirkless people. He said not to expect much from him despite his heroic acumen. Is it perhaps an insult?"

Izuku can't think of what to say, so he just nods.

"Oh! Goodness, I'm so sorry," Ochako immediately apologizes. "It's just, well, I thought it had a kind of 'can do it' [dekiru] feel to it, you know? So, I said it without thinking. I'm sorry, Midoriya-kun."

Oh... She really hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. She wasn't being mean at all. He almost wants to cry in gratefulness.

"It's okay...uhm...if you want..." And he can't help but start to blush a bit. "Y...You can...call me...Izuku?"

Is that too soon? People often say you only get on a first-name basis once you know someone very well. Maybe he's moving too quickly? But he was often called Deku, which some could consider a form of his first name, though derogatory. People calling him by something close to his first name, if not the name in general, doesn't disturb him. But what about--

"Hehe, sure! Is Izu-kun okay?"

Izuku's rampaging thoughts immediately calm. His face turns completely red at that, sweat coming off of him like a halo. But his smile is genuine as he nods, his curls bouncing.

He's too happy to notice the little pale blushes on Tenya and Ochako's faces as they look at him. He reminds them, immediately, of a small, chubby puppy wagging its tail so fiercely that it falls over.

With that settled, the three of them head off to the subway, talking about this and that. Izuku ends up not saying a whole lot, but his smile stays genuinely pleased the entire time. Basking in the presence of people he has cemented as friends is so fun!

--- --- ---

The next day, Izuku knows his heart isn't prepared. But it's unavoidable.

They'll be doing a regular school day, including every class they would normally have. English, Math, Science, Social Studies, Japanese Language and Literature, Art Studies, the works. Not necessarily in that order, but they all occurred before 3:15pm.

All the while, Izuku's able to geek out over his favorite heroes! Present Mic, Ectoplasm, Cementoss, Midnight... Even his lunch is made by Lunch Rush, who consistently belts out gourmet food at prices he can afford! If he doesn't watch himself, he'll end up gaining more weight again! But...just as long as he doesn't go over his goal threshold, it'll be fine if he adds some healthy snacks to go see Lunch Rush again, right?

Izuku feels enamored by the school during these periods, though, the closer it gets to 3:15, the more dread begins to fill his heart. Perhaps it won't be so bad. Maybe he is overthinking things. He's not sure.

And, if he thinks realistically, there's no way All Might would embarrass him by pointing out how he doesn't belong, right? That's not what All Might does. He's an upstanding and amazing hero who, despite his newfound anxiety around him, is still Izuku's favorite hero!

He just...really doesn't want to disappoint him by showing up in front of his hero when he'd already said he couldn't be one. It's like taking All Might's wisdom and slapping him in the face with it, treating his insight as useless.

Anyone would be upset. So, Izuku really hopes that, maybe, someone else could do the heroics class. But he's already heard from others that All Might's a teacher. Wouldn't teaching heroics be right up his alley? Oh...if only he had more time to ready his heart...

But eventually, 3:15 arrives.

"I aaaaam..."

The door to their classroom slides open, All Might posing as his cape flutters heroically.

"--coming through the door like a normal person!!"

Izuku feels two emotions shoot through him. The first is his normal excitement, the same thing that always appears when he looks at things related to All Might.

The second is fear. Because of that fear, he simply gazes at the hero as he enters, despite knowing his current outfit is from the Silver Age of his career. He would've called out such a fact, along with the excitement from the others. However, he's too busy trying to disappear into the background of the class to try.

All Might introduces their first assignment for his class: a Battle Trial. The hero outfit designs they'd sent to the school after receiving their acceptance letters pop out of the walls in their completed forms. They come in briefcases with set numbers on them, with #20 being Izuku's. It seems the cases also function as a seating chart. Izuku's just happy he can keep his seat at the back of the class.

Though, it also means that he's one of the last ones to get his briefcase since his is at the back. He quietly steps past All Might to get his before scurrying away to the bathroom to put his on...but since he added armor to his outfit, perhaps that'd be hard. Then, he'll change in the shower area instead.

All Might's gaze trails after Midoriya as he flees the room, his smile not wavering despite the stab to his conscience. Of course the boy wouldn't want to be near him at the moment. He'd simply have to be patient and kindle some form of trust between them. That way, Midoriya will feel comfortable talking with him again.

But, the boy isn't the only one who needs his attention. Right now, he's been put in charge of training 20 young heroes to become much better versions of themselves. He's a new teacher, but he's sure his attempts at getting better with educating and gaining experience will help him--and consequently, the kids--succeed.

--- --- ---

Izuku's hero costume is about as he expected.

His first designs were all, honestly, quite trashy to him. Although he liked the rabbit ear-like protrusions he'd drawn on it in reference to All Might, the rest of it was basically useless. Of course, he had no quirk to benefit from, so he hadn't been thinking too deeply about the design. But, once he started working out and cleaning up trash and doing such things on his own, he began reevaluating the design.

Since he's quirkless, he needs to be sturdy. His power output will be weak no matter what he tries, so the best he can hope for is having high defense. A hero with low attack power...he's not the most pleased by that, but it's what he has to work with for now. Maybe he'll get strong enough to pack a punch.

Anyway, sturdiness. The first thing that came to mind was a suit of armor.

Looking at some old war outfits, he decided to steer away from some of the designs, but the materials they used were interesting. Military fits could also work well, so he incorporated a bit of that into his design. Since he wants to be fairly low-key and in the background, he doesn't splurge much on the colors, staying around deep greens and blacks. Something like a stealth suit...

Though, the stealth part kinda went out the window with the large shield and backpack he asked for. The backpack carries medical supplies--after the whole exam ordeal, he realized even more how important having a variety of first-aid tools would be. And his shield attaches to his back or backpack with magnets.

He also had to think about what to do as a design choice. It would create his overall image as a hero...

Izuku enters Ground Beta, following after his other hero classmates.

He wears a grey, hooded outfit with a semi-medieval helmet under it. The mechanized layer behind the metal of the helmet makes his eyes appear as two bright-green ovals while feeding him additional details about his surroundings he wouldn't see just with his usual vision.

He has thicker armor protection on his shoulders, elbows, forearms, chest, and legs, with grip gloves to hold onto objects. The back of the chest plate had a harness with part hiding under the back of the cloak allowing Izuku to magnet-lock the shield in place. Instead of a backpack, the designer gave him a utility belt with the same first-aid contents he wanted.

Also, for reasons unknown, they added small ear-like appendages to the top of the hood. It admittedly looks a bit cute...and, well, it might actually be very helpful. So, he doesn't have any complaints. It fits well with the back cape.

[Essentially, something like the hunter's Pathfinder armor from Destiny 2, but a bit more medieval fantasy. Add some Batman in there, but green and more like a mongoose. I might draw it at some point.]

He has a silver-gray rectangular shield, though it didn't appear to be made entirely of metal. Holding it in front of him, if he crouched, it could conceal his body, so it was quite sizable. It had simple beveled designs on the edges without a symbol or anything in the middle. That part was mostly his fault--he couldn't think of anything to put there.

"Izu-kun? You look so cool!" Ochako cheers, wearing her puffy-legged outfit. "I wish I drew mine a bit more clearly. Isn't this kind of frumpy?"

"A-Ah, I don't think so!" Izuku says earnestly. "I think...it looks cute? Like...Uhm. Bubbly. I think it fits your floaty theme?"

"Oooh...I didn't think of it that way! Hehe, that's a great thought. Thank you!"

Izuku smiles, though it shows as closed-happy eyes and a little green blush.

Tenya is similarly armored up, though his outfit has less of a medieval look and more sci-fi, with clear benefits alluding to his quirk. Izuku wants to gush over its appearance, but he's already focused on asking All Might a question, so he doesn't want to interrupt him.

All Might...

He hasn't said anything specifically to or about him so far, so maybe he doesn't care that he's there after all. Has he been panicking over nothing? He's not sure...maybe the top hero has already decided he's a lost cause and wasn't worth pointing him out as an example of someone who doesn't listen to his advice.

A part of him feels like apologizing...

He shakes his head slightly as Tenya asks how their groups will be picked. Thinking over the assignment, it's a very old-style one. However, such a thing suits the No.1 hero, and the way he presents it makes it seem more exciting than it probably would be otherwise. Besides, it's a somewhat realistic scenario. They could always end up having to stop someone from blowing up a bomb in the future.

The teams get called out one by one after Tenya accepts his explanation as to why it's being done randomly:

A: Midoriya and Hagakure

B: Todoroki and Kouda

C: Yaoyorozu and Ojiro

D: Bakugou and Iida

E: Sero and Aoyama

F: Sato and Kaminari

G: Asui and Kirishima

H: Mezou and Mineta

I: Uraraka and Tokoyami

J: Jirou and Ashido

"Kyaaa~ Your suit looks super cool, Midori-kun!"

Hagakure hops over, her body only visible because of her shoes and gloves. Little buttons appear to clip her gloves on her wrists, though a matching pair are on her shoes as well. They have a slightly opalesque appearance.

"Ah, th-thank you. Uhm...Hagakure-san, right? It's nice to work with you." He glances over her body. "Is your suit made out of a material to--"

"Nah, I'm naked."

Izuku blinks. Then, a moment later, two black Xs appear where the eyes had been, his whole facial screen turning green.

"W-WH-WHA--"

"Haha! I'm just jokin' with you! Yeah, it's made with some fancy mimic cloth that kinda uses my quirk~" Still giggling, she presses one of the opal buttons on her glove, invisibility spreading out from them. "It's only active if I press the button. I can deactivate it, too, just in case I get injured and someone needs to know where it is, y'know?"

"A-Ahhh..."

Relief floods Izuku's body, sweat budding at the base of his neck. Goodness...he really should've known. The government had started a law over how nude heroes could be because of Midnight. Her introductory outfit had been...controversial.

"Alright, let's get started!" All Might calls out, sticking his hands into a light and a dark box. "The first two pairs to do combat will be the following!"

Izuku hums, wondering if he'd have the chance to watch some of his classmates and evaluate their quirks. It would be nice to be able to do that--watching then trying for it.

"The heroes this round will be Pair A!"

Ah. Never mind, then.

"The villains this round will be Pair D!"

Izuku freezes up.

Even though All Might is still speaking, his eyes aren't watching. Instead, he looks over to where Kacchan has been standing stiffly, his shoulders exposed and arms presumably heavy with some sort of thick grenade devices.

It doesn't take a genius to have some sort of idea of what those are for, especially since he knows Kacchan's quirk.

The other boy waits until All Might stops speaking, telling Iida and Kacchan to go into the building and prepare as villains. But once that's done, he's headed inside.

He takes a moment to look back at him, staring at him directly.

And the grin he has on his face is exceptionally unkind.

[worthyheir]

“ I couldn’t stay in my chamber. I couldn’t sleep. “ / draconisi - viserys ii

MEMES / @draconisi

It has only been a day, he supposes, since they returned from the battle, Jace holding tightly to his youngest brother, despite having secured him to the back of the dragon's saddle, just in case he should fall himself as the arrows rained across them, hitting him and Vermax. Jacaerys was certainly using his body as a shield for his brother, ensuring that his baby brother did not feel the injuries. While he is vaguely aware of the moments after they had crashed onto the cliffs of Dragonstone, of someone getting Vermax to calm enough for them to get to Viserys, he doesn't remember much after. Staying conscious long enough to ensure his brother's safety had been the top priority, and once that had been achieved? The Prince truly did not care what happened to him.

He had woken up once, and spoken briefly, perhaps feverishly, to his mother, who seemed currently asleep by his bedside, in a chair, though she did not seem comfortable. His own movements are slow, but there is little he would not endure for his brothers, any of them, including a few moments of pain. His brother's voice is not what wakes him, though he might have fallen back to sleep shortly after. He moves in the bed, lifting the blanket to allow his brother to crawl in next to him, on the side of him that received the least injuries - if Viserys did manage to sleep, Jace knew often enough how young children moved in their sleep, and did not wish to re-open any of the wounds, now bound tightly, heated under the bandages.

"You can sleep here, if you are quiet. We would not wish to wake mother." He says, a small smile on his face. He figured his youngest brother would be with Aegon, cuddled up tight to his own closest companion, though Jace supposes there is a reason Viserys seeks him out - Jace had saved him in the midst of the battle, and he was almost certain he had not been allowed to see him after they had returned, once Viserys had been taken from the back of the dragon. He is tired, and the pain is almost intolerable, but he can push that aside until his baby brother falls asleep again, even if that means he does not rest until the morrow, when their mother awakes and takes him from the room. His words are quiet, almost a whisper. "Why could you not sleep? Were you not with Aegon?"

[the-firebird69]

Florida barred heat protection for workers. Feds stepping in

I'm going to write a formal complaint about several of these people to the president I am tired of this happening I don't want to see any of this s*** and he's got to get them out of the election too everybody has to pitch in it's too big for Biden and he's within I mean the guy just keeps on coming back is it disgusting loser and Jason you're out we can't afford you doing that there's a few reasons why first off marijuana should not be legal no it's not they're about 30 states that say it is and about 20 of them are not going to be doing any marijuana ever and the pot is not legal by the federal government and you get grabs all the time all the time and you're just stupid about it. Another thing is OSHA is the federal agency and you are doing things that are massively illegal all the time on job sites and practically hanging people and we're going after you for it are you screwed around with our friends so much that stupid building that we're going to tie all of you up and throw you into the bottle of the ocean and let the crabs take care of you you don't encourage them and they left the golf they went to the West Coast pretty soon they're going to attack you if you don't defend yourself feeling today you will die if you don't defend yourself and you probably won't it was sick of you not only is it the federal OSHA that protects people it's the Florida department of safety and the Florida department of Labor and the Federal department of Labor and you're being brought up on charges and you are too DeSantis if you don't retract the law they're just going to keep on plowing through you like your wheat or snow or something. They also have local codes and ordinances and laws. You cannot knowingly or willingly force people to work in conditions dangerous or deadly to them if you do you can be arrested by law enforcement then you're also in violation of civil rights and guaranteed freedoms by the Constitution would you say you stand by and here's the worst part you're doing it to each other so you can use the above all the way down to police and lawyers and the federal government you like to manipulate people so you call the federal government and your people come in and do stuff but really it's the most unsightly bunch I've ever seen you so damn stupid. Tormenting human me the whole entire time with your Democrat your dumb crap and that stupid ice bag is trying to heal it and he just won't let it you haven't healing so slowly highly at all then you try to knock it out and you're stupid I mean is things happen to you and he and I don't even have to do it you're going around knocking each other off at this level thinking you're great he's just dying is gross and we can't see you because you won't stop about 30 people died a day before from the heat exposure they're your people eventually it's going to get back to you from them they get revived and they go after Jason and his cuz I see them they're trying to grab him so that's going on now it's kind of small but it's out there's a bunch of idiotic scams here you just keep running even though the clock is run out and I'm a Mac and I'm telling you I might be a giant but still you don't kick them out what's there after a people who oppose them and I didn't want to do what you're doing I did not want to do what they're doing but you people say you're not rebels so they can hear you say stuff seconds before you're saying you're not and it's turning me in and they're going after you for your insulins it's really really that bad for all of us think a little really need you to stop doing it

Mac Daddy

We say it all the time and he knows we know about it before he needs someone here to stop these oats they're so bad and so mean it's intolerable. There is a solid line of campers and buses heading to the West yes and there's a song line of campers and buses heading north along the Saint Laurent to the east there's a huge line of buses hitting North from northern Tennessee band on both Rivers all the way to the middle of Illinois no it's about 30 miles north of the wall and there they're getting on ships and buses campers even the train is running and very huge and they're running one train every hour and if it's a few million so they're doing it they have Jets going too all the time and exodus. There were lines of golf carts they had to get off the road they're trying to find flatbeds and any kind of and our son says sometimes they have those tandem wheel systems and you can make a flatbed for a semi there's not much work to it but you have to know what you're doing and have the hardware there's a bunch of it in the Midwest and a bunch of those wheel sets and they said they can use plate steel and our son says that quarter inch is thick enough and you just run a frame underneath and yeah quarter inch is pretty good cuz it happens is too heavy they do have that and they can build it real quick this is not any trailers and you can build a few with some tandem and golf carts will go up on each other you just strap them all in the straps them to each other and same with the quads and the off-road vehicles it's going to come down to this they need to get some spaceships and fly them in and they're fighting over it so just keep doing this dumb s*** the big trucks are moving stuff they need for war so their citizens are getting together and trying to figure out what to do they want to make big trunks they just they have semi trucks some of them and you just go back and forth all day and night I'm

Thor Freya

[proxis-shattered-expectations]

Request on Death and War getting a hug by reader HC.(These two are my favorites, but i feel Death needs all the hugs.)

Ooof, while all need a hug, Death be needing that all encompassing hug.😂. Lemme see what I can come up with.

Death

. This millennia old, powerful Nephilim has been through a lot to say the least.

. In all honesty from his interactions and personality, I feel the most intimate or closest form to physical touch is a brotherly arm hold to show respect.

. Maybe even a shoulder grasp. Can't say for his love life cuz no one really knows much about it.

. But if by chance he was ever caught off guard by someone giving him that form of affection, I don't think his reaction would be favorable for the being that tried. Especially if he doesn't know them well.

. Not saying he is intolerant to things that get on his nerves, he's actually pretty patient, but he is not the type to allow the wrong person to take advantage of his tolerance.

. In order for him to ever allow that kind of interaction, it will take a long time of building trust and boundary. So whoever does it has to be someone he has some form of trust in.

. It is not out of fear of Y/N that he is hesitant of allowing others into the space, it's that he knows his strength, what exactly he is capable of. It is out of experience that letting people close means one day it might come to those same hands erasing them from existence.

. Probably gonna have to ask for his permission. And while initially I feel he might say no, subconsciously will respect you for at least having the decency to ask first.

. Will take a couple tries for sure, but when it happens, all that time is well worth the wait.

. Pretty much once he allows you to come into his space, have that understanding that if it starts to make him uncomfortable, gonna have to give him back that space and control once more. It will take time.

. Definitely will do the signature sigh of annoyance before finally conceding.

.Will let Y/N approach, his arms lax to his sides until close enough, and then again the signature sigh before raising his arms a little bit to allow the smaller arms some purchase around him.

.Once the arms come around, and the body close, you know he will do everything in his power to not push you away after initial contact. It definitely takes some getting used to, mostly on his end.

. After a moment of silence, feeling the heat of another body alive and relaxed against him, the arms will slowly but surely wrap around as well. Best not to make any sudden moves, for at any moment he can leave, and no guarantee you can get that chance again.

. Expect a long hug of just silence and slowly letting the guard down, internally the icy exposition will melt. If you get lucky, might even get an awkward Pat on the back or head. Depends on his mood.

. In all, while something foreign, it is unsaid that it is something he actually needs and never knew what it was until he received it.

War

. Big bad, nigh indestructible Nephilim receiving a soft form of affection......rip Y/N for the attempt. (I jest...kinda).

. While it would take guts to willingly hug a giant tank of a horseman that could demolish a building with one punch, just imagine the hesitance to receive one on War's part.

. He's only ever given shoulder pats and and arm clasps to those he knows can handle his strength and size, but a half sized human with only a fraction of durability....yeah that is not within the realm of possibility for him.

. Even bringing it up, he will quickly nope out of that, silently shaking his head, arms crossed and glaring at you. "Do you want to die?" Not in a threatening way as much as why attempt such a bad idea, and question your common sense.

. In order to even approach that kind of physical interaction, you would have to get him in an environment with no kind of threat, get his guard down and help relax him.

. Like his older brother, will take time before getting to that point of security with it.

. When the opportunity comes, you know he will put his arms out of reach, decreasing the possibility of accidentally crushing you.

. Upon first contact, he will go as still as a statue. Never moving, rigid and Frozen in place. It will be an uncomfortable first hug, mostly you doing the hugging.

. With him and his lack of experience hugging, he needs practice to do it. Especially hugging something more fragile. It would take patience and understanding of boundary as well.

. He is massive in comparison to his siblings, so any sort of him touching you is terrifying. Ever hear the saying of Elephants and mice? Yeah while not as hysterical, the fear of accidentally hurting just by giving a hug back is horrifying, especially if he considers you a friend.

. But along the line, I'd imagine one day he would reciprocate once he knows the right amount of hug to give. And I'd imagine it is a warm hug.

Thanks for the ask!

[erwinsvow]

𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

summary: uncle eren comes to visit.

warnings: step-cest, jealousy, manipulation, hints of verbal/emotional abuse + touch of dubcon to con, reader feels guilty, grinding/dry-humping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex

author's note: part two of sole salvation. i really hope everyone enjoys this! the warnings are just to be on the safe side as i do not want to accidentally trigger anyone, please feel free to message me if you want to ask about something before reading.

tagging @sangwoos-mom & @divine-delight :)

If Zeke didn’t want my interest to get piqued, Eren thinks to himself as he watches you stroll away, off to get him to a fresh cup of lemonade, he should have kept his mouth shut.

When his brother had mentioned his new fiancee had a daughter, Eren had supposed it would be some spoiled, bratty kid. After all, he had met your mother once before, and he didn’t think that kind of a woman could raise someone even remotely well-behaved.

So given that, he was more than pleasantly surprised the first time he met you. It was all a shock, from the almost angelic way you float down the stairs to greet him, your soft skin and sweet smile, to the genuine look in your eyes when you tell him that you’re glad to finally meet him.

He still doesn’t know what Zeke did to deserve you in his life, the taste in his mouth a touch too bitter when he watches the way you look at his brother, even when your mom is in the same room. It’s dreamy, as though there’s no better way to spend your time and nothing better to think about than your step-father.

It’s a little unfair, Eren thinks, that Zeke has a sweet, doting little thing head over heels for him. It’s a little unfair that Zeke waited so long to invite him over, to introduce him to you. Maybe it was brotherly instinct, maybe he knew that once Eren met you, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, just like it had been for Zeke.

Regardless of what it was, Eren knew one thing for certain. Sibling should always share.

It finally takes an unbearable conversation on the phone with your mother for an excuse, an opportunity to arise. The lie is taking hold in his head and spilling out of his mouth before he can even control it—“Yeah, the pipes burst and it’s just a mess, I called Zeke but his phone’s off- no, really? Just for the weekend, I promise- thank you, I’ll be over soon.”

His bag is packed and cock is twitching at the idea of getting you alone in that house, maybe when Zeke’s locked away in his office and your mother’s out shopping. It’s going to be a hot week, with almost intolerable heat, and he’s positive it’ll have you in revealing clothes (no doubt ones that his brother bought for you) and teensy swimsuits when you go for an afternoon swim.

That’s what he’s thinking of—the image of you soaked to the bone, wet hair and the thin, dripping material of your suit sticking to your skin—when he pulls into your driveway later that day.

It’s almost easy enough to miss the slight wobble in your steps, the way your clothes are just a little too wrinkled for someone that’s been sitting around the house all day.

But Eren notices it, of course, and doesn’t miss the way Zeke practically keeps one eye on you the entire day, no matter who he’s talking to, either.

Maybe if Eren was just a drop stupider, a bit less cunning, you and Zeke could get away with all of it, but he’s not. He thinks it’s his turn to have his fun with you.

Your mother’s even more intolerable than he remembers. He wonders how bad a family dinner could be, but this is much worse than he could have fathomed. It’s a whole host of things, like how she’s oblivious to the affair happening right under her nose and her small comments that have your lips trembling and eyes blinking away tears before they can fall.

Jeez. Eren had initially felt bad for himself, but he’s starting to wonder how you put up with it. Maybe fucking around with Zeke is your own way of getting revenge, payback for every ‘Why do you look so tired, it’s not like you’re the one working all day’ and ‘Don’t you have plans with friends, or are you just gonna bother your parents all day?’

By the time dinner ends, you’ve made your way to the kitchen almost automatically, putting away dishes and wiping counters without even being told, as Zeke gives your mother a cold, hard stare.

“Was all that really necessary?” his brother questions quietly, eyes fuming with anger yet still disguising his true reason for being upset.

“What?” your mother responds innocently, pretending as though she hadn’t said anything wrong. Eren watches the interaction carefully. He thinks it’d be better if he didn’t interject on a married couple’s little spat, but here he goes again, words out before he can control them. They’re spoken a bit louder than they needed to be, but he wants to make sure you hear them over the running water.

“I don’t know, she seems like a good girl to me, no? Maybe you should be easier on her.”

And a few feet away, in the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. Uncle Eren—who you’d only met once and heard about a handful of times, someone who doesn’t owe you anything, someone not even really related to you—defending you?

It was enough to make tears rush to your eyes again, a smile on your face as you rinse off the dishes.

Good girl. The words run through your head again, seemingly on repeat. They’re your two favorite words, enough to pick you up from the dark, sullen headspace you’re in as a result of your mother’s cruel phrases and Zeke’s stinging silence.

Zeke claims it’ll become too obvious, even to your clueless mother, if he always takes your side and speaks up for you, despite how much he wants to, he says. You’re so hopelessly gone, so devoted to him that you don’t think you have it in you to fight for it. The words he says when the two of you are alone, how he makes you feel and spoils you rotten makes up for it, right?

That’s what you’d been telling yourself all this time, but you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the act going. Does he think it’s easy to watch him walk into the bedroom he shares with your mother every night? To watch her kiss him goodbye, hold onto his arm in public, while you trail behind like a lost puppy?

It’s not actually revenge you’re aiming for, when you start greeting Eren in the morning brightly, walking straight on over to him in the living room rather than the kitchen where your step-father is. It’s closer to a plea for attention, like you’re waiting for Zeke to realize you can play at this game too.

Eren’s more than happy to indulge you, spending hours of the day beside you on the couch watching movies, or watering the lawn while you work on your garden, claiming that he just wants to help out around the house as much as he can. His weekend-long visit turns into a week, as the ‘good for nothing contractors are taking their sweet time.’

It’s terribly easy to make you believe every word he’s saying, with you even defending him when Zeke asks how much longer he’s planning on sticking around.

“He’s family,” you had argued valiantly, leaving your step-father with narrowed eyes and a tense jaw as he noticed Eren smiling behind you. For once, your mother had agreed with you, and Zeke was left with no choice.

It’s sunny and warm when Eren’s opportunity, the one he’s been waiting for patiently, appears. Your mother’s gone out again, this time to the salon, there’s that hour of time right after she’s left that you usually treasure, because you know there’s no chance she’ll be on her way back or call home.

It’s usually your favorite time of the day, when you know you can have Zeke all to yourself, and that’s what you’re thinking, when you hesitantly make your way to the door of his office.

Truly, you hadn’t meant to make Zeke angry, you just wanted to be there for Uncle Eren how he was there for you. You were ready to make up and forget about it now, dolled up in a new sundress that you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear yet. Zeke had bought it only weeks ago, before Uncle Eren’s sudden visit, and you thought he might like it if you wore it now.

Your hand has just reached the cool metal of the doorknob, just about to twist when you hear a ringing from inside the room, of Zeke’s phone going off.

You step back, knowing better than to interrupt one of his calls. You’re disheartened a little, mind wondering why he would schedule something when you and he both know this is your hour, your chance to be alone.

You make your way back downstairs, lingering on the last step and thinking about going back up in a few minutes, when Uncle Eren’s voice calls to you from the living room, making you jump a little.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice calm and quiet, a contrast to your thudding heart.

“That’s okay, Uncle Eren,” you say, and your head turns back to look in the direction of Zeke’s office inadvertently. “I was just-”

“Waiting for Daddy, huh?” Your lips part a little in surprise, confused by his implication. Though surely, Zeke wouldn’t have told Uncle Eren anything. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“I-I just needed to ask him something, but I think he’s on the phone with someone,” you say quietly, confused at Eren’s tone, the confidence with which he spoke those words, almost mockingly.

“Oh, yeah. He told me he’s busy all afternoon, something or other about work and a report-” Eren stops himself right when he notices your expression change, looking thoroughly upset that Zeke was busy when you were ripe for the taking. “He didn’t tell you about that?”

Fuel to the fire, maybe a bit too much, but Eren doesn’t care. Not as long as you keep it up, looking like a maimed little prey upon realizing that Daddy was too busy for you.

Yes, Eren was getting much better with the lying. It doesn’t even register to you to question his words, to go back up and double check, that Zeke might, in fact, be waiting for you to knock on his door at this very second.

Your feet find their way to the sofa, slumping down dejectedly, as Eren sits right next to you. It’s the way you two have been sitting for the past week, except he’s ready to take the risk. His hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing the soft skin as you let out a shaky breath, wiping away a stray tear.

“All afternoon?” comes your quiet voice, trembling at the mere notion that Zeke was upset with you. You hadn’t meant to take it this far, hadn’t thought he would be ignoring you just because you disagreed with something he said for the first time.

But your sadness is turning into something different when you look at the hungry, almost predatory way Uncle Eren is looking at you now.

“That’s what he said, sweetheart. Did you two have plans, or something?” It’s coming off nonchalant, or so he hopes, because every bone in his body is excited at the prospect before him, blood rushing to his hardening cock as he catches a glimpse of your exposed skin as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

“N-no, I just… He always spends time with me when mom leaves. I just thought he would be free.”

It’s the sweet, lonely way you’re looking into his eyes, your own doe-like and watery, that tips him over the edge.

“Well, I can keep you company.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, baby. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone… it’s not right, well, at least to me.”

“Yeah?” Eren nods his head, line between his lies and the truth blurring suddenly as you inch closer and closer to him.

“I wouldn’t treat you like that, if you were mine, you know-” and he can’t finish his sentence, because your hands are on the collar of his shirt and you’re shifting onto his lap, and your lips are on each other.

It’s stupid, you know, to be so easily guided by a few choice words, putty in virtually anyone’s hands if they say the right things and make you feel seen and heard, but you can’t stop now.

Eren’s tongue is in your mouth, your lips practically glued together as you feel his hands go under the soft cotton of your dress, exploring the supple skin of your thighs. It’s not long before his hands find your ass, squeezing and groping as moan into his mouth.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you yelp, pulling away for just a second before Eren’s hand is on the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss again. You moan again, louder, when his teeth bite down on your lip just a little bit, when Eren finally pulls away.

“Can’t be too loud, remember, sweetheart? Daddy’s busy upstairs,” he says, somehow knowing exactly what would rile you up. The words act like a little shock running through your system, making you even more eager for Eren’s touch.

“Don’t care-!” you mewl, head going fuzzy when you feel Eren’s hard cock grind against your core, waves of pleasure rushing through your body. You’re still, Eren’s hand coming up to cover your mouth as he continues his rocking movement, making you moan against his hand.

Your eyes roll back when Eren increases his speed, and it’s silly, how the barely-there contact is making you shake, the coil in your stomach tense and unwinding, when Eren stops completely.

You whine loudly, muffled some by his hand, but not entirely, causing Eren to spank you again.

“I thought you were a good girl, hm? Don’t get bratty on me now,” he says, though he thinks it went in one ear and out the other as you come down from your incomplete high.

“I want-I want you, Uncle Eren, now-!” Another whine, another spank. You cry out again, until the fourth slap—which leaves your ass sore already from Eren’s heavy-handedness—silences you.

“Sweetheart, stop misbehaving or you’re not gonna get anything, okay?” he coos, fingers finding your chin and directing your face to look him in the eyes. They’re lust-blown too, and his hardness is still evident underneath your body, but your body’s inclined to follow his rules, despite how badly you want to cum.

“Yes, Uncle Eren,” you say softly, your squirming body finally stopping. Eren’s fingers find their way to the thin straps of your sundress, pulling them until they rest on your shoulder and expose your neck and collar to him.

“Tell me something, baby, did you wear this for me? Or for him?” The very mention of Zeke makes your body stiffen, but you’re still desperate for more and eager to please Uncle Eren.

“For you,” you mumble, wanting to just bury your head in the crook of Eren’s neck and feel him inside you, though you know you won’t get what you want that easily.

“Me? I’m so honored,” he says, letting out a laugh at how your body shakes in anticipation but you stay completely still. He wonders if Zeke had to teach you to be this obedient, or if it just comes to you naturally.

He thinks it’s the latter when he rolls his hips quickly, watching you squirm and bite your lip hard to keep quiet, another rush of pleasure coursing through you, though it’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay, baby, you’ve been good enough to me, haven’t you?” he asks, and you nod your head quickly. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you?” You nod again and let out a shaky breath when Eren moves your hips with his hands, finally giving you the much-needed pressure on your clit.

“Why don’t you cum for me, baby, just like this? Mmh?” You’re letting out little squeals at each contact, hips moving faster and faster as Eren lays back and lets you use his cock as a toy to grind against. His head falls back at how good it feels, though he won’t let himself cum until he’s inside you.

You’re close again, stomach tensing again and that familiar feeling gathering inside your chest, making you feel warm all over as you speed up.

The breaking point is when Eren’s hands come to your chest, pulling down your dress and exposing your tits to the cool air. His fingers pinch one while his mouth finds the other, and suddenly you can’t keep quiet no matter how hard you try, moans spilling out your mouth as well as repeated cries of Uncle Eren, that sound sweet as sugar to Eren.

It’s when Eren starts bucking his hips up too, that you finally cum, a bolt of pleasure running through your entire body as he keeps going. You’re not entirely sure what kind of noises you’re making—everything seems to be muted and fuzzy as repeated shocks make you shake, Eren’s firm grip on your tits being the only thing that’s grounding you.

When you finally come down, forcing yourself away from Eren’s lap and legs pressed tightly together to calm your oversensitive cunt, there’s a lecherous look in Eren’s eyes. It’s screaming to you, silently, how he’s not done with you yet.

“Aw, baby, look how fast you came just from a little bit of humping. Are you that desperate, bunny? Is Daddy not taking care of you?”

Your face feels like it might be on fire, blood and heat rushing at the same time and burning quickly with shame at the realization that Eren knew all along, that he’s been playing this little game with you since his arrival and you never, not once, had the upper hand.

He feels more predatory than ever before, spreading your legs despite how your legs ache and your core is burning—even if you wanted more, you don’t think you could take it—but it doesn’t seem like Eren cares.

“U-uncle Eren, we shouldn’t- h-he might-” you start, but are cut off as Eren presses a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart, isn’t that a little unfair? If you get to cum, and I don’t? Be a good girl and spread for me,” he says, and you feel your body comply automatically.

Your back’s on the couch now, Eren hovering over you. All it would take is a few steps in this direction after coming down the stairs for someone to find you, but you can hardly care when Eren’s shoving your dress up, exposing your panties and shoving them to the side, your wetness on display for him.

“One day, baby, when Daddy’s not here, I’m gonna fuck you stupid with my tongue—just not today,” and the words go straight to your head. Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest every time he mentions Zeke, a sense of guilt washing over you and replacing the pleasure you feel, but you forget all about it when you see Eren undos his pants and take out his hardened cock.

It’s plainly wrong to compare it to Zeke’s, and though it might not be longer, it’s definitely thicker, not as pretty but covered in throbbing veins that you can’t even imagine feeling inside you.

Eren’s about to grant your wish, running his cockhead over your sensitive clit once, twice, and just as you're expecting a third, he pushes inside of you.

A strangled, loud moan escapes your lips before he can cover your mouth again. It’s agonizing, not being able to make a sound as your step-uncle fucks you into the couch, movements picking up and a steady pace filling the room with obscene noises. You can’t see where the two of you are connected, since your eyes are locked with Eren’s pretty green ones, but you know you’re making a mess.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, every thrust stretching you out, you think he’s ruined your cunt for anyone else—but that’s exactly what he wants.

It’s silent, save for the heavy patter of Eren’s balls against your ass with each thrust, the sound of his hips knocking with yours. He’s trying to keep his grunts silent, but it’s getting harder and harder with the way you’re clenching around him, so tight and wet and soft, he wonders what his brother did to deserve someone like you—he wonders why he doesn’t spend every minute inside you.

Your sensitive cunt tightens around him, knowing only another few strokes and grazes on your clit will be enough to tip you into your second orgasm. Your shaky hand finds Eren’s, pulling his wrist away from your face and meeting his lips again, releasing muffled moans into his mouth.

You know he’s close too, from the way his pace picks up, and you pull away just for a second, just to say three words.

“Please, Uncle Eren.”

And it’s enough to make his hips stutter, enough to uncoil the knot in your tense stomach and have your orgasm washing over you, as you feel Eren fill your cunt with his hot cum. Your lips are on each other, the lewd squelching of his slowing thrusts matching the small squeaks you release, until he finally pulls out and your panties snap back over your leaking cunt.

It’s hard to catch your breath, from your position laying down, feeling your tight hole throb and Eren’s cum spill out, probably onto the sofa seat. You adjust the top of your dress, covering your tits and pulling one strap up. When you’re fixing the skirt, you feel Eren’s hands pull the other strap onto your shoulder, hands lingering on your exposed skin.

You shy away from looking at him, despite how his cum is still inside you. It feels too intimate, almost, because a part of you thinks you were taken advantage of, and another part of you doesn’t ever want Eren to leave you.

Eren’s fingers find your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. You blink quickly, licking your swollen lips and biting the inside of your cheek nervously.

Neither of you speak, though you know what’s lingering in the air. You can tell he’s gotten what he wanted, and he’s going to leave, and yet you can’t stop yourself from speaking first, throat scratchy and dry and your words nothing more than a whisper.

“C-can I… did you- did you mean all those things you said? Before?”

And suddenly Eren understands everything, why you’re this way, why you need to be validated so badly, why his brother’s such a good match for you. He thinks he’d sacrifice anything too, like his marriage and a new life, just to make you happy.

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I meant every word of it.”

“Really?” There’s a soft smile on your lips, your eyes watery and he thinks it doesn’t have anything to do with how hard he fucked you.

“Yeah, I-”

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeke’s voice comes from behind you.

[littlefreya]

As I was saying

Summary: You recently found out that you’re pregnant and Henry is being all sorts of over-protective and annoying about it and won’t shut up about what you should or shouldn’t eat. So you find a creative way to shut him up...

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader (no description of body type or ethnicity thought it’s mention that Henry is taller)

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+, RPF, fluff to smut, early pregnancy, blow job, bodily fluids, slight FemDom/SubMale, My overuse of poetic sex metaphors, cottagecore!

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, or parts from it.

A/N: This story was born out of a convo I had with my sweet @the-soot-sprite​ about the photo above. Many thanks to @agniavateira​ my solid rock who betas all my work and to @firefly-graphics​ for the dividers

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed my story. I work hard on each one of them and your validation means the world to me. 🖤

As I was Saying

Henry’s velvety voice carried through the cottage like seductive vapours of honey liqueur. It wasn’t often that he'd sing a blissful tune so casually out of the blue—after earth-shattering sex perhaps, which indeed you had the night before. However, this morning, his chants were laced with a new flavour of sugary bliss. 

Two little pink stripes. That's all it took for his eyes to shimmer the way precious cobalt is kissed by a moonlight glow.

Sneaking about in the mien of a curious little mouse, you trod after the pleasant tune of his voice, which was now accompanied by a soft rustle. Wander laved your face once you leaned against the kitchen door frame, peering at the prodigious man who stood in front of the open fridge. 

Preoccupied, he appeared to be ransacking through the shelves with the song ‘Cheek to Cheek’ thrumming on his tongue.

“Heaven... I'm in heaven…”  

Fingers clutching at the edge of the wall, you pressed into the chilled surface with a relaxed smirk, lingering on the irresistible view when your ease of mind faded with a blink of an eye — while methodically rummaging through the fridge, Henry threw fresh food straight into an open trash can.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice rising to a high-pitched yip. 

Henry made a soft flex; the muscles of his back rippled in a tidal motion. Though acknowledging your presence, he proceeded to hover a finger over different products. 

“Cleaning up the fridge," he answered absentmindedly.

With a soft shove, there went your French cheese. 

“That’s brand new!” you protested and rushed toward him, alarmed. 

Towering over the trash can, you considered diving in to salvage the precious bulk of cheese from the dreary pit. Henry glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, testing your resolve while his claw grabbed some papaya salad leftovers and pushed it over the edge of the shelf, joining the rest of the discarded meals. 

“It is,” he nodded and closed the refrigerator door, carrying on to the high cabinets. With a slight wrinkle between his brows and a hand scratching the stubbles of his dimpled chin, he narrowed his eyes to scrutinise the items carefully. “I'm pregnant-proofing the kitchen. I called Hanna while you were asleep. She created a proper daily menu for you with the dos and don’ts: less sugar, more veggies and protein.” 

It took you a moment to process his words, your eyes narrowing while asking, “Hanna? As in Hanna, your nutritionist?”

Henry nodded at your question, a faint crease lining his cheek. “That’s the one. Don't worry, princess, she specialises with pregnant women.”

Unwittingly, a somewhat inhuman growl sounded in your chest. You were only getting used to the idea of developing another person inside you, and here stood your husband, already seeing fit to dictate your diet. Slithering into the narrow space between the heavy man and the counter, you tilted your chin to meet his stare while your fists pressed into your hips assertively. 

“Listen here, Cavill! You might have jizzed me one too many and succeeded in putting a baby in there, but this is still my body. I can take care of my own pregnancy diet.”

With an arm stretched above your head, Henry offered a charming display of pearly whites to pacify your strained nerves. His dimples nearly managed to beguile your senses when your eyes flared at the sight of what was held between his long fingers.

“No! Henry, no! Not the coffee!”

“Oh, I’m afraid so, my love. You shouldn’t have any caffeine at your current state.” Despite his argument, the tenderness of his gaze stroked upon your face like a warm ray of sunlight piercing through heavy clouds. Lazily it dropped to your belly, the cascading heat cradling your unborn child. 

Words of protest left you for a sliver of a moment, too in awe of the dreamy grin on his face. 

Thoughts of how beautiful you’d look rounded and full with his child illuminated him that you swore his skin developed a glow over the night. Didn’t they always say women are radiant when they are pregnant? Well, it seemed that in your case, it applied to your husband as well.

The charming haze of bliss almost swallowed you up; but you quickly slapped yourself back into reality, reaching a hand in an attempt to stop Henry from throwing away your delicacy. Though taller, Henry held his hand far out of reach, a hint of a smugness stretching his lips.

“A pregnant woman is allowed to have a little bit of caffeine!” You muttered and sent both hands in an attempt to retrieve the box while Henry teased you by throwing it from one hand to the other, further fueling your annoyance. 

Vexed to the point of frustration, you stood still and sighed, “you know what else is bad for the baby?” 

Henry paused his foolish games and tilted his head as he waited to hear your answer.

“His father at the morgue after I’ll kill him. Now stop that and hand it over! A pregnant woman can have a cup a day, according to Google.” 

“Nope,” Henry clicked his tongue, his laughter replaced with a severe stare. “Love, I know they say it’s okay to have a teeny bit, but I’ve been doing some research while you were asleep, and it’s not recommended. Caffeine increases heart rate and blood pressure, which is not good for you nor for the baby. It also increases urination, which may cause dehydration.”

Clenching your jaw at the onslaught of information he bestowed, you watched his lips move while none of his words registered. Preoccupied with the rules of a “healthy” pregnancy, Henry was set on being the practical one, completely forgetting to enjoy the moment. And damn, it was the moment to celebrate. All you wanted right now was to stay in bed for a day, ride your handsome husband to hell and back and eat as much ice cream as possible.

“Everything you eat from now on goes to our baby,” Henry proceeded to lecture on a thing you were perfectly aware of.

Ire found you within seconds, embroiled with pregnancy hormones which made him further intolerable at the moment— intolerable

... and delicious.  

Soaked with hunger, your eyes raked his sight: the thickness of his muscles was apparent beneath a plain black t-shirt and those good old grey sweats outlined the source of your current predicament. Your fingers twitched just from thinking about it, mimicking the sensation of squeezing its girth and eliciting those low groans that made your heart flutter. 

But his chatter still interrupted your sultry thoughts. If only there was a way to get him to shut up, you mused. Then your eyes focused on the soft bulge that winked back at your hungry glare.

Unaware, Henry turned toward the table to grab a bulk of informative documents he printed earlier in order to educate you of your pregnancy, he licked his thumb and began to read through, “As I was saying….”

Hastily, you exploited his lack of attention and took a step forward, your fingers latching around the hem of his sweats. With one swift movement, you fell to your knees and tugged his trousers along. 

Lost in his passionate speech, Henry was still muttering nonsense when your hand seized him; but as the lushness of your tongue bedded his soft cock without warning, all that could be heard in the kitchen was a husky gasp. 

Feeling the warm silky flesh swell and harden within your mouth, you sent your eyes up to peer at him, admiring the sight. Nothing spoke of your power better than the wrinkle between his shut eyes and his mouth agape with all air draining from his lungs. There you were, lowered to your knees with a maw full of his cock and yet, he was the one who lost his ability to speak and had his legs quaking of need. 

Unable to help yourself, you sent one palm to feel the tremor that ran through the muscles of his thighs while the other cradled his heavy sac. 

“Uh……” he finally managed to utter, a groan of bemused bliss pushing itself between his parted lips. “What… what are you doing?” 

You crooked an eyebrow in response and answered by dragging your mouth along the length of his shaft. Your pillowy lips ran across ridges and thrumming veins, your jaw loosening until you felt him deep in the back of your throat. 

Locked in the cavernous cage of your maw, he tightened his gut and shuddered with pleasure. Though, the low unbridled groans that sputtered from his chest fueled your enticement just as so; memories of how the same thick girth that brimmed your mouth would split open your narrow canal made both your eyes and abandoned cunt tear of desperation.

It always beguiled you how much arousal could be found in bringing him to his rapture without touching yourself. The harder he throbbed on your velvety serpent, the more you soaked.  

With fervent strokes, you feasted on the briny flavour of his cock; the tendons vibrated with bliss while your tongue twirled and pushed around them. You pulled, sucked, and pumped him in your warm mouth, milking the senses of a man infinitely stronger—a man who succeeded in conquering your womb yet now crumbled to nothing at the touch of your tongue.

“Fuck…. Babe… keep going,” Henry breathed out a plea. The documents held by his hand slipped between his fingers as he pressed his palm to the cabinet with a thud, and began to rock his hips back and forth to fuck back into your mouth. Like feathers, the white slips floated around you, landing onto the ground while you worked him to his ecstasy.  

His other hand found your head, caressing lovingly and trying to take control: yet his strength waned and his head fell back with a moan. Faster, harder, you sucked your husband to the point of submission while hums of admiration laced around his rigid length. Your eyes beamed as you watched his resolve shatter. Your fingertips toyed with the coarse hair at the apex of his thighs, your thumb seeking the tendon at the base of his cock and pressing into it, urging him to spill his gift down your throat.

“I’m going to… I’m going to…. In your throat… fuck.”

With a guttural grunt, he thickened against your tongue; the overflow of salty-sweet cream glazed your mouth and then flowed down your flaring throat.

The room thrummed with the buzz of the refrigerator, Henry’s heavy exhales - these were the sounds of your triumph. Wiping your lips with the back of your hand, you cracked a smile and neatly pulled his trousers back on before you rose to stand straight. 

Overwhelmed and drenched in sweat, your husband scrutinised you while you reached for the box of capsules and tilted your head.

“You were saying?”

[sukirichi]

acquainted

You had no intentions of becoming acquainted with the clan your family had cut ties with, but when Naoya Zenin himself is willing to teach you a lesson and you’re determined to show him what you’re capable of, it becomes a silly game of power and dominance.

REQUEST. naoya putting reader back to her place

WARNINGS: Naoya Zenin, rough sex, orgasm denial, face fucking, slight voyeurism, degradation, slight bondage, cowgirl riding, manhandling, spanking, hate sex

WC. 5.4k+

NOTES. Because Naoya is my favorite, his fic is the only one I’ve ever edited, LOL. Even though this is requested, this is written out of self-indulgence, purely because I love Naoya and even though he’s nasty, he’s my comfort character. And freaking FINALLY I have written more for this man. I worship this King 👑

There were so many ways this day had gone wrong. First, your shower broke. Second, the maintenance men couldn’t come until late in the afternoon, so you had to drive all the way to school looking like a half-mess. You weren’t a slob, of course, but you were beyond irritable at the thought your hair felt greasier than most.

So when an unfamiliar mop of blonde hair sat at your place, the sight of pierced ears meeting your gaze as you smiled at the young man, you had to clutch your bag tighter. No need to be harsh to anyone; you reminded yourself.

“Hi,” you greeted as politely as you could.

The young man in your seat was handsome — terribly so — feline eyes emphasized with an eyeliner, and stunning green eyes that peered up at you with utmost boredom. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t pinpoint where you’d seen him before.

“I believe you’re in my seat.”

You expected he’d kindly take another seat since the hall was empty, but he only leaned back in your seat, brow raised with a slight smirk. “So?”

Your mouth fell agape, hands falling at your sides. Who was this guy? “What do you mean, so? Get the fuck out of my seat.”

“Women,” he rolled his eyes, “Always so tempered and dirty mouthed,” the words felt like stinging slap in your face, and he easily read through you when he snickered to himself, waving a hand in the air as if he was swatting a fly away. “I’m already sitting here, so go find someplace else. I came here first.”

“You little — who do you think you are?”

“Who do you think you are for speaking to me? Did I give you permission?”

His condescending voice made you lunge at him if not for your friend’s hand wrapping at your arm, shooting worried glances over the guy. His smirk deepened when your friend pulled away, the words mutter under her breath. “Come on, let’s go,” she tugged you away despite your protests, pushing your shoulders down to make you sit. Once out of earshot, she rolled her eyes. “I seriously hate that guy. Don’t you ever involve yourself with him.”

“Who’s that prick anyway? He acts so high and mighty like he’s some rich daddy’s son. Look, he’s totally claiming my seat as his!”

“That’s Naoya Zenin, and yeah, he is some rich daddy’s son,” she confirmed, shivering at the mere mention of his name. “He’s an absolutely big misogynist. Don’t be fooled by his pretty face — he’s the worst fuckboy to ever exist. That dick of his isn’t worth getting fucked over. He’s already made half the women in school cry and run after him like a horde of lovesick zombies,” your friend gagged with a shake of her head, “It’s terrifying, actually.”

“Fucking asshole,” you hissed under your breath, sending side glances at the corner of your eye.

That stupid guy was still in your seat, a bored expression on his handsome face, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks at every blink. He just had to be a sexist pig with that gorgeous face — no good men existed anymore. “Whatever. He’ll get a taste of his own medicine soon.”

“Whatever it is you’re planning, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“I’m doing this for all of us,” you announced with your spine straightened. “I’m not letting a man walk like that acting like he’s got the whole world at his feet. I’ll teach him a lesson or two.”

“You do know he can sue you if you punch him right?”

“Who said I was going to punch him?” a smirk painted your lips at the same time he felt your eyes burning holes at the side of his face, your expression even more triumphant when he tilted his head to the side, eyebrow cocked at your gaze. He must’ve assumed you’d fallen for his looks judging by the satisfied smile on his face, making you laugh because it would be fun to teach him a lesson.  “No, I have a much more interesting plan in mind.”

It turned out that Naoya wasn’t that much of a stranger.

You had his reputation to thank for — people spoke his name left and right that it was nearly impossible not to know of him. It had you wondering how you managed to live through university so long without knowing him when the name drowned you; he was a Zenin.

No wonder that name was so familiar.

The Zenin’s were a close business partner of your family, but they cut off ties with their company years ago due to them having an intolerable attitude. Clearly, it ran in the blood, and their heir manifested it so well.

Thoughts of Naoya and his stupid face were soon drowned out by expensive champagne, the golden liquid sparkling in your hands. You had to attend this dinner gala where businessmen and powerful families alike conjoined for a formal opportunity of forming connections and solidifying deals, pressuring you to be at your best behaviour lest you wanted your black card to be cut off.

You made your way through the crowd to get another one of those hors d oeuvres, opting to just sit in the corner while you watched your family plaster on big, fake smiles with even louder, faker laughter.

It was quite sad, really, that people had to do stuff like this, but who were you to complain when it was what fed you on a silver plate all the time?

For now, you just wanted to enjoy the new dress your mother had gotten you, the silk black material hugged around your curves delectably. Pearl drop earrings hung to frame the sides of your face, legs lengthened and accentuated with stiletto heels.

You felt sexy — especially when you got lingering gazes from men who were slightly older and definitely richer, though you made no move.

The last thing you wanted was to become someone’s trophy wife when you could become so much more.  Plus, only your parents had the task of befriending people and building trust with others. You were only here to help represent the name somewhat with your pretty face, not really having much of an intention to be acquainted with anyone.

You swiped another glass of fizzy alcohol from the waiter that passed by, glossy red lips pinched around the glass when a sultry voice mused at your ear, “Still can’t find a seat?”

Swirling around so fast that the contents nearly poured out the glass, you weren’t surprised to see Naoya fucking Zenin stood before you, his tall stature draped in only the finest and hand-stitched three piece suit.

He looked absolutely delectable this way, earrings glimmering under the golden chandeliers and eyes lined with kohl, the aura of elegance that perfectly concealed his less than pleasing personality excessively charming.

You were beyond appalled.

“Still can’t find a brain?” you retorted with a roll of your eyes, eyes still narrowed at Naoya’s displeased ones as you dunk your drink in one go. “What are you doing here, pig?”

“I’ll let that comment slide once — only because you look hot tonight,” his predatory gaze ran over your form, the careful pattern of him pausing at the swell of your breasts sliding to the curve of your hips heating up each inch of your skin. “And it’s Naoya for you. Naoya Zenin, the rightful heir of the Zenin Corp—”

“What’s that scent you’re wearing? Baby powder? Fitting for your cute face, actually.”

Naoya’s jaw clenched, clearly unaccustomed to people cutting off his holiness, and you had to bite down on your lip to prevent the chuckles from slipping through. “It’s Tom Ford.”

“Hmm, why am I not surprised? My horrible ex also wore the same scent. Maybe it’s a trademark for all limp losers, huh?” Naoya opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it, stepping forward to grab at the space between his tie to pull him down. His face was mere centimetres away from you, close enough that his breath ghosted over your lips, the intense anger flaring through those eyes hot enough to burn you. “You act so smug and defensive, Naoya. Trying to have a big man personality to conceal a small dick?”

“I have nothing to prove to you.”

“You don’t need to prove me anything,” you glanced down at his pants with a smirk, ignoring the heat pulsing in your veins because the sight contradicted your words. There was a noticeable bulge inside those shiny black slacks, though the last thing you wanted him to see was the way your mouth watered in anticipation. “I already know what I need to know.”

“Yeah? You and your shitty girlfriends can’t stop talking about my dick?”

You shrugged sarcastically, “You know women. We’re tireless complainers.”

Naoya’s jaw ticked upon you using his words against him, his hands coming up to caress at your neck, his nails scratching behind the thick silver chain you wore.

From afar and in the eyes of others, people would’ve thought you and Naoya were simply getting a little too heated, his lips dipped to graze your ear while his slender fingers pressed a little tighter into your air pipe. Your positions could easily be mistaken for Naoya seducing you, and you supposed he was, since your body responded differently from your verbal protests.

“You should watch what you’re saying,” he warned, voice low with warning. “I could easily dump your body into a river and no one would even notice. In fact, maybe the world might even thank me for doing them a service and ridding them of a spiteful woman like you.”

“Oh, pretty boy,” you chuckled back and stood to your tippy toes. One of your hands wrapped around his neck to forcefully tilt his neck to yours, nose pressed above his collar to inhale the intoxicating masculine scent he wore. “You’re all bark and no bite. Why don’t you show me what you’re capable of? If you’re as awful as they make you out to be, maybe I’ll shiver enough to drop my panties for you.”

You didn’t miss the way Naoya’s hands gripped at your waist to pull you close, enticing you to continue with your insults because maybe Naoya liked this a lot more than he let on. Could it be his superiority complex didn’t always like submissive women, after all?

Well, it would make sense; everyone always liked a little challenge, didn’t they?

If that was what he wanted, then you’d be generous enough to grant it to him.

“Wouldn’t you like to get a chance to put me in my place, to teach me a lesson for defiling the oh-so-mighty Naoya Zenin?” you purposefully toned your voice down to a more breathy tone, your chest swelling with pride when Naoya sucked in a sharp inhale beside your ear.

God, he sounded beautiful — and you hadn’t even fucked him yet. Now, you were eager to hear what else those disgusting lips could be capable of other than degrading you.  

Pulling away from him just to bat your lashes at him, heat pooled straight into your core when Naoya’s gaze had completely darkened, dark orbs pooled with lust and anger. Only he could make such an expression look so good.

“You don’t scare me, Zenin. You’re nothing but a small boy wearing big man pants.”

For a moment, your smile widened, believing that you’d won this time around. Naoya was still breathing hard at each brush of your stomach to his now hardening erection, but then he smirked and gently pushed you away from him. “I’m not fucking you here,” he stated calmly, not even bothering to keep his voice low. “You’re a lot dumber than I thought you’d be if you really think I’m whipping my cock out during this dreadful dinner.”

“This dreadful dinner you speak of is an opportunity for people like us to establish connections. I would’ve assumed you wanted nothing more to impress others but it seems I was wrong. If you hate this event so much, why bother coming here in the first place?”

“Just had a feeling I was going to meet a little minx,” he watched you seductively, his smirk adorned with his tongue peeking out to lick his lips — in turn wetting you in places he promised to make his by the end of the night. Curse him, you chanted in your head, curse him for being so attractive. It would’ve been easier if he was ugly. “And as always, I’m right.”

You tilted a brow, slightly impressed. “So you’ve done your background check on me. That doesn’t explain why you’re still here though. Surely a woman couldn’t be enough for a reason to make a man like you go all this way?”

“You’re right, a woman would never be a good enough reason, but I wanted to put you in your place,” his eyes flickered back up to you, now twinkling with danger and something else entirely. “Bad little girls need to be a taught to a lesson.”

“So what’re you waiting for? Go ahead and show me your ways, Zenin.”

“I will,” he nodded to himself, “I’m about to,” Naoya was nothing but confident as he strode your way until his arms was locked with yours, his breath tickling your collarbones that had unknowingly exposed itself at each heated touch. “You’re not that bad for a slut. You look like one, smell like one — I bet you also feel like one.”

A dry laugh left your lips as you fisted his shirt, mirroring his smirk to show that if a match was what he looked for, then a match he’d find indeed. Only this time, you would be worse.

“Why don’t you go ahead and find out?”

Naoya, despite being an absolutely poor excuse of a human being, was somewhat redeemable for being a man of his words. Find out he did, and he wasted no time into shoving you inside his McLaren, barely able to keep his hands off you the whole way up to his penthouse.

It was a blurry mess from there.

Moans spilled from your lips while he ripped your clothes off, not bothering to apologize that he’d just ruined one of your most prized possessions, his lust-clouded haze mumbling that he’d just buy you another one.

It was the last thing you expected to hear from him, but you couldn’t protest, not when he’d angrily snapped the buttons of his shirt away, a low growl mixing with your breathy whines as he loosened his tie.

Your eyes widened at the sight, legs rubbing together as you imagined what else he could do with that pretty tie of his.

Would he tie you to his bed, fuck you stupid and call you useless? Or perhaps, you could do it?

Naoya cut off your train of thought by pushing you back to his mattress, his hands tugging at his belt before he pulled his boxers down, his thick length slapping at his abdomen. Your mouth immediately watered at the sight. You were beyond wet from nothing but your sloppy make-out sessions, but would he fit?

Just the thought of him giving you that burning stretch made your legs spread beside his sides, the sardonic laughter ripping from Naoya’s lips absolutely disgusting.

“Fucking pathetic. You’re just like everyone else; submitting to me at the sight of my cock, but that’s not true, is it? Moment you saw me, I knew you were clenching around nothing,” he gripped at your jaw to force you to look at him. You glared up at him from his bruising hold, your cheeks squished under his rough hands. “But that’s okay; wanting me is not something you should be ashamed about. Although you should be thanking me I’m even letting you near me like this.”

“I’m so honoured. Come on, Naoya, let me feel you — let me make you feel good.”

Naoya, too lost in his ego, missed the sarcasm dripping in your voice. “So eager to be my cock sleeve, huh?” he grinned, tugging at your hair to push you deeper into his mattress.  “Get on your knees. Now suck.”

He was too harsh in his pace, determined to exert his dominance over you. You could feel every ridge of his vein as he continued fucking into your mouth, his abs rippling above you. It felt like witnessing a Greek god come apart, and you took pleasure in being his ruin, prompting you to hollow your cheeks and bob your mouth up and down on his cock harder.

Naoya’s chuckles were broken and often mixed with curses of fuck, you feel so fucking good, his nails now scratching at your scalp.

Soon, Naoya stilled inside you, his hold around your head deadly to keep you in place. Tears flowed down your face as he kept thrusting inside, making sure to hit the back of your throat before his muscles tightened. Spurts of warm cum followed after that, but instead of swallowing it like you expected he’d command you to do, Naoya whipped out his cock and came all over your face, his seed shooting all over your cheeks and lips.

You took it all obediently, just enough to give him the false pretense of submissiveness that he was so willing to force from you.

While he was occupied pumping his still rock hard cock, eyes closed and massaging your scalp almost soothingly, Naoya failed to notice your hurried movements of standing from the bed, fingers looped around his tie.

A small wail resonated from him when you shoved him down onto the bed, knees locked at either sides of his waist before you tugged at the cloth wrapped around his neck. Naoya kicked his legs behind you as you tied his wrists to the bed hard enough that Naoya winced, the tie only forming tighter at each lame grapple of his.

You looked back at how he got more beautiful laid out in front of you like that, chest heaving up and down while he struggled against the restraints, face flushed with anger — no, this wasn’t anger anymore — he was furious.

“What are you doing?! Get this off me — how dare you!”

“How dare you,” you spat back, discarding your lace bra off to wipe his cum away from your face, gagging when the bitter cum left a tang on your lips. “I just got my skin appointment last week and you came on my face like that?”

Naoya kept fighting back before he realised it was a futile attempt, leaning back down onto the pillows, though that didn’t soften his heated eyes on yours. You cooed at how adorable he submitted to you, running a finger down the sides of his jaw. “Aw, don’t look so angry, baby. I’m just starting my fun,” you purred, “You should’ve known better than to mess with me, Naoya. I’m not as nice as the others. And I’ll show you just how awful I can be.”

Naoya’s breath hitched when you shimmied out of your underwear, a dark glint in your eyes as you stretched the elastic into a fake arrow until it snapped into his face.

“You fucking bitch,” he growled, turning his face away from your panties soaked with arousal. “Once I get out of here, I will ruin you.”

“Huh, yeah, sure,” you mumbled incoherently, too lost in the pleasure as you sunk down on his cock. You were right, he was fucking thick, stretching you out better than any of your toys could. Plus, he was warm and leaking with pre-cum that he slid in easily, erotic groans leaving both your mouths once he was finally seated inside you.

Naoya was growling at you to let go of him when you laughed, lifting your hips up slowly before sliding back down on him just as slow, almost as if you made love to his cock the same passionate way you did with a lover. “You do have a wonderful cock, though. I’ve never felt this good in my life,” you leaned down to lick a stripe down to his neck, allowing him to hear the needy pants you graced with him. “You feel so good, Naoya, oh. If you weren’t such an asshole, I might even fall in love with you.”

“Go faster. This is unfair!”

Naoya tried thrusting deep into you, evidently unsatisfied at this torturous pace you set, but you only gripped at his thigh in warning, your eyes no longer sweet as you glared at him.

“Nothing’s ever fair in this world, sweetheart,” you reminded him, shivering every now and then as you bounced on his cock, his length slipping past through your walls magically. “Like how such a gorgeous face and amazing dick is paired with the most disgusting personality ever. No, it’s not fair, indeed...”

You closed your eyes with your head thrown back, placing your hips flat on his pelvic bone instead, fingers rubbing at your clit while Naoya throbbed inside you, desperate for release.

The little whines you gave were nothing but mocking. You knew that Naoya suffered through this position, but did you care? Absolutely not. With Naoya’s cock stretching you full and his tip kissing your most sensitive spots, in addition to your fingers rubbing and tweaking at your clit, this was the most pleasure you’d ever gotten from sex.

You were stimulated everywhere, your other hand reached up to tug at your hardened nipples.

Your walls clenched around him, signalling him that you were close and you let out a broken moan, falling forward to gyrate your hips around his cock to push you over the edge. It wasn’t enough to get him off since you were mostly still fondling with your clit, the sounds of your moans like torture to his ears.

“No, don’t you dare cum, I swear if you—” Your orgasm washed over you comfortingly like a warm blanket. Instead of seeing white, it was like your vision cleared, the sight of the sweat that made Naoya’s hair stick to his forehead in clumps crystal clear. You prolonged your orgasm by thrusting your hips in a sickening rhythm of thrust, pause, thrust, stop ­— and by then Naoya was losing his mind.

Naoya lost control as he snapped his hips upwards inside you hard enough that you winced in pain, pushing off his dick until he’s left humping the empty air, his body drenched with perspiration. “No, no, no, fuck you! Get back here you useless slut!”

You lay beside him, giggling in post-orgasm bliss. Just to tease him, you rolled to his side to press a kiss to his cheek, laughing harder when your lips came in contact with his flushed skin.

“You’re so adorable like this,” you cupped his face tenderly, perfectly aware that Naoya had begun to growl, his wrists almost bruised from how hard he brawled against his tie. “If I didn’t hate you so much, I would’ve let you cum inside me,” you offered with a pat to his chest, moving off the bed with wobbly legs.

“Well, whatever, that was fun. I would say we both had the most sensual sex of our lives, but that would be a joke for you, don’t you think?” you snorted as you inserted your arms to his discarded suit jacket.

Naoya stayed still on the bed, his cock still painfully hard and slick with your cum. “Don’t look so angry, Naoya. You had it coming for you. Don’t worry, though, as a thanks for letting me cum that hard — though I mostly did all the work — I’ll keep this between us so you at least get to keep whatever’s left of your dignity,” you blew a kiss his way, “Bye, sweetie. At least now I know people weren’t exaggerating when they called you a good fuck.”

Not bothering to slip your heels back on, you looped your shoes into the curls of your fingers, about to button Naoya’s jacket as you made your way to his door.

You never got halfway across the room when strong arms suddenly lifted you off the ground, your vision transitioning from his door to the pads of his feet, your body slung across his shoulder. Naoya gripped at your ass in warning when you kicked your legs, leaving him with no choice but to hug your thighs with one arm.

The next thing you knew, he slammed the balcony doors open with one hand and slammed you on the pool table. His rough hands yanked his jacket away from your body, the chilly night of the air bringing a shiver down your spine as it hit your drenched core.

Naoya had pinned your arms flat on your back in a painful angle, making you cry out just as he kneed your legs open, his free hand that wasn’t pinning you down aligning his cock against your hole. You were a moaning mess underneath him, the pain only an intoxicating addition to the pleasure he was pounding into you. Naoya then leaned to whisper your ear, the sudden movement making his cock slide deeper into you, the pleasure overwhelming.

“Oh, Naoya, fuck—”

“I am not just a good fuck,” he corrected you, “I am Naoya Zenin — and you will do well being silent and submissive while I fuck you, do you understand?” You were too lost in the feeling of him rutting deep into you that he had you seeing white this time around. When you didn’t answer, Naoya slapped your ass, your yelps echoing from the dead night. “I asked you a question.”

“No,” you bit back, “I refuse to—” you were silenced when Naoya hit your sweet spot, laughing at your state that you were too fucked out to give him a proper answer.

Naoya’s pace was merciless as he fucked deeper into you, the hand on your ass moving up to grab at your waist to keep slamming you back to his cock. He watched as your lips sucked him in so tight that he didn’t know whether you were pushing him out or refusing to let go. Turning your head to the side to gasp for air, you opened your eyes, only to be met by the sight of men crowding on the building across yours to witness your undoing by Naoya’s hands.

“I’ve barely started and you’re already so wet for me,” he mocked in your ear. As if on cue, squelching sounds accompanied your desperate moans, hands grabbing at nothing in particular. “Shall I try upping my speed?”

“N-Naoya- there are people looking.”

“Let them see,” he seethed, using one arm to lift your other leg up to the table to gain him more access into your warm, wet cavern. The sudden stretch made your muscles ache until you lay there limp; jaw clenched at the pleasure Naoya drowned you with. “Let them know how much I’m making this pussy mine. Gosh, can you hear yourself? You sound like a dirty fucking slut,” another slap landed on your ass, hard enough to leave a mark there for tomorrow. “You claim to hate me, so then why are you dripping all over me, huh? Pathetic whore. You women are nothing but cum dumps to me.”

Naoya spread your butt cheeks open, laughing at the silly way you clenched around him every time he pulled out, your puffy lips sucking him back again until Naoya buried himself to the hilt. His dick did wonders in letting out the most erotic whines and whimpers you never thought you’d be capable of, leaving you a drooling and panting mess under him.

“You little fucker, don’t even think about cumming inside me, I will literally castrate you and feed your balls to yourself.”

“Such a dirty mouth. Though that’s expected of a nasty woman like you,” he sassed, his thrusts faltering while his hand clenched your flesh tighter. That was enough to send you over the edge when Naoya slammed his hips harder and more desperately this time around, his cock twitching against your walls. “You wish I would cum inside you. But I have a better plan in mind.”

All it took was one rough hand for him to pull you before him, pushing you down into your knees again as he came inside your mouth. You could feel your cum and his dripping onto his dark marble tiles, the white pool of liquid shining.

Naoya thrusted lazily into your mouth, a sickening grin on his face while he kept you down there. His glare deepened when you tried to pull away from him. “Swallow, you slut. Or I’m fucking your face until I break your jaw.”

Furiously, you swallowed around his cock, Naoya groaning at the feeling of your walls convulsing around him. The moment you gagged from when his tip poked the back of your throat, Naoya pushed you off him until you were left choking on the ground. You gasped for air, hands clasped around your neck, sure that you were going to have a sore jaw and a fucked throat tomorrow.

You kept glaring at Naoya, but this didn’t deter him from gripping your chin down, humming to himself upon seeing that his cum was now gone in your mouth. “Hmm, so you did swallow it like a good girl. I’m glad I’ve disciplined you well.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m King there already, baby,” Before you could retort, his arms encircled your waist until you were heaved in his arms again. You pounded against his back because you were too done, you couldn’t do another round. Naoya sighed as he threw you in the bed as if you were a ragdoll, disappearing in the bathroom for a while before coming back with a wet towel, which he rudely flicked your way. “Clean yourself up and then leave. Take the back elevators. I don’t want the staff to see a whore leaving my place.”

“You’re the one who brought me here.”

“Only because I had a duty to put you in your place,” He stared at you with his smirk now permanent in his face, admiring the bruises he left on your body.

“We’re not over yet, Zenin. I’m going to break you one way or another.”

You rolled your eyes at him, walking to his closet to wear one of his shirts. Naoya was silent the whole time as he watched you button his shirt with trembling hands, his presence hot on your heels as he followed you out the large room.

As you were about to leave, you picked up the towel you used to clean your cum with and threw it right at his face.

Naoya dodged it easily, eyeing the towel with a scoff. “Still resilient, I see,” settling down on one of his lounge chairs like it was a throne, Naoya rested his cheek on his fist as he stared you down. “But fine — I accept your challenge. A true man never backs down from a challenge, after all.”

“Oh, honey, I’m more than just a challenge,” you sneered.

Naoya’s gaze left your eyes to stare at your perky nipples that poked through his shirt, feeling his cock swell all over again. But he was a man of control and dignity — he wouldn’t do anything more with you, not when it was clear you’ve had enough for tonight.

It didn’t bother him though, he knew he’d have more opportunities to put you in your place.

“We’ll see about that. I’ll be the one to decide your worth,” he declared oh so smugly, the mere sound of his voice pushing you to slam a fist to ruin that pretty face of his, though you held your ground, far too tired to move a muscle. Naoya saw this too, and he smiled to himself, head tilted to the side as he studied the mess he’d made of you. “Tomorrow, same time same place?”

There was no telling what pushed you to agree, but the words left your lips far too confidently for you to even wonder why.

“Be ready for me, Zenin.”

“I always am.”

All the way back to the back elevators that Naoya had directed you at, you pondered on how you’d be able to tell your parents you suddenly needed a ride home when they had no idea you left the dinner gala in the first place. But most of all, how were you supposed to tell them you’d acquainted yourself with the Zenin clan all over again?

[thed4rkhand]

planets through the first house

Planets through the first house

Ready for yet another astrology post? We’ll be covering the results of different planets when placed in the first house of a birth chart. Remember that astrology is super fickle and changes dramatically with sign placement, aspects and conjunctions. So without any further delay, lets get into it! Do reblog and like, it took me a lot of effort to compile my observations! Feel free to leave feedback!

Trigger warning- too many, these are just my observations. Also i didn’t proof read, so spelling mistkes could be there.

for Rahu, look at the saturn part. (north node)

for ketu, look at the mars part. (south node)

Sun in the first house-

When sun is in the first house of a birth chart, the person may be heavily influenced by their father. They may look like their father or have a similar personality. Such people tend to be perfectionists, its their way or the highway. They may have a tendency to gain weight easily, however if its in scorpio then they’ll dramatically shed it and gain it, in a loop. They are extremely magnetic people. They may deal with foreigners on a regular basis, or speak a foreign language. They may deal with the government very often and may work for the government as diplomats. They may obtain their higher education abroad. They can remain quite childlike till much older. They can be very protective of their community, traditions and religion, and aim to spread awareness about it. These people are actually rarely concerned with someone’s exterior, because often times such people have such good intuition and spiritual powers (some are literally called mystics because of this), they can literally see through someone. For this reason, they actually don’t like associating with too many people, despite having a very charming personality. These are the kind of people that keep searching for ‘the one’. People may approach them regarding projects first, and they may work for the government. They may have extremely powerful enemies, but they shall defeat them. They may be closer to their mother’s family and culture. They may have a peculiar accent when talking, and many people will compliment their speech. They may have frizzy and big hair. They’ll have heavy acne in their younger years. They’ll have small squinted eyes, often accompanied by crows feet. They’ll appear much younger, and so will their mother. Their mother might be very short. They hate being indebted and like paying off loans quickly. They’ll have beautiful hands, and they have a habit of growing their nails. Many of them like to sing. Their father could’ve been a teacher or worked in heavy research based fields, maybe even a musician or doctor. Their life may go through rapid ups and down throughout. They may be extremely fond of cattle and horses, and hate flying. They may interject and cut people off in conversations. They will fall for married people or people in relationships, they will be good cooks and feel alienated by their mothers. They may wear glasses early on, and also they’re into fire rituals or fire. (pyromaniacs?). you will critique people and say terrible things you don’t mean when angry. You will have a large forehead or a receding hairline. You’ll have nightmares and premonitions about death and illness. You might be very very fond of gold or golden colours. You will be argumentative.

Moon in the first house-

When moon is in the first house of a birth chart, the person is heavily influenced by their mother. They may resemble their mother or have a similar personality. Such people are extremely moody and are always preoccupied with other’s opinion of them. They may have a tendency to fluctuate between their body weight, and are likely to have body dysmorphia. They have short necks and generally are short in height too. They’re very critical and over-analyze everything and everyone. Sometimes, even unconsciously, they manipulate people to suit their needs and whims. They get side tracked too often and have difficulty focussing on one task at hand, often amounting to laziness in other people’s eyes, even if the native is extremely hardworking in reality. However when in comes to personal care, they tend to do things in a very half-hearted manner. These people are also prone to isolating themselves from others, especially when things get hard. Such  people tend to be famous or popular in friend circles, or at the very least well known. They can be extremely picky people and often can be obsessive in their thoughts. They may follow their mother’s footpath professionally, and may want to pursue fields related to law, beauty/architecture and biology. Their mother’s were very involved in their life. Such people are always on the internet trying to look up astrology posts, tarot, etc. They like knowing whats going to happen and like to be prepared for it. They can be extremely manipulative when they want to be. They may see a lot of prophetic dreams, and their mother or them often have pressure buildup in their ears or can hear random sounds or voices. They enjoy looking at stars and the night sky. They enjoy a strange fascination for water and looking at people’s eyes. They could be into massaging people or have ‘healing hands’, or their mother could.

Venus in the first house-

When Venus is in the first house of a birth chart, the person is heavily influenced by their colleagues, significant others, or their families. They’re extremely swayed by people’s opinions of them, and often because of this are very unsure in their abilities. Big doe-like yes are often seen with this, and an inmate ability to gain beer-blotches on their face. They attract people to them. They may have bad relationships with their families, and their mother could have had a miscarriage just before them. They can be hyper sensitive regarding taste, smell and sound. They may be excellent singers or play musical instruments. They dress up glamorously for parties, but when at home or alone, they’re usually roaming around like they’re homeless. They suffer depression if they’re not looking their best even, heavily into working out and grooming. They may be extremely religious or spiritual and may mediate a lot. They explain concepts very well and can be some of the best teachers around. They usually attract female friends. They love the smell of musk and love digging deep and researching, even stalking. They could be into ancient civilizations and history, photography and art, gardening and plants, fascinated with concepts of violence and death. They sit on their bed and work, they love the sound of fire crackling and fireplaces, they gain when in relationships and love asmr sounds. The most competitive people ever and so very possessive of their own goods, also back and forth with morality (eg. One day spiritual and the next they love material goods, one day vegan and then back to being a non-vegetarian)

Mercury in the first house-

When mercury is in the first house of a birth chart, the person is heavily influenced by what extended family or acquaintances think of them. Such people are also very concerned about their health, and can be hypochondriacs. They may also at all times think that people hate them, without any reason. They could be great speakers or orators or writers. They can have a great imagination, that is extremely vivid and unique, especially as a kid. They may want to pursue careers related to beauty with such a positioning, or even theatre or music. They may have a very unique appearance, and may appear androgynous. For women, they could look like their fathers, and for men, they can look like their mothers. They may be into research and like getting to the bottom of a matter. They may always have this appearance of half-closed eyes, they never open them fully. This gives them this drowsy look. They love making spread-sheets and calculating their expenses. They could have liver or kidney issues. They may get into occult due to their siblings. A lot of transformation comes into their life due to their family and pets. They may want to live abroad. They may have addiction issues to substances like alcohol and drugs. They may have troubles with their father. May cause rifts between your mother and your father too, causes them to have a love-less marriage. They may be called snake-like, dream of snakes and walk with a very purposeful walk, they kind of sway alot. They may be extremely secretive in life. You may have lactose intolerance, and may be envious of other people’s success. You or your parents have a lot of unaccounted wealth. Such people could hear voices in their heads, see prophetic dreams and have fears of the deep water. This could make someone very tall as well. May be fond of children and old people. Either extremely thick eyebrows or no eyebrows. Dimples are very common. Long necks and dark circles, deep sunken eyes. Very cutesy appearance. Skin is discolored and if the position is afflicted, skin diseases are common. Long hands and loves instruments like the piano. You can separately raise your eyebrows and the most, I mean the most, theatrical ones.

Mars in the first house-

When mars is in the first house of a birth chart, they’re very conscious of their own opinion, or are always thinking that someone may be watching them, like paranormally. Also, they’re largely confident in themselves, for they don’t really pay that much attention to others. In fact they’ll go out of their way to rebel. They could have suffered through acne, heat boils and other skin diseases. They have frizzy or curly hair, and very reddish complexions. These are the people who blush so easily and prominently. You may have skin scarring with this, as simple as acne marks and freckles, to larger scars and burns. So expressive, the type of people who can separately raise their eyebrows. They tend to be the type who change their appearance so very often, from weight fluctuations, to piercings, to hair colors, wardrobe rehauls, and all. They can have an element of looking foreign or different. They may have huge eyes and they’re almost protruding or absolutely sunken, massive cheekbones or hallowed out cheeks. They may have this mysterious look to their eyes, and this always sad or lost look. Eyes are very red, and often they have issues like sinus or nose is always blocked or watering. They may have hidden wealth, also the type of people to have the type of personality where you would never suspect they’re into occult. They are very close or have some karmic relationship (could be negative) with their father’s brothers. They also always think about escaping, largely to forests and retreating there for a bit. Very into finding cures and deep research. Also love dears, might worship shiva and are addicted to coffee. Also fasination with the moon. People might attract stalkers with this. Hoarders and so critical everything and everyone, especially hoarders of photos. Photographs memory and love for photography and art. Love for music and music instruments, and may own one and keep it in their room. Fidget by tapping pens or feet, have to make a sound. Can be argumentative and terrible tempers. They love garlic and onion and root vegetable stuff honestly. Also weird affinity for horses and speed. Also they love seats with hand-rests, the comfy sink into ones. They’re the types who go for the head of the table seat. Also we’re you born via a c-section and not natural birth? Something is off about your birth, could be the only child.

Saturn in the first house-

When Saturn is in the first house of a birth chart, it makes people extremely unconventional and almost a social outcaste. They can sometimes have these half shut lazy eyes, where their eyelid is heavy and big, and they always appear to be drowsy. They may be alarmingly fond of animals, especially large wild animals. Also they’re absolute perfectionists, they just get up and destroy the things they created and don’t like. Also rain or thunder ASMR. They’re also neat freaks, they like their stuff kept a particular way and don’t go around cleaning their room or touching stuff. They are usually influenced by their mother and are quite close to them, unless you’re born in the evening or night time, then you’re absolutely like your father, resemble him and act like him. They may hear a lot of sounds very regularly, in their head. Could be schizophrenic or just hear loud thumping sounds. Possible love having musically instruments in their house and could play one, or they know a lot of musicians. They may be the youngest in their peer groups or colleagues, sometimes oldest. They do have old-soul personalities though. They love doing volunteer work at shelters and looking out for the underprivileged. Their upbringing could have been strict. They make friends from around the world, you’ll actually notice that they might have a lot of middle-eastern friends or be intrigued by their culture. They could have problems with their backs and legs. Further, they may be very no-nonsense strict teacher kind of person. They can also alternatively be the life of the party person, or both really. They could either be extremely happy and jumpy in public and really broody in private, or the other way around. They work so hard yet rarely get results. They suffer through a lot of ups and downs in life. Usually this gives an innate ability to lose weight and appear rather slender, also tall. This usually gives some kind of unique features to the face, large eyebrows, pointy cheekbones, small mouths, exaggerated features and this kind of drugged up look in their eyes. For women, this gives a curvy look to the body, with great breasts (in relation to proportions). People love cheese here, also they are great with children. They get blamed for cheating or other issues when they haven’t done it. You go against dogmatic thinking. You may attract men and women. Great looking feet and omg the obsession with shoes? Stop it already, you don’t need more. Also stop looking at the watch and making schedules, stop being obsessed with time, or really stop procrastinating.

Jupiter in the first house-

When Jupiter is in the first house of a chart, one is usually undeniably lucky in life. People with this placement tend to be tall, and if not then they have a big bone structure. They will have beautiful feet. They gain weight easily. They are heavily influenced by their fathers and spouses. They like scholarly debates and discussions and dislike arguments. They are fond of foreign cultures and the other dimensions, they believe in religious interventions and god. They can be a bit conservative in nature. They were either born in a comfortably rich household or will have it later. They or their parents own more than one property. Their mother has bad health, and could’ve fallen sick after giving birth to them or never had children after them. Their mother is spiritual. They could obtain higher education abroad. They could be into fields of liberal arts, especially law and academics (like wanting to become professors), they could alternatively also be musically inclined. They will have an enchanting speech and aura, and people will commend their oration. They can be into writing. They could enjoy traveling a lot. They keep looking for love, it is one of their priorities even from a young age. They feel connected to spirits or gods, and often feel that there is something off or unique about them. They may have clairvoyant abilities and may practice activities of the occult or astrology. They usually have on and off relationships in life. You chase people you like. You need intellectual compatibility in a relationship. Very choosy about clothes, friends, vacations and all. Don’t wake them up from sleep, they love sleeping, or alternatively never get enough sleep. You do things smartly, not with hardwork. You may be interested in real-estate. They get into spirituality very young, around 16 when Jupiter matures. They pretend to be more knowledgable than they are in certain areas, might fib. They’re proud of their occult knowledge. Their is a polarity in their personality that everyone sees and what their close friends see. Maybe they’re extroverted outside and very introverted inside. Or maybe they have family issues and never speak about it. Could be anything. Also a polarity in wanting material gains like status, success and money, and wanting liberation and wanting to become spiritual. They keep going back and forth. Also they keep changing their opinions on things. Notice they have good hands too. Also acne and scarring. Terrible tempers, and can be asexual or aromatic, or just don’t like to show that side to themselves. The letter ’t’ may be relevant to them, either in their name, their family, or their spouse. Don’t invoke spirits of the dead please, don’t keep trying to shift realities either, chill. They keep their nails long. People usually don’t know that a native is into occult, as they have a very different outside persona.

[spooniechef]

Chicken Broccoli Pasta Bake (1-2 spoons)

Batch cooking is a great thing for those of us who have to budget our spoons vey tightly. It means that on good days, we can cook something really tasty that will last for several meals, easily reheated on the bad days ... including the one that might come from cooking something overly ambitious. This particular chicken broccoli pasta bake recipe started as a two-spoon recipe, but can be made a little easier with a couple of tricks and exclusions. The recipe originates from the BBC Good Food website (which is a shame because I have Issues with the BBC right now), but I’ve made a few changes, so I guess it’s mine now. When you make your own changes, it’ll be yours.

Here’s what you need:

250g or so pasta (anything from penne to farfalle to fusilli to macaroni will work)

350g or so chicken, sliced

200g or so broccoli florets, chopped small

175g or so chestnut mushrooms, quartered

About 1 and a quarter cups single cream

Half an average-sized container of soft cheese with herbs (Philadelphia etc)

4 tablespoons sun-dried tomato paste or similar (see notes)

Cheddar or other hard cheese, grated (for topping)

A lot of these measurements are given pretty abstractly, I admit; I’ve been making this for awhile and while the website gives exact measurements, bringing out the scale or measuring cups is a bit much for a recipe that’s this forgiving. It does say to use chicken breasts, but thighs are just as good and often less expensive. Also, if you’re not much on sun-dried tomato, plain tomato paste or just a good dollop of pesto sauce will do just fine. (I’m making it today - it’s baking as I type - and I split the difference and used two big spoonfuls of pesto with sun-dried tomatoes, so that should be interesting.)

Here’s what you do:

Preheat the oven to 190C / 375F

While the oven’s preheating, start boiling your pasta; when it hits the al dente stage, add your broccoli and cook just a little more until the pasta’s just about done; drain and set aside

Cook your chicken bits with whatever spices you feel like using; then add the mushrooms and cook for a couple of minutes

Add the cream, soft cheese, and sun-dried tomato paste (or whatever other flavouring you’ve chosen to use); heat on medium heat, stirring gently, until the paste is blended in and the soft cheese is melted

Add the broccoli and pasta to the pan; stir until the pasta is coated in the sauce

Add the entire thing to a baking dish; top with cheese

Bake for 20 minutes or until the cheese is nicely browned

Obviously, with a pan, a pot, and a baking dish involved, and a fair few chopped things, this one can be a lot of work, especially on a bad day. Also, given dietary restrictions, it can be a little tricky with the amount of things that normally contain lactose and gluten. I figured out a few tricks that make it easier:

If you can, cook the chicken ahead of time. The chicken is meant to be cooked when the other ingredients go in, so all you need to do is throw it back in the pan and let it reheat while you’re cooking the mushrooms. That eliminates the entire “slicing and cooking the chicken” part of the equation, and honestly, little bags of cooked chicken living in the freezer isn’t a bad thing; depending on spicing, it can be used anywhere from fried rice to a way of jazzing up macaroni and cheese from a box.

Chop up the broccoli first too, if you can. Earlier in the day or even the day before; just put it in a bowl with a little tiny bit of water and cover it with tin foil. It just means there’s less to chop up at the time. (I wouldn’t recommend doing that with the mushrooms, though.)

This one isn’t entirely great from the lactose-intolerant point of view. The single cream can be replaced with a dairy-free version, but I’ve yet to find a dairy-free soft cheese that melts well enough to be the kind of sauce-thickener it’s supposed to be here. It’s not too bad with dairy-free soft cheese, but honestly, I get by on Lactaid with this one, since it’s only a half-cup or so.

On the topic of dairy-free options, I’ve found that dairy-free hard cheese doesn’t brown quite the same way the regular stuff does. If you’re using dairy-free cheese, keep an eye on your bake and if the cheese hasn’t browned after 20-25 minutes, don’t panic; just take it out anyway. If you’re worried, tap the cheese on top to see if it’s reasonably hard, but either way it’ll be fine.

Gluten-free pasta actually works fairly well with this one. Since you want it to be nearly done but not quite done when the baking dish goes into the oven, the problem where gluten-free pasta has a very small window between “undercooked” and “overcooked” pretty much goes away. Baking it also means that the pasta gets more of the sauce, since I’ve noticed the gluten-free variety doesn’t soak up sauce as well as the regular kind.

Clean up as you go if possible, because this generates a fair few dishes and if you don’t have a dishwasher, the pile of things used can be disheartening if cleaning isn’t done along the way. If you already do that, then you’re one up on me, but a few tips to make it easier. If you cooked the chicken ahead of time and so don’t have a package on hand to use as an interim garbage can, keep a bowl on hand for the detritus and a separate one for ferrying the mushrooms into the pan when the time comes. Scraping them off the cutting board into the pan is also an option, but requires care and fanangling, whereas dumping the contents of a bowl into the pan is a lot easier. It’s just one more dish to wipe down.

This should be enough for 4-6 servings, depending on how hungry you are. It’s tasty, not quite as hearty and filling as a lasagne but fills the same basic niche.

Also, thanks to everyone who’s put their own tips and advice in the tags. I recommend reading through the notes on these posts, because several people have had great ideas and pieces of advice, and I personally have found them really helpful. Please, if you have tips, keep them coming.

[mandana-the-service-pup]

Ruffwear Swamp Cooler Harness Review

We LOVE our grey Hi & Light harness from Ruffwear and our embroidered Swamp Cooler Vest has been great for public access work on hot/dry days, so you would think the Swamp Cooler Harness would be the perfect mix for us. We’ve tried two versions of the harness (L/XL_purple & M_teal) and my conclusion is that I might use it in specific conditions, but I hesitate to recommend it to others.

There are two main issues I have with this harness. The first one is simple. The edges are rough and can cause chafing (particularly on the soft skin in the armpit area). Our quick fix was to cover the edge with some adhesive moleskin. So far this has worked pretty well and I’m satisfied with how it turned out. If it starts to come off I’ll get some nonadhesive moleskin and sew it into place.

The second problem is a little harder to explain. Mandana is between sizes so I thought that could be the issue, but after trying both the medium and the large/XL I’m convinced the chest and shoulder area of the harness is just poorly designed.

Mandana’s markings make it pretty easy to tell when a harness is fitting her properly or not. For starters, the black tips of her neck feathers (marked in red on the picture below) outline the area where the neck meets her shoulder and if you follow that line to the front it will lead directly to her chest bone. You want the center of the harness to sit on that bone. You can see how well the Hi & Light fits while the Swamp Cooler hangs down very low. Without the chest bone to brace against, the harness has a tendency to pull down and obstruct leg movement, especially when heavy with water. Ruffwear recommends sizing down in this harness if you can and the medium does fit slightly better in this regard but in both sizes it’s the design of the harness that causes this issue not the size or how it’s adjusted.

The other problem area is also easy to see thanks to her markings. Mandana’s black chest marking flares out to cover the joint on both sides. This is an area you DON’T want a harness to obstruct. You can clearly see this marking when she is wearing the Hi & Light harness (circled in yellow) but the straps on the swamp cooler go directly over this area. Again, the large/XL is worse in this regard than the medium.

I took a video of Mandana approaching me and slowed it down so you can have a better look at why all this matters. The weight of the wet harness + the design issues mean that your dog is going to be feeling this harness pull against their legs and armpits. Combine that with a rough/wet material and it could lead to some real problems.

In my opinion, service dogs are particularly prone to heat intolerance. Most service dogs spend the majority of their time with their disabled handler in climate controlled environments. They don’t get as much time to sit outside and acclimate to changes in weather as many other types of working & pet dogs do (not saying service dogs don’t get outside time, just that they spend most of their time tasking for their handler). It’s important to take this into consideration when preparing for outdoor activities. It’s also important to consider the issues that can arise from ill-fitted gear. Short-term soreness and abrasions can inhibit their service for many days and longterm issues with gait changes and arthritis can lead to early retirement.

I do think this harness helped with the heat, but the issues with the design are not easy to fix. Mandana seemed much happier wearing the Swamp Cooler vest over the Hi & Light harness. Not only did it address the issues mentioned above but it also covers more of her back and gives her more protection from direct sunlight.

The edges of the vest are covered and if the longline is attached to the harness underneath then the pressure is coming from a properly fitting harness NOT the vest so it doesn’t affect their movement as much. The dog also has a lot more coverage from the sun and it holds more water so the cooling effect lasts longer. I don’t recommend the harness but I DO recommend the vest. (Mandana has a 32-33” girth and wears a large. The “purple” color is actually more of a periwinkle and could be mistaken for a light blue). It does have a pretty wide chest piece which is something to keep in mind for narrow dogs but I love how much space there is behind the leg for proper movement.

We also tried out the Swamp Cooler Neck Gaiter. It is a different fabric, very smooth and stretchy. It does stay wet but don’t expect it to last as long as the harness/vest. IMHO it’s not really worth it when using the other Swamp Cooler products but it could be nice when wearing her regular gear or going out in just a collar. Evaporation gear only works on hot/low humidity days (I try to make sure it’s about 55% humidity or less) and if it’s that hot & dry out I’m probably going to use the vest. Hubbins likes to take Mandana jogging in just a collar, so he will be using this more than I will. (Mandana has a 16-17” neck and wears a small)