#Plantain Leaves

[cjdsignsworld]

Herbs For Health

Hi, Sweet Friends! I have done many herbal posts in the past, but none have helped me as much as the 3 herbs I will be sharing today. Raspberry Leaves, Grape Leaves, and Plantain Leaves. I have also used fresh Grape Leaves in family recipes handed down through generations. (As with anything that you add to your diet that you might have questions about, consult your healthcare professional if…

[vandaliatraveler]

NC-WV is finally enjoying a dry, sunny spring weekend after weeks of near nonstop, flooding rain. That was all the incentive I needed to take my first long hike of the spring at Coopers Rock State Forest. The wildflower progression on top of Chestnut Ridge is running about 2 weeks behind that at lower elevations, but there were plenty of early spring beauties on display this afternoon. From top: Allegheny serviceberry (Amelanchier laevis); long-spurred violet (Viola rostrata); halberd-leaved yellow violet (Viola hastata); downy rattlesnake plantain (Goodyera pubescens); trailing arbutus (Epigaea repens), which is not herbaceous but a mat-forming, evergreen shrub in the health family; broadleaf toothwort (Cardamine diphylla), also known as two-leaf toothwort; and round-lobed hepatica (Hepatica americana), which prefers drier woods than sharp-lobed hepatica (Hepatica acutiloba), which I typically find growing on the rocky, calcareous slopes along the Monongahela River.

[wiley-treehouse-gardens]

[morethansalad]

Onam Sadya / Kerala Banana Leaf Feast (Vegan with plant based alternatives)

[attractthecrows]

FEEL MY WRATH, HEN OF CORN

[invoke-parlay]

Three produce containers full of sunflower leaves, bean leaves, dandelion greens, clover and plantain for peep! I’ve been able to forage so much of her food lately, thankfully, since I am broke and food is expensive! I’m so thankful for what I was able to literally just pull up from the ground, growing wild (except the beans and sunflowers, although it’s nice to use parts of the plant that aren’t typically used), for FREE!!!!

August 26, 2023

[crudlynaturephotos]

[handageddon]

Yeah amaranth is a staple grain so it's kind of like complaining that corn or wheat are herbicide resistant

I understand the point is to reduce the amount of competing plants to avoid failure to thrive, but at the same time, pesticide resistance is a core feature of a lot of plants, generally because people like to eat them or vice versa

Researching herbicide resistance in weeds.

A decade ago, everyone said rotating applications of different herbicides was key to stopping herbicide resistance.

Then, around 2015, evidence from a large study emerged saying that this actually causes weeds to be MORE resistant, so the best thing to do is to spray a combination of multiple herbicides mixed together at once.

Now that is being called into question too. Whoda thunk it...

Herbicide resistance among weeds is only getting stronger. Recently, scientists found an annual bluegrass (Poa annua) on a golf course that was resistant to seven herbicide modes of action at once. Seven. SEVEN. Amaranth plants been found with resistance to six herbicide modes of action at once. Twenty years ago, the narrative was that resistance to glyphosate (Roundup) was unlikely to become widespread; today it's the second-most common type of resistance.

What's more, plants are developing types of herbicide resistance that are effective against multiple herbicides at once and harder to detect. Instead of changing the chemical processes within them that are affected by the herbicides so the herbicides don't work as well, they're changing the way they absorb chemicals in the first place. Resistant plants are producing enzymes that detoxify the herbicides before they even enter the plants' cells.

It took Monsanto ten years to develop crop varieties resistant to Dicamba (after weeds made 'Roundup Ready' crops pointless). Palmer amaranth evolved Dicamba resistance in five years.

So I asked, "Why are all the proposed solutions dependent on using more herbicides, when we know damn well that this is going to do nothing but make the weeds evolve faster?"

The answer is that chemical companies have the world in a death grip. They can't make money off non-chemical solutions, so chemical solutions get all the funding, research, and outreach to farmers.

But why do chemical companies have so much power?

One of the biggest reasons is the U.S. military.

In the Vietnam war, all of Vietnam was sprayed with toxic herbicides like Agent Orange, which was incredibly toxic to humans and affected the Vietnamese population with horrible illnesses and birth defects. Monsanto, the company that made the herbicides, knew that it did this, but didn't tell anyone. The US government didn't admit that they'd poisoned humans on a mass scale until Vietnam veterans started dying and coming down with horrible illnesses, and even then, it took them 40 years. (My Papaw died at 60 because of that stuff.) And the soldiers weren't there for very long. As for the Vietnamese people, the soil and water where they live is contaminated.

Similarly, during the "war on drugs," the US military sprayed Roundup and other chemicals on fields to destroy coca plants and other plants used in the manufacturing of drugs. This killed a lot of crops that farmers needed to live, and caused major health problems in places such as Columbia. The US government said that people getting sick were lying and that Roundup was just as safe as table salt. (A statement that did not age well.)

So chemical companies make money off arming the USA military. The American lawn care industry, and the agricultural system, therefore originates in more than one way from the United States's war-mongering.

The other major way is described in this article (which I highly recommend), which describes how after WW2, chemical plants used for manufacturing explosives were changed into fertilizer producing plants, but chemical companies couldn't market all that fertilizer to farmers, so they invented the lawn care industry. No exaggeration, that's literally what happened.

This really changes my perspective on all the writings about fixing the agricultural system. The resources are biased towards the use of chemicals in agriculture because the companies are so powerful as to make outreach and research for non-chemical methods of agriculture really hard to fund. All the funding is in finding new ways to spray chemicals or spraying slightly different chemicals, because that's what you can actually get ahold of money to look into. It is like the research has to negotiate a truce with the chemical companies, suggesting only solutions that won't cause lower profits.

Meanwhile my respect for Amaranth is skyrocketing.

Who would win: The USA military-industrial complex or one leafy boi

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ one hundred paired prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ a pot of fresh coffee and split knuckles

²⁾ orange peels and a car battery

³⁾ sand dunes and leather boots

⁴⁾ a printer and a knife

⁵⁾ incense and handcuffs

⁶⁾ a crushed velvet sofa and a video camera

⁷⁾ stale cigarettes and cotton candy

⁸⁾ loose change and headlights

⁹⁾ grey hairs and a gold belt buckle

¹⁰⁾ burnt coffee and grass stains

¹¹⁾ cherry cola and blue jeans

¹²⁾ chipped green nail polish and an empty dinner table

¹³⁾ a stack of paperwork and metal music

¹⁴⁾ a patchwork quilt and sweet tea

¹⁵⁾ a hockey sweater and a two-seater sofa

¹⁶⁾ perfume oil and rolled up shirtsleeves

¹⁷⁾ fallen leaves and guilt

¹⁸⁾ radio channels and a birthday card

¹⁹⁾ ravens and meadowsweet

²⁰⁾ apologies and bitter red wine

²¹⁾ library books and pouring rain

²²⁾ a breathalyser and popcorn

²³⁾ princess plasters and iodine

²⁴⁾ a tote bag with one broken strap and a winding staircase

²⁵⁾ a parasol and a tumbler of straight whiskey

²⁶⁾ fresh honey and a cult

²⁷⁾ wisdom teeth and blue eyes

²⁸⁾ sour cherries and a stolen hoodie

²⁹⁾ the flu and a heatwave

³⁰⁾ a boonie hat and a sunset

³¹⁾ vanilla perfume and a kitchen counter

³²⁾ a buffalo skull and a leather armchair

³³⁾ a throw pillow and a doorway

³⁴⁾ pink fluffy handcuffs and an unexpected guest

³⁶⁾ a package and a divorce

³⁷⁾ a stripper pole and a hangover

³⁸⁾ familiar cologne and a black eye

³⁹⁾ a lit candle and a snowstorm

⁴⁰⁾ an unsealed letter and a fallen pine tree

⁴¹⁾ headlights and footprints

⁴²⁾ a blocked number and traffic lights

⁴³⁾ a racesuit and a countdown

⁴⁴⁾ a butcher’s apron and a phonecall

⁴⁵⁾ battered comic books and a broken window

⁴⁶⁾ cold floorboards and a roommate

⁴⁷⁾ smooth vermouth and gold rings

⁴⁸⁾ a lip piercing and a rough hand

⁴⁹⁾ someone’s spare room and an eclipse

⁵⁰⁾ a game of mahjong and bad jazz music

⁵¹⁾ a jigsaw puzzle and a mortuary

⁵²⁾ a broke-up sidewalk and a knitted scarf

⁵³⁾ a poundshop wig and broken glass

⁵⁴⁾ a bunk bed and a crush

⁵⁵⁾ a red ink tattoo and a dinner gone cold

⁵⁶⁾ a warm palm and a flannel shirt

⁵⁷⁾ fresh basil and a half-empty bottle of arrack

⁵⁸⁾ a nightclub bathroom and smeared eyeliner

⁵⁹⁾ a busted lip and strawberry icecream

⁶⁰⁾ a floral-patterned dress and a looming balcony

⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar

⁶²⁾ a white mercedes and cheap perfume

⁶³⁾ a fwb and a housekey

⁶⁴⁾ a blue sarong and a fingertip tracing over a scar

⁶⁵⁾ a sauna room and a terse exchange

⁶⁶⁾ fried plantains and a briefcase

⁶⁷⁾ dried lavender and a tiled bathtub

⁶⁸⁾ a hotel room and a bouquet of lilies

⁶⁹⁾ sweet mango lassi and a suitcase

⁷⁰⁾ orange streetlights and a nightmare

⁷¹⁾ a crucifix and a thigh tattoo

⁷²⁾ a palm tattoo and the thrum of a heartbeat

⁷³⁾ a champagne room and a police siren

⁷⁴⁾ blue nitrile gloves and a hickey

⁷⁵⁾ a double-wide trailer and shotgun shells

⁷⁶⁾ stitches and pyjama shorts

⁷⁷⁾ karaoke and a snowdrift

⁷⁸⁾ an older man and a twin bed

⁷⁹⁾ chinese takeout and a graveyard

⁸⁰⁾ wet clothes and ambulance sirens

⁸¹⁾ carbolic soap and a creaking staircase

⁸²⁾ an undercover assignment and wrung hands

⁸³⁾ the back seat of a limousine and bustling night streets

⁸⁴⁾ a steamed-up bathroom and cold floorboards

⁸⁵⁾ a grand prix and a breakup

⁸⁶⁾ a third place trophy and a picture frame

⁸⁷⁾ the last slice of birthday cake and crossed legs

⁸⁸⁾ squashed raspberries and heated cheeks

⁸⁹⁾ pink lipgloss and brass knuckles

⁹⁰⁾ a ghost mask and a late visit

⁹¹⁾ loose bullets and slashed tires

⁹²⁾ a tactical belt and patterned bedsheets

⁹³⁾ a goaltender’s stick and a lonely walk home

⁹⁴⁾ a dog bed and a migraine

⁹⁵⁾ lit billboards and a floor-length gown

⁹⁶⁾ a divebar negroni and a game of pool

⁹⁷⁾ olive trees at harvest time and divorce papers

⁹⁸⁾ a caviar bump and vanilla coke

⁹⁹⁾ a whale tail and pantsuit

¹⁰⁰⁾ legs thrown into a lap and calloused hands

[msbigredmachine]

An Angelic Christmas (Roman Reigns)

On their first Christmas together, Roman and Naima share heartfelt gifts, tender moments, and an intimate celebration that deepens their connection. A glimpse into the unlikeliest of love stories that’s about to unfold.

Pairing: Roman Reigns/Black fem OC

Warnings: SMUT

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is based off characters from my upcoming multi-chapter Roman fic (yes I know, it's been a while, lol) to be out in January. Look out for it!

gif belongs to @romanreigns

divider belongs to @bernardsbendystraws

The Miami sun is high in the sky, casting its golden rays over the famed city. Palm trees sway gently in the breeze, adorned with twinkling lights that sparkle even in the daylight, giving the vibrant streets a festive charm. 

Roman’s penthouse, perched high above the bustling streets, is no exception. Ornaments of red and green and gold glimmer on a ten-foot high Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, a towering contrast to the sleek modernity of the space. It’s not exactly the snowy holiday Naima grew up with in Atlanta, but she’s not complaining. Not when she’s with her man.

Naima hums along to “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blasting through the speakers, twirling a wooden spoon in her hand as she checks on the smoky jollof rice in the kitchen. The turkey is ready and well stuffed, so that is settled. Her bare feet pad softly across the hardwood floor, her movements fluid and effortless, the dancer in her kicking in. Chief, their three-month-old Staffy puppy, is sprawled nearby, lazily gnawing on a holiday-shaped chew toy that she bought him.

Roman sets the table, looking at his girlfriend with an amused smirk. “Mariah again?” he teases, his deep voice cutting through the music.

Naima turns, feigning offense. “Not you actin' like you don’t love this song, big guy.”

He chuckles, stepping closer to her. “It’s a classic, I’ll give you that.”

She rolls her eyes, scoops a spoonful of rice and blows on it before holding it up to his lips. “Here. Taste this.”

Roman takes the bite, chewing slowly. The smoky flavor hits his tongue first, followed by the rich spices that taste even better than the last one she made a month ago. He lets out a low hum of approval.

“Damn, baby,” he says, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Naima grins, her beautiful brown eyes sparkling. “That’s just the rice. Wait till you try the turkey and plantain.”

Roman glances at the counter where the massive golden-brown turkey rests, surrounded by perfectly caramelized plantains and a big bowl of sapasui specially made for him. His diet, meticulously planned for his wrestling, is going to take a serious hit tonight. But he doesn’t care. It’s Christmas, and Naima’s cooking is worth every cheat day.

“Diet starts tomorrow,” he declares, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her close.

“Tomorrow,” she insists, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Tonight, you’re eating everything I made, handsome.”

Roman chuckles to himself as she kisses his cheek and walks away, his gaze dropping to those long, shapely legs of hers. Naima has been in his life for a while now, but every time they are together, it feels like a fresh challenge—a battle of wills he doesn’t mind losing. Most of the time.

The table is set with mismatched plates—his playful touch—and candles flickering softly in the center. Chief sits obediently at the side, eyeing the turkey but making no moves toward it, as if he knows better. The couple sits right next to each other on the table. Roman’s red-and-green sweater fits him perfectly, hugging his broad shoulders and muscular chest. Naima’s matching sweater is oversized and hangs loose on her frame, exposing one shoulder and riding up her thighs each time she moves. Of course, Roman notices, and his hand rests possessively on her thigh, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles in that affectionate, sensual way that always leaves her weak.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Naima says, nodding toward the huge tree and the perfectly arranged garland along the fireplace. “I know Christmas isn’t your thing like that.”

Roman smiles, his hand tightening just slightly on her leg. “Yeah, well, I figured you’d cry if we didn’t at least have a tree.”

Naima smacks his shoulder, though a grin spreads across her face. “You ain’t right!”

“I’m just sayin’,” he teases, his baritone laced with humor. “You been talking about Christmas since Halloween ended. Couldn’t let you down, mamas. After all, this is your first Christmas outside Atlanta. Am I right?” 

Naima nods and sips her glass of champagne. “Yep. Feels weird not being with Adara and Julien, but…this is nice. Different, but nice.”

Roman cuts out a large piece of turkey and places it in Chief’s bowl, the little puppy gobbling the meat happily. “You talk to them today?” he asks. Knowing how close she is to her sister and nephew, he can already guess the answer.

“Of course,” she replies, “Adara says hi. And Julien was hyped about that new wrestling game you sent him. You officially won Christmas with that.”

He chuckles, proud. “Kid’s got good taste.”

Naima leans back in her chair, watching her boyfriend for a moment. There's something so easy about the way they’re together, the way they fit into each other’s lives despite their wildly different worlds. She loves this version of Roman—relaxed, unguarded, a far cry from the intense Tribal Chief persona that dominates the squared circle. Here, he gets to be just him. With her. His safe space.

She's honored.

“I’m glad I’m here with you,” she tells him, affection in her voice.

Roman’s gaze softens. “Me too, baby girl.”

After dinner, they retreat to the couch, plates of leftover plantain and wine glasses in hand. Chief curls up at their feet, munching on a leftover turkey leg. Roman’s arm is draped over Naima’s shoulder, his fingers lazily playing with her long hair. She rests against him, her legs stretched across his lap as “Home Alone” plays on the 64-inch TV.

“You got one more present,” Roman announces suddenly.

Naima raises an eyebrow. “I thought we agreed on no more presents.” They've already exchanged small gifts earlier in the day—she gave him a custom leather wrestling gear bag embroidered with his initials, and he surprised her with a sleek pair of Saint Laurent knee-high boots she’d been eyeing for months. 

“I ain’t agree to shit,” he smirks, a small, wrapped box materializing in his hand. “Here.”

Naima sits up, taking the box from him and unwrapping it carefully. Her jaw drops as she takes in the unmistakable Harry Winston packaging, her fingers trembling slightly as she unties the ribbon. She carefully opens the box, her breath catching as her eyes fall on the exquisite piece inside—a diamond necklace that glimmers like a constellation of stars. The delicate chain, made of intricate diamond clusters, forms a flawless, radiant circle that exudes elegance and timeless luxury, leaving her utterly speechless.

“Baby…”

“I saw it and thought of you,” he says, his tone casual, though the way his eyes linger on her face betray how much the gift means to him. “You light up my life, mamas. Figured it was fitting.”

Her throat tightens as he helps her put the necklace on, the cool chain resting against her skin. “Thank you. It’s so beautiful,” she whispers.

“Well, it was either this or the anklet,” he adds with a cheeky wiggle of his eyebrows as he caresses the back of her leg, “Woulda been great for these long-ass legs I can’t stop staring at.”

“You always gotta be so extra,” she giggles, her voice teasing but shaky.

Roman grins, his eyes bright and happy. “You bring it out of me,” he whispers, his heart swelling as she holds him tight. He will never tire of moments like this with her.

“Your turn,” she announces, reaching behind the couch to grab a flat, rectangular package.

Roman unwraps the paper carefully, revealing a framed portrait of the two of them sitting on an equipment crate backstage after his match at Summerslam. He was still in his wrestling gear, his Undisputed Championship resting on his lap, while Naima sat beside him, close enough for their thighs to touch. Her arms are around him and their eyes are closed, heads tilted and leaning against each other as if the world had disappeared for just that moment. The image, captured by Naomi, radiates intimacy and quiet strength, capturing everything unspoken between them in that stillness.

He is quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on the frame.

“You don’t like it?” Naima questions, suddenly uncertain.

“I love it,” he breathes, his voice low but full of emotion. “This…” He trails off, his fingers grazing the edge of the frame. “This is amazing, baby girl.”

“I wanted you to have something to remind you of who’s always in your corner,” she says, her voice soft and sincere.

Roman sets the frame down carefully and hugs her again. “I love you. You’re my everything,” he murmurs, the weight of his words settling between them.

Naima shivers, her heart racing for him like it always does. “I love you too. And you’re mine.” Her fingers clasp behind his neck as she pulls him in for a kiss. It starts slow, purposeful, their lips meeting in a way that feels as natural as breathing. Naima’s hands frame Roman’s face, her fingertips brushing against his beard as their mouths move in perfect sync. It's sensual, unhurried, yet electric enough to send shivers down their spines. 

Roman’s large hands roam down her back, possessive and sure, pulling her closer until she’s in his lap. When she moans softly into his mouth, it ignites something primal in him. The sound drives him crazy, her lips and her voice working together to undo him in a way no one else ever has. It’s a reminder of everything they share—the connection that goes beyond words, beyond the teasing and playful banter.

When they finally pull apart, she rests her forehead against his, her breathing unsteady. “Believe it or not, I got one more gift for you,” she informs him, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “It’s red and made of satin and lace.”

“Yeah?” Roman’s voice roughens, his hands still on her hips.

She leans in close, her teeth tugging on his earlobe as she whispers, “Mm-hmm. But you get to see it later.”

Roman groans low in his throat, his hold on her tightening. “You really tryna test my patience, huh?”

Naima laughs, sliding off his lap before he can pull her back. “Ya know what they say, baby; patience is a virtue.”

The rest of the night passes in a haze of laughter, wine, and stolen touches. Chief dozes near the fireplace, his tiny snores filling the silence of the now-muted TV. As Naima cleans up the dishes from their late-night snacks, Roman leans against the counter, watching her.

“You ever think about what’s next?” he asks suddenly.

She glances over her shoulder, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“For us,” he elaborates, his voice unwavering.

Naima pauses, her hands stilling. “I mean…I’m happy right now. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile. “I am. But I’m talking like, big picture. Like, what happens when we’re not doing this flying-back-and-forth shit anymore? What if you moved to Miami permanently? With me.”

Naima turns to face him fully, leaning against the sink. “That means leaving Adara and Julien in Atlanta. Leaving Exotica. I know you’d love that,” she rolls her eyes.

Roman shrugs. “Well, it is your workplace, regardless of my feelings towards it. But we can figure that out together. Right?”

She exhales, crossing her arms. “I don’t know. I try not to think about it too much. Kinda feels like jinxing it.”

He pushes off the counter, narrowing the distance between them. “I get it. I just want you to know I’m serious about this. About us. I don’t care where you came from or what you’ve done. I just…I’m all in with you.”

Naima gazes at him, her chest tightening. “You sure you know what you’re gettin’ into, Reigns?” she whispers.

Roman grins, his hands finding her waist. “Baby girl, I’ve been sure pretty much since the day I met you.”

Her smile is wide and her heart feels impossibly full. “Guess I better go put your present on, then.”

Roman’s laughter echoes through the penthouse as she saunters off, her long legs carrying her toward his bedroom. “Don’t take too long,” he calls after her.

Ten minutes later, Naima’s heart is still racing with excitement. She can feel the heat of the shower still lingering on her body, buzzing with the anticipation of what is to come. Roman’s words echo in her head; “Don’t take too long.” 

A playful grin crosses her lips. It will definitely be worth the wait.

The silk robe is soft and gentle on her skin as she moves around the bedroom. The lights are dimmed just enough to set the mood. She reaches for the speaker, turning on a playlist full of sultry, slow R&B songs that she uses for her private dances. Usually, she has an audience of several, tossing dollars at her, hungry for more. Tonight, her audience consists of just one, the most important one; Roman Reigns himself, her man…her everything.

She stands in front of the full-length mirror and lets her long, damp hair cascade down her back, shimmering under the soft lighting. She takes a deep breath as she eyes her reflection, seeing a stark difference between the woman staring back at her and the one from seven years ago.

Well done, Naima. Well done.

She quickly goes to the gift bag she’d tucked away, pulling out the lingerie she had purchased specially for him—a festive red set with white fur trim and a playful Santa-inspired design. The bra and thong set hugs her curves perfectly, and she can feel herself getting wetter, more eager. She doesn’t need much of an excuse to get her man all worked up, but tonight? Tonight is different.

She peeks her head through the door and calls out to him, her voice low and teasing. “Baby, I need some help in here!”

As he enters the bedroom, his gaze immediately falls on her—no longer in the oversized sweater, but in blood red lingerie, looking like a vision. His mouth goes dry, his pants tightening as he drinks in the sight.

“Goddamn, baby girl,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with desire. He leans against the doorframe, his eyes scanning her, taking in the way the fabric clings to her slender body. “You look fucking incredible.”

“You like it, big daddy?” she asks, her voice dripping with temptation as she strikes a pose that extends her already long legs.

“Like it? I fucking love it,” he growls, his voice rough with desire. “But how the hell are you not tired from all the cooking?”

Naima’s lips curve into a sultry smile as she inches closer to him, her hips swaying with every step. “I’m never too tired to please you, Ro.”

Roman’s expression softens, but there’s a spark of something else in his eyes—anticipation. He doesn't respond at first, just watches as she takes his hand and leads him to the bed, motioning for him to sit. He obeys without question, his body already tingling with desire.

She walks over to the speakers and turns the volume up just enough. The sultry, slow beat of “To My Bed” by Chris Brown fills the room, its sensual tone ensconcing them both like a velvet blanket. She stands for a moment, letting the rhythm of the song take over her body. The satin fabric of her lingerie shimmers as she dances, her movements sensual and determined, drawing him in. There’s no rush from her—each motion is deliberate, designed to drive him crazy. 

Roman’s hands rest on his knees, gripping them tightly, the intensity in his gaze saying more than words can express. His breath quickens as she turns and gives him an eyeful of the thong that’s swallowed up by her fat, bountiful ass cheeks. Then, she slowly approaches him, her legs long and lithe, flexing with an effortless grace. She leans forward, pushing her chest in his face, her hands smoothing over his broad shoulders. 

“You like what you see, big guy?” she inquires, her voice low and smokier than her jollof, dripping with sex and authority, knowing she has him in the palm of her hand.

“Damn right I do,” Roman growls in response, his hands closing over her breasts, the tension in the air as thick as a storm about to break.

A slow smile plays across her lips, a smile that sends shivers through him. She reaches up and places a Santa hat on his head, her fingers brushing over his scalp before letting the hat sit on top.

“Guess you’re my Christmas gift, huh?” she teases, winking at him, her fingers lightly tapping the top of the hat.

Roman can’t help but snicker despite the lust pulsing through him. “You know it, mamas. Just unwrap me already.”

Naima stands in front of him for a moment, her body swaying, the sheer satin glistening against her skin as the lights of the room catches the fabric just right. Roman’s eyes roam over her, memorizing every inch. Her body, her long legs, that damn sexy smile of hers, the way she looks in the tiny underwear. She knows how to play him like a violin, and tonight he is her willing instrument.

Naima’s smile grows as she slowly unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the floor, exposing the breasts and pierced nipples that never fail to make his mouth water. She drops down low, then slowly rolls back up as her hands run over her curves, caressing herself. She hears his breathing getting heavier, and that only fuels her further. She lets the music take control, her body moving with a confidence that only Roman can bring out of her.

His eyes are glued to her, his expression a mix of lust and admiration. “You’re killing me, mamas,” he growls, his voice clogged with desire.

She stops for a moment, standing in front of him, her ample chest rising and falling with each breath. “Oh, I’m just getting started, big guy,” she purrs, her voice low and sultry. “You’ve been a good boy tonight, so I think you’ve earned a little something special.”

Roman chuckles darkly, his hands resting on the bed now, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “You’ve got no idea what I’m gonna do to you after this.”

Naima smirks, her confidence skyrocketing as his hungry stare stalks her every move. With her back to him, she sensually shimmies between his parted legs and lowers herself onto his lap. Her backside rests right on his crotch as she keeps moving, rolling her ass back and forth in a manner that makes his jaw clench. She throws a sly glance over her shoulder, catching the way his hands twitch, aching to touch her again.

“What’s the matter, big guy? Can’t handle it?” she taunts, her voice low and teasing.

Roman exhales sharply, his resolve crumbling as his hands shoot up to grab her waist. His fingers dig into her skin as she bounces her ass on him, the enticing rhythm making his entire body flare up with heat. “Goddamn, baby.”

Naima’s laugh is rich, full of mischief and lust as she presses back harder, causing him to groan. “That’s right, daddy, watch me throw this fat ass on you,” she moans, steadying herself with her hands on his knees while her hips and ass do all the talking.

Roman tilts his head back for a moment, shutting his eyes tightly as he feels himself throb from the near unbearable friction. “You keep this up and I’m not gonna last long,” he growls, reaching out to squeeze her backside wreaking havoc on his stiff crotch.

“That's the plan,” she shoots back, grinding against him some more before standing up abruptly, leaving him gaping at her like she’s just snatched his soul. “Gotta give Santa his Christmas dance,” she giggles, stepping back and twerking to the music again.

Roman licks his lips as he adjusts himself and the hat on his head. “Santa’s getting impatient, baby girl. You better finish that dance quick before I take what’s mine.”

Naima's eyes are fixated on her man as she tugs on the waistband of her thong and slips it down her legs, tossing it playfully at him which he catches easily. Her body is now completely bare, save for the light sheen of sweat that clings to her skin, making her glow. She straddles him again, leaning in so their noses almost touch. “What if I don’t wanna finish, big daddy?” she murmurs, her lips brushing his teasingly.

This time, Roman doesn’t hesitate. He grips her thighs and flips them over, pinning her beneath him. The bed shifts under their combined weight as he stares down at her, his smirk widening. “I know where I wanna finish,” he mutters, his voice catching right before he crushes his mouth to hers. His big hands eagerly roam her curves as he presses himself against her, the warmth of her naked body sparking a fire he can’t extinguish.

With a teasing grin, Naima pulls his sweater off him and helps him shove his pants down. Then, moving with surprising speed and strength, she rolls them over so she is back on top. Her hands smooth down his chest, running her fingers over the muscles of his abdomen, and she reaches down to grip his length, massaging him for a second or two before sliding him inside her. 

With a soft moan, she sits up and presses her hands on his chest, pinning him down as he drops his hands from her waist to her ass, squeezing the supple cheeks. His grip tightens as she rides him with the skill of an equestrian, her shapely hips rolling and rotating, seemingly spelling her name on him. He can feel her wetness seeping between them, the friction driving him crazy.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “You make me lose my fuckin' mind.”

Naima dips down, capturing his lips with a passion that sends fireworks off in his brain. The kiss is deep, intense—needy. Their tongues tangle with an urgency that speaks volumes to their never-ending lust for each other, Roman’s hips joining the frantic dance of want as he meets her halfway with deep thrusts right against her sweet spot. The scent of her perfume—something floral and warm—mingles with the sweet musk of desire, and his head spins from the intoxicating combination.

“Shit, Ro…” Naima moans. She grips the pillow behind Roman’s head as she pounces and bounces on his dick with increased urgency, the slickness of her pussy, the feel of him deep inside her, making everything feel like it’s about to explode. She lets out another breathy moan, her face nuzzling his neck, her heavy pants sprouting goosebumps on his skin. Roman’s breath catches in his throat as the feel of her beautiful body writhing on top of him, along with a dizzying myriad of sensations, nudges him closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” he growls, his eyes hazy with pleasure as he stares up at her, “Baby, I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

Naima smiles down at him, her hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves, her chest rising and falling in tandem with her rising and falling on his dick. She cups his face, gazing right into his eyes as she whispers, “Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

Roman’s eyes darken with lust. It’s the easiest confession he’ll ever make. “You're the best I’ve ever had, baby girl. By a mile. Don’t nobody fuck me like you do,” he professes.

Her body responds to his praise like a fine-tuned instrument. Her movements become faster, more desperate with every dropdown. Their foreheads press together, and she groans as he suddenly shifts and flips her underneath him. He hitches her legs higher around his waist and pumps into her determinedly, cursing as the new angle deepens his reach inside her. Overwhelmed, Naima's eyes squeeze shut, her fingernails in his back, swept away by the intensity of their passion, reverberating through the entire master bedroom as euphoria comes calling. The bed rocks harder from the force of Roman's thrusts, indescribable pleasure drawing them closer and closer.

“Open your eyes, Naima. Look at me when you come,” Roman coaxes her with a kiss, his voice almost pleading as his fingers brush along her stomach and find that sensitive spot between her legs. He toys with it, his personal pleasure button, playing with the sticky mess she’s made and luxuriating in the sounds of her shaky moans as he fucks her into the mattress.

Naima obeys and locks glazed, unfocused eyes with him, barely holding on as the world crescendos around them. Only a half-minute later, it all comes crashing down like a tidal wave—powerful, overwhelming, all-encompassing. Naima screams as her juices gush from the impact, all over his dick, her entire frame shaking with the bone-tingling intensity of her orgasm. Roman’s grip on her and on reality falters as her pussy tightens around him, sparking his release, his drenched dick pulsing and twitching as he fills her to the brim. They collapse together, panting and sweaty, spent and wrecked. He rolls onto his back and immediately pulls her close, his face buried in her hair as he struggles to catch his breath.

Naima lets out a contented sigh, smiling as she nestles against his chest. “Guess that was a Christmas gift for both of us, huh?” she murmurs.

Roman chuckles, his lips meeting her forehead. “You’re the best gift I could ever ask for, baby.”

She smiles up at him, her heart warm and full. “And you’re mine. You don’t know what you’ve done for me, Roman.”

And with one more heartfelt kiss, they cling to each other, their bodies still buzzing from the most beautiful experience, knowing that the holiday season has brought them even closer—if that was even possible.

🎄THE END...for now.🎄

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

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[geopsych]

Orchid leaves in winter. Taken in 2017, rattlesnake plantain leaves with ice.

[kcrossvine-art]

Hi fellow adventurers!! Welcome to chapter 2! We're going to be attempting a nice lil fruit-focused quiche/frittata/pie thing. And yes, tomatoes are fruits.

Who says you cant eat totally normal things in a dungeon with definitely no monsters in them? 

You know what that means; Man-Eating Plant Tart!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Man-Eating Plant Tart?” YOU MIGHT ASKThe way its prepared in the show is akin to a frittata, but the crust is borrowed from quiche world.

Eggs

Whole milk

Bell peppers

Persimmons

Cherry tomatoes

Pitted green olives

Thinly sliced OR shredded sweet potatos

Salt

Pepper

In the show they use leftover hotpot stock, slime, and mashed up fruit as the batter ingredients. Fruit mush is easy to work with but I couldn't find any stand-in for slime that would cook correctly into what they made in the show, and the hotpot stock is just not thick enough to carry the base. It is too many watery ingredients at once. Needing a thickening agent, both gelatin and agar agar were tried. It was edible but the texture was… gelatinous. Regular egg and milk will serve for our purposes.

The next complication was the crust- so in the show its made with the skins of fruit, straightforward yeah? Well. You see it also has to be 1. Thick enough to bake without burning 2. Harden through cooking to be sliced and held and 3. Inedible. Lotus leaves? Plantain leaves? Really thin gourds? I couldnt find any historical basis for a savory food cooked in this method, or similar method, with an intentionally inedible crust. I could find a few dishes which used leaves as their crust, but none that hardened during cooking and even less that used fruit skin. I chose sweet potato skin for its visual match and texture. It is edible, and it is not a fruit.

I hope youll forgive me for these 2 major deviations as i wanted to keep it looking how it does in the show while also ensuring it tastes good.

AND, “what does a Man-Eating Plant Tart taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKFluffy, airy, savory, salty.

The density of the eggs is offset by the crisp fruits

And the saltiness doesnt overpower the remnant fruit-sweetness

(If you eat the crust) the sweet potato brings this nice muted, smokey, flavor

Spongecake-esque in consistency

Would pair well with cranberry or strawberry juice

Would also pair well with a mellow hot sauce?

. You can use heavy cream instead of milk for a creamier batter . Roast the fruit longer to remove more liquid if too wet (and vice versa if too dry) . Smoked paprika, pepper flakes, cumin, garlic powder, and onion powder would taste good in the mixture

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

"A mixture of mashed up and cut up Man-Eating Plant fruit, slime and scorpion soup is poured into a pan lined with the flattened peel of the fruit and cooked before garnishing with some more fruit. Described as salty by the group."

From start to finish this recipe took 3-ish hours? Shredding the potatoes took the longest, so if you get them bagged itd be cut down. A very filling recipe and a good way to sneak veggies/fruits in if you have a hard time getting enough of those essential nutrients. The best advice i can give is to add salt/seasonings at every stage of the process, to build up layers. It makes a difference flavor-wise (even if its just salt). I advise against reheating if possible. The filling will make the crust soggy over time.

If you want to be closer to the cooking of the show, you could double the fruit amounts and mash them together while halving the amount of egg and milk. I hadnt tried due to budget reasons, but it should work with some finangling. I'll pass the final verdict off to you guys with how todays recipe turned out <333

What would you rate this recipe out of 10? (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Did you love it, did you hate it? What're your thoughts on what I could do better, and what would you have done instead?

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

3 Eggs

13oz whole milk

2 bell peppers

2 small persimmons

140oz cherry tomatoes

12oz pitted green olives

34oz thinly sliced OR shredded sweet potatos

Salt

Pepper

Method:

Heat oven to 420f and grease a 9-inch pie pan.

Thinly slice (or shred) your sweet potatoes and squeeze out any excess moisture. Coat in olive oil, salt and pepper.

Press sweet potato mixture evenly into and up the sides of the pie pan.

Blind bake for roughly 25 minutes or until lightly golden-brown. No worries if the edges get crisp.

Remove pie pan from oven and set aside.

Core and chop up your bell peppers and persimmons. Coat with olive oil, salt, and pepper.

Line out on a baking sheet, evenly spaced, and roast for roughly 20 minutes or until softened. (you can do this at the same time on a separate rack from the pie crust if you have room)

Remove the stems from your cherry tomatoes, and drain/dry your green olives if canned.

Bring a frying pan to medium heat with olive oil. Add the green olives and sautee until their skin texture starts dimpling. Add the cherry tomatoes and continue sauteeing for about 5 minutes or until lightly browned.

Once the bell peppers, persimmons, cherry tomatoes, and green olives are all done, set aside to cool until just above room temp.

Lower the oven temperature to 350f.

In a mixing bowl combine your eggs and milk, add salt to taste. If you want other seasonings nows a good time!

Once uniform in color and texture, add your cooked fruit. Stir until evenly distributed.

Pour mixture into the potato pie crust.

Bake for roughly 40 minutes. The filling should be mostly firm, but wiggle *slightly* when you shake the pan.

Remove from oven and let rest for roughly 15 minutes before serving.

[morethansalad]

Caribbean & South Indian-Inspired Plantain Chow Chow Curry / Chayote Stir Fry (Vegan)

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Just wanted to say I LOVE your work! Especially with the inclusion of a black reader/character 😭🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

This is a personal lil thought of mine, BUT

John Price wouldn’t say he was dating a black woman, but there would be signs. Even though his style would be fine beforehand, He’d be dressing nicer, his hair and beard would always be well groomed and overall put together.

I think Gaz would be the first to peep something different from his Captain cuz he recognizes the work of his own people lol

And you're right because suddenly this man's beard is lined up too nicely and that damn hat is gone. Check it below the cut love.

Rating: gen audience

It all started a few months ago with a simple, "Hey Captain?" Johnny says, "Nice cologne, the hens in the media bay can't stop talking about it."

Price only shrugged, not really paying attention, "Just trying something new."

Kyle agrees, it's new, and he thinks it fits his Captain nicely.

Then, things escalate from that one-off comment.

Kyle is perplexed. Confused. Genuinely thrown for a loop because why is his Captain sporting a tapered fade that connects tastefully to his beard? With the side burns fading into the connect?

Kyle just shruggs it off as someone at his boss' super cuts trying and talking him into something new.

Only the new hair style stays and there are plenty of women and men staring at him with lust filled eyes.

The next thing Kyle noticed was the glittering shine of a simple gold chain around John's neck. It's thin, and within regulations, the clasps are too small for his co's large hands to actually put on. Kyle peeps the little gold cross that's just dangling there when he leans over the desk to point out things in their mission dockets. Hm when did he find religion? It's not really his business.

Okay what the actual fuck? Kyle is wondering where John heard the phrase "Do I look like Boo Boo the fool" to be able to understand that he needs to not answer that question with anything other than "no ma'am". They are working with another task force that's headed by an older black woman who's a force to be reckoned with. But that's beside the point because, since when did he learn that and whom did he learn it from?

John Price isn't one to actually keep up with eating lunch at work. Kyle remembers having to drag and threaten and get Simon and Soap to help him get their leader to at least try and eat lunch and not work through it. Nowadays? This man brings in lunch, and it's not what you expect. What Kyle is expecting, well...he's not really sure what he is expecting, but seeing this man eat a fried plantain sends him.

It all comes to a head when the four of them are leaving a debrief. They are shipping out at the start of next week. Set to be gone for like maybe a few months. Johnny is begging asking for them all to go out for lunch and Price only raises an eyebrow.

"Can't today Soap." Price says as they exit the office building. His eyes scan the parking lot, and a smile breaks onto his face at the sight of a shiny black car. "I've got plans."

Now Kyle knows how to put two and two together to get four. He's had his suspicions, but the reality of John Price even dating never crosses his mind. He really thought it was just the effects of him and Soap teasing him for being an out of touch old man. But no...he crosses the parking lot and opens the car door to help out a gorgeous brown beauty. There's no telling how old she could be because Kyle knows black doesn't crack (he's often called baby face...its why he refuses to shave off the little facial hair he has). Johnny is shocked and Simon just grunts out a small "huh?" as they watch their captain help his girl into the passenger side of the car.

"In hindsight." Kyle smiles and says as they watch the car pull off, "That new cologne he started wearing months ago should have let us know far before the tapered fade."

[bluesidez]

The Love Lab presents:

One Bite for You, One Bite for Me

💗 THIS IS MY 100 200 300 FOLLOWER SPECIAL!

pairing: Miguel O’Hara x AFAB!Reader

summary: One of the things you and Miguel bond over is delicious food. One day, you notice that your clothes aren’t fitting like they used to. Miguel is there to remind you how beautiful you are.

content warning: established relationship but they’re not married, 18+ so MDNI, non-Spiderman Miguel, LOTS OF MENTIONS OF FOOD AND DRINKS, weight gain, cycles, insecurity about body, alcohol, body worship, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up 🫵🏾), cunnilingus, lots of praise, a little Spanish (if wrong please lmk)

credit for art + dividers: Me! + @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

a/n: This is actually the first fic I wrote when my Miguel hyperfixation came back in full force. I based it off of this video and a comment saying that girls are usually the ones that gain weight super quick in a relationship. Please know that gaining weight is not a bad thing, especially in this story. Relationship weight can be positive and food is here to nourish your body! Also know that everyone’s body is different. Our bodies will react to things in different, unique ways. If you’re ever feeling icky about your weight/health, please take a step back, breathe, and know that you’re beautiful no matter what. There are also sources out there that can help you if your thoughts overpower your heart. Please don’t hesitate to seek help.

word count: 4.3k

To all my food-lovers and fellow plus-size girlies, kisses to you! You’re beautiful!

SPRING 🥭

“Baby!”

You grinned as you heard Miguel’s shout from the front door. His voice had a giddy tilt as if he made a breakthrough in one of his projects.

“I was finally able to stop by the new Jamaican spot before they sold out and look what I got us,” Miguel says before he slides the take-out bags across the table. “Ribs, oxtails, rice and beans, mac, and your favorite…fried plantains!”

You quickly untie the bags, happy to have a break from your research paper, and immediately get hit with the smell of spices both sweet and savory. “Oh my god! That looks incredible.”

After frantically digging around for a plastic fork, you were finally able to pull a piece of meat off the oxtail. It looked mouth-watering and tender. One bite of the meat and you’re immediately groaning, slumped in your chair. You nod your head and scrunch your face, watching as the juice from the gravy soaks into the pieces of rice stuck at the bottom of the take-out plate.

“That is so fucking good, Mig. No wonder there’s never any combos left by the time you leave work.”

Miguel just watches you eat with a glint in his eyes, happy to see you so relaxed and enjoying the food. He reaches into the second bag, pulling out two bottles of juice, “And to make it better, I got their fruit juice, made fresh daily-”

“Passionfruit and mango flavor!” Your eyes got big as you jumped up and wrapped your arms around his neck. He knew how much of a juice fanatic you were, so this drink was just the cherry on top of the large ice cream sundae that was your generous boyfriend.

“Thank you, baby,” you giggled and gave his cheek a fat smooch. You patted his chest twice and moved back to set up the table, “Now, hurry and wash up so we can eat this before it gets cold! We’ve got shows to watch.”

“Entendido, I’ll be right back”

SUMMER 🍦

You and Miguel were walking hand in hand along the Cancun Hotel Zone, taking in all the sights. Miguel’s job had given him a promotion along with an extremely high bonus, so what better way to celebrate than to use his PTO and bring the love of his life on vacation?

Granted, the area you guys were currently in was a little touristy, borderline bougie, but it was all worth it when Miguel got to see your eyes light up as you watched the turquoise waves fade into white foam along the shoreline.

You wobbled a bit while clinging to Miguel’s side, a little tipsy from the frozen paloma you drank to pair with today’s lunch. It was a waterfront restaurant with a live band so the vibes were just right for a little bit of liquid fun.

The downside was that the two of you were supposed to meet up with Miguel’s family later that evening and while you were fine with the confidence boost you were sporting, you wanted to be more alert when speaking with loved ones. Plus, you needed to give a good impression to the relatives you hadn’t met yet. It will be nice to put a face to the names of Miguel’s childhood.

“What do you say we stop and get some ice cream?” Miguel suggested, chuckling at you when you grinned up at him, ecstatic over the proposed plan.

“You know me so well,” you said, arms reaching around his waist, face squished into the side of his chest. “I would absolutely love some ice cream. Cool me down from the inside.”

Miguel chuckled and kissed the top of your head. You were especially cute when you got like this.

FALL 🍕

“Baby, check this out,” Miguel shouted, finally returning to your table with your food.

The fair was packed full of people, especially due to the pop-up food truck festival happening that same week. You had never seen more people run to get fried turnip greens and loaded fries in your life.

Still, this was just another chance to hang out with Miguel. You really didn’t care where you went with him, as long as you got to see that pretty smile.

You look down at the table and see what he brought back. Before your eyes sat the most un-Miguel order ever: birria pizza and two walking tacos, one Hot Cheetos and the other Dorritos.

“Dorilocos, Miguel. Really?” you raised an eyebrow watching him try to steady the open chip bags over some spread-out napkins.

“Amor, don’t look at me like that! I had to get them because Gabriel kept talking my ear off about this new food truck that made them better than the ones we used to eat on our trips back home. I, for one, don’t believe that for a second, so what better way to test that theory than to eat it with my baby?” Miguel gave the saddest look he could muster and slid his hand across the table, trying to convince you to indulge with him.

“Fine, fine. Don’t give me that look,” you say, pulling off a slice of the pizza, making the cheese stretch as long as you can. “Just don’t complain to me from the bathroom while your stomach fights to digest something it hasn’t had in over a decade!”

Miguel pursed his lips while shoveling as much food as he could on one Doritto, “Shouldn’t I be the one telling you that? That’s a lot of cheese, babe.”

“Oh my god, some queso tears up my stomach one time and you can’t let that go, can you?”

“It was once and yet you were in agony about it for days. I think I’m allowed to remind you at least monthly.”

“Just eat your food and leave me and my iron stomach alone. We’ll see what happens between today and tomorrow,” you quip, pulling your phone out ready to record Miguel’s reaction to send to Gabriel.

Miguel takes a bite and just leans against the table, head slumped on his clean head.

“Dios mio, he was right. This can’t be happening,” he groaned, slightly annoyed that Gabriel wasn’t exaggerating. He was also shocked at the fact that someone even came close to getting the local snack right.

You giggled behind your phone, happy that his reaction worked in your favor. You zoomed in a little more on his face, capturing him smacking his lips and licking off excess sauce. He was so zoned in on his food that he didn’t even notice you with your phone up.

“Is it good, Mig?” you asked, mirth in your voice.

He looked at you ready to answer but his eyes snapped to your camera and started to whine, “Amor, please stop recording!”

With a small smile, you made sure to add the video to your folder full of Miguel. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You just look so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Miguel just mumbled to himself while stacking up another chip, neck heated over the interaction. “Here, just try this,” he said, holding a nacho close to your mouth.

You opened your mouth, just barely getting the chip in. Cupping your hand under your head, you begin to hum, the flavors all tangy, spicy, and savory. “I don’t know what your childhood Dorilocos tasted like, but this is really freaking good.”

“Just know that this one is only slightly better. By 0.00001% to be exact,” he said, rubbing sauce off of the corner of your lips and licking it off. The movement was muscle memory for him as he always liked to watch your face when you ate food, especially when it came to any nostalgic or homecooked dishes you never tried before. It warmed his heart to see you find comfort in his favorite foods.

“Well, I can tell you it’s 100% better than the ‘Taco Tuesday’ luncheon my job hosted last month. Nothing but unseasoned ground beef, endless black olives, and store-bought guacamole for two hours,” you respond, shuddering at the memory of soppy taco shells and your coworkers complaining about how spicy the mild salsa was.

“On second thought, this is absolutely a step up. Was the guacamole name brand at least?” He asked, peering up at you with a twist on his lips.

“I’m pretty sure it was a grocery store brand, so no.”

“Damn.”

WINTER 🍫

You were at your apartment in your bed, completely covered under the comforter with a fluffy blanket on top.

It was snowing heavily outside and you were freezing. However, your heater tended to make your apartment feel like a sauna, so you kept snatching the blanket off only to put it back on minutes later. Plus, your cycle was here. Your cramps left you lying on your side, rolling back and forth between the cool side of the bed and the warm side.

Physically, you were exhausted, but mentally, you knew you had so much to get done.

Christmas was just around the corner but you still had so many presents left to buy and wrap. Your job was doing the dreaded Secret Santa gift exchange and you were stuck wondering what gift would appeal to the stuck-up director in the accounting department.

You and Miguel were also hosting a small Christmas party amongst your friends, and there was still food left to buy. To top it all off, you were worried about your gift for Miguel, wondering if a silly little apron saying “Kiss me, I’m Irish” would hide the fact that you spent a ridiculous amount of money on some new tech he was eyeing.

You heard the apartment door open and close.

Knowing it was Miguel, you groan out dramatically.

He opens the bedroom door and peaks inside, “Baby?”

You just groan out again, “Everything hurts, Miggy.”

He comes up to bed and sits on the edge, “I know, amor. I’m sorry.” He bends down to kiss your head. “Want me to plug up the heat pack?”

“Yeah,” you say, leaning into his hands. When he gets up to grab the pack, you whine at his absence.

“I know, I know. I’m coming back,” he says, voice soothing.

Instead of turning the pack on, he removes your covers and sits back down on the edge. You shiver a little bit and he’s quick to cover your body with his, rubbing the top of your head as he kisses your temple.

“Are you feeling too bad to eat something for me?” Miguel asks, the timber of his voice settling you.

You shake your head and lean in closer to him.

“I think I want some food,” you reply, squeezing his body. “I haven’t eaten anything yet.”

Miguel tuts as he sits up and pulls you up with him, “That’s no good, baby. You have to eat so you can feel better. Your body needs it.”

You groan again and put your face in his neck, not wanting to move.

“Come on,” Miguel says, rubbing you from your back to your leg. “I got you some soup and a grilled cheese.”

“Did you get the stuff for the hot chocolate bar? For the party?” you whisper.

“Mm hm. Jumbo marshmallows included.”

You nuzzle his neck before you look at him, “Carry me to the kitchen?”

He makes a swift move to wrap your legs around his body and hike you up.

He gets up and holds you close, heading to the kitchen, “Let’s get some food in you, yeah?”

SPRING 🍇

The short spring break trip that Miguel surprised you with has been lovely. Miguel woke you with kisses down your body, taking you to the hilt with his mouth alone. You had to muffle your cries as to not disturb the neighbors in the inn. As his tongue danced inside of you, you gripped his hair with one hand and his head with your thighs. Miguel wouldn’t want it any other way.

After his first course, Miguel treated you to breakfast on the balcony. You two enjoyed looking over the horizon as you ate yogurt parfaits and fluffy omelets.

Later on, the two of you enjoyed a few tours of the vineyard and the city. The sights were beyond compare and the atmosphere was serene.

“Thank you so much for this Miguel,” you say, interrupting the silence.

“Anything for my lady,” he says back. “You’re doing great work this semester so you need the break.” Miguel stopped and turned to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You leaned up and kissed him, hands warm on the sides of his face.

You both started to makeout for so long that Miguel forgot about the massage he had planned for you before tonight’s farm-to-table dinner.

Needless to say, he laid you out on your bed and oiled your body down. Your head was in your arms as rubbed his hands up and down your back. His hands were heaven and you felt like puddy by the time he flipped you over.

After he massaged your inner thighs he pounded you into the mattress. Something you’re sure the hired masseuse would never be able to do.

Miguel joked and called it the Miguel Magic Massage when you asked if he offered this special regularly. The price? Being his cariño, his amor, his sweetheart.

By the time dinner started, you were glowing. You felt adored and the courses were amazing.

Miguel made sure everyone knew you were his. His hand never left your thigh the entire meal, staring down the older men sitting at the end table who were looking a little too long at the dip of your dress.

You were oblivious, feeding Miguel bites occasionally and humming at how fresh and delicious everything was.

After the last course was over, the men came to you all’s side of the table quickly. All of them started to make conversation with you, plugging in their businesses, and stuffing their business cards in your hands.

It was as if Miguel was invisible. He scowls deeper when they let out hearty laughs at something you said.

“Are you fellas here with your wives?” Miguel asked loudly, completely irritated. “My wife and I have really enjoyed our time here. It’s a beautiful place for couples.”

Some of the men went red in the face flustered at Miguel catching their scheme. Others just scowled, pissed off at being interrupted.

None of them could answer his question.

You looked at Miguel, eyes heavy and relaxed.

“You gentlemen have a great night,” you said, putting your hand in Miguel’s as he guided you to the exit.

“Your wife, huh?” you asked, core on fire. It was hot watching Miguel get so worked up over you.

“Baby, they were looking at you like you were some fresh meat. Like I wasn’t even sitting there,” he grumbled.

“One of them already offered to bring me on a cruise. He’s staying right next to us,” you say, standing outside your room as Miguel swipes his card at the door. You walked your fingers up his chest, heated over the grit you could see from his profile.

He was oh so upset.

“He’s next to us? Right here?” Miguel asked, voice low.

You nodded as you bit your lip, arm around his neck.

Miguel picked you up and dragged you to the bed. You giggled a little to yourself as he plopped you down. Mission accomplished. Silently, you thank those older men. If it weren’t for their overconfidence, Miguel wouldn’t have been tearing at your clothes like he us right now.

Miguel kept you up almost that whole night, making sure that the neighbors heard your cries. Those old geezers were sure to know his name by the next morning. Buying you a ring wasn’t enough. He needed a bat.

It was all worth it to see the tired and flushed looks of their faces when you all checked out the next day.

SUMMER 🍯

“What the fuck,” you mumble, looking down at the pair of jeans you were trying to put on.

It was early morning. You had a family reunion that you and Miguel would take a bit of a drive to get to.

You made sure that everything was packed the following night. Some clothes to stay for a few days, a few snacks for the road, a book for you to catch up on, and even a crossword puzzle book for Miguel.

You planned ahead. You were diligent. So why is it that when everything else is going right, your pants decide not to button up?

You pulled at the flaps once more, trying your hardest to connect the button with the hole. It fails as they slip from your grasp. You try again, sucking in your stomach as much as you could. You get the button to snap in this time, but it’s digging unbearably into your skin. The zipper fights against you as you try to pull it up.

You huff out in frustration and the pants snap open again.

Defeated, you let out a watery sigh and look in the mirror.

Your stomach was bigger than you last remembered, fupa a little more prominent. Your thighs were also a little thicker, the jeans hugging them a little tight. Your breasts looked a little big in your shirt. The family name stretches a bit more across your bust than the original design intended. Even your face was a little chubbier than normal. When was the last time your jaw was like this? High school?

When did you get like this?

You felt your throat start to burn, a sob building in your system. You’ve always been fine with your body, loving the dips and curves. Adoring your flaws and finding beauty in what society decides is not worthy.

You knew this. You knew that you were beautiful. Why was it so hard to get that thought into your conscience?

You felt the tears roll down as you peeled the jeans off of your legs. They were especially tight at your hips and you wondered how you even forced them past in the first place.

You didn’t know what to do. It was so hot outside, so you needed something comfortable, but those jeans…you had your mind set to wear those jeans.

You rummage through your closet in frustration, pushing and pulling the clothes across the rack.

By the time Miguel found you, you were squatting in the closet, hot tears covering your face.

“Babe, it’s been almost 30 minutes and we need to head out before the work traffic starts-”

Miguel stopped in the doorway as he noticed the state of the closet, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? ¿Que pasó, cariño?”

You wipe furiously at your face, sniffling loud as you hear Miguel push clothes to the side to get to you.

“My pants don’t fit. I don’t think anything else will fit either,” you say, stuttering out your words as Miguel gets to your side.

You let him pull you up into a standing position. You felt defeated.

Miguel looked at you and wiped away the tears that you missed. You feel horrible as your face scrunches up again, tears forming in your eyes.

“No, no, no,” Miguel says, hugging you close. “Listen to me. I know that this feels like a lot, but this is normal. Your body will always change with you. You’re still the same beautiful, gorgeous woman I met years ago and that’s not changing because you got some extra hips, baby.”

“But Miguel,” you say, voice so sad. “I feel like I just got those pants. And. Nothing else in here goes with this shirt. I’m scared that nothing else will fit-”

“And if that’s the case, I’ll buy you new clothes,” Miguel says, pressing kisses over your face. “If these clothes mean that much to you, I’ll take you to the gym. Let me work out with you, but until then, I’m loving your body as is.”

You stare at Miguel, heart beating at his revelation. He stared right back at you, daring you to question or challenge his words.

“Don’t beat yourself up over something like this. If anyone has ever let you feel insecure about your body, they’re an ass, let me deal with them. If I ever do anything to make you feel insecure, tell me. Yell at me. Question me, because as far as I’m concerned, that’s not me.”

He hiked you up on the closet island in the middle of the room. You shiver a bit as your naked legs hit the wood.

He leans closer, placing his hands on the side of you, “Now, let’s think. Don’t you have a pair of cargo shorts that match the ones I’m wearing right now?”

You whisper out a yes.

“Would you be ok with wearing those? I’m sure they fit perfectly.”

You say yes again, head leaning onto his. You could accessorize it perfectly. It would make a great couple’s look.

Miguel knew this much, he just had to get you to see it.

“I love you, ok?” he says, voice clear.

“I love you, too. Thank you,” you say.

“Anything for my girl,” Miguel says. “My beautiful girl. She’s just for me. I can’t believe it.”

Your heart beats faster as he starts to kiss down your body.

“Her face is so lovely.” A kiss to your cheek and your lips.

“She’s always working so hard.” A kiss to your neck and your collarbone. He pulls your shirt over your head.

“She makes me so happy.” A suck to your breasts as he unclasps your bra.

“Her body is beyond comparison.” A trail of kisses down your stomach, your belly twitching as his breath twinkles on along your skin. “Soft. Amazing. Irresistible.”

“Her thighs are my earmuffs.” A caress to your inner thighs. Your legs snap a bit, ticklish at his ministrations.

“Miguel?” you whimper out.

“I have to relax you before this ride. Can’t have you upset,” he says, kissing his way up your thighs to your panties. “May I?”

You nod your head, fingers grasping at nothing but then a flat surface.

Miguel was swift. He pulled your underwear down and kissed at your clit. You could only hold tight as he pulled your body forward and dove in.

It wasn’t long before you were shaking like a leaf. Miguel sucked at you for minutes, pulling a long orgasm out of your system.

He kneaded your thighs as you trembled around his tongue, humming as your legs squeezed tighter. That was the queue for him to go further, so he added his fingers to the mix, moving his mouth up so that his fingers could pump in and out of you.

It took all of your strength not to let your body drop off the other side of the island.

“Miggy, please,” you wailed. You wanted more.

Miguel looked up at you whining above him. You pull your legs up, holding your hands under your thighs, practically begging for him.

Miguel kissed up your body again. He was swift with removing his clothes. You still had to have these clothes fresh for later and Miguel was about to wear you out.

He moved to push himself inside of you, grunting as you gripped him.

He replaced your hands with his and pulled your legs up by his head. You balanced yourself on the island as he slowly started to thrust.

“So good. Just for me,” Miguel said, watching as your body moved with his movement. “Perfect. And all mine.”

You remained quiet, whimpering softly as he dragged against you.

“You heard me, hermosa?” Miguel said. “You’re beautiful. C’mon. Say it for me.”

“I’m,” you stopped, mind foggy. You didn’t know how you were supposed to respond when he was going so deep.

“Say it.”

You cried out as he snapped harder, “I’m beautiful.”

“That’s right baby,” Miguel praises you, bending further to give you a kiss. “So amazing.”

He praised you until you finished, squeezing at any of you that he got his hands. By the time he was done, your arms felt like jelly from holding you up.

He carried you to the bathroom for a quick shower, never stopping his reassurances of you.

You guys made it in the car an hour and a half off schedule, but it was worth it for the uplifted way you carried yourself throughout the day.

It was worth it to see you happy and healthy.

By the time you made it to the reunion, it was like you were born anew. You greeted your family with smiles and laughter. Miguel couldn’t help but to cheese watching you do your thing.

He felt his heart soar as you caught up with family. Your smile was the biggest as you were out on the floor line dancing your heart out. He was right up behind you when Outstanding came on. The song was really a declaration of how he felt about you.

You giggled as he crooned in your ear.

“You light my fire,” he sang, swinging your hips in time with his.

“I feel alive with you, baby,” he spins you around to him, a smile on his face.

“You blow my mind,” he pulled you out and back in.

“I’m satisfied,” you squeal as he spins you in the air and puts you back down to keep dancing.

Outstanding. You really knock him out.

Another season where Miguel adored you more.

Another season where Miguel wanted you to be forever his.

Another season where he made sure he fed you well.

Another season of you making his heart pound.

Another season of your love reaching to the fullest.

Miguel was excited for the next season with you.

As always, I hope you enjoyed reading! 💗

Any likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated. Let me know how you feel! 🥺🧁

Until next time,

-Lauro 💗