#Always making things into “something valuable for work”

[artificial-transmutations]

Three days to midsummer: Prologue

A bead of sweat traveled down Jörgen's brow as he carefully looked down the corridor, left and right. He knew he was safe here from the cameras, and the watchman wouldn't make his round for another fifteen minutes, so it was safe to take a quick break and wipe the sweat away. It was a week after the middle of June, and although it was already dark, the summer heat of the day still hung in the corridors of the museum. This was good one hand; everyone was either distracted by the heat, asleep or already in preparation for the upcoming celebration. On the other hand, Jörgen wore tight black clothing from head to toe that damply clung to his body when he moved. Still, it was the ideal opportunity for the heist. The idea to sabotage the AC unit had looked good on paper - and it probably was - to keep the watchman distracted, but it also made his own job harder.

Pulling himself together, he put the ski mask back on - for the off chance he had missed a camera - and stepped into the exhibition room. There it was, the pride of the Stockholm museum for crafts: a pair of silver bracelets forming a complicated, ornate pattern. Valuable enough to sell them for a good amount, but with no historical significance or wider popularity, to cause a lot of trouble afterwards. He stepped forward to the pedestal, took out his glasscutter, and started working on the glass panel. Even though the cameras were off, he still had to be quick about it. As always in his job, the smallest mistake could have dire consequences.

Finally, the glass was cut, with an almost inaudible 'pling', and the treasure was in his grasp. Carefully, he lifted the bracelet and placed it into his pocket. It was a beautiful piece of art, really. Too bad he couldn't keep it for himself.

Suddenly, his professional focus was interrupted by a warm glow on his neck, and he spun around, startled and blinking. Gone was the midnight darkness of the museum, and instead...

Jörgen looked around in utter confusion. He was standing in some kind of garden or park, with flowers and the remnants of some old walls scattered around the place. And it was sunny. This couldn't be! Given, it was close to the summer solstice, and the days were long, but this was high noon sun shining down warmly on him.

"Well. Look at that. How curious."

Jörgen almost jumped at the foreign voice. It was warm and rich like honey, flowing effortlessly in a sing-song melody that belonged to the man behind him. He was tall and muscular, with white hair and an almost perfect body that was only stressed by the thin glittering fabric draped around his hips, accentuating the ample bulge more than hiding it. But that wasn't the most unusual thing about the other guy. Behind his back, flapping idly in the breeze, was a pair of elegant, glittering blue wings. Like a butterfly or...

"It's been in a while since I had visitors. What's your name, mortal?"

"Mortal? What? What the fuck? Where am I? Who are you?!"

The impossible man smirked, uncrossing his arms and walking slowly towards him, licking his lips unnervingly.

"Oh, how rude of you. I like it. Very well. I'm Zephir. Prince Zephir, of the Summer Realm, to be exact. And I believe you," he pointed a finger at Jörgen, and he could have sworn to see colorful light particles dancing around it, "have not only trespassed into my realm, but you also carry something that once belonged to me. Perhaps you have stolen it? Now. Please tell me your name."

A few colorful sparks hit Jörgen's chest and suddenly, he felt his tongue move on its own accord.

"Jör... Jörgen." he muttered. Damn. He should have kept his mouth shut, but he couldn't.

"I see... Jörgen."

He didn't like the way the self-proclaimed prince was rolling his name around in his mouth as if tasting it.

"Are you... I mean, are you really a -"

"A fairy?" Zephir sighed theatrically. "Yes. And, as I have mentioned, not just any ordinary fairy, but royalty. But enough of that. Why don't you take out the bracelets you have stolen?"

This time, Jörgen didn't need any magical sparks to compel him, and he took out the silver bracelets, gulping.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know they belonged to you..."

"Oh, I'm sure of that," Zephir interrupted him, "but you were aware they belonged to someone, right? Well, to be quite exact, they don't belong to me either. I gave them to a lover I met so many years ago. It's a melancholic memory. We shared so many wonderful hours, and yet... mortal lives are so... fleeting. It's a tragedy."

Jörgen didn't know how to react. At least the fairy prince didn't seem too... upset?

"I'm sorry. She must have meant a lot to you. Please, you can take them back, as a memento."

Zephir, who had apparently been lost in thoughts looked up, and a rather mischievous smile crept on his face.

"Oh, yes. He was a wonderful lover, but that is history now. You, on the other hand..."

Blue wings idly flapped as Zephir circled around Jörgen.

"You are here now, and I believe you will prove rather... entertaining. Keep them. Better yet, put them on."

When Jörgen didn't react directly, Zephir snapped his fingers impatiently and a small shower of sparks rained onto the man, who quickly slipped the bracelets onto his upper arm, where they fit perfectly.

"Much better. See, we're not so different. You and me, both thieves, in a way. Only while you steal jewelry, I steal hearts. Now, here is my game. You see, in only three days, it's midsummer. And - coincidentally - my birthday. I have enchanted these bracelets so you can't take them off anymore. Over the course of the next three days, they will change you, body and mind, into my perfect birthday gift. A plaything, always ready to provide entertainment, always... horny."

The way he pronounced 'horny' didn't sound good. Jörgen felt a cold shiver run down his back.

"What? No! That's not fair! You can't do that to me!"

Zephir blinked.

"Oh, yes, I can. But you're right, that wouldn't be very fair indeed. So, here is the deal. If you happen to find true love - the man who you can love with all your heart and he loves you - then and only then shall the enchantment be lifted."

This was so absurd, Jörgen had to laugh out.

"What? That's impossible! First of all, I'm not gay. I love women, do you understand? And what the fuck? Three days? That's not possible!"

Zephir chuckled, seemingly amused by his predicament.

"You will have to find a way - or submit to my whims. And as for your preference for women... I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you. In any case. My conditions are clear; the enchantment is sealed. Good luck finding someone who can put up with your... needs. I know I will be watching your struggle with great interest."

With another snap of his fingers, the world turned black again, and Jörgen found himself dreaming.

He was dancing, in a club he recognized, like many times before. But something was different. The dancefloor was crowded, and it was hot and sticky, but when he looked around, he noticed that every single person in the place was male. And they were all moving, gyrating to the music, grinding their half-naked bodies against each other, and against Jörgen, as well! He had never had a dream so intense and for a moment, he wasn't even sure it was a dream at all. He could smell the sweat, he could hear the music, he could see those bulging muscles, those perfect abs and those thick bulges, barely contained behind fabric. To his horror, Jörgen found himself mimicking the movements, grinding his own body against the other guests and...

No! He needed to get out! Now! He pushed his way through the crowd, not without noticing the looks and the whistles he was getting, but he didn't care. He needed to leave, to get out and breathe the cold air. It was just a dream, but his head was spinning and his cock was painfully erect and...

Finally, he found a door and stumbled through, but it only got worse. Behind it was not the saving outside, but a room that was barely lit at all. There were fewer men in here, which was good, but the relief was short-lived. In the darkness, several decidedly male figures were moaning, and moving and...

A pair of hands grabbed his body and pulled him against a wall. Several others joined them, roaming over his chest and his ass and he felt his shirt being torn open and strong fingers entering his pants and...

With a scream, Jörgen woke up, and needed several moments before he realized he was at home, in his bed. His heartbeat slowed as the first light of the morning was pouring into his bedroom. Then, he noticed three things:

First, his bedsheets were tented and wet from his morning wood and a rather intense nocturnal orgasm.

Second, there on his upper arms were the two silver bracelets, glittering innocently in the light of the rising sun.

And third, his body didn't look like it was supposed to. The changes were subtle, but if his eyes didn't play tricks on him, he was just a little more defined, the tent under his sheets slightly bigger, his chest had a bit more hair to it...

Realization dawned on him. The fairy prince, the bracelets, the dream - it had all been real, and he was already changing. Zephir's curse was real. And if he didn't find some imaginary true love in the next three days, that pervert fairy would do God-knows-what with him!

"Fuck!" he muttered.

What was he supposed to do?

I've always wanted to do a poll-style story! Enjoy this 4-parter where you help the fairy prince to spread mayhem by your choices!

[kyoshithewriter]

Babyboy.

wc: 4.1k

Warnings: smut (18+)

A/n: And just a little one shot for a special mutual who commissioned this (thank you girlie and I hope I didn’t disappoint🫶🏾)

Camila rolls her eyes as she’s immediately bombarded with the sounds of yelling and rambunctious laughter when she pulls into her apartment’s parking lot. She had one of the most exhausting days today; work is usually a handful, especially in her position as CFO of a highly successful company. But life had taken a toll for her recently, Camila had been so distracted by her familial struggles that she forgot about the presentation she had to make today. She stayed up until 4 am this morning after the CEO had sent her an email with a gentle reminder yesterday afternoon that made her heart physically drop to her ass. As anyone would expect, it was rushed and a little sloppy and many noticed. But they know that’s not her usual way, and they understand that she has been going through something heavy lately so she wasn’t chastised. Still, Camila hates feeling incompetent and hates the feeling of embarrassment even more. The sharp, intense throbbing at her temples and dry, red eyes are lingering reminders of how much she sobbed in her company’s underground garage for almost thirty minutes before making a quick stop at the grocery store and finally driving home. She longs for a warm bath as well as some warm, creamy pasta with a well chilled glass of wine. Maybe another crying session to get today all out of her system. But first, she’ll have to pass that dreaded basketball court. The basketball court that’s occupied most evenings by a group of five friends hooping until the sun dips over the horizon and the moon takes its place. The group of friends who always show their appreciation for her every evening she struts past the court on her way to the apartment building. All except one.

“Fuck.” It’s whispered to herself while she steps out of her car. Reaching for her bags and laptop, Camila deepens the scowl on her face as she slams the door shut. Trying to balance all the load in her hands is a struggle, but she’s determined to make it work. The heels on her feet that add another four inches to her 5’5 frame move surely across the asphalt.

“There she goes… hey mami.”

Camila does what she usually does when she’s not in the mood to be polite… ignore them. Keeping her gaze straight ahead, she continues her brisk walk toward the building; she knows they’re young, not an excuse for their behaviour but she just knows what to expect. On top of that, she knows what she looks like. Camila is no egomaniac, but her body is curvy in the right places and the outfits she wears to work complements her frame in the best way possible. Her curly hair is always moisturized and styled nicely and her light makeup enhances doll-like features just right. Besides, they haven’t been overly aggressive or crass. They overheard her speaking Spanish on the phone to her family back home once and the nickname ‘mami’ stuck. Her determination to keep her gaze straight ahead backfires when her right heel catches on a pebble. A small, helpless scream comes tumbling out her mouth as she stumbles. Camila is quick to right herself before face planting on the ground but at the cost of some of the things that she held in her hands. The expression on her face is one akin to horror watching her laptop clatter to the floor.

“No… no no no no.”

Camila drops to her knees uncaring of her bags they lay scattered across the floor. Her laptop is one of her most valuable possessions. Not only because of all the work she does on it, but because it was a gift from her mother. She doesn’t care that it's an almost outdated model— Camila carries it around with pride, despite the fact that it sometimes overheats, despite the fact that it lags and glitches. She treasures it and now it’s probably ruined. The tears are immediate; they blur her vision trail down her cheeks relentlessly. So much so that she doesn’t notice the figure scaling the chain linked fence and hurrying over to her side.

Gentle hands tentatively reach for her own that cradle the laptop with the screen smashed. “Hey, it’s oka-”

“Don’t touch me! It’s not okay! It’s ruined.” She sobs noisily around the words.

“It’s ruined and my mother gifted it to me and-”

“Hey. I’ll fix it. I promise I will.”

The steely determination in his voice makes her look up at him. It’s the one who lives in the building and invites his friends here to play. He’s the one who usually stays quiet and stares rather than join his friends in their attempts to get her attention. The brown skinned man has the most beautiful, big brown eyes. His nose and mouth are small and suit his slender oval shaped face well. The medium sized dreads fall into his face and frame it nicely. His wife beater clings to his skin with sweat and shows off his broad shoulders and toned abs. He’s gorgeous and Camila has always noticed but she just refused to acknowledge it. Being a woman in her 30s, she refuses to be swayed by younger men. She’s at the period of her life where she’s looking for something serious: dates, romance, marriage and eventually kids. Most men his age (she guesses he is about 24 or 25) aren’t looking to commit.

Sniveling, she stares at him skeptically. “Can you really fix it?”

He nods; “Give me two days.”

Camila notices then that his voice is lilted heavily with an accent. French, if she isn’t mistaken.

“Okay.”

He helps her gather her things in silence but keeps the laptop under his arm.

“Let me help you.” He reaches for one of her bags.

After a moment of brief hesitation, she allows him to take the bag of groceries from her hand.

“Thank you.”

He only nods in acknowledgment. Camila leads the way inside the lobby where he joins her in the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor with surety. He knows where she stays because they live on the same floor. Camila has seen him around but she’s usually quick to avert her gaze terrified of the awkward ‘hellos’ and his heavy gazes. She’s not sure if it’s because his eyes are so prominent why his stares feel so piercing but they shake her to her very core.

“I’m Jules, by the way.” He says evenly without glancing back at her.

“Oh, I’m Camila.” She mumbles softly.

“Sorry about my friends. I asked them to stop but they don’t understand that not everyone likes to play around like they do. They’re harmless, I promise. And after today I know they’ll apologize.”

“Uh… yea they’re usually easy to ignore but today was just so heavy and I… sorry for breaking down like that.” Camila knows she’s an emotional person; she has always been. Her first instinct to every situation is tears— whether she’s happy, sad, excited, angry or frustrated, the tears come first.

“Don’t apologize. Tears aren't a weakness.”

Camila is momentarily stunned. “I know but even I can admit that I cry a lot.”

He laughs softly at her bashful expression. “Cute.”

One word and it makes her belly flip and her heart flutter. The sensations sober her up immediately; she can’t allow them to toe that very thin line between friendly chatter and flirting.

She clears her throat loudly; “How much to fix my laptop? You’ll probably have to replace the screen right?”

He eyes her intently for a second. Almost as if he can hear her very thoughts and knows exactly what she’s trying to do. “I’ll let you know when I’m finished with it.”

“Are you sure you can fix it? How are you so confident that you can?”

“I work in IT.”

“Oh. That’s cool.”

The elevator doors finally slide open and they both exit the small space.

“I’m fine from here.” She reaches to gently remove her bag from his hand.

“Are you sure? I could walk you to your door.”

Camila shakes her head vehemently. “It’s okay. Thank you.”

Jules nods his head but watches her walk away without moving an inch until she’s safely inside her apartment four doors down from the elevator.

*********

True to his word, Jules’ friends offer heartfelt apologies the next day with even a bottle of pink moscato thrown in to express their regret.

“Thank you.” She smiles shyly at them who hang their heads like thoroughly chastised kittens. It’s almost amusing.

“Uh, we were doing it mostly to tease Jules because we know he has a-” the man who introduced himself as Nick suddenly trails off in a painful wheeze as Brandon throws an elbow to his ribs.

“We were just being dick heads and we’re sorry.” Brandon immediately chimes in with a smile that’s a little too wide. The other two chortle just behind at the chaotic exchange.

“Uh… okay. Well, um… I’ll see you around?”

All except for Nick nod eagerly, he’s still rubbing at the tender spot on his ribs while glaring daggers at Brandon.

A few hours later, while Camila is applying the last of her skincare products to her face, there’s a firm knock on her apartment door. Cautiously making her way to her door, she looks through the peephole and the tension melts from her body when a very familiar face comes into view. Jules is the picture of calm with her laptop in hand.

“You already fixed it? But you said you needed two days.” She says in awe while tentatively reaching for it.

“Uh…model is common so the screen was easy to source. I also cleaned the motherboard so it should stop overheating.” His eyes linger on her body in the dark blue, silk chemise. It falls just to the tops of her thighs and shows off her nipples that’s pebbled from the cool air.

“Thank you so much. How much do I owe you? I’ll double whatever you charge.”

Jules eyes her with something dark behind his stare.

“Odd request, but could I perhaps have some food? I spent the entire day focusing on this and missed dinner.”

Camila gasps dramatically. “Of course! I was just about to put away the stew I had left over in the fridge.” She hurries to let him in, already in mama hen mode at the thought of him being hungry. Jules sits patiently while Camila reheats the food. The spices intermingle with her scent of something sweet like plums and vanilla; he immediately figures she uses scented candles throughout the clean space. There’s a framed, grainy picture of her when she was younger grinning at the camera on the lap of a woman who she clearly got her looks from. Camila re-emerges from her kitchen with a green porcelain bowl filled with white rice smothered by beans and what looks to be various kinds of meat and some vegetables. His mouth waters; but he places the dish on the small coffee table in front of him.

“What is it? You don’t like beans? I could make you a sandwich-”

“Non. This looks very delicious, I’ll get to it in a second.”

“Oh, is everything alright?” Her voice is soft and melodious. She’s so beautiful and has been driving him crazy since she first moved her eight months ago. He’s always admiring from afar; she’s all woman. The way she walks, the way she talks, the ‘no- nonsense’ expression on her face as she struts through the building in her heels. He already has an idea of who exactly she is: maybe older than him and independent—the kind of woman who maybe grew up with younger siblings that she had to keep in line.

“Let me take you out.” The words are accidentally blurted from his mouth. He intended for his approach to be more refined, so he sounds more mature. He wants to impress her so badly; it’s why he fixed the laptop in a day rather than two. He knows she’s the kind of woman who takes those sorts of things into consideration. He’s useful, he keeps his promises, he delivers and he’s efficient in it. ‘I can take care of you.’

Camila groans. “Jules please don’t-”

“Don’t overthink it. Just one date. If I’m not what you’re looking for then I’ll leave you alone.”

“How old are you even?” She cocks her hips, eyeing him with skepticism.

“26.” He replies smoothly.

“Older than I thought but still… Jules I’m 31. I’m grown and looking for something very serious-”

“So am I.” He immediately counters.

Camila pauses to size him up. “So a lot of younger guys say and then I find out they can’t handle me.”

“I can handle you in any way you want me to, bébé.”

The confidence oozing from his tone, the scorching look he fixes her with, it’s all too much. She hasn’t been laid in a very long time and her body reminds her of the fact. Her skin burns, her nipples tighten and her belly clenches.

“And how do I know that for sure?” She blinks up at him as he stands to tower over her.

“Let me show you.”

Camila is ashamed to admit how eagerly her body responds. She nods slowly, watching him approach.

He invades her personal space, staring down at her pretty, flustered face. “Let’s make a deal though, Camila.”

She nods dumbly.

“After I… handle you well enough, then you let me take you to dinner.” Confidence clings to every word.

She breathes in his every exhale like a woman starved. “And how will you know if I’m thoroughly… handled?”

“I’ll know.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, he captures her lips in a kiss. His lips are plush and warm, and he’s unhurried with his movements. Just testing the waters. Camila presses her body against him eagerly. His hands lightly skim at her arms, her sides with gentle caresses that pull a little moan from her lips. Jules uses the opportunity to slip his tongue in her open mouth to teasingly explore every crevice of her warmth. There’s a hint of mint that mingles with her own unique taste that makes him groan. He trails his hands in the small space between their bodies to gently flick at her nipples over the soft material of her chemise.

“Mhmmm, Jules.” She whines on a breath trying to move against him.

Jules slips his flexed right thigh between her legs and Camila wastes no time in grinding against it. Her breath stutters, mouth falling agape as she moves against him with enthusiasm. He pulls away from her searching mouth to plant open mouthed kisses along the length of her neck. Nimble fingers grasp at the hem of her chemise to gingerly pull it up her legs.

“You’re so desperate already and I barely touched you, hm?”

Camila whines in response, body strung too high on arousal to feel shame for eager reaction to him. He steps away from her briefly to pull the chemise over her head. She blinks up at him, thighs squeezing together. Her caramel skin is littered with a few red blotches; she’s so worked up already and so so beautiful. Jules takes his time to eye her, rubbing at his goatee appreciatively.

“Jules, please… I want- I need you.”

“Is that so, baby? You need me?”

His voice rumbles so deliciously from his chest. Camila nods, eyeing him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Go kneel on the couch, pretty. Face down, ass up.”

Camila scrambles to obey his command. She’s a panting mess as she lies there. Her skin buzzes in anticipation while she waits, she can’t see what he’s doing behind her back and it heightens her arousal tenfold.

“You’ve soaked your panties all the way through from some kissing and grinding, Camila?” He tutts teasingly at her.

Burying her face further in the cushions of her couch, she whines in lieu of responding. Jules wastes no time in kneeling behind and sliding her panties down her legs torturously slow. To tease. To build the anticipation he can feel vibrating off her tensed body. Her pussy blooms before him like a flower: soft, sweet and glistening. Her clit is swollen and sticks out from between her folds, begging for attention.

“So fucking perfect.” He presses a thumb against it and Camila mewls in response. Leaning closer to her folds, he takes a greedy inhale. Her musky scent makes all the blood in his body travel south. He’s hard as marble, but he has a point to prove; so he ignores his own need and leans in to lick a slow stripe along the length of her slit. The wet, warm glide of her most intimate part against his tongue is so heady that he groans gutturally. Her little moan in response is so sweet that he’s forced to bring his hips forward against the couch to take some of the edge off.

Camila grips onto the cushions for dear life as he Jules starts lapping at her pussy like a man possessed. He alternates between suckling softly on her clit and licking his way up her slip to tease at her entrance.

“Fuck, Jules. Don’t stop.” She moans, pushing back against his relentless mouth. He brings his thumb to press firmly against her engorged clit while he finally dips his tongue inside her. Camila’s eyes roll to the back of her head. It’s all so wet— on the sloppier side just the way she likes it that most men she had before failed to deliver. Jules is bold in the way he spits, slurps and groans against her slick flesh. The sensation that another man hasn’t given her in so long begins to creep in. Camila always had the idea that older men would be better in bed and just thought she had been unlucky with the few she stumbled across in recent years because they never managed to make her feel good. Not even close to the way this man five years her junior is making her feel. Jules is fucking with her in more ways than he even realizes.

“Jules, baby… you’re gonna make me…” she trails off on a sob at a particularly harsher suck on her swollen bud. He groans loudly and the vibrations tip her over the edge. Camila’s toes curl painfully and a soft little scream is ripped from her throat as she peaks. The pressure that almost felt like it would burst from her body snaps so deliciously; her clit throbs wildly in the safe warm cavern of his mouth. She rocks her hips against his face wildly, reaching back to grip at his hair. Jules takes it all in stride, allowing her to ride her high until he screams turn to soft moans then gentle little hiccups. He laps at her languidly as she twitches on his tongue. Then drags the wet muscle all the way up between her plump ass cheeks to tease at her rim a little. Camila jolts and moans wantonly.

“Fuck, Jules. So good. Wanna kiss you.”

He hums, releasing his grip on her thighs. Camila sits up on trembling legs to scramble hastily in his direction. His face is absolutely drenched with a mixture of her essence and his saliva. Cupping his face gently, she pulls him in for a sloppy kiss; licking away at the wetness on his face in between pressing her lips against his.

“Please fuck me. Need it. Need you.”

“Fuck, need you more, baby. You don’t even know, Camila. Wanted you for so long.” He hurries to strip out of his shirt and sweatpants. Jules retrieves a condom from his wallet. Camila drinks in the sight of him greedily. His broad shoulders, narrowed waist and prominent abs are all mouthwatering. But what makes her moan almost longingly is the sight of his length. Brown, hard, thick and just about average in length. The tip is red and oozing. Ready. He rolls the condom on smoothly.

“Spread your legs, baby.”

Lying flat on her back, Camila draws her knees into her chest and spreads her legs open for him. Jules climbs onto the couch. There’s an air of impatience around him as he lines himself up at her entrance. Camila moans when he presses against her opening; the gentle pressure gives way as her body opens up to swallow him greedily. They both moan when he bottoms out.

“Jules, so full.” It’s said around a pitiful sob.

He places an open palm against her lower belly then begins to rock his hips. Jules hisses, feeling the slight bulge of him inside her beneath his palm.

“Fuck, so good bébé. I’m gonna take such good care of you.” And Jules doesn’t just mean right here in this moment. He wants to be the man who fulfills her every need no matter how grand or how trivial.

Camila keens when he angles his slightly to the left while increasing the pressure of his palm against her belly. She’s so wet that the sound of him gliding through her is like water. Her slick essence clings to his dick every time he pulls all the way to her entrance to plunge back deep inside her body. Her right leg kicks out a particularly deep thrust; Jules captures it to kiss and lick at her ankle.

“Jeez… don’t stop. Fuck me just like that baby boy.”

Camila is so overwhelmed by pleasure that she can’t even feel embarrassed for the term of endearment. But Jules. Jules curses out loud with a deep groan. He likes that. He wants to be her baby boy. He wants to hear those words from her mouth again and again. Closing his mouth around her big toe, he suckles on her clean skin like it’s something to savour and quickens the pace of his hips.

Camila shrieks as the familiar sensation charges at her. All the men she has been with, no matter how grown, as ever treated her entire body as something to be worshipped. It’s not only the feeling of his warm eager mouth but the visual of it. He looks to be savouring the very taste of her skin. The rhythmic clenching around his dick alerts him that she’s close.

“Jules…” she sobs.

He presses against her lower belly harder. The added pressure steals the very breath from her lungs. Camila grunts helplessly as the orgasm tears through her body. Jules keeps going, chasing his own high, uncaring of how she splashes and wets even his face.

“That’s it, bébé. Shit.”

Her breaths are ragged and her legs tremble like leaves beneath his body.

“Jules, too much.” She cries out when her voice finally returns, her body quivering as he draws out the orgasm still fucking deep into her overstimulated body.

“You’re a big girl. You can take it, hm?”

Jules folds his body over hers, burying his face in the crook of her neck as his thrusts grow harder. Tears leak from her eyes as he keeps pressing against that spot inside her that no man has ever cared to find.

“Shit… I might come again.” She cries weakly.

“Do it, baby. Show me how much you love it.” He trails off into a sultry ramble of French that forces another orgasm from her overwhelmed body. She clings to him desperately as she whimpers, spasming around him. His thrusts grow sloppy above her as he moans loudly.

“Fuck, Camila. Say it again.”

And he doesn’t even have to say it. She already knows. “So good baby boy. Best I ever had.”

Jules moans from the pit of his belly before his hips stutter. Camila clenches around him as he warms the condom deep inside her body, wracked reverent whispers of praises leaving her lips. She calls him ‘baby boy’ again and his moan muffled in her neck sounds almost pained. Camila lies there in a daze with the weight of him pleasant against her chest. Their erratic breaths eventually slow to match each other’s in content, satisfied unison. Jules pulls away from her neck to stare at her wrecked face. She expected to find his expression smug; he talked the talked and oh did he walk it. Instead, he eyes her with some almost tender shimmering in those big brown eyes that she knows will cause her many problems in the future. The future.

“Friday. 7 pm and Chez Marie.” Not a request or demand. A statement. He handled his business and they both know it.

She nods almost dumbly. “Uh huh.”

He presses a gentle kiss on her lips. “Good. I’m your baby boy now.” He smirks at her bashful expression before resting his head against her chest again.

And Camila. Camila really likes the sound of that.

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 3: EARTH

“I can’t do this.”

It’s late at night, or whatever the Altean castleship equivalent of night is, and Lance and Pidge are seated in the living room. Lance is sideways across the couch, tapping away on his portable game with a blue lollipop from a strange planet dangling from his mouth. Pidge is on the ground with her back to him, hunched over her laptop.

“Can’t do what?” Lance asks, scrunching his brows at a particularly hard level. Damn, he hates the sneezle-snorps.

“I can’t figure out the bug in my code for tomorrow’s mission!” Pidge shoves her fist against the keyboard forcefully. Instantly, Lance’s attention snaps to stare at her. Even at her most frustrating moments, Pidge is always delicate with her tech. Most of it is valuable, irreplaceable due to their distant travels.

“Whoa, deep breath,” Lance starts as he puts down his device. He leans down to hang his head and arms over by his younger teammate. “I’m sure you’ll get there eventually.”

“But if I don’t, who will?” Pidge snaps. She presses the heels of her hands into her dark-ringed eyes. Now that he can get a closer look, it’s easier for Lance to pick up on the small details he’d missed before. For one thing, she looks far too pale, skin reflecting the castle lights dully.

More noticeably, her shirt is on inside out. Lance flicks the tag absentmindedly, but Pidge doesn’t notice.

“I have to fix this now,” she hisses, deleting the lines of gibberish her outburst had typed.

“Maybe it’s a good idea to take a break, actually,” Lance hedges. “You probably won’t get much work done all riled up like this.”

Following his words is silence. Pidge sits there, frozen, eyes unseeing behind her glasses. Then, balling her fists, she leaps to her feet, laptop tumbling to the wayside.

“FUCK!” she shouts, loud as she can muster. Lance watches with wide eyes.

“Did that help?” he asks.

“A little,” Pidge grumbles, nudging her computer aside with a socked foot. “I just feel like— it’s stupid.”

“Try me,” Lance sighs, the irony of Pidge calling herself stupid not lost on him.

“It just feels so lonely, sometimes, doing all the computer shit alone,” Pidge explains, eyes darting away from Lance’s and affixing on the ground. “I know we all have jobs! We all do stuff. But for missions like tomorrow’s, where everything relies on one of my data drives…”

“…you feel a little more scared,” Lance finishes, understanding settling in his gut.

Pidge nods, her hands still clenched tight. “And I hate not having the answers.” Pidge’s eyes are red-rimmed, now. “When I screw up, it feels like we’re never going to get back. My brother and dad are stuck in space, my mom’s waiting for us, and I can’t get one goddamn line of code right.”

Her words hang in the air, swimming to Lance slowly, an echo of his own inner voice.

“I get it,” he murmurs, because he does. Every time he holds them back, trips up a mission, flubs a plan, Lance wonders if he will be the one to keep them stuck in the distant claws of space.

If he is the one prolonging this war.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” he admits honestly. His mind skips over memories of her normally sure movements, fast-paced and sharp. “You act pretty confident, you know.”

“Act.” Pidge rolls her eyes.

Lance chooses that moment to stand in front of her, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Look, I can’t promise I know how to help you with computer crap. That’s your domain. But I can promise to cover your butt if you do have problems, right?”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Pidge snorts.

“Seriously. I’ll cover for you. And you’ll cover for me,” Lance presses, a light smile creeping across his face. “We both want home. And our families. That has to count for something.”

Shoulders relaxing, Pidge looks thoughtfully at Lance. “I’m listening.”

“All I’m saying is that we’ll make an agreement. You watch my back and I watch yours, not just when facing enemies but also with the rest of the team,” Lance decides. “We defend one another when we’re weak, y’know? Taking our Voltron teammate-ship one step further.”

“That sounds nice,” Pidge replies softly, rubbing her arm with her hand. Is she shaking?

“We have to make it back,” Lance promises, sticking out a hand. “Blue and green, right? Earth colors.”

Pidge surprises him by ignoring his hand and instead wrapping her arms around him in a tight, crushing hug, burying her face into his front. He’s only startled for a beat before his hands come down to her shoulders.

“Blue and green. We’ll make it back,” he repeats.

He politely doesn’t mention the stain of tears spreading across his shirt.

[jellyfishline]

Sorry for adding unsolicited advice, but one of the most valuable things I've learned as a writer is how to push over this kind of block! So I'm gonna share a few strategies that have helped me, and might help other people too!

Strategy one: skip over it.

Literally don't write a transition. Just skip to the next interesting scene. Promise yourself you'll go back and write a smooth transition later. A shocking amount of the time when I come back to edit I find that I don't even need more of a transition at all. Sometimes, your brain is so stuck in the story that it doesn't want to leave any negative space, but the negative space of a new scene, a new chapter, or a new paragraph is what the story craves.

Strategy two: just describe it.

Don't try to write it nicely, prettily, or well. Write like you're making an instruction manual, or notes for an actor in a screenplay. Write "and then they walked into the room." Write "and the conversation was over." Write "the next day, [blank] happened." Again, a shocking amount of the time for me, writing it in plain language turns out to be what the story needed. And if it does need more detail, you can always add that detail later! It is so much easier to add frills once you've got the bedrock of a scene in place.

Strategy three: just dialogue.

Idk how often this happens to other people, but I often get tripped up trying to juggle dialogue, actions, body language, and internal monologue when writing. When that happens, I switch to writing just the dialogue in short exchanges, no dialogue tags or description, with only paragraph breaks and punctuation to structure it. This both frees me up from the paralysis of trying to write everything at once, and has the added benefit of really honing in on character voices. I love to try to give all my major characters a distinctive enough voice that you can work out who's talking by the cadence of their speech, even without dialogue tags.

Strategy four: outline it.

This is sort of an expanded version of strategy two. If you're really struggling, or if this transition is something you know is going to take a whole scene or a whole chapter and more than just a line or two of description, pause to write out the events in a short, descriptive, beat-by-beat way. "They talked. They argued. No one listened to each other. They all went to bed frustrated." Sometimes this beat-by-beat plotting will transform into something you can really use--fragments of dialogue, a solid description, a realization that you can restructure so an important piece of information doesn't actually have to go here--but if not you still have a workable framework to either propel you into the next scene or start building up into a meatier bit of prose.

Strategy five: just do it.

Putting this strategy at the end because while I think it’s a lot of writers' first instincts when coming up to a roadblock, I also think the inability to force ourselves through the boring miserable bits of writing and "just do it" is a major reason why projects get abandoned. Sometimes, you might find yourself in a position where you really do just have to write your way out of the problem you've made for yourself. In those cases, I think it’s a good idea to take a deep breath, be generous with yourself, and applaud yourself for showing up, even if you're only writing a sentence or two every day. Writing is hard! Even professionals have bad days. You don't have to burn yourself out putting words on a page. Take the pressure to perform off yourself, and just write what you can. Eventually you'll get past it, and the words will flow again.

writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months

[ariaxco]

hi aria! i love your posts but i need some help. i wanna upgrade my personality this summer. i wanna be cute, kind literally a total sweetheart! but i have no idea where and how to start. help me, angel 🫠

hi angel! okay first of all, i love that you want to be genuinely sweet - but let's get one thing straight. everyone thinks being sweet means saying yes to everything and letting people walk all over you. wrong.

how to become genuinely sweet without being a doormat ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍯

real sweetness comes from being secure enough to be kind without needing anything back. it's confidence dressed up as kindness.

✦ start with yourself first. listen babe, you can't pour from an empty cup. be sweet to yourself before you try to be sweet to anyone else. talk to yourself like you would your best friend. forgive your mistakes. celebrate your wins. mean girls to themselves make terrible sweet girls to others. how are you gonna love others if you don't love yourself first?

✦ listen more than you talk. this is where most people mess up - they think being sweet means talking more, complimenting more, doing more. nope. sweet people make others feel heard. put your phone down when someone's talking to you. ask follow-up questions. remember what people tell you. "how did that job interview go?" hits different when someone actually remembers you mentioned it last week.

✦ compliment genuinely, not desperately. please stop throwing around empty "omg you're so pretty" to everyone. it's not sweet, it's shallow. find something specific you actually like. "your laugh is contagious" or "you always know the perfect thing to say" means way more than generic pretty comments. make people feel seen, not just flattered.

✦ be kind, not naive. here's the thing nobody tells you - sweetness doesn't mean stupidity. you can be gentle and still have boundaries. you can be caring and still call out bad behavior. "that's not okay, but I still care about you" is peak sweet girl energy. don't confuse kindness with being a pushover.

✦ show up consistently. sweet isn't a weekend costume you put on when you feel like it. check on your friends when they're going through it. remember birthdays without facebook reminding you. bring coffee to your coworker having a rough day. small gestures, big consistency. that's what makes people think "she's just genuinely good."

✦ stop keeping score. the second you start expecting reciprocation, you're not being sweet anymore - you're doing business. be kind because it feels good in your soul, not because you want something back. that energy shift? people can feel it.

✦ defend others when they can't defend themselves. real sweetness has teeth, baby. speak up for the quiet girl being gossiped about. include the person sitting alone at lunch. sweet girls protect other people's feelings, not just their own. that's when you know you've leveled up from performative nice to genuinely sweet.

✦ remember people's small details. their coffee order, their pet's name, that thing they're stressed about at work. sweet people make others feel important by paying attention to the little things that matter to them.

✦ apologize when you mess up, mean it. don't just say sorry to make things go away. actually acknowledge what you did wrong and how it affected them. "i'm sorry i was late, i know your time is valuable" hits different than "sorry i'm late."

✦ celebrate other people's wins like they're your own. hype up your friends' achievements. share their good news. be genuinely excited when good things happen to them. jealousy is the opposite of sweetness.

✦ learn to give without announcing it. help people quietly. don't post about every good deed on social media. real sweetness doesn't need an audience.

✦ master the art of gentle honesty. sweet doesn't mean fake. if someone asks for your opinion, give it kindly but truthfully. "i think the blue dress is more flattering on you" instead of lying or being brutally honest.

you've got this, angel. start small, be consistent, and remember -

true sweetness is strength in a soft package. be sugar, not saccharine. 🍯

what other topics do you want me to dive into? drop me an ask if you want posts about confidence, friendships, getting your life together, or literally anything else that's been on your mind lately! i love hearing what you're struggling with

[smile-files]

do you ever wish you could use a memory-erasing gun on yourself so you forget about all of the characters and stories you've come up with but which you know you'll never bring to life and thus have become more of an existential burden than anything

[jigglyrat04]

trying not to let it consume me i guess but i think i deserve it

[dallonwrites]

bestie how the fuck do you start writing again when you haven't written in years bc you're so paralyzed with Fear of Writing Badly mixed with How Do I Get Started and also WHAT do I write about HELP

I WANT to write but every part of it is. so. DAUNTING

Ohhh bestie I have BEEN there. Whenever I take breaks from writing I find myself scared that I'll have just….forgotten to write?? I think the fear of "bad writing" is amplified when you don't write for a while, however long, because you have to like hype yourself up to go back to writing and it's like what if I do all that and then I just can't do it? Returning to writing, especially after a long time, for me has taken a lot of mental work, trying to understand what will make writing fun and healthy for me. A lot of it, honestly, is easier said than done, but also it's mental work you'll keep doing after you start writing again and as you write, and for me it's easier to process my relationship with writing when I am actually writing.

A big part of that mental work for me, and something I think is so valuable, is to reconsider what "bad" writing is and give yourself permission to write it. Sometimes you will think your writing sucks, happens to all of us, but that isn't all it has to be. Like yeah, I'll think something I wrote sucks, but I still wrote it. I can revisit it and work on it and maybe I'll turn it into something I'm happy with. And even if I don't, I still wrote it, I learned from it. Writing does not need to be "good" by whatever standard we're holding it up to for it to have value. And you can delete it! Nobody has to see it! Also you can have fun writing something and still think it's not your best. I've written a lot of "bad" scenes that I had fun with because the scene was entertaining to me! I love when writing turns out how I like it, or I write a banger prose line, but equally I found it helpful to give myself permission to not worry about that all the time and just focus on my interest/enjoyment in what I'm writing, regardless of the "quality". Again, easier said than done, but something I've found easier the more I write, because you'll have bad writing days but you'll also have writing days that are so good

I know a lot of people see writing as a skill that they want to improve, and like I agree it feels really good to see your writing grow, but writing is so much more than the skill and the craft and the theory. There is no objective "perfection" to reach with writing like we are not Sims with levelled skills LOL. Writing is art and creativity and it should be fun and fulfilling. And IMO, the more you focus on what makes writing fun, you will grow and "improve" as a writer a lot quicker and in a way that is a lot more enjoyable than if you treat writing like some icy quest for perfection. You also get to decide what "good" writing is for you/your story. Some of my stories are more prose focused and I'll play more with language, imagery etc. Others are more about the plot and just having fun imagining this scene. Sometimes it's a mix of both. What is "good" writing depends on the writer, story, genre, etc. There is no one way to write.

I'm rambling a lot because I'm just really passionate about this and I cannot express enough how easier writing got, including all the difficult and ugly and frustrating parts, when I gave space to prioritise my enjoyment and fun. People love to romanticise the idea of the "struggling" writer. I see stuff on here and I'm like you guys….writing should be fun. Like yeah sometimes it's hard and we should talk about that but like, you Need to make sure you are having fun. Anyway I'm going to try not to ramble and bullet point some things that helped me:

Make Writing Fun: Lol! Literally whatever makes writing fun. Sometimes I just write super indulgent scenes and the fun of that sets me up to work on my projects. When I work on my projects I try to find what in each scene I'm going to enjoy the most, and focus on that to help me write the rest. I make playlists, moodboards, memes, art etc for my story because it's fun, and it helps me be engaged with my story outside of writing it. Just, have fun.

On productivity: some people will benefit from setting clear goals and running towards them. Some people don't. For me it depends on my headspace. I don't think productivity is a bad thing, it can feel good, but productivity should not be the only reason you write. And the most productive writing process is whichever one makes writing enjoyable for you, because that's how you'll get words on the page

On that note, please be wary of anyone online who who treats the writing advice they share as Fact. I'm not saying every writing teacher out there does...but some of them market it that way! And creators do not have an authority on writing just because they have a platform however big. There are some AMAZING content creators out there who talk about writing, and I have found them motivating, but like just let yourself be picky about who you listen to/engage with. I say this because I consumed some very Strict writing advice when I was younger and it literally contributed to my years long slump so like...I'm picky now LOL

About goals: Personally, gentle goals are what help me get back into writing. Maybe just write for 20 minutes, or write every day for a couple days. When I do word count goals, I base them on how I feel that day, and recently I don't make a word count, I'll transfer it to the next session but smaller. So if I try to write 500 words but can't I'll say okay, lets try 250 next time. Goals can be a great motivator and way to feel achieved, and maybe bigger goals will help you, but you're also allowed to adjust them as you go to make it easier

On finding new ideas, having been there before, you don't need a fully fleshed out idea to start writing. My longest break I came back to writing with...one character and a backstory? If you have stories/characters already you can revisit them, either build on what you have or completely change it. Or if you don't have that, if there's a piece of media you like you can take that concept and play around with it in your own way, or you can even just write fanfic until you have your own idea (if you want your own idea, fanfic is cool too!) You can even just find a cool pic on pinterest and play around with describing it, writing about it, seeing if you can get anything from that. Ideas are everywhere and they can be tiny, and I think if you have that want to write you Will find your story eventually. All writers have had the Idea struggle, but I think the more you engage with writing and think about what concepts and stories interest you already, the more you'll like train yourself to get ideas

That was very long and maybe a lot but like, I am very passionate about this! I've been in writing "slumps" where I didn't know if I would write again, I've started writing again with no ideas, and in those times all I had was the fact I knew I wanted to write. There are a lot of reasons why we end up having long breaks from writing and it is totally normal, sometimes beneficial for us, and we should never give ourselves a hard time for not writing for however long. But also remember that you can always come back. Every one of us has the capacity to create, whatever that looks like, and you can make it as self indulgent and self serving as you want.

[ploverbear]

i miss being a construction worker cause honestly a lot of my time on the job i wouldnt do anything LOL but i do genuinely also miss like. the job itself. i miss how a lot of my work revolved around going into empty buildings and go anywhere inside of them. fix them nicely ... whenever there's construction work in the offices and bathrooms and stuff it makes my heart hurt so badly. i love getting glimpses of the utility closets. i always felt like a fly on the wall maintaining an office or building but not really being APART of the culture inside of it yannow. being there transiently

[plutosunshine]

How to stabilize your life? Saturn in houses

Saturn in the 1st house

If you’ve got Saturn in the 1st house, you’ve probably felt like you were born a little older than your years—more serious, maybe more reserved, and definitely carrying a deep sense of responsibility from early on. Life might feel like it’s asking a lot from you, even when you're just trying to figure things out. But the good news is, once you learn how to work with that energy instead of fighting it, you can build a really strong, steady life.

One of the best ways to stabilize things is by creating structure—think daily routines, setting realistic goals, and sticking to them, even when no one’s watching. Saturn loves when you're consistent. It rewards patience and effort over time, not quick wins. So instead of trying to fix everything all at once, focus on showing up for yourself a little every day.

Also, don’t be too hard on yourself. Saturn in the 1st can come with this voice in your head that says you're never doing enough. That inner critic can get loud, but it’s not the truth—it’s just Saturn pushing you to grow. Learn to balance that drive with some self-compassion. You’re allowed to make mistakes and learn as you go.

And remember, boundaries are your best friend. Whether it’s in relationships, work, or even just with your time, knowing your limits helps keep things steady. You don’t have to say yes to everything or prove your worth by overworking. Stability often comes from knowing when to pause, breathe, and choose what really matters to you.

Lastly, surround yourself with people who get you. You might come off serious or private at first, but that doesn't mean you don't need connection. Having even a small circle of grounded, supportive people can make a huge difference. Saturn might make you feel like you have to do it all alone, but you don’t.

You’ve got the potential to build something lasting and meaningful—you just have to give yourself time, patience, and a little grace along the way.

Saturn in the 2nd house

Ah, Saturn in the 2nd house—this placement is like having a tough but wise financial advisor living in your soul. 😅 It can feel heavy at times, especially when it comes to money, self-worth, and stability. But once you understand the rhythm of Saturn here, you can build something solid that no one can take from you.

With this placement, life might’ve taught you early on that resources aren’t always guaranteed. Maybe money was tight growing up, or you were made to feel like you had to “earn” your worth. That can lead to two things: either you become ultra-responsible with finances and really value hard work, or you swing the other way and feel blocked when it comes to building wealth or feeling deserving.

To stabilize your life with Saturn in the 2nd, the trick is to approach money and value slowly and steadily. This isn’t a “get rich quick” setup—it’s the long game. Budgeting, saving, learning the ropes of financial literacy, and making thoughtful investments (of money and energy) are your best tools. And don’t just focus on material stability—this house also rules your sense of worth. Saturn here wants you to build self-esteem brick by brick, through consistent effort, responsibility, and trusting yourself.

It can also help to release the idea that you’re only valuable if you're being productive or financially successful. Saturn might whisper that in your ear, but it’s not the full truth. Your worth is inherent—it just takes a little longer for you to feel it sometimes.

So yeah, Saturn in the 2nd is a slow burn. But once you’ve done the work, the foundation you build—emotionally and financially—is rock solid. You're not just chasing stability, you're becoming it.

Saturn in the 3rd house

Saturn in the 3rd house gives your mind serious main character energy—but not always in the flashy way. This is the placement of the deep thinker, the cautious communicator, the one who doesn’t just talk to talk. You’ve probably always had a thoughtful, maybe even quiet, approach to how you express yourself. And growing up, you might’ve felt like speaking up was hard or that your voice didn’t come easily. Maybe you had to “prove” your intelligence or learn to trust that what you had to say mattered.

This placement can also show up in your relationship with siblings or early education. Maybe there were delays, challenges, or just a sense of distance. Saturn makes you work for clarity—of thought, of voice, of connection.

To stabilize your life with Saturn in the 3rd, lean into communication on your own terms. You don’t have to be the loudest in the room, but your words carry weight when you use them. Writing, structured learning, or even just organizing your thoughts through journaling can help you feel more in control and confident. You thrive when you create systems for thinking and communicating—whether that’s planners, to-do lists, or just a clean inbox. That stuff actually helps settle your mind.

Also, don't be afraid to speak up, even if it feels a little awkward at first. Your ideas are valuable, and over time, people will come to really respect what you have to say—because it's grounded, considered, and real. You're not about fluff, you're about substance.

One more thing: with Saturn here, you’re meant to be a lifelong learner. Your mind gets sharper as you age. So give yourself permission to grow into your voice. It might take time, but when it lands—it lands strong.

Saturn in the 4th house

Saturn in the 4th house can feel like carrying a backpack full of bricks labeled “family, roots, and emotional security.” This is the house of home and inner life, so when Saturn lands here, it often means your early environment felt strict, heavy, or full of responsibilities. You might have grown up feeling like the emotional adult in the room before you were ready, or like you had to be the stable one even if everything around you wasn’t.

There can be a sense of emotional restraint with this placement. You might keep your feelings to yourself or find it hard to fully relax and feel safe—especially around family or in your own home. But here's the flip side: Saturn here gives you the power to build a solid, grounded emotional foundation later in life. You just have to build it yourself, brick by brick.

Stabilizing your life with Saturn in the 4th starts with creating a sense of home within you. That could look like therapy, inner child work, or simply learning to listen to your own emotional needs and take them seriously. This placement thrives on consistency and self-parenting—things like a regular routine, a calm environment, and setting emotional boundaries can bring a surprising amount of peace.

You might not have had the softest start, but you’re capable of creating a home and emotional life that’s deeply secure and lasting. It just might take time—and that’s totally okay. With Saturn, the payoff always comes through patience, effort, and deep, meaningful growth. You're not here for the temporary fix. You're here to build something real.

Saturn in the 5th house

Saturn in the 5th house can feel like a cosmic lesson in learning how to play, love, and express yourself—without guilt, pressure, or fear of being "too much" or "not enough." This is the house of creativity, romance, fun, and even children, so when Saturn shows up here, it tends to bring a more serious tone to those areas.

Maybe as a kid you felt like you had to grow up too fast and didn’t get to fully embrace play or creativity. Or maybe you were super hard on yourself when it came to expressing your talents, feeling like you had to be perfect or earn approval before letting your light shine. Same goes for love—you might crave deep, lasting romance but find it hard to open up or let loose emotionally. There can be a fear of vulnerability or rejection that keeps you playing it safe.

But here’s the deal: Saturn in the 5th doesn’t mean you’re doomed to be all work and no play. It means your joy, creativity, and love life all get better with time. You’re here to take fun seriously—not in a rigid way, but in a grounded, intentional way. This might look like developing a craft over years, learning how to love with commitment and maturity, or discovering that your creativity has real-world impact.

To stabilize your life with this placement, give yourself permission to be a beginner. Let go of the idea that joy has to be productive or that love has to follow a strict rulebook. The more you let your inner child breathe, the more confident and whole you’ll feel.

And when it comes to romance or creative projects? Don’t rush it. Saturn rewards slow-burning passion, not fleeting sparks. You're meant to create things (and relationships) that last. Give yourself the grace to grow into your full creative power—one steady, authentic step at a time.

Saturn in the 6th house

Saturn in the 6th house is like having a very stern personal trainer in your soul—one who’s obsessed with routines, hard work, and staying on top of your responsibilities. This house rules your daily habits, work environment, health, and how you serve others. So when Saturn is here, life tends to push you toward discipline, structure, and learning how to take your well-being seriously.

You might feel like you're always working—mentally, emotionally, or physically. Maybe you’ve had jobs where you felt underappreciated or like the weight of the world was on your shoulders. Or maybe you’re super self-critical when it comes to productivity and feel like you're never doing “enough.” Saturn here can make you hyper-aware of your duties, which means burnout is a real possibility if you’re not careful.

The way to stabilize your life with Saturn in the 6th is through consistency and realistic expectations. You’re naturally capable of incredible focus and reliability, but you’ve got to pace yourself. Build sustainable habits—whether it's a meal prep routine, a sleep schedule, or regular exercise. Saturn wants you to be healthy and efficient, but not at the cost of your joy or sanity.

It’s also important to find meaning in your work. If you’re stuck in a job that feels soul-crushing, that Saturn pressure can feel suffocating. But if you’re doing something purposeful—even if it’s challenging—it starts to feel like you’re building something worthwhile. That’s where you thrive.

Long story short: you’re here to master the art of showing up, not just for others, but for yourself. Once you learn how to balance service, health, and work without overdoing it, Saturn will reward you with a deep sense of inner strength and stability that nobody can shake.

Saturn in the 7th house

Saturn in the 7th house is all about serious business when it comes to relationships. This placement means you don’t take love—or any close partnership—lightly. You might’ve always felt like relationships come with pressure, responsibility, or even fear of rejection or abandonment. Some people with this placement wait longer to settle down, not because they don’t want love, but because they’re deeply cautious about who they let in.

There’s often a strong desire for commitment and loyalty, but also a fear of losing independence or getting hurt. You might attract older or more mature partners, or relationships that feel like work—sometimes literally, sometimes emotionally. But here's the thing: you're not built for casual. You're built for real, grounded, lasting connections.

To stabilize your life with Saturn in the 7th, the key is to be honest—with yourself and others—about your needs and boundaries. Don’t rush into relationships out of fear of being alone, but also don’t shut down emotionally just because you're afraid of getting hurt. Relationships might feel delayed or difficult early on, but as you grow, you learn how to show up fully, communicate with maturity, and build something rock-solid.

This placement can also reflect a fear of dependency, or feeling like you have to be the strong one all the time. But real partnerships are about mutual support. Let people meet you halfway—you don’t have to carry the whole load.

In the long run, Saturn here helps you attract relationships with depth, honesty, and endurance. You’re not here for surface-level stuff. You’re here to build something timeless—with someone who’s truly ready for the ride.

Saturn in the 8th house

Saturn in the 8th house is deep, intense, and transformative—like emotional scuba diving. This placement puts Saturn in the house that rules shared resources, intimacy, power, transformation, and even death and rebirth on a symbolic level. So yeah, it’s not light energy, but it’s powerful when channeled right.

You might’ve experienced loss, emotional intensity, or situations that forced you to confront deeper truths earlier in life. This can lead to trust issues, a guarded heart, or feeling like you have to deal with everything on your own. Vulnerability doesn’t always come easy here—Saturn wants to protect you from being hurt, but in doing so, it can also make it hard to fully open up and receive.

Money tied to others—like inheritances, taxes, debts, or even shared finances in a relationship—can come with a lot of responsibility or karmic lessons. There may be fears around dependence, control, or losing what you’ve built. But with time and experience, you can become a master of managing shared resources and navigating deep emotional bonds with clarity and integrity.

To stabilize your life with Saturn in the 8th, you’ve got to learn how to trust—yourself, others, and the process of transformation. This isn’t about rushing into emotional vulnerability, but about slowly building safe, strong connections where both trust and independence can exist.

This placement is also incredibly psychic and intuitive once you let yourself go there. The more inner work you do—whether it's therapy, shadow work, or spiritual practices—the stronger and more emotionally empowered you become. You’re not here to skim the surface. You’re here to evolve, and Saturn makes sure that when you do, it’s real, lasting, and absolutely unshakable.

You’re built for deep transformation—and Saturn’s just making sure you build that inner power with a rock-solid foundation.

Saturn in the 9th house

Saturn in the 9th house gives you a serious, grounded approach to the big questions of life—philosophy, religion, higher education, travel, belief systems. This placement often shows someone who craves meaning and truth but doesn’t just accept what they’re told. You need proof. You need to test ideas. You’re the type who learns through life experience, challenge, and deep questioning.

Early on, you might’ve felt blocked when it came to education, travel, or even believing in something bigger than yourself. Maybe you doubted your ability to expand your horizons, or maybe life just threw enough obstacles at you to make the journey feel like a slow climb. But Saturn here isn’t trying to shut you down—it’s trying to make sure that when you do find your truth, it’s built on a foundation that can’t be shaken.

To stabilize your life with Saturn in the 9th, you need to embrace being a lifelong student—someone who learns not just through books, but through experience, reflection, and deep personal growth. You might find that you take your time when it comes to higher education or spiritual exploration, but that’s okay. What you build intellectually and spiritually will be solid, wise, and deeply earned.

This placement is also amazing for becoming an authority in a specific field, especially one tied to philosophy, law, education, or spirituality. You’re here to master your beliefs—not just inherit them. And once you do, you have the potential to guide others with real wisdom and clarity.

So yeah, Saturn in the 9th might delay the journey, but it never denies it. You’re meant to seek, struggle, and then rise with a perspective that’s grounded, earned, and transformative—not just for you, but for others too.

Saturn in the 10th house

Saturn in the 10th house is classic “late bloomer” energy—but in the best possible way. This placement means you’re here to build something big, lasting, and real in your public life, career, or reputation. You’re not the type to take shortcuts or chase fame for the sake of it. You want legacy. Respect. Something that stands the test of time.

But early in life? It might’ve felt like you were constantly being tested—professionally, socially, or even by authority figures. Maybe you dealt with super high expectations from parents (especially one with a strong presence), or felt like you had to constantly prove yourself in order to earn recognition or success. Saturn here sets the bar high, and it can feel like nothing you do is ever “enough” until you’ve really earned your place.

Here’s the good news: once you get clear on your goals and put in the work, no one is more unstoppable than someone with Saturn in the 10th. You have the grit, the patience, and the endurance to build an empire—slowly, steadily, and with integrity. You might hit major career milestones later than others, but when you do, they’ll be solid and meaningful.

To stabilize your life with this placement, stay committed to your long-term vision and don't be discouraged by slow progress. Saturn wants you to master your craft, own your authority, and lead from experience—not ego. The more you embrace your path with responsibility and purpose, the more life starts aligning around you.

You're not here to burn out chasing quick wins. You're here to become someone others trust, admire, and follow—not because you said you could, but because you proved it over time. Legacy is your lane. Keep building.

Saturn in the 11th house

Saturn in the 11th house is all about learning serious lessons through friendships, communities, and your long-term hopes and dreams. You’re someone who might feel a bit like an outsider early in life—like it’s hard to find your people or truly fit in with a group. There can be a sense of emotional distance in friendships, or like you’re the one who's always showing up and being reliable, but not always receiving the same in return.

This placement often makes you cautious about who you let into your inner circle. You might have fewer friends, but the ones you do have? They’re ride-or-die, loyal, and often stick around for the long haul. You don’t do superficial connections—you want depth, trust, and shared values.

When it comes to your goals and dreams, Saturn here gives you the power to achieve big things—but only if you're willing to work for it. You’re not about pipe dreams or vague “someday” visions. You want a plan, a purpose, and something that actually matters in the long run. This placement is perfect for building or leading communities, especially when your mission is rooted in social change or long-term progress.

To stabilize your life with Saturn in the 11th, focus on cultivating meaningful connections and committing to goals that align with your deeper values. You might feel like you're "behind" others socially or career-wise early on, but that's only because you're meant to create something lasting. As you mature, your network grows stronger, your vision becomes clearer, and your sense of belonging starts to solidify.

You’re here to make a real impact—not just for yourself, but for the collective. And once you find your tribe or purpose, you become a powerful force for progress, loyalty, and lasting change.

Saturn in the 12th house

Saturn in the 12th house is one of the most quietly powerful placements—it’s like being the emotional architect of your own subconscious. This house rules the hidden, the spiritual, the mystical, and the parts of ourselves that operate behind the scenes. So when Saturn lands here, it can feel like there’s a weight on your soul that you can’t always name.

You might have felt lonely, misunderstood, or emotionally isolated early in life. Not because others didn’t care, but because you often carry burdens silently. There’s usually a deep sense of responsibility—sometimes guilt, sometimes a feeling of needing to sacrifice your own needs for others or for some greater cause. You may also be extremely sensitive to the energies around you but not always know how to protect yourself, so you build walls or retreat inward.

This placement can bring hidden fears, karmic baggage, or a lifelong process of learning to confront your own shadow. But here’s the beauty of it: Saturn in the 12th isn’t trying to break you. It’s trying to help you master your inner world. You're meant to become emotionally and spiritually strong—not through avoiding pain, but by facing it, integrating it, and transforming it.

To stabilize your life with this placement, create space for solitude, spiritual practices, and emotional healing. Meditation, therapy, dream work, and even artistic expression can be game-changers. You need private time to recharge and process, and that’s not a weakness—it’s how you reset your power.

You’re also here to serve in quiet but profound ways. You may work behind the scenes, help others heal, or offer support that no one else sees but makes a huge difference. Once you learn how to take care of your own inner needs, you become incredibly wise, grounded, and capable of deep compassion.

This placement takes time to bloom, but when it does? You become a force of calm, strength, and quiet resilience—the kind that can’t be shaken, no matter what storms come your way.

[rainrot4me]

A Little R & R (Rest and Relaxation, Raw and Rough)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

───────────────────────────────────── leave - whirr

── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.

CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI

✦ . Summary: From breaking and entering, to scaring you half to death, the proxies have never been conventional lovers. So why would relaxing with you after a hard day at work be any different?

✦ . Characters: {Separate} Jeff the Killer x Female Reader, Ticci Toby x Female Reader, Masky x Female Reader, Hoodie x Female Reader

✦ . Warning: Teasing, vaginal fingering, choking, dirty talk, overstimulation

✦ . Words: 16.2k (~4k per section)

✦ . Note: Is this a little self indulgent? Absolutely. But work has been kicking my ass and a good fingering down from the proxies would set me straight, so I come bearing gifts. Thank you again to my lovely lovely friend @z0l0fft for her beautiful art!!!! Words cannot describe my love.

────────────────────────────────────────────

You’re tired. 

Not just tired—drained. The kind of tired that settles into the marrow of your bones and makes you feel like even blinking is too much effort.

You stand on the front steps of your house for a second longer than necessary, keys in hand, bag slung over your shoulder, and try to summon the energy to go inside. Your muscles ache. Your neck hurts. Every part of your body begs for the sweet mercy of a hot shower and soft clothes. It’s cold out here, the nighttime air unforgiving. It’s all you can do not to collapse on the stairs outside.

The keys rattle in your hand as you finally slide one into the lock, twisting it until the door unlatches with a muted click. You shove the door open with your shoulder, stepping into the dark. The familiar scent of home greets you—laundry detergent, the faint trace of that candle you lit last night, something faintly musky that’s just… you.

You sigh, shoulders slumping with relief as you kick your shoes off one at a time. Your bag hits the floor with a muted thud, but you could care less to remember if there was anything valuable inside. You shrug your jacket off, tossing it haphazardly onto the hook. It’s your sanctuary, your space to finally breathe, not having to perform for your dumbass coworkers any longer. 

Work sucks. Everyone knows that, especially you.

There’s just something about a 2pm to 12am job that makes you want to rip everyone’s throat out, including your own. The money is nice, but some days you wonder if it’s worth your sanity and the constant back pain.

You start walking toward the kitchen, already reaching to loosen the tension from your neck, mentally checking off what leftovers might be in the fridge. Are you even hungry? You round the corner,

And stop cold.

The back door is wide open.

The long glass pane stares back at you like an eye, wind pushing it gently so it sways on its hinges, creaking faintly. The night air curls around your ankles, carrying the sharp, damp scent of wet leaves and earth. It raises goosebumps on your arms.

You blink, stunned for a moment, almost unsure you’re really seeing what you’re seeing. You never forget to lock that door. Ever. It's a habit, muscle memory, you could lock that thing in your sleep. There’s one too many home invasion cases on the news for you to just be comfortable with an easily accessible back door.

“…No,” you whisper under your breath. “No, I didn’t leave that open.”

Your heart gives a small jolt in your chest.

Immediately your mind reaches for something rational, something safe. Him. Maybe he came by. Maybe he used his key. Maybe he forgot to shut the door all the way. But even as you grasp for the thought, it doesn’t settle. He doesn’t forget things like that. He’s careful—always has been, he has to be. 

“Hello?” you call out, voice already tense. “Anyone here?”

No answer. You mentally punch yourself, you’re no better than the stupid girls who you make fun of in horror movies. 

Your house is still. The silence feels unnatural, forced, like it’s trying to hide something from you.

A pinprick of unease worms its way into your spine. You move quickly to the opposite side of the kitchen, flipping on every light switch available and illuminating the entire dining/living area. It doesn’t ease the pit in your stomach, but at least nothing can sneak up on you. You rummage through your broom closet in the laundry room, grabbing the wooden broom leaning against the doorframe. It’s not much, but at least there’s something for you to protect yourself with. You will not be as dumb as those horror movie chicks.

Your voice rises, more firm this time. “Seriously, if this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

Still no reply.

Your breath catches in your throat. You start moving from room to room, switching on lights as you go. The living room? Empty. Bathroom? Empty. Guest room? Nothing. You scan every corner, every shadow, peek behind every door with broom gripped tightly in hand.

The tension grows with every room you clear. The open doors groan behind you, the breeze from outside trailing in like fingers sliding across your back. The feeling of being watched is as strong as ever, and now you feel like you could throw up.

Your bedroom is the last place left.

You step in and flick the light on. The room is empty. Neat. Undisturbed.

And yet… your heart won’t stop racing. The hairs on your arms are standing straight up, and there’s a pit forming in your gut again, deep and cold.

You take a step back into the hall, gripping the flashlight tighter, half-waiting for something, anything, to jump out.

“Okay,” you whisper, trying to convince yourself. “Okay, it’s fine. I’m just tired. I’m overthinking this. He probably—he probably just stopped by, right? Left in a hurry. Right?”

You want to believe it. God, you want to believe it.

But then, just as your breathing starts to slow, just as you start to think maybe it really is nothing—

Arms wrap around you from behind.

A strong grip, smooth and steady, sliding across your waist, locking tight before you can even scream. You freeze. Your body goes stiff, lungs seizing as hot breath ghosts over your neck, close, too close.

You can’t move. You can’t even think. The broomstick is rendered useless in your hands. 

Until you hear that all-too-familiar chuckle humming into your ear…

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ JEFF THE KILLER

“Miss me, baby?”

You shoved the blunt end of the broomstick back with everything you had. It didn’t land hard, but it startled him enough that he stepped back with a laugh.

You whipped around, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum, and there he was.

Jeffrey.

His grin was still spread wide across that pale face, lips too stretched, eyes too sharp, the darkness under them as deep as ever. His hoodie hung off his frame like always, smudged with god-knows-what, hair falling wild around his face. He looked like something from a nightmare.

But he was your nightmare. And right now, he was standing in your hallway with his hands up in mock surrender and a cocky smirk like he hadn’t just scared the absolute hell out of you.

“God—Jeff!” you snapped, pressing a hand to your chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Too much to list, babe,” he said smoothly, taking a step toward you. “You looked so serious. I had to mess with you a little.”

“You left the door wide open.”

“I left it ajar.”

“Wide. Open.” You glared at him, storming past him toward the back door to slam it shut. “I thought someone broke in. I was about to call the cops.”

Jeff snorted, following you lazily. “Yeah? That would’ve gone well.”

You stopped and looked at him. “What if it wasn’t you?”

“It was,” he shrugged. “I got here first.”

“That’s not the point!”

Your voice cracked under the weight of the day. Between exhaustion, stress, and now this emotional whiplash, your eyes burned with unshed tears. You turned away, biting down on the frustration. You didn’t want to cry, not in front of him, not now, not ever.

“…Hey,” Jeff said softly after a moment, voice losing that teasing edge. “C’mon. Don’t be mad.”

You didn’t respond, just walked toward the kitchen to start your evening routine, collecting your abandoned bag from the ground and dumping your keys and phone on the counter. You opened the fridge, stared inside, then closed it again.

Jeff padded in behind you, quieter now. The change in mood was subtle, but real. He watched you for a second, then leaned his weight against the counter beside you.

“Rough day?” he asked, voice quieter this time.

You shrugged. “Same shit. You know how it is.”

“I don’t,” he smirked. “My day involved a guy’s trachea and a folding knife.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course it did.”

“I brought you something,” he offered.

You looked over at him warily. “Is it a severed finger again?”

“…No.”

“Because last time you said you brought me something, it was in a ziplock bag and I still have nightmares.”

Jeff chuckled. “Okay, this time, it’s better.” He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a single gas station chocolate bar, a little squished. He offered it to you like a peace treaty.

Your lips twitched despite yourself. “You stole this, didn’t you?”

“Obviously.”

You took it from him with a sigh and opened it. “Fine. You’re lucky I’m too tired to stay mad.”

He grinned and leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “You always say that.” His lips were cold and he smelled like outside, meaning he had definitely walked here from the mansion. Also meaning he probably intended on staying the night. You didn’t mind, him being here made you feel safe.

You munched on the chocolate and walked toward the couch, flipping off all the lights you had turned on in your panic, and shedding your outer layer again as you sat with a deep exhale. “You’re not even supposed to be here tonight. You’re still on call, aren’t you?”

“I ditched early,” he said, dropping beside you like a cat, legs sprawled, arms resting behind his head. “Told Masky I had important business. And I do.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, kicking your feet up. “What business is that?”

He tilted his head toward you, eyes hooded. “You.”

You shook your head with a soft, helpless laugh. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“And you love it.”

His hand found your thigh, fingers tracing patterns there while you chewed the last bite of chocolate. The warmth of his palm soothed more than it should have.

“…Missed you,” you admitted finally, softer now. “Even if you’re the worst.”

Jeff turned his face toward you, smile a little smaller now, but more real.

“Missed you too.”

You leaned your head back and closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the day finally start to lift. He didn’t leave your side. Just stayed there, content, his presence strange and comforting all at once.

Jeff’s hands were warm and steady, his touch deliberate as he pulled you closer onto his lap. The weight of your body against his felt grounding, like an anchor to the calm you hadn’t realized you’d been craving all day. His fingers curled lightly around your waist, easing the tension that had curled tight inside you since morning.

His breath brushed softly against your ear, low and rough in a way that sent a comforting shiver down your spine. 

“Hey,” he murmured, voice thick with something softer than you expected. “You don’t gotta be so tense.”

His lips traced a lazy path down your neck, featherlight kisses that felt like a balm on skin that had been cold and raw for hours. You could feel the slow unwinding beginning deep inside your chest, the tight coil of exhaustion loosening with each gentle touch.

One hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingertips ghosting along your ribs, memorizing the curves and the way your breath hitched when he found the tender spots. You closed your eyes, letting his touch carry you away from the harsh buzz of the day—the deadlines, the weight of responsibilities, the pressure that never seemed to ease.

Jeff’s other hand traveled lower, trailing along your thigh, fingertips tracing delicate circles that sent warmth blooming through your skin. 

“My girl is so stressed,” he whispered against your skin, voice a soft promise. “We gotta fix that, right?”

You leaned into him, back to chest, letting yourself breathe him in—the faint scent of smoke and earth and something darker, something utterly Jeff. His hands moved with slow certainty, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, skin pressing against skin, grounding you in a way no words could. His fingertips were cold, but it wasn’t a terrible sensation.

His lips pressed firmly against yours, coaxing, teasing. The kiss was patient, undemanding, the kind that made your whole body still except for the slow burn growing inside your chest. His hands explored without hurry, mapping every line, every shiver, every breath you let slip.

They roamed down, fingers pushing past the waistband of your pants and slipping them down slowly, as if you wouldn’t be able to notice if he did it easy enough.

“Jeff,” you sighed, lying your head back onto his shoulder. 

The tightness in your jaw eased as he pressed his chin atop your shoulder, his eyes half-lidded with something raw and hungry. “Just relax,” Jeff breathed, his thumb tracing small, lazy patterns along your skin. “I’ve gotcha.”

You could feel tears prickling at the edges of your eyes—not from sadness, but relief. Relief that someone saw you, that someone wanted to take this burden away from you, even if only for a little while—even if that person used these same hands to end lives.

“You don’t have to fight it,” Jeff whispered, voice low and steady, coaxing you into surrender. “Let me help my baby out.”

He pushed the fabric of your pants down past your knees, the garment pooling onto your ankles as your thighs fell apart, kicking them off onto the carpet beneath.

The fabric of your panties was already damp, Jeff’s arm reaching around your hips to press his palm atop the fabric. He hummed in your ear, planting one wet kiss after another against the sensitive spot beneath your earlobe that he knew made chills run up your back.

You sighed, hands falling down beside you to grip the fabric of his jeans underneath, his arms wrapping around you tightly as you let your body relax into him.

“What so ever could they be doin’ to you at work to make you this tightly wound?”

“Jeffrey, do not talk to me about my job right now,” you huffed, gripping the side of his leg when he began to rub his thumb in tiny circles against your clothed clit. “You’re so mean.”

He chuckled, pressing his thumb down firmly. “That so?”

Jeff’s fingers were now rubbing against your folds through your panties, causing you to moan at the friction. He playfully nipped at your neck before looking at you with eyes that look like he wanted to eat you alive.

You were close to nagging at him for teasing so bad, until he’s moving both hands away from your cunt and up under the fabric of your shirt, sliding it up your stomach and over your bra, letting it bunch up on your chest under your chin.

“Jesus, I love you,” he groaned, palming your tits through your bra, squeezing them enough to make you whine, then letting them go. You could feel his bulge hardening against your back, the length pressing against your tailbone as Jeff slid his hands back down your stomach to the hem of your panties.

You reached your hands behind you, blindly searching for Jeff’s belt, before his hand snatched your arms forward.

“Nuh uh,” he warned, moving both of your hands back to your front and readjusting the two of you so you weren’t sitting directly on his bulge. “I’m takin’ care of you, baby.”

“You’re telling me the Jeffrey Woods doesn’t want to get off? Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

“Enough,” he groans, slipping his fingers under the hem of your panties and dragging them down your thighs. You lift your hips, helping him get them down your knees and off your ankles. He cups his left hand under your knee, pulling your thighs apart as you place your right foot on the couch next to his leg. You gasp when the cold air hits your damp folds, but Jeff’s hand quickly comes to remedy that.

“Now shut up,” he grumbles, licking lewd little circles on your neck, thumbing open your puffy folds to watch in amazement at the way you glisten and clamp around nothing.

You sigh, letting your head fall limp against his shoulder as you watch his face, his brows knotted and concentrated as he runs his fingers through your slick, easing you more.

He pressed the pads of his fingers against your clit, swiping slowly back and forth, sending the nerves in your legs and stomach jerking, legs nearly closing if it weren’t for his hand tugging them back apart.

You tilted your hips up, trying to get his fingers to push down further to where your cunt was weeping and clamping around, sadly, nothing. You’re soaked, pussy lips practically glistening in the glow of your table-side lamp. Your whines were enough to make Jeff chuckle, the vibration of it against your back. “So impatient.”

“I don’t like to be teased, you kno—oh…”

You can’t even finish your sentence before his two middle fingers are pushing against your entrance, the first inches of them slotting in and out, loosening you up. You huff a gasp, stomach clenching as your walls immediately clamp tight around the thick digits, sucking them in greedily. Jeff watches over your shoulder with hungry amusement.

“This all for me? Shit, baby, I’m gonna have to ruin you.”

Jeff never has and never will be a patient man, no matter how breathy your moans are when his two middle fingers begin to pump deeper and deeper into your cunt with each jerk of his wrist. He doesn’t stop until he gets knuckle-deep, letting your filthy hole clamp and flutter around him, before massaging his fingertips against your walls.

“Ah, yeah—right there-” you groan, letting your knees fall limp apart as you reach behind your head to grip into the back of Jeff’s hair. The veins running up his forearm are bulging, muscles tensing as he begins to pump his fingers in and out, dragging the hilt of his palm against your clit with every jerk.

There’s no room to catch your breath, no time to readjust your body as it slips down his chest and further into his lap, only relying on Jeff’s hold on you to keep yourself upright. You grab and tug at his hair, searching for anything grounding as his knuckles bulge in and out of the first tight ring of muscle, cunt stretching across his fingers when he begins to scissor into you slowly.

You didn’t get to dwell in the feeling for too long before his fingers were slipping out of you, fingers soaked all the way to the knuckles as he dragged them back up to your clit and began massaging, faster this time. Harder.

“Oh shit—okay-” you whine, thighs instinctively trying to close back together, but Jeff’s grip holding tight as always. You tried to sit back up, to give your body some relief, but Jeff just pressed his fingers down harder.

“You’ve got it, babe. Don’t go runnin’ from it.” He growled, plunging them back into your cunt and starting to fuck them inside of you quickly. He gave you no time to adjust, curling and crooking his fingers to snag against every sensitive spot he knew all-too-well, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit.

“Jeff—hah—hold on-”

“No can do. Gotta finish what we started, right?”

Pulling back to tease your folds with your own slick, he plunges into your swollen pussy once more, easily hitting that spot over and over. 

“Hngh- Jeff, more!” You grind your hips to meet his merciless rhythm, clenching around his fingers. 

You feel as if you’re losing your sanity when he adds in another finger, walls burning as your cunt stretches around his thick digits, rhythmically curling upward. The noises are so lewd, wet squelching and skin slapping filling up the quiet noises of your house.

It’s halted when he’s dragging his fingers out again, moving to swipe against your twitching clit as he had before, but this time with a faster pace. More focused on making your lips fall open and whines of sensitivity slip from you. “Ah—hah, Jeff, c’mon-”

“Now now…not yet,” he tuts mockingly.

“Please, Jeff. Please let me cum.”

“Begging? Really?” He chides, pushing three fingers back into your sloppy with no resistance anymore, your cunt open and weeping around the stretch. “You really must be tired, huh?”

You feel his cock twitch against your back, jeans stretching over the bulge that reminds you he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. Well, you’d be enjoying this a lot more if you could fucking cum. Every time you get that familiar feeling, his fingers are slipping back and forth between hole and clit, ruining any build-up you had.

It took you jerking his hair and turning your face into the side of his neck with pitiful whines before he finally nestled his fingers deep inside again, sheathing them to the knuckle. Increasing his pace, abusing your g-spot relentlessly, Jeff knew by your breathy moans of his name that you were getting close. 

His left hand moves from under your knee, letting it drop atop his leg and dangle with all the exhaustion you held. His now-free hand wanders the expanse of your body—groping your breasts, gripping your hips back, forcing your ass to grind back into his clothed length. All the while your soft mewls making him grin.

Jeff’s hand, blister riddled and fingers calloused from years of weaponry, finally rest on your face. He pushes your cheeks together, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth and forcing you to look at him. Your dazed eyes meet his darkened ones, a smug grin as he rubs his thumb hard against your clit.

“Look at me when you cum,” he murmurs raspily into your neck, teeth ghosting over your rapid pulse. You couldn’t look away if you tried, his lips ghosting up your jaw and across your cheek until they planted firm on your puffed ones.

He tugs his fingers out, before slamming them just right inside of you. All you know is you’re cumming all over Jeff’s fingers, hands clutching into his hair and eyes rolling just enough to make your head feel light. Jeff watches the entire time, wide eyes trained on the way your lips fall open.

“Fuck! Jeff- Jeffrey!” You whimper.

“Yeah, there you go. There you go.”

He keeps his palm pressed flat against your cunt, fingers clamped together by your constricting walls, letting you ride out every rippling wave of your orgasm. His hand is soaked, your juices dripping from your cunt and down the roundness of your ass, down onto his jeans. You’ve made a mess.

As your climax bates, he buries his face in your neck, kissing softly over your slowing pulse. “Did so good, baby. You did perfectly,” he breathes out, hugging you closer as if to hide this vulnerable moment. But you feel the heat of his cheeks on your skin. You also still feel his cock pressing into your ass.

Lifting your head, you admire Jeff’s hardened features. Face flushed, lips swollen, dark eyes half-lidded as he stares down at you in admiration.

“You’re merciless. Ruthless, even.” You huff out a low laugh.

“No doubt about it.” He finally slips his fingers from inside you, your teeth gritting as your walls try their best to hold him in place.

His fingers are soaked, tips nearly pruning from the wetness. More juices pool from your cunt, sending a shudder down your skin, goosebumps rising on your legs from the cold. But even with all the uncomfortableness of it, you can’t help but notice your head has quit hurting, body isn’t as sore, overall attitude less fogged from the day you’ve had.

“I need a shower. And food. And to sleep for the rest of my life.”

“I’m pretty good at making people sleep for the rest of their lives.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, Jeff’s arms wrapping under your back and twisting you sideways, his one arm scooping up your legs and lifting you up as he stands off the couch. He carries you towards your bedroom, holding you close to his chest.

“You take a shower, I’ll make you food.”

“Your cooking sucks.”

“You’ll get over it.”

He set you down on the bathroom counter, the cold tile making you hiss as he sauntered over to start the water in the shower.

You couldn’t help but notice the obvious stain on his thighs, dark wetness soaking into the thick fabric. You smiled, glancing up just enough to see that he was still very-much sporting a boner.

“Are you still hard?” You smile, teasing him as the water begins to warm, steam rolling over the glass. Jeff doesn’t answer, just rolls his eyes and walks over to help you off the counter, pushing you towards the shower.

You think for a moment before stepping in, turning to run a hand down his chest, heart thudding against his ribs.

“If you make me a grilled cheese, I’ll suck your dick before we go to bed.”

Jeff doesn’t need to be convinced any further. With a kiss against your cheek and a helping hand to get the rest of your clothes off, he’s disappearing back toward the kitchen with a jittery laugh.

“Deal. But don’t get mad if it’s burnt, alright?”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ MASKY

You froze.

A rush of cold spilled down your spine as two arms wrapped around your waist from behind, tight. But before panic could reach your throat or your hands could react with the broomstick, you heard a familiar breath—low, steady, a little tired.

“Hey,” came the voice, muffled against your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Masky.

You let your tensed shoulders sag, releasing a sharp breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, and nearly dropping the broom on the ground.

He pulled you back a step, chest against your back, hands smoothing over your sides like he was trying to melt the stress out of your skin. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said quietly. “The door, I didn’t have time to close it before you were unlocking the front. My bad.”

You twisted in his arms enough to look up at him. Even with the mask still on, his body said everything—guilt in the way he ducked his head slightly, gentleness in the way he held you like something he didn’t want to break. Still, you glared with all the anger and fear burning in your body.

“You think?” you grit, voice shaky but slowly recovering. “I thought I was about to get murdered.”

“Evidently.” He eyed the broomstick squeezed in-between the two of you. You nudged him, and he gave a slow exhale, cupping your face like he was handling porcelain. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Really.”

And you believed him.

“I should have grabbed a knife. Maybe getting stabbed will teach you to not to sneak up on people.”

“I promise you, it wouldn’t.”

You leaned into his touch just a little. “You always sneak around like a damn ghost. You ever think of just knocking?”

He chuckled under his breath. “Wouldn’t be me if I did.”

You rolled your eyes, but the tension was already ebbing. You wanted to be upset with him, but the constant hardened look in Masky’s eyes always rolled unease off your shoulders. He kissed your forehead through the mask, then nodded toward the kitchen.

“Sit. You’re gonna tell me about your day, and I’m gonna make you something before you start melting into the floor. You look beat.”

You didn’t argue. You dragged your feet to the living room, switching off all the lights you had flipped in your panic, throwing the broom back into the closet, dropped into the couch, and watched him bustle around like someone who had done this a dozen times before. He made sure to shut the back door, too. Coffee brewed, a pastry from your cupboard was plated, and all the while, his eyes flicked back to you with that quiet protectiveness he wore like a second skin.

When he returned, he gently nudged your legs to drape over his lap as he sat next to you. You crossed your legs, calves lying atop his thighs, back pressed into the arm of the couch, as he handed over his gifts.

“Eat first,” he muttered. “Talk later.”

You sighed at the first touch of his hands kneading into your calves, thumbs pressing into the tight spots just right. It was maddening how good he was at this. The kind of man who knew the exact angle to dig into the muscle, the exact pressure to make it all unravel.

You ate what he had made you, sipping on the steaming coffee that Masky just always seemed to know how to brew just right no matter what brand you bought. When finished, you laid it on the table next to your couch.

“Long day?” he asked, his voice quieter now, slower. He ran a hand up to your knee, not asking for more than you were willing to give.

“The worst,” you murmured, letting your head fall back. “You ever feel like no matter how much you do, it’s never enough?”

“All the time,” he said simply.

He worked his way up your legs, then, shifting until your knees bent and he could pull you into his lap without resistance. You settled into him with a quiet sigh, your cheek against his shoulder, cradling you. He smelled like cold air and pine needles, something earthy that grounded you instantly.

He tilted your chin gently, mask still on, but his mouth pressed atop your head, chin resting there. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But I’ll listen if you do.”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

And for a while, you just… talked. About the manager who wouldn’t leave you alone. About the customer who screamed over nothing. About how tired you were of pretending to be okay when really you just wanted the world to stop spinning for five minutes.

Masky didn’t say much—but his hands did. One arm around your waist, the other slowly brushing up and down your spine. Reassuring. Real. His mask shifted up his face while you spoke. First, above his mouth so you could see the dark facial hair across his jaw, then above his nose, then completely off, left on the table next to your dirty dishes. You tried not to make a show of seeing his face, but it always made you a little giddy when he removed his mask on his own.

And then—quietly, like he was asking permission—he lifted you just enough to shift you deeper into his lap. His other hand skimmed up your side, drawing idle circles as he began to press kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw.

“Forget the rest of it,” he murmured. “Right now, it’s just me and you.”

The heat of him, the slow way his fingers ghosted over your ribs, the softness in his voice—it was everything you needed and nothing you deserved.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he whispered. “Not with me.”

“Sam can be said about you, tough guy.”

He chuckled, but didn’t respond, so you continued.

“How was your day?”

He waited, thinking over his answer. “Had worse. But still not good. Left after everyone went to sleep ‘cause I decided I wanted to see you.” He paused for a second, glancing between you and the window outside. “I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Don’t. Stay as long as you want. Anything to get you out of that mansion for a bit, yeah?”

“If you insist,” he chuckled.

You melted then, entirely, your fingers curling in the front of his shirt. Letting him kiss your worries away, one soft press at a time. Every nerve in your body quieted. Every fear, every sharp edge the day left behind, dulled under the warmth of his touch.

You didn’t need anything else.

Until his hand dipped in-between your thighs. 

It wasn’t rushing or assuming, but just a flat palm slid between the warmth of your legs and resting against the apex of your body. The touch was lightening, tired body shifting to life when the hilt of his hand pressed firm against your center.

”Masky…” you breathed between kisses, half a question and half a sigh of want. He didn’t make any movement, but he didn’t pull away either, just continued kissing.

“Tell me to stop if you wish. Just want to help you relax a lil’.” He hummed against your temple, his facial hair tickling against your cheek.

“No— Uh, no.” You hesitated, evaluating your own body and tiredness, then accepting the fact that now you would be too stirred to relax anymore after the move he had just made. “Want you. Need you.”

“Easy now, don’t get worked up.”

“Hypocrite,” you shoved his shoulder, twisting off of his lap and planting your feet on the ground. You stood in front of him, facing away, and began to unbutton your pants. Your cheeks burned, no doubt Masky being able to see the deep red on the tips of your ears as you shimmied your pants down your thighs and off your legs.

You heard the unstrapping of laces behind you, boots being kicked off of feet and jacket being thrown to the other side of the couch before hands were planting on your hips and turning you around.

You placed your hands on Masky’s shoulders, his fingertips tracing the stitching of your panties as he leaned forward to place slow, breathy kisses against your stomach through your shirt. He hooked your panties around his thumbs, then slowly slid them down your thighs and off with your pants behind you. 

Masky lifted the hem of your shirt, placing another kiss just below your belly button before he was sitting back to look up at you, eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks a dark shade of red. You ran your fingers through the short hairs at the back of his head, but before you could make a move to remove any more clothes—his or yours—Masky was grabbing your arms, turning you, and pulling you down onto his lap.

He shuffled you both back, laying long-ways on the couch with his back sitting up against the armrest. He laid your back against his chest, planting his feet into the cushion so your legs hard to spread around them, cold air hitting your center with a chill.

“Wha- You’re not even taking your shirt off?” You question, readjusting and making yourself comfortable on top of him, entire body laying against his. Masky just chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and planting kiss after kiss against your neck.

“No need,” he hummed, running his hands down your waist and over the tops of your thighs, dipping under them to tug your legs back, pulling them apart. You planted your feet against each of his knees, socked feet slipping against the material of his jeans. “I scared you, so I have to make up for it somehow.”

“Ah, don’t say that,” you mumbled, hands tugging up the hem of your shirt as Masky’s rubbed further and further down. “I already forgave you.”

“Mhm. But I don’t see you stopping me.” You could feel his smirk against your jaw as he spoke, the deep baritone of his voice vibrating against your back. You would have given a retort back, but Masky was suddenly sitting up and hissing in pain.

“Wha-”

He reaches behind him, a click of something being unsnapped, and the rustling of metal. You’re jarred, until Masky pulls out his pistol that usually stays strapped to the holster on the back of his belt. He grimaced, setting the gun back on the nightstand next to the dishes.

“You’re kidding,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

“Whoops,” he chuckled, lying back down and dragging you back with him.

It was a blur of hands and lips next—Masky’s arm came to wrap around your middle, while his free hand grabbed your jaw and turned your head to kiss him fully. You smiled into the kiss, but found yourself being cut of when two fingers pressed between you, fingertips pressing against your lips.

You happily obliged, parting your lips as Masky sunk his thick middle fingers into your mouth, your hand wrapping around his wrist when he tried to push back further, slightly coughing on the digits.

“Nice and wet. There we go…” he hummed, feeling your tongue slip around his fingers and groan at the salty taste of them. Only when your drool began to coat your own lips and shine on his knuckles did he draw them out, leaving you breathless and flushed.

One arm still gripped around your middle, he let his spit-glistened fingers trail down between your legs. He found your clit immediately, wasting no time in pushing his fingers through your folds and spreading you open, fingertips pressed firm against your sensitive nub and drawing small circles.

“Ah, hah- Masky-” you huffed, planting your hands on his forearms and digging your nails into his sun-kissed skin. Thick veins ran up his arms, strong muscles from countless missions toning his body in all the right ways. It was mouthwatering, really. The only downfall? Every part of him was thick, fingers especially.

“Let it out, there you go.”

If there was one thing about Masky you knew for certain, he knew what he wanted and he always knew how to get it. Whether that be your noises, a specific body reaction, or just your pleasure all over his fingers—he was going to have it, and it was going to be now.

Another circle on your clit before Masky was pressing downwards, scissoring his fingers to spread your pussy lips apart and hum at the glisten that shone in the lamp light. You were dripping, and he hadn’t even done anything yet.

Your nails dug into the skin of his forearm when he began to prod his middle finger against your entrance, swiping up and down the slit but never fully pressing in. You whined, shifting your hips with each movement and praying that he would just finger-fuck you already.

“C’mon-”

“Shhh, don’t be whining,” he smiled, planting an open-mouth kiss against your neck, sucking the skin lightly and sending shock after shock through your body. “Need’a just let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

He tightens his grip on your waist, and you release a spell of air, giving Masky the chance to slip the first knuckle of his middle finger into the warmth of your cunt. You mewl, head lying back on his shoulder, eyes blinking slowly as he works the digit slowly in and out. It’s thick, and Masky can’t help but groan to himself at the way your folds stretch around it.

His bulge pressed against your back, the subtle shift and grind of his hips against you making you reel.

“More…” You huff, pushing his arm down and angling your hips up, whining for the entirety of his finger, not just the first knuckle.

“Greedy, greedy girl…” He purrs, popping off of your neck and moving up to your jaw, continuing his abuse there. Your neck is shining with his spit, little flowering bruises slowly fading in with each minute.

Masky obliges, curling his middle finger and pressing it deeper, warming his finger in your wetness and feeling the fluttering of your walls just begging for more, more.

You grovel, tilting your hips back and forth in time with his wrist, his one finger pumping in and out of you quickly, stirring your stomach with shocks of pleasure. It’s still not enough, you decide, turning your face into the side of Masky’s neck and whining there.

“Oh, what? C’mon, tell me what you want,” he slows his finger, teasing it in and out, the digit soaked with your arousal. “Don’t get all shy.”

“Another…”

“Another what, sweet girl?”

You huff, digging your nails into his arm just to prove a point, “Your fucking finger, Masky. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

Masky free arm unwraps from your waist, hand snaking down to press finger pads against your clit, hard—enough to make you flinch. You feel a second finger begin to stretch against your entrance, the tight ring of muscle sucking in the thick digits like they belonged there.

“Yeah—yeah—yeah-” You chant against his neck, tilting your gaze down to watch as one knuckle after another dips inside of you, just to tug back out again. He begins to slowly pump his two middle fingers in, your hips jerking to meet every pass.

His other hand does wonders, swiping lewdly across your clit, sounds of wet skin and arousal overtaking the silence of your home. You brace your hands on his forearms still, fingers clenching in time with his.

“Tell me what you’re feelin’, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your ear, biting at the carriage and sending goosebumps shooting across your skin. It’s accompanied with the repetitive massaging of that sweet spot deep inside that only he can reach, fingers pumping and knocking against every sensitive nerve on their way out. Masky knows your body like the back of his hand, and it’s proven here and now. “Let me hear that sweet voice.”

“Good—hah-” You gasp, gritting your teeth when he curls his fingers upwards, scissoring your cunt wider. “Jus-hngh-Just keep going.”

He gives a heavy circle onto your clit, fingers tugging at the nub, before his hand is retreating. You nearly whine, exasperated that he did exactly what you told him not to do, until his hand is wrapping around your wrist.

He maneuvers your hand down, pressing his fingers atop yours directly onto your clit, showing you how to rub yourself. When you slowly start doing the motion on your own, he lets your hand go.

You want to question, but he’s wrapping his hand around your jaw and tilting your face up, pressing a firm but wet kiss against your swollen lips. Then his fingers are slipping down, until his fist is wrapping around your throat and—

Oh.

The lightheaded sensation is instant, brain growing fuzzy with the little oxygen that you’re not getting to your head. He places the pressure on either side of your neck, right under your jaw, and squeezes until your lips are parting and you’re gasping.

Your fingers stall their movements on your clit, his two still pumping mercilessly into your sopping cunt, and a low rumble erupts from his chest.

Then his fingers inside of you come to a dead stop.

You whine, sucking in a rattled breath against the pressure constricting you, and try rocking your hips. Masky stays still.

“Move them fingers, sweetheart.”

You immediately light up, your hand getting to work at rubbing your cunt until tears prick the corners of your eyes, thighs jerking to close with every circle. Masky catches up immediately, the palm of his hand hitting against your fingertips every time he fucks his fingers into your wilting hole, his digits glistening.

His grip on your throat tightens, your eyes rolling back as your mouth creates an ‘oh’ shape, gasping for air. The air swimming in your brain makes your vision hazy, but it also heightens the sensations of every nerve lighting up in your cunt, every curl and jerk of fingers against yourself.

“You’re gettin’ close, pretty girl,” Masky hums, pressing his lips directly against your ear, gritting his teeth when your free hand comes up to wrap around his wrist. “Let it all out. Come all over me, sweetheart.”

His fist tightens one final time, your airway completely shuts out, and that’s what does you in. Your orgasm hits you like a train, hard and fast, and with barely any warning. Your nails are tearing into his arm, fingers rubbing your clit so hard you see stars, and his fingers—they’re slamming into your g-spot, legs shaking so hard they slip off his knees and fall wide. 

You cum into his palm, your arousal soaking his fingers and dripping down his wrist, absolutely covering your inner thighs and plush lips. Masky growls, deep and low, nipping at the corner of your ear while your cunt convulses and grips his fingers impossibly tighter.

He lets his grip off your throat, a crying gasp for air that has your stomach tightening and eyes shooting wide. He shushes you, rubbing methodical circles against your cheek as your head falls back limp against his shoulder. You’re shaking all over, body absolutely wrecked.

It took more effort than you care to admit for Masky to slowly tug his fingers out of you, muscles clamping down against the digits like they were begging him to stay.

The couch creaked softly beneath you both as you lay draped over him, cheek pressed against the side of his neck, listening to the steady thud of his heartbeat in his pulse.

Masky’s arms slung lazily around you, one hand tracing slow circles onto your chest, the wiping against his pant-leg. His chest rose and fell beneath you, and you felt his lips brush your temple.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick and gravel-warm, like it had melted under the weight of contentment. “So damn good for me.”

Your tired body softened further at the praise, sinking against him with a faint sigh. He could feel your heartbeat syncing with his, slower now, soothed. There was no residual work-related emotion left in your body, no room when now all you could think about was how good you felt, how full.

His fingers ghosted along your jaw again, dragging a quiet shiver from you despite the warmth still lingering between your bodies. “You’re so pretty,” he added, quieter this time, like it wasn’t meant to be said aloud—but he said it anyway. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You nuzzled against him, and he chuckled — low and affectionate. Then, gently, he shifted beneath you.

“C’mon,” he whispered, sitting up with you still loosely wrapped in his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You wanted to protest, say you were fine, but your legs felt like jelly and your brain wasn’t quite caught up to your body yet. He carried you effortlessly, strong arms cradling you to his chest, his jacket and your pants abandoned on the floor behind him.

He carried you to your bedroom, sitting you on the bed while he disappeared to the bathroom. You could’ve fallen asleep right there, if the chilly air was lighting your body with goosebumps.

The bathroom lights were low and the tub was already half-full, steam curling upward like fog in the amber light when he gathered you back up and guided you to the bathroom, helping you remove the rest of your clothes.

Masky sat on the edge of the tub with you still in his lap, his skin warm where it met yours, holding you like you were something fragile and precious. The water lapped gently at the porcelain.

He ran his hand along your arm, soothing, grounding. “I got you,” he said. “Always.”

Once he eased you into the water, you sank with a small moan, the heat cradling you like a second set of arms. You leaned back against the edge of the tub, head falling to the side where Masky sat on a folded towel beside it, one arm slung along the rim, fingers trailing in the water next to yours.

You blinked up at him through the haze. There was this softness in his eyes he never showed anyone else. Not even the others. Just you.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah…” you breathed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Just… floaty.”

He smiled, barely there. “That’s the idea.”

Silence stretched comfortably between you, the kind that doesn’t need filling. Just the sound of the water sloshing quietly as he washed your legs, gentle and unhurried.

“I’ll be gone in the morning,” he said suddenly, not looking at you. “Long mission coming up, some out of town stuff.”

You opened your eyes at that, meeting his gaze.

He reached forward to brush wet strands of hair from your face, thumb trailing down your cheek. “I promise not to sneak up on you when I get back. Keep yourself safe until then.”

Your hand found his, fingers curling around his wrist, and you smiled—soft, tired, but real.

“Will you wake me up?” you whispered. “Just so I can kiss you bye.”

His lips quirked, and he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.

“Of course.”

You knew he wouldn’t, knew that he would get too sentimental about letting you sleep, but that was for tomorrow.

Tonight, you just couldn’t wait to kiss his face and tell him your every thought before slipping off to sleep.

And maybe repaying the favor, too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ TICCI TOBY

You heard the fast cadence of feet moving behind you before you ever saw who it was, so obviously, you swung around broom-handle first. 

You felt the CRACK of wood against something hard, then turned the rest of your body around to see—

Toby?

His shoulder slumped against the wall, hands up in defense, and a sheepish grin on his now-red face. You knew he didn’t feel the pain of the hit, but he definitely felt the way it shook his brain for a second.

“Toby—!” you snapped, whirling towards him and swatting at his chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He was already grinning—goggles askew in his messy brown hair, hoodie half unzipped like he’d just walked in from a tornado. He ducked your halfhearted hits with an exaggerated lean, still giggling.

“You should’ve se-seen your face,” he said, wheezing through his grin. “I was gonna jump out from the closet but figured you might act-actually kill me.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t just now,” you muttered, heart still racing.

Toby tilted his head. “Yeah, but then you’d be stuck all alone again. Didn’t y-you miss me?” He stepped closer, hands slipping around your waist.

Your lips pressed into a line, still too wound-up from the fear to melt into his teasing right away. “Maybe. A little. But not enough to forgive you sneaking in through the back door like a horror movie villain.”

He leaned in, rubbing his nose gently against the side of your face. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Just… couldn’t help it. You’re so fun to surp-surprise.”

You sighed, the weight of the day still pressing down on your shoulders. He felt it too—because his smile dimmed, his hand reaching up to trace the curve of your spine over your shirt, slowly and carefully.

“Tough day?”

You nodded. “Always is.”

“Then let me fix that.”

Before you could argue, Toby grabbed your hand and gently tugged you toward the couch, taking the broom from your hands and throwing it back into the hall closet. “C’mon. Si-Sit down. You can yell at me later—right now you need to unwind.”

Toby’s hand was warm, his grip light as he tugged you toward the living room. You didn’t resist, not this time. After the day you’d had—and the scare he gave you—you didn’t have the energy to argue. Not when your bones ached with exhaustion and your thoughts were foggy from pushing too hard for too long.

The two of you flipped off every light you had anxiously flipped on on the way back, and made sure to shut the back door tight.

He plopped onto the couch first, legs spreading carelessly as he sank into the cushions with a groan that sounded far too satisfied, kicking his boots off. Then, without waiting, he grabbed your arm and pulled you down with him—until your body was tucked into his side, your head resting against his hoodie-covered chest, the rhythm of his breathing loud in your ear.

“That’s better,” he mumbled, shifting slightly so he could wrap both arms around you, folding you into his warmth like a blanket he’d been missing for days. “You always smell like… I dunno. Like so-soap. And work.”

You chuckled weakly, your body already starting to sink against him. “That’s probably accurate.”

He made a content little noise in the back of his throat, the sound vibrating in his chest under your cheek. Then one hand came up—calloused fingers brushing your hair back, again and again in soft, soothing strokes. He played with the strands absently, combing them through with care, sometimes curling a few around his finger and letting them slide loose.

You didn’t realize how much you needed this until you felt yourself beginning to melt.

No pressure. No noise. Just the low hum of his breathing, the sound of the wind against the house, and his fingertips skimming over your scalp like he was drawing patterns only he could see.

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t need to.

Toby was always better at this than you expected. For someone who buzzed with chaos and laughter and unpredictable energy, he could be surprisingly… still. When it counted. And right now, he knew better than to fill the space with words.

You closed your eyes.

“Want me to get you anything?” he murmured after a while, quieter now. “Water? Snacks? I saw a bag of chi-chips in the pantry that looked lonely.”

You shook your head. “Just this.”

“That’s easy,” he whispered, a soft smile curling against your temple. “I can do this all night.”

He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch with one arm, dragging it around both of you with a lazy flourish, then curled tighter around you. His chin rested gently on top of your head, and his thumb traced a lazy, slow circle on your side. Over and over. Repeating the motion like it meant something. Like maybe he was grounding himself too.

You didn’t have to talk. You didn’t have to think. He made sure of that—kissing your forehead now and then, humming softly under his breath, keeping his arms steady and his presence warm and close and real.

“You’re good now,” he said, so quiet you barely heard him. “I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

And for the first time that day—hell, maybe the first time that week—you believed it.

And in the lull of your stress fading and his fingers gently massaging behind your ear, it finally clicked: no matter how weird or chaotic or infuriating Toby could be, he always came back to you like this—like home.

But every home has its cracks, and every crack is a breach at the foundation. And sure as hell, you both had your cracks.

You tried and tried to get comfortable, but after a little bit, your body was just too sore, mind too hazy with work. But, like the adult you were, gritted your teeth and scrunched your brow. Toby, however, wasn’t going to let you get off so easy.

“‘Just this’ my ass,” he laughed, pulling your hips back against his when you turn off of his body and onto your side, back flush against his front. “You’re still sw-swimmin’ in stress.”

Even though he can’t see you, you roll your eyes at his dramatics. It’s hardly the first time you’ve forced yourself to sleep through a muddy brain, and usually by yourself. If anything, Toby’s pestering is making it more of an impossible task.

And yet, here he is wrapping his arms around your middle and pressing his face into your hair. His body shifts closer, the two of you laid out against the other, trying your best to play sleepy, knowing full well the other was wide awake.

You can’t help it.

You peel yourself from his body, sitting up and planting your feet off the ground. Toby groans, hands trying to grip at your shirt, but you’re already moving to the kitchen by the time he’s up.

“Whe-Where’re you going?

The kettle’s old, a little too loud when it clicks onto the burner. You reach for the tea tin, fingers trembling slightly from the built-up static in your bones. You didn’t even realize how deep the tension ran until you peeled yourself away from the couch. Every joint ached like your body was still clocked in.

Toby isn’t far behind, of course.

You hear the soft pad pad pad of his mismatched gait, socks barely making a sound on the floor. He doesn’t say anything right away—just leans his shoulder against the doorway, watching. You feel his stare like a heat across your back.

“…You didn’t answer me,” he says after a beat, voice thick and scratchy, like it’s caught somewhere between sleep and screaming.

“I needed something warm,” you mumble. “Can’t settle.”

“Couldn’t se-settle with me,” he teases, pushing off the doorframe. “Ouch.”

“It’s not you,” you say with a soft huff, grabbing two mugs out of the cabinet. “It’s just work. Manager’s still refusing to hire more help.”

He hums, unconvinced, and steps closer. He doesn’t bother hiding the way his hands find your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, just enough to touch skin. The contact makes you shiver. Not cold—never with him around.

“I said you were st-still swimmin’ in stress.” His voice is closer now, the warmth of his breath skimming the curve of your shoulder. “Bet your head’s still full’a ema-email chains and shit.”

“It is,” you admit, biting back a sigh, scooping loose tea leaves into the strainer with slow, practiced fingers. “And tomorrow’s gonna be worse. I should be in bed.”

“So let me help,” he murmurs, all faux-innocent as his hands start to travel. “Didn’t I alrea-already do such a good job loosening you up earlier?”

“Toby,” you say warningly, but there’s no bite in it.

He grins into your shoulder.

The kettle isn’t even halfway to boiling when you feel him really close the distance — chest to your back, hips pinning you lightly to the counter, the twitchy energy in him turning molten. His lips brush your neck, first a feather-light graze, then a drag, then a kiss, slow and open-mouthed, right at the base of your throat.

Your breath catches in your lungs.

“Tobes…”

“You smell like me now,” he says into your skin, nose nuzzling behind your ear. “You got no idea how hard it is not to wanna crawl here after every day, just to see you, touch you, feel you.”

His hands spread wide across your stomach, palms flattening to keep you close. The gentle motion of his thumbs stroking absent patterns is a stark contrast to the heat coiling behind his kisses.

You let your head tip slightly, involuntarily—the smallest invitation.

“Still stressed?” He murmurs, one hand skimming undernesth your shirt and up to your ribs, not quite groping—just holding, grounding. “Or do I fi-finally feel you easin’ up?”

Your body is softening against him despite yourself. “You’re cheating.”

“You’re too uptight,” he counters, tone half-mockery, half-concern. “I’m just multitasking. Bein’ g-good for you and selfish at the same time.”

The kettle starts to whisper with pressure.

You could push him off. You should, maybe—wait for the tea, try to rest like an adult. But he feels safe against your back, fingers warm, breath warmer. Your thoughts slow a little under his touch, each kiss tugging you further from the work-stained haze you’d been drowning in.

“You’re not gonna let me drink that tea in peace, are you?”

Toby chuckles, the sound dark and fond and unmistakably turned on. His lips graze lower, teeth barely grazing where your shoulder meets your neck.

“…Nope.”

And then he bites, hard—enough to make you groan.

You grip the counter harder, bracing yourself as he presses fully into you from behind. You can feel him—hard, twitching, needy, through the thin fabric of both your clothes, and it makes your breath hitch again.

“I thought this was about helping me relax,” you say shakily, lips tugging into a grin despite the heat pooling between your legs.

He laughs, husky and low. “Oh, I am helpin’,” he mutters, biting gently at your earlobe. “You’ll be too tire-tired to think by the time I’m done.”

Toby watches over your shoulder as he unbuttons your pants, tugging them open as he dips his hand in and under the front of your panties, barely giving you time to gasp before his fingers are pushing through the growing wetness at your center.

Your hips buck against the counter as he drags two fingers over your folds, slow, testing. You’re already out of breath.

“Well fuck, sweetheart,” he growls, voice suddenly wrecked with want. “I haven’t even gotten st-started yet.”

“Your fault,” you whisper back, trembling, eyes fluttering shut as he teases his fingers through your folds, swiping slick against your puffy lips. “You started it.”

“And I’m gonna finish it,” he promises darkly, licking up your neck again. “Right here.”

Your eyes almost roll into the back of your head as he crooks one evil finger through your folds, gathering your slick to aid the taunting circles he begins to draw over your clit. He doesn’t care to drag your pants down any further, perfectly content with shoving your front against the counter and pressing his bulge against the roundness of your ass.

“Aha—Toby-” You whine, his fingertips rubbing merciless circles against your clit, your knees resisting the urge to buckle and crash you into the floor. Toby, all the while, is littering your neck with bites and kisses, disregarding exactly how much whiplash this is giving you. “Slow, agh—slow down.”

He lets off your neck, his free hand coming up to grip your jaw with wincing force, twitchy fingers dragging your deeply flushed face to turn and look at him.

He bores wide eyes at you down the length of his nose. He looks gloriously smug as he eases his middle finger inside you, but his mouth curling upwards at the wanton moan that spills from your lips as you clench around him.

“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, as he curls it just so. You nod fervidly and capture his lips in a desperate kiss, as though eager to prove his point. You whimper against his mouth when he repeats the movement, and he swallows the sound of your pleasure; opening up to you and delving in with his tongue.

His finger is quick, edgy jerks of his wrist lighting your cunt up with shock after sensitive shock as your thighs shake under you. His tongue explores your mouth, spit coating each other’s lips with each hungry kiss Toby plants upon you.

Pressure builds against the kettle's spout, air growing louder. 

“Think I can make my sweet girl cum before your pre-precious tea is ready?” He grits, popping off of your mouth with a satisfied grin and spit-glistened lips. You go to shake your head, go to tell him to take it easy, but he’s already bullying another finger into your sopping cunt, panties soaked nearly through your work pants.

“Jesus, Toby—yeah, yeah okay-” you spread your legs a little wider, leaning just a little further against the counter as Toby’s palm nudges ruthlessly against your sensitive clit.

He smiles wide, pressing his hips harder against your ass, grinding himself in time with his curling fingers as his free hand snakes up the front of your shirt, groping your tits. He’s becoming frantic, and you can only hope to keep up.

You bite down on your tongue to cut short your whiny moan as Toby presses the pad of his fingers into your g-spot. The depths of his eyes glitter dark with malevolent glee as you writhe between him and the counter—your body caught in a battle between wanting to chase what his fingers are doing and needing him to stop for two damn seconds so you can focus on not buckling under both his and your weight.

“Let it all out, c’mon sw-sweet girl, let me hear you,” he growls against your jaw, nipping against the skin there. Your hips jerk in time with his hand, body following the rub of his palm on your clit, feeling the ever-closer tightness in your gut.

He pulls out of you and begins to circle your clit once more.

Your frustration materialises in a noise that’s partway between a whine and a growl, and you throw your head back against his shoulder—dishevelled breathing nearly overshadowing the faint whistle building on the kettle.

There’s no controlling the way your hips roll to compliment his movements, even though you’re trapped against the counter thoroughly enough that your own movements are limited by Toby’s arm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?”

Your hips buck when he catches on a particularly sensitive spot, a desperate attempt to have his fingers press into your entrance again. But he moves with you, continuing only to draw stuttering patterns.

“Let me hear you, sweet girl,” he repeats.

Your breaths have increased to a heavy pant, broken only by the small gasps and mewls at each movement he makes—all at once too much and not nearly enough. 

Maybe it’s the stance, or the overstimulation, or the fact that you’re about the cry if Toby doesn’t put his fucking fingers in your fucking pussy. But you’re slipping one hand off the counter and reaching back to tangle into his hair, dragging his gaze to meet yours.

“Please, Toby,” you pant. “I don’t care how fast you go, I do—hah—don’t care what you do. I just need to cum, right now. I need you to make me cum, Toby.”

Each word from your rambling mouth makes Toby’s eyes widen, grin growing wider and wider. He doesn’t need to be convinced any longer.

You mewl as he curls his fingers inside you, dragging against your walls as he begins a rapid, tear-jerking rhythm. He kisses and sucks at your ear, tugging on the lobe with a sharpness that has your eyes clamping shut and moans shrieking from your lips.

His free hand slithers from under your shirt to snag a bruising grip on your hips, encouraging you to grind your hips down onto his hand, his own hips rutting against you like a dog.

“Yeah, Toby—Yeah.”

You moan as he scissors his fingers inside you. You’ve been so overwhelmed by sensations until now that you’re only just realising the kettle is nearly ready, faint whistle growing louder—as Toby’s fingers grew faster.

“C’mon, baby, almost there—al-almost there.”

He adds a third finger, and begins to pump into you with much more intention than before, the hilt of his palm purposefully rutting against your clit, cunt absolutely sloppy with your arousal in your panties.

“I’m close—Toby, ‘m so close, c’mon-”

“Let me feel it, sweetheart.”

His fingers hit a particularly sweet spot, and you gasp in approval as he begins to pick up speed, hitting that spot again and again, coaxing and curling and grinding his palm relentlessly against your clit.

Toby pays rapt attention to your face as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes dart between yours, and his lips curl upwards with every desperate sound that spills from you. He supports your weight while your legs tremble beneath you, and you cling to him for dear life as your stomach muscles shake, and coil ever tighter until everything inside you is pulled taut and—

The tension snaps. Your spine arches against him, his hips plowing against yours, and you cry out as the first relentless waves of your orgasm crash over you. Toby guides you through each pitiful swell with deep strokes that have you seeing stars. He doesn’t dare to let a single ripple of pleasure pass you by.

You’re still gasping for breath, knuckles white against the counter, thighs twitching where they press together, trying to regain some sense of control—but your body is spent, trembling, soaked through.

Toby’s palm is warm and steady where it rests between your legs, the heel of his hand applying just enough pressure to keep the mess contained while you come down from the high. His fingers slowly slip from you, careful not to overstimulate, though the ghost of them lingers, making you shudder in place.

Then—

The kettle screeches, high whistle filling the air.

Toby snorts through his nose, resting his forehead against your shoulder with a groan.

“Well, looks like I win,” he mutters, sounding slightly dazed himself.

You’re still catching your breath, legs barely cooperating. “I can’t move.”

He doesn’t hesitate—just guides you easily by the waist and back towards your bathroom, minding your still-sensitive body. He keeps one hand on your hip while grabbing a rag with the other, wetting it with warm tap water.

“Stay put,” he murmurs. “Lemme clean you up.”

You hum softly, dazed and grateful as he shimmies your pants and panties off of your hips and down your legs, this time not with lust, but with care. He eyes your soaked panties.

“Ruined ’em,” he comments, not unkindly. He gives you a cocky little smirk. “Might fra-frame ’em.”

“Gross,” you whisper, but there’s a sleepy smile on your face now.

His hands are gentle now—soft wipes between your thighs, slow dabs where the fabric is soaked. The wet heat of your panties clings uncomfortably, and without asking, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and peels them down.

Once he’s done wiping you clean, he presses a lingering kiss to your cheek—reverent this time—and tugs your shirt down to cover you back up before standing. He moves with less twitch now, more grounded, like something has calmed the buzzing in his own nerves.

He wipes you gently, but when he shifts to toss the rag into the sink behind him, the movement presses his hoodie up just enough for you to see.

A dark, unmistakable patch soaks through the front of his jeans.

Your brows lift slowly, a smile creeping across your face. “Toby.”

He freezes, mid-reach. “…Yeah?”

You lean forward, tapping a finger against the wet spot on his pants. “Did you seriously come in your pants?”

He jerks slightly at the touch, groaning as if you’d just caught him doing something far worse. “Fu-Fuck, don’t say it like that,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears flush red through his messy hair. “You were… God, you were makin’ noises, s-squeezin’ my fingers, it felt so good grinding against you… I wasn’t exact-exactly in control.”

You snort, amused and charmed all at once. “Didn’t even get your dick touched, and you still—”

“Don’t,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You laugh again, light and warm, and slide to stand in front of him. His hands instinctively land on your hips to steady you, but he avoids your eyes, embarrassed even though he’s the one who just made you come undone with his fingers alone.

“Hey,” you say gently, hands smoothing up under his hoodie, resting at his waist. “Let me take care of you now.”

His eyes open at that—cautious, a little wide. “You d-don’t have to—”

“I know,” you cut in, smiling softly. “But I want to.”

He swallows hard as you pull him toward the sink where the rag lies, damp and forgotten. You grab a clean one instead and dampen it with warm water, testing the temperature before turning back to him. “Pants down, killer.”

He stares at you like you just said the most blasphemous thing imaginable. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” you counter.

Toby groans in defeat, tugging open his jeans and boxers with minimal ceremony, wincing at the sticky mess inside them. You don’t laugh—not this time. Instead, you step between his legs, towel in hand, and meet his gaze with soft, adoring mischief.

“You really did make a mess,” you murmur, crouching slightly as you press the towel gently against him. You wipe him down with care, the same way he did for you—slow, soothing, careful not to tease too much, though it’s hard when you hear the little breathy sounds he makes.

He grips the edge of the counter behind him, watching you like you’re some kind of religious experience. “Fuckin’ hell, watch your hands.”

“I just like seeing you flustered,” you tease, brushing the inside of his thigh lightly.

He hisses softly. “You’re mean.”

“I’m sweet,” you correct, finally finishing your gentle cleanup and tossing the towel into the sink behind you. “You’re just really easy to get riled.”

He grabs your waist again and pulls you up against him, nose brushing yours. “You keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna make us both miss tea and bedtime.”

You press a kiss to his jaw, light as a feather. “Tempting. But I think I’ve earned my tea.”

You both fix your clothes, you slipping on a fresh pair of bottoms, and shuffling back to the kitchen.

The kettle is still whistling softly, having clicked off on its own. He moves to pour the water, and you slide to grab the mugs, still a little wobbly in the knees.

He steadies you with ease, eyes flicking down to check on you.

“You okay?”

You nod, curling into his side. “Yeah. Sleepy, now.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “My duty has been fulfi-fulfilled.”

He hands you your mug first—your favorite one, the one he always pretends not to use but definitely steals when you’re not home. He hands you a steaming cup of tea steeped to perfection, then takes his own and nudges you toward the couch.

You settle in against him, tucked under his arm, legs draped across his lap. He presses a palm to your thigh, rubbing slow, grounding circles as you sip.

There’s still tension in your muscles, yes—but it’s softer now. Quiet. Manageable.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you say quietly.

He hums, resting his head against yours. “Yeah, I did. You weren’t gon-gonna stop. You never do.”

“Hypocrite,” you snide, but he looks down at you with that rare, unfiltered softness.

“I want you tak-taken care of,” he says simply. “I beat too many randos up everyday. Sometimes I just wanna take care of somebody.”

Your heart swells. The tea in your hand warms your palms, but it’s nothing compared to the heat that fills your chest.

You lean into him, nose tucked into his hoodie, your body finally able to melt against something solid. He holds you there in silence, kissing the top of your head every so often.

The night is quiet now—no stress, no thoughts of work.

Just tea, Toby, and the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart that’s completely and totally in sync with yours.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ HOODIE

Arms wrap around you from behind. Firm. Familiar. Gloved hands press against your stomach, steadying you as you flinch and try to spin around, broom handle gripped tight.

“No need to scream,” his voice is low, calm, muffled slightly by the fabric of his mask. “It’s just me.”

You tense. “Jesus, Hoodie!”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You turn in his arms to face him—not able to see his expression beneath the worn fabric of his hood, but it doesn’t matter. The tension bleeding from his shoulders says enough. He’s tired, like you. But he’s here.

“You left the door wide open,” you mutter, pushing against his chest with a huff, his hand leaving your waist to remove the broom from your hands. “You know I’ve had the worst week. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. I thought something happened.”

He nods, quiet, and doesn’t let you pull away too far. “I got the weekend off. I was going to surprise you. Thought I’d beat you home.”

You raise a brow. “So you decided to break in?”

“Technically, I have a key,” he mumbles under his breath.

You cross your arms, unimpressed.

“Okay,” he concedes with a sigh. “I messed up.”

Despite your irritation, a little huff of laughter escapes. He always does this—makes you want to stay mad just a little longer than you can actually hold it. Still, the adrenaline is slowly leaving your system now, and your body remembers how exhausted you are.

He watches you for a moment. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He doesn’t press you. Instead, he steps out of your space and heads to the kitchen like he owns the place—and honestly, after all this time, maybe he kind of does. You hear the sounds of a mug being pulled down, the soft trickle of water filling the kettle. Cabinets opening. The scrape of a plate. It’s methodical. Gentle. Like he’s trying to undo the jolt he gave you.

You follow him, arms still crossed, trying not to let your annoyance outweigh your relief. On your way back, you flip off every light you had turned on in your frenzy, and make sure to shut the back door firmly.

Hoodie sets a steaming cup of tea in front of you a few minutes later and tugs the kitchen island chair back. “Sit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I’m the one who scared you half to death. Let me make it up to you.”

You blink at him. That’s as close to a romantic apology as you’re probably going to get. So… you sigh, scoop up the tea, and scoot into the stool. 

The mug’s warmth sinks into your palms. You lift it to your lips, take a slow sip—earthy, floral, a little sweet—and let out a sigh. The tension in your shoulders doesn’t disappear, but it dulls a bit, enough to make you realize how tightly you’ve been holding everything inside.

Across the island, Hoodie leans against the counter, his own mug cradled loosely in one gloved hand. His head is tilted slightly, watching you in that quiet, patient way of his — like he’s giving you time to unwind, wordlessly encouraging you to talk without pushing. 

You glance up at him through tired lashes. “Long week,” you murmur.

He nods. “Figured.”

“You?”

A grunt of acknowledgement. “We were out on rotation. Recon, mostly.” He shifts a bit, pulling his hood down with one hand and sliding the mask up above his nose just enough to drink. “Nothing exciting, but… exhausting.”

You frown a little. “You’re back early. That usually means something went wrong.”

He shrugs. “Not wrong. Just… tense.” A pause. “Tim’s been on edge.”

“More than usual?”

“Mhm.”

You blow softly on your tea, letting the heat curl against your lips. “Work’s been hell. My boss is a micromanaging narcissist and I’ve had two people quit in the last ten days. One of them cried in the break room before they left.”

Hoodie hums, like he’s picturing that too vividly. “You quit yet?”

You let out a dry little laugh. “I fantasize about it. Daily.”

“Do it,” he says simply. “I’ll hide the body.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin sneaks in anyway. “Not every problem can be solved by murder.”

“That’s where we differ.”

Another beat of silence passes, but it’s not awkward. Just shared weariness between two people who trust each other to hold the quiet without needing to fill it.

Then Hoodie lifts the front of his sweatshirt to his nose, sniffs himself, and grimaces.

You raise an eyebrow. “Charming.”

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath. “We really are disgusting.”

You smirk into your cup. “I didn’t want to say anything, but you do smell like old sweat and outside.”

He glares at you over the rim of his mug. “You smell like stress and three-day-old coffee.”

“Fair.”

He finishes the last of his drink, sets it down with a soft clink, then pushes away from the counter. “Come on. Shower.”

You blink, surprised. “Together?”

He pauses. His body language doesn’t change, but you can feel the way his attention snaps to you—heavy and focused like a shift in air pressure.

You weren’t trying to sound suggestive, not really. But the way his eyes darken just slightly beneath the mask, the subtle way he squares his shoulders—it hits you low in your stomach.

“…That an invitation?” he asks, voice lower now. Rougher.

You stare at him for a long moment. Then nod. “Yeah. It is.”

The tension that follows is thick—not awkward, but heavy with something slow-burning, simmering beneath the exhaustion. Craving contact and comfort in the most stripped-down way.

He doesn’t move quickly. Just steps around the island and stops in front of you, gloved fingers brushing yours where they rest against the mug. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to.

Because when his hand slides into yours and you let him lead you down the hallway, it’s not about rushing or undoing the tension with heat—it’s about scrubbing off the week, the weight, the grime, together.

The bathroom is quiet, lit only by the small bulb over the mirror and the faint orange glow bleeding in from the hallway. You pad in behind him, feet soft against the tile, while Hoodie reaches for the knobs on the shower.

The pipes groan as hot water spills from the head, steam rising slowly. His gloves come off first, dropped beside the sink in a damp little thud. You reach out without a word, your hands brushing his as you move to help—first with his sweatshirt, tugging the hem up, his arms lifting in silent permission.

He watches you the entire time. You can’t see his eyes fully behind the fabric, but you feel them. Heavy. Focused. You pull the hoodie up over his head and it catches briefly on his mask—the cloth tight over his jaw—and you freeze. One hand lifts gently, thumb brushing the edge of the mask just above his cheekbone.

His body tenses.

“I don’t have to,” you whisper.

But he doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t speak. He just watches.

So slowly, carefully, you slide the mask up and off—exposing his mouth, his knotted brows, the quiet twitch of nerves along his throat as he swallows. His blond hair is messy, but you don’t care to fix it. You don’t stare. You just fold the fabric and set it aside, stepping close enough to press a kiss just beneath his chin. He exhales—long and low—and his hands settle on your hips, grounding himself.

Then it’s your turn.

You tug your own shirt over your head, his hands slipping around your back as soon as it’s gone. You feel him press a kiss to your collarbone, soft and unhurried, while you make quick work of the rest—pants, socks, underwear. He follows suit, until the only thing between you is warmth and anticipation.

The shower is fogged by the time you step in.

The hot spray hits your shoulders first, drawing a sigh from you both. You lean back against him as he closes the curtain behind you, his body flush against yours, his arms slowly wrapping around your waist. The water beads down your skin, over your back, between your bodies.

Neither of you speak.

His hands start slow—washing, soothing, mapping the lines of your body like he’s grounding himself in the shape of you. You do the same, fingers sliding across the plane of his chest, up to his shoulders. You trace the curve of his neck, the muscles tense beneath your fingertips, and he lets out a low hum that vibrates against your back.

His hands wander lower, over your stomach, hips, the inside of your thighs. Not demanding—just feeling. Exploring without pressure.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder. “Still feel gross?” you murmur.

His lips brush your ear. “Not even a little.”

You laugh, breathless, and twist in his arms so you’re facing him. The spray catches you both in the face, so he shifts slightly, shielding you with his body. One hand cups your jaw, the other smoothing over your lower back, pulling you closer.

Your chest presses to his, slick and warm under the water.

He doesn’t kiss you yet—just watches, eyes roaming your features like he’s trying to memorize every expression. One of your hands comes up to brush his damp hair back from his forehead. He’s so much more real like this. Human. Not the shadow you’ve grown used to meeting in alleyways or at your back door.

You lean in. Your lips touch his.

It’s slow. Not rushed or hungry—just hot, steady, present. He kisses you like he means it, like it matters. Like being here, with you, is the only thing that’s made his week feel real.

His hand slides down again, fingers brushing the swell of your ass, pulling you in. Your thighs meet his hips. Your body melts against him.

And it’s not just comfort anymore. It’s hunger in disguise.

The spray from the shower rolls heat around you, hot and soothing—but the real heat is pressed against you. He turns you, Hoodie’s chest flush to your back, his hands skimming up your sides, palms calloused but purposeful. Every touch is unhurried, deliberate, like he’s tracing your nerves from memory.

One hand finds your jaw, turning your face slightly so he can kiss you again—slow, deep, his lips dragging across yours like he’s trying to sink into you. The other dips lower, brushing your stomach, your hip, until he’s between your thighs.

You gasp, fingers gripping his wrist.

His palm flattens across your mound, his fingertips dipping between your thighs with featherlight pressure—teasing, exploring. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches your face tilt slightly toward his, breath quickening when his fingers stroke along your slit.

“Let me,” he murmurs, voice rough in your ear. “Just relax for me.”

Your body leans into his, already giving in.

You’re already wet. Not just from the water—him.

A low, satisfied hum escapes his throat. “You’re soaked.”

You whimper as he drags his middle finger up slowly, parting you, brushing right over your clit. His fingers are big, his entire palm covering your cunt and making you squirm.

“Sensitive?” he murmurs against your temple.

“God—yes…”

You feel his smirk more than you see it. His lips graze your ear, breath hot, teasing.

“I haven’t even started yet.”

His hand moves with a firmer purpose now. His middle finger dips between your folds, gliding down to your entrance, and slowly—so fucking slowly—he pushes the first knuckle in. Your back arches against him as his finger sinks deep, curling slightly, testing the way your walls squeeze around him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, the sound husky, almost reverent. “So tight…”

You whine, eyes fluttering shut. His other hand comes up to brace your chest, sliding across your ribs, then down again—holding you still as he starts to move his finger, curling it gently with each pump. The water pours down over both of you, but all you feel is him—every slow press, every filthy grind of his palm against your clit.

You’ve barely had time to adjust when he’s pushing another finger.

Your legs nearly give out.

“Easy,” he murmurs, shifting his body behind yours to support your weight. “I’ve got you.”

The stretch of his fingers—thick, deep, perfect—has your mouth falling open in a gasp. He keeps them pumping in a steady rhythm, thumb circling your clit now with increasing pressure, drawing tight little spirals that make your stomach flutter.

“You feel that?” His voice is in your ear again, ragged and dark. “How wet you are for me? How fucking hard you’re squeezing?”

You nod helplessly, body tensing with every thrust of his fingers.

“Say it,” he demands softly.

“I—fuck—I’m so wet for you,” you breathe, barely able to form the words. “Feels so good, Brian—”

“That’s it,” he growls, voice cracked with restraint. “Let me make you cum. Let me feel you lose it.”

His fingers drive deeper, faster now—fingers still curled, stroking that sweet spot inside you over and over, his thumb unrelenting on your clit. Your knees start to shake. One of your hands flies up to brace the slick tile while the other scrambles to grip his wrist, holding on for dear life.

Your body is falling apart under him.

Every drag of Hoodie’s fingers has you writhing—hips rocking, thighs twitching, your hands scrambling to grip the slick wall for leverage as your orgasm builds fast and hard. The water from the shower pelts your chest and stomach, but all you can feel is him—his broad chest flush to your back, his breath hot and steady in your ear, and those thick, relentless fingers stroking deeper inside you with every second.

But your body’s fighting it.

Too much pleasure. Too intense. Your hips twitch forward, your spine arches, your whole body bucks instinctively to escape the overwhelming stimulation—

He doesn’t let you go.

Suddenly his chest is pressing harder into your back, and both your wrists are yanked behind you, caught in his grip. His free hand locks around them tight, pulling your arms behind you in a rough, controlled hold that drags a breathless cry from your lips.

“Stay still,” he growls into your ear, voice low, commanding, not up for argument.

Your gasp is punched out of you as the new position throws your balance off—spine arched, chest pushed forward, legs shaking as you try not to collapse under the weight of your own pleasure. You’re pinned now. Arms locked behind your back, completely open to him, vulnerable, dripping wet, and aching.

The fingers inside you don’t slow down. If anything—they get rougher.

“Don’t stop—don’t stop—” you gasp, hips grinding into his hand, chasing the release that’s almost too much too fast.

“Not gonna,” he grits. “Wanna feel you break for me. Right here. Right now.”

He plunges deep with every stroke, knuckle-deep, curling his fingers in a punishing rhythm that makes your eyes roll back. His palm grinds against your clit now, adding even more pressure—building you to a fever pitch, pushing you over that edge harder than you were ready for.

“F-Fuck, Brian—!” you cry out, voice shaking.

“You wanted to cum so bad,” he hisses into your hair. “Then cum for me. Right here. Let me feel it.”

Your whole body goes tense—knees buckling, thighs squeezing shut around his hand as your orgasm hits like a lightning strike. Your scream tears from your throat, raw and high and completely involuntary. 

“That’s it… good girl… fuck, that’s so hot. You’re so good for me.”

Your walls clench around his fingers like a vice, pulsing so violently it almost hurts. He groans low against your ear, gripping your wrists tighter behind you, holding you steady while you thrash against him, shaking and twitching through it.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, voice reverent. “Look at you…”

You’re panting, trembling, your body sagging against him as your orgasm crests and crashes. Your knees start to give, and Hoodie finally releases your wrists, catching you before you can drop. His arms wrap around you, one hand slipping to your front again to gently cup between your thighs, rubbing softly as the aftershocks leave you whimpering.

“Shhh… easy now,” he whispers. “I got you. It’s over. You did so good.”

His nose nuzzles against your temple. His other hand lifts to brush the hair back from your face as you catch your breath.

You melt back into him, boneless and flushed and soaking wet—in more ways than one.

“You okay?” he asks again, quieter this time.

You nod weakly, voice hoarse. “Yeah. Jesus.”

He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Let’s get you clean. Then I’ll carry you to bed.”

His fingers leave you slowly, the tight ring of muscle clamping as you gush around him, and you can feel your body flutter around the absence, still sensitive, still twitching. But now it’s gentle again—his touches soft, calming. And the steady weight of him holding you upright, even when you can’t stand.

The water runs warm over your skin, steam curling lazily around your shoulders as you lean your back into Hoodie’s chest, heart still hammering beneath your ribs. Your thighs twitch now and then with the aftershocks, but his arms are steady around you—one curled low around your waist, the other reaching for the washcloth.

You don’t even flinch when he starts cleaning you up.

He does it slowly, gently—as if he’s smoothing away every trembling breath you let out. Between your thighs, the soft cloth catches the slick remnants of your release, and he’s careful. Tender. Like it’s important to him you know you’re not just some frayed thing he unraveled for fun.

He tilts your chin up with two fingers and kisses you once, slow and warm, then returns to washing you, rinsing off the sweat and tension like he can scrub away everything that made your week hard.

“You good?” he asks quietly after a while.

You nod, leaning your head back on his shoulder. “Yeah. I think I just melted a little.”

He chuckles low. “That was the goal.”

You roll your eyes, smile soft. “You’re smug.”

“Only when I earn it.”

You hum in response, watching the water swirl around your feet. It’s quiet for a few seconds. The kind of silence that feels like the weight has been lifted from your chest. You take a long breath in—and for the first time in days, your muscles don’t resist.

Your voice comes softer now. “I don’t feel as tense anymore.”

“Because I fucked the stress out of you?” he deadpans against your ear, the smirk in his voice unmistakable.

You reach behind you and swat his hip.

“No,” you say, turning your head slightly. “Because you’re here.”

That gets him.

You can see his face, but Hoodie has always been more of a body language guy—the way his arms tighten around you, the way his chin dips slightly to rest on your shoulder—yeah, you got him.

“I missed you,” you add. “Even your dumb sarcasm.”

“I missed you more,” he says without hesitation. “And I hate everything, so that’s saying a lot.”

You huff out a laugh and press a kiss to the edge of his jaw. “Come on. Let’s rinse off so we don’t turn into raisins.”

He grumbles but helps you finish washing the rest of your body, then lets you return the favor—dragging the cloth over his chest, down his arms, across the curve of his hipbone. You take your time, watching the way his muscles twitch beneath your touch, the way he bites back little groans when your fingers wander too low for too long.

“Careful,” he warns under his breath as you rake your nails over his abdomen. “You’re gonna restart something you just recovered from.”

You give him a slow smirk. “I’m just learning the terrain, soldier.”

He stares at you for a long second, then turns off the water without a word—stepping out first, grabbing two towels and handing you one. You both dry off, sharing lazy touches and lingering glances in the soft bathroom light. 

You glance at him in the reflection.

Still bare, hair damp, mask long gone—Hoodie looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your spine, the way your expression softens when you catch him staring.

“What?” you ask, toweling off your arms.

He just shrugs, eyes warm. “You look like you again.”

Your hands slow. “Was I looking like someone else?”

“No,” he says, stepping closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Just… you look lighter.”

You smile, small and sincere.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to pad into the bedroom, bodies warm and lazy from the shower. You throw on one of his old black shirts, oversized and soft, and he tosses on some sweatpants he left here last time, towel-drying his hair half-heartedly before flopping onto the mattress.

You climb in beside him, crawling over his chest until you’re straddling his hips.

He raises a brow. “Starting round two?”

You grin and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Not yet. Just getting in position for when I do.”

He groans, palm dragging over his face. “Jesus. You were just screaming five minutes ago.”

“And now I’m thriving.” You dip down and murmur against his ear, “Next time, I’m gonna make you squirm.”

His hands find your thighs, squeezing once. “Promises, promises.”

You settle in beside him, curling against his side, the both of you tangled under the covers, body to body and nothing between. It’s the kind of peace that only comes after wreckage—the kind that settles in your bones and refuses to let go.

And as you close your eyes, cheek pressed to his chest, you realize something.

You’re not thinking about work. You’re not thinking about deadlines. You’re not thinking about anything but the weight of his hand on your hip and the sound of his breathing. You’re not just less stressed.

You’re home, and falling asleep easily for the first time in days.

This was an anonymous request!

Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ back to my masterlists

── .✦ rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ꩜ .ᐟ

[elysiansparadise]

Ruler of the 1st house in the houses

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Throughout their lives, these natives experience experiences that make them very clear that they themselves must be their own priority, that they should never put other people's needs first if that means putting their own needs aside. They are focused on knowing themselves better, increasing their knowledge of themselves and always keeping their priorities in mind so as not to stray. They stand out for being very independent people who may even be uncomfortable having to ask for help from others, in fact, it is likely that they have learned to be independent from a very early age. Many of them have a great ability to lead groups or at least inspire others to empower themselves and do things their way. They never hesitate to say what they think, but they can be more reserved when it comes to opening up emotionally to others, as they have very high walls between themselves and others. They do not like to interfere in the lives of others and hate when others feel they have the right to tell them how to live their lives or how to act, and they won't hesitate defending their points of view fiercely. It bothers them when other people don't take them seriously or when their boundaries are ignored, and believe me, they won't allow themselves to be trampled on by someone, because they stand out for their courage and strong sense of self. Their immediate environment sees them as people with a strong, almost unbreakable self-esteem, they exude power, strength and can give the impression of being invincible, even being able to easily intimidate other people. They do not like to feel or appear weak. They constantly seek to improve either in the skills they have or as people. They have initiative and do not sit back and wait for things to happen, some can be impatient when it comes to seeing the fruits of their work. They don't like to feel unproductive. They are people who will always prefer to be authentic rather than hypocritical in order to fit in or be surrounded by people, and since I mentioned it, many of them can be rather ambiverts. They are very selective with the people they surround themselves with and being alone is not a fear for them.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These natives prioritize finding stability in their lives, in every possible sense, from economic stability to mental and emotional stability. Throughout their lives they embark on a path of self-worth, working on their self-esteem and learning to recognize their positive sides. They are focused on making their lives something they can enjoy and do things that they consider valuable to invest their time and energy. They are very attractive people, they can be seen as naturally elegant. They aspire to have a quiet life in which they have everything they need and did not need when they were younger, they know what they deserve and do not settle for crumbs or little. These natives stand out for being calm and rational, they don't like to rush into things, but they know how to give their all once they make a decision. They highly value their authenticity and independence, however, they do not hesitate to support their closest circle. It is very likely that from a young age they have been a strong support, whether for a parent, other family members or even friends. They give the impression of being very stable, of having things in order in their lives and of being almost unbreakable, they project a strength that is rather approachable and people can feel safe with them, even drawn at them. For them, tangibility is crucial, that is, actions before words, from showing their love and affection with actions or gifts (as well as enjoying being shown affection in this way), to not promising things that they know they cannot. achieve. They are people who work hard and progressively in everything they consider important, whether in the workplace, personal or love sphere. They believe that small details are always important, small efforts that are constant and significant. There are little things about these natives that are considered attractive, often things that are not under their control such as mannerisms or their voice. They take care of their appearance and like to dress in clothes that they feel comfortable in, they prioritize their own comfort when it comes to this. They may easily attract money into their lives or be naturally good at managing finances.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

For these natives speaking their minds is the most important thing, they like to be clear with what they think, want and even feel. If they have something to say they will not hesitate to do so. They stand out for being very rational people, capable of seeing things from different perspectives. Their minds can be restless and that can lead them to be people with a tendency to multitask and even have many diverse and different interests among them. Speaking of which, these people love to learn new things, the idea of ​​knowing everything they can about a topic that catches their attention fascinates them, although sometimes once this task is finished they can get bored. They need constant mental stimulation and to stay busy. Many of them have a strong tendency to overthink things and be somewhat anxious, worrying about the future. Despite this, these people know how to adapt very well to changes and constantly seek to make small changes, whether in their rhythms of life, activities or even in their appearances. These people can read well the environment in which they find themselves and easily adapt to it as well as to the people who are there. Your relationship with your siblings or cousins ​​can be very influential, or they can even be a great influence on your siblings or other younger members of your family. These natives are quite cunning and intelligent and give the impression of being not easily fooled and very cultured. People tend to listen to what they say more easily, because they have a lot of charm. For them, communication is key in any relationship, especially those that they consider important to them, and they could not be with someone who does not have a topic of conversation or who does not let them talk/does not listen to them. They like to maintain a calm and bearable environment, jokers, witty and very funny, they love to entertain themselves and amuse others with their stories and occurrences. There is a playful and slightly mischievous appeal to them, and it should be added that as the years go by, they seem to look younger. It is easy for them to follow a conversation since, as I mentioned, they adapt very quickly to people, no matter how different they are from them. They stand out as good communicators, whether orally or in writing, and also for their creativity. They like to learn how to do many things and it is no surprise that many of them have a wide variety of skills.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Throughout their lives, these natives experience experiences that lead them to always seek their own emotional comfort, to worry and take care of their emotional needs, but above all their inner peace. They are naturally perceptive and caring people when it comes to other people's emotions, they seem to read them very well and never try to make others uncomfortable. They are internally very sensitive people, although they create a shell that protects them from getting hurt or from others taking advantage of this emotionality and their hearts. The family gave great lessons to the native and their relationship with them is quite important to them, whether because of how close they are and how well they get along, or because of the scars they may have left. These natives do not forget easily, and may find themselves constantly thinking about the past. They do not hesitate to go deep inside themselves and analyze themselves, they are quite self-aware, but it will always be a process that they prefer to do on their own. Many of them may have this bad tendency to repress their feelings, always wanting to appear strong or simply preferring to break down when they are alone. They are very supportive and warm people with those they love, always respectful of their emotions and boundaries. They have a strong protective instinct towards all those with whom they form strong emotional bonds. For them it is crucial to feel safe and secure, there is nothing they want more than to keep their inner child happy, avoiding repeating situations from the past that previously hurt them. There is something about them that makes people feel naturally comfortable, people can open up to them more easily and tell them very private things. They may feel a strong interest in the past of the people they care about, from family or friends. It is likely that these natives are very similar, either in physical appearance or behavior to ancestors or older people in their families. Home for them is a place where they feel like they can be themselves, where they don't have to have their barriers up and where they feel protected and comfortable. They may find comfort in being with themselves, although at times the loneliness can become overwhelming. What is clear is that they value quality in their emotional ties with people, which is why they prefer to be on their own rather than calling the wrong person family or friend.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟓𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Over the course of their lives, these natives embark on a path toward self-love and self-acceptance. They are people who can place many expectations on themselves and can be very demanding, although very few people see it and realize it. This happens because people tend to see them as very confident, charismatic and incredibly attractive people, since these natives have the ability to attract the attention of others with ease. A mix of attractiveness and sensuality. Throughout their lives, they learn to love and appreciate each other, to never let disrespect pass or be with people who do not love and respect them as they deserve. These people have a very intense way of loving, for them it is all or nothing, they are not people who commit halfway, and despite their flirtatious yet independent appearance, when they find someone with whom they want to be in a relationship, they do not hesitate. They really like romance, details and they love the idea of ​​having a relationship in which love and passion abound. They like emotional intensity in their relationships, someone who adores them and loves them madly, who is crazy about them and shows the same degree of devotion as them. These people know what they want in a relationship, and they would rather be alone than be with someone who doesn't meet the requirements. They are usually lucky enough to be liked back by their crushes and can attract many hidden admirers. These people like to show themselves as strong, confident and empowered, as people who do not depend on anyone or the opinions of other people, because the experiences they have lived have taught them to be authentic and true to themselves.These people may excel deeply in some skill or talent, and may be seen as great at this. They are really passionate about their interests, beyond romance, if they have hobbies they can put their heart entirely into them. They have the ability to charm the people they interact with. They are very honest and open people with what they want, they do not hold back their opinions and can have a lethal bluntness on many occasions. Deep down, they are very expressive, emotional and loving individuals, never leaving any room for doubt about the love or appreciation they feel.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟔𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Throughout their lives, these natives experience the constant belief that to be worthy of something they have to work hard, although this leads them to be dedicated and responsible people with everything they consider important in their lives, it also influences the way they relate to their environment, believing that they have to be something specific or achieve things in order to feel good about themselves. These natives have a strong need to be productive, to do something constantly, and they can feel bad about themselves when they are not being efficient. They are demanding of themselves, they stand out for their intelligence and observation skills. Their independence is one of their strongest characteristics and despite being very capable individually, they know how to work as a team and are quite efficient and collaborative. They like to feel like they are doing things with purpose, meaningful things, and they think very carefully about what they want to use their energy for, making sure not to waste time on things they consider meaningless. They are very helpful and empathetic people from a rather practical approach, from giving advice to being easy to solve issues of any kind. They can be very nervous people, they have a tendency to worry a lot about things, from their own performance to possible outcomes. For them it is important to have a job for which they feel passion, a job that allows them to have a certain individuality and that allows them to grow and continue learning, this placement makes it likely that they will work in something that they really like, even from a very young age. They are people who respect all living beings, whether people, plants, animals, they can have a strong bond with their pets and manage to connect with animals in a unique and wholesome way. Even if they like fun and variety, these people prefer to have a rather stable life, putting their mental and emotional peace before anything else. They are people very focused on their well-being in all areas, taking care of themselves and doing things that give them a sense of fulfillment. They stand out for their high level of devotion and loyalty in everything they consider important in their lives. They have a great work ethic that allows them to grow quickly in the workplace.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

One of the most prominent lessons in the lives of these natives is about relationships, learning that it is better to be alone than in bad company. Many of these natives develop this balance in learning to be on their own, but also in learning to relate to other people. These natives greatly seek quality in their relationships and put a lot of their energy into making them positive and equitable for both parties. They are people who are very easy to understand and read other people, their attitudes, feelings and needs. People find them very alluring, graceful and people who are generally pleasant to be with, because they are not judgmental of others and when they accept someone into their lives they accept them genuinely. Despite this, they are people who are very clear about what they do not want to deal with in relationships and tend to be quite assertive in them. These people appear polite and approachable to other people, they have a certain charisma that others quickly perceive and it is precisely this subtle charm that attracts others. They will never stay in relationships in which they feel that they give more than they receive, because that search for stability and balance that they have applies in all areas but specifically in their relationships. This placement assures us that the natives will be able to feel that they can be themselves in the presence of their partner, feeling more authentic than when they are with other people. They are very romantic, dedicated and passionate people in their relationships, and they can attract a future spouse like that. Marriage will bring you a lot of self-discovery and can be very beneficial for your lives, giving you not only happiness but fulfillment. They can more easily gain the support of other people and in addition to knowing how to work very well as a team, they manage to connect and really make others feel heard and understood. It is likely that when they were young they gave a lot of importance to what others thought of them, and this is precisely one of the issues that they learn to deal with as time goes by. These people do not hesitate to take the first step in love, they are driven and very direct. Their personality in them may be dominant, however, they may be attracted to equally dominant people.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Here we meet natives with a certain aura of mystery around them. They do not usually reveal much about themselves so easily, they choose to keep to themselves everything they consider important or very personal, they are observers, and will always deeply analyze whether someone is trustworthy or not, trusting their instincts and being right most of the time. They seek something more than the reality to which they are accustomed, they seek to break the barriers of the predictable, mundane and superficial, entering the core of things and people. They look for the genuine, the raw and the authentic. These people are aware of the beautiful sides of life, but also the most tense and that is precisely why they remain alert, attentive and careful not to get hurt again. They hate feeling too vulnerable, showing their weaknesses, their sadness or points that others can use to hurt them. They are people surrounded by a lot of enigma and magnetism, many people recognize in them a survivor, someone whose strength and reserve makes them feel strangely drawn to them. They may find themselves attracting attention even when they want to go unnoticed. Loyal by nature, these people stand firm to their words, although they are not usually too open with what they feel, they feel intensely, they are quite intense in fact, and capable of giving themselves completely. It is difficult for them to trust other people, many times having trusted and been betrayed at their earliest ages, they have learned to rely on themselves and it can be a difficult task for them to let others in. The world is a complex place for them, full of bittersweet memories, some that they would like to return to and others that they would like to erase, yet their strength makes them reborn stronger and wiser. They do not hesitate to provide support and guidance, but it is difficult for them to accept when someone wants to do the same for them. They long to know themselves completely, even if it makes them face things about themselves that are difficult to accept, they are not afraid to know themselves completely, which makes them want to know others with such depth.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟗𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Gifted with great curiosity, these natives have a way of seeing life that is quite out of the box, not settling for everything they are used to seeing in their daily lives. They have the need to find themselves and their authenticity in a huge world full of possibilities. They are not conformist people, and they are constantly in search of information, knowledge and experiences that bring them positive sensations or that are enough to satisfy that desire to discover. Discovering goes beyond the earthly plane such as traveling or interacting with people from other countries (which may be possible), but rather also encompasses the spiritual, emotional and/or internal terrain. They have a high intrapersonal intelligence, which gives the impression of being rational, self-aware and wise people, and also allows them to get to know others in a more personal way. They stand out for their open mentality and their ability to delve into seeing things from different points of view. Many of them possess a certain charm and natural charm, there is something about them and their nature that makes them attract others and rewarding experiences throughout their lives. They always prefer to live a life with passion and purpose, and they are in constant search for theirs, to do something important or at least satisfactory in their stay in this life, they do not like to do things just for the sake of it, they long to give it life, give it a meaning to things. They do not allow themselves to be prejudiced and prefer not to have them in the first place, they appreciate the beauty in differences and do not like to make others feel uncomfortable with who they are. They are people who have a mindset of not worrying but rather taking care of themselves, they do not seek control over what they know they cannot control and on many occasions they know that it is better to let go and let go, having it easier than other people to do this. They may have interests that people consider unconventional or that are very different from those of the people around them. They are people who take pride in being different but don't feel the need to flaunt it. They have an interest in other cultures and may have plans in their dreams to visit different places in the world to which they feel connected in one way or another.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These natives are perfectly clear about what is important to them, what they want to achieve and who they are. From a young age they know that they have to work hard to get what they want, and from a young age they show themselves to be responsible and dedicated. This is an indicator of a person who had to mature since they were children, carrying issues or responsibilities both personal and from others, and in some cases, from people older than them. They tend to easily attract the admiration, respect and attention of people, likewise many of them can be successful in jobs in which they either have a position of authority or in which they are in constant contact with people. They can easily gain recognition simply by being themselves or pursuing one of their passions or talents. Their image matters a lot to them, so they do not hesitate to defend themselves and fight to maintain everything they have achieved throughout their lives. They have a strong need to feel proud of themselves, they often place high expectations on themselves, and it may be a behavior they have learned from a very young age. There is nothing they want more than to make their inner child proud, and be the adult they would have liked to have by their side. They believe that only they themselves can solve their problems, that no one will come to save them and that they have to make things happen, however, deep down, they wish they could have guidance and support. Many of them are not very open with other people, but what is certain is that having them in your life guarantees you a partner, friend or partner who will always be blunt, supportive and shared with you, never making you feel vulnerable or unprotected. It can be easy for these people to relate fluidly with bosses or authority figures, and it should be added that they can be quite good bosses themselves thanks to their decision and practical and fair vision of things. They like to surround themselves with productive, hard-working people who motivate them, these people being partners, friends or family. People who make excuses, who take advantage of others, and who are hypocritical earn their disdain. They are people who, although open and direct with what they think and want, are difficult to get to know deeply.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These natives are in a constant search for belonging, they are likely to feel that they hardly fit in with their peers, that they have problems connecting on a deep level with others or forming bonds of friendship. Although it is difficult for them to call anyone a friend, once they give that title, these natives stand out for being very supportive, encouraging and honest people. Precisely because it is difficult for them to form friendships, when they have one that they consider genuine they attach great importance to loyalty to that bond. These natives are interested in deeper and more personal ties, they feel that to form a good friendship, both need to be themselves and adore each other in that way, authenticity and openness are things they look for. They are independent people, very firm in what they believe and what they consider fair, they have their own criteria and do not feel the need to follow the masses or act according to what others believe or expect. Many of them have great charisma, and it seems to grow the older they get, they have a knack for inspiring other people, often motivating them to be themselves and go towards everything they aspire to. Since I mention it, they stand out for being not only creative people, but great dreamers even from a very young age. They stand out for their intelligence, cunning and for being able to learn many different things regardless of how different each topic is from the other. They like to remain rational and act logically and without causing so much drama. They do not like to live in the past, do what everyone else does or feel like one of the crowd. These natives seek to do what seems important to them, but above all in their own way. Sometimes they can think too much about the future, facing tendencies to overthink or worries about what is going to happen. Some are somewhat nervous and thinking about the future either excites them too much or causes them some anxiety. These natives can have great economic stability if they decide to pursue that career that attracts their attention. Many of them may enjoy spending a lot of time on social networks and may become influential, popular or well-known on them. People can admire them quite a bit and even come to appreciate them.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟐𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Here we find people who, due to life circumstances, have learned not to reveal much about themselves, including very personal aspects. These people may have experienced a lot of stress or difficult events to process at a young age, causing them to mature prematurely. They have great intuition that makes them realize what others go unnoticed, they sense people's moods, their emotions at the moment and even whether they are trustworthy people or not. They can seem mysterious and very reserved to the people they interact with, they decide what to show and what not to show. They are very empathetic people and sensitive to the moods of the people around them, they are capable of putting themselves in someone else's shoes. They are understanding, sensitive and much more emotional than they show at first glance. These people long to find either a place where they feel like they belong or a group of people that makes them feel understood, since many of them have the ability to make others feel accepted, supported and loved, even when they throughout in their lives they may feel that they do not connect so easily with others. They may have abilities to inspire, care, heal or make others feel better, and people can trust them more easily. These people look for a deep meaning not only in life, but in general behind everything that surrounds them, they prefer depth, that which has a true significance, one that marks them and contributes something to their lives. Many of them may have a strong tendency to doubt their intention, often fearing that their fears will get in the way and cloud their judgment. They are people with a very beautiful and resilient soul, often carrying wounds that people are not aware of, and that is precisely what makes them want to really see inside people, make them feel as seen as they would like to feel. Throughout their lives they experience identity crises, or long periods in which they are searching for themselves, often alone. Many of them seem to be in their own world, because they do not seek to get involved in other people's lives. Things hardly remain hidden for these natives, they have the peculiarity that information always reaches them, even if they do not look for it.

[elodieunderglass]

Why are jockeys not supposed to look at smartphones?? will it make them heavier

No, of course not!

It’ll make them criminals

This is in reference to something I mentioned about a prominent female jockey leaving the sport over breaking smartphone usage rules. Nanako Fujita, who raced for Japan, was an excellent jockey with a promising career and international prospects. She was lucky, talented, and in a sport that’s starving for public interest, popular. But she used her smartphone on a weekend, so on October 2024 she tearfully penned her resignation letter and left the sport.

Now, this is slightly more about Japanese sporting authorities than general horse racing practice, but it’s embedded in the idea that jockeys are inherently just such unscrupulous little bastards that they can only be prevented from cheating by locking them in hamster cages.

Going back to how horse racing is historically the province of organised crime, disorganised crime, chaotic crime, things that aren’t crimes but should be, crimes that haven’t been invented yet, and felonies; and given that it all happens for the amusement of billionaires and royalty, not noted for being generous and scrupulous; and given that - much like how claiming a hobby of “knitting” is really a cover story for collecting yarn - horse racing is really an excuse to gamble;

Given all that background - there’s always been a lot of anxiety about jockeys “fixing” races. After all, they’re historically treated as disposable and make inconsistent and indifferent money while entire fortunes are wagered on their backs they’re in an obvious position to influence race outcomes, and there are unbelievable amounts of money at stake.

Thus, the sport feels that we have to assume that jockeys are simply inherently susceptible to bribery. In the UK, jockeys can’t bet on any races and have to declare their mobile phone numbers to the horse racing authority, and have restrictions placed on where/how/what they can use smartphones for around the tracks. They can’t bring a phone to work, basically. Which isn’t too unusual in some professions. The idea is that jockeys with phones could communicate with each other or outsiders to change racing outcomes, or share information in advance before it can impact on the betting odds (like insider trading on the stock market.) this is not commonly practiced in other UK sports. It’s a working condition imposed by anxiety about preserving the integrity of the gambling.

The Japanese licensing authority is more strict. The night before a race meeting, Japanese jockeys surrender their phones and go into separate quarters without lines of communication. So you might give up your phone at 9pm Friday night, enter a sort of corporate youth hostel, work for 2 days, and recover your phone on Monday. Nanako was caught using her phone during this period of sequestration, even though there’s no evidence that she was using it for race fixing (another jockey caught for the same thing in the crackdown was making a restaurant reservation.) again, this level of control over personal communications isn’t practiced in other Japanese sports! Even Japanese pop idols, famed for having restricted personal lives, don’t risk getting pushed out of their job entirely for touching a phone.

It’s about a lot of things, but the level of control exerted over jockeys is interesting to me! and speaks to their position as athletes who aren’t the focus of the sport they do; of jockeys as the disposable pilots of things that are far more valuable than they are; of workers whose working conditions are unique; of sportspeople whose sport is defined by the anxieties of the rich about gambling; of people whose bodies are ferociously honed for a specific set of rules that don’t even necessarily make sense; of a sport thousands of years old, one of the oldest continuous sports of human history, in which the humans who play it are invisible; of ancient once-immovable traditions colliding, in the 2020s, with renewed interest in animal and human welfare and renewed pressures to Perform for social media and everything changing in ways we can’t see because we’re in the middle of them. Like when I say “one of the oldest continuous sports in human history”, as old as the domestication of horses, think about it for a minute and think how strange it is that the human athletes are this invisible, this disposable, this secondary to considerations. Why is it that you’ve been forced to learn about football against your will all your life, and you never thought for a second about this. Isn’t that wild? I think it’s wild.

(Disclaimer: I’m really not an expert, just a mild fan, which is a bit unusual for my demographic; despite the sport being ancient and internationally known, it isn’t very relatable to “people like us,” so this is kind of the first time anyone on tumblr’s really posted about having an interest in horse racing/jockeys. I’m really not an expert and I barely follow the news and do NOT attend races or understand the stats/gambling. It’s just that it was my first career ambition when I was 6, and it’s one of those things where literally no one else cares, so you get to feel like you have Secrets and a Unique OC.)

[thewritetofreespeech]

To the Victor

Variant!Marks x f!reader

tags: dark content, dub con, kidnapping, yandere/possessive themes, breeding kink, group sex, mind break, mentions of mass murder [no more than the show]

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

“It’s my turn!”

“Fuck you.” The yellow & black clad Mark cursed with a laugh as he continued to pound into you; though it was kind of hard to tell who was who with their costumes off. “You’ll get a turn when I say you do.”

“That’s not what we agreed.” The alternate hissed as he pushed his long hair out of his face. “You guys all suck….”

“Not really. But this one certainly does.” Mohawk Mark laughed in perverse pleasure at tormenting his alternate and fucking your throat. “Almost as good as my [Y/N]….”

The Marks had laid siege to Earth and were working on conquering it for their own. Cities crumbling under the might of the Invincibles. Getting a taste of what could have been. The only thing that seemed to delay their total domination of Earth was you and their need to be inside you.

You couldn’t remember which one of them found you originally, your mind all but blank now as it was in a state of constant overstimulation, but they brought you here. Apparently, there is a ‘you’ in every dimension, and for some of them that unlocked a lot of feelings some of them were not prepared to deal with or separate from. The boys eventually turned your capture into a game of ‘whoever destroyed the most stuff wins’ and the prize would be the next one to fuck you.

“Don’t say stupid shit like that.” You whimper as Mark thrust hard inside you. Hard enough to hurt. “You’re throwing me off.”

Mohawk Mark laughed. “What? Don’t you still have a [Y/N] back home? Or did you kill her too you fucking psycho.”

The Mark fucking your cunt growled and lunged forward to grab his mohawk mirror by the throat and slam him into a wall. Pulling himself and his twin from you with obscene, wet pops. Your lungs expand fully for the first time in a while, and you shutter as your over stimulated body is suddenly left empty. “Take it back!”

A fight ensued. Common, and no one steps in to help or break it up. If anything, one takes the opportunity to move in on his quarry. “My turn.”

Mark pushed his long hair out of his face again with a smile as he parted your legs and thrust his cock in where his alter had just been. “Hey!” The alternate shouted as he kept his mohawk self at bay with one arm. “I wasn’t done!”

“You snooze you lose.” You whine as the Mark now inside you grabbed your tits. This one liked to play with them every time you had sex. A lot of them did. Your nipples seemed hard all the time now and constantly sore from being played with so much. “Hey, you want in on this? Her mouth is free.”

“Pass.” A somber, sullen-looking Mark dressed in white, the armor of his father’s people, clipped back. “Using their mouth is a waste of time.”

“Tsk. You’re too good for blowies then?” You cry out as Mark’s hips snapped forward faster. Perhaps to make a point. Perhaps just to make your tits bounce.

The other Mark just frowned. “No. But it’s not a good use for valuable, Viltrumite seed.”

His hand reached out to splay over your stomach. Seeming unbothered by another version of himself fucking you, or the bump of his cock against his hand. In the few times it had just been the two of you together, he told you how you would be the perfect mother for the second coming of Viltrum. He always thought you would be.

“You can keep that ubermensch shit to yourself man!” Mohawk Mark cursed. Having scrapped away from his more crazed twin; or they just got bored fighting each other. “No one wants to hear about Dad’s super race. And if you’re ‘too good’ to get sucked off then get out of the way so I can finish!”

Before a second fight starts, the door opens, and the Invincible from a reality where he has his face completely covered walked in. “Where the hell have you been?!”

“Russia.” He throws something on the table. Something metal and heavy as it clangs on its surface. A symbol of his conquest.

The Marks all grow silent until one of them mutters, “Goddamnit,” and they all leave; but not before the Mark inside you studders his hips and cums inside. They all know what a victory like that means, and what it's awarded him.

Once the door closes, the hooded Mark pulls his mask off and sits on the bed beside you. Through the fog in your mind you can see that he's sad. The Mark from his reality looks so much older than the one you have here. They're the same age, the same face, but he just looks like all the youth has been sucked out of him. “I'm gonna get you out of here.” He told you suddenly.

Mark crawled on the bed and curled up with your naked body. Holding you like a fragile little dove. “I'm gonna find mom, and I'm gonna come get you, and then we'll go home. Then everything will be fine and the way it's supposed to be. You'll see.”

He either fell asleep or was trying to as you felt Mark’s chest rise & fall evenly against your back. You didn’t know what to think about what he said. You almost felt sorry for him, which felt odd, but he seemed so sad. For now, you were just grateful for the break and time to rest. The Invincibles wouldn’t let their prize be monopolized forever. Tomorrow morning a new game starts. Cities will fall. People will die. And you will once again be pulled between the Marks. All just waiting for their turn.

[elumish]

I think that there's a feeling that, if you start writing something and don't finish it, it's a failure.

As someone who has far more unfinished pieces than finished pieces (sorry to anyone who reads my stuff on AO3), here are a few good things about doing this:

First, all writing is practice. Just like there are reasons to sketch and do practice drawings, writing even unfinished pieces builds your skills in drafting sentences, characterization, voice, tone, and even working in a variety of styles. If you start a story in a new style, even if you never finish it, you have some experience in that style now.

It can also tell you what you love or hate about something. Sometimes you don't finish something because you realize you don't like it. That knowledge is also valuable.

Second, you can always go back to unfinished work. The main novel that I'm querying right now is one where I wrote the first couple thousand words and then didn't touch it again for probably at least a year and a half. It's now a finished novel.

Sometimes you need space away from a story to make it work. Sometimes you need to improve your writing skills to be able to accomplish whatever you were trying to accomplish then. Sometimes you need a mental or physical health break or you just need more time in the day before you can finish something.

Third, writing is fun and you shouldn't hold yourself or your sense of success at writing to how many stories you finish. Did you enjoy yourself even for the period of time that you wrote whatever you wrote? Did you end up with something cool, interesting, fun, exciting, weird, or different? Great, that's all a victory.

[baldudiable]

The strongest astrological placements to have

Some astrological placements have a greater influence on a birth chart. The energy of these placements can be so big that it overshadows other energies in the chart.

Here are some of them:

Virgo Venus: This one considerably weakens Venusian energy in the chart. These natives are less interested in romantic relationships because they are focused on their responsibilities. Venus is about socializing, making relationships work, and our sense of self-worth. Virgo is about what needs to be done, how it can benefit others, and how it can be improved. Virgo is demanding, both of itself and others. It's focused on the negative, making them difficult to satisfy. This energy humbles people so that they serve something bigger than themselves. Even the light of a Leo sun—the most powerful—is dimmed when Venus is in Virgo.

Pisces Venus: Venus' energy is at its peak in Pisces. Which is logical since it is the sign of its exaltation. Venusian qualities, such as love, charm, or understanding, are expressed more freely. This placement can make strong, independent types more susceptible to toxicity or abuse. Pisces's compassion knows no limits. It sees only the good in people and can sacrifice itself for a long time before realizing it's being taken advantage of.

Leo Moon/Mercury/Venus: A Solar individual's self-expression is boundless. These natives are extremely open, even when they shouldn't be. They consider their opinions, thoughts, or emotions as extremely valuable. Even more withdrawn types become open books with these placements. Leo is proud. When possessed of this energy, you don't want to hide the things that make you you.

Scorpio placements: Having a Scorpio placement makes one extremely secretive. When in foreign territory, Scorpio placements become quiet and start observing. They are evasive when asked about their experience. This is a defense mechanism; Scorpios have been victims of the hands of people they trusted in the past, which has led them to become very suspicious. Trust is hardly given for a Scorpio. They even keep things away from those closest to them because the person they trust the most with their secrets is themselves. Their secretiveness makes them very mysterious and magnetic. They're like a secret you want to uncover. One thing that is also worth noting is that Scorpio energy makes you really obsessive with the object of your desires. You can't rest until you have obtained that thing or person you want, which can become quite dangerous and unhealthy.

Capricorn Mars: This is Mars' exaltation. This makes even the most lighthearted and free-spirited person extremely ambitious and confident in their capacity to reach their goals. Mars is about action, & Capricorn, which is ruled by Saturn, is about time and endurance. This person can achieve great heights because they know that to become great, you have to put in the time and effort. Their accomplishments and the recognition that they get from them are the things that matter most to a Capricorn Mars.

Leo Rising: People with this placement are always catching attention and admiration without meaning to. which is understandable as they are followed by the sun. They always have something unique about them. Maybe it's their elaborate style, laughter, dignified air, or the warmth they exude that makes them stand out. Whatever it is, it's always out for everyone to see. It's a placement that has fought very hard to build themselves and their confidence, which has also made them super proud and uncompromising. By rarely letting their guards down, they might lose chances at love and friendship. Leo rising is supposed to choose themselves in this lifetime anyway — and they will, even if the rest of the chart says otherwise.

Aquarius Sun/Moon: these ones are so easy to spot. They seem to be from a distant world that no one knows about. There's just this unusual and disconnected vibe to them. Wherever they appear, they act differently. Their style, manner of speech, or opinions are always opposite to those of the majority. You never know what to expect from these placements, as they are very unpredictable.

Aries placements: People with Aries placements are assertive and usually don't beat around the bush. They are not scared of causing drama — they actually like it. Aries, the first sign of the zodiac, can make these placements childish and impatient. Like children, they don't hesitate to express their most random thoughts, even if they aren't appropriate. You can count on them to always tell you the hard truth because they value honesty. These placements can make you active and impatient, which makes it difficult to wait for things. But the good thing is that it pushes you to go after their desires instead of waiting for them to magically appear on your lap.

Gemini/Sagittarius Sun/Moon: these people talk a lot. and i mean a looot. it's honesly tiring sometimes. but they usually know what they are talking about as they have taken the time to actually learn it. their curiosity is endless, and so is their desire to spread that knowledge with everyone they encounter. they are always learning about a new skill or subject and trying to become better at practicing or teaching it. you can spot one of these placements when a quiet person finally opens up you, and endlessly talks about their interests with passion & excitement.

Capricorn Moon: This placement can dampen someone's self-expression. Capricorn Moons had to grow up quickly and lock away their inner child. Their emotions aren't expressed easily, except for anger, as it's the only one that allows them to feel safe. They weren't really allowed to be vulnerable as children & instead were forced to work or make themselves useful somehow. Today, they are consumed with this feeling of pressure, which is mostly self-inflicted. They use themselves and produce until they are completely burnt out and depressed.