#How to Improve Cash Flow

[novaturinetandco]

Navigating Through Cash Flow Problems in Your Business : Effective Strategies for Stability – Novaturient & Co

Overcome cash flow problems in your business with our professional advice. We offer expert guidance to help you navigate financial challenges and ensure profitability.

[artisticdivasworld]

Why Factoring can be a Lifeline for Truckers During Economic Downturns

A lot of truckers are familiar with factoring, but maybe you haven’t thought about how it could be a life saver during economy uncertainty. Everyone’s feeling the pinch with fewer loads, longer wait times, and the unpredictability of when payments are coming in. Right now, cash flow is more important than ever, and factoring could be the thing that keeps your business steady while you ride out…

[almostempty]

too good to be true

(frankie morales x f!reader) | wc: 10k | other fics  | Ao3

summary: frankie, a regular at your coffee shop, is there for you when your boyfriend joel breaks up with you and disappears practically overnight. despite not knowing each other long, frankie just seems to be perfect for you and you fall hard and fast 

song inspo: can’t take my eyes off of you

warnings/tags: explicit smut, dark!frankie, stalker!frankie, dubcon, lies, deceit, coffee shop au gone wrong, bad bf Joel, abandonment issues, anxiety, breakup grief, sex to avoid processing emotions (yay!), face fucking, masturbation, crying, love bombing (aka emotional abuse), frankie doesn’t have a job bc he nefariously acquired a large cash settlement from his return trip to the jungle– or maybe he has a military pension idk don’t ask questions, revenge porn, jealousy, delusional reader, no y/n, unprotected sex with no consequences bc it’s fiction so it’s free to imagine it raw; f!reader is able-bodied otherwise, no specific descriptions; likely many mistakes and i accept that 

update: i gave this a re-read bc i wanted it to be fresh before i carry on with part 2, and was paralyzed by the typos (kill me). the story hasn’t changed, but i’ve done some heavy editing to hopefully improve some of the flow and impact in certain scenes (there’s probably still mistakes) 

You don’t remember meeting Frankie for the first time—only the feeling. How he slipped into your mind before your alarm even rang. How you sprung out of bed in the dark, already thinking of him. You remember the heat that rushed to your cheeks when you caught yourself grinning and waving at him before he’d even made it across the cafe to the counter. 

Once he started visiting your coffee shop, he quickly became your favorite regular. He had an enticing mix of confidence and calm. Always polite. Always kind. Once you learned his order–dark roast in a for-here mug–you’d have it poured just as he approached the register. 

He’d thank you with his deep morning voice and a smile that made his eyes crinkle before he’d slink away to find a table. He came in at the same time every morning, a man of routine, right when your rush would hit. Everything demanded your immediate attention–the screaming steam wand, the line that formed at the register, the whirring coffee grinder. Frenzied as it was, you’d sink into your own routine. A flow state, slinging drinks and greeting regulars as they trickled in with their suits and shiny hair. 

It made the shift pass quickly, but you never had a quiet moment to start a conversation with the one man you looked forward to seeing. It wasn’t too busy to sneak glances at him though. Sometimes, he’d scroll through his phone, and you’d steal a moment to take in his features—wondering what, exactly, people read in a cafe before sunrise. Other times it was like he knew you were looking, his eyes would flit up, matching your gaze before you could play it off. 

You would’ve denied it at the time–but when he caught you watching, the way he smiled back, unafraid to hold eye contact–it gave you butterflies. You wouldn’t acknowledge the meaning in that or admit to the daydreams that he sparked. It wasn’t anything real! And besides, there was nothing to it. You weren’t single, or looking. He was just a good looking guy that seemed to have manners and a pleasant attitude. 

And, for some reason, that was refreshing. It wasn’t like you had time to get to know him anyway. There was never time for more than a quick good morning, or have a good day when he’d leave his empty mug at the end of the counter. 

Until it changed.  

He started slipping in the front door in the quiet dark of the morning, while the espresso machines were still warming up and you were stocking the display with fresh pastries. You’d slide the mug toward him and he’d stay at the counter while you finished setting up. His curls were still damp from his post-workout shower and you’d let your eyes linger on his neck, his shoulders, his arms between tasks or his eyes, his nose, and his lips between questions. 

The conversation between you flowed so easily you’d find yourself buzzing around the cafe before you’d even had a sip of your own coffee. He’d share as you worked, giving you plenty to absorb as you cleaned and prepped. You learned about when he moved to town, how he lives in another neighborhood but kept coming back for the coffee and the atmosphere. 

You learned that he’s single. Ex-military. 

You laughed, flashing him a grin. “That explains everything,” you quipped. 

“Everything?” he asked. 

“You know,” you waved your hand at him like it was obvious, but he waited patiently for an explanation. “The routine? Up to workout at the asscrack of dawn, getting your coffee before half the city gets up for work. The manners and the whole...” You trail off before completing the end of that sentence. 

Frankie tilted his head, something playful and knowing in his eyes. “I’ll concede to most of that, but my mamá raised me to have manners long before the military.” 

As the mornings passed you learned more. Not just from what he shared, but from your own observations. He remembers details. He asks follow-up questions on Monday mornings about the weekend plans you shared on Friday. 

Did you and your boyfriend see that movie you were thinking about? 

Did you get to sleep in like you’d hoped? 

Did he take you to the farmer’s market? 

Did he like the recipe you wanted to try out? 

It was sweet. 

And infuriating. 

Your stomach twisted. A man you barely knew remembered your plans, your throwaway comments, your interests. He saw you. He wanted to know you. The realization sank like lead, heavy in your chest, lingering long after he left.

In your heart, you knew it wasn’t intentional, but it stung when he’d ask about your plans. Every time you had to come up with an excuse for why they never happened. Poking holes in your relationship. And shining a spotlight on the disappointments that you’d been trying to sweep under the rug. 

You carried that discomfort around like a parasite. It ate at you while you poured lattes and cleaned the ice machine. It soured your mood as you ran errands and walked home. And finally, it spilled over into your relationship. 

As ugly as it was, you almost appreciated Frankie for picking at the wounds—forcing you to finally confront the truth with your boyfriend. Joel had been drifting away and you were afraid to acknowledge it. As if saying it outloud would make it true. But it already was real. The closer you tried to get, the farther Joel would run—emotionally. Well, maybe in other ways too. 

He was slowly disappearing. Staying late at work instead of coming to yours, cancelling on your weekend plans, always too tired to fuck, generally just a bad-tempered brick wall rather than a boyfriend. All things considered, you thought addressing him directly would be the final nail in the coffin—but it wasn’t. 

After some long and serious conversations that left you both exhausted at work the next few days, you’d come up with some strategies to reconnect. He’d agreed with you, acknowledging his own avoidance, and claiming he wanted to make changes. 

It was working, too. You scheduled date nights. You sent flirty texts during the day—even if neither of you had time to respond right away. You assured him you’d rather see him for only an hour between him getting home late and you having to go to bed early than not seeing him at all. 

On those nights, when he had long days that made his whole body ache, you’d give him a back massage. Straddling his ass, rubbing down his shoulder blades, kneading circles with your thumbs, and savoring the view of his broad back and the heat of his body beneath you. 

It was meditative. Your touch dissolved his tension and his presence soothed your anxieties. Sometimes the rhythm and pressure would elicit low groans of pleasure from Joel. Each time it would ladle heat in your core. You’d do everything to find out what sounds he’d make for you. 

Some nights, you’d keep going until you lulled him to sleep. But on your favorite nights, he’d roll onto his back, keeping you on top, watching you ride him until you were both slick with sweat and in need of a shower.

It’s those tender moments that make it hurt so deep now. Like the pain seeped all the way to your bones, threaded through all your muscles, and numbed your nervous system. 

It makes you nauseous. Cycling through rage, shame, and something bleak and endless. 

To know after everything that Joel could throw you away like this. That he didn’t even care enough to have a face-to-face conversation about it with you. He couldn’t give you closure. Just leaving you a note. A piece of paper. Here’s your memo letting you know he no longer requires your services. Barely longer than a postcard. He realized he can’t do it anymore. He can’t be a part of your life. He can’t do just friends. He’s sorry.

Fucking coward. 

The letter is flimsy in your hand as you scan the words for the thousandth time. You’ve got it down by heart at this point, you re-read it just to confirm that it’s real. That you aren’t insane–or at least that you didn’t make up the note—or the whole relationship. 

With a deep sigh, you slip the folded paper back into your apron pocket. It fits neatly. Your token. A reminder that this hell is your reality. 

The tiled floor is unforgiving as you trudge back toward the front counter, plastering on your best customer service smile. 

And of course. It’s fucking Frankie. 

The wrinkle between his brow deepens before he makes it to the register. Are you that easy to read? You’re never going to survive this shift. You turn away from him, pouring the coffee in a daze until it nearly overflows. You dump the mug out and get a whole new one, forcing yourself to stop the tap before it’s a burn hazard. With one more blink you pray you’ve mustered enough strength to survive this interaction without another breakdown. 

“Hey,” Frankie starts softly, as if he might spook you. “You doing okay?” Stupid big brown eyes. Just like Joel’s. They make you weak. You can’t be weak. Pulling your shoulders back you search for a defensive–no, confident–stance. 

“Why? Do I look like shit today?” 

“No, never,” he tries to reassure you. Unfazed by your prickly questions. 

You swallow down a grimace. He’s too kind to you. Too good. 

“Sorry,” you correct yourself, pushing the mug toward him. “I just mean, I would be surprised. I feel like shit.” The words come out grumbly and you drag a hand over your face annoyed with yourself. 

“I take it he’s still gone then?” 

Your head feels heavy as you nod back in agreement. It’s too much to see the concern in his round eyes; you linger on his mouth instead. It feels like a safer place to stare. Until it shifts into a frown. 

“You deserve better, you know.” His voice is quiet. A confession only meant for you and his coffee to hear. 

“Sure,” you sigh. Maybe he’s right. You deserve someone that could look you in the eye when they break up with you. Who could explain with more than a few scribbled sentences why they’d block you and disappear like a fucking ghost. Everytime you run through it, the details feel colder and colder. Harsher and crueler. Maybe you never really knew Joel at all. Not if he could do this to you. 

Your still swollen face burns when your eyes begin to well up again. Anger flashes in your eyes—you’re so sick of the emotional whiplash. The lights in the cafe blur. Your pulse pounds, erratic and sharp. Questions race through your mind. 

Were there signs the whole time that you missed? 

Was it something you did? 

Will you ever know? 

“Hey,” Frankie murmurs, “breathe.” 

It’s soft, but the timbre of his voice draws your attention. 

“Breathe,” you repeat. 

He places a hand on his stomach, modeling deep, slow breaths. Willing away the sobs, you copy him with only a few shudders interrupting the rhythm. The fresh coffee wafts into your nose, earthy and rich. Frankie’s broad chest looks solid, expanding steadily like he’s some kind of breathing guru robot. The thought makes you laugh, but the laugh almost cracks into another sob when everything rushes back in at once. 

“Fuck,” you curse at yourself. “I’m sorry, I must seem pathetic. Or crazy.” You suck in a shaky breath, trying not to have a complete breakdown in front of a customer. 

Frankie doesn’t waver. He assures you that he doesn’t think you’re losing it and you believe him. 

Somehow, you get through the rest of the morning. And the next. Day by day, you crawl through the week. Fighting everything inside of you that wants to scream and decay in bed for the rest of your life. By the end of the week, all you’ve got left to cling to is that it’s your last shift before the weekend. It’s all you’ve got to keep your feet moving and your fake chipper morning greetings. 

There’s no way you could do this another day. Dragging yourself through the motions like an undead barista. It’s survival. On edge, fragile and raw. You can finish this shift and then you’re free to spend the weekend indulging in your worst ideas. Wallowing, ugly crying, binge eating, anything. 

Everything nearly comes apart when Frankie shows up with flowers for you. 

It’s too much. Too sweet. Why does he care? 

Your brows furrow, unreasonably skeptical of a kind gesture. You start to process what he’s saying to you through the fog. He wanted you to have something to cheer you up over the weekend. 

It’s thoughtful. It’s an overwhelming gesture. 

He thinks of you? He worries about you? 

Then a sick voice slithers into your mind. Frankie makes it seem so easy. To notice you. To care. To make your life better. He makes you wonder if you aren’t hard to love. 

The realizations hit like falling dominos. Too fast to stop. Too late to change course.

Frankie notices the way your eyes shine, tears threatening to roll down your cheeks. He apologizes, “If it’s too much, you don’t have to take them. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I definitely didn’t want to make you cry.” 

The fear dies in your throat.

“They’re lovely, really.” Your eyes are round and wet as you blink sweetly at him. “Thank you.” You give him your warmest smile through your misty eyes. 

You take the flowers home after your shift. They fit perfectly in the crystal vase that was collecting dust on your window sill. 

You move them to the kitchen table where you can see them from your living room too. 

And you stare at them all weekend. 

Your favorite flowers. How did he know? 

You stare and stare until they don’t look real anymore. And all you can think of is Frankie. 

His reliable nature. His thoughtfulness. His kindness. 

The qualities you thought you had found in Joel. 

You let yourself embrace your agony for the weekend. Determined to make it through at least the first stage of grief. As if you can allot a number of hours to it and just check it off your list. Brute forcing yourself through the wreckage trying to re-emerge unscathed. 

Your friends send texts checking in on you. Gratitude flickers in your chest but you don’t have the capacity to respond. To fake it or, worse, to be real. It feels wrong, but even though you can’t fathom the idea of talking to a friend, you’re drawn to the thought of Frankie. Knowing you’ll see him Monday morning. That he’ll check in, too. 

And he does. 

Dependable as ever, he shows up in the cover of darkness. You greet each other with raspy morning voices. The first words of the day, murmured just between you. It feels intimate. Special. Like something that belongs only to the two of you.

The thought sends warmth curling in your chest. You smile genuinely, for the first time in days.

You keep going to work. 

Frankie keeps showing up. 

The world keeps turning.

Soon you get to the point where you can fall asleep without having to exhaust yourself completely. Some mornings Frankie’s jokes make your ribs shake with laughter and some of the suffocating weight sloughs off of your chest. Rest begins to heal you. Frankie’s charm brightens your darkest days. 

One afternoon, you’re dropping an armful of grocery bags onto the counter and your heart squeezes with an ache. The flowers Frankie gave you are starting to wilt. With one twitch of your hand and a shake of your head, you hesitate. You aren’t ready to toss them out. Convinced they’ve got another day in them, at least. 

You sweep the fallen petals and pollen into your hand, then spin the vase to find the best angle left. The flowers may be fading, but Frankie’s presence has taken root in your mind and only grows stronger. 

You lay in bed making mental notes. A joke about a show you both watch. A story from your walk home. A question you meant to ask but forgot—because you got distracted.

By things that shouldn’t be distracting. But are. The shape of his bottom lip. The curve where his neck meets his shoulder. The way his hands look wrapped around his coffee mug, fingers slow and steady, like he’s holding something delicate.

The way he smiles—wide enough to show his dimples—when you bicker over movies or the best takeout spot in town. You replay it. Again. And again.

You smile at your ceiling, telling yourself it’s harmless appreciation. Lying to yourself when you hope he finds his way into your dreams.

The next morning, your jaw drops–stunned. Fresh flowers. Frankie stands on the other side of the counter, holding them out like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It’s as if he knew. Like he heard through the grapevine that you hesitated to throw the old ones out. That you weren’t ready to let them go. That you didn’t want to lose the evidence of what he gave you

You squint at him, making a playful accusation. “How did you know?” 

“It’s been a week,” he shrugs. “Figured it was time to refresh.” 

A week. It feels like it’s only been a day, and at the same time, it feels like a whole month has passed. 

It helps. 

The following week is much of the same. Morning chats with Frankie. Busy shifts with rushes and endless cleaning tasks. Running errands, trying to keep in touch with friends, trying to keep yourself too busy and distracted to fall back into the sharp pain of loss. Of coming home to an empty apartment. Of waking up alone. Of the way Joel erased himself so completely from your life, you have to find tangible reminders that he was ever real. 

You stop hoping Joel will show up with an apology. Stop waiting for a text. He won’t even hear you out—won’t answer a single question. You let go of the idea that any of this was a mistake.

There’s still a hole rotting in your heart, but if you stay busy enough, you can ignore it. Mostly. 

You stick to your plan, steadfast that time will heal your wounds. Days pass, and you find yourself once again asking Frankie what he has planned for the day. But this time, he hesitates. 

Frankie tells you he’ll be out of town for a few days. You aren’t sure why, but it feels like he jammed his fingers into that hole in your heart when he tells you. Don’t abandon me. Please. 

He must see right through you. 

“Here,” he says, holding out his hand. “I know it’s only a few days, but I was thinking I don’t want to miss out on your remarkably accurate reality TV predictions. You take the napkin with his number written on it. How old-fashioned. It makes your heart flutter. “Keep me updated.” 

You swallow the butterflies and turn the energy into a smirk. “You’re so going to regret this,” you tease. 

You feel lit from within, glowing and floaty for the rest of your shift. Getting the hot regular’s number gives you a rush. It’s not like he asked you on a date or anything, but still, it feels good to have someone want to keep talking to you. 

Until you clock out and immediately start spiraling. Should you text him now just to give him your number? Wish him a safe trip? Play it cool and wait until tomorrow morning? Or maybe he’s busy in the morning? Shit. You never even asked what his trip was for. 

……

It’s early afternoon when Frankie’s phone buzzes. He smirks. Your shift must have just ended.

You: it’s me! You: figured it’s only fair you get my number now, too

Frankie: Hey you :)

You: hey :) You: i hope the trip goes well

Frankie: Thanks, it’ll be better now.

You: how come?

He thought it would take longer. Thought you’d make him wait. You’re already reaching for him.

Frankie: Well, I just got this pretty girl’s number. Now I’ve got her updates to look forward to.

He exhales, stretching out on his couch. Maybe he didn’t need the ruse at all. You don’t need the absence to suck you in any deeper; you’re already moving on. Good.

He scans the apartment—bare walls, empty space. He needs to fix that. Needs to make it a place you’ll want to stay.

He checks the notes hidden in his phone of places you shop, your favorite color, the way your apartment is decorated. He already knows what you want. What you need. With that thought, he drifts off, satisfied, into a long nap. 

He doesn’t wake until his evening alarm goes off, checking his phone to see what reality show you’re going to be glued to tonight. MILF manor. Who comes up with these? He rolls his eyes, stretching, yawning, and traipsing across his apartment to find some cold pizza in the fridge. 

Holding one slice between his teeth and the other in one hand, he debates whether he should take a drive through your neighborhood or stay in for the night. His phone buzzes again, and he figures it’s a sign. He drops his pants near the hallway and scarfs his cold dinner as he settles back in the living room, unmuting the show and opening your messages. 

You’re funny. 

Sending quick-witted observations and callbacks. 

You force him to pay attention. You’re sharp. If he doesn’t watch, you’ll know. You always call him out for missing the nuance. You challenge that he could predict the next winner if he paid closer attention. 

When you get frustrated with him and huff about how he missed something completely obvious, he memorizes your expressions. The fire in your eyes when you’re passionate. You feel so deeply and express your emotions so freely. 

He likes that about you. Funny. Smart. Bold. Passionate. Sexy.

Perfect. 

He lets his mind wander as he leans back. The room glows from the light of the TV, flashing brighter and dimmer. The look on your face when he said he’d be gone for a few days pops into his mind, how your eyes flashed wide and the soft pout that tugged at your bottom lip. 

You need him. It’s so clear. And you’re so perfect. 

The show is just noise. Static. 

He closes out of your messages. Opening up his photos. Scrolling through pictures of you. Some from social media, and some taken while you were working and unaware. 

Perfect. 

His eyes fall shut as he tips his head back, relaxed and comfortable as he sinks deeper into the cushion. 

“Perfect lips, perfect mouth,” he mutters to himself as he sets the phone aside altogether. 

It’s a simple but effective scene that plays out in his mind. A go-to fantasy since the day he first laid eyes on you. 

He wedges his boxers down just far enough to free his half-hard cock. He tries to start slow, with languid strokes as he imagines the heat of your mouth sucking him deeper. The sight of you looking up at him with your lips stretched around him. 

“Just perfect,” he groans to himself. He can’t hold back his urgency at the thought of you, quickly amping up the speed of his wrist and the strength of his grip. It’s minutes, or maybe seconds before his muscles are tensing and jerking as he comes to the thought of you. 

It eases the tension, but he still needs you. Soon. 

……

The rest of your week passes quickly. 

Your head is in the clouds over your new texting buddy. You check your phone on all your breaks but send yourself into another spiral, trying to work out the balance between enthusiastic but not needy. Responding quickly, but not being too much. You don’t want to come off as crazy.

It fully absorbs your attention. The excitement and the anxiety. The rush when you get a new message and the anguish over every word you type. Rereading your messages until you get a response. Worrying yourself over your silly jokes and banter. But when he responds, it’s addictive. You’re smitten when he matches your energy or sends a flirty quip. 

It makes you smile so hard your cheeks burn. You get distracted taking orders. It’s all-consuming. 

………

Frankie keeps tabs on you the rest of the week. When you walk home from work, when you run errands, when you’re out with your friends. He picks up things for his apartment while you’re at work. At night, he drives down your block. He watches you watching TV. Until dark, then you diligently shut your curtains just as the last dregs of the sunset disappear. 

Tonight, he lingers, still parked across the street from your apartment building. He sends another text, and his eyes flick to your curtains like you might open them back up just for him. You’re such a good girl for that, though–not letting anyone else watch. 

Frankie: I’m back tomorrow. You have weekend plans? 

You: that’s great! no plans for me

Frankie: You want to watch tomorrow’s episode together? 

You: that would be fun! 

Frankie: Perfect :) 

………

You don’t know why you offered to host. Your place is a mess. Since Joel left, you’ve been letting your depression piles calcify. You shove your laundry into the washer, toss your unopened mail into a drawer, and do your best to make it look like you’re a fully functioning adult. 

Something about having Frankie over has you feeling pent up. 

You’re nervous. Excited. And you’re still unregulated and exhausted from the emotional devastation of Joel disappearing on you. You’ve been letting yourself sink into the distraction of making a new friend. A hot, new friend. But as helpful as the distraction is, you still haven’t really processed the pain. 

Maybe it’s too soon to let yourself think about Frankie all the time. Maybe you need to really feel your misery and figure out what you missed. What you did wrong. No, even your body rejects that idea, sending a shiver of anxiety through you. 

Fuck it. 

You’re both single adults. There’s no rulebook that says you can’t entertain a new crush. So what’s the harm? You’re hoping that seeing Frankie in person will help you get clarity on the flirty vibe of his texts. Are they truly flirty, or are you just delusional? 

You do your best to find a casual “just watching trash TV” type of outfit after your everything shower. You bought enough snacks to feed a high school football team, you know, just in case. You flutter around your space, hastily cleaning anything else you can think of, worried about details that only an evil in-law would scrutinize you for. 

Despite your frenzy and feeling on edge all afternoon, the concern all seems to vanish when Frankie shows up at your door. You welcome him in and swoon a little over the fresh flowers he brought you. You still have some nerves that don’t relent, but they’re the smiley, giggly, butterfly type of nerves now. 

As you get settled, it all feels surprisingly easy. 

You make each other laugh. You offer your insane spread of snacks, and he settles next to you on your sofa before the episode starts. He appreciates all of your commentary and banters with you over your strongest opinions. It feels surprisingly natural to be spending time together like this. Without an espresso machine between you. 

You’re taken with his presence. He balances you. Even when he debates your controversial takes and unpopular opinions, he doesn’t get worked up like you. 

His calm demeanor is grounding. His nearness and steadiness relaxes you.  

The stress let down makes your head feel heavy, and without thinking, you rest your temple against Frankie’s shoulder with a deep sigh. It feels comforting until you realize how forward you’re being and snap your head back up. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you blurt out, scooting away. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, voice soft and low. 

He’s staring at you so intently. You feel the heat in your face, embarrassed at acting so comfortable with him and self-conscious under his gaze. You still don’t really know what he wants. And you don’t want to fuck anything up. But he doesn’t seem bothered. In fact, you swear his eyes drop to your mouth before they flick back up. 

“More than okay,” he adds, and your stomach flips at his honesty. “Here,” he shifts and invites you to scoot under his arm. You get comfortable, resting your head on his chest. 

You try to watch the TV, but you can feel Frankie watching you. It makes you restless and unable to think clearly. You peer up at him. It’s a charged look—maybe it was obvious all along, but you hadn’t felt confident enough to put the pieces together until now.

“What?” You whisper, unable to fight the smile pulling at your mouth. 

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs. 

Uh oh. Your breath hitches, and something in you cracks. A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and you try to hide it, whispering thanks into his chest and looking down. 

“Hey,” he tilts your chin to look up at him. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” you choke out, trying to will away the emotions that bubble up inside of you. “That’s really sweet of you.” You steady your breathing, slower and deeper. What is wrong with you? You expected something flirty. You didn’t expect something so.. heartfelt?

You slow your breathing. Frankie’s scent—clean, warm, steadying—grounds you.

But why? How does just breathing against him make you feel safe? 

You can’t even think about safety. You can’t count on anyone else. What if he leaves out of nowhere, too? Your thoughts pick up, racing. Falling deeper into your anxieties. You aren’t even on a date; you shouldn’t be worried about this guy abandoning you. 

Your fears eat at you, worsening your fragile state. Your body shakes gently as you try to breathe through the anxiety. 

Frankie runs his hand along your back. He’s so warm, solid, and strong. 

You must seem insane, your emotional flooding has you drowning now. He just keeps murmuring at you about how you’re okay, and he pulls you into his arms to give you a firm hug, regulating you. Fixing you. 

When you lean back to apologize for crying on him, he shakes his head in disagreement. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says it like he means it, like he won’t be taking questions or arguments. You sniffle as you do your best to accept that. “You still look beautiful,” he says, pulling you back towards him. 

It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear.

Your face nestles against his neck, warmth pooling in your chest. You shouldn’t—should you?—but the way he breathes, slow and steady, so sure of you, makes you crave something grounding. Something solid. A shiver trails down your spine, and before you can second-guess, you press your lips to his neck. Frankie hums, deep and approving, fingers curling against your back. 

You do it again.

The exact spot you’ve been so distracted by on so many mornings. His skin is soft and warm; you can taste your tears, wet and salty on your lips. You do it again before you freeze. What are you doing? 

Frankie’s hand slips up the back of your neck, cradling your head in his warm palm. It feels like encouragement. You test your theory, pressing another gentle kiss to his jaw where his scruffy beard tickles your nose. 

The TV might still be on, but all you can hear is your breathing and his. The sound of your lips against his skin. And the low-pitched noise in Frankie’s throat that urges you on. Provoking a needful fire within you. Intense and frantic. You nip at his ear before stamping open-mouthed kisses back down his neck, pulling back only to breathe hot and humid against his skin. 

You hesitate, a frenzied desire has you wanting to straddle his lap and take more and more, but something makes you pause. Frankie knows. He feels your weight shifting and makes the move for you, pulling you onto his lap. 

“I know,” he says as his large hands wrap around both sides of your jaw. “Keep going.” The encouragement pours over you like warm honey. Face to face, you wrap your arms around his neck. The last thread of your doubt snaps and you close the gap. Pressing your lips together. Softly for a second, before your mouths are parting and your tongues and teeth work fervently to express your desire. 

Then it becomes a desperate blur, your fingers curling into his hair, tugging until he’s groaning into your mouth. His hands slipping under your shirt, hot against your skin, snaking back down to knead the curve of your ass while you roll your hips, grinding into his lap in search of friction. 

You feel him hardening beneath you and a molten hot thrill radiates between your legs. There’s a raw quality to your movements as you bite at his lip, scratch at his shoulders, and whine with a frustrated edge. 

You’re taking out all your emotional distress on him. Or, rather, you’re begging him to erase it all, to bite back harder, to use force, to dominate. You keep trying to use your body instead of words. Just teeth, nails, and needy writhing. Anything sharp, forceful, rough. An offering. 

Tears still roll down your cheeks, hot with anger, anguish, and everything you can’t name. You aren’t interested in exploring your emotions. You need something more visceral. 

You sit back, hands shooting towards Frankie’s belt, chasing more, when he stops you in your tracks. His hand possessively grips below your jaw, forcing you to look at him. 

Your cunt throbs at the look on his face. The soft, gentle Frankie is gone. His face is hard and dangerous as he studies you. For some reason that makes you want him even more. 

His fingers dig into your cheek eliciting a sharp inhale from you, parting your lips into a small “o” shape, before he releases you. You know you’re a mess. Teary, panting, wild-eyed–but his lips curl into a sinful grin. Reflexively you tilt your pelvis, drawing the heat of your core along the ridge of his erection. 

Your eyes flutter shut, chasing sensation—until Frankie’s chest shakes with a dark chuckle. Condescending. Your hips still. You blink at him. The air thickens. The rest of the room fades. Your thighs tense.

“Keep going.” 

It’s a demand this time, not an affirmation or encourager. His sinister smirk is gone, replaced by a frighteningly blank stare. His carnivorous eyes drop, watching your fingers as you work open his belt and jeans. 

Shit. You can tell he’s big as you trace your fingers along his cock, over his boxers, savoring the heat in your palm. The damp fabric at the tip pleases you, and you peel the waistband down to reveal the glorious vision that has you wetting your lips. 

“Shit,” you repeat out loud this time. A primal, hungry need possesses you as you admire his cock. The glistening head, thick shaft, and dark patch of curls at the base. Just the sight of him is intoxicatingly masculine and dominant. 

You need him in your mouth. 

You slink off his lap, sinking to your knees between his legs. Excitement flutters in your pussy and you feel like you’ve fallen into a trance. Your body moves faster than your mind, tugging at his jeans as he repositions at the edge of the couch. 

“I know,” he mutters under his breath as you wrap your hand around the smooth skin. “I know what you need,” he continues. You can only hum in response. Preoccupied by the slip of your thumb dragging a trail of precome down along the underside of his cock. 

He cups the back of your head, urging you to his tip with a commanding growl. You want to pout for not getting the chance to tease and savor the moment, but you don’t have the time when he slides past your lips and hits the back of your throat. 

You choke, sputtering around him and pulling back. His hand encourages you to try again and you’re eager to take it like he gives it. Refocusing on controlling your breath, you look up to see the fierceness in his eyes on his otherwise blank face. A confusing mix of warning and excitement stirs in your core, making you squirm on your knees. 

The discomfort makes something flicker across his face. 

You try again, determined, like you’ve got something to prove. You pull his other hand to your cheek. Please lead. You catch the start of a smirk on his face before he’s guiding you once again. It makes your mind blank; all you can do is breathe and focus on relaxing your muscles. It’s a welcome release from stress. Grounding you in the present. You can only think as fast as he can glide along your tongue. 

As you build a rhythm, he verges on brutal, but when you’re rewarded with the delicious sound of Frankie groaning because of you the intensity means nothing. Your eyes water as you refuse to gag out of sheer willpower. His thumb smears your tears across your cheekbone, and he pulls you off of his cock.

He takes in your swollen lips, ragged breathing, and wet lashes like he’s committing the details to memory as you catch your breath, before he’s tapping at your cheek. You open wide for him and he rests the head of his cock on your tongue, shallowly tipping you back and forth. 

Your jaw could be aching or your knees may be digging into the rug, but it doesn’t matter to you. It’s much easier to meditate on the weight of his length slipping along your wet tongue. Centering yourself on that thought, your eyes flutter shut. 

You wonder if this side of Frankie has always been lurking beneath the surface. Chillingly collected, but with something viscous bleeding into the edges. You wonder if maybe you’ve called to this part of him with the mayhem of your state of mind. 

“Yeah,” Frankie rasps in his gravelly tone causing you to blink back up at him. You wonder if he can read your mind; if he was answering you. The hint of a smile remains on the corner of his lips when you look up, “Making you feel better already.” He’s presumptive but accurate. 

You give a muffled affirmation that vibrates in your throat as he slides past your lips and you take him deep as he can be. All your senses are filled with Frankie when you inhale, when you swallow, when you blink. You give, pliant for him, trusting him with the control. You don’t care how obscene you look, tears rolling down your cheeks. You just want to hear what other sounds he might make for you. His thumb drags over your cheek again, wiping away the wet streaks. 

“This is the only reason you ever cry for me.” Frankie’s voice is dripping with affection. And possession. 

It makes everything foggy. The sentiment, the delivery, the authority. He doesn’t let you dwell on the unspoken commitment in his statement. Doesn’t give you the time to question him or spiral inward. 

Your head swims until he pulls you up, strips you, and settles you back onto his lap. Some action movie autoplayed after your episode ended. The crashing and explosions of the chase scene in the background don’t ruin the moment, in a twisted way it’s almost a fitting soundtrack for the two of you. 

You pull his shirt over his head, and time slows. The heat between you is nothing compared to his gaze. His grip on your hips is firm, guiding you closer. Dizzying.

You go entirely mindless when the head of his cock nudges your clit, gasping as it slides along your wet seam. It brings everything into focus. Greedily you reach between your bodies to guide him directly to your deplorably empty cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” your word turns to a groan as he breaches your entrance, and you tense at the stretch, holding still. 

“Keep going,” he orders lowly, and you inch down until he impatiently takes control, slamming you down until you meet his hips. Your mouth hangs open at his move and the immediate fullness. His hardened look softens as your walls ripple and flex, adjusting to his size. 

At least until you start moving, grinding against him, slowly at first. Then the sharp sternness returns. You’re unaware, chasing the friction as your clit rubs against the dark hair surrounding the base of his cock. 

“Knew you’d be perfect,” he says it more like an I told you so to himself than praise for you, but the words affect you just the same. Your chest rises, swelling with pride, and you chase his approval instead of your pleasure. 

You ride him until your thighs burn. His hands are everywhere. Rolling your nipples between his fingers, squeezing all of your soft curves, spreading your legs wider to watch where he disappears inside of you. You bounce eagerly for him, spine arching to draw his eyes to the way your tits ripple from the force of your body colliding into his. 

You whine in disapproval when he interrupts you, pulling you flush against his chest, grazing his teeth along your neck. “Give it to me,” Frankie demands, his voice rough and raw, breath hot along your sweat-damp skin. 

He runs his hand down your body, thumb circling your clit, adding the pressure you need. You edge closer and closer, body taut with anticipation. “Come for me,” he commands. It’s his authority, his gravelly voice rolling through you, that launches you into a shuddering release.

Frankie continues talking while you’re disoriented by the overwhelming pleasure. “For me,” he grunts through clenched teeth as your pussy contracts around him. “I know that’s what you need.” You can only moan as you cling to his broad shoulders. “Only me.” 

You figure he’s just rambling until he grabs you by the jaw again, demanding you respond. Demanding you repeat it for him. And you do. With glassy eyes and you mutter his words back to him. Declaring you only come for him. That you need him. 

Your words unlock something within Frankie. “Good,” he approves. “Good girl.” He praises you gruffly as he holds you steady, pounding into you with an untamed strength. You’re floating, starry-eyed and soft headed at his praise. Murmuring sentence fragments and his name, conjuring throaty grunts from Frankie until he stills, coming deep inside of you. “Only me,” he echoes and you confirm. 

“Only you.” 

In your unguarded state, it’s a welcome commitment. Maybe you haven’t had any real dates yet, but he knows you. He wants you. He tells you he wants to take care of you, and that feels fucking good. 

You collapse against his chest, matching his breathing. The movie playing behind you reaches a tragic twist, setting the third act in motion and solidifying the protagonist's dark path. You run your tongue along the column of Frankie’s throat as the score of the film hangs unresolved on a dissonant chord. He pulls you to his lips, kissing you possessively and captivating you. 

Your bodies flow, connected and attuned. In his lap, in his arms, with his tongue slipping between your lips, you feel wanted. Assured. Content to accept that he knows what you need. 

And he’s unrelenting. Determined to prove it to you. Again and again. 

All night. On the couch, in the shower, in your bed. 

Until the night bleeds into the morning and he doesn’t disappear. 

You take turns waking and watching one another sleep. Reassuring yourselves this is real. 

Until the sun heats your room and you find yourself curled into his broad frame. His chest to your back as he draws his fingers down the dip and swell of your waist and hip. 

“Did you mean it?” you ask, in a strikingly solemn tone for the soft setting. Breath shallow as you stare off toward the window. Not ready to turn and face him in the daylight. 

“Every word.” He punctuates his affirmation with a tender kiss behind your ear. His reassurance satisfies you; warmth blooms from your chest spreading to your fingers and toes. 

You spend a lazy Sunday together. Eating, laughing, fucking, and gazing at each other like lovesick teenagers. It’s too sweet to end. Instead, you become inseparable, taking turns staying at each other’s places until you have to go back. 

The world feels bright again. Lighter. 

He’s paid such close attention. Almost suspiciously perfect. Your favorite takeout. Your favorite movies. Fresh flowers, always.

Somehow, you can never get enough of him. You think about him all day at work, even though he still visits you every morning like clockwork. Your heart swells when he meets you at the end of your shift to walk you home. 

You find yourself canceling your happy hour dates with friends to stay in with Frankie instead. Postponing and rescheduling, you’ll see them soon. It’s like there aren’t enough minutes in the day to get your fill of Frankie. 

You need him constantly—his mouth, his hands, his cock, anywhere, everywhere. You’re never too much. He always wants more. It's a mutual obsession. The two of you feed off each other, dark and insatiable. He frees the parts of you you’ve never let loose. Takes what he wants. Gives you what you need.

With your head in the clouds, all you can see is how much he cares about you. He texts you whenever you’re apart, picks you up after your shifts, shows you off to his friends. 

You barely have to do anything for yourself. He’s always thinking of you, predicting your needs before know them yourself. He picks up your mail for you, runs errands before you get home, and stocks his apartment with all of the products you use and love so you don’t have to go home for days at a time. 

Things are so good that it’s rare when something goes wrong. 

But when it does, it really fucking hurts. 

When you get into an argument, a real one, he doesn’t fight with you. He leaves, swiftly and without another word. He doesn’t respond to your texts or calls. It feels like you’ve been torn in half; you sob and shake alone in your bed until your alarm blares and your headache throbs. 

He doesn’t respond the following day, doesn’t come in for coffee, and doesn’t show any signs of existing. You move through your shift like a hollow corpse haunting the cafe. Time drags agonizingly slowly. 

Every time the door opens your eyes snap towards the entrance, hoping to see the familiar curls and broad shoulders, but it’s not him. You restart your phone just on the odd chance there’s something wrong with it. He wouldn’t abandon you. He knows that would destroy you. 

The void in your chest is cold and dark. Anger simmers somewhere inside of it, but it’s not strong enough to set you off. When Frankie shows up at the end of your shift, the anger is snuffed out completely. His presence immediately erases your heartbreak, and suddenly you’re apologizing before he even gets a word out.

You have to. He has to know you wouldn’t do anything to make him leave. He can’t. He’s calm, accepting your apology and taking you home where he erases your pain. With his hands, and mouth, and cock. Until you forget what the argument was ever about, and what it felt like to watch him walk away. Until it’s back to normal. 

Every day you rely on him more and more; you can’t breathe without him. But when he’s with you, everything feels easy. Right. 

Not many things can throw the two of you off. Your friends seem happy enough for you, despite their questions and insistence that you come out with them more often. You get along well with Frankie’s friends. They’re quick witted and welcome you genuinely. 

They treat you like family, but it doesn’t stop Frankie’s jealousy from flaring up. If Benny smiles at you for too long or if you rest a hand on Will’s bicep when you laugh it only takes minutes before Frankie’s fingers dig into your arm and he whisks you away. 

It gives you a perverse thrill every time. 

When he folds you over the bathroom counter at his friend’s house. Demanding you watch in the mirror as he reminds you with a fierce snarl and devastating thrusts that you’re his. When you can still hear his friends horsing around outside, but he pounds into you with such force, you can’t quiet yourself. He slaps a hand around your mouth to silence you, growling into your ear that you’ll take it quietly, like a good girl. 

Sometimes you aren’t even sure what triggers him. 

Like when he fucks you against the side of his SUV in the parking lot of the trendy bar Benny had invited you both to. All you can piece together is Frankie muttering something about your dress as he yanks the top of it down letting your tits spill into the cool night air. He’s reckless and animalistic, claiming you roughly under the stars and streetlights before you can even get into the car let alone through your front door.

…..

Tonight, you both know exactly what got under his skin. Maybe not the why of it all, but he’s sure you know how he feels, and he wants to hear you say it. 

It started this afternoon. He picked you up from work, like usual, and you chatted in the car as he drove to the grocery store. You sighed, tiredly as you recounted an exchange with a rude customer. Frankie pulled your hand toward his mouth kissing the delicate skin on your inner wrist. 

Predictably, you light up. Like a flower turning toward the sun. Knowing your buttons doesn’t dull the intoxicating effect you have on him, though. He loves how easily you brighten for him, how it only deepens his conviction. That he is exactly where he should be. That everything he does for you is right. That he knows exactly what you need. 

You led him through the aisles, chatting, doubling back for something you forgot. You darted ahead, laughing—

Frankie stopped in his tracks.

Your laughter is cut off.

“What the fuck?” Your voice was quiet, disbelieving.

Joel. Walking past you, bouquet of flowers in hand. He didn’t even look at you.

You called his name, again. Louder. He didn’t even flinch. Didn’t turn. Just kept walking, bouquet in hand, like you never existed.

Frankie grips your wrist, watching your face as emotions flicker—shock, confusion, something darker. He doesn’t give you time to process.

“We’re going,” he says.

“I didn’t know he even lived here still,” you remarked. 

He doesn’t. The possessive fire tore through Frankie’s veins. “We’re. Leaving.” he commanded in a low tone that made your eyes flare wide. 

“What?”

“Now.”

“We can’t ditch our groceries.” 

“Nobody’s gonna stop us, baby.” He argued, as he all but carried you out the door, ushering you in a blur to his car and all the way home. 

Frankie moved swiftly and silently. Wholly consumed by the need to feel you writhing underneath him and crying out his name. He needed it so viscerally, he didn’t even have time to process how he was going to deal with Joel. 

Until you’re breathless and shuddering beneath him. Repeating everything he wants to hear. 

“Only for you,” you repeat as you rake your nails down his shoulder blades and the plane of his back. 

“Again,” he demands. You don’t know if he wants you to keep talking or to come again, but both are inevitable at this point. 

“I’m yours,” you pant, wrapping your legs around him as if you could pull him any deeper inside of you. He shifts slightly, angling your hips and your cunt clenches around him pulling him devastatingly close to the edge as you moan his name. 

He stills and you whine in protest as Frankie stretches past you to pick his phone up off the bedside table. “Keep going,” he orders as he points the lens at you. He needs you to say it again. He adjusts to resume his pace, snapping his hips into causing your lips to part with another moan. 

“I’m yours,” you repeat, “all yours.” He gives you a dark smile as he records you. Capturing all the lewd, wet sounds as he drives his cock into you, the euphoric smile that spreads on your face, and the words you know he always wants to hear. 

“Mine,” he agrees. 

……

You don’t see Joel again. And you don’t have time to dwell on the encounter anyway. Frankie keeps you busy and satisfied, and even surprises you by asking you to move in with him officially. Maybe it feels soon, but you spend nearly every day together anyway and the idea delights you. 

It’s an easy transition. You downsize some of your duplicate appliances, joking with him about how he must have great taste for having so many of the same products. He admits that you inspired a few of his purchases. 

You settle into a routine quickly, not much changes. 

Some mornings, before sunrise, as you slip out of bed for your shift, you wonder if any of this is real. If someone can really care about you this deeply. But by the time you’re showered and dressed, Frankie’s lips are on yours. Sleepy. Warm. Familiar. By the time you’re in the car, you forget the question entirely.

You let your gaze linger this morning. Trailing along his profile as he drives, admiring all the details that you used to wonder about from the other side of the counter. His neck, those arms, his hands, those lips. They’re illuminated in flashes as you pass under the streetlights. 

You catch the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He always knows when you’re looking. He rests a hand just above your knee. He always knows what you need. 

An idea takes root, and you do everything not to smile and give yourself away. It’ll take a few days to organize. He’s almost impossible to surprise. 

……

By the end of the week, Frankie’s on autopilot. Kicking off his shoes and pulling his sweaty shirt over his head before he lopes towards the ensuite for a shower. He only makes it a few strides before he’s on edge, noticing the lights he didn’t remember leaving on. He hears your voice. Relief and confusion twist together in his chest. How did you get back here before him? 

Walking into the bedroom you are a sexy surprise wrapped in red lingerie he’s never seen you wear before, but something is wrong. Your shoulders are curled inward, your cheeks are wet, and you’re hastily tying up your matching red satin robe. 

He scans the room, swallowing thickly when he notices the open closet door and the missing box on the shelf. 

He calls your name softly. 

“What the fuck is this, Frankie?” your voice shakes. Wavering between fear and anger. 

You hold up his phone. Well, his other phone. Shit. 

…..

“Answer me,” you beg. Desperate to understand how you went looking for the box with fuzzy handcuffs and instead found a phone with a new message from a number you still recognized. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest and when he takes you into his arms you flinch. You want to shove him off of you. Despite your hostility, your body is still drawn to his. He always knows what you need. In his arms your heart feels tethered to his, like they could merge through the proximity of your rib cages. Like they beat for each other. 

“You trust me, right?” he asks. 

“Explain, please,” is all you can whisper. 

“It was to keep you safe,” he starts. 

“From what?” 

“To protect you. Joel wasn’t good for you. He couldn’t take care of you. Not the way you deserve.” 

“How would you know?” it’s still not making sense to you. 

“You told me.” He’s so self-assured. Like, he’s always right. Like, he can’t even imagine why you’d be upset right now. “I did it for you,” he adds. 

“Did what?” you need him to say it out loud. You need him to fix this. 

“I know you thought Joel was trying, but he was only going to drag it out. Disappoint you over and over. Can you imagine what it would’ve been like for me? Having to watch you go through that?” 

You don’t answer. 

“I couldn’t watch. I made him an offer, but he’s a stubborn man.” 

You snort quietly at that understatement. Nobody tells Joel what to do. 

“I just had to find the right leverage.” 

Frankie holds you so tight, you can’t wriggle around to look him in the eyes. 

“He couldn’t give you what you need, not like I can. I know what you need. And, think of how fast you got over him anyway. You were mine all along.” 

You’re lightheaded. From the shock of finding the evidence. From his words. From the way you believe him. You want to sit down. You tap at his arms insistently, begging against his chest, but he keeps talking. His deep voice rumbling in your ears. 

“You wouldn’t have understood it then. I had to keep it from you to protect you. So we could have this. What we have now.” 

He’s not listening to you. Not letting you go. You snap. 

“Let go of me!” 

“You have to understand first.” 

“I’ll listen,” you plead. “Just let me breathe.” He lets you step back, but doesn’t release you from his grip. His hands are glued to your arms. He waits, steady and chillingly calm.

The pieces slam into place. The unanswered questions. The way Joel vanished. Oh, God.

“I thought he just left,” you whisper to yourself. 

“He did,” Frankie argues. 

“I thought he didn’t want me,” you continue. 

“He didn’t. Not the way that I want you.” 

Something cold trickles down your spine and you look at Frankie. For a moment he’s a complete stranger. Your stomach sinks and your vision spins. Slamming your eyes shut, you filter through your racing thoughts. 

It wasn’t fate that led you into Frankie’s arms. 

You wound up crying on his cock by design, trying to fuck away the pain of a heartbreak that wasn’t even real. You’ve fallen into a whole new life, while the man you had loved may have never stopped loving you back? 

“You blackmailed Joel Miller?” 

“Technically, it’s extortion.” 

Your hands tremble as you grip the phone. The air feels thinner, your chest too tight. The numbers on the screen blur, but you still recognize them.

The texts. The sent video.

The video.

Your stomach lurches. Your mouth opens, but no words come out. Frankie watches you, patient, expectant. Like he’s just waiting for you to catch up.

It’s all there on the surface. Exposed between the two of you. Who Frankie really is. Cunning and competent. Devoted and dangerous. Possessive and powerful. 

“It worked, until he came to town for someone’s engagement party.” 

“When we saw him at the store?” 

Frankie nods. 

“And then you sent him the video we made that day.” The words fall from your lips as the reality sinks in. 

“Hearing it from you seemed to do the trick. He knows you’re mine and you only want me.” 

Frankie gives you time to study him. Absorbing the information. The gleam in his dark eyes. The same eyes from when he would visit you at work. Just as fierce and just as earnest. 

You’ve always known him for his true self. He’s been yours since he first laid eyes on you. And he knew you needed him. 

“And you did it… for us.” 

“For you.” 

You can see it plainly on his face. He’d do it again and again to have you. Because you’re his. It’s all you ever wanted. It has to be wrong, but it’s the hottest thing anyone has ever done for you. 

You push him onto the bed, straddling him without a second thought. Instinct. Need. He’s already hard beneath you.

"You’re sick," you whisper, breath hot against his skin.

Frankie grins. "You make me fucking crazy."

Your mouths collide, hungry, desperate, perfect.

dividers by @/cyberangel-graphics

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[astroxrion]

How you will experience luck in this life, based on Your Jupiter House Placement—

Jupiter in the 1st House

You glow different. People like you, trust you, and often say "yes" without thinking twice. Your big personality pulls in lucky chances just by showing up. You grow by being confident, bold, and fully yourself. When you believe in your own story, doors open fast. Your presence alone inspires others, and the more you step into who you are, the more the universe gives. Trust your instincts—they're your magic wand.

Jupiter in the 2nd House

You've got a gift for stacking blessings—especially in the form of cash, value, and steady wins. Money tends to find you when you stick to what feels right and build things that last. The more you own your worth, the more the world reflects it back. You expand through investing, owning stuff, and believing you deserve more. Riches grow when you're grounded and generous. What you touch can turn golden—so touch wisely.

Jupiter in the 3rd House

Your words? Lucky. Your ideas? They travel far. Communication, writing, teaching, and talking open up wild expansion for you. You're meant to think big, share often, and move through life with curiosity. You get blessings through siblings, short trips, and deep conversations. The more you express, the more your world grows. Say it, write it, tweet it, post it—something will go viral. You're a natural connector. Stay sharp, stay curious, and speak your truth.

Jupiter in the 4th House

Home is your secret garden of growth. Your luck comes through family, roots, and places you emotionally belong. You can build a strong foundation that gives forever. Real estate, ancestry, healing generational stuff—that's where you bloom. A happy home expands everything. You're protected when you go inward. The more you create safety inside yourself, the more life wraps around you like a warm hug. Your legacy is rooted, rich, and deeply blessed.

Jupiter in the 5th House

You were born to create and be celebrated. Luck finds you when you express yourself—art, music, romance, or just being playful. Kids, fans, and audiences bring expansion. You glow on stage, in love, or anywhere you're having fun. Big blessings show up through joy, flirting, and risk-taking. Don't play small—go full sparkle. Creative risks turn into gold when your heart's in it. Fame, love, or both—they're yours when you stay true to your vibe.

Jupiter in the 6th House

Your daily grind becomes divine when you serve with heart. You get luck through routines, helping others, and staying sharp about health. You expand when you treat work like a mission, not a chore. Miracles happen in your schedule—seriously. The more you commit to steady improvement, the more life blesses you. Clients, coworkers, even random tasks become portals of growth. A clean system equals a big life. Master the details. The blessings are in them.

Jupiter in the 7th House

You're lucky in love and partnerships. People show up to support, uplift, and expand you. You grow through deep one-on-one connections—whether in romance, business, or creative collabs. The right people bring big blessings. You might marry well, attract powerful allies, or glow up through contracts. Your mirror is magic—choose it wisely. Balance isn't boring for you—it's the key to expansion. Keep your heart open and your standards high. Your luck walks in with others.

Jupiter in the 8th House

You've got deep power. Luck flows through transformation, intimacy, and shared resources. Inheritances, investments, mystery money—it's all yours when you surrender to change. You expand when you trust life's deeper currents. Spiritual power, sexual energy, and psychological insight are your hidden gold. People might fund you, believe in your vision, or offer you access. The more you embrace endings and rebirths, the richer you become. You're built for deep wealth—not just cash, but soul-deep power.

Jupiter in the 9th House

Your whole life is one big adventure. Travel, higher education, philosophy, teaching, publishing—this is where your luck explodes. You're here to expand people's minds, starting with your own. When you share wisdom, you grow. Life rewards your curiosity, especially when you chase what feels big and true. Foreign lands, big ideas, spiritual quests—that's your playground. You're not just lucky—you're a walking vision. Say yes to the road, the book, the leap. The universe follows you.

Jupiter in the 10th House

You're born for big success. Your public image, career, and goals are blessed by Jupiter's glow. You grow when you aim high and lead with purpose. Life puts you in front of people—bosses, fans, or crowds—and says, "Go." You've got leadership luck. Fame, status, and legacy come easier when you go all in. The more you take your role seriously, the more the world opens up. Be seen. Be bold. Your success uplifts others too.

Jupiter in the 11th House

You get lucky through your people. Friendships, social networks, the internet—this is where blessings drop in. You were built for going viral, making waves, and rallying groups around big visions. The more you give to the collective, the more life gives to you. Community is your magic. Dreams manifest when you stay plugged in. You don't just join movements—you lead them. Keep connecting, keep dreaming out loud. The crowd wants to follow your light.

Jupiter in the 12th House

Your luck is silent, sacred, and strange. You're protected by something bigger—call it spirit, intuition, or the dream world. You expand when you rest, retreat, and reconnect with the unseen. Art, healing, solitude, and spirituality are secret blessings. Magic happens behind the scenes for you. When you stop forcing and start flowing, life rises to meet you. Miracles happen quietly—but they're real. The universe is on your side, always. Let go, tune in, and receive.

[thebluester2020]

[ZZZ] "How To Recieve An A+ In Housekeeping!"

Summary: Attempting to get a job in Victorian Housekeeping Co. is a very strenuous process! One must show a wide variety of skills, good vocabulary, and excellent manners— all three were skills that you were failing at but, luckily the leader of the company had the perfect method to teach you these skills and it all starts with a program! Warning(s): Dom! Lycaon / Sub! Reader, Brat-Taming [Reader's a bit mouthy at best tbh] Spanking, Slight Edging, Cum Denial [Kinda? Lycaon encourages reader not to cum but doesn't do anything to enforce it tbh], Lycian being gentlemanly as hell. (Feel free to tell me if I missed anything!) Side Note(s): I won't say I am/am not a furry. But I will say that my taste in dudes will always favor them where they're stoic and serious but have a secret soft side. Respectfully, those types of men make me want to do the sexy splits on them.

Anyway, hope y'all enjoy this <33

"Your manners are terrible"

When those words left the wolfman's mouth sternly as you sat before him, only a desk separating the two of you, you could've sworn you felt a metaphorical anvil drop into your stomach. You had been job-hunting for a couple of weeks now, after your last gang had disbanded due to the leader getting caught up with the law. You no longer had a steady flow of cash (albeit a little illegal ) coming in!

From gang member to attempted housemaid...it was laughable. Even to you.

And clearly, the leader of the Victorian Housekeeping company thought so too from the way he looked at your resume with a strict gaze once more before resuming looking at you. You were fully expectant of another harsh sentence to slip from his sharp-toothed youth until...you heard a heavy sigh escape him.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, the very room seeming to react to the movement by the way the single light above you two flickered. His then he huffed. "There is a way to improve to improve your manners, however, you'll be learning from me personally."

You gasped. "Really?! Thank you so much, man!"

His ear twitched at the casual "man" you threw his way. "...Sir or mister is a more proper way of speaking to your male superiors."

You cleared your throat and uttered a 'sorry'. "The program will be for three weeks. Each week will be dedicated to a specific set of manners that you are to master if you wish to join the company."

"Which are?" You responded.

"The first week will be vocabulary, communication with clients, and the correct words to address people by," As Lyacon said this, he opened a drawer on his side before pulling out a piece of paper and sliding it to you. You slowly began to read over the paper, one that seemed like a contract of sorts as the wolf continued to talk.

"The second week will simply focus on posture."

You scoffed as your eyes flicked back up to his. "Posture? Ain't that just walkin'?"

"Proper posture is harder to achieve than one may assume Ms. Y/N." He said. "The third week will be—"

The sudden clearing of his throat made him stop immediately, your face suddenly but quickly turning red as you reached a section on the paper that caught your eye.

Complete submission is expected by those who train under Von Lycaon, especially those he offers "favors" to.

"F-Favors...?"

"Favors hint towards a sexual nature, if I'm to assume that was the inquiry to your question?"

In your former gang, you had heard about Von Lycaon and the whole attitude of the white wolfman. He was a pinnacle of perfection in seemingly everything he did! There didn't seem to be a single thing he half-assed, to put it crudely, and what's more? He didn't get distracted. So...for a document to suggest that he wanted submission during sex?

You didn't know if it was shocking or expected.

"I didn't expect the Lycaon to need a document to garner sex." You said.

A rare chuckle left him. "I don't," He answered. "But everyone learns quicker and better when praise and pleasure is included, correct? This is merely a suggestion for you to learn faster. You are more than welcome to opt out of this."

"And if I accept?" Upon that question, the corners of Lycaon's mouth curled up slightly as he slowly leaned in until you could just barely feel his breath.

"Then you will learn fast. On my honor, I promise you."

You should've said no to this optional part of the program. All you needed was a job and Lycaon made it clear that there was a sexless version of the program where you'd simply learn the old-fashioned way! No pleasure or sex included but...as your eyes steadily trailed over the thiren, you couldn't deny he was a handsome individual. It wouldn't be unpleasant in the slightest to have benefits while completing your training under him. And as you steadily came to that conclusion, your thighs beginning to clench underneath the desk.

The thiren briefly sniffed at the air before he closed his eyes and exhaled. He was as still as a statue for a brief moment before he cleared his throat and offered you a pen from his breast pocket.

"I didn't give you an official answer—"

"Your scent gave me a suggestion." His raspy voice in combination with the sudden feral look in his eyes...you all too quickly shooed away any doubts you may have had before you began to sign away on the line at the bottom of the paper. And once you did, sliding the paper gently back to the wolf, he read over it briefly before he folded it neatly and placed it back into a drawer.

"We shall begin Monday," Lycaon said. "Please be prompt and on-time, I don't tolerate tardiness."

"Yeah, yeah." You scoffed.

And thus, your training as a potential housemaid for the Victorian Housekeeping Company has officially begun.

. . .

| Week One |

You had slept in, you had forgotten to set a timer over the weekend, too engrossed with the fact that you had basically agreed to have sex with Lycaon during your three-week training! The second you arrived home, it was a struggle to not touch yourself to the thought of what he looked like underneath his kept-together appearance.

You imagined he'd be soft to the touch judging by how much fur he had.

Would he be firm with his gaze, demanding you to be perfect even in the heat of the moment? Or would be he gentle and accommodating with you?

No matter how much your body cried out for you to indulge yourself a little, you saved it until you experienced it for yourself.

But right now, as your head was bowed down in apology to the wolfman for making him wait over forty minutes to your first day. You had a strong feeling you wouldn't be experiencing anything pleasurable today. "Once again dude, I am SO sorry!" You said.

"I forgot to set a timer, then I wanted to stop and get some breakfast along the way—"

"Stop," He snapped his jaws with a growl seeming to bubble just underneath the surface, the sight of his fangs making you shudder out of fear and...the slightest hint of excitement.

"First appearances are important, the most important out of any interaction and you sullied it on your first day of training? How do you expect to work for the company with such a flippant attitude?"

"I said sorry—"

"Sorry does not cut it Ms. Y/N. Excusing being a minute or two late is another matter but forty? Punishment is the only fitting way to solve such blatant disregard for other people's time." At those chilling words, Lycaon took a single step toward you before he took your chin into his hand, his eyes scanning over your nervous form with a critical gaze before he eventually sighed.

"I have a punishment in mind, please see to it that you are undressed in my office within' five minutes, and be on time."

Your eyes widened to the size of saucers before you huffed defiantly. "I'm not doing that!" You yelled.

His ear flicked, to him? You sounded like an impudent child, screaming and doing anything to get out of being scolded by their parent. "No?" He tilted his head.

"No!"

A wolfish smirk crept onto his face. "Every minute you stand here is an additional minute to your punishment Ms. Y/N. Do take care to remember that."

And so, there you stood.

| + | + | + |

You wouldn't be able to claim that he wasn't patient for the entire duration you had a fit about being punished on the first day of training. For about ten whole minutes, you stood there staring at the thiren until you eventually got bored and decided that "your punishment wouldn't be that bad" and simply went to his office!

You sat on a black couch and waited and when Lycaon came in?

The way he so quickly got his hands on you felt like you were being thrown around by an uncouth beast, a complete switch from the gentlemanly wolf you were talking to just a few minutes ago.

Slap! "Count." He ordered.

"O-One—Ah!"

He tutted his lips with a shake of his head as his hand slapped against your ass again, your maid uniform tugged up to your midsection as he pinned your hands down with his free hand. "Proper communication is most effective when you're speaking clearly Ms. Y/N...also, it's "one, sir"."

Another slap against your red behind rang out in the air, your body jerking forward a little at the movement. "At this rate, you'll never reach fifty." He sighed.

"W-Wait...!" You begged. "J-Just give me a break...so I can c-catch my breath—" When he slowly inched his hand upward again, your eyes widened as you quickly remembered your manners. "S-Sir! J-Just let me catch my breath...please."

If your eyes weren't blurry with tears, your mind getting fuzzier and fuzzier as you tried to ignore the ache in your cunt. You could've sworn you saw his tail move a little. After a minute, however, a sharp gasp left your swollen lips when you felt a finger graze against your sex, the featherlight touch making you shudder as you whipped your head around to look at the Lycaon.

Unconsciously, his tongue poked out to sweep against his upper set of canines as he focused on how your slick oozed out from your pussy so shamelessly. But at the same time? He figured he shouldn't have been shocked at the lewd sight, his keen hearing didn't miss the way a tiny moan would escape your lips at each slap. It was as if you wanted him to keep going and didn't want your punishment to end anytime soon.

Such behavior wasn't befitting of a potential future employee at the company. "Are you done recuperating? If so, then let us continue."

"W-Wait..." You begged. "J-Just a little time- Ah!"

"Now, now—" He pressed his hand down on your wrists a little more, lightly pinching at your thigh with the tip of his claws to calm your squirming. "—If you focus and count Ms. Y/N then your punishment will be over very soon, please remain focused."

After a final warning, he was quick to resume his smacks against your ass. The pain and pleasure eventually blurring into one another enough for your brain to somehow find a way to "center" itself. And, after around twenty minutes...Lycaon finally released you from your bent-over position over his lap and got up.

A lingering rebelliousness in the back of your head wanted to curse out the wolf as he stood, fixing his cuffs until they were neat again as if he wasn't rocking a blatant boner in his trousers! Yet as your mouth began to open as he walked further away...it quickly shut when he started walking back to you after grabbing something from a bookshelf behind his desk.

"What is that?" You asked.

"Aloe cream, it should help with the burn and any burning sensations."

Oh, you thought.

How...nice of him.

At your silence, his head tilted as he sat down next to you. "Are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh, y-yeah...I just wasn't expecting aftercare." You blushed.

"Your work would be even more affected if I didn't do this, I wouldn't want that." Suddenly, your heart skipped a beat.

. . .

| Week Two |

You didn't want to admit it to yourself at the time but you knew full well as to why your heart skipped a beat that day. At first, you tried to joke and claim that you were a masochist starting to bloom! Von Lycaon was handsome, yes but you knew how to distinguish between work and personal lives! Besides, you wanted money more than you did romance and if the latter interfered with your money...you weren't in any shape or form interested in it.

But, at the second week's coming, this week focused on posture if your memory served correctly. You couldn't lie or joke to yourself anymore.

You developed a crush on your future boss.

And it grew harder and harder to deny that fact in your...current position. Naked aside from your short black heels, you were standing right in front of Lycaon with his pants pulled down just enough to reveal his leaking dick. The tip seemed to turn increasingly into an angrier red as you continued to stay frozen in place. "Are you uncomfortable?" Lycaon's words snapped you out of your thoughts before you shook your head.

"N-No sir! It's just..." You went quiet for a second. "How...how is this going to teach me posture?"

"If you would come closer, I will show you." Like a siren's song, the beckoning of his clawed finger made you take small steps forward until you were finally in front of him. "I'll be letting you take control of me for some time," You could've sworn you caught a smirk on his lips at his words. "If you manage to fuck me until I cum with the correct posture then consider your training done, and welcome to your new job as a new maid to the Victorian Housekeeping company. I'll be generous and not even include the third week of training."

"But—" As his hand found its way to your hips, he gently tugged you forward until he slowly maneuvered you to straddle him on his lap, his cock throbbing against your stomach as beads of sweat started to appear at the back of your neck. He reached the middle of your stomach, easily! And that wasn't even considering his girth. "—If your posture fails, you will unfortunately stick to the original training program. And I must warn you, most do not manage to get through week three."

You jumped a little when you felt Lycaon's hand move down to your pussy. "What are you doing?" You voiced out shakily, your clit throbbing at Lycaon's touch as one finger alone was enough to cover your entire clit.

"Preparing you of course," He said with an "obviously" tone. "No matter how much I can smell your eagerness in the air—" A sharp moan escaped your lips when his finger started to slowly move, your cheeks burning at the fact you let out such a noise from such little stimulation. "—I doubt you will be able to fully take me without a little prep."

"Y-You..." You bit your tongue to keep a curse from flying out, your hands quickly moving to his shoulders as you tried to ground yourself and not lose yourself too quickly to the pleasure. A task that you were quickly failing at as you felt a knot slowly begin to form in the pit of your stomach, scorching hot tears brimming your eyes as a single line of drool fell from the corner of your lips.

And Lycaon was enjoying every second of it.

If he were to be honest with himself.

He didn't want you to succeed this time.

After having so much fun with you last week, he would say that he had gotten a bit greedy. As entertaining as it was to tame your bratty behavior and mold it into something more palpable as someone who would be interacting with clients often, it was torture all the same to him to not shut you up with his cock instead! It wasn't enough to rut into his hand at the end of every day, heated pants leaving his lips as his tongue lulled out of his mouth like some common dog begging for a slip of meat.

To say that it was unbecoming of him to set you up for failure was an understatement, rubbing your needy bud until you nearly squirted on him wouldn't make you last very long when you were actually seated on his cock. And as cruel as it was for him to say...how unbecoming and un-gentlemanly it was...

He was so fucking eager for you to fail.

"S-Sir..." His ears perked to your whining as your head fell his chest, his ears then moving to the sound of lewd squelching coming from your pussy. "Please...I-I'm so close..." You whined.

He allowed himself to play with you a minute longer until...he took his finger away.

He struggled to withhold a laugh at your state, your eyes seeming to be confused and stuck between wanting to glare angrily at him or beggingly like a wanton whore for him to continue. "Don't look like that," He said. "If I were to make you cum now, you would be too shaky to fuck me."

You were too shaky now.

But, you'd first kiss the seat of a toilet lid before admitting defeat.

"I-I won't fail this..." You said with determination, although breathlessly.

His tail wagged ever so slightly at your determination. "We shall see," He responded before he relaxed against the couch with a deep sigh. "Please begin at your leisure Ms. Y/N." When you took him into your hand, you felt a surge of confidence at Lycaon's not-so-quiet sharp inhale of breath. You prayed that he was just as needy as you because as you lined him up to your entrance and started to slid him into you, every inch that sunk further into you made your mouth gap wider and wider until you were certain you looked like a gasping fish.

He rubbed against your walls so nicely too, his girth stretching you out just enough to where it made you drool as it touched spots inside of you that you hadn't had a clue existed until today!

"F-Fuckkkkk..." You moaned out once you were fully seated on him.

You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, desperately trying to ignore that burning feeling in your core as you began to move.

"Shit." Oh, how you just wanted to just shove a hand over his snout to keep him from letting out such sexy noises. His raspy voice and the way his thumbs rubbed encouraging circles into your hips...it wasn't good for you. You'd cum faster at this rate.

"Faster," Lycaon suddenly ordered, opening one of his red eyes to look at you.

"I...I can't- Oh!" Your words caught in your throat when he suddenly fucked up into you. A squeal nearly leaving your throat as you shut your eyes tightly to try and force back that urge to cum.

"Disobeying a superior now Ms. Y/N?" One of his hands slowly dragged up your back before it gently shoved you forward a little. Immediately, you fixed your posture although you nearly fell back over a couple of times. "You should watch yourself, my type of punishment for this act won't be very fun."

You doubted that.

But, as your hands tightened on his shoulders and you fucked yourself more quicker onto him. Tears started to flow down your cheeks more easily as you couldn't deny the burning feeling in your stomach anymore, how the way Lycaon's dick throbbed inside of you and pressed against your most sensitive spots...the urge to beg him for the chance to cum, just once was on the tip of your tongue but you tried to stay focused. "Oh my God..." He moaned deeply.

"Fuckkk..."

"A-Are you close?" You whined.

He scoffed. "Not even close," You felt your hopes nearly crash and shatter at those words. "But...your pussy feels so good on my cock," He praised, his tail thumping against the couch unabashedly as he stared up at you with hooded eyes and a feral gaze. "Perhaps, instead of a maid, you should be my personal breeding toy."

His smirk grew when he felt your pussy tighten around his cock.

"Yeah?" He asked. "You like that?"

You shook your head, shutting your eyes tightly as if not seeing him would help your situation anyway. However, as you felt a furred hand cup the side of your face, the feeling of breaths hitting your face. Your eyes slowly cracked open to the wolf thiren's face right in front of yours, panting and moaning with little to no shame before he smiled. "So pretty like this Y/N..." He said before his leaned down to begin pressing kisses to the side of your neck.

Briefly, the thought of whether or not this was a part of the training flashed in the front of your mind. But...as quick as it came, it was gone. You wanted to believe that...he wasn't following some manual when it came to his actions, that they were meant just for you and you alone. "You're so wet, making so much noise...I think I was right in my earlier suggestion hm? Maybe you will do better as my toy."

You shook your head. "Don't lie." He lightly nipped your shoulder, the sharp sudden pain being just what you needed to throw you over the edge before...Lycaon's ears moved to the sound of gushing and the feeling of wetness splashing against his pants and a bit of his thighs.

Without a second thought, his fingers shot down to gather some of your cum onto his fingers before he tasted you, a groan rumbling out as he almost shocked himself with how fast he got hard again. But before he could mention it, much less suggest it, when Lycaon returned his gaze to you. He saw you passed out against his chest, the very sight making him laugh ever so quietly before he sighed.

He supposed he was feeling a touch bit generous...he expected you to cum within seconds of fucking yourself onto his cock but it took you longer than that! To the point, he actually began to worry about cumming first or not! Although he had a mind not to be, he decided to be generous and forgiving seeing as you fucked him until the point of total exhaustion on your point.

He'd give you a passing A+ for effort.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Twelve: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink (Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, spitting, cumplay, nude vids/pics, masturbation, domesticity kink, oral, PIV, dick piercing, forced orgasm, semi-public, bondage, blindfolds, biting/slapping/spanking, squirting, cumming untouched, NONCON/DUBCON/CNC, Somno, murder/blood/gore/drugs(referenced), knife, GEN. SMUT[Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is so full of himself that he’s somehow tricked himself into a bit of emotional maturity, Anakin has blooming bromance, post murder sex spree [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Date

August 27th continued.

Anakin climbed through his living room window and shut it behind him, happily humming to himself as he shut and locked it behind him. He spread out two trash bags on the floor after rolling up the rug to get it out of his way.

Armed with a pair of scissors and a few gallon ziploc bags he went to work on the clothes he’d been wearing. Thankfully, he had enough sense to buy jeans and a hoodie from the Goodwill. He can’t fuck you in the clothes he killed a man in, that’s just gross. So he chopped up the fabric in little squares while watching an episode of Narcos for the irony of it.

He planned to drive around the city tomorrow and dump the remnants of his clothes down every sewer grate he could. He already said goodbye to his third favorite butterfly knife, having shoved it into a culvert on his way home. As well as his throwaway sneakers which he chucked into the murky water of the deep river that flowed beneath the bridge he trekked across to get home- the long way.

Anakin was a good citizen, he knew he couldn’t flush the drugs. He couldn’t dispose of them in the trash, he definitely couldn’t keep them, so he did what every responsible person would do: dumped them in the medical wastes slot at the CVS.

The cash on the other hand… over $2,000. That- that he could definitely keep.

With his mind cleared, soiled clothes squared away, and plan in place; he hit the shower and reveled in the faint metallic scent of blood that trickled down the drain. Mentally adding ‘new loofah’ to his to-do list, he scrubbed away at his skin with dawn dishsoap until he felt like his skin was screaming for him to stop. Then he used his favorite smell-good cedar soap, enjoying the steam of the scalding water pelting his back as he rinsed himself clean.

Diary Entry: August 28th

I feel GOOD. I feel better, I feel fresh.

My worries went down the drain along with every scrap of evidence I created. Have you ever felt such a clear and palpable mental reset? I haven’t.

I haven’t had a single negative thought since my visit with Joel. It’s all been rainbows and shittin’ unicorns, I know what it’s like to live completely carefree now. I could go the rest of my life and suffer through whatever disaster life throws our way and do it with a fucking smile.

Gods I just love you. I love you so much.

You’re perfect. I don’t know how the hell you do it princess but you’ve found every possible way to improve my life and you don’t even know you’re doing it half the time! It’s like you know exactly what I need without ever speaking it aloud. You just let the pieces fall into place.

It was your idea to DoorDash the pizza, your choice to wear that slutty pajama set I love so much, your sunshiny predisposition that drew his attention and the bangin’ body that held it. Without that, all of it, I’d still be wallowing in the throes of despair at my untimely death via withering away.

But here I am, having a damn good day!

The only thing that would make it better is me fucking you like a jackrabbit on his third 5hr Energy. However, I love you and as much as I’d like to fuck you within an inch of your life, I will not. I have a hand that works perfectly fine and a plethora of porn starring you that I can drool over until I’ve sated myself enough to act like a semi-normal human.

How will I broach the subject of my unrequited love today? I don’t know. Am I worried about it? Hell no. I have faith in my goddess to deliver what I’m worthy of.

How will I look you in the eye after my late night escapade? With a fucking smile.

Date

August 28th

You traded texts back and forth with Anakin all morning. Something had crawled under his skin and bit him with venomous lust, he’d sent you pretty pictures of his weeping cock, cum dribbling out and down the back of his hand. He’d texted, described in delicate detail what he’d like to do to you with the most vile and disgusting words to caress that sick little minx that lived inside your stomach.

He had you clenching around nothing, gushing slick behind the counter at the diner. Blushing deep, dusty rose petal red across your cheeks and creeping up under your shirt collar. You felt hot, your hands sweaty and mind flustered beyond belief. You hadn’t felt this sexually frustrated since Ghost had stopped torturing you in your sleep.

You were nervous and bashful around customers as if they could see straight through your polite voice and put together appearance. Underneath the confidence that you reserved for waiting tables was a deprived and thoroughly soaked cunt that controlled your every waking thought.

“Princess?” Anakin’s deep gravelly bedroom voice floated over the Formica countertop and wrapped you up in a warm embrace.

You looked up and saw the face of a desperate man. His pretty blue eyes had been completely swallowed up by his lust… love blown pupils. His normally calming cloud of energy was replaced by a jittery, buzzing storm of bottled up euphoria. He couldn’t wait to pop the cork and share it with you.

“Vigo?” Anakin’s voice cracked, his smile only growing bigger when your coworker popped his head around the kitchen door frame. “I’m stealing her.”

“Hey, you gotta clock out!” He shouted after you as Anakin gripped your wrist and whisked you out to his car. Vigo was already on his way to the time cards, punching it in for you to save himself the worry of you forgetting.

“Anakin what’s gotten into you?” You panted, trying to catch your breath while Anakin licked into your mouth and sucked the tip of your tongue. Kissing you as messily as he could short of drowning you via spit swap.

“Woke up missing you.” He groaned, nuzzling your breasts. His nose nudging the valley while he rubbed his cheeks against the swell, pushing them together with his splayed hands.

“Can’t help it.” He breathed out, biting your sensitive flesh through the fabric of your shirt.

“Ani.” You moaned, tugging his head away gently. “You already gave me a massive hickey.” He chuckled as you reminded him of the purplish bruise you’d attempted to cover with makeup.

“True.” He nodded, nipping you again anyway. “You could stand to have a few more though.”

“Shit, not now.” You shook your head and bucked up your hips, wiggling out of your jeans.

“Damn, that’s what I like to see sweetheart.” Anakin growled, smacking your ass lightly as he laid down in the back seat. “C’mere baby let me see my pussy.”

You giggled, complying and gingerly hovering over his mouth only to earn a frustrated groan from him.

“Goddamnit. I-I’ve never seen you this wet.” His eyebrows furrowed together as he looked up at you, his enlarged pupils snapping a mental picture of how beautiful you were from your position above him where you belonged.

Both hands suddenly gripped your hips and pulled you down on top of his face. He held on tightly, keeping you in place despite your concerns of suffocating him.

“Don’t care.” He moaned, thrusting his tongue up and swirling it around inside your entrance, the bridge of his nose rubbing your clit as he guided your hips to ride his face. “I’d be dying the happiest man on earth.”

“Oh my god.” You sucked in a sharp inhale, your palm smacking the headrest while your fingers hurt from the force of your grip on it.

“Mhmmmm.” You could feel his smug grin beneath you, even in this position he was able to establish dominance with just that crooked smirk and hard look to his eyes.

“Anakin…” moaning, you reached down to play with his hair, his mouth pulling your clit between his teeth to suck harshly, flicking his tongue at a fast pace in hopes to bring you to orgasm quickly. “Anakin please… s-slow.”

“Uh uh.” He shook his head with a chuckle, digging his fingertips into the fat of your ass.

“My pussy… my rules.” He mumbled, the words muffled and nearly incoherent.

He slurped and sucked, dragging his tongue in long stripes up your center, dipping the tip into your hole each time it passed over. He’d never eaten you so desperately, never had he sent you spiraling into orgasm this quickly. Heat traveled from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears, your hole quivering around his tongue darting in to lick up your cum.

“Ani- Anakin enough.” You whined, trying to get up but he just brought you back down and laved at you with just as much fervor.

“Please no… hurts.” You hiccuped, sensitive beyond belief and not ready for more in the slightest.

“Shhhh.” Anakin laughed, nibbling on your clit carefully, he slipped one hand beneath you, palm side up.

He tapped your hip and let you raise up for a moment to catch your breath, lasting less than a few seconds before he was one-armed manhandling you back over his face.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers while I watch baby.” He whispered, stroking your folds gently before prodding at your entrance.

“Oh sweet lord-“ he moaned loudly, watching your greedy pussy sink down on his fingers from below, your hole fluttering around the two digits.

“You’re so wet.” He whimpered, gazing up at you like you’d hung the moon just for him.

“All this for me?” He asked softly, as if he weren’t really sure what your answer would be.

“All for you Ani.” You nodded, brushing your knuckles across his cheek while he started pumping his finger inside slowly, stretching you out to take a third.

“Jesus, I don’t know what I wanna do.” He groaned, “I wish I could touch you all over all at once.”

He removed his fingers and brought them up for you to see the fruits of his labor, the creamy slick coated his fingers, stringing them together when he pulled them apart. He barely grazed your bottom lip with it before sucking it hungrily from his fingers.

“Goddamnit.” He moaned, pulling you back down with such force that you lost your balance and accidentally unlocked the car door, you giggled and quickly corrected your mistake, Anakin chiding you from below.

“Clumsy little brat.” He grinned, kneading your ass cheeks roughly.

His tone might’ve been playful but the look in his eyes was nothing short of predatory. He lapped at your glistening folds with the enthusiasm of a wildcat on a fresh kill, by the end of it he’d be sucking the bones dry.

Anakin hummed at the taste of you, groaning, babbling nonsense more to your cunt than to you:

“Tastes so good.”

“So pink and pretty for me.”

“Poor pussy just missed me so much huh? Is that why she’s crying?”

He switched up suddenly and had you frozen in place, your jaw dropped open as you let out a choked sob, tilting your head back to look at the car’s ceiling. He’d bit down on your raw and sore clit, peeling back the hood to tortuously bully it with kitten licks all while sucking as hard as he possibly could. It was too much, so much, all at once.

You were already so sensitive, you had already begged him to stop, now you had no words left, just pitiful whimpers as you bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Your legs quivered uncontrollably as goosebumps pricked your flesh, every hair standing on end as Anakin literally sucked you dry as you’d jokingly predicted.

He drew out a long and reedy noise from the depths of your chest, clawing it’s way through the fire in your lungs and past the torn skin on your lip. Creamy cum gushed from your core, coating his chin and neck.

The main course, what he was really after, was the hot juices that dribbled down the back of his throat as he sucked the nectar straight from the source. You would’ve worried you might drown him if you couldn’t visibly see his heavy breathing, feel and hear each desperate swallow and whimper. You could feel his stomach tensing along with his arms, his hands followed and closed into fists.

Turning his head to the side he bit down on your inner thigh, causing you to jolt and yelp, almost missing the way one of his hands flew to his crotch and squeezed his thick cock through his jeans, running his thumb over the fat, swollen tip as a small and sticky dark patch bloomed on his upper thigh.

“N-no no.” He whined, bringing you back down to his face, he carefully avoided your abused clit in favor of cleaning up your thighs and messy cunt, digging out every last drop of slick with his tongue.

“You… you are so fucking hot.” He panted, whimpering in pain when he sat up repositioned his cock.

“Did you-“

“Cum? Yeah.” He nodded sheepishly, stroking himself in his jeans for a moment before removing his hand and showing you the mess he’d made in his jeans.

“No way.” You whispered, a triumphant grin spreading across your lips.

“Yes.” He growled, shoving his hand between your thighs to wipe his cum off onto your spent pussy. “I don’t think you understand what you do to me sweetheart.”

“I’d pay good money to find a way to live inside your skin with you. Just to be close as I could get.” He said quietly, helping you back into your panties and jeans, wiping the excess cum onto the inside of his tshirt.

“I’d sell my soul just to breathe the same air as you if that’s what it took.” He said, pulling you into his lap and crushing you in a hug.

“You are like a Ghost that haunts every corner of my mind.” He whispered, licking the makeup off of your poorly hidden hickey.

Anakin didn’t miss the way you breathed in a sharp breath at his words it took a lot of willpower not to smile against your neck when he heard you audibly swallow with nervousness.

“I wake up and I think of you. I go to sleep and I dream of you.” His rough palms caressing the soft skin of your stomach. “Everything I see, everything I do, it all reminds me of you.”

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.” He said softly. “You’d never doubt yourself again.” His lips grazing your earlobe as he twirled a lock of hair around his finger, breaking the heavy tension by cracking a smile and tickling the tip of your nose with your hair.

He gently cupped your cheeks and brushed the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks and under your eyes. Staring at you with those unwavering black saucers in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he’d done drugs. It’s unnatural for a human’s eyes to stay dilated for this long. But you knew Anakin, he was just high on you.

Diary Entry: August 28th continued

I have so much energy and I don’t know what to do with it all. I might try bench pressing a school bus, I could probably make it move alittle. If I didn’t give myself a hernia first.

What I really need is more of you. I thought a little sweet treat might tithe me over but I was WRONG. I’m feeling a new kind of insatiable.

It’s time for Ghost to get back to his old tricks with a new accessory: my rarely worn tongue stud.

Man I love it though, it clacks against my teeth so good. I can hear it in my brain for like, minutes after I’ve done it. Such a satisfying sound. Its crisp.

Which is unfortunately the reason why I can’t wear it often anymore.

I click clacked it around my bottom row of teeth too much and the dentist made me promise not to do it anymore. Turns out abstinence is actually the best method when it comes to prevention. If it’s not in my mouth I can’t fuck up my teeth, but I can play with my lip piercings. Yeehaw I love a loophole.

Anywho. I feasted on my favorite meal today and I desperately need more before I actually go insane. I need to taste you. I need to feel you. I need to fuck you til I lose consciousness.

I want you to be awake though because as hot as it is to watch you cum in your sleep, it’s even hotter to see you reacting to the things I say. Deny it all you want baby but you’re my whore.

Ghost, Anakin, both. You’re willing to do anything for my cock.

Date

August 28th continued.

Anakin can’t keep his hands to himself. It’s like he’s been corrupted by an incubus, he’s turned into an insatiable beast that just can’t stop. You’ve seriously considered the possibility that he may have somehow gotten his hands on some ecstasy and a suped up gas station boner pill.

Though logically you know exactly what is happening. He’s just giddy and feeling a weight lifted from his chest after confessing to you. It makes perfect sense. Carrying a secret like that is a burden, you know that very well by now.

Anakin is purely running off adrenaline fumes and endorphins. He’s burning it off the best way possible, by touching you in every direction, position, time, space and dimension that he can put you in.

He’s fucked you twice after taking you home from work today. Kitchen counter? From the back with your legs dangling helplessly, your sweaty skin sticking to the countertop. Coffee table? He pushed you down on it, swiping off the scattered items on it, including the freshly made sandwich and chips you’d brought him. He had said ’F-fuck… you’re just so sexy when you’re domestic.’

Right now on your third go around, he had finally, finally agreed to take you to the bed after you’d formed a triangle shaped bruise from the corner on the kitchen counter.

“M’sorry baby,” He whispered, licking away the dull pain on your hip from between your legs. “didn’t mean to.”

“I know Ani,” you breathed out, “it’s not your fault.”

“It is.” He nodded, pulling you toward the edge of the bed and gently helping you onto you hands and knees. “My poor girl.”

“You’re just so pretty. You’re so perfect. You’re so… you.” He sighed, standing behind and to the side of you to caress your injured hip.

His rough palm glided over the hot, sticky skin of your spine to brush your hair away. His free hand slowly tracing a delicate pattern across the plumped flesh of your ass, all five digits teasing the skin with tingling trails of warmth.

His lips caressed your tender skin up and down your side while he lovingly slipped a finger between your pussy lips. He groaned and made a fist between your shoulder blades to keep control of himself, your wetness feeding his need to be sheathed inside your warm and welcoming cunt.

“Pretty, pretty baby.” He whispered, his voice cracking while he brought his burning hot cheek down to rest against the swell of your ass, toying with his lip piercings to stifle a moan at the sloppy noises his pointer finger made on its descent into your depths.

“You’ve been so good for me.” He praised you, massaging your shoulder with one hand, kissing your ass cheek as he turned his head and rested the other side of his blushed face there, switching sides to watch your expressions change with each plunge of his finger.

“My little girl…” he growled, low and deep in his throat, “letting me take what I need.”

“Just wanted you to feel good Ani.” You sighed, gratefully accepting a second finger from him, feeling him twist his wrist back and forth with each slow thrust.

“Mmm, I did sweetheart.” He chuckled, “trust me, it’s hard to feel anything but heavenly when I’ve got my hands on you.”

“You’ve been so needy.” You whined, letting him guide your hand to your clit so you could rub yourself at your own pace along with his languid fingers.

“I know.” He clicked his tongue. “Are you okay sweetheart?”

“Course I’m okay.” You moaned, leaning back against his hand while his fingertips pressed and massaged your inner core.

“I put your poor little body through a lot today huh?” He cooed, switching his free hand over to your other shoulder to massage it the same as the other.

He smiled widely as he watched your face relax and felt your breathing slow into a steady rhythm. He felt proud. Proud of you, of himself, of his self control.

“Felt good Ani.” You whispered, your fingers tightening around the sheets in your fist while you rocked back onto his hand, fucking yourself on his fingers. “I needed it too.”

“That’s my girl.” He smiled, hearing the content sigh escape your lips. “You think you can cum for me again baby?” He asked softly, kissing the small of your back.

“N-no.” You whimpered, shying away from his gentle probing fingers.

“You sure sweetheart?” He asked, slowing his movements even further. “It’s okay baby, I just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.”

“M’sure.” You shook your head rapidly, “I can’t.”

“Okay baby.” He chuckled, “ready for me to stop then?” He asked.

“No… not yet.” You said quietly. “Lay with me?”

“Oh sure thing princess.” He grinned, removing his fingers just long enough for him to turn off your lamp and help you slide under the blankets, his nakedness pressed firmly against yours.

“Mm, you’re so warm,” you giggled, Anakin’s arms wrapping around you tightly while he kissed the nape of your neck, spooning you from behind.

“Cozy?” He asked with a gruff tone, slipping his fingers back into your messy pussy from behind to continue the slow and gentle caresses.

“So cozy.” You nodded. “I’m gettin’ sleepy.” You said tiredly.

“I figured so.” He nodded, his voice a soft whisper. “I’ll lay with you until it’s time for me to leave for work okay?”

“I’ll make sure everything is all locked up when I leave, I’ll kiss you bye.” He spoke low and soothingly as he gently rubbed your neck, removing his fingers from your folds when he heard your breathing slightly change.

“I’ll text you,” he whispered, sucking your slick from his fingers between words, not hiding his hard-on as it pressed against your ass. “when I get there and when I get back home. I’ll miss you so much until I see you again tomorrow.”

Soon enough you were deep in sleep and Anakin was glad he’d made you take your pills at dinner time, he’d thought ahead and considered the very real possibility that you’d end up being fucked to sleep.

He was right of course.

——————————————————————————

“Anakin what the hell man?” Trevor chortled shoving a handful of ice down the back of Anakin’s shirt in retaliation to the towel-whip he’d dealt Trevor.

“What? Can’t a guy be happy?” Anakin laughed.

“Happy? Nah you’re fucking hyper.” Trevor grinned. “What’d you do that’s got you feeling so good? Gimme some.” He teased.

“Shut up, the hardest thing I do is pot you know that.” Anakin snorted.

“Then what’s the deal?” Trevor splayed his own hand a few inches from his face.

“I’m love drunk baby.” Anakin waggled his eyebrows and shimmied his shoulders.

“Jesus I don’t even know you! Who are you and what have you done with my jackass?” Trevor grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him with a laugh, turning to pour a beer on tap for a patron.

“I ate him.” Anakin shrugged and giggled.

“I’m calling your girlfriend. I don’t know if I can be around you anymore.” April said, walking past the two of them with a serving tray.

“She needs a break from me, she’s very tired.” Anakin said with a proud grin.

“Oh my god!” April cackled and made a quick exit from behind the bar to serve drinks at a corner table.

“Fucking freak.” Trevor snickered.

“That’s what she said.” Anakin stuck out his tongue and flicked it with an impish grin.

After an hour or so the bar traffic grew stagnant and Anakin stepped out back for a cigarette, flicking his zippo out to light the flame and swinging in shut. Letting a curl of smoke leave his lips to breathe in through his nose. He leaned back against the brick wall with his legs crossed at the ankles, raising his arms above his head to rest his fists on his forehead.

He was looking up at the hazy city-light polluted night sky, searching for stars, when the back door swung open and Trevor stepped out with a bottle of beer for himself and one for Anakin.

“Trade me.” He grunted, sitting down on an old wood crate and holding out the beer bottle, two fingers extended for Anakin to sit a cigarette between.

“Yessir,” Anakin nodded, going so far as to light it for his friend.

“Anakin.” Trevor said thoughtfully. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” Anakin said, tipping up the beer bottle and watching the amber liquid bubble as he took a gulp.

“Did you hate me?” Trevor asked. “When you first started here?”

“What? Pfft, no what are you talking about?” Anakin asked, pushing off the wall with his black leather boot.

“I don’t know, you’re just different.” Trevor said with a shrug. “You just seemed so… excuse my critique; cold and distant.”

“Criticism accepted.” Anakin nodded. “It’s true I guess.”

“Yeah? So what changed?” Trevor asked in curiosity, a rare moment of vulnerability shared between two male friends wasn’t to be wasted.

“Met a girl. Got my shit together.” Anakin said, flicking cigarette ash to the pavement. “I love her you know?”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.” Anakin nodded. “I told her. She hasn’t said it back yet.”

“Well damn I’m sorry man-“

“No don’t be. She’ll say it.” Anakin held up his hand to stop him. “She just ain’t ready to admit it that’s all.”

“How are you not all depressed and shit?”

“I was, but I realized… I don’t care.” Anakin said simply. “I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care if I have to wait until I’m dead in the ground. I know she’ll tell me when she’s ready.”

“I had myself a bit of a freak out.” Anakin admitted, “but after I cooled off I’ve been… happier than I’ve ever been.”

“That why you’re all…” Trevor gestured to him with both hands.

“Yessir.” Anakin grinned.

“So you’re acting like you’ve won the fuckin’ lotto because your girl didn’t say she loved you?” Trevor raised his eyebrows.

“She doesn’t have to.” Anakin said, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms, placing the cigarette between his lips, inhaling slowly. Grabbing it between his forefinger and thumb he brought it back down to his side and made an O with his lips, hollowing his cheeks and flicking the dip in his cheek to let a ring of smoke out.

“I know she does.” Anakin said, tilting his head back against the brick and letting it loll to the side to look over at Trevor. “She didn’t run off, she didn’t tell me to get lost, she laid there with me… pretty little head on my chest.” Anakin said, making a motion with his hand above his heart.

“Then today.” Anakin said, clicking his tongue with a smirk. “She sat on my face in the parking lot of the Bluebird during her break n’ let me fuck her all over the house when I got her home.”

“Jesus, here I was thinkin’ you were being sweet.” Trevor snorted, flicking his bottle cap so the it bounced off the toe of Anakin’s boot.

“If that doesn’t scream love I don’t know what does.” Anakin sighed contentedly, stubbing out his cigarette and dropping it into the designated rusty coffee can for cigarette butt.

——————————————————————————

“Hey, look Trev isn’t that the guy uh… the one who did that thing junior year of highschool?” April shouted over the din of the bar from the other end of the counter, pointing up to the smaller tv playing the news rather than the basketball game.

“Uh… hold on I can’t- I don’t have my glasses.” he said walking over and squinting, Anakin walking up behind him to look over his shoulder.

“Mm yeah that’s the guy they called- uh,” he thought for a second before snapping his right hand fingers and bringing his palm down on top of his fist, pointing up at the screen. “Duck! Didn’t they?”

“Yeah! Yeah, him.” April nodded, sucking on a lemon slice she’d dipped in sugar.

She turned back around and shook up the tumbler she was mixing a drink in, pouring it over two glasses and sliding it across the table to their owners.

“Why’d they call him that?” Anakin asked, wiping down the bar, before washing up some shot glasses.

“He’d duck his head up under the bleachers to look up girls skirts at the pep rallies.” Trevor said with a huff, “real shit guy.”

“Tried to sell my brother herbs instead of herb.” April turned around with an amused look on her face.

“Huh.” Anakin said, tonguing the inside of his cheek to hide a smirk. “Real shit guy indeed.”

“Surprised it didn’t happen sooner.” Trevor said with a chuckle.

“Why’s that?” Anakin asked, tossing his towel over his shoulder, rubbing his palms together while he sucked on the ball of one of his snake bites.

“Like I said, real shit guy.” Trevor scoffed. “Doubt they’re even looking too hard for the guys who did it.”

“Guys?” Anakin asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Yeah-“ he looked over his shoulder, “what’d it say April? Four of ‘em?”

“Yep.” She said, tossing her lemon rind in the trash.

“Damn.” Anakin shook his head.

“Yeah, the guy who ‘found’ him graduated with us too.” Trevor said, glancing back up at the tv and seeing it had switched over to the weather. “Supposedly it was a real mess, shit everywhere. Stole a bunch of stuff, some kind of drug related thing.”

“Well shit, poor guy.” Anakin shook his head, “that’d be a real nice thing to walk in on.”

“Well hell yeah it would, looking like the Red Seas in there.” Trevor snorted.

“How do you know?” Anakin asked with a smile.

“The dick posted it on his private Snapchat story before he called the cops.” Trevor said, “I didn’t see it, but my buddy did and he said it looked barf worthy, could smell it through the screen.”

“Goddamn that’s nasty.” Anakin winced, “thanks for that mental image.”

“I had to imagine it, so you did too.” Trevor said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Share the wealth or whatever.”

“Trev, I don’t think that applies to murder.” April said, walking past the boys.

“It does now, baby.” He said, tapping her ass as she walked past.

“Hey!” She shot him a dirty look but blushed and smiled anyway. “Told you not to do that at work.”

“Can’t help it.” Trevor shrugged. “Stress reliever.”

“Oh whatever.” She snorted.

“Anyway yeah- apparently the dude, Kyle Spencer, is suspect number one. He was high as a kite when he called Duck’s dad.”

“He called his dad?” Anakin asked confusedly, “not the cops?”

“His dad is the cops.” Trevor said, popping a piece of gum in his mouth before tossing a stick to Anakin.

“Oh shit.” Anakin scoffed, “so what, he called the guys dad to figure it out?”

“Mhm.” Trevor nodded. “At least that’s what everyone thinks. Cause Duck’s dad arrested the guy himself and seemed real ticked off about getting the call. He was at his other son’s house for the grandkids birthday.”

“Well, well, well.” Anakin snorted, covering his mouth to hide a grin as he poured a whiskey. “Isn’t that some good luck?”

——————————————————————————

“I’ve missed this.” Anakin sighed, cradling Boogie in his arms like a furry orange baby while he stood at the foot of your bed and watched you sleep.

“It’s the simple things you know?” He whispered, his filtered voice tapering in and out. He smiled beneath his mask, watching you stir slightly, kicking the covers off your feet.

He turned on his heel and walked out of the bedroom, setting your cat down on the kitchen counter and pouring her a third of a bowl of food. He took off his left hand glove to give her some chin scratches, then from the white patch between her eyes all the way to the end of her fluffy tail.

“You know, I used to really despise cats.” He said, leaning over on the counter and propping himself up on his gloved fist, watching her eat.

“The therapist I had as a kid said it was cause cats don’t automatically take to a person like dogs do.” He picked up her back foot and gently squish her paw pad to spread out her toe beans just to see her claws flex out.

“Cause they don’t listen. You can’t make ‘em listen, you can’t make ‘em do anything they don’t want.”

“I’m glad I met you.” He nodded. “You’re sweet, makes me… hmm, I wouldn’t say regretful. Just dissatisfied about before.”

“That’s okay though.” He sighed, “personal growth and whatnot.”

“I hope your momma won’t be too upset. I promised I’d start telling her before I visited, but you know tonight wasn’t really planned ahead and I got side tracked, and then sidetracked again, cause I’m here talking to you!” He chuckled, giving her a head pat.

“So hang out in here, okay kitty? I’ve got things to do.” He chuckled, unlacing his boots and setting them beside the front door, he made sure his socks were pulled up beneath his jeans and his gloves and sleeves were as they should be.

He crept back into your room, shutting the door behind him, thankful that you’d stayed naked after your evening escapade. You’d sprawled out, one leg bent and your arm above your head, the other hidden beneath the blanket along with your chest, middle and other leg. Anakin walked to the window and opened the curtain just the tiniest bit, allowing a sliver of moonlight to cast a pearly sheen across your exposed skin.

He stood and stared for a long while, having missed the scene before him. So many times he’d slunk in the shadows of your room, clinging to the wall to avoid disrupting that very beam of moonlight. He would scowl and chide you in his mind for leaving the curtains open, but he’d always, always, stop and observe the way you breathed under the pale periwinkle tinted light.

Once he’d had his fill of your nighttime innocence, he closed the curtain and returned you to the black of slumber, preparing to drag you with him on his path to midnight madness.

He lifted the blanket and folded it over out of his way, using the pretty patterned top sheet to cover his head after taking off his mask and placed it on the bed beside him.

Just for the extra security he tugged up his hood as well and hoped that he wouldn’t sweat to death before he could make you finish.

Slowly pushing your legs apart, he smiled at the soft breath you took in when he gently held your hip so that you wouldn’t shift out of position. Anakin pulled off his right hand glove and shoved it in his back pocket so it wouldn’t get lost beneath the sheets.

He kissed along your outer lips, pressing his nose against the crease at the apex of your thighs, inhaling the scent of you and dragging his tongue along behind as his nose traveled up that crease until he reached your hip, where the waist band of your panties should be. He took a moment to nuzzle into the softness of your lower belly, showering your satin skin with kisses before returning to your slit.

His mouth hovered over your folds as if he were mentally preparing himself to savor you slowly, compared to the fast-paced feasts he’d had on you earlier in the day.

With his tongue laid out flat he licked up the remnants of his cum and yours, introducing you to the warm ball centered toward the front of his tongue, purposely letting it catch against your clit. He breathed through his nose, leaving his tongue flat to circle and flick the metal ball over your clit, smiling in triumph when you jolted at the first movement.

He circled your entrance with the calloused pad of his thumb, slurping up your creamy slick from your folds. He flexed his tongue to swipe it side to side the bottom ball of the metal bar scraped along his bottom row of teeth, making a dull metallic sound that seemed much louder to Anakin than it was in reality so he halted his movements to listen for a change in your breathing.

After ensuring you wouldn’t ruin his fun too early he continued his gentle licks and prods of his tongue to your leaking hole. He pulled his mask closer to him, he needed to feel your heat around his fingers and he knew it wouldn’t take too long before you realized what was happening. After all, you didn’t drink your tea.

Inserting one finger slowly his curved it upward and flicked his tongue side to side at the same pace of his finger. He felt you stir beneath him, so he placed a sloppy kiss to your clit. Lazily licking across you rather than giving you calculated movements. He pushed in a second finger, groaning loudly at the squelch when your cunt hungrily sucked in the extra digit.

Your hands came down to push him away, trying to close your legs in your half-awake state.

“Ani?” You asked, trying to cover your drenched pussy with your hand when you felt an unfamiliar sensation slide over your clit, smooth and warm.

Anakin’s ego skyrocketed, but his penchant for deviant behavior told him that statement should be punished by Ghost. Although he’d have to make that decision later because you were getting whiny and impatient.

“Anakin, please.” You mumbled. “What’s that?”

Anakin halted his movements and slipped on his mask and quickly shoved his hand in his glove.

“I’ll give you one more guess little doe.” The modified voice cut through the fog of your sleep and you bolted upright.

“Ghost?” You gasped in surprise, pulling the blankets back over you. “You didn’t- why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Don’t be embarrassed baby,” he cooed, tugging the blankets away and running his leather hands up your stomach, stopping just beneath your tits. “This is an emergency visit and-“

“What?” You asked in confusion, your eyebrows furrowed. “What happened? What did you do?”

“Um… ow. Hurtful.” He said in a disappointed tone. “I didn’t do anything except develop a raging hard-on.”

“You ass!” You shouted, smacking at his arm. “You scared me!”

“Hey.” He barked. “Maybe next time let me finish talking yeah? Jumping to conclusions like that’ll strain a muscle.”

You stared at him in a state of… not shock or fear, but a bewildered sort of amusement. Once again: the audacity of this man is astounding.

“What?” He asked, sounding irritated.

“I don’t- I don’t know.” You snorted, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh.

“W-wha… hey?” He stammered, confused by your laughter. “Are you laughing? What’s funny?”

“You.” Another laughed bubbled up from your chest.

“Wait- what? You… you’re...” His mouth gaping beneath his mask. “Are you for real?”

“Oh- I’m sorry no… no don’t be mad.” You said reaching out but snatching your hand back quickly after remembering what happened last time you touched him like that without permission.

“Mad?” His voice crackled, the modified voice hinting at hurt in his tone. “Why- why would you think I’m mad?”

“Doe, I’m… that makes me happy.” He said quietly. “This is the first time I’ve made you laugh.”

“What?” You scoffed, “no it’s not.”

“It is.” He said solemnly. “Trust me I keep track of things like that.”

“But-“

“No, no. Trust me.” He said, straddling your legs but not putting any weight on you. “You’ve done that dorky anxious laugh a few times. But I mean… that was a real one.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, your face falling when you realized he was probably right.

“Doe, I’m sure about everything when it comes to you.” He said low and serious, inching closer.

“I’m sorry.” You said, feeling horrible. “That- I’m sorry, that makes me feel bad.”

“Don’t.” He said sternly. “Don’t feel bad.”

“I just had the most fitting conversation earlier today.” He said slowly. “Talking about things and waiting till they’re ready. You laughed cause you were ready.” He said with a defining nod, cupping your cheeks with both hands and carefully caressing your under eyes.

“I’ve always been in favor of positive reinforcement.” Anakin said, smiling to himself. “Do you think you deserve a reward?”

“What is it?” You asked suspiciously, looking him over.

“Something new.” Anakin said simply.

“But,” he said, tilting his head toward you. “You have to promise that you’ll listen to me.”

“Okay…” you nodded cautiously.

“Good girl.” He gave you a curt nod in return, breathing deeply. “Now, I’m gonna give you some very simple instructions. If you do not listen, if you don’t follow them with precision, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” You nodded, frowning slightly.

Anakin very tenderly rested his leathered thumbs over your eyes, gingerly closing them and so, so, so carefully making sure they stayed closed.

“Listen closely.” His voice low and dangerous. “When I tell you it’s okay, I want you to take my mask off.”

“What?” You jolted in shock, this was not what you expected at all, you assumed it would be something much more… raunchy.

“Shut up.” He said sharply. “Quiet, listen to me.”

“Sorry.” You whispered, biting down on your lip and fidgeting with your fingers.

“When I tell you it’s okay, you are going to take off my mask. You’re going to be quiet. You’re not going to talk. You’re not going to hear me talk. You will not move. You will keep the mask in your hands, in your lap, and you will not touch me.” Anakin’s voice was clearly conveying a seriousness that couldn’t be ignored.

“Yes sir.” You nodded.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?” He dropped his hands immediately and squeaked out the most pitiful unfiltered noise a man could make.

He didn’t hide it when he palmed his cock, he didn’t seem surprised when you moaned after he grabbed your face. He did lean down, eye level to you and lace his free hand’s long fingers with yours.

“Say it again f’me doe.” He groaned, shifting uncomfortably from his throbbing length.

“Yes sir.” You repeated in a smaller, less confident voice. You hadn’t expected a reaction like this, you’d meant for it to come out snarky…

“New plan.” He grunted, fisting your hair at the top of your head to pull you into sitting position.

He got down off the bed and grabbed his bag from the floor, pulling out a pretty, pink, silk handkerchief and tossing it at you. Along with a pair of padded pink fabric handcuffs, Velcro, not metal clasps.

“What are you… what’s this?” You asked in surprise, an amused smirk on your lips.

“Well, you know the tape ah- just… oh fuck off.” He huffed folding the handkerchief to make a blindfold and carefully tying it tightly around your head, guiding your arms behind your back.

You heard the loud *skrrrriiip* of the Velcro coming apart, then felt the soft liner enveloping each wrist.

“No gag this time?” You huffed, annoyed that he hadn’t finished his sentence, his explanation.

His belt buckle clanked around and he undid his zipper, guiding you to your knees in front of him. He pried your mouth open and pinched the tip of your tongue between his fingers, pulling it slightly before roughly pushing your head down, forcing his girthy length into your mouth.

“Gag on this.” He grunted, holding your head still while you choked around his fat cockhead, your eyes already beginning to water.

He thrust himself in shallow strokes but made sure to hit the back of your mouth every time as punishment, drool dripping down your bottom lip and onto his weighty balls each time they smacked the underside of your chin.

“I w-was gonna kiss you.” He gritted out, causing you to pull back in an effort to say something, but he forced you back down, fucking into your throat alittle deeper.

“Jesus, just listen damnit.” He barked out at you, tugging your hair. “I was trying to… fuck that feels good- mmph.” A puff of air left his nose and he inhaled through his mouth in a shaky gasp.

“Tryin’ to kiss you, m-make it special and soft.” He grunted. “Tried to get you something alittle nicer than some tape from the junk drawer and an old bandana.”

“Should’ve known better.” He groaned, gritting his teeth while he listened to your labored breathing.

“Bitchy little ungrateful brat.” He spat, thrusting harder after he’d said it just to drive his point home.

“Y-you would’ve still gotten your kiss if you hadn’t of smart mouthed me.” He panted. “Now you’re just gonna get a belly full of cum.”

“When are you going to learn?” He chuckled, looking down at you and red tinted face. He pulled out his phone, turning on the flash and hitting record.

“You were being such a good girl.” He moaned, low and gravely. “Callin’ me sir? Good manners. That was a good job, little doe.”

“Then you you went and screwed it up didn’t you? Hmm?” His condescending tone sent a zap of lighting to your core. “Smart mouthing me like I’d let you get away with it.” He scoffed.

“Apologize to me sweetheart.” He demanded, grabbing you by the neck just beneath your jaw and squeezing when you didn’t answer. “C’mon you know you were bad.”

You breathed out through flared nostrils and blinked away your tears, you spoke as best you could but of course it was hardly more than a few choppy sounds.

“Don’t you know you shouldn’t talk with a full mouth?” He laughed, smacking your cheek gently.

“Oh don’t do that baby.” He cooed, his hips slowing as you tried to wriggle free from your restraints.

“Tell you what…” He pulled up your blind fold and tossed it aside. “let’s play a game.” He grunted. “Just be still for a second okay? Then we’ll talk.” He carded his fingers through your hair and nearly keeled over on the spot when your eyelids fluttered, showing just the whites of your eyes.

He doubled over, accidentally shoving his length farther than he meant to, shooting salty ropes down your throat, a choked moan left his lips as his knees buckled slightly.

“Holy shit- oh fuck…” He panted, doing his best to pull back slowly so as not to hurt you. “Sorry baby.” He mumbled sheepishly, quickly tucking himself back in his boxers.

“You okay?” He breathed out, crouching down and getting on your level after stopping the recording.

“Mhm.” Your lungs felt heavy, coughing from your sore throat. “M’fine.”

“Stand up.” He said firmly, but not in a commanding way, more of a ‘I know what’s best for you please just do it’ way.

You nodded and stood up to face him, waiting for further details but you got none. Anakin spun you around and removed your cuffs, grunting in approval when he saw he’d managed not to mar up your pretty skin on accident with these new bindings.

Then, gentle hands on your shoulders turned you back around. He just stood there and stared at you. You hated when he did that, it was so hard to judge his mood already. But when he was quiet and still? Impossible.

“Do you know what a safe word is?” He asked.

“Yes…” you said, looking off to the side.

“Good. Yours is purple, got it?” He asked, gripping your chin.

“Okay. Safe word is purple.” You nodded, gauging his unmoving form cautiously.

“Put on some pjs.” He said plainly, flipping out his knife, one you hadn’t seen before, just to play with while he waited.

“Is that new?” You asked quietly, trying to make some kind of semi-normal conversation.

“What? This?” He asked, flipping it closed and holding it out to you.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Is it?”

“You noticed.” He said simply, swinging his hand side to side in a gesture for you to take it.

“I’m smarter than I look.” You snorted, taking it from him and carefully opening it.

“We’ll see.” He said in a flat tone, his mood changed slightly now.

“Roses?” You asked, closing the handles back to look at the carved design in black metal with red backing.

“I bought that one just for you. I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind it as much if it were pretty.” He said softly, reaching his hand up behind his head to scratch his neck as though he were anxious.

“I- well.” You sighed, stunned by him for the thousandth time. “That’s actually very sweet Ghost.”

You awkwardly handed it back to him, unsure how to navigate this calmer water with him. You gave him a crooked smile and finished getting dressed.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not that. I like that one.” He said, crossing his arms.

“Fine.” You slipped back out of the matching set you had chosen, and tossed it in the drawer without folding it.

“Move.” He grunted, pulling out your bottom drawer and grabbed an old tshirt of Anakin’s and a pair of his loose boxers that you sometimes wore as shorts. “Put them on.”

You scowled, but tried to bite back your words. In some strange way of his own he was being nicer. He was trying. He obviously felt terribly about how he’d scared you into a panic attack, he cared enough to check up on you. You may as well play along.

After getting dressed you put your hands on your hips and faced him squarely.

“Run.”

“What?” You asked in confusion.

“Run.” He barked, his voice gritty and dangerous, he stood up to his full height and flicked open his knife again. “Get movin’, go!”

PART THIRTEEN

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @hopesworlld @lonaah @guiltycherries @syralix @doblasftcisco @demieyesore

THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

[manicpixietboy]

How to survive in the apocalypse, non exhaustive list-

Improve the lives of ourselves+

Others+

Combat a fascist police state

Many scattered sources, just my thoughts;

Share/spread info (posts, articles, zines, paste-ups, posters, stickers, etc). Run across fascist posters/sticker? Safely take it down or cover it up with something.

Utilize community gardens, food banks, forage/find out what local edible plants are around/educate yourself on foraging, grow your own food if you can, cook meals/share food, etc.

Turn to diy hrt if needed/wanted; share resources.

Pick from trash/dumpster/the curb, thrift, be "thrifty."

Attend protests (no phone + n95 mask).

Get involved in local level politics.

Get in the way of ICE agents; report their presence. Be willing to get arrested.

Reduce, reuse and recycle. Try to lower your waste if possible. Compost. Upcylce. Reuse plastic, glass. Make your own clothes. Etc.

Rest/use your spoons wisely.

Read, educate yourself and others. Buy used books. Shared PDFs. Make and share zines. Do you have a local "give a book, get a book" sitch?

Pick up litter.

Learn how to make stencils, how to graffiti.

Do home repairs yourself if possible. Learn how to diy as much as you can (opting out of capitalism as much as possible); but also know when to turn to your community. We are social creatures, too. All we have is each other.

Pirate as much as possible. Support physical media. Support local businesses. Cancel subscriptions. 

Look into guerilla gardening; seed bombing.

Be kind- give directions, check on ppl, smile at ppl, help ppl, hold the door, ask if they're ok.

Intervene when needed- learn healthy bystander intervention

Fallingfruit.com

https://fallingfruit.com

Volunteer- library, animal shelter, humane society, soup kitchen, etc.

Help our neighbors if they need + when we can.

Walk + use public transport as much as you can.

Go to the library- books, movies, CDs, computers, printers, WAY MORE!

Support local artists/music shows.

Be as unmarketable as possible- buy less online + decoy emails + delete permissions from apps + privacy settings, etc.

Use cash, good for small businesses.

Give what we can- time? Money? Skills? Space? Stuff? What will make the most impact?

Talk about your wage.

Think about where your money goes/how it flows/whose hands it goes into.

Create art. Do it at work if you can get away with it.

Put yr body outside.

Learn good conflict resolution + interpersonal skills where you can!!

When you feel scared about resources, list which ones you have and which ones you need and move accordingly.

Listen to others.

Teach a skill for free.

Boycott.

Civil disobedience! (;

Make systems obsolete by opting out as much as you can.

Nap

Cry

Scream

Feel + express your emotions

Make space for joy, too 

Hug

Breathe

If you don't have hope, have spite.

This is a list that I'm keeping and adding to, in an effort to remind myself I am not powerless, I have many actions I can take. We must live.

[styluswritesdc]

What does the rogues would think about Vigilant being great with kids ? At some occasions, Vigilant visit orphanages and hospitals to cheer up the little ones. Taugh them useful skills, give them advices, encouraged them to do their best.

Cute! xx if you'd like me to flesh out/and or talk about a specific character in particular let me know!

Riddler/Edward Nygma

He thinks it's sweet but he's not telling you that.

this is a man who finds kids inherently icky. think along the lines sticky fingers and too much curiosity

although.. if any new puzzle games or toys are left lying out.. do let him know if the kids like them.

don't say it to him directly, just say something like "oh the kids really enjoyed this puzzle cube I found around the house! it really went down well with one of them, they didn't want to give it back!"

He will make you many different inventions. after all, any puzzle for batman deserves a trial run..

Plus the next generation need to be as smart as him! he's blessing them with puzzle solving skills and critical thinking!

Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane

oh that's endearing to him.

as a child he wished to have someone care about him.

with how impoverished Gotham is, the hospital and orphanage system is extremely neglected. as are the children

to have someone care enough to come in and spend time to them means a lot, and Jon recognises that.

expect there to be a party on Halloween night (and not just his schemes)

he will take the time to make costumes with each child and organise trick or treat trips for those in the orphanage.

For those children in the hospital the costume making still applies but the candy will be hand delivered by the man himself. a spooky story time will be organised where they can listen to some (age appropriate) stories!

Two face/Harvey Dent

They get a little sad.

not to make it about themself but it does remind him of when they were campaigning and did the same thing.

they wanted to meet the citizens of Gotham and that included its future voters.

they think its a kind thing to do, which reflects your morals and values.

they would quietly be severing some of their ill gotten cash flow into donations for both establishments.

expect the money to be used for new blankets, toys and medicine for both the hospital and orphanage.

you will walk in one day and suddenly there's actual improvements happening!

Killer Croc/Waylon Jones

oh that's so lovely. he genuinely gets a bit emotional when he thinks about it.

He wishes he could help you do it too but.. he doesn't want to go and frighten a bunch of kids, y'know?

but if there was ever an instance where a child was struggling with their appearance, either a burn victim, a child with a skin condition or any physical differences who might benefit from hearing form someone like him, Waylon would go with you.

I can imagine him trying to make himself seem small and unintimidating while he tries to help this child with how they can cope with this issue.

He'll speak about how sometimes it will feel like you will never fit in or be accepted but that one day you'll find people who do. to not give up.

Clayface/Basil Karlo

this is a rogue who will happily accompany you!

he will use his abilities to entertain! he will come in as different people and characters! one day he's Captain America, the next day he's Superman!

he will spend all day playing with them! they wish they had a trampoline? oh boy he's always wanted to be one of those!

overall a brilliant supporter. Plus he finally gets to use his acting skills again!

imagine how brilliant he will be for the kids in the hospital specifically. since I doubt the Gotham health system has the financial ability to have a reliable make-a-wish.

for when someone's celebrity or character wish cannot be fulfilled, Basil is a wonderful substitution.

Bruce Wayne is genuinely confused when he sees that Batman has made it in the paper for the fifth time this month for making visits to the children for this exact reason.

Black Mask/Roman Sionis

That's nice doll, give to the poor and all that.

his reaction makes you think he doesn't care at all or that he feels indifferent towards orphaned or sick children

but that's exactly what he wants.

so when you walk into the orphanage and there's new and plenty of staff, new facilities, arts and crafts supplies, lush and nutritious meals, and hell- there's no mould! like, anywhere??

and you wont suspect it was him.

you'll never know how he was making steady donations to each cause and threatening management to get their act together.

you'll probably never find out it was him. unless you praise Bruce Wayne thinking it was him. then he'll be so pissed off you'll probably figure it out.

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

I had previously been under the impression that AZA accredited zoos and aquariums in the USA are more likely to take good care of animals than those that lack this accreditation. Is this incorrect?

It's... really complicated. The short answer is: maybe? Which doesn't help at all, I'm sure. I'm working on a huge project to try to quantify a bunch of accreditation stuff, so I don't want to say anything concrete from preliminary data, y'know?

Accreditation at a facility tells you, basically, what standards they are supposed to meet and what political group / industry club they're part of. But there's a lot of issues with all of the five zoological accrediting / certifying bodies where oversight during the accreditation cycles doesn't really exist in a functional way? Either reporting systems are in place that highly disincentivize reporting (because they aren't anonymous and could be tracked back to a staffer) or just don't have formal protocols for it all.

So being AZA accredited tells you the type of expectations they're trying to live up to, and what standards they met at the time they were inspected. I have some concerns about whether the standards for certain aspects of accreditation (like aesthetic stuff, not animal care) are really sustainable for duration given how you're constantly hearing about how zoos scramble to get all the little deferred things fixed prior to the next inspection. But, that's not necessarily an issue with the zoos, and more the program - and that's something that AFAIK happens with every accrediting group, not just AZA.

There's also an aspect of how the requirements of each accrediting program kind of... self select for the type of zoos they want? AZA's application and annual fees are incredibly high, which isn't necessarily a good use of money for many smaller facilities; they also require compliance with a lot of things not related to animal care and welfare, like internal staffing structure and facility aesthetics. Again, something that either smaller facilities just can't afford - do you spend money on the animals or on paving all your pathways? - or aren't interested in getting involved with because of how intrusive it is. So most of the AZA zoos you see are the bigger, well-funded ones with city-type aesthetics, because that's what who the program is set up to encourage to apply. (There are definitely exceptions to this, but find me a big city zoo that isn't AZA or in the process of becoming AZA).

To try to answer your questions, AZA zoos are more likely to be high quality because in order to be accredited, they have to have a certain amount of cash flow. Having more funding / income tends to make regular operating issues easier to solve. AZA zoos are certainly more heavily scrutinized every five years by their accrediting body than a group like ZAA, which is mostly focused on animal care / education / conservation and isn't going to meddle in a zoo's business operations. But AZA zoos aren't perfect. Most of them don't even meet all of the AZA standards completely at the time of inspection: there was an article a couple years back about how rare it was that Cheyenne Mountain Zoo met all of the AZA standards at the time of inspection - only the 4th zoo to do so in AZA's 50-something year history. (How that works is that zoos that don't meet all the standards but are close get provisionally accredited, and then have to fix or improve some stuff within the first year to keep it). And believe me, AZA zoos can and do have problems too - look at the embezzlement conducted by the previous leadership at Columbus, or the sexual assault and conduct issues with the Director at Henry Vilas. They're just less often covered in ways that are visible to the public.

Accreditation is a good indicator what a zoo intends to be, and what animal care / conservation ethos it participates in. It isn't, however, always a guarantee that the facility is good or that the animal care (or staff welfare!) is better than at an unaccredited or alternately-accredited place.

[cherryfcola]

Off Balance

Pairing: Shadow The Hedgehog x Reader

Tension, Mild angst, Fluff, Reader is a pole dancer, old friends

Warning: slightly suggestive content, language

I’m gonna be honest idk how people do their word count on their phone, so idk… it’s long I guess? T.T

|English is not my first language so I’m always open to critique and help, I’ll try to improve from it! Thanks for reading kittens, hope you enjoy! 🌸|

You’d danced a thousand times.

Shadow had watched a thousand and one.

And never — not once — had he made you feel like this.

Not until lately.

You hung upside down from the pole, the stage lights like fire on your skin, catching on every inch of glitter and shadow. Your latest outfit left almost nothing to the imagination, but it wasn’t new — you’d worn less before. You knew how to move. How to hold a room. You were a performer, and this was your job.

But tonight? You could feel his eyes.

And you weren’t imagining it.

You glanced toward the corner where Shadow always stood — silent, stoic, a part of the wall more than the crowd. You’d always known when he was there. Somehow his presence grounded you. Made you feel safe. You never let yourself think more of it than that.

Until now.

Because now he wasn’t just watching.

He was staring.

You slipped down the pole with practiced ease, landing in a slow roll that left you on your knees. The applause faded into background noise. All you could see was the way his crimson eyes followed you — not with the calculated disinterest of someone watching a friend work, but something else. Something hotter. Hungrier.

Your heartbeat stuttered.

After the show, you toweled off backstage, tugging on your robe more out of habit than modesty. The dressing room buzzed with chatter and hairspray. But you barely heard it.

Because Shadow was waiting in the hallway.

“You look like you swallowed a lemon,” you said, half-teasing, brushing past him.

He didn’t smile. Shadow rarely did.

“You’ve changed your routine,” he said, voice low, unreadable.

You shrugged. “New choreographer.”

Another pause. His eyes lingered on your legs, barely visible beneath the hem of your robe. You raised an eyebrow.

“Something you wanna say, Shads?”

He shifted — subtle, but you caught it.

“I’ve seen you dance a thousand times,” he muttered. “It’s different now.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Different how?”

Silence.

Then his voice, rougher than before. “It gets harder to look away.”

Your breath caught.

“You saying you want to?”

He met your eyes, something stormy and unspoken between you.

“No,” he said finally. “That’s the problem.”

———

The club was chaos tonight — lights flashing, bass booming, drinks flowing like a river that had long since overrun its banks.

You were thriving.

“Another one!” a man at the front of the stage shouted, tossing a hundred-dollar bill onto the floor. He held up a shot glass, grinning. “For the goddess!”

You twirled down the pole in response, body arching like silk in the air, and landed in a sway that made the crowd howl. Your skin shimmered under the strobes, slick with sweat and just enough spilled champagne to make you sparkle.

You blew the man a kiss. “If it’s top shelf, I don’t say no.”

And you didn’t. Not to him. Not to the next guy. Or the next. They tipped in cash, in drinks, in adoring eyes and wandering hands. The night was yours — and you loved it. Loved the heat, the pull, the control you had over them all.

Well… almost all.

Across the club, near the edge of the VIP rail, Shadow stood like a storm on pause. Arms folded, jaw tight, crimson eyes locked on you like a loaded weapon with nowhere to fire.

You felt it. Every time his gaze cut across your skin.

You danced harder.

By your third round, someone poured Moët down your neck and took a shot straight from your chest — and you cackled. Your robe was gone, your heels were killing you, and your mouth tasted like citrus and smoke.

You didn’t even notice how close Shadow had moved.

Not until a voice as sharp as obsidian murmured: “You’re drunk.”

You turned, swaying slightly, drink still in hand. “Aw, Shadow. You jealous they’re having more fun than you?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not here to have fun.”

“Then why are you watching me like that?” you purred, stepping closer. Your words were slightly slurred, but your smirk was deadly. “You’ve seen me drunk before. Seen me dance drunk before.”

“Not like this.”

That stopped you. He was close now — too close — and you could feel the heat rolling off him despite the freezing AC.

You blinked slowly, the alcohol spinning your vision just enough to make his outline blur — dark, dangerous, undeniably beautiful.

“Is it the outfit?” you teased, voice lower. “Or the way they look at me like I’m dessert?”

He didn’t answer. But his gaze dropped — finally dropped — to the curve of your body, soaked and shimmering and barely dressed.

You leaned up, lips near his ear. “Or is it the fact they get to touch me and you won’t?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “They don’t know you like I do.”

You pulled back, grin lazy, victorious, even as your knees threatened to buckle.

“Then stop acting like you’re just my shadow.”

His hand caught your wrist before you could step away — gently, but with purpose. The look in his eyes was dangerous now.

“You keep playing like this,” he murmured, voice a thread of thunder, “and one day you won’t be able to walk off that stage without me carrying you out.”

Your heart thudded — from the alcohol, the heat, or him, you weren’t sure.

You licked your lips. “Is that a promise?”

His silence was answer enough.

———-

Nights like this were the reason you loved your job.

The club was packed. Thick with bass-heavy music, flashing lights, and a hundred open mouths hungry for a taste — of booze, of touch, of you.

And tonight, they were paying for it.

You moved through the crowd like fire, body swaying with every beat, glitter catching on your skin with every twist of your hips. Your outfit clung to you in the barest way — short where it needed to be, tight where it had to be, and revealing in a way that made men beg to earn your attention.

And tonight? You gave it.

For a price.

“Fifty for the mouth, eighty for the chest,” you teased, holding up the half-empty bottle of gold tequila. You straddled the lap of a man in a too-tight button-up, grinning like the devil. “No hands. Unless you want me to break them.”

He grinned — dumb, drunk, eager — and held up a hundred-dollar bill.

You didn’t hesitate.

You took a long, deliberate swig, then leaned in slow. His mouth opened. You let the liquor fall past your lips into his with practiced ease, dribbling just enough down your chin to make him groan.

He swallowed it. Dazed. You peeled the bill from his fingers with two painted nails and winked before sauntering away.

The crowd howled.

Cash flew.

You were already spinning back onto the dance floor, rolling your body against the pole like it was your second skin. You were drunk, yeah — but functional. Lit up from the inside. Every movement felt slow and sweet and just dangerous enough to keep them leaning in, hoping for more.

And through it all, you felt him.

Shadow.

Watching you.

Always.

You didn’t need to look — you knew where he was. Propped against the far wall near the security booth, arms folded, eyes tracking your every step. His presence was heavy. Electric. Like a storm waiting to snap. And even though he never moved, never said a word, you felt it every time his eyes dipped to your hips, your thighs, the edge of skin just below your top where the tequila still glistened.

You wondered if he noticed you spit more slowly when he was watching.

If he noticed how you always faced his side of the room.

If he knew you were imagining his mouth instead.

Another body shot. Another dance. Another swig of something you didn’t bother to identify.

The club was boiling. You were the match.

But eventually, even fire burns out.

It hit you mid-step. A wobble in your ankle, a sway in your balance. Your fingers missed the pole by a second and you stumbled, catching yourself on the edge of a table. The room tilted just slightly — not enough to fall, but enough to feel not right.

You blinked. Laughed. “Oops…”

And that’s when he moved.

You didn’t even see him cross the floor. One second he was a shadow across the room, the next he was at your side — solid, steady, hand around your arm like steel wrapped in velvet.

“You’re done.”

You tried to pull away, even as the floor pitched again. “Nahh—I’m good. Just a lotta tips, I’m just…”

“Drunk.”

You looked up at him — eyes heavy, skin flushed. He was so close now. So warm, even through his jacket. You could smell his cologne, something dark and clean and nothing like the sugary scent of the club. He was a full breath taller than you, unshakable, voice calm but sharp beneath the quiet.

“I’ve seen you tipsy,” he murmured. “This isn’t that.”

You could’ve fought it.

But you didn’t.

Because when he wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you away from the crowd, something in you relaxed. Not collapsed. Just let go. And it felt so good not to carry the weight of every eye in the room for once.

Shadow led you past the VIP booths and backstage doors to a private room you’d used for costume changes and post-shift power naps. Low light, plush couch, too many mirrors. He closed the door behind you, and for the first time all night — you were alone.

He helped you sit. You let yourself sink into the velvet cushions with a low groan.

“Ughhh. My legs are dead. Also? I think I’m still sexy, but like… tilted.”

That almost made him smile. Almost.

“You’ll feel worse if you keep moving.”

He grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge, cracked the seal, and handed it to you. You took it with a half-smirk.

“You’re not mad?”

His eyes met yours, unreadable. “I’m always watching.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He sat across from you, legs spread, forearms resting on his knees. His jacket still hung open, and you could see the tension in his frame now that you were looking — like he was holding something back. But not anger.

Something hotter. Quieter. Tighter.

“I’m not mad,” he said slowly. “But I’m not made of stone either.”

You blinked at him. “Oh?”

“Watching you all night,” he continued, voice low, “watching them… touch you with their eyes. Open their mouths for you like dogs.”

A pause. His jaw clenched, just slightly. “It doesn’t make me jealous. It makes me want.”

Your breath hitched. The room was too quiet. The air too thick.

“You want them gone?”

He shook his head. “I want you to want more than that.”

You leaned back into the couch, dizzy in a whole new way. “And what if I already do?”

His eyes locked on yours. For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then: “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough to lie.”

Silence stretched between you.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “You think I haven’t noticed how you always look for me after a set? How you make them think they have a chance while you wait for me to do something about it?”

You bit your lip. “Maybe I was hoping you would.”

That… landed.

He stood slowly. Walked to where you sat. And without a word, dropped to one knee in front of you.

His hands were warm as they found your ankles, lifting one leg up into his lap as he reached for the clasp on your heel.

“Rest,” he said, focused, voice quieter now. “I’ll take you home when you’re ready.”

You watched him undo your shoe, then the other, careful and deliberate.

And for the first time all night — maybe all year — you didn’t feel like a performance. You felt like a person.

Maybe even something more.

[angrywhispers7]

Horoscope for Saturday, April 19, 2025

Aries (March 21-April 19) Today the sun moves into your Money House, drawing your attention to cash flow, earnings and anything to do with your possessions and maintaining your assets. These are the issues that will be your focus for the next four weeks.

Taurus (April 20-May 20) Ta-da! Today the sun enters your sign for the next four weeks. This happens only once a year, and it gives you increased energy, enthusiasm and focus. It will attract favorable situations and people to you as well. Happy birthday!

Gemini (May 21-June 20) As your birthday approaches, your personal year is coming to an end. This means now is the time for a reality check. For example. how well are you doing at the art of living? In the next few weeks, think about what you want for your new year ahead. Be specific.

Cancer (June 21-July 22) Today you have to go more than halfway to get along with others. (No biggie.) Meanwhile, the sun changes signs today, ushering in a four-week window where your popularity will grow. People want to see your face! Make time for friends and groups.

Leo (July 23-Aug. 22) Today the sun moves to the top of your chart. (Happens once a year for four weeks.) This casts you in a flattering spotlight, which makes others see you as capable and attractive. This is why you might be asked to take on increased responsibilities. You shine!

Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 22) Today the moon makes you feel playful and eager for fun. Meanwhile, the sun changes signs today, creating opportunities to travel and explore avenues in publishing, the media, medicine, the law and higher education. This influence will last for four weeks. Make use of it!

Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22) Privacy and a chance to relax at home in the comfort of familiar surroundings will be your best choice today. Meanwhile, in the next four weeks, your focus on taxes, debt and shared property will increase. You might meet someone who produces a need for searching self-inquiry.

Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21) Today you feel a strong need to talk to others because you have something important to say and you need to be heard. Meanwhile, in the next four weeks, you’ll need more sleep because your energy will be lagging somewhat. Take cat naps.

Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21) You’ll be more gung-ho to work and be productive in the next four weeks. You will also apply these high standards to improving your health. (“I want it all!”) Meanwhile, today’s moon makes you identify with your possessions or whatever you value.

Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19) The moon is in your sign today dancing with the sun, which makes you feel playful and eager to enjoy yourself. Sports events, social outings, fun activities with kids and the arts will appeal. The next four weeks are the perfect time for a vacation and chances to express your creative talents.

Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18) Starting today, your focus turns to home, family and your private life for the next four weeks because the sun is at the bottom of your chart. Some of you might be involved with a parent more than usual. Welcome this chance to go off by yourself and ponder your world.

Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20) The pace of your days will accelerate in the next four weeks because of a busy schedule of appointments, visits, short trips, things to do and people to see. Many of you will read, write and study more than usual as well. Enjoy contact with a friend today.

[m2iconsulting]

Training of Farmer Producer Organisations by M2i Consulting

In recent years, Farmer Producer Organisations (FPOs) have emerged as a crucial model for empowering small and marginal farmers in India. These organizations help farmers gain better access to markets, financial services, and agricultural inputs, ultimately improving their livelihoods. However, for FPOs to function effectively and sustainably, proper training and capacity-building initiatives are essential. M2i Consulting plays a vital role in this regard by offering specialized training programs tailored to the unique needs of FPOs.

Why is Training Important for FPOs?

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Training sessions involve interactive workshops, field visits, and case studies to provide practical learning experiences.

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M2i helps FPOs understand bookkeeping, cash flow management, and financial sustainability, enabling them to manage funds efficiently.

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Through strategic training, FPOs learn how to establish direct market linkages, negotiate better prices, and improve the value chain.

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Impact of M2i Consulting’s Training Programs

The training provided by M2i Consulting has resulted in several positive outcomes, including:

Increased income and profitability for FPOs

Improved governance and leadership skills

Better access to credit and financial services

Strengthened market linkages

Sustainable farming practices and improved productivity

Conclusion

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[pixelephant]

ok long ass paragraphs of nuance time

so i totally get why watcher has made this decision, running a creative business on youtube is difficult because algorithms are fickle and views are SO obviously geared towards just when shane and ryan specifically are in content. they can’t branch out into new ventures and cast members and ideas without taking a huge monetary risk of if people will actually watch the damn thing. so streaming gives them that opportunity because no matter the viewership, they still get that income.

but on the other hand, the lack of diversified content is exactly why im hesitant to pay money for the service. there’s just not much there outside of shane and ryan led shows. don’t get me wrong, love their stuff! but if i’m paying for a service, i’d prefer it to be something i can go to for a variety of things.

it’s a catch 22 imo, can’t diversify without the money, can’t get the money without the content they know gets them the views, and so it goes back and forth ad nauseam. personally, i can’t see myself immediately paying for it, but maybe in a few months time when they have that freedom to actually change up their roster i’d be more interested

okay shifting gears, not to be the guy that compares this to rooster teeth and dropout but im gonna be because people are picking one or the other to support their own argument and its bothering me. "rooster teeth proved this method doesn't work!" not true, they shut down because they were owned by warner brothers, a big media conglomerate that doesn’t care about restructuring something to make it work, only dollar signs (while also not exactly being well known for being the best at handling their money). i still think rt could’ve continued to exist in a different capacity if they had never sold to wb (and didn’t have so many scandals) but i guess we’ll never know.

“dropout proves that this system works!” also not true they offer VERY different kinds of content (game shows, story based stuff like d20, pure improve comedy, etc.) from what watcher is doing, they are not a one to one. also as good as they’re doing now, they’re still kind of recovering from the verge of bankruptcy, trying things out, seeing what works. the system itself is not a guarantee for success.

all this to say i get why some people hate this decision. it’s yet another subscription based service to pay for in a media landscape that is frankly too rife with them. it makes things once free now costly. it puts exciting content behind a paywall that some people genuinely cannot afford.

but the people making the exciting content need stable jobs. the company needs a consistent cash flow to be able to pay their employees and continue making cool and interesting things. they can’t rely on the fickleness of youtube views, algorithm changes, and third party sponsorships at the pace they’re going (which is also part of the problem, they grew to fast and honestly set too high a standard of content from the jump for how early into the company they are but hey let’s not go on yet another tangent).

i think the announcement as a whole could’ve been more successful if it wasn’t hyped up ahead of time and/or if it was a more gradual shift to paid shows than a ripping of the bandaid. i also think essentially saying anyone can afford it for $5/month is a bit insensitive so now people are just grasping onto that instead of discussing the reasons for the change. but saying, “a majority of your audience is broke college students this isn’t the move!” isn’t gonna help or change their decision. i’m sorry but they don’t care. companies are not your friends.

[princesspumpkinseed]

Throughout my university education, I tried incessantly to be a good student and I took pleasure in inflating my marks. Despite being one of the few students not having studied pure maths at A-Level, I almost exclusively achieved firsts (only once achieving a 2:1 in French, which I then improved the following year) and finished my undergraduate degree in Maths with awards for my high grades and requests from my teacher to continue my studies for the sake of science. Now that the memory of Bristol is becoming more and more distant, I want to tell you, reader, how I did that.

Imposter syndrome

Before you’ve even started studying, imposter syndrome might set in. Don’t let the doubts about whether you deserve to be in your institution block your path. I remember thinking that everyone else had studied further maths; that maths was what the other students dedicated their lives to (while I just liked it enough); that my occasional lack of comprehension was proof that I got into this university on a whim and I was not as worthy as the other students. To those thoughts, I invite you to reply “Let’s see how far I can go with this.” If you really did get into an amazing university with students who are supposedly superior to you then let’s see how much you can take from this university: how many classes and mentally stimulating problem sheets, how many afternoons in your cherished campus until they realise that you’re not supposed to be there. Try your damndest to keep up and maybe you’ll surprise yourself and find that that drive is exactly what is going to keep you where you where you want to be. If you’re not supposed to be there: cash in.

Alternatively, maybe you got into a university which you think you’re too good for. Prove it. If you’re too good for this uni, then get a first and have them begging you to do a PHD. I dare you.

Come back to it later

When starting university, you need to build skills as well as learn content. You know how to memorise the notions and how to apply the formulae – you’ve been using this kind of skill since GCSE – but building analytical skills or learning to write elegant proofs cannot be done in an evening or with a pack of flash cards. When learning to write proofs, I recommend to you to write out the teacher’s proofs and annotate the relevance or each sentence. I also used to break down big proofs into the function of each paragraph and then imitate it afterwards. You could also use this approach for applied maths: note the techniques used at each stage of a response at the side of the page and then try to do it yourself. Remember, though, that you a building a skill and this will take effort and repetition. If you’re not quite getting it on Tuesday, give it a good go (at least 20 minutes of actively trying to understand a method or a style) and then come back on Wednesday. You might not be used to having to leave something unfinished for the evening but Rome was not built in a day and your first year is essential for building a good foundation so use your time generously for your study.

PS. A small proof tip I have is to define any theorems you’re going to use in your introduction and then you won’t forget how you were planning to tackle the problem and you won’t need to define them later, which will improve your flow.

Previewing Content

I didn’t consistently read the lecture notes before class started but when I did I felt rather proud of myself. I knew what was coming up in the lesson and therefore like I had an advantage over other students and if something didn’t click when I was reading, sometimes simply the teacher’s intonation would clarify all of it. A quick glance over the content (not necessarily absorbing any of it) is all it takes to feel smug and curious before the lesson even begins.

Conversely, consolidating content.

If you didn’t understand the lesson, the best thing you can do is actively review the lecture notes. Explain them aloud or write them out in a conversational tone as if you were explaining it to yourself. In maths in particular, this can render the abstract more intuitive and allow you to manipulate concepts more easily. Throw in an example or two if need be, to concretise your understanding.

Also, find some chums to discuss with after class. Even if you just complain about a homework problem, chatting with a friend can make topics more memorable. Don’t be shy about not getting something: your friend may rephrase the content and turn out to be a better teacher than the initial lecturer. So complain, rant, explain, or just make jokes about the lesson, and this might contribute to the community in your course simultaneously.

Taking this further, be present and helpful on your course group chat around exam season! You’ll find that other people may pose questions which highlight a gap in your knowledge or that explaining to another solidifies your own comprehension.

Even after your course ends, it could be nice to honour what you have learned using books and documentaries. I read Alex’s Adventures In Numberland after my maths degree just for the nostalgia and I ended up adding some niche trivia to my expensive education. Your knowledge should inspire you and stimulate you, not stress you out.

Be a teachers’ pet: you paid for it.

In first year, I frequented teachers’ office hours and I’m glad I did because receiving maths through verbal and illustrative demonstration helps me to surpass the abstract words on the page. If you have a quick query, don’t be afraid to send an email or chat with the teacher after the lesson. Put up your hand to ask or answer questions - sitting at the front might make this less scary since you can’t see all of the other students. These teachers are experts in their field so interact with them and enjoy their thought-provoking conversation – use it to nourish your own curiosity and to motivate yourself to make them proud. Many a time, teachers sent me extra articles or books after I had expressed a curiosity or lack of understanding to them and thus I have resources to further my study despite having graduated.

Better than knowing the content, know the teacher’s style.

I noticed when doing functional analysis past papers that there was always a question requiring a certain technique following a question requiring another technique: this knowledge was indispensable in the final exam! I almost wasted time trying the wrong technique until I remembered this and then recited a perfect answer, of which previous exam papers had assured me the correctness. Knowing the teacher’s style can give you a hint about the content of the exam (where to focus your revision) and helpful insight about strategies required. As well as this, they’re a booklet of fun problems which are tailored to your competences – what’s not to love?

Concluding advice…

The above advice is applicable only when you already have a study schedule and you do what is required to you to keep up with assignments and content, but how you do this depends on your learning style, your waking hours, your extra-curricular activities, etc. I can’t give you a study plan but I can give you the above flourishes to make a good routine even more effective and I can leave you with some final advice: don’t lie to yourself. Don’t tell yourself that something is good enough when you don’t think it will get you what you want. Sometimes you just don’t get things and you may need to take a jog or go to the bathroom to think about it with a clear mind or sometimes you don’t have the time to waste on a single problem when other assignments are urgent – that’s okay, but give yourself the best chance of getting it right by beginning it early and prioritising your study first and foremost. Don’t hope for a grade, work for it: effort is much more dependable than chance.

[ms-m-astrologer]

Transiting Venus enters Capricorn

Tuesday, January 23 - Friday, February 16, 2024

Venus transits are back to being on the “brisk” side, lasting about 25 days in total length, for the rest of 2024. She’s a trigger now, not an instigator. Transiting Venus will mean a little bit more if you happen to be Venusian (Sun, Moon, &/or an angle in Taurus or Libra; Sun &/or Moon in the 2nd or 7th Houses; natal Venus in close aspect to the Sun, Moon, &/or an angle). But for the rest of us, Venus will need to set off something the slower-moving planets are trying to instigate.

After the adventures of the “Wild Wild West” Venus/Sagittarius, we’re looking for a little control and discipline. Less flailing around, more planning and strategizing. This can be a very snobbish time, especially if our natal Venuses (Veni?) tend to operate on the shallower side.

Bear in mind that the transiting South Node - where we’re getting something wrong - is in Libra, which is ruled by Venus. We need to be a little critical of Venus themes and processes right now, and use Venus’ transits as opportunities to clean up our act.

Art - We can get very snobbish and turn art into a way to enforce “class” divisions. Or, going the “Capricorn miser” route, we disdain all artistic expression as a waste of time, money, and effort. In more positive use of the energy, we put a lot of planning into our artistic expression, and we’re patient and careful about the execution. This is good for launching longer-term projects. (Like the next blanket I plan to crochet.)

Beauty - Sometimes we’ll go out of our way to get ugly; we can’t resist showing our contempt for “appearances.” Other times we twist that Capricorn key phrase “I use” and wield our beauty as a weapon of manipulation. We can try to move beyond a definition of “beauty” as what’s on the surface - &/or make every effort to find the beauty in nature.

Love - This can get transactional: “What’s in it for me?” Sometimes we play games: “If I behave horribly, will they still love me?” This can be an opportunity to prove that love is responsible, patient, and in it for the long haul.

Money - The stereotypes are the miser with all the cash stuffed in the mattress, and the CFO intent on eternally-increasing profits. Dragonish, really, petty little Smaugs all of them. Better to invest with the longer-term in view: we can make improvements to the home, the wardrobe, etc.

Give about a day or so on either side of the following aspects - maybe longer if any of them connect with something in your birth chart.

Saturday, January 27 - Sunday, January 28:

Venus/Capricorn sextile Saturn/Pisces, 6°00’

Venus/Capricorm trine Jupiter/Taurus, 6°59’

Really, really nice; if this dings something in your birth chart I am extremely jealous! The three planets are in a three-way mutual reception - Venus/Cap is disposited by Saturn/Pisces, which is disposited by Jupiter/Taurus, which is disposited by Venus/Cap. This strengthens the aspects considerably. Hard work and good luck join hands.

Monday, February 5 - Venus/Capricorn square Chiron/Eris, 16°10’. Hurt feelings. We may be too cold, emotionally; we may bargain and negotiate in bad faith. If we’ve hurt someone, we should swallow our pride and make amends.

Wednesday, February 7:

Venus/Capricorn square North Node/Aries and South Node/Libra, 18°53’

Venus/Capricorn trine Uranus/Taurus, 19°08’

Venus/Capricorn trine Juno Rx/Virgo, 19°23’

We have an Earth sign grand trine but Venus is square the Nodes. And remember that Venus rules Libra, which is the South Node’s sign. Some of us are going to realize how we get in our own way every time we “go along to get along,” while others will double down on that. Flowing aspects (like trines) aren’t necessarily good aspects - with this one, any social-climbing is going to come back and bite us in the butt. Instead of trying to scheme and manipulate our way into some kind of high-status relationship, let’s try to find ways to improve everyone’s status quo.

Sunday, February 11 - Venus/Capricorn square Eris/Aries, 24°14’. We’re frustrated - perhaps because we didn’t get our own way; perhaps we tried to manipulate matters and got caught; perhaps because “nobody appreciates all the sacrifices I’ve made for them.” Maybe we could learn to do someone a favor without ulterior motives?

Tuesday, February 13 - Venus/Capricorn sextile Neptune/Pisces, 26°09’. Really beautiful. We’re able to put those Neptunian daydreams and fantasies into concrete form. A very romantic Valentine’s Day Eve, with a traditional flavoring.

Note that Venus will enter Aquarius with the proverbial bang: a conjunction to Pluto.

[tarankerecommercetools]

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