#Intake and orchestration

[procurement-insights]

What is the difference between Service Oriented Architecture (SOA) and Intake and Orchestration and why should procurement care?

[ourceliumnetwork]

finally tackled the absolute mountain of laundry in various states of cleanliness around my room. now all of it is sorted and put into its respective zones of "away".

[hoshigray]

HII idk if u already did this but can u do first time with college guy nanami plz? ^-^

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg stop, this is perfect !! also happy early bday to me & my bday twin/hubby, nanamin, mwah

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Nanami x afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! college juniors - first time; virginity loss - fingering (f! receiving) - kissing; making out - nipple sucking - missionary position - protected sex - pet names (angel, baby, honey, love) - nanami is so soft and gentle w/ you <333 - mention of tears and pain.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1k

“Shit…you feel okay, baby?”

“Hahhh, yes, Ken…Mmmm, please, keep going…”

Nanami should’ve known something was fishy the moment his partner asked to come over to his apartment to study in the middle of a Friday night — the weekend had just started, and you wanted to work with him at his place? No way…But he voices no complaints whatsoever. 

You lay on his bed, the bedroom lights dimmed and emphasizing the skin of both you and Nanami’s nude bodies. Your boyfriend above you, kissing your forehead as his left hand is busy fingering your bare chasm and coating your labia with the lube he applied on his fingers. You moan sweetly at his touch, his digits nestling between your folds, and gasping at the slow insertion of his middle finger. Your inner channel clamps onto it, twitching around it as his right hand kneads the flesh of your inner thigh to soothe you.

Nanami presses his forehead to yours after placing kisses on your hot cheek. “Shhh, it’s okay, angel,” your sobs quiet down with his words, wailing softly at the curl of his middle finger scraping your velvety texture. “I’m right here…”

Tonight was significant, not just for him but for you too. Two virgins came together for a night of passion and union; however, Nanami didn’t want to ruin this moment just for his pleasure. He’s sharing this with you and wanted everything orchestrated perfectly for your comfort. You were his top priority above anything else, so he wanted you to be content.

Kisses trail down from your cheek and chin, and his lips lick around your nipple as he sucks the bud in, his tongue lapping around it makes you jerk along the rub of his finger. 

“Ahaaah, oh God,” you throw your head back. “Kento, I–Mmmph…I want it, please…”

He releases your nipple with a pull of his lips before peering into your eyes, chocolate orbs scanning your expression with sincerity. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yes, I’m ready,” you nod and spread your legs further, exhaling once he removes his middle finger from your soaking slit. “I know you’d never hurt me, Ken.”

Nanami can’t fight the smile creeping on his face as he situates himself, kissing you tenderly while he positions his erect cock to you, sheathed with a rubber. 

The tip of his length greets you, pushing itself lightly to the very entrance of your vagina. The initial pain makes itself known in seconds, having you whine into his mouth and your body involuntarily flinching. Yet, Nanami is there to relax you. “It’s okay,” he reminds you. “Relax your body; don’t be tense, baby. Breathe.”

A piece of advice you know would be beneficial so you construct a pattern to breathe adequately. And he watches every inhale and exhale, allowing you to ready yourself with every intake of air and pushing his tip further as you expel. Biting on your bottom lip, hands gripping the sheets, eyes watering from your shut eyelids—this experience was propelling you to suffocate in the sensation alone. And he hasn’t even put the cockhead in yet…

But when he does, it’s a revelation to the deepest part of your soul. You arch to the addition and gasp with Nanami, a foreign feeling of your hole being stretched. You were rigid, alarmed to take another breath; trembles came up your legs to your shoulders, and your toes locked to a curl. 

“You okay?” You nod ever-so-slowly, breathing with an agape mouth. “Hnnmm, good…Going to start moving now.”

His hips go excruciatingly sluggish, and leisure strokes drive his dick further into your warm channel, leaving the boy moaning with flattened lips and trenched brows. Your tightness feels snug to him, gripping nicely around his cock as if he could melt. And your quiet shrieks sound so cute, and he keeps coaxing you with every inch taken until his golden pubes meet yours.

Cautious strokes begin, and your voice is dialed to a higher volume. Hands find their way around Nanami’s neck, same with your legs coming around his waist. His movements are nothing harsh or rushed; they’re gentle and patient, permitting you to adjust to him and his body being one with yours. 

“Ohhh, hoooh, Kentoo,” you whimper in the air between you two. “Oh God—Ahhaa!!” The tip grazes your walls to the point of your nerves spiking. “Yesss, yeeeess…!”

“Hnnmm…Haaahh, fuck,” he curses to himself, his nose brushing yours. “You feel so good, honey…” He brings his face in for another kiss, this one more lustful than the last yet just as loving and secure. Hips grow confidence, thrusts pounding to you more selfishly while maintaining a moderate pace. He drinks your moans with his mouth, shivers slithering up his spine with the clasp of your cunt. 

The pain from before is long gone, exchanged with pleasure now that your lower region is accustomed to the commotion. The poke to your walls is sudden yet euphoric, same with the stretch of your entrance while he rubs on your texture and reaches in places you never imagined. It’s so good; it feels so fucking good!

“—Mmahhh, Kent—Toooh!” You break the kiss, yet Nanami keeps the closeness intimate with his cheek to yours. “OhhmyGod, right there! Right…Hmmm, maah!!” Nails dig to the skin of his back, your pitch gets higher and higher, and your awaited climax awards you. 

 Your tender walls flutter with the arrival of your orgasm, shrieking as your figure sinks to the pleasure as shocks of your crescendo flourish. And Nanami continues to rut into you until his drive comes to an end, groaning to your ear as he jerks and his cock spurts his load into the condom. The cling of you on him pulls him in, and you hold him close until both your heaving bodies are tranquil.

He then straightens to examine you, noticing the tear that dared leave your eyes. And as the benevolent boyfriend you fell in love with, he brushes his thumb on your cheek to wipe. “Thank you,” you giggle.

And he smiles back. “So beautiful, love.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Model!Reader X Mafia!Konig?

Getting accepted for one of the biggest model agencies in the city should be your golden ticket to relative stability, but you can't really shake the feeling that something isn't right here. It's not like you're ungrateful for the opportunity - it's just... a bit unusual. You heard of the type this agency had for their models, and you aren't exactly that. You had your fair share of gigs at other agencies, of course, but they were different - everything was different. Becoming a top model overnight isn't something that happens in real life, and you sure as hell weren't in a fairy tail. As much as everything felt like you are. Dressed up like a Cinderella, waiting in line of other princesses. The ball was the Spring Fashion show - everything was light and pink, so everything was not in style for the agency. It looked like actual clothes, something a normal person would wear, and not an artistic statement that high fashion usually deals with. You heard some news that the agency and the brand were bought out by some anonymous investor a few months ago - maybe they wanted new faces? You feel like a magical fairy when you take a few steps on the stage, so nervous and excited at the same time. Then you fall. It felt so orchestrated, so fairy-tale-like. You were going through the stage, turning around in front of some important guest - a guy who looked way too dangerous to be interested in fashion but was regarded with so much fear by the show organizers that you felt unease even looking at him - and then your heel cracked. The same heels that probably cost more than your life, cracking and sending you flying off the stage. In the guy's arms. Somewhere in the back of your mind, it did feel a little bit staged. He supports you gently, propping you on his lap like a broken doll. Gently caresses your twisted ankle before forcing your face into his shoulder as he twists it back in place. Chuckled a little as you yelped, cried, and sank your teeth into his forearm - his deep German voice said something about a lion cub having teeth, and you immediately wanted to punch him. Or, maybe, curl down on his insanely big and muscular thighs and just sleep. Konig props you to sit on his lap through the rest of the show, pouring a cocktail of alcohol and something else - something numbing, nice, and velvety - into your throat, even as you mumble some nonsense about minding the calorie intake. Konig thinks to himself - god, he really needs to fire the fucks who run this agency all over again. He didn't ask them to make you this skinny; he has to put some meat over your bones, as much as the model world fucking hates women with normal bodies. Oh no, his beautiful little lioness would need some thighs and a nice belly that he can squeeze and chew on during some intense sessions. When Konig bought this agency, he didn't think of actually taking models for himself - this man has no time for sex lately, even with women stupid enough to throw themselves at someone as dangerous as him. He certainly wasn't caring enough for beauty - not with his burning pile of insecurities and inability to actually talk to a pretty girl in a non-threatening setting. He had to physically stop himself from recoiling each time you tried to talk to him - and especially every time you'd smile at him, since all he sees are mean pretty girls from his school.

[reveryfics]

Emergence

Loki Laufeyson x Male Reader

Summary: Frigga knew her son well, well enough to understand a mortal from Midgard was whom he truly desired.

A/N: This was what I was writing before I realized the previous Loki request was angst, however I liked it to much not to post. Requests closed until my drafts and asks are cleared out.

TW: Fluff

The golden halls of Asgard's palace pulsed with a manufactured joy, a symphony of forced laughter and lilting melodies that swirled through the air like gilded dust. Dancers, their movements a practiced elegance, wove intricate patterns before the royal family, their faces painted with the expected delight. Yet, beneath the veneer of celebration, a discordant note resonated within Loki's soul. He was a captive in this gilded cage, torn from the vibrant tapestry of Midgard, where your presence was the only true star in his sky.

This grand ball, a spectacle of orchestrated courtship, was a cruel jest. Suitors, their eyes gleaming with ambition, paraded before Thor, who, with his characteristic boisterous charm, basked in the adulation. But Loki's gaze was lost, his thoughts consumed by the phantom of your touch, the memory of your laughter. He imagined you here, bathed in the ethereal glow of Asgard's light, your form draped in silks that would yield to the gentle curve of your body. He yearned for the sight of your skin, a canvas of delicate hues that eclipsed even the radiant beauty of Asgard itself.

Odin and Thor, oblivious in their self-absorbed revelry, remained blind to Loki's inner turmoil. But Frigga, her heart attuned to the subtle tremors of her son's spirit, had already made her move. Under the guise of a vital, private conversation, she had slipped away, her purpose a secret whispered on the wind.

You stood before a grand, gilded mirror, your reflection a vision of understated grace. Frigga's hands, gentle and knowing, adjusted the delicate jewelry that adorned your neck, her smile a silent language of affection. A soft hum escaped her lips, a melody you recognized, the very tune Loki would murmur during those stolen, moonlit nights on Midgard, when he would beckon you to the warmth of his embrace.

The sage-colored fabric of your suit, chosen with meticulous care, clung to your form, accentuating every graceful line. "I understand now," Frigga murmured, her eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that transcended words, "why my son's heart is so utterly captivated."

Your gaze met hers in the mirror, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken emotions that hung in the air. You, a man of Midgard, felt a profound sense of awe in the presence of this regal woman, unsure of the words that could possibly convey the depth of your feelings.

Frigga turned you gently, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, her touch as light as a feather. "Chin up, my dear," she whispered, her voice a soothing balm. "Tonight, you will be the envy of every soul in this hall."

You offered a nervous smile, adjusting the rings on your fingers, the fabric of your suit a tactile reminder of the extraordinary circumstances that had brought you here. The ballroom, a symphony of opulence and grandeur, felt like a dream, a fairy tale spun from starlight and gold. You knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that you were an anomaly in this realm of gods and heroes.

Then, your heart skipped a beat, a sudden, sharp intake of breath. Loki stood at the top of the grand staircase, his form a vision of captivating elegance, the rich fabrics of his attire enhancing his already striking beauty. He almost leapt to his feet, his eagerness palpable, but he restrained himself, a tender smile gracing his lips as his mother offered a subtle nod in your direction.

You took a deep breath, your voice trembling slightly as you addressed the royal family. "I have come from Midgard," you declared, your voice ringing with a fragile courage, "to court Prince Loki of Asgard."

A wave of hushed gasps swept through the hall, the silence punctuated by a chorus of murmurs. Frigga, with a regal gesture, silenced the crowd, her eyes radiating a quiet authority.

Loki descended the stairs, his movements fluid and graceful. He reached you in a few swift strides, his index finger gently lifting your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. "You are breathtaking," he whispered, his voice a caress against your skin.

You stammered, your eyes darting between Loki and Frigga, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. "Thank you, my prince," you managed, your voice barely a whisper.

Loki saw the uncertainty in your eyes, the unspoken questions that lingered in the depths of your soul. He understood the vulnerability you felt, the weight of expectations that pressed upon you.

You cleared your throat, presenting your courting gift, a simple family ring, a token of love and enduring connection. It was not a grand gesture, not a display of wealth or power, but a symbol of the heart, a testament to the bond you shared.

"I offer this family ring," you began, your voice wavering slightly, "it's..."

"Perfect," Loki interrupted, his voice filled with a tender sincerity, taking your hand in his.

He led you to the center of the dance floor, the eyes of the entire court fixed upon you. The music swelled, a romantic melody that seemed to weave itself around you, and you danced, lost in the moment, oblivious to the world around you.

"I am so grateful you are here, my love," Loki whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips. "I am grateful your mother brought me," you replied, your voice filled with warmth.

As the dance drew to a close, Loki pulled you close, his hands encircling your waist, his eyes locking with yours. His lips hovered mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"I love you, my darling," he murmured, his voice a low, resonant hum.

"I love you too, Loki," you whispered, your heart overflowing with emotion.

Loki's lips met yours, a tender, passionate kiss that silenced the world around you. The cheers and applause of the crowd faded into a distant hum, your senses consumed by the warmth of his embrace.

Frigga watched, her heart filled with a quiet joy. She knew her son, knew the depth of his love, and she knew that this moment, this tender embrace, was merely the prologue to a love story that would echo through the ages.

[ariaste]

From Julian Amaniou to Anonymous, greetings and solidarity.

Living in times like these can feel very hard. As someone who has also felt the frustrations of standing up against oppression, I deeply empathize.

1. Sift out sensationalism and fearmongering. The first commandment of my religion is, “Go and find out.” Some believe that means we must intake ALL information. But that belief is predicated on the assumption that everything you might intake is reliable. It is not. True knowledge is made of facts, & facts are usually rather staid and dull. Be a skeptic: Question everything you hear about. Check your sources, & check theirs too. Read beyond the headlines. Develop strong critical thinking, & identify propaganda for what it is, EVEN IF IT’S COMING FROM THE PEOPLE WHO AGREE WITH YOU.

Going to protests is great, but you’re right—it often doesn’t nourish the spirit the way that seeing a direct, immediate result does. Perhaps it’s time to think smaller. Find problems that YOU can touch with YOUR hands. For example, volunteering at a soup kitchen, a clean-up for a local river or park, or with an adult literacy program (in my experience, there’s little in this world more fulfilling than the pride of seeing your student’s progress). If you can’t find one, organize! It sounds complicated, but it isn’t really. Think about things you LIKE to do, find something that needs that love, & give it your love. Invite a couple friends. Put up flyers to let strangers know what you’re doing so they can show up too. You don’t need to help in exactly the same way as everyone else. YOUR way of helping is worthy & worthwhile, and it all makes the world a little better.

There are no Chosen Ones in the resistance. There is no climactic orchestral music at the moment the revolution prevails. You can’t save the world. But you can hand someone hungry a plate of food, clean up a park, or teach someone what you know.

Bread and roses, Julian

***

(Are you a fan of my books? Do you have a burning question and you’ve always wanted to ask a fictional character for advice? Send in your question via the “Dear Blorbo” Advice Column submission form! :) All questions welcome.)

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

i am loving 🍎 and🔬so much

🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎 I love buck bobby stuff always

🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬🔬 and i need to help you get to the point where chris understands his grandparents Suck xoxo

YAY THANK YOU

30 for 🍎:

---

“I’m really so glad Bobby found you,” Charlie says, sighing. 

“Thanks,” Buck says, surprised he’s thinking of that today of all days. “Me too.”

“I wasn’t a good brother to him,” Charlie says. “I wasn’t a good anything to anyone, besides being a good son to my mother. And it’s hitting me now, that means I’m alone. I’m just glad Bobby isn’t.”

Buck shrugs. “I’m not the only reason for that. I mean, you met Athena.”

“I did,” Charlie smiles. “She seems wonderful.”

“She is,” Buck nods. “The best. But, uh… Just so you know, Bobby is, like, the most forgiving person in the world. I think if you want to be a good brother, it’s not too late.”

Charlie smiles. “I appreciate you saying that.”

“Yeah,” Buck replies. “And, hey, I’ve never had an uncle. So that could be cool.”

Charlie nods, considering. “My mother believed in a divine plan. I’m not sure what I believe, but… But it feels like things are working out better than I feared they would, when I found out she was sick.”

Buck definitely doesn’t believe in a divine plan. But he does believe in people, and their capacity for good and redemption. He hopes Charlie can have that belief in himself. And he hopes he can be a better brother for Bobby, after all these years. 

---

71 for 🔬:

---

Embroiled in an interaction that leaves him feeling even worse before, Chris decides - impulsively - to do something about it. For the sake of justice, or whatever. Because Tia Adriana is one of the kindest people he knows, and making her feel any sort of way about what she’s eating or her body is fucked. 

Chris scoops an absurd amount of guac onto his plate and then looks stonily at Grandma.

“Oops,” he says. “Should I be worried about my fat intake?”

There is a bit of an explosive reaction to Chris saying this. He probably should have seen that coming.

Across the table, his dad chokes on his food a little. Adriana’s jaw drops. Buck tries to subtly cover his mouth with his hand. 

“Oh, shit,” Tia Sophia whispers.

“Christopher!” Grandpa scolds. 

And Grandma’s expression turns to ice. 

“What was that, Chris?” She asks.

“You commented on what Tia Adriana was eating,” Chris says. “I mean, I took more than her. Do I have to be worried?”

“Don’t be silly,” Grandma says tightly. “You’re a young man. You don’t need to worry about your weight.”

“Oh,” Chris plays dumb. “Why is that?”

“Chris,” Adriana turns to him and rests a hand on his elbow. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” He keeps playing dumb. “I’m just so confused about the comment.”

“That’s enough,” Grandpa warns.

Chris opens his mouth again, but Tia Adriana squeezes his arm. 

“Please,” she says. “Just drop it.”

Chris sighs, but relents. He refocuses his attention on his food. But it’s too late - the meal is ruined. He’s started something he can’t reel back in.

“No, I don’t think so,” Tia Sophia says. “I want to know what the comment was about, too. I didn’t quite hear it.”

“Soph,” Tia Adriana pleads. 

Tia Sophia looks at her. “We talked about this, Adri.”

Adriana sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. Chris has seen his dad make the exact same gesture when stressed. 

“This is absurd, girls,” Grandma says. “We are trying to have a nice lunch. Eddie, did you orchestrate this?”

“Me?” Dad gapes as the whole table turns to look at him. “What? What did I do?”

“Oh, you always find a way to make a scene!” Grandma accuses.

“Literally how could your body shaming comments be Eddie’s fault?” Adriana demands. 

“Are you kidding?” Dad adds. 

“Okay, boys,” Buck claps his hands together and looks at Nico and Lucas. “Who wants to eat in the backyard?”

Lucas looks at his mother. “Can we?”

Sophia nods. “Great idea! Thank you, Uncle Buck.”

“Now hold on,” Grandpa says.

[prisoner-of-sin]

Wildfire [18+]

Zoya x Female!Reader

Warnings: Zoya has a dick, Rough Oral Sex, Blood, Sex, Overstimulation, Female!Reader. NSFW!

Requests: OPEN

I have received requests and I think you all for the amount of support I have gotten already! It means the world to me! 🥰 I'm a little slow with writing because I'm busy, all I ask for is patience as I try to get content out. Stay safe! 💞

"Chief, there is an incoming visitor." Nightingale's voice startles you, pulling you out of the blur of work. You lean back and stare at the ceiling as a long sigh leaves your lips. The night was soon to roll over, it was far too late to be having a visitor. Despite that, you had no urge to deny access to your office.

"Allow them to pass.." You whisper, running your fingers over the paperwork laid on the table. The words were slowly fusing together, the black ink becoming a giant oozing circle. A few more papers, that's it. You straighten your posture and stretch before slowly focusing on the task at hand. The more time that passed, the more fidgety you were becoming. The silent ticking of the clock and soft, cooling breeze of the air was stimulating you further. You huff and rest your face in your hands, bouncing your leg as you try to think of more noise to put on. The silence was killer.

You finally decide to stand and walk to the orchestration, letting the tips of your finger run along the spines of the albums. You carefully slide one of the classical vinyl out and start the soothing music. Your eyes close as the melody goes through your soul, easing all other emotions. A heavy knock draws your attention toward the door. You walk to your desk, sitting on the edge before enjoying the slight burn from the shackles. Zoya. What did she want at the hour? A spar or someone to talk with?

You don't say anything and she struts in like it's her office. Her blue eyes glow in the dim room, sending shivers down your spine as you watch her. She stops in the middle of the room and beckons you closer, in which you listen and hop off the desk to make your way toward her. Sand and rust, the smell that she radiates is one you grew fond of the longer you two knew each other. You look up at her as she reaches forward, her hands securely grabbing your hips. She pulls you in closer, as if she was protecting you.

"More work? What's next..mania outbreaks tomorrow? They need to stop relying solely on you. It isn't like every mission they receive is classified, making it to where only you can do it." Zoya whispers, as her lips graze by your ear. She takes a sharp intake before kissing the side of your head, raising her hand to keep your head still. Her lips make their way to your neck, once there you quietly moan and grasp her waist.

"No, it's not as bad as it seems. You're making it far worse than what it is." You mumble, slapping her sides gently. She chuckles and bites down onto your neck, resulting in you mewling and melting against her. You were waiting for her usual remark of: you joining The Legion. She licks over her marking and slowly rises, kissing your chin before hungrily capturing your lips. She forces you to back onto your desk, letting her tongue slip in when you gasp from the contact. She leans more into you and makes the bolted down desk creak under the force. It was obvious she missed you, touch-starved beyond normal reasoning. She dominates you with ease but disconnects from you just as quickly. The shine of saliva connects you both as she leans her forehead in close, resting against yours.

"The dark circles have gotten worse. Have you been resting?" Zoya questions, concern dripping from her tone. "Let me help, please. You will be so full of energy by morning, you'll be so thankful. All it takes is one word. C'mon just say it." She whispers, looking deeply into your eyes. Her hue has significantly darkened as her lips part barely. Her hot breath puffs on your lips, tempting you to lean forward to melt into her again.

"There's only a few more documents, only requiring signatures. A flick of a wrist!" You try to convince the woman towering over you, failing miserably. You lightly push Zoya, getting out of her confines before circling around your desk. Her hand lands firmly on your ass, resulting in you jolting and squeaking as she gives a curious squeeze. You had no chance to round the corner, her action has you bending over your desk– giving her the best view. Her arms secure themselves around your waist as she presses closer against you.

"Stop working. It's goin' to be there in the morning, keep all attention on me. Allow me to take away the stress." She whispers, licking over the shell of your ear. She enjoys the minor shivers you produce, her hands running over your covered arms. She grabs your chin and traces your lips.

"Open your mouth…" Zoya tries to coax you to follow her order. You blink slowly and lick your lips, barely grazing over the tips of her fingers. She groans when you move forward enough to envelope her fingers completely. She takes a moment to relish the feeling before pressing them onto your tongue, hesitant to push further back. You run along her digits and slowly hollow your cheeks to suck on them.

"Fuck …" She groans, moving her index and middle finger like a piston–one that is just starting. She grinds into your ass, the bulge of her cock makes itself known as the temperature quickly rises. She leans down and takes your ear between her lips; continuing the movement of her fingers. Drool slides down the corner of your mouth as your cheeks considerably warm up. You gag when she presses farther in, they retract as fast as they went in. She bites down on the top of your ear and licks over it to soothe the burn, finally taking a moment to turn you around–ass against the edge of the desk.

"Why did y-" You are cut off by Zoya smashing her lips against yours. She takes advantage of your mouth parting in shock, easily dominating you as she keeps your head tilted with her hand. You return the kiss eagerly, but not making an attempt to overpower her. Her free hand caresses your side, tracing over the familiar curves and the tips of her fingers dip into your pants. She proceeds to slowly ravage your lips as her other hand moves your shirt, untucking it from its confine. She effortlessly swallows your tiny moans, withdrawing when you start to struggle for air.

"Stop? My dear Chief..your mouth deserves much more than my fingers." She backs away from your body, after her hands move to your waist to bring you along. She rotates you and smirks when you look confused, head tilting to the side minimally.

"You go from lust to confusion.." Zoya reaches out, running her fingers down your cheek. "On your knees, baby." She whispers, making your knees jello. You drop, overly eager to listen, and she inhales deeply. You were always so obedient to her, it made her cock twitch in her pants. She palms herself once, her free hand hooking her thumb into your mouth. She pulls down her pants enough to reveal her aching length, slapping against her lower stomach. You suck on her thumb, tongue encouraging her to go in deeper. She bites her bottom lip, a faint blush dusting over her cheeks, as her dick pulses on its own.

"Are you ready?" Zoya pumps herself once, leaning her head to the side as she analyzes your face. "Open up, baby girl." She removes her thumb and her eyes don't leave you. You shift on your knees, opening your mouth for her. She smiles softly and brings her tip to your lips, smearing the precum along them. You raise your hands up, grasping her softly and replacing her hands, not wasting a moment to move your hands up and down. She groans and intensely watches you. You don't falter under her gaze. You place kisses around her length, coating the entirety with wet kisses.

You're now running your tongue around her tip, slowly going down her cock and not once hitting your own hand. You leave trails of saliva in your path, making her more fidgety as the teasing presses on. She starts to tangle her fingers in your hair, massaging your scalp while refusing the urge to push you forward. She shocks herself with the amount of control she's displaying.

"Look at you," She whispers, voice thick with lust. "Listening very well, treating me like a god and oh… " She moans as you start to take her dick into your mouth. Your hot walls and saliva prove a challenge for her, the liquid was already leaking out of the corner of your lips; she wants nothing more than to fuck your face and make a mess of you. You continue the movement of your hand, applying more pressure which occasionally squeezes to invoke pleasure noises. She releases her lip, smiling to give you a full display of her teeth. Her eyes strike through your soul but encourage you to take her further into your mouth, tip grazing the back of your throat as you hold still.

Zoya growls, clenching her hand into a fist as you slowly start to bob your head. You'd nearly pull away before sinking back down onto her cock, using your tongue to run along the underside tenderly. Once it would come close to your throat, you would swallow to apply more feeling. It leaves her breathless. She tightens her fingers, pulling your hair as soft noises leave her parted lips. She feels the familiar warmth spreading throughout her stomach. Your hand slides down her length and begins to fondle her balls. You spare a glance up at her to see her lower lip quiver. You start to feel her lust through the shackles making your cunt pulse in need. She notices the shift in your mood.

"Ah..it seems someone is more excited." Her legs quiver as she pulls you away. "I feel your lust through them. Shocking isn't it? We feel what you do and vice versa.." Her mushroom shaped tip exits your mouth with a ' pop' . You stay on your knees, awaiting her next command and it makes her smile.

"Don't be scared to use me, Zoya. I won't break." The smile Zoya wore slowly turns more sinister, the words you briefly mentioned sinking into her thoughts. She grabs her throbbing erection, grazing the head over your lips as she begins to talk.

"Open up, Chief !" She growls, the atmosphere shifting instantly. You gag as she slams your head down around her entire length without a single warning; she forced apart your lips herself. She groans as the familiar wetness of your mouth surrounds her once again, her girth settled into the depths of your throat. Your hands glued to her thighs, tightly gripping the fabric hunched there as your nose is scrunched against her lower stomach making breathing through your nose difficult. She pushes back your head, the burning sensation of air filling your lungs is as you gasp–in an attempt to regain your composure as small tears fall from your eyes.

"You're loving this, aren't you?" Zoya guides you back to her glistening cock. You place a soft kiss to her tip, moving the soft affection down her shaft before sneaking a lick over her balls. Her eyes reach the darkest you've seen them, the lust in the air is unbelievably thick as her hand tightens in your hair. The pain shoots straight to your pussy as your lips part from the sudden gasp that escapes them. She smears her throbbing tip against your lower lip before slipping back into your mouth slowly.

"You ready, baby?" Her question was soft despite her previous sinister demeanor. You rest your hands on the back of her thighs, forcing her forward and she takes the hint as she bucks her hips–sheathing her entire cock in your throat as before. Your nails scratch the leather beneath your fingers as your eyes water from the intrusion. This time, she doesn't hold still for a moment; she grasps your head to prevent you from moving and abuses your mouth–making you drool from the excessive amount of saliva. The moans vibrate your throat and have her knees nearly buckling under the pleasure.

Zoya loosens her grip, allowing you to have free reign on the pace. You allow yourself to relax fully, reaching up and wrapping a hand around her thick member; feeling it throb beneath your very fingers as she lets out a soft gasp. You begin to bob your head, hand following the motions before slowly letting her dick out of your mouth. You give a small lick to the tip and reattach your lips to her, shallowly moving as you precisely hollow your cheeks to enhance the experience. You confidently allow more of her cock into the wet depths of your mouth. She can barely bite back a guttural moan when her sensitive tip hits the back of your throat.

"You're doing s-so good.." She praises, head slowly leaning back as you squeeze and rub over what wasn't in your mouth. You weren't in a rush and neither was she. Your rhythm became steady as you sucked her off, occasionally surprising her with the entirety of her slipping into your throat. She is unable to contain herself as her fingers dig into your hair and her free hand swats you away from her girth, forcing your face against her pelvis again; it felt like it did earlier–heaven. Your eyes squeezed shut as you cry out, muffled by her cock, and you dig your fingers into the leather of her pants.

"This is what I wanted..you being such a good girl for me.." Zoya chuckles, bending so she can rest a forearm on the desk, so she can push you further along her length. The flexing of your throat drove her mad, wishing to fuck that tight area like it was supposed to be. She keeps you still as she pulls away until she is basically out and abruptly slams forward, without warning, filling your entire throat with her rock hard cock. She picks up her pace, brutally fucking your mouth as if she has never had a blowjob; you continue to choke on her and the excess amount of saliva. You keep your eyes squeezed shut as she stuffs you entirely with her length.

Zoya makes a mental to note to stay bent during this, it made it so much easier to fuck the tight passage. She uses your hair and slowly tips your head upwards more, moaning out as it becomes nearly too much; she was panting as her pace had slowly turned irregular. She refused to give into her orgasm so soon, she was still hungry for you. This was one of the mere fantasies she had and never told a soul. She couldn't see your face, but she was imagining the drool that leaked out of your parted lips–the pure bliss across your features.

The pleasure was too much! You beat every one night stand she ever had, it felt so good and was becoming easily addictive. The thoughts of her having you at her disposal at all times makes her balls tighten. You feel her length throb in your throat and she lets out a husky moan, pushing your head against her as ropes after ropes of hot cum coat your throat until she's drained and satisfied. She pulls out and straightens up before gripping your cheeks, not allowing you to catch your breath. She looks into your mouth, smirking as she sees her cum in your wet cavern. She gathers the little bit that leaked out and smears it against your tongue as you cough. Her finger lingers on your cheek, wiping away the tears that fell from your eyes.

"Going weak are we?" You breathlessly tease, noting the way her entire mood grew softer. She sucks in her bottom lip, biting it harshly enough to draw blood before she shakes her head. She runs a hand through her hair before madly grinning and hoisting you off the floor effortlessly. She walks to your desk chair and sits before she forces you to undo your pants enough to show your ass, and straddle her lap.

"Me? Hah..I am not weak, Chief." Zoya chuckles, "I think you are! The one who is so aroused, she can barely sit still." She whispers into your ear. You shift and try to rub together your legs. The heat between them was unbearable and you could feel the juices leak from your panties, you were beyond soaked. And from the short period of time, they were already flowing down your thighs. Her hand sneaks between the both of you and barely ghosts over the damp spot. She kisses underneath your ear, slowly moving down to your neck and finally biting down on the sensitive flesh. You buck your hips, whining at the stimulation between both areas–craving more.

You reach down grasping her thick cock, pumping it softly, exciting her. You bump her head to catch her attention and you capture her lips in a passionate embrace, earning a shared moan between you two. Her free hand tangles in your hair as the one between you slowly rips the fabric of your pants and panties, peeling them away from your legs to expose the prize she desires. Before you could gasp, she deepens the kiss and probes your lips with her tongue.

You allow Zoya in and she wastes no time dominating you, tongues dancing together in perfect harmony. You tilt your head while lifting up, allowing her fingers to slide through the slick folds, precisely dipping into you for a moment before going back to your clit. She swallows your cries and slowly abuses your neglected bud. She lightly pinches it before returning back to the small circles.

"Like that baby girl, if only you could be louder." She praises, both hands now moving to grab your ass and squeezing the soft flesh. You mumble some incoherent words as she pulls you closer to her, chest against chest, as she hides her face in the junction of your neck. She licks the salty skin as you reach between the both of you and line her cock up to your entrance.

"I s-still work after this…" You moan out as you slowly sink down. Zoya groans and bites your neck, drawing blood as her eyes nearly roll back. You let out a string of curses as your hips settle against her along with a dull ache from the bite. Her tongue slides over the bite as she tries to relieve it, muttering small apologies from the instant reaction.

"Y-you're done." Her tone softens as she lifts you and lowers you slowly. She kisses your neck and makes her way to your lips, silencing the gradually growing moans. Your legs begin to tremble as the pacing increases, your very essence drips down your thighs; you wrap your arms around Zoya's neck to hold her deathly close. You were already so close, it made your toes curl into your feet as you pant into the mouth covering your own. The way her cock was rounded, it consistently hit your sweet spot and earned an unexpected, mind shattering orgasm from you–one in which you nearly screamed.

She needed to slow down her pace or she was going to end so soon, she wished to save the moment of you clinging to her, being so exposed and desperate that you had tears falling down your face. You were a mushy mess, your velvety walls clenched around her cock and drew her in more, being the greedy whore you were. She decided against her initial judgment and kept her hips moving, assaulting the g-spot that made you shatter against her. You are squeezing her dick tightly, attempting to milk her for all she's worth as she accidentally sends you into overstimulation. You cry against her lips, trying to break away from the kiss to put a small distance between you both. The arousal was already burning deep in your stomach, threatening to snap at any given time as Zoya tries to obtain her sweet release. She breaks the kiss, uncaring if you were too loud at this time; she wished to snuggle against your neck, to hide away her flustered cheeks and gapping lips.

"P-please!" You sob, tugging on her hair roughly as hot tears coat your lips. "Come inside..I-I need you.." It became difficult to breathe, you felt your heartbeat against your chest and in your throat. The words of encouragement seemed to do the trick as she fucked into you with a new vigor. You arch against Zoya as the second orgasm crashes over you, leaving you utterly breathless as you screamed from cumming so hard. Your nails dig into her shoulders, making her rut harshly against you to get as deep as she could. She stilled as her cock throbbed deep inside of you, coating your walls with white as she steadily filled you with her warm seed.

"I love you.." She was breathless, all she could do was pepper small kisses along your neck as she stayed stuffed inside of you. She enjoyed the small whimpers and whines you are making while massaging her scalp. She raises her head and rests her forehead against yours, gazing deeply into your eyes as a warm smile flashes over your lips.

"I love you too.." You whisper, placing a small kiss on the corner of Zoya's lips. The amount of exhaustion settling on your body is indescribable, you wish to pass out on her without ushering anymore words. Her hands rub along your back before humming softly along with the classical music, the same disc she has heard multiple times. It was her turn to give you a place to sleep, she carefully cradles your face and guides you to her neck–chuckling softly as your head hits with a soft thud. You cared not for any clean-up at the given time, your body relaxes against her as you slowly drift into a much needed slumber. She glances down and chuckles, carefully moving strands of hair out of your fucked out face.

"Don't ever leave me, Chief."

[rahuratna]

Sunshine of your Love

Synopsis: A cold rainy evening, and your longing for Taishiro reaches a fever pitch. [Fat Gum/Taishiro Toyomitsu x Reader]

Rating: M

Warnings: references to explicit sex

I've been recovering from surgery and writing for this man always makes me feel better, even if I'm drugged out of my mind, lol. Bear with me and my random fixations, friends.

When it rains like this, you think of him.

There is power in white lighting, in the orchestrated swell of thunder that rides in on its wake.

It reminds you of the way he moves, parting waves of people with his considerable girth, a bright yellow buoy carried by the shift of waves.

He'd never done well in contained settings, not with his loud voice, the boisterous mannerisms, the curve of his grin threatening to split the serious air of any gathering. You'd always wondered when he'd learned to feel comfortable with taking up that space, unabashed, to plant the flag of his presence and watch it unfurl with that steadfast pride he was known for.

It was what had drawn you to him, a remora snatching at fleshy scraps.

You're still not sure what power you hold over him. It is nice, though, to gain the occasional reminder.

On evenings like this, when the air itself seems magnetized by the faint traces of unspoken words, of subtlety lost to heavy laughter and an all-too-wholesome public persona, you wish for  him with an intensity that burns away time.

You know what his career demands; the patrols, the collaborations, the appearances, the red tape over shiny new doorways, gossamer ribbons over hard agreements. It's all part of the job, and he takes it in his stride. He'd built his agency from the ground up, and the humble facade, the black mask over round, fresh-faced reliability, has become a symbol that remains ingrained in most minds.

There are those, like you, who've seen what his work truly requires, though.

You've watched him plan the downfall of drug cartels with meticulous precision, the way his eyes scan a room and immediately draw up a mental list of all capabilities, the way he assigns roles with an ease that stems from years of leading missions, the calm and patience he exercises on stakeouts because he knows full well what rushing into things will achieve.

You've seen the complex charts of calorie intake he consults in order to be prepared for larger operations. You've watched him type painstaking emails as he replies to the messages he receives from public servers and supporters. You've seen him in shorts and vest, dabbing perspiration from his neck with an old t-shirt, steadily losing mass through the day as he spent hours painting and renovating the headquarters in his signature colours.

It still surprised you, that with the time and effort he'd put into all his endeavors, that he had any time to spare for his personal affairs. As much as Taishiro was one to tread on the lighter side of life, he took his responsibilities very seriously.

It was why, when you first encountered him, and felt that burgeoning attraction rise like some kind of irrepressible sea beast, you'd done your best to eliminate it.

Quash it, stow it, fling it out the airlock into the depths of space, where it truly belonged.

Your own research career left little time for such things, to be honest. 

But then, you'd been assigned to assist him directly and you were forced to re-evaluate everything you knew about tamping down the roiling waters of simple human magnetism.

What was it about him that drew you in so helplessly?

Maybe it was the way he eyed everyone around him (including you) with those golden eyes that perceived so much, sunshine molded to a razor that split the world asunder. Maybe it was the spread of his broad shoulders, so easily dwarfing everything in a room. Maybe it was the smell of him, sweat, sugar and honey-glaze after an afternoon in the summer, or the daffodil burst of his soft, soft hair, or the way he laughed with a motion that rippled through his entire form.

It could have been the touch of those heavy hands, calloused, a worker's roughened grip, sometimes slightly sticky with whatever he'd eaten. You'd come to know those hands, their hot, probing grasp, the way they'd cut through the  air when he described something animatedly, the gentle circling of a child's ankle who had insisted on climbing him like a tree, the lackadaisical flip of thick fingers through the pages of a report and the comforting slap of his large palm across your back for a job well done.

Maybe that was it, yes. His touch, and the way it had changed over time.

You were so aware of his every motion in your presence that it didn't escape your notice when he started to touch you less.

You could tell something had changed when he no longer clapped you on the back during a hearty laugh, when his eyes tracked your form when he thought you weren't looking, when he started to leave his favourite treats behind on your desk 'by accident', when his hunger spilled over into that molten gaze in ways that made your limbs feel like they were shifting through honey.

His touch became rare, but on the occasions he (or you) couldn't resist little forms of contact, his fingers would trace the line of your body, almost unconsciously. He seemed to have memorized the curve of your spine, the hollow of your waist when he stood close to you. The space between your bodies seemed to enclose you both in increasing claustrophobia, and yet, was never quite close enough.

You had become aware of his breath on the back of your neck when he leaned in to pore over schematics with you, of the rough, gentle graze of his stubble over your cheek when he turned his head (accidental), the way his voice took on a new, deeper, husky sweetness when he called you his darling, his sweetheart, his little bird.

He was strong, passionate, driven, a man who played the comforting fortress, all while wrapping you in the increasingly easy charm he didn't even seem to know he possessed.

He compelled your thoughts on rainy evenings like this, all because you were helpless to the courtship unfurling in all its honest primacy between the two of you.

In the sanctity of your home, far from the flash of intrusive cameras, the shuffle of booted feet and the sirens that blare through city streets at night, he finds a haven in you.

His touch is no longer uncertain, feeling along the uncertain edges of what is acceptable to the both of you.

He knows what you want, and he gives it to you with all the grace you never knew his eight foot frame could contain.

Taiahiro knows how much you love his large hands tracing your form fully, his mouth latched to your shoulder, his hot breath ghosting along your collarbones. He knows how much you love the metallic zing of his zipper coming undone, the heat of the fire on both of you. He knows how much you long for the feel of his body on yours, the fine golden hairs raising under your fingertips.

On rainy days like this one, he knows how you wait for him, to mop up the water from his hair with a towel, the way the moisture from his skin transfers to yours as he presses you against him, no clothes forming unnecessary barriers.

Taishiro loves when your body arches and bends for him, when your fingers leave scarlet traces down his back and shoulders, when your teeth sink into his bicep and you slap and clutch at his chest. He loves how you cry and writhe and beg him to stop, stop, no keep going as he grinds and swivels in breathtaking abandon against and inside you.

He knows how the evening swallows your gasps and his pants, the endless dive of lovemaking into a hazy afternoon sea, your entwined fingers reaching for the distant shore of sanity that neither of you really want to reach. 

Taishiro knows how much you want, want, want, an endless break of your body's waves on the reef of his desire.

He knows he can make you come endlessly, one sobbing breath bleeding into another as he loves you, moves you, presses you face-first into the bed sheets. He knows that your appetite for him is ceaseless, for the swell of his stomach against yours, the creak of the bed beneath his weight, the trembling in your thighs around his waist as he eases himself deeper, earning every broken cry from your lips.

You know that it's only over when you've both been thoroughly satiated, which takes a considerable time, considering both your appetites.

He is yours, and you, his. The simplicity of it is delineated, traced out in the clear lines of the window frame that reveal the storm raging outside.

In here, you give him everything of yourself, a surrender of all that is you. How can you provide anything else? When it comes to him, you're not sure how to give any less.

An hour has passed, and the rain shows no sign of letting up.

A key slots into the latch and the door swings open, somewhere downstairs. His voice ascends to you, a convection current in a pre-warmed oven.

"Sweetheart, you up?"

"Here," you call down to him. "Leave your wet clothes in the hamper. I've run you a bath."

"Now that's what I'm talking about. Say, you got towels up there, or you need me to bring up some - "

The words peter out in his throat, as he spies you, where you await him at the top of the stairs. You are dressed in one of his large shirts, the material thinned with age, the outline of your breasts making it clear that you aren't wearing anything beneath. One of your hands traces up your inner thigh, lifting the hem, moving up, up, to where you want him the most.

He is silent now, remnants of the downpour outside dripping from his golden hair to the mat below, one of his shoes half off.

Then his foot is on the first stair, and afterwards, in seemingly no time at all, he is beside you.

Thunder cracks a heavenly whip, loud and with no sign of easing off. You don't look away from him.

"Sounds like the storm's going to go on for a while."

He breathes his answer out, reverent, heat washing over your throat.

"Sure hope it does, sweetheart."

[altocat]

As an adult, what is Sephiroth’s relationship with Hojo like? We know for a fact that Sephiroth doesn’t like him based on the few direct references Hojo and Sephiroth make to their feelings about each other, but what about the times when Sephiroth is forced to be in his presence for whatever reason? Does Hojo even try to reach out, even in his own fucked up way?

In canon? Sephiroth blatantly does NOT like Hojo and really wouldn't mind if he gets killed, hence why he was so dismissive about protecting Hojo in CC. In Before Crisis, he doesn't even turn to acknowledge Hojo when he's forced to come and save him. And in OG and Rebirth, he has nothing but negative things to say about him. Interestingly, Rebirth's new spin adds a layer of sadness and disappointment in Sephiroth's tone, suggesting that at some point Sephiroth might have cared about Hojo but has since lost faith in him.

In Sephcanons, Hojo and Sephiroth's relationship is emotionally abusive, bordering on violent. Sephiroth is no longer a timid child and can (and will) be physically intimidating to Hojo whenever Hojo oversteps himself. And Hojo, in turn, will attempt to get under Sephiroth's skin whenever he's trying to manipulate his son. They are around each other fairly frequently, and Sephiroth resents every moment.

Hojo is still responsible for Sephiroth's care within Shinra, bringing Sephiroth into the labs for bimonthly (sometimes biweekly) examinations. Sephiroth often vacillates between threatening Hojo's life and being forced to remain docile and compliant during these sessions. Hojo basically can continue torturing him as he had when Sephiroth was a child. The only difference is that now Sephiroth will at least verbally scorn him for it from time to time. Hojo is also responsible for Sephiroth's weekly calorie intake, Mako retention, personalized fitness plan, etc. He often goes to the board to report on Sephiroth's private progress, as well as suggest certain missions he feels Sephiroth should undertake.

Sephiroth hates Hojo tremendously, though the feeling isn't always mutual. Hojo actually does a lot of heavy lifting in order to ensure that his son is safe and his future is secured. There are rare instances where both are on the same page and are civil towards each other. But there are other times where Hojo looks to agitate his son, especially in his efforts to turn him against Genesis or Angeal (hasn't worked). It's unclear as to whether or not Hojo actually loves his son, or has any genuine affection for him. It's very, very twisted and VERY complicated. It's equally unclear as to whether or not Hojo fully orchestrated the events of the Nibelheim Incident. One thing IS clear--Hojo was never the same after Sephiroth's death, and only seemed to become more unhinged and unstable than ever.

[queer-dumpsterfire]

don't increase your fibre intake, it is a scam orchestrated by big toilet

[procurement-insights]

Which ProcureTech solution providers are making the transition to an Agent-based Metaprise model?

[calritchie21]

here’s part two….

part three isn’t written yet

and won’t be for a few hours- i think i have carpal tunnel from typing all of this on my phone😭

here’s most of the angst✨✨

the only highlight of the first period was kniesy’s goal, in which the entire family, bar bug, shot out of their seats, screaming at the top of their lungs. but matty’s goal was quickly overshadowed by the lightning scoring 4 after his. at the end of the first, bear contemplated grabbing a drink, but she decided to hold off, knowing if the game got too much worse, she’d be the DD for a few boys on the team. also in the intermission, aryne walked off to take the boys to the restroom.

the second period was a show though, orchestrated by auston bagging two goals, ramping up kids excitement. however, the conclusion of the second period is where things go wrong.

with the game looking up, bear decided that she would make herself a mixed drink in the second intermission to celebrate. however, she purposefully made the drink and downed it while aryne stepped away to take the boys to the restroom again, taking a bit longer with the added step of changing bug’s diaper, who had woken up from the cheers when auston scored his second. bear did this with the thought that her mlm would be a bit cautious of her alcohol intake, knowing she was only a week post op, unknowing that she was still prohibited by her medication to drink. after swallowing the first drink, bear took a slight risk, and made another one, possibly going a little heavy on the vodka, unknowing of just how much of a bad decision that’d turn out to be…

when the third period began and aryne and the kids still weren’t back, bear did something even she realized was a little dumb, and made a third. in doing so, she noticed when she stood up to make the drink she got a little dizzy, bracing herself on the seat next to her while her vision cleared.

after practically inhaling her third drink in fear her mom would come back, bear made hurried steps back to her chair she’d been curled up in the entire game. however this time, when she sat down, her vision went black, and her head limply fell forward.

approximately 5 minutes later, aryne opened the door to the suite, alarmed by the silence, knowing she usually would’ve been met with bear’s excited chatter, as she had seen mitch had scored on her prolonged journey back to the suite. instead, nothing.

and then she took another step forward, and saw something of nightmares. bear, sitting in the chair, not moving, chest rising and falling scarily slow. as she took in the sight, she immediately turned around and crouched down in front of axton and jace, stopping them from getting any closer. “how about you go back to aunt steph, hmm? you forgot to show her hit new shoes,” came aryne’s shaky voice, rapidly blinking away the tears of fear building in her eyes. “okay mommy!” chirped both axton and jace, the duo excitedly running off chattering to each other.

the minute they were far enough away, aryne whipped out her phone and dialed 911. “hello, my names aryne tavares, and I just found my daughter unresponsive, and I’m not sure what caused it. we’re at scotiabank in a suite, and I- i don’t know what to do,” aryne started out strong, before fading off into a worry filled voice only a mother was capable of possessing. the operator said a few uninteligible words, before aryne finally spoke up, “yeah, i- i can meet you at the back of the arena. i’ll get the guards to help me move her. maybe we can get her a little responsive.

the second the call concluded, aryne ran to the hallway, jogging as fast as she could towards a few of the guards with bug in her arms. “please, help, i- bear is passed out and i don’t-“ and that’s all she got out before the two guards came back with a response of, “show us where she is mrs.tavares, and where we need to bring her.” and aryne quickly pivoted on her feet, hurriedly rushing back towards the suite, gesturing for the guards to follow. “she’s in here. and- and we have to get her to the back of the arena to meet the ambulance. also, if we- if we can get her a little responsive that’s a good sign it’s not serious,” aryne stuttered out, then fear of a mom leaking through her voice.

as the guards hoisted bears arms over their shoulders, she let out a few whimpers, making aryne’s shoulders sag in relief that maybe things weren’t that bad. but even though she let out a few noises, her head still hung limp.

as the guards made their way to the back of the arena, from the side of her eye she saw the boys running up, both reaching up to tug on aryne’s shirt/pants. “mama- where are they taking sissy? is she okay?”

aryne tilted her head to the side, slyly swiping at the tears that had leaked out in the commotion, before promptly squatting down to look axton and jace in the eyes. “sissy is going to be okay- she just took a little nap, but remember her shoulder?” the boys nodded their heads in response. “it’s not good for her to take naps without telling us because of it,” both boys mouths dropped in what seemed to be understanding, before jace peeped out, “so she’s going to be okay?” he questioned, concern for his big sister coming off of him in waves. “yeah she is baby. me and bug are going to go with her, and daddy and matty will bring you guys after the game, okay?” and both boys brightened up at the prospect of getting some one-on-one (or rather two-on-two) time with their favorite men.

the second she watched the two little bodies round the corner, she darted after the direction the guards took her unconscious daughter, already sick to her stomach at what could possibly be wrong with bear now.

when aryne reached the back of the stadium, she was met with the guards standing alert in front of a still unconscious bear- a sight that lit up aryne’s nerves once again. but she didn’t have to witness it for too long, as she seemed to have perfect timing, watching as the ambulance drove up to the back of the stadium.

the second the ambulance came to a stop, two ems workers threw the doors open, immediately making eye contact with aryne. “mrs.tavares?” the one on the left, a blonde haired female who’s badge read “amelia” questioned. “that’s me!” aryne responded quickly, simultaneously making her way towards a passed out bear who was leaned against the wall.

“i’m going to assume this is your daughter,” she starts, before aryne cuts in, “yes, this is barrett, barret tavares.”

the woman named amelia made her way towards bear, while the male, who’s badge she hadn’t been able to see, dug around in the back of the ambulance, seemingly preparing the bed for bear.

“is she on any medication?” amelia questions, checking bears heartbeat with her stethoscope. “she’s a week post op for a shoulder injury, and has been on a lot of medications. they just switched her to a new medication this week, actually.” amelia paused for a moment, gaining a thoughtful look on her face.

“has she ingested any alchol?” amelia questions, slowly starting to sit bear up, shining the light in her eyes to check their dialation. “no, her new medica-“ she pauses thoughtful. she vaguely remembered a glass in the suite sitting on the bar, with a lipstick stain that matched the color currently on barrett’s lips.

“oh” aryne states, eyes widening, breath quickening. at her moms distress, but started making a few upset babbles, making aryne rub her hand soothingly on bug’s back.

“yes?” amelia questions, as she gestures for the blonde male, who’s badge she can now read says “micheal”, to bring the bed towards her.

“i think she might’ve…” and aryne thinks again, remembering that she was the one that picked up the new medication. she’s the one that didn’t tell bear that she couldn’t drink.

this was her fault.

at that realization, her breath quickened again, her grip on bug tightening. “mrs.tavares, please calm down. it’s a simply instance of not reading the label. it can happen to anyone.” amelia speaks calmly as she and micheal work together to lift bear on the bed.

“we’re going to take her to the nearby hospital, and we’ll probably going to have to pump fluids in her. will you be riding with us?” micheal speaks up firmly as he rolls the bed now containing a limp bear into the vehicle.

“yes, i’ll ride along if that’s alright,” aryne says, taking a deep breath, re-situating bug on her hip, and climbing into the back of the vehicle.

the minute aryne sits down, micheal shuts the doors and flings himself into the drivers seat, taking off towards the hospital.

as the vehicle takes off, a thought crosses her mind…. she’s still got to text john and matthew.

OH FUCK

THIS BROKE ME

[saiakv]

closed starter ( I'm just weak ) : for @parieha

6:30am , Itadori family house.

The blade taps rhythmically on wood, orchestrating the carrot's dicing. It is chopped finally, then swept into a bowl with the dull edge, only for the next ingredient to come in view. The sizzling onions are overshadowed by the kitchen hood's hiss just as a portion of fluffy white rice is harvested from the cooker. All of the components come together in finely tuned motions, dainty fingers carefully wrapping seaweed in aluminum foil, never getting anything on the glimmering ring on their fourth finger.

The commotion concludes minutes later as the Husband enters the scene; Jin's tie is still loose after his wife hands him his bento and sends him off with a deep kiss. The sort that stops time in those romantic comedies he pretends not to like.

Ugh.

Sometimes, Kenjaku shocks themself with how many miniscule nuances of this man they have grown familiar with.

Once he is out the door, the real preparation begins. Aside from a teacher bringing it up once over a concerned phone call, Kaori is assured that most of the people in Yuji's life are not aware of his average caloric intake. The numbers keep adding in her personal diary — really, the archive for his growth measurements, which are taken on the daily, before breakfast.

( Even if the child inadvertedly spoke of those odd little rituals, it couldn't rouse concern. His mom was just quirky — a little eccentric after her near-fatal head injury. No one spoke about it at his school, as it would be improper to insult a woman like that. )

After the miso soup and the omelet and the salmon fillet and the rice with natto and the pickled plum had all been placed on the table ( the arrangement of sweets was for after ) Kaori moved to the inner staircase and leaned against a wooden poll to call out towards her son's bedroom.

❝ Yuji! Come down, dear, breakfast is ready! ❞ The plaster-smile lingered on her lips for a moment; and then no one came running down the stairs. ❝ — Yuji! You are going to be late for school! ❞ She waits a moment longer, unmoving features fixing on the last step up. Her hair dangles under her chin as it clenches. And just as she begins to climb up the stairs, every semblance of good-nature in her expression melts off into a statuesque deadpan. She ascends with the same grace to be found in a feline's prowl, her footfalls light down the hall and voice a little softer when she calls out again.

❝ ... Yuji? Are you up yet, little tiger? ❞

[ashibzoha]

The Strange Connection Between Sleep and Weight Loss

In our relentless pursuit of productivity and packed schedules, the act of securing a restorative night's sleep often becomes a luxury we can ill afford. We sacrifice precious hours of slumber in the name of work deadlines, Netflix binges, or the endless scroll of our smartphones. But what if we told you that the quantity and quality of your sleep are inextricably linked to your body weight? That's right—there exists a curious and captivating connection between the realm of sleep and the pursuit of weight loss. In this deep dive into the enigmatic relationship between sleep and shedding those extra pounds, we'll unravel the astonishing science that underpins this paradoxical phenomenon.

Deciphering Sleep Cycles: A Complex Ballet

To appreciate the complex interplay between sleep and weight loss, it is imperative to grasp the intricacies of sleep cycles. Sleep is no monolithic state but an ever-evolving process characterized by distinct stages. Two primary categories emerge: rapid eye movement (REM) and non-REM sleep. REM sleep, the stage where dreams unfurl their mysteries, stands as the guardian of cognitive function and memory consolidation.

The Weight Loss Enigma: A Scientific Prelude Before we embark on our exploration of the labyrinthine connection between sleep and weight, let's take a moment to cast a fleeting glance at the scientific essence of weight loss. At its core, weight loss revolves around the principle of expending more calories than one consumes. Yet, this simplistic equation barely scratches the surface of the intricate dance of hormones, metabolism, and behaviors that orchestrate our body weight.

Hormonal Chaos: The Sleep-Weight Nexus One of the pivotal mechanisms of knitting sleep and weight together is the profound impact of sleep deprivation on our hormonal orchestra. Sleep deprivation disrupts the delicate equilibrium of hunger-related hormones, ushering in an era of heightened ghrelin, the insatiable appetite stimulator, and a dwindling supply of leptin, the herald of fullness.

The Temptation Quandary: Sleep's Influence on Appetite It should come as no surprise that sleep deprivation often transforms us into seekers of solace in the arms of sugary, calorie-laden comfort foods. The loss of sleep casts a shadow over the prefrontal cortex, the commander of decision-making and impulse control, making the midnight snack a siren's call nearly impossible to resist.

Slumber's Subdued Metabolism: A Puzzling Twist Another fascinating facet of the sleep-weight saga is its compelling influence on metabolism. Sleep deprivation administers a sluggish blow to your metabolic furnace, rendering the calorie-burning process less efficient. This means that even if your dietary intake remains constant, sleeplessness may surreptitiously tip the scales toward weight gain.

REM Sleep: The Hero in This Tale In the constellation of sleep stages, REM sleep emerges as a luminary of unparalleled significance in the interplay between sleep and weight. During the reign of REM, your brain engages in a symphony of activity, choreographing increased incineration of calories and a mesmerizing breakdown of fat.

The Sleep-Weight Nexus: Fathoming the Fundamentals To plunge even deeper into the enigmatic alliance of sleep and weight loss, we must lay bare the foundations that underlie this complex relationship. Sleep is no pedestrian biological ritual but an intricately woven tapestry of stages, including the ever-elusive REM and the steadfast non-REM.

The Hormonal Web: Ghrelin and Leptin's Slumbering Dance At the heart of the sleep-weight connection, a hormonal waltz unfolds, guided by the enigmatic maestros, ghrelin, and leptin, the twin titans of hunger regulation. The potency of these hormones waxes and wanes, dictated by the tapestry of sleep's duration and quality.

The Modern Plague: Sleep Starvation In our brave new world, governed by relentless schedules and ceaseless connectivity, sleep often falls victim to our ceaseless pursuit of productivity, pleasure, and pixelated screens. The outcome? Chronic sleep deprivation—a relentless juggernaut that threatens to capsize our weight loss ambitions.

Unmasking the Silent Predators: Sleep Disorders As silent as shadows, sleep disorders like insomnia and sleep apnea prowl our nights, often eluding detection. Yet, their impact reverberates far beyond the realm of dreams, reaching into the domain of weight gain and obesity.

The Alchemy of Sleep and Hunger: Ghrelin and Leptin's Pas de Deux Delving deeper into the labyrinthine science of sleep and weight, let us embark on a voyage into the inner workings of ghrelin and leptin—two hormonal architects whose designs are profoundly influenced by the contours of your sleep patterns.

Slumber's Metabolic Symphony: An Ode to Renewal Sleep unfurls a clandestine yet magnificent symphony of metabolic rejuvenation. In the realm of dreams, your body undertakes essential repairs and restoration, rekindling your metabolic vigor and, paradoxically, fostering weight loss.

[aneeqa123]

V - The Night the Neon Lights Faded

The bass vibrated through Y/N’s chest, a physical manifestation of the energy thrumming through the packed club. Confetti rained down like a bizarre, glittery snowstorm, catching the shifting kaleidoscope of light reflecting off the sweating bodies on the dance floor. She laughed, the sound swallowed by the music, as Taehyung spun her around, his hand warm and secure on her lower back. He was a whirlwind of controlled energy, his dark hair slightly damp with sweat, his eyes shining with a mischievous glint.

They’d been together for two years, their relationship a carefully constructed balance of fiery passion and quiet intimacy. Tonight, however, felt different. A simmering tension, subtle yet palpable, hung in the air between them. It started innocently enough. A playful shove, a slightly sharper tone in their whispered conversations amidst the cacophony.

The tension intensified when a man, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that screamed wealth and confidence, approached their table. He was tall, with a disarming smile and eyes that lingered a little too long on Y/N. He introduced himself as Daniel, and his conversation was a carefully orchestrated blend of charm and subtle flattery. He complimented Y/N’s dress, her laugh, her… everything. Taehyung, usually the life of the party, remained unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on Daniel with a barely concealed intensity.

“You have exquisite taste in… companions,” Daniel said, his voice a low murmur that only Y/N and Taehyung could hear over the music. He leaned in, his cologne a sharp contrast to Taehyung’s more subtle, musky scent. Y/N felt a prickle of unease. Daniel’s attention was undeniably focused on her, and it was making her uncomfortable.

Taehyung’s hand tightened imperceptibly on her back. He didn’t say anything, but the shift in his posture was unmistakable. He was tense, coiled like a spring ready to unleash.

Daniel continued his subtle advances, weaving compliments into seemingly innocuous comments about the music, the club, even the weather. He subtly brushed his hand against Y/N’s arm, a fleeting touch that lingered just long enough to send a shiver down her spine. This time, Taehyung’s silence was broken by a sharp intake of breath.

“He’s really persistent, isn’t he?” Y/N whispered, trying to keep her voice light, but her words lacked their usual playful lilt.

Taehyung’s jaw was clenched. He took a long sip of his drink, the ice clinking softly in the glass, a sound that somehow amplified the growing tension. He didn’t answer, but his eyes, dark and stormy, never left Daniel.

The night continued, a slow, agonizing dance between flirtation and simmering jealousy. Daniel continued his pursuit, his attention unwavering, his compliments bordering on blatant. Taehyung, meanwhile, retreated into a stony silence, his usual warmth replaced by a chilling coldness. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t confront, but his presence radiated an unspoken warning.

The climax came when Daniel leaned in close, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "This place is too crowded. Perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere more… private?" he suggested, his hand lingering on Y/N’s hand a moment longer than necessary.

That was it. Taehyung’s carefully constructed composure shattered. He rose abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor, a sound that cut through the music with startling clarity.

"Oh come on, you and I knew exactly what he was doing," Taehyung said, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes blazing. He didn’t look at Y/N, his gaze fixed on Daniel, who looked slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

The air crackled with unspoken tension. Daniel, for the first time, seemed uncertain. He stammered a response, something about a misunderstanding, but Taehyung cut him off with a curt wave of his hand.

"I think we've had enough of this 'misunderstanding'," Taehyung said, his voice dripping with icy sarcasm. He pulled Y/N to her feet, his grip firm but gentle. "Let's go."

He didn't wait for a response, guiding Y/N through the throng of dancing bodies towards the exit. The music faded into a distant hum as they stepped out into the cool night air. The city lights, usually a dazzling spectacle, seemed muted, their brilliance dimmed by the intensity of the emotions swirling between them.

Outside, away from the pulsating rhythm of the club, Taehyung finally turned to Y/N. His expression was a complex mixture of anger, hurt, and a deep, underlying possessiveness.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now, the edge of anger replaced by a vulnerability that Y/N had rarely seen. "I just… I hate the idea of anyone else looking at you like that."

Y/N reached out, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "I know," she whispered, her voice laced with understanding. "And I hate that it made you feel like that."

He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her in a tight embrace. The night had been filled with tension, with jealousy, with unspoken words and simmering emotions. But in the quiet intimacy of the night, surrounded by the city's soft glow, they found their way back to each other. The neon lights of the club might have faded, but the flame between them burned brighter than ever.

The following days were a mixture of quiet introspection and tender reconciliation. Taehyung apologized again, acknowledging his overreaction, while Y/N reassured him of her feelings. They talked, honestly and openly, about their insecurities and fears, about the complexities of their relationship and the challenges of navigating a world where attention, both wanted and unwanted, was constantly vying for their attention. The incident at the club became a catalyst for deeper understanding, strengthening their bond and solidifying their commitment to each other. They learned to communicate their anxieties more effectively, to trust each other implicitly, and to navigate the occasional jealous pang with greater maturity and grace. The experience, though initially unsettling, ultimately served to deepen their love and strengthen their connection. The memory of the night, once a source of tension, became a reminder of their resilience and the unwavering strength of their love. The neon lights of that club might have faded, but the glow of their love shone brighter than ever before. And while the occasional jealous spark might flicker, it was now tempered by understanding, communication, and an unwavering commitment to their relationship. Their love story, once punctuated by a night of jealousy, continued to unfold, richer and stronger for the experience. The club, once a symbol of tension, became a distant memory, a reminder of how even the most intense emotions could be navigated and overcome with love, trust, and open communication.