#humidity regulator

[dirtytransmasc]

One of my head canons is that Navi (or at least the Omaticaya) can't thermo-regulate very well. They're so SKINNY, and both the places we've been to look to have very warm and temperate climates. It's just something that they never evolved to do because they never needed to. Humans thermo-regulate pretty well, and I think this ability would translate somewhat to the avatars.

This breeds some "Jake is weird" moments where everyone is getting out thick blankets and starting many warming fires because of a cold night or the onset of a cold season and Jake is just standing there like, "Y'all it's not even below 60 degrees" (I'm a fahrenheit person). Neytiri thinks she's struck gold because her Jake gives of body heat like nobody's business and is perfect to be next to on cold nights.

Spider, fully human, is even more of a personal furnace. The kids FIGHT over who gets to cuddle with him on cold nights. Meanwhile him and Jake are looking at each other like, "I feel like it could be way colder" "oh it can, on earth the rain turns into mini-ice when it gets cold" "damn" "yeah, this is way better"

I love this idea, it fuels me sometimes.

spider is like a personal heated pillow of sorts, cause not only is he warm as fuck compared to his siblings, but he's also very squishy compared to them, and in general (cause the kids buff as shit and muscle is super soft when not tensed up). I'd be fighting over him too, he'd gotta feel like a big teddy bear, even just to other humans, let alone the na'vi.

I like to think that in the case of spider being accepted by neytiri as a kid, him and jake were forced to sleep in the middle of the pile to keep everyone warm when they wanted to be edge sleeps so they could sorta cool off and not overheat. neytiri would also steal spider from the kids and hold him all night long cause she's his mom and she has first dibs on using her son as a personal space heater.

I do also love the idea of jake and spider constantly overheating when doing things the na'vi way, especially during the cooler months, cause while the na'vi are freezing at the absolutely frigid temps for mid to low 60s, jake and spider are like, at the optimal temp. so when they get blankets and shawls piled on them like everyone else, they're legit dying. they have to have their own system to regulating their human/avatar temp needs throughout the seasons, cause otherwise they will die of heat stroke.

I'd love to see the sully family explore even colder climates, like, jake and spider having fun in the snow, while the kids and neytiri are literally popsicles. both boys resign to their fates as human defrosters soon after.

[witchydykebitch]

I need it to be fall soon because the summer heat makes me want to peel my own skin off like I would a rotisserie chicken

[steddieas-shegoes]

Just had to tell my boss that a few pallets of products got moisture in them and are now unusable so I’m sure that’ll be a fun phone call that I’m super looking forward to

[manwithoutaspleen]

Man

[bubmyg]

pretty bitches of my collection update! birkenstock n bruno giving me new gorgeous leaves and hoshi being huge and wonderful <3

[alltherelicsofalifelonglived]

its gonna take someone dying of heat stroke to get the ac fixed i think

[nnctales]

Biochar Cladding in Construction

Introduction Biochar Cladding is a carbon-negative building material made from the pyrolysis of biomass. It can be used as cladding or insulation, offering improved thermal performance and reducing the building’s carbon footprint. Biochar can be utilized as a supplement for plaster or concrete blocks at a ratio of up to 80% when combined with mud, limestone, and cement mortar. This mixing…

[leitmotif]

got a star shaped carabiner so when it's finally cool enough out for me to actually care about how i'm dressing my butch swag will be off the charts :3

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

It’s summer again which means I get to play the game of “the air conditioning in some building is up HIGH but if I wear warm clothes I’ll die two seconds after stepping outside

[ohmygawdew]

i still can’t believe that i’m gonna see mcr tomorrow

[things-of-fire]

SilkWing metamorphosis takes a huge toll on the body. A dragonet has to grow an entire set of wings in only six days—how do they do it? Unlike caterpillars, SilkWings’ bodies don’t change enough to warrant turning into soup. Instead, the body enters a trance state, slowing down most metabolic processes except those needed to grow a pair of wings. Said wings are delicate, supported mostly by cartilage rather than bone. This makes them extra light and agile. A SilkWing’s cocoon regulates the humidity around them, creating an ideal environment for the growing and healing process. It also protects them from temperature fluctuations, lessening strain on the body.

Growing wings also takes energy. LOTS of energy. Prior to Wasp’s reign, SilkWing diets were well studied and pre-metamorphosis “bulking” was common practice. In the month or two leading up to metamorphosis, a SilkWing’s appetite increases tenfold. Communities would host small feasts and “foraging parties” for their dragonets to ensure a healthy transition. Candied nuts, grilled grubs, and pollen cakes were especially popular for their nutritional density. Unfortunately, contemporary medicine was dominated by HiveWings for decades, resulting in the erasure of this knowledge. Hungry SilkWing dragonets were brushed off as “needy” and metamorphosis recovery times increased. Without the energy stores, their bodies broke down essential tissues for energy, leaving many dragonets malnourished and sick after metamorphosing.

With the establishment of the LeafSilk kingdom, things have changed for the better. Cricket and Malachite have organized hundreds of dragons to search the wreckage of the Hives for books, documents, anything that tells the true history of Pantala. The elderly Flamesilks, now free, tell Blue stories from before the tree wars and fret over him like a grandchild. He always returns home well-fed. Mandrake pours over old field guides and maps, working with Sundew to restore the food sources Pantala thrived on all those years ago.

And when Dusky’s wingbuds start to grow, the Flamesilks put every dragon to work gathering food for a grand feast, the first of the Leafsilk kingdom.

[robiinurheart33]

I’m obsessed with ghost being obsessed with soap.

The way he knows tidbits and fun facts about soap is just unparalleled to everyone despite ghost seeming unbothered. They go on missions together more than anyone else in the task force or god forbid, any other military they’re working with. As much as military life would like you to believe, there’s just as much waiting and planning than there is executing.

Soap is notoriously not patient. Ghost is, but only when it comes to work. Anything else he doesn’t have the time nor patience to deal with it. Unless it comes to Johnny. But no one will ever know that except for Ghost himself. But back to the point, they’re mainly on missions together and they stakeout together, they hide in itchy bushes for hours together, they stay in each other’s space, no matter if they want the other to or not. Soap cannot keep his yapper shut for the life of him and he’ll go stir crazy if he has to stay still for 2 whole hours. So he talks. Whispers, really so as to not give their position away. Ghost is a professional after all, he can split his concentration between the mission and Johnny. It’s endurance training. (Or whatever he tells himself anyways.)

Soap doesn’t mind the mindless talking if it helps him concentrate, and if Ghost doesn’t seem to be bothered then it’s all good. He knows that he isn’t actually actively listening, which is okay. He’s not offended, per se, but he feels an uncomfortable tightness in his chest whenever he looks back at Ghost as if it were an actual conversation to be met with nothing. Soap is a professional and damn good at his job at that, so he doesn’t let that bother him. (He doesn’t.)

One hazy night, Soap and Ghost (Ghost and Soap) are staking out a warehouse across the street, a bone-deep exhaustion hangs in the air as they both slump in their seats near the open windows. Cicadas make themselves known and the humidity doesn’t let down even in the night. Soap’s eyes are hazy, blinking ever so slowly and almost slipping shut for good a few times before he jolts himself awake.

“Go to sleep, Sargent.” Sargent. Ghost’s rough but tired voice cuts through his mind as he slides open his eyes again, not knowing they were closed in the first place. He rolls his head over to Ghost, where he’s sitting rigidly upright. To anyone, it would seem like he’s the picture of alertness, eyes trained out the window, posture perfect. But to Johnny, he can see that his fists are clenched too tight, his gun is still strapped to his side, and he hasn’t even taken a shower yet, when Johnny already has.

Guilt pangs softly in his chest, and he purses his lips in thought. Ghost wouldn’t take a shower now seeing that Soap was so tired. He would probably stay up the whole night staring out the window, sweat trickling uncomfortably down his back but still endure it for the opportunity for Soap to rest. He isn’t stupid, he knows there’s something between them that they can’t name, a connection that isn’t quite friends, but crosses the line of professionalism. Whether Ghost knows that or not is still up in the air for grabs. He pushes himself off the chair with a soft groan, sliding his bare feet over the wooden floors to the bathroom. He splashes cooling water on his face and rubs his eyes, blinking harshly. He stares at Soap in the mirror, and Johnny bristles a bit. He looks like pure shit. His eyes are bloodshot and tired, eye bags threatening to pull his eyelids closed, and he hasn’t shaved in quite a few days. Definitely not up to military regulation. He doesn’t bother to clock in the rest of himself now, wanting to focus more on Ghost than himself.

He walks back out to the shared living room, which is also their bedroom and kitchen, and behind Ghost’s chair. He bends down to swiftly unclip his vest off.

“Wha’ are you doing?” He doesn’t even sound annoyed, just tired.

“Gettin’ all this shite offa’ ya.” Soap doesn’t need to look to know that Ghost is probably even more tired than him. His Lieutenant with all the responsibilities under the sky, and no one to share that burden with.

The vest falls with a heavy thump on the ground and Johnny continues to clatter the remaining knives and guns onto the table, right beside their haphazardly placed maps for future ambushes. He pulls a knife from the sole of his boot, and Ghost huffs in amusement.

“Didn’t know you knew about that one, Johnny.” He’s Johnny now.

“I know everything about you.” It scares him a bit how it slips out that easily, but it scares him even more that he doesn’t take it back.

Ghost’s eyes bore into the side of his skull as he throws the rest of the equipment onto the table, keeping a gun in the pocket of his cotton pants. Johnny juts his chin towards the bathroom, arms akimbo.

“Go shower.” he doesn’t bother with a jab now, God knows they’re both off the table for that. It’s come to a point in the night where jokes lay to rest and honestly is the only thing left to say.

Ghost doesn’t look like he’s going to move and Johnny won’t blame him. He knows how hard it is to leave your post, how you scream at your body to move but nothing works. Nothing happens. Johnny’s eyes eventually hone in on Ghost’s eyes, trying to get a grip of what he’s feeling at the moment. Brown. It’s stupid, but Soap’s never been good with all the metaphorical side of describing things. Ghost’s eyes are brown. It’s brown. And it looks soft around the edges, calm and present, moving ever so slightly as he looks back at him. And they look at each other. And Johnny melts. He wants to melt and be safe in Ghost’s eyes and there’s nothing wrong now, there can never be anything wrong. How could it when the stars and the moon crafted them to orbit around each other so perfectly and intimately? And how could anything go wrong when this is the most right Johnny has ever felt in his life?

He feels his hand rise like silk, cupping Ghost’s cheek, like he’s done it so many times before. He hasn’t. Johnny’s not so sure what makes tonight different, or what changed, but he doesn’t want to question it. He’s not jinxing or screwing anything up this time. The cheekbone of the plastic skull digs into the palm of his hand and Ghost’s eyes droop. His thumb drags up and down, up and down right under his eye, not breaking the eye contact he has with Simon. He watches in real time as his eyes dilate and flutter, his head tipping forward, as if he could feel his touch over the plastic and the balaclava. Before Simon’s head could fall forward, eyes finally closing, Johnny grasps his face with both hands, murmuring.

“Hey, big guy. Not yet.” Simon’s eyes open again, looking up at him and Johnny wants to cry at how desperately he wants him to just relax right now, but he knows that if he isn’t completely safe and comfortable he’s be screaming awake 2 hours later.

“Shower.” He whispers. Ghost seems to snap back into reality slightly, standing up straight and towering over Johnny once more. Like this, his eyes seem black in the shadows, and things are jagged and sharp again. He grunts once, stepping out of their safe bubble and sliding into the bathroom, closing and locking the door with a click.

Johnny sighs softly as he sits down on Ghost’s seat, the wood still warm as he looks out the window. The gun burns where it’s pressed against his thigh, but maybe that’s just the absurd heat at the moment. His eyes are trained on the warehouse, leaning his elbows on his knees and letting his mind drift off for a bit. There’s no one in the warehouse at the moment, and any movement would be extremely obvious in the dead of night so he figured it would be okay.

Johnny thought of his family. He thought of the soft yearning he felt whenever he wanted to be small and tucked in his mother’s arms again. he thought of how accepted he felt if one of his older sisters threw an arm around his shoulder. He thought of his home back in Scotland, an empty living room with an aging woman who would spend the rest of her life waiting for children that were not guaranteed to come back. The sadness plagued his mind whenever he was alone, wishing he could come back as soon as possible to his home. To what? Put on the obnoxious military persona and acting as if he were immortal to not worry his family? He knows better than that. He knows he’s soft and pliable, that no matter how many muscles he builds, his body will always cave to a bullet. He knows his family will always worry and he can’t do anything about it.

Ghost steps out of the shower and Soap’s thoughts dissipate, head tilting in his direction. He’s swapped his hard skull mask for a clean balaclava, traditional hoodie and sweatpants. He looks…domestic, in a way. A too big man standing in a too small hallway, hunched over and fatigue evident. Love, Johnny realises, comes in many shapes and forms, but it all takes root in the same place.

Simon lumbers over to stand behind his chair, eyes boring down to meet his. Their positions have swapped now, Simon looking down while Johnny reaches up to meet his. Love is a gentle thing. Soap realises with a calmness that shouldn’t be there that he couldn’t pick between his family and Simon. His family meant the whole world to him, but Simon was his sunlight and his saviour. They floated in a nice limbo between everything, Simon and Johnny. Johnny and Simon. Love is a gentle thing.

“Go to sleep, Johnny. you’re tired.”

“You don’t kno’ that.” He’s slurring.

“I know everything about you.” The line is thrown back into his face, and Johnny’s eyes widen. He can feel the butterflies in his stomach, twisting in an exhilarating way. He swallows and watches Simon stare at his Adam’s apple bob up and down, eyes crinkling. Johnny’s a bit speechless, partly due to overwhelming fondness and partly due to his body screaming for a rest. Simon cares. He cares for Johnny. He thinks about him. He cares. He cares. He cares.

Love is a gentle thing.

“Aye.” John whispers.

All is right in the world, because Simon cares and his mother is at home waiting for him, and he is loved. Johnny is told to sleep, and so he will.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season - Part 3

Storm Warning

Azriel Eris x Reader

We’ve got a time jump and are swapping points of view for this chapter y’all.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

3 months later

Eris Vanserra hated the Summer Court. The humidity anywhere outside of the temperature regulated zones of Adriata, the way his hair clung to his forehead and caused curls to form in his otherwise immaculate hair, but most of all it was just insulting to be so bothered by the heat itself when he quite literally had fire in his veins. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.

Tarquin strode alongside Eris through the open air lower levels of his keep, three of his guards and two of Eris’ own flanking them several feet behind, one could almost forget they were there if not for the “click clack” of feet echoing through the halls. Eris would be lying if he said he didn’t have to try very hard to focus on the mundane talk of trade routes and port authorities instead of getting lost to the sounds of crashing waves and gulls outside.

Tarquin broached the riveting subject of tariffs on imports from the continent as the first rumble of thunder boomed in the distance. Now that - Eris enjoyed that aspect of the court. Autumn had no shortage of rain but the turbulence of storms often mirrored his own inner peril - made him feel less alone in the world. And truthfully, there was nothing like taking cover from the rain and listening to the rumble outside, watching the lightning dance across the skies as the loud cracks of thunder commanded the attention of anyone within earshot.

“Have your people felt the same effects, High Lord?” Tarquin broke Eris from yet another drift of his thoughts. He really should have brought a secretary or advisor along for this meeting.

Sparing Eris from the embarrassment of asking Tarquin to repeat his last three minutes of speech a cry broke through the hall. The battle cry of a…. Child?

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Followed by a yelp of “ow!”

Eris’ head jerked as he found himself drifting toward the action.

Turning a corner he found a woman laying on the ground, curled into a ball - a child of no more than 10 with a large jagged stick standing over her with his chest puffed out, pure smug joy on his face.

Eris looked to Tarquin who only grinned with satisfaction. Eris gaped before Tarquin quietly whispered, “just watch.”

The woman didn’t move. The child’s look of satisfaction slowly turning to that of concern as she lay there. He bent over the woman placing a hand on her shoulder, his brows knit together. “Lady L/N?”

So focused on the woman on the ground before him, the boy didn’t notice her arm slowly sneak around him and “Oof!” The kid let out a startled breath as she grabbed his ankle, ripping it out from beneath him, effectively leaving the child on his behind.

The female lept up into a crouching position. Her tanned, muscled thighs pushing her up to stand effortlessly. “And that, little ones, is why you never let your guard down with an adversary.”

Eris turned, wondering how he could have missed the group of children sitting on the other end of the room watching the scene unfold.

The boy remained on his behind, hands resting on his forehead in defeat.

“Hey-“ She reached a hand out to help him up. “You did a great job. You quite literally swept me off my feet! Nobody has done that in quite some time.” She paused, sadness twisting her features as if her own words struck her before shifting back to that of a proud instructor. “In fact - I have something for you.”

She reached into the pocket of her calf-length, flowy pants and reaching handing him a shell. “Add this to your leather strap.” She tapped a leather bracelet on his wrist, one shell already strung on it. “You did great, kid.” The boy gave her a genuine smile as he returned to the rest of his classmates.

Eris shifted involuntarily. How much had he wished for someone to say those words to him when he was a child?

Tarquin chuckled “An excellent motivator. Shells. Who knew?”

Eris gave a small smile - brief but genuine before adjusting back into his usual mask. The instructor turned to face them and cauldron damn him if she wasn’t the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. Radiant skin that came from plenty of time in the sun, silky hair that practically begged to have fingers run through it, a soft and curvy yet toned build. A body that told him she indulged herself in what she enjoyed but was active enough to define her plush features, likely blessed with great genetics - lithe yet perfectly squeezable in all his favorite places.

“High Lord.” Her voice carried to him like an ocean breeze. She bowed her head in a respectful greeting, long lashes fluttering. “How may I be of service?”

“Lady L/N,” Tarquin beamed. “It’s a pleasure to introduce you to Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court.”

Her brow puzzled for a brief moment before bowing her head again. “It’s an honor to meet you, High Lord.”

“A pleasure to meet you as well, lady.” Eris replied sincerely, meeting her bright eyes. “I didn’t realize Tarquin was hoarding such beauty within his keep.”

“We have many treasures in our court, High Lord. She is one of our brightest.”

Rather than blushing, the female held her head high, giving a polite “Thank you, High Lord.”

“We must be getting to lunch now. Have a pleasant rest of your class, Lady L/N.” He turned to the children with a stern look “And children, behave for her.” following the reminder with a smile and cheeky wink.

—————

It was hours later that Eris was released from meetings for the day. Unfortunately, there was still more to be discussed that would have to wait for tomorrow. Making the way to his guest suite, Eris found himself wondering about the instructor from earlier. Something about her felt vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quite place it.

After changing out of his stuffy clothes into something more befitting of the climate, Eris paced his room. He’d forgotten how much longer daylight lasted here than in his own court, with several hours remaining before dusk. He supposed he could brave the heat and take a stroll through the palace grounds, preferably without his entourage of guards.

Relieving the pair from their duties, Eris wandered through the gardens and toward a small grove of trees on the other side of the palace grounds. He could hear running water from a garden tributary that likely connected into the river that emptied into Adriata’s harbor.

Sauntering through the grove, he was pleased to find reprieve from the heat, the cool air wafting off of the stream and shade from the trees turning the grove into a private oasis. It wasn’t particularly trekked through. “Finally.” he thought to himself. A moment of peace.

Situating himself on an iron bench, Eris looked up, only to find that through a thicket of cattails, Lady L/N was standing on a rock upstream, eyes closed and balancing on one leg. Given her steady, intentional breathing he supposed she was meditating. It was odd - seeing her like this - strangely intimate to see someone in such an isolated state of catharsis, unaware of his own presence before her. The sun rays shone through cracks in the leaves, shrouding her in tiny fragments of light that made her tanned skin near golden. Her hair was wind blown from the breeze winding through the grove off the ocean, and she’d changed into a thin cotton sundress. Gods, maybe the Summer Court wasn’t so bad after all. The way it effortlessly flowed over her body perfectly accentuating her ample curves, and those tanned, toned legs - yeah, he should probably leave.

After momentary internal warring he began to stand but before he could sneak off, she gasped. Clutching her arms to her rib cage. “MOTHER FUCKER!” she screamed. Vulgar words coming from such a pretty mouth.

What an interesting method of meditation.

She took several breaths before resuming her position. Another minute went by when she audibly growled. “Bastard!!” She clutched herself again, keeling over. Finally she sat down on the rock, the hem of her dress soaking in the stream’s rippling water, and pressed her head into her hands. Eris thought she was crying.

He really should leave but - memories of his mother crying over the years flashed into his mind. All the years that she only had he or Lucien to console her, kindered spirits brought together by Beron’s casual cruelty. His other brothers being the emotionally void carbon copies of their father they were, paid no mind to their mother’s plight.

Yet still, he didn’t know her. She didn’t know him. She likely didn’t want him bothering her.

Against his better judgement, he found himself drawn in by her familiarity and approached. As he drew closer, he realized her sobs were not sobs at all. She was muttering the raunchiest, most vile slew of curses that he’d ever heard. Lucien would enjoy this female.

As he approached, she jerked her head up. The lovely, collected face from earlier twisted into one of contempt. He wondered if she knew that, that face was, well, adorable like a fierce little kitten. Although, something told him to tread carefully. She may look adorable but he’d bet good coin that her bite matched that of a lions.

“What do you want?” She spat.

Eris only smirked. “And here I thought you were a lady.”

Baiting her. Genius idea, Eris.

“Only within the palace.”

“You’re still on palace grounds.” Shrugging with the statement, Eris put his hands in his pockets - damn these Summer Court linens really were comfortable.

“Well, I was alone until you intruded.” she murmured, not meeting his eyes.

“Did you win Tarquin’s good graces with such manners?”

Her expression filled with ire as she looked up at him. “Did you take your throne by being such a prick?”

Eris couldn’t help but laugh at her bravado. This female either REALLY didn’t like him or truly didn’t care about consequences. “Ah, so you do know who I am.”

“You’re a High Lord. Of course I know-“

Her words cut off as she clutched her ribs again, tighter this time. A shudder escaping her. This time the pain seemed to last longer. And this time he could have sworn her voice cracked as she swore.

“Hey” Eris stepped into the creek, not bothering to step out of his sandals. Before he could hesitate he crouched down before her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Breathe.”

The thing was, he recognized that pain well. It has been centuries but damn he remembered it so clearly.

“Breathe through it. Think of something that makes you smile.”

She clutched herself harder, shaking her head. “Think of the look on your student’s face when you gave him that shell today.”

She breathed in deeply this time instead of letting out another curse.

“Good. Hold for three beats.”

“Now let the breath out.”

She breathed out. “In again.” He instructed. She followed suit. “Now out.”

As her breath steadied, she met his eyes - momentarily soft, a little broken, before ire crossed them again.

“For fucks sake, High Lord.” She spat. “I came here to meditate. I know how to breathe.”

She sure as shit seemed to have forgotten how to for a moment there, but he kept that to himself.

He only let out a soft laugh.

“There she is.”

She scowled in return.

“So, Lady L/N” he began, standing and extending a hand to help her up.

“Y/N.” She interjected, taking his hand. “Call me Y/N.”

Y/N. Fitting, he thought. The kind of name a tropical storm would be given.

Wait. Y/N L/N. Oh, he knew exactly why she was so familiar now. No wonder she’d given him that puzzled look in the palace. And, if Eris recalled correctly, his brother actually was rather fond of her - in a friendly and platonic sort of way. Though in his tales of the Night Court he’d certainly never mentioned the fact that she looked like a gods damned deity.

He led her out of the creek, not quite ready to drop her delicate hand. “So, Y/N, tell me about this idiot mate that let the Summer Court’s brightest treasure go.”

She gaped, jaw dropping into a look of genuine shock. “How-“

“I had one too. I believe you know her.”

—————

Eris and Y/N spent hours talking in the grove. He gave her all the details of his mate, Morrigan. How it killed him to leave her that fated day. Had he touched her, his mate, Beron would have claimed her as Autumn Court property requiring a Blood Duel for the Night Court to retrieve her. Though, Beron would have ensured she never left unharmed. That aside, Eris didn’t want that blood on her hands, the blood of a blood duel or any battles over her. He didn’t want it on his hands either. It killed him to feel her pain down the bond starting from their forced engagement and through the torture her father had inflicted upon her, and the trauma that lingered thereafter. The gut-wrenching, immobilizing pain that only a mate could feel shooting through to them.

He never wanted her to feel that pain. If it hurt him that badly to only feel it down the bond, he couldn’t imagine the strife she’d felt. He wanted to run to her, to comfort her, to tell her everything he couldn’t risk saying. He was too young to face the ramifications from his father and he had his mother and Lucien to protect in those days. So he protected her in the only way he knew how to at the time. Through cold, calculated indifference. He still regretted it.

As time went on, the mask he wore became heavier and heavier, burying that bond deeper within himself. It took him until after the war with Hybern to finally lay it all out to her. Y/N never knew any of that part of the story. She knew Mor and Eris had made amends but nothing of their bond, and she knew that Mor was happily committed to Emerie, an Illyrian female now. He was happy for his mate, as happy as a rejected mate could be.

Eris never claimed to have been in the right. In fact, what he did to Mor was wrong. The way he spoke to her as if she was no more than a common whore when facing her in front of his father at the High Lord’s meeting. Yes, it was an act but it was never okay. He’d live with that for the rest of his days. His apologies to her since never felt like enough.

Y/N empathized with Eris. He could see that she was torn but her gaze toward him softened although, never into that of pity. He liked that about her.

She shared the story of her mating bond with Azriel. And how the waves of anger and grief down the bond had increased in strength recently as she had continued healing. She laughed bitterly at the typical trajectory of females in her situation getting better over time while unfaithful males seemed to spiral as it went on. She didn’t say who he had cheated on her with but Eris had his suspicions. The Shadowsinger apparently had a thing for Vanserra mates. She laughed and cried over the hours they talked. They’d eventually ended up back in a palace seating area for a drink.

Eris hadn’t been so open with someone like this in so long that it felt foreign. Hell, opening up always felt unnatural for him. Perhaps he was stupid for sharing with her. After all, mating bonds could make people do crazy things. She could always take Azriel back and share the details of his little sob stories with the Night Court.

She’d occasionally let out a sharp breath as small jolts of emotion came rolling in. It was nearing dusk when she finally huffed, slapping her hands on her thighs saying, “Enough! This tea is weak. I need something stronger.” Pouring them each a glass of brandy, and another, and another.

As the conversation shifted from the heavier topics to lighter ones, Eris let it slip that he wasn’t fond of the summer court and found all of the sand and humidity to be unpleasant at best.

Her inhibitions were down and if Eris were being honest with himself, his were too. He hadn’t drank much since becoming a High Lord though he often felt the need for a stiff drink. No, there was too much work to be done and he was still getting his own inner circle acclimated. Trust was harder to give in the Autumn Court, especially after being under his father’s rule for so long. There were plenty of good people in the castle but just as many were corrupted under Beron’s rule. Weeding them out was consuming more of his time than anticipated.

Somehow, after their fourth drink, Y/N dragged him out onto the beach, determined to show him all the merits of the crusty, sand-infested shores.

Admittedly, her joy was contagious but he was going to make her work for any positive reaction.

“Okay!” She eagerly squealed. “First - sand castles! Have you ever built one?”

“I live in a castle.” Eris feigned boredom, inspecting his nails. “It seems unnecessary to build one out of… that.” his nose scrunched up, lip curling into a sneer as he gestured to the sand surrounding them.

“Ughhh.” Her eyes rolled back into her head as her little sun dress blew in the wind. And damn if he wouldn’t love to see her eyes going back into her head like that in other circumstances.

He was a gentlemale but a male nevertheless.

“Being High Lord doesn’t mean you have to be such a bore, but fine… No sand castles. Maybe next time!”

Next time. He liked the thought of that. My how far she’d come from practically snarling at him just this morning.

“Look!” She squealed, bringing her hands to her chest and clapping with excitement. “Dolphins! Now I know you don’t have those in the Autumn Court, Eris Vanserra.”

Fuck, his name sounded so good coming off of her lips.

He couldn’t resist smiling at her enthusiasm and then at the dolphins. They swam so peacefully in a pod through the harbor. One even let a young water wraith trail alongside it as a hand carefully gripped onto its dorsal fin as the creature pulled her along.

“The wraiths and dolphins coexist well together.” Y/N mused wistfully. “There’s a common misconception that they are territorial due to food supply but they have plenty in the harbor.”

She smiled softly. “The younger wraiths tend to bond with them and the dolphins have even been known to protect them from certain dangers.”

As the pair continued walking along the shore, the conversation occasionally faltered as Y/N would stare off distantly, as if looking for something that wasn’t there.

His heart ached for her. From what he’d gathered during their talk, she’d left the Shadowsinger, but the heart is slow to heal after losing a mate in any capacity.

Eris nudged her with his shoulder. “Hey little minx, where’d you go?”

Coming back to reality she halted. “Oh! Oh my gods. The sun is setting and you have to come with me! Hurry.”

She grabbed his wrist and he didn’t hesitate to follow along as she all but dragged him down the beach. “Hurry! We’ll miss them!”

They ran until reaching a secluded inlet of the bay. They climbed up a small rocky ledge where she sat, dangling her feet over the edge. “There’s an underwater cave-“ she breathed heavy, catching her breath. “here, beneath us and every night-“ another pause to breathe. “something magical happens as the sun sets.”

Eris, catching his own breath, waited patiently for more details but she only dropped a small pebble into the water and as she did, a rainbow of luminescent fish rippled to life below the surface. There had to be thousands of them, leisurely swimming out of the cave as if they were just waking up. Shades of bright pink, green, blue, orange, and purple lit up the small inlet. Eris was awestruck, so awestruck in fact that he didn’t hesitate planting his ass next to her on the crusty sand-coated ledge.

With a wave of her wrist she pulled a bottle of rum out from the pocket realm, tugging the cork out with her teeth and taking a swig, then handing it over to him.

They sat in silence as the remaining fish left the inlet and the remaining colors of the sunset disappeared into night. Clouds began rolling in as they drank and began chatting again. Much like that morning, thunder rolled in but this time he was disappointed to hear it. He didn’t want the evening to end, wasn’t ready to let her go quite yet.

He wished he’d had a warning before the ocean winds blew this wild, beautiful storm into his life that morning. Something to brace himself against the inevitable fallout of the precarious situation he found himself in. It was a storm he was prepared to ride out and he had a feeling it would be worth whatever debris she’d leave him with.

The base of the distant thunder rumbling, the cymbal-like crash of waves on the shore, and singing of the creatures of summer nights blended together into a beautiful melody that flowed through Eris. Quickly he stood, extending a hand to her. “Dance with me, Y/N?”

She froze, that distant look crossing her eyes again for a second. He braced himself for her decline but the life returned to her eyes as a smile graced her full lips. She accepted his hand and didn’t hesitate as he tucked her into his chest, her warmth and scent lulling him into a state of bliss.

No, Eris Vanserra did not hate the Summer Court at all.

————————

This was a long one and I know it wasn’t from our girls POV but I hope you all enjoyed it 🥹 Stay tuned for more! Her story is not done yet.

Tags:

@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study

[nothorses]

So I'm thinking of going on low dose T, and ofc I'll get more feedback from doctors when I see them, but I know one of the changes is that you run warmer and have lower heat tolerance, and I'm already kind of heat sensitive (sweating is a sensory ick). Do you or your followers have any kind of coping strategies that have helped with that?

I ran warm before, too, and I'm definitely warmer now! I also have Raynaud's which kind of makes the whole experience a clusterfuck, but that's besides the point. lmao.

I live in a pretty cool/temperate area, so it isn't normally an issue except in the (increasingly horrible) summers, but I've found that the hardest time to stay cool has been at night. I share a bed with my partner who runs even warmer, and it's been 2.5 years of struggling to figure out how to be a comfortable temperature together.

The best advice I can give you is to just stay as far away from synthetic fibers as you can; "sweat wicking" and "cooling" and "athletic" stuff included. It's a lie. They're all plastic, and while they might feel cool to the touch at first, plastic doesn't breathe. It'll trap heat and moisture against your skin after enough time, especially in the form of blankets. (Fuck the Rest Evercool. Worst recommendation I've ever gotten.)

Look for 100% linen, or 100% cotton. I've heard wool also works well, but I haven't had luck with that personally. Woven fabrics are going to be cooler and more breathable than sateen, and waffle weave is like, the single most breathable weave afaik (it's more common in blankets, but some clothes are waffle).

Some of these things can be pretty scratchy at first, and I recommend a couple of washes on a high heat & some fabric softener before you start using them. We were able to break in our waffle blanket super quickly this way! (I know some folks recommend against softener for breathability reasons, but it's the only thing that actually worked for us, and it hasn't impacted breathability). After you break them in, though, cotton and linen fabrics are SUPER soft!

I also recommend staying away from leather. It's natural, but trust me: it's not breathable. It's coveted in outdoor rec spaces BECAUSE it's somewhat waterproof.

Outside of that, I'd really encourage you to lean towards multiple light layers that you can change/remove throughout the day to suit your needs (ex: light tee + fleece + wind/rain layer, maybe throw in a flannel somewhere), instead of one or two heavy ones (ex: shirt + big puffy cold weather jacket). It's a strategy common in the PNW that works great for regulating your temperature when you're dealing with humidity and somewhat unpredictable weather, and imo, it also really translates if you're just generally sensitive to heat and sweat.

Outside of that... depending on where you live, I really recommend having an AC/dehumidifier. Don't bother with trying to rig up a swamp cooler if you're sensitive to sweat- the increased humidity will make things worse. The general advice I heard when researching a good AC was that window units will always be more efficient than portable units (and a mini split is better than either), but if you have to go with a portable unit, go with a dual-hose. They'll be more efficient just because they don't create a vacuum that pulls in warm air from outside. This is the model we settled on- it was really highly recommended and cost effective for what it is, and it's been absolutely fantastic this summer.

Idk how you are about pits, but I wash mine with a benzoyl body wash and then use a deodorant with antiperspirant every day, and I virtually never smell or sweat. 🤷‍♂️ ymmv though

I'm sure folks will have things to add, so check the notes on this post- and good luck!

[risuola]

LOOKS LIKE WE'RE SNOWED IN FOR THE NIGHT — F. READER x KAMO CHOSO, with whom you got stuck in a cabin

A fireplace, a nice blanket, a bunch of snow and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree… for some it might sound like a perfect way to spend the night during the festive season, but not when you’re stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with your biggest enemy. And it’s cold.

cw: smut, enemies to lovers, oral (f. receiving), angst-ish vibe, death mentioned (I put it as a warning, but honestly, if you're into jjk you're probably used to it, just sayin'), reader discretion is advised — 2,9k words

kissmas masterlist

“Looks like we’re snowed in for the night,” Choso pointed, making few futile attempts to push the doors open. “I can force the way out but I doubt you’re gonna survive it.” He added, venomous tone evident in his otherwise calm and low voice.

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. This is horrible, you thought, it couldn’t possibly get worse than that. The cabin, secluded and nestled deep in the woods, once a welcoming refuge from the cold, was now a claustrophobic cage trapping you and Choso inside. The doors, blocked by the snow piled high behind them were impossible to open and the windows – old and grime-stained – covered with ice, offered no escape. The interiors, now cleared out of the cursed spirit that resided in here scaring the owners away, were as cozy as they could be with warm colors of the creaking wooden floors and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, that funny enough was the only thing that still was working inside. The furniture was faded and worn-down by the humid air, the cobwebs decorating every corner.

The task at hand was simple enough – get in, exorcise, get out – but the snow and the cold were making everything more difficult, not to mention the man you had to share the experience with. It was a part of introducing the Death Painting into the jujutsu society and a silent attempt to make the two of you fonder of each other, but the result proved itself to be starkly different, when you got stuck with him for the night, or god knows how long.

“Damn,” you groaned finally, realizing there’s nothing you can do to make the situation better. No escape, no signal, not even a goddamn kettle that would work.

“Looks like you’re really screwed, huh?” Choso mocked you, a smirk twisting his features because he knew – he just knew that you’re not gonna make it through the night and though he enjoyed the idea of watching you freeze to death, he involuntarily threw some more wood into the fire to keep it alive.

“I’m perfectly fine, fuck you,” you snapped, glaring at his stupid handsome face from your place across the room, hoping silently that maybe once in this world a glare could kill.

You and Choso had always been on opposite sides. Your fights always end up in blood, there was little to no respect between you two, and though in a fight you two were able to work together, outside of it, it was a much different story. You just couldn’t stand each other, you could never put a finger on the reason why, but you just never clicked. Always having different opinions, always too stubborn to let go and not even once agreeing on a plan of work. You trusted him just enough to know he will most likely not kill you in your sleep.

Now, as the sound of the howling wind outside was constantly reminding you on the dire situation, the storm outside showing no signs of letting up, the pressure between you and him seemed to reach a breaking point. At first, you moved through the cabin, walking back and forth, avoiding each other’s gaze and trying to ignore the fact you were trapped together. “Sit quiet and stop being annoying,” you growled at him, hating the way he was sprawled comfortably on the little sofa while you were feeling more and more cold as the hours were passing by. Kamo and his damn temperature regulation.

You had been fighting constantly since you arrived, each blaming the other for the predicament you were in. You argued and hurled insults at each other, both trying to assert dominance over the other. You were constantly on the edge, you bickered until both of you were that close to exploding. You fought about everything, from the mission to the tiny space you were forced to share. You could barely stand the sound of each other’s breathing, much less the sight of each other’s faces and the constant, near proximity. It was only a matter of time one of you snapped.

It felt claustrophobic, nearly – the way only four walls were surrounding you and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite navigate yourself through the treacherous environment. You had no idea what exactly was oh-so wrong with this place. A desolate cabin with nothing but cold air and the palpable tension between you and Choso was slowly taking a toll on you. Harsh winter wind howled outside and it was clear that your spirits matched its bitterness. The twinkling, colorful lights adorning the mismatched Christmas tree in the corner did nothing to warm up the bleakness of the place.

Hours passed and you got tired of the banter. Choso noticed how slowly you became, quiet, less talkative. It became easier and easier to outsmart you as the cold was taking a toll on your body. Your retorts were less sharp, a little delayed as the temperature went even lower along with the night progressing.

“You’re gonna die in here?” He asked, his tone as nonchalant as ever, but it was getting to him that you might actually die that night. It was fun while it lasted and you did an excellent job in making him believe that you’re gonna survive the night, that you’re fine. He allowed his eyes, that up until that point were closed as he was resting on the sofa, to look at your form. You were shivering, seated on the furry carpet near the fireplace and though you were as close to the heat as it was possible, it didn’t do much to help you. Your breath was visible and you were constantly rubbing your hands together in hopes to stop them from going numb.

“I’m fine,” you said again, your voice much punier than you intended it to be and Kamo found it amusing how you forced yourself to sound strong, when in reality, you were so small and weak and vulnerable.

“Oh, are you?” The question had mocking qualities that Choso couldn’t hold back. “You know, all it takes is for you to ask nicely and I might consider warming you up.”

“Fuck you.” Oh, you were so stubborn. He shrugged and kept observing you.

The cabin fell quiet. The air was thick with tension and the only sounds were the occasional drip of water from the ceiling, crackling of fire in the fireplace and the soft tickling of a clock. The rattling of the windows in the wind accompanied the cacophony.

“Isn’t the big, strong sorceress now uncharacteristically quiet?” He joked once again, and you could have sworn that even in the freezing cold, he had an ability to make your blood boil. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I miss the times when paintings were not talking,” you retorted, wrapping yourself tighter in the imitation of a blanket you found laying around. “You have no idea how much I’d love to exorcise your half-cursed ass.”

“As if you were ever gonna be strong enough to put a harm onto me,” he said, pushing himself up from the couch. “Besides, you might wanna pick your words carefully. You’re at my mercy right now.”

“I’d rather be eaten by a polar bear than be at your mercy.”

“Oh, that would be a cool death, right?” He laughed, a taunting tone piercing the air and your soul, it seemed. “Or a curse. It would sound much better in the report later if I told your friends that you lost your life in battle, with bravery and strength, yeah? For sure it’s more appealing than a lame reason like freezing to death.”

“Oh, shut up…” you sighed, leaning your cheek on one of your knees. You kept them tightly pressed to your chest, a desperate attempt of storing any leftover heat along your torso, but it did little to nothing. “Come on, get your ass over there.”

“I already told you, you have to ask me nicely.”

“That’s as nice as I’m gonna get.”

“So that’s as close as you’re gonna get me,” he smirked, teasing you beyond decency, well aware of how delicate was a situation you were now in. To him, cold was nothing more than an inconvenience. In all honesty, he could break the doors open and just go through the snow during night and he would be just fine, but you… it was a different story and truth is that he stayed in the cabin only because of you.

“Choso, please, don’t be a dick, I’m freezing to death, literally,” you whined, forgetting about your pride and prioritizing the survival. “Please?”

“Much better,” Choso chuckled and moved from the sofa to the floor, sitting behind you with his legs on both sides of your frame. “Loosen up a little,” he ordered, throwing away your blanket and as his arm sneaked around your waist, he pulled you into himself, your back now pressed against his chest.

“Oh god…” you whimpered, shifting your position and wrapping yourself around him. He was hot and it felt like the heat was emitting from him, seeping onto you the moment you made contact with his muscular frame. You pushed your face against his neck, nuzzling your cold nose into his warm skin.

“Aren’t you a greedy little thing?” He commented, putting on an indifferent, snarky mask but inside, he was feeling things. It was odd, it was new. He wasn’t exactly an expert in romantic situations, in fact besides few really brief adventures with women, it was the first time he was actually somewhat intimate. Choso’s mind was in a limbo, trying to fight the thoughts of his body which were going crazy. The way your frame fit so closely to his, the way you turned your face and melted into him… it was almost too much. Thoughts raced around his head a mile a minute.

“Aren’t you a scrooge for letting me freeze while you’re that hot?”

“Well, I’m your partner on the job, not your personal heater,” he shrugged, allowing his hand to run along the curves of your waist and hip. “Also, I’d assume that the low temperature is a natural habitat for a cold bitch like you.”

“Ouch,” you acted hurt but couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “I have a great idea, why don’t you shut up?”

“Oh, did that sting you, princess?”

„I’m serious, you should shut the hell up,” it was a mumble, an unharmful one, but Choso must have gotten a different impression.

It was a flash. It took you few seconds to even register what just happened and once you did, you were already helpless beneath him. The soft, furry carpet now tickling you in the face as Choso kept you, chest down and pinned to the ground. It annoyed you how easily one of his hands kept both of your wrists pushed up above your head. You felt his weight on top of your thighs, his crotch pressed tightly to your ass and his other hand supporting his weight on the wooden floor.

“Now, if you’re gonna act like a brat, I’m gonna treat you as one,” he said, his voice low and close to your ear as he leaned down and gathered some of your hair to the side to uncover your face to his eyes. Your hopeless pulls and wriggles did nothing to loosen up his hold. If anything, his fingers only tightened their grip around your wrists.

“Get off me,” you groaned, trying to find your way out of the situation, but the movements of your body seemed to make it worse. The man hummed darkly, aiming a mean slap at your ass.

“Stop wiggling,” he warned, smirking at the way your body tensed for a moment. He couldn’t tell what’s gotten him into such a playful mood. Maybe it was all the thick air between you two finally exposing its true colors – something once filled with anger and hostility, now crackled with an undeniable sexual tension.

“Did you just slap me?” You couldn’t believe it, but you’d sooner be dead than you’ll admit out loud that it somehow felt good.

“I did,” he said nonchalantly. “You whined you’re cold, huh? Well, guess I’ll have to warm you up for real,” Choso added, now grinning mischievously. “Be a good girl, I know you can do it. Now I’ll let go of your hands and you’ll turn around, yeah?”

You hummed in response, not really sure what’s gotten into him but you were far from minding it so you flipped to your back as soon as he gave you a chance. Still on top of you, Choso kept a controlling grip over your hip, his touch burning your bare skin over there.

The fire crackled and flickered, casting warm, dancing shadows on the two of you but you couldn’t tell if the sparkle in his eyes was a reflection of it or just pure lust. The latter, you thought, catching his gaze as it scanned your form, paying a little more attention to your lips, chest and the little strip of skin that showed from underneath your blouse.

Kamo was enticed by you, fascinated even, by the way his body was suddenly yearning for you. The unusual desire overflown his senses and he found himself inching closer and closer, until he was just one, mere breath away from your mouth. He could feel you gasp, see the look of your eyes and if he wouldn’t know better he would be convinced there was lust in them too.

“Nervous?” He whispered, with a slight shadow of teasing painted all over his stupidly handsome features. His nose, now brushing against yours initiated the touch, a prelude of sorts to what was going to come and Choso chuckled at the lack of response from you. It was, in a way, an opening for you to push him away, to set a boundary, to lay down the consent but you made no effort to do any of that. Instead, you let your fingers to find his hair and once you pulled at them, there was no going back.

His lips pressed into yours. The kiss and the heat from your bodies warmed the cold air around you, melting the icy tension that lingered between you as you, too, melted below him. The time seemed to slow down and the melody of howling wind and fire was now a white noise to the soft sounds and whimpers you were making. Your mouth parted and Choso took the invitation eagerly, running his tongue along your lower lip and reaching yours. They twirled and twisted, danced and explored each other and you swore at the moment that the world around you had fallen away.

It didn’t take long since you were bare, completely exposed underneath his muscular body; the cold air around you a stark contrast to the extreme heat that was coming off of Choso. He was all around you, exploring your shapes with touches so tender, you couldn’t help but feel worshipped. The way he touched you, the way he kissed and drank every inch of your skin made your heart rumble against your ribcage. He went down, tracing the ups and downs of your figure with wet, sloppy stamps of his lips until he reached your thighs – both of which he kissed with as much attention.

It was intoxicating. Kamo felt as if everything around him twirled and he was drowning in the soft feeling of your plush skin. The curves of you filled every bit of his mind. Addicting, you were, so addicting he couldn’t find a strength to pull back and before he knew it, his tongue was already lapping at your clit. The beautiful melody of your moans filling his ears as he worked his mouth over the puffy bud, sucking and licking simultaneously. Waves and waves of pleasure you felt, spreading from your core and reaching every part of you. It was hot, it was like nothing else you’ve ever experienced.

“Oh god, Choso~” you were whining, a surprise to you cause up until this time you would swear you’re not the one to make such lewd noises during sex. All of that went out the window when it came to the man between your legs. He was flicking his tongue, twirling it and pressing it flat; every movement centered and focused, sharing one objective – to abuse the most sensitive, sweet spot on your body. He took his time, it was wet and sloppy, it was messy. The silky sensation of his tongue, warm and soft… oh, man has a talent.

Your breath was stuttering, hands grabbing the fluffy fibers of the carpet as your thighs were trembling and the urge to squeeze them over Choso’s head was slowly becoming irresistible. The way he was making out with your clit drove you insane, it brought you to the edge and pushed you over. You came undone and you came hard. He wasn’t stopping, just slowing down and leading you through the high as if it was his job and the very core of his existence.

“Feeling warmer?” He asked, once slowly coming back up above you. His face was now a real painting, covered with your essence and his lips, swollen and wet, stretched into a grin of satisfaction as he was taking in the sight of your breathless form. You nodded, barely registering the subtle teasing undertone he had in his voice. “Good. But I’m going to make you even hotter.”

[becca-e-barnes]

"Here comes trouble."

Getting back to the 'Shit He Said' series because I've been missing it and you've said some truly wonderful shit recently.

This one is pure fantasy. I'm fully just indulging myself and I'm okay with that. I've thought about this way too much.

Pairing: CEO!Bucky x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Semi-public, vaginal fingering, dom Bucky, sub reader, power imbalance, degradation, choking, penetration, creampie, this is bound to be so unhygienic irl but I can enjoy the thought leave me alone 😩

Summary: You manage to find some time for a quickie with the CEO

For some extra vibes: “Out Of My Mind” by The Killers

Minors, do not interact

Heat meets you the second the door opens but you only feel the true intensity of it when you’ve stepped inside and closed the door behind you.

Everything is hot.  Stiflingly, oppressively hot.  Even the glass panel of the door is warm under your touch.  Between the humidity and the ambient lighting, your eyes struggle to focus.  Taking a seat inside seems like a good idea.  Sit down before you fall down.  

It’s impossible to get a deep, satisfying breath.  The air feels so heavy, water droplets forming on your bare skin, clinging to your eyelashes and dripping from the ceiling onto your hair.  As the seconds pass, you feel your body begin to adjust.  Your breathing starts to regulate, albeit faster than usual.  You succumb to the weight in the air, taking a seat on the wet bench to the left of the door.  You close your eyes for a few moments in an attempt to shield them from the heat, breathing in the fresh scent of eucalyptus essential oil.

“Here comes trouble.”  Fuck.  You hoped this might happen but you hadn’t fully let yourself believe it was actually a possibility.  Your eyelids flutter open again, looking in the direction of the voice but you don’t need to see the silhouette of the person sitting at the back of the room to know who had spoken.

“Hello, you.”  He speaks again, low and soft and this time you’re more focused on ensuring you’re alone.  A quick scan of the room and it’s empty, save the two of you.

“I didn’t think you’d be down here!”  You feign innocence.  It’s a lie.  You knew he would.

He’s always been wonderfully talented at seeing right through you.

“I mentioned earlier that I might go try out the steam room.”  He’s right; he did.  These work trips get awfully long sometimes and it’s hard to keep your head in it without giving yourself a break.  In fact, you’re surprised more of your colleagues aren’t down here taking some time to themselves.

“Might.  I had no way of knowing you actually would.”  You’re not wrong.  Nor is he.  It’s an elaborate dance around the fact that you’re both now exactly where you want to be.

God, he’s gorgeous.  His usually soft, fluffy hair has drooped under the weight of the steam, curling a little.  Droplets of water roll slowly down his bare chest, meeting at the waistband of his swimwear but the condensation gathering on his body makes his skin look slick and kissable.  Your thoughts wander, daydreaming about how you’d love nothing more than to trail your tongue down his chest in the wake of those droplets until you’re able to sink to your knees in front of him and find a better use for your mouth.

“Stop thinking.  Get over here.”  He perhaps doesn’t mean to sound as sharp as he does but with time being of the essence, he’s not wrong to be demanding.  Anyone could walk in any time now so you might as well use the time you have wisely.

You’re so eager it’s difficult to slow yourself down.  Within seconds, you’ve moved to the bench at the back, beside Bucky and his lips are on yours before you even realise it.  They’re soft and plump, his mouth tasting faintly of the coffee you saw him drinking earlier. His tongue rolls gently against your own and you feel yourself moan against his lips more than you hear it.

Your heart is speeding up, thumping in your chest and with your elevated body temperature, it feels like it’s pounding against your ribs.

Once you start touching him, it’s impossible to stop.  His chest is wet against yours, your bodies pressed together and your hands wandering with an urgency that would have you thinking you’ve never touched him before.  You’re desperate and the humidity does nothing to help you both think coherently.  You aren’t thinking about what might happen if someone walks in.  You aren’t thinking about the fact that if they did, they’d catch you and the CEO all over each other.  You certainly aren’t thinking of any of the consequences that would follow.

“Fuck, you’re desperate.”  He rumbles out a low groan against your lips, his fingers pulling the bottoms of your bikini to one side to let his fingertips graze your soft folds.  You’re soaking wet but it’s very distinctly nothing to do with the fact you’re currently in a steam room.  The slickness of your arousal is unmistakable, not to mention the all too evident desperation in the way you roll your hips into his touch, silently begging for more. “You could take me right now.”  His fingers tease your entrance, testing the resistance from your body and it’s delightful to feel him slipping into you so smoothly.

“You’re filthy, you know that?  Getting fucked in a steam room knowing anyone could walk in and see you.  Anyone could see what a slut you are for me.”  His ‘for me’ hits you hard because this is only for him.  You wouldn’t do this with anyone else.  You wouldn’t ask anyone else to do the depraved things you ask him to do.  All of the darkest, filthiest thoughts you have are about the man who’s now got you seated in his lap, your back to his chest with your swimwear tugged to the side so he can tease your cunt with his throbbing length, rather than his fingers.

“Beg me for it.”  Confidence drips from his tone and he’s got every right to be this confident.  You’ve never wanted sex as often as you have since you met him.  Your sex drive goes through the roof when he’s around, a testament to how comfortable and confident he makes you feel.  He makes you feel desired and God, you want to be desired.

The head of his dick strokes the softest part of your body, teasing from your entrance to your clit and back again.  You have no doubt he’s smearing his precum over your cunt, claiming you.  The thought alone makes your walls flutter.

“Please fuck me.  Hurry up, Bucky, please.”  You sound pathetic and it only makes you wetter.  Only he gets you like this.  There’s not a hope in hell you’d beg anyone else for anything at all.  Anything you need, you can do for yourself.  Except this.  He’s let you feel safe and able to live out your wildest fantasies and that’s not something you’d experience with just anyone.

You feel him hum, kissing your shoulders, lowering you down onto his tip and stopping after the head has just slipped inside you.

The first glide into your body always leaves you breathless but this isn’t it.  He isn’t fully inside you yet and he’s stopped already.  “Just the tip, sweetheart.  That’s all you’re getting.  Unless you act like the little slut I know you want to be.”  He kisses down your neck, as far down your spine as the angle allows him to reach before licking back up and the shiver it sends through your body feels like a cold electric current.

“You’re delicious.  Go on, be a good whore for me.  Take what you need.”  You don’t need to be told twice, lowering yourself to take the rest of his length.  He glides into you beautifully, sliding into the wet, inviting heat between your legs.

“Oh God, that’s it.  Stupid girl.  Acting like you’re just a hole for me to fuck.  Maybe you are?”  He knows that will get to you.  You’re more than that.

Your head shakes, your hips rolling mindlessly, your body enjoying his presence inside you of it’s own accord.  “I- I’m not just a hole.”  You argue, trying to stifle your own moan at the feeling of him rubbing against the soft little sweet spot inside you.

“You’re not.  I know you’re not.  But for now, sweetheart, that’s all I want you to be.  You’re just a pretty little hole and I’m going to make you cum like it’s all you’re good for.”  You didn’t expect the punch to your chest that his kindness delivers but it’s appreciated all the same.

His hand cradles your throat, applying just a nice amount of pleasure.  The humidity was already dizzying but Bucky’s grip on your neck adds another dimension.

“God, the way you gripped me when I put my hand on your neck.  Pretty little pussy just doesn’t want me to pull out.”  He’s rutting into you, groaning against your shoulder but he still can’t drown out the obscene sounds of wet skin on wet skin.

“Feels perfect.”  You feel your eyes rolling back in your head, barely able to string more words together than that.  

“No sweetheart, you feel perfect.  Fuckin’ made for me.  Pretty little stupid fuck toy.”  His free hand squeezes and massages your breasts in turn, giving each of them the attention they deserve while he fucks himself into you.  “You’re dripping.  Fuck, you were made for this.”

You grip the wrist of the hand that’s massaging your breasts, trailing it down your body to settle between your legs.  “Can’t even tell me what you want, can you?  Can’t manage the words anymore.  Did my cock make you that stupid already?”

You nod and it only makes him chuckle, rubbing your clit almost entirely out of sympathy.  

Deep breaths don’t help.  The steam feels like it’s catching in the back of your throat with every breath but it only heightens the pleasure.

“I want you to cum.  Now.  I want to fuck you full while your cunt is trying to milk every drop from me.  You got that?”  

“Faster.”  You plead, right on the edge of slipping into an unbearably intense orgasm.  Bucky obliges, rubbing your clit faster, tightening his grip on your neck just a little and it sends you spiralling, your walls clamping around him so tight, it coaxes him to spill his release into your body.

You hardly notice his climax until the crest of your own subsides.  “Such a perfect cunt.  Fuck, I can’t stop.”  His forehead rests on your damp shoulder, panting and groaning as he fills your body with ropes of cum.  It’s messy and rushed but it’s an overwhelming ecstasy and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

When he’s entirely spent, he lets his hand fall from your throat but that does nothing to help you take a deep breath.  Water drips rhythmically from the ceiling onto the bench beside you both while your bodies separate and you allow yourselves a few seconds to enjoy being together.