#Laves phases

[materialsscienceandengineering]

The Chromium-Zirconium Binary System (and Laves Phases)

Phase poll #3 concluded yesterday, examining the binary Cr-Zr phase diagram. The final vote was decently evenly split, with 57% voting for chromium and 43% for zirconium. With the four temperatures mentioned in replies or tags averaged, that puts us in the marked spot above on the phase diagram, in a composition that is partially the C15 Laves phase and partially liquid. Instead of focusing on the Cr-Zr system, which doesn’t see a lot of use on its own, this post is going to be a little different and discuss Laves phases in general, before focusing on that specific composition.

Laves phases are the specific crystal structures formed by certain intermetallic compounds of the type AB2. They were named for Fritz Laves, German mineralogist who published his findings about these structures in the 1930s, and there are general Laves forms: the cubic MgCu2 and the hexagonal MgZn2 and MgNi2 structure types. (Grouping these phases under the name Laves phases was suggested at the end of the 1930s, by another German scientist Gustav E.R. Schulze. Geometry and crystal structure are the only similarities between different Laves phases; there were over 1400 known phases (mostly of the first two varieties), in the late 1990s and many more have been discovered since.

All Laves phases are tetrahedrally close-packed structures and are considered homeotect structures. As intermetallics, Laves phases are typical brittle but strong, and can be considered beneficial or detrimental depending on the application. They can serve as precipitation strengtheners in alloys, and can have high melting temperatures and maintain their strength at high temperatures. The designations C14, C15, and C36, the most common and simple Laves structures, come from early crystallography, in which crystal structures were grouped according to type and then numbered in roughly historical order of discovery or analysis.

C15 in the Cr-Zr system is known as α-CrZr2 and is polymorphic with the C14 and C36 structures that exist at higher temperatures. Applications of pure binary Cr-Zr alloys or intermetallics are rare, but one example is in chromium clad zirconium rods, in which the Cr serves as protection against corrosion, and diffuses into the Zr alloy substrate. More commonly, the two elements are also alloyed with copper to form ternary systems.

Sources/Further Reading: ( Cr-Zr thermodynamics ) ( Cr clad Zr - image 4 ) ( Laves phases - image 3 ) ( Laves phases ) ( Crystal structure types )

Image sources:  ( image 1 ) ( image 2 )

More phase diagrams:  ( mole fraction and mass fraction ) ( weight percent and atomic percent )

[runa-falls]

pornstar!moon-boys x fluffer!reader

part three: jake

a/n: some headcannons bc we filthy up in this bitch >:) 1.5k??? i'm overcompensating for something lmao

others: marc | steven | more steven

as a fluffer, it's your job to know how to keep the boys interested. each alter has their own preferences:

(NSFW 18+ under the cut)

jake: the troublemaker

GIF by manny-jacinto

Jake was the last (and final?) alter you met. He didn't ask for you the first time you met. Actually, you thought you were seeing Marc, but it turns out Jake was 'covering this one' for him, whatever that means.

It turns out Jake had been in the industry longer than Steven but you've just never met him. Unlike the other boys, he was used to taking whatever fluffer was offered on set, not really preferring or caring who was preparing him for the day. It never really mattered to him.

And then he met you.

His eyebrows raise when you walk in, eyes taking in every inch of your body. You're dressed in a pair of comfy shorts and an oversized shirt, hair styled casually so it's out of your face (Marc was going through a phase where he craves to see you in pajamas, needing that extra domesticity and softness).

Jake doesn't greet you, or even bother to stand up from the couch to shake your hand. He looks...amused, like he recognizes you.

"You're that girl that has my brothers wrapped around her finger." It's not a question, more like a statement.

He leans back against the couch as if to get a better view of what's in front of him. He looks like Marc, but he doesn't sound or carry himself like him. And he's definitely not Steven.

You don't deny his words, "And... you are?"

"Lockley, Jake Lockley." He still doesn't move to shake your hand, just says it with a nod.

"Another...?"

"Yeah, there are three of us... As far as I know."

"Where's --"

"Marc? I dunno." He doesn't look too concerned. It's almost like he's barely interested in the conversation when it isn't about himself. "But I'm here." You catch your first glimpse of his famous smirk, one that you've learned spells trouble.

You've named Jake as the troublemaker of the trio because he constantly bends the rules and does what he wants. Especially with you.

For one, he's the first alter you ever fucked. Actually, he's the first pornstar you've fucked, too.

Usually you have a longer session the first time, but 20 minutes would have to do. He's still staring at you, sitting on the couch with his legs spread wide. Inviting.

You go up to him like any other client, not phased by his dark eyes and mischievous allure, and straddle over his thighs. His hands immediately come up to hold your waist, steadying you easily against him.

Other than that, he doesn't make a move, clearly waiting to see what you'll do.

"So what do you like, Lockley?"

"Aren't you supposed to figure that out, sweetheart?"

Kissing Jake always takes your breath away. He's demanding but somehow he makes you feel like you need it, not the other way around.

He's dirty with it, drawing you in with soft kisses before nipping at your lips and then deepening it by laving his tongue against yours. It's addicting how smoothly he moves against you, tempting your body to take it a step up, to cross that line.

You are sitting up on your knees just a few inches off of his lap, hovering over and making out with him, hands cradling his jaw. You have the upper hand (and are literally over him) but you've never felt so lost in a kiss.

You feel his hands drag from your waist to your ass. He grasps you, shoving your loose soft shorts up so he can feel your skin against his palms. You let him.

That was your first mistake.

You're distracted by his mouth when his hand shifts from your butt to your aching center. You've been dripping -- soaking since he gave you a taste of his tongue, since he first held you.

You let out a surprised moan as his fingers press flush against your clothed core, stroking against your most sensitive area. He applies the perfect amount of pressure against your cunt, brushing and prodding at your entrance over your clothes before cruelly teasing your clit.

You let it go on far longer than you should've, but it just felt so good. And then it felt too good.

He rubs your clit until you're seeing white, until you can only think of him and how he's touching you.

You gasp, "Jake!" Your legs shake from having to hold yourself up as he pushes you off the edge. He growls as you wrap your arms around his shoulders to keep you steady. You settle back onto his lap, forehead resting against his chest as you pant and calm down.

He's hard as a rock against you, practically pulsing as he watches you come down from your orgasm and melt against him.

He figured you out, and you, him.

Jake gets off on getting you off.

When you're his fluffer, you're his to touch, tease, and prod, not the other way around.

You wouldn't really call him a 'giving' partner because at the end of the day, he does it for himself.

He's selfish in how he'll pull orgasm after orgasm out of you, just because it pleases him. He doesn't care if you're writhing under him.

That first session didn't end where it was supposed to. Giving you an orgasm was already more than you're used to. But he kept going. You were distracted, caught off guard.

That was you're second mistake.

Before your lust-fogged mind could wrap around what was happening, your loose and stretchy pajama shorts were tugged to the side and he was pushing up into you.

The stretch was intense, but he slid in easily with how wet you were for him. You both groan simultaneously as he filled you to the brim.

After that first round, Jake ceased production for the day, telling everyone to go home while yelling "Don't fucking interrupt me" on his way back to his dressing room.

---

(He's not allowed to fuck you during working hours anymore -- they even put it in his contract. He wasn't too happy about that.)

Needless to say, you were called back the next day.

As much as Jake loves to play with you, sometimes there isn't enough time, especially on bigger projects with less time to fool around. In those cases, he takes a quick sloppy blowjob.

And by sloppy, you mean sloppy.

He loves watching you struggle to swallow him down, eyes shiny with tears and drool dripping down your neck.

His hand grips your hair, guiding the smooth pace as you bob against him. You whine as he slowly speed up, your jaw is already tired and knees are sore. You hold on your his hips to help stay steady as he starts to thrust back into you, cock hitting the back of your throat every so often. You gag and he growls.

He's the one who pulls you off, knowing his own limits.

He's the most controlled out of the three, able to slip you off his cock just at the right moment before walking out and starting the day.

He groans when he peers down at you, "Fuck...I wish I could cum down that pretty throat," You're wiping your mouth, lips still vibrating from the way he fucked into you. "C'mon baby, let's go. Call time's in five." You comb your fingers through you messy hair before he helps you up.

Then you follow him out.

Like Marc and Steven, he also refuses to be prepped by anyone else. But he also takes it a step further (bc of course he does), he takes you to set with him. Like some 'bring-your-girlfriend-to-work' day.

(oh yeah...you're with them now...)

You didn't even know that you were allowed to physically be on set when scenes are being recorded, until Jake insisted, claiming he could only keep it up if you were watching.

Sometimes when he's fucking a girl (or fucking himself) he looks up, eyes scanning the room until he finds you. The cameras don't exist to Jake and this isn't his job. Porn -- or being recording -- is just him doing the company a favor and letting them have a glimpse into his bedroom habits. He doesn't give a fuck.

He meets your gaze and sends you a cocky smirk, hands restraining the body under him as he roughly slams his hips against hers. It never fails to make your breath hitch and skin bloom with heat.

He gives you the same intense look when you're under him, choking on his cock. He's imagining that you're under him now, stretched and ruined for him. Whimpering and crying out for more. As much as you try to ignore him, you can't. It's like driving past a car wreck, you can't look away.

Directors have had to scrap countless recordings for the final production of videos when he'd get really carried away, grunt dirty words in spanish to the girl in the corner of the room (you) that the camera can't even see.

It's not all bad though, the company sometimes uses those behind-the-scene vids of him, basically cuckholding you, for exclusive content. And viewers go feral for it. Probably because it's more genuine than half of the videos out there.

[knuppitalism-with-ue]

Atlantis Phase III is here. Over the next few weekends we will put together the ecosystems of this island during the late Pleistocene, based on community submissions.

On Atlantis limestone caves and lave tubes are equally inhabited by a wide variety of creatures. Some of them permanently inhabiting the dark.

[crowsnhoes]

You said Jay would be a deer. Now I’m imagining Hyena Havik doing a protecc for Deer Jay. ☺️

Yeen Havik would absolutely do a protecc despite knowing Jay could easily gore a person, given they're frightened enough.

We're gonna get a sprinkle of lore here >:3

The beast stands in front of the shaking creature behind him, his teeth permanently bared in an aggressive snarl. He growls at the bloodied assailant before him, his maw dripping with drool that has been tinged with the metallic tang of blood, his hackles raised, and his eyes never leaving his target.

The deer, however, is frozen in place, unable to do anything but tremble, but the hyena knows better than this. He is aware of how dangerous the animal can be when threatened. He simply hates to see them that way. The memory of when he had first met them claws it's way into his brain, painful, yet endearing.

Havik's feet hit the ground in thumping steps as he chases after the stranger that had attacked him. All he had wanted to do was figure out where they're from, who they are, study them, but now he has an arrow lodged in his shoulder. The dull throb doesn't phase him, and neither did the sharp stab as it entered his body, but it annoyed him to all hell. Now, here he is, chasing down this strange person that's seemingly nowhere to he found. All he has to go off of is a small blood trail left by them, but even that is scarce.

The trail leads him into a clearing, then it stops abruptly. Had they stopped bleeding and kept running? No. They're here somewhere. He knows they're here, but where? That's when he hears the slightest rustle of leaves above him, so he turns his gaze up to the trees. It takes him a moment, but he spots them hiding among the leaves and branches of a tall tree, arrow drawn and pointed straight at him.

"Clever thing," he rasps.

The words barely leave his mouth before an arrow sinks into his left eye, and for once, he shouts with pain. The searing sensation in his head is dizzying, and he almost drops to his knees, but the sound of boots hitting the ground and a loud yelp brings him out of the daze.

Havik rips the arrow from his eye socket with a sickening squelch, throwing it to the ground, and regenerating his eye with ease. Though his head pounds and his vision is blurry, he can make out the stranger's form attempting to limp away, but he's quicker. In a flash, he's on them, grabbing them by the back of their cloak like one would an animal by the scruff of its neck. They kick and scratch as Havik manhandles them to the ground, successfully subduing them. They squirm and fight for a moment, but once they settle down, Havik loosens his grip; a mistake. Teeth sink into his forearm and a blade follows shortly after, making contact with his throat, slashing it quickly, and the blood comes pouring out. He grunts and lets go of the person below him to hold his hand to his throat, more surprised than anything.

He heals the wounds quickly, only leaving faint scars to be remembered. When he takes his hand away from his throat and turns his gaze to the frightened stranger just feet in front of him, he can't help but admire their tenacity and how pretty they look splashed with the crimson hue of blood. Their expression is frenzied, eyes wide and lips parted as they pant and brandish their blade, still ready to put up a fight despite their injuries, so he puts up his hands in surrender and kneels to make himself appear smaller, hoping the gesture would send the appropriate message. The scarred man speaks, his voice rough and winded, asking only one question:

"What are you called, stranger?"

The hyena is brought back to the present by the sound of the assailant's body falling to the ground with a heavy thud, bloodied, beaten, and torn to pieces by the beast's teeth and claws. He drops huffs and drops his gaurd, turning to the deer behind him to tend to their wounds. They settle onto the ground, resting their head on the grass, grunting softly as the hyena laves his tongue gently over the gash along the deer's side. He hates to see his companion in pain, but tending to their wounds feels special. It's makes him feel wanted and needed, and it makes the deer feel cared for.

When the hyena has licked enough at the deer's wound, he shifts to lie down beside them, nuzzling into their jaw and whining as if to ask if they're okay, to which the deer responds, turning their head to give the scarred beast a soft lick to the muzzle, thanking him for all he's done.

Raahh I don't write much so I hope this is good. Thank you for the ask, cause I've been meaning to do a little bit of a lore drop <3

[terralavee]

Whenever Lavee re-enters her nurse phase.

[sionisjaune]

i have a confession. these lines in your 2nd dirty valentine series: ‘Nico bumps Lewis lightly with his hip to move him out of the way of the sink so he can rinse a pan. It could be the wine, but Lewis notices the blonde hair on his forearms and the way he isn’t looking at Lewis at all. It���s definitely the wine, because Lewis finds himself aching for Nico all over him like when they were fifteen, tussling in Nico’s hotel sheets.’ > somehow was so vivid in my mind that weeks after reading them i always find myself looking for nico’s blonde arm hairs in every photos 😭😭

Anon I'm currently curled up on my sofa smiling at my laptop because this is one of my favourite parts of my my favourite fic I've written so far. The thing about blonde arm hair is that it often goes ignored... the same goes for any of the thin, barely perceptible body hairs, like the short fuzz that covers all of our skin. So I was thinking about what being in love with Nico means for Lewis, and what it feels like to be in love with someone that you've fallen out with so many times--and I think it means intimately recognizing the most ordinary, innate parts of the person you love... like characterizing the blonde hairs on Nico's arm. No part of Nico goes unnoticed by Lewis.

Another part that I liked from this sequence was:

This recent thing with Nico is several months old, and he and Nico in general are well past the honeymoon phase, but Lewis feels like a newlywed, kissing Nico’s collarbones in the kitchen. He laves his tongue over Nico’s neck, and Nico makes a small, shocked sound even though he does this to Lewis all the time. They should do something stupid, like waltz in the living room, Lewis thinks.

Not to repeat myself here, but I was trying to write what it feels like to be in the "honeymoon phase" of a relationship that has already gone through a number of unsuccessful cycles. It's like, Lewis really feels like it's going to work this time and he really wants it to--he's so in love--but at the same time he's been through this before. So he's experiencing a kind of giddy anxiety. He's completely overwhelmed by his love for Nico, and it's both shocking and familiar to him. And at the same time that he knows he should be sobered by how he and Nico have turned out in the past, he also doesn't want to temper the feeling of being in love again, because it feels so good.

[ditte-i-brisbane]

Open mic aften, matematik og weekendturer

Denne uge blev startet godt med en mandag aften open mic. Til open mic så vi Piper, fra mit hus, og vores to venner Hamish og Juan synge. Det var en virkelig hyggelig aften, og det var rigtig fedt at se dem på scenen.

Fra tirsdag til fredag stod det på intens skolearbejde. Jeg havde min anden matematik aflevering fredag, hvilken viste sig at være end del hårdere end den første. Der blev altså brugt mange timer på partiel fractions, Laplace transforms og phase portraits. Det var dog ikke kun matematik tiden blev brugt på. Vores første kemiprojekt er ved at nærme sig deadline, så ugen blev brugt på at lave det sidste design for vores methanol produktion. Nu er designet lavet, så denne uge skal der bruges en masse krudt på at skrive rapporten, som skal afleveres mandag d 18/9. Derudover startede jeg også mit statistik kursus denne uge. Det tyder meget godt indtil videre og virker ikke alt for svært. Kurset giver mig også mulighed for at programmere lidt mere i python, hvilket jeg har savnet.

Udover skole har jeg dog også haft tid til en del løb i denne uge, hvilket har været virkelig fedt! Jeg får ligeså langsomt løbet længere turer, og får flere og flere kilometer i benene. Det føles bare helt vildt godt!

Weekenden blev som vanligt brugt på turer i Queenslands fantastiske natur.

Lørdag vågnede jeg kl 4:30 (meeeget tidligt) for at tage på en lang vandretur i Springbrook nationalpark. Vandreturen hed Springbrook Stairs Hike, og den var godt 28 km lang med 1,4 km højdemeter. Og som navnet tyder, var der en del trapper på turen. Dette var den første vandretur i mine nye vandresko, og jeg vil sige de klarede turen overraskende godt. Vandreturen bød os også på hele tre slanger, hvoraf en af dem var den yderst giftige red-bellied black snake. Den lå ved siden af stigen og solede sig da vi skulle forbi. Lidt skræmmende, men den sneg sig væk da vi kom tættere på. Da jeg kom hjem kl 19, spiste jeg aftensmad også kig jeg ellers bare i seng. Jeg skulle nemlig vågne kl 6 næste dag, da jeg skulle på bouldering tur.

Søndag kl 7 om morgenen kørte jeg med UQMC til Cedar Creek på bouldering tur. Dette var en super fed dag, selvom jeg var lidt træt efter den lange vandretur dagen før. Endnu engang måtte jeg klatre barfodet, da de havde glemt låne sko, men det gik. Jeg fik klatret, solet mig og hygget mig med min nye ven Ingvild fra Bergen. Hun er virkelig sød, og vi har nu mødtes til en del Mountain club arrangementer.

Heldigvis kom jeg lidt tidligere hjem søndag, og havde derfor tid til at se Ringenes Herre med mine roomies. Dejlig måde at afslutte ugen på, også selvom det ikke var extended edition (Jeg skal lige have talt med Jonas om, hvorfor han har givet mig et harddrive med film på, også er det ikke extended edition af Fellowship of the Ring? Det er lidt useriøst).

[materialsscienceandengineering]

The Magnesium-Zinc Binary System

Phase Poll #5 has concluded - and nobody pointed out the glaring error I made! The phase diagram is for the magnesium (Mg)-zinc system, even though I typed out manganese (Mn) for some reason. So, I’m just going to pretend that you all would have voted as much for magnesium as you did for manganese! The final result was the composition above (41 mol% Zinc; 59 mol% Mg), with no specific votes for temperature.

The numerous intermetallics formed in this binary system are not well studied, but we’ll discuss what is known! Along that compositional line, we encounter the following phases as we decrease in temperature: liquid, C14 Laves (MgZn2), Mg2Zn3, Mg12Zn13, Mg51Zn20 and an HCP solid solution of the two elements. Of the above listed intermetallics, the crystal structures of MgZn2 and Mg51Zn20 are known (space groups numbers 164 and 71, respectively). Data about other phases, such as entropy and enthalpy of formation has been calculated, however I couldn’t find any structural information.

If we approach the alloy space from the perspective of magnesium with zinc added, magnesium is a common material used for its light weight and its biodegradability in the form of metallic implants. (Magnesium can be dissolved after implantation, eliminating a need for a second surgery to remove an implant.) As zinc is also biocompatible, the combination of these two elements in medical technology is an area of interest. The addition of zinc to magnesium, generally speaking, increases strength but induces brittleness. Alloys near the middle of the phase diagram also form significant intermetallics, adding to this effect.

Sources/Further Reading: ( 1 ) ( 2 - image 2 ) ( 3 ) ( 4 )

More phase diagrams: ( image 1 ) ( in atomic/weight percent )

[enkisstories]

Jin entered a rebellious phase - fortunately the popup stated that he will question PARENTAL instructions, not neccesarily every authority, so we can contain the damage a little.

So what does a rebellious 13 year old genius occultist do, when his fathers tell him to stay inside during a rainstorm? Right. Go converse with the spirits of the blackberry hedge.

No ghost or spectre answered Jin’s call.

Jin: “Even the forest spirits are conspiring with my parents? That’s an overbearing alliance to suck the will out of the young generation! But I won’t have it, just you wait!”

Jin then decided to consciously NOT pick any berries and NOT shit the digested berries in the forest. The stupid hedge should see how it would procreate without his help.

Jin: “Cockblocked the hedge! Ha, that will teach it!”

BUT! We made some progress with teaching him responsibilty. Unlike in Sulani, this time Jin remembered to remove the circle before laving the area.

[zehub]

En images, spectaculaire activité de l’Etna avec des fontaines de lave gigantesques qui transforment son sommet

L’activité explosive au sommet du géant sicilien a de nouveau augmenté dans la nuit du 3 au 4 août, pour une phase paroxysmale spectaculaire au lever du soleil ! Fontaines de lave, coulée

[omagazineparis]

Iwalewa, la beauté des cheveux Made in Africa

En yoruba, Iwalewa signifie le caractère est beauté, à l'instar de sa créatrice Josiane Ologbi qui vous promet une beauté éthique et minimaliste. Pour venir à bout des séances de démêlage des cheveux bouclés et crépus, la jeune entrepreneure offre aux femmes modernes des soins spécifiques. Un concept Made in Africa s’inspirant de la flore africaine avec une routine capillaire...divisée par deux ! Une formulation spécifique pour les cheveux texturés D’une enfance passée au Sénégal, Josiane se souvient des dimanches entiers à essayer de trouver les soins adaptés à ses cheveux. Attirée par les cosmétiques dès le plus jeune âge, elle vient poursuivre des études de biotechnologies végétales à Toulouse. C’est alors qu’elle se prend de passion pour les huiles en cours de biochimie. Elle commence à créer ses propres soins de beauté qui se révèlent très convaincants, d'abord sur ses propres cheveux, puis à long terme. En effet, les formules de ces ateliers improvisés constituent aujourd’hui la base des produits Iwalewa. A lire : Osez l’originalité : 10 coiffures féminines uniques pour un style rafraîchissant ! Soucieuse du bien-être des femmes qui peinent à trouver des solutions à leur nature de cheveux, Josiane déplore les programmes capillaires à rallonge. Pour répondre à un mode de vie accéléré, la fondatrice d’Iwalewa leur propose de gagner du temps... et de la place dans la salle de bain ! Avec deux produits au lieu des cinq recommandés pour une routine de soins classiques.  J'en ai vécu des dimanches entiers passés à entretenir mes cheveux crépus. Josiane Ologbi, fondatrice d'Iwalewa Iwalewa c'est une expertise capillaire éthique et minimaliste La première étape est la crème lavante 2 en 1, Orisun. Elle lave et démêle les cheveux en douceur grâce à sa texture crémeuse très fluide. En seconde phase, le soin riche 3 en 1, Ayaba s'utilise autant en masque capillaire qu'en leave-in (crème de soin sans rinçage). On l'applique aussi en fixateur d'hydratation sur les pointes.  Un temps gagné qui n’enlève rien à la qualité de ces produits composés des ingrédients phares de la cosmétologie africaine. Du beurre de Karité et de l'huile d’argan reconnus pour leurs pouvoirs hydratants, nourrissants, et particulièrement recommandés en hiver pour les cheveux secs et cassants. On y trouve également de la fleur d’hibiscus qui apporte de la brillance et préserve l'intensité et la couleur des cheveux. Ainsi que des feuilles de kinkéliba, des plantes assainissantes et purifiantes pour le cuir chevelu, moins connues de l'industrie cosmétique.  Le Made in Africa ou favoriser l'essor du continent africain En femme d’affaire engagée, Josiane souhaite valoriser le savoir-faire africain. Bien au-delà du commerce équitable, il s’agit de toucher tous les acteurs de production sur le continent, de la matière première à la transformation industrielle. Ce concept se traduit par une consommation responsable centrée sur l’humain et sur des ressources naturelles de qualité. Née au Niger d'une mère togolaise, d'un père nigérian et ayant grandi au Sénégal, l'Afrique est mon identité. Il me tient à cœur de révéler ses savoir-faire tout en favorisant son industrialisation. Josiane Ologbi, fondatrice d'Iwalewa Ainsi, le beurre de karité est fabriqué selon les traditions ancestrales des femmes du village Oronkua au Burkina-Faso. Les fleurs d'hibiscus et les feuilles de kinkéliba sont récoltées et analysées dans la région de Tambacounda au Sénégal. Enfin, la dernière phase de production se fait au Maroc d'où provient également l'huile d'argan. A lire : Balayage blond sur cheveux bruns : comment obtenir ce look à la maison Josiane Ologbi, entrepreneuse et créatrice d'Iwalewa, une marque Made in Africa. Crédit photos :©Anaïs AHNEE pour Iwalewa. Plusieurs fois récompensée, la marque Iwalewa a atteint la demi-finale du concours JEA (Jeune Entreprise Accélérée). Finaliste de Lyon Start-up Édition 6, elle a aussi été lauréate pour le Start-up Week-end for Africa. Forte de son parcours aux multiples initiatives, Josiane Ologbi propose des tutos aux femmes qui souhaitent se lancer dans l'entrepreneuriat À l'image de la femme active, libre et passionnée, Iwalewa nous propose un retour à l'essentiel pour une consommation de qualité. Une invitation vers une expertise venue d'ailleurs pour des cheveux sublimés en deux seuls gestes ! Vous pouvez retrouver les soins Iwalewa dans les boutiques Nofi store à Lyon et à Paris, et au salon de coiffure Manue Coiffure à Lyon. Ils sont également disponibles sur le site en e-commande. Read the full article

[christophe76460]

la souffrance est utile ! car il y a des maladie qui se préparent sans douleur

L’une des maladies des plus mortelles est le cancer, pourquoi ? Parce que le cancer pendant la première phase de son développement est indolore. Il n’y a pas ce signal d’alarme qu’est la douleur, et malheureusement, cette absence de souffrance entraîne un manque de vigilance dangereux. Certaines personnes sont totalement insensibles à la douleur, suite à des lésions cérébrales ou à des facteurs génétiques. Cette absence de douleur, au lieu d’être une chance, est un problème majeur. Sans la souffrance, il n’y a plus de signaux d’alarme, et le risque de passer à côté d’une grave maladie est encouru.

Certaines souffrances peuvent avoir cette utilité de nous faire prendre conscience d’un mal profond enfoui au plus profond de notre être : le péché. Alors nous sommes en mesure d’appliquer le traitement qui s’impose : Le sang de Jésus qui nous lave et nous purifie de tout péché (1 Jean 1.7).avant toi j'ai souffert mon jésus c'est ainsi que tu m'as amenée vers toi ,cette douleur au fond de moi , cette solitude , c'était mon manque de toi ❤ mais le seigneur peut également guérir le cancer ...mon mari est atteint d'un cancer ...nous marchons main dans la main avec confiance.....

[card-spirit40]

"Hehe, it nearly burns a bit." She said as she is in that cage of the lave Golem "But i activate terror incarnate's active in the graveyard. when it leaves this field, my ultimate form decends. here comes Yubel - The Ulitimate Nightmare!" She said as she do that to summon her ultimate form while in standby phase

“So, you’re Malik Huh?” Yubel asked as she appeared behind him now

@chaosmarik

[introloves]

commission for: @kattsamu, @chaotickatts thank you SO MUCH for being so patient with me my love, it means the world.

this is a commission, body type described, skin color also mentioned.

hard dom! sakusa + daddy! sakusa + impact play + praise + pet names + impact play + oral fixation + creampie + f! reader

— word count; 2.2k

he loves you. sakusa kiyoomi knows he’s in love with you when he reaches out to you past the first couple of dates, swallowing down the shake of anxiety with the thought of you possibly saying no, but you never do.

he knows he loves you when he finds comfort in the way he wraps thick arms around the warmth of your body, even on days where the distaste for any contact weighs heavy- he finds his way to you, wanting to bury a masked face to your neck right after practice, knowing you’re there with open arms. 

even past the fabled honeymoon phase- sakusa kiyoomi is still irrevocably in love with you.

now the both of you have settled into a pleasant rhythm. 

off days don’t come often, but they’re usually spent in your arms- that's what they are normally like anyways, but there’s something different to him this time around. 

he’s found something interesting.

he’s not normally a curious person, but seeing your screen propped up to a certain website certainly piqued any and all curiosity he harbored. twitter was normal, he knew you used it to post art, that wasn't what was so interesting. 

it was what was playing that had sakusa kiyoomi stop in his tracks. 

hearing you preoccupied with something else let him snoop for a second, his own face lighting up at the video playing- eyebrows shooting up with the content of the video, cock already twitching with the thought of doing all of those things to you.

he’s seen enough, quickly straightening up and making his way to you, plan already cooking up in his head, because if there’s one thing sakusa isn't, it's ill prepared. 

and now, he’s lulled you into a false sense of security, eager palms running down every curve, digging into the plushness, blunt nails curling into the warmth.

he eats up every shiver, every keen- he truly wonders how he’s never seen it before, wondering why he didn't read into the shy glances of eagerness when he digs his fingers in harder-

why he didn't connect the way your cunt clenches with vigor with each reminder to keep your eyes on him in the moments you get too lost in the pleasure. 

he thinks he’s the biggest fool for not being so adventurous, knowing deep down that the role you want from him is one he could step into easily. 

so he does, leaning down, lips barely pressing against the heat of your neck, tongue outstretched to lave a lick up the pale skin there. 

cock throbbing, heavy in his sweats while he curls his body down to meet your own- a whispered statement leaves him before straightening up- lips curling up in a knowing fashion at the absolutely flustered expression painting your already pink face. 

“w-what?” you question, trying hard not to squirm even more underneath him. 

he thinks it's really cute, watching your eyes regard him with worry. curls following gravity when he bends down once more, tickling your forehead, sloppy kiss pecked to your lips- huffing out a chuckle before coming away once more. 

“i know, sweet girl.” 

there’s a moment of crawling anxiety when you think back, trying to decode if there’s anything you’ve been hiding from him, because surely he’s not talking about the needs, fantasies, wants you have. 

you’ve kept them tempered down for now, knowing that it’s still too early to spring things on like this- but with the way he’s regarding you, dark eyes pinning you back onto the bed with intensity, you’re not too sure. 

“k-kiyoomi, i don't know what you’re talking about.” you whisper, hands coming down to push against his chest, wanting to run away with the thought, but all he does is catch your wrists- pulling up your hands to lay pretty above your head, fingers on one hand easily capturing both, the other resting right between both tits- slowly crawling up and up. 

“mm, i saw- you left a porn video up... and i saw.” he nearly purrs, cooing at the way you finally squirm, head tilting up against the bed when his hips come down to rub onto the heat of your cunt- grunting at the way your legs kick around him. 

“‘omi-” 

you want to shy away, but he doesn't let you- clearly enjoying the reaction you’re giving him. 

sakusa tsks at the nickname, the slow crawling hand finally reaching your neck, pinching any words or thoughts before he even puts any pressure to the sides of your neck. 

“daddy-” he interrupts, eyes wide with eagerness at the cry you give him, letting you wiggle underneath him before grunting out your name. “i’m your daddy pretty girl, always have been- ‘ts a shame i had to learn what you wanted from a twitter video first.” kiyoomi grunts, giving the hands wrapped up in his a push into the bed, stern reminder to keep your hands there. 

“getting that sweet pussy wet from a nasty little video, when i’m right here-” his eagerness feels like it's teetering over; wanting so badly to have you, wanting to prove to you that he can give you what you want. he brings his hands to the waistband of your underwear, swiftly tugging it down- throwing it carelessly to the side, reaching for the band of his own underwear and getting rid of them too- just a glance at his cock you can see how hard he is, the thought of indulging you in what you crave is nearly too much for him. 

his cock is a pretty pink, deeper at the head. glistening in the light available to you both, thick veins crawling up his length- he only looks at you with lidded eyes, lips parted slightly to pant while he strokes himself. 

your silence has his lips curl up in a kind smile, hand reaching down to bite the pads of his index and thumb on either side of your face, making you look at his dark colored eyes instead of his cock. 

even with the way he's gone stern, there’s still the edges of him rounded out for you- still finding his heart beat in excitement at seeing your cunt, wet and clenching for him. 

he thinks it might be too much to prolong this any longer, so in a swift move- his thighs knock against your own warm and thick ones, slotting his lean and muscled body between the cushion. 

bending his body down to meet your lips, tongue swiping along the pout of your lower lip, sucking noisily while he guides himself to meet you. 

it’s always an effort to take him, but with the newfound eagerness you’ve unknowingly brought sakusa, he wastes no time in sinking his cock down to the hilt in one smooth thrust. 

lips still messily slotted against your own, he swallows up that cute little moan you give him, hands tingling with the effort to keep them off of him, and of course he notices it. 

heavy breathing only heard while the two of you get accustomed to his length, he pulls away just enough to hungrily grunt- hiss that you can go ahead and touch him, voice near warbled with the way it feels to finally be plunged into your cunt. 

“be real sweet about it-” he grunts, stopping any movement of your hands to his body, letting you nod and gaze up at him with pure want at the instruction. 

“mm, ‘ts my good girl.” sakusa grunts, hips stuttering against you when the warmth of your palms meet his neck, fingertips curling up into the already damp curls atop his head. 

the soft whines you give him, your hips already starting to wiggle against him have his eyes shut momentarily. 

he can’t help it- everything about you is just so intoxicating to him, every squeeze your cunt gives him brings a soft grunt, deciding that you're a sweet girl, you can take the first, hard slap of his hips down onto your own. 

and you do, fingers holding onto either side of his head pressing down with it. wasting no time, wanting to hear the sharp slap of skin against skin- he brings his cock back into you, balls squished down onto your ass with the force of it, body crumbling down towards your own. 

glazed eyes meet your own, keening with the way you react at every hard, body trembling thrust, thinking to himself that it’s a shame you’ve kept quiet about wanting to be fucked like this, thick, muscled forearms resting onto the bed by your head, whispering soft coo’s of, ‘it’s okay-’ ‘you’re taking me so well.’ 

you need the reassurance, unable to keep your body still under him, squirming with every jiggle of your tits and stomach and ass- all from the force he’s fucking you with. 

it’s nearly too much and you try to keep still, you do, but he’s never brought his strength down onto you, crushing the air right from between your lungs thanks to it. 

sakusa can only look down, trying to bite back the gentle reminder to keep still, knowing it won't get to you with how hard he’s sinking his cock back into your leaking and pulsing cunt, so he resorts to a way he now knows that will get your attention. 

he pulls away near completely, watching you gasp, trying to reach up and take him back- but he keeps his course, hand coming down to reach your thick thigh, tugging it up and over- bicep curling as he does, keeping his cock inside you while he turns you over, immediately reaching down to hook hands into your hips, helping you perch your knees into the mattress. 

“poor baby-” sakusa grunts, bringing his cock back into you even harder this time, hardness of muscle digging into the fat of your ass- hand reaching back, tips of his fingers coming down onto the already jiggling skin, nearly laughing at your reaction- 

he sees your body tense, feels a gush of arousal leak down his balls at it, watching your ass turn red from the impact before bringing another harder slap. 

“already fucked dumb- arent you?” 

he coos, and of course you can't answer, tongue heavy with lust, eyes crossed as your cheek squishes onto the bed- but that doesn't stop him from hissing out an,

“answer me, brat.” 

the call forcing you to turn your head, legs helplessly twitching, already on the precipice of a blinding orgasm, all thanks to his unending pounding of your pussy. 

“y-yes! daddy-” you sob, hands twisting helplessly into the bedding, whole body once more seizing, unable to breathe when you finally cum, all joined with another slap to your ass, no longer hearing the slap of his hips to your own while you do. 

sakusa stops for a second, just a second to really take in the sharp arch of your hips, the pretty, sharp scream tumbling from your lips while you squeeze his cock. 

it takes him squeezing his eyes shut for just a second, hands still digging into your sides while you shake to keep his own orgasm down, barking out a- “you should see your face.” through a tight clench of his teeth, lilting tone nearly laughing with your whine calling back as a response.

he cant help but look at the way your mouth drools onto the bed, reaching to slide two fingers into your mouth, pressing down onto your tongue, urging you to, “suck” with frenzied eyes when you do. you’re so good for him, of course you would.

he leaves heavy digits into your mouth while he lets your body twitch, groaning with every sweet suck you give him.

he waits patiently for his own turn, waiting until you stop squeezing, until the shake of your body comes down enough to resume his own pursuit to cum, wanting you to be fully aware while he shoots his cum inside you. 

hand landing heavy on the curve of your back to push, wanting you nice and pliant for him, and of course you can’t do anything to oppose him, too tired from a blinding orgasm, only able to coo and listen to the even wetter snap of hips down onto your own- 

eyes zoned onto the strings of your cum attaching his pistoning hips to your own, he knows he won't- can't last long. 

but it’s all okay, slowing himself down enough to whisper one more command-

“mind your manners, and say thank you.” 

sakusa grunts, smooth strokes coating his cock completely with your wetness, twitching with every squeeze. 

your eyes shut tight, still sensitive- letting him have his way with you, and just like he says, spurred on by the final, bone jolting thrust he gives you- he seals himself against your hips to let his thick cum paint every inch of you- you call back, words mixing in with his huffed grunts-

“t-thank you- thank you daddy.” you coo, waiting for him to give you everything, everything he has before letting himself join your twitching form. 

“mm, you’re welcome my sweet girl.” 

he whispers, spent- his own body weak, all with the way you make his heart thrum in his chest. 

sakusa kiyoomi knows he’s in love with you, when he swears he’d bring the stars, and moons, and sun down the sky- he knows he is when he’d do everything for you, finally wrapping strong arms around your form, tucking his face into the heat of your neck- lips finding the quickened pulse of yours and leaving loving kisses there, all while he makes sure you’re satisfied.

[littlefreya]

Honeymoon

Prompt: God, I’m in such a mood of just wanting august to kidnap my virgin self, tie me to his bed and show me all the ways he knows to make a woman cum 🤤

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader (no race or body-type description)

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Warnings: 18+, kidnapping, dub-con, sex toy, clitoral stimulation, bondage.

Word count: 666 (Buwhahahahahahahahaha)

A/N: Okay, that’s more or less the plot for Way to Hell (in their long run). I wrote this with a migraine and under the influence of pain killers, so here goes. Not beta’d, we die slipping off a cliff, kissing a hook and crashing into the fire.

Honeymoon

The bite of the rope seared your flesh with every little tug and pull you’ve made. Panic draped your bare breasts, colder than a chill sea mist upon the vehement pounding of your heart. You could hear its rumble in your ears.

“My sweet girl.”

A bewhiskered man sauntered through the open doorway; a small towel rested on the nook of his shoulder, his cheeks aglow with a shave and the thick moustache that decorated his marble-cut face was neatly groomed. It was almost as if he prepared for this moment, a dark sacrament of sorts.

“I had my contemplations all day long,” he explained and marched toward a black duffle bag laid on the antique cherrywood desk; the sound of the zipper undone tore through the silence.

“I wasn’t sure if to take you... until you smiled back at me at the beach. I knew then you wanted me too.”

“Please...” you managed to utter in a shuddering voice, “my family will be looking for me.”

“Nonsense,” he answered with a surprisingly soft timbre and gave you a sided-grin while beginning to fish out content from the bag. Your eyes flared at the sight of pink silicon, silver, glass and a large bottle of translucent liquid.

“We left them a note. Off went sweet little you to marry a man you met at the Havana Club.” He took a small arrow-shaped glass plug and examined it up close with a deep hum, and then placed it back down on the desk.

“Maybe later...” he mumbled to himself and then grabbed a pink clitoral vibe instead.

“It all happened so fast.” He strode toward you. Footfalls heavy, he made the wooden panels tremor with every step. “One night, we were dancing at the club, our bodies grinding together in a passionate entwine, and then next thing you knew, I knelt before you at the beach, right under the starlit sky and asked for your hand.”

The bed dipped under the weight of his knee, and your belly sunk at the touch of his hand, latching your thigh - firm yet oddly gentle. You must have been bewitched by him, for you never struggled, and an embarrassing sheen of wetness dripped down your unplucked rose.

He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, letting out a low groan of delight.

“When I found out that you’re a virgin last night, I knew you were going to be special, my sweet girl.”

“Sir... I... I..” you mumbled as he unfolded your clenching legs and crawled between them. 

“August,” he corrected and held the tongue-shaped toy in front of you. His thumb grazed the smooth silicon and traced its way to the button, switching the vibrator on. The buzzing noise made you bounce and hiss with fear. And excitement.

A loud huff pushed from his flaring nostrils, his eyes beaming at the sight of the puddle that graced the sheet below your groin. 

“You are so wet.”

Fire licked your cheeks, and as he shifted closer, you held your breath and squeezed your eyes shut like someone anticipating a sting, but the vibrating kiss of the silicon made you gasp, and your orbs flew upon with a shudder. 

His gaze met yours, suckling his bottom lip, he broke into a delightful smirk while you writhed like a helpless fish washed ashore. Unbidden pleasure laved your untouched core, the gaping hole between your legs squeezing around the sad emptiness.

“I will have fun showing you all the ways one can find pleasure without penetration,” he promised, pressing the vibe tighter against your clit and twisting gently. 

“Oh god, August,” you pleaded, trying to resist what so naturally bloomed in your belly and still, somehow, you wanted more, in a way that felt fetal.

“Slow, my sweet girl, there is much more pleasure in mystery and anticipation.” August tutted and cooed while you squirmed and whimpered and grew closer to your undoing with every passing second.

The honeymoon phase was always his favourite. 

Credits: Dividers by @firefly-graphics​ 

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or Mission Impossible

[gaiuswrites]

Ashore

Part one | Open Waters

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie leave the beach with only one thing on your minds.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.6k~

Warnings/tags: smut, ✨butt stuff✨, oral (f receiving), some lovey-dovey shit

Notes: Here we are friends. You don’t necessarily have to read Open Waters to understand the contents of this chapter (considering it’s mostly just booty bumpin’). You can thank heathens @javierpcna and @whataperfectwasteoftime for the debauchery to follow. It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m genuinely nervous to post this lol but alas. We have arrived. Is it shit? Is it pure filth? Who’s to say hehehe. Cheers bebes x

Masterlist | read it on ao3!

The worst part was, you had to get gas.

Frankie drives. You sit beside him.

The return trip is hushed with anticipation—with sullied stain-glass imagery occupying the void. You've said next to nothing since you packed into the car; the only noise comes from the radio—the preset station phasing in and out as you wind along the backroads leading away from the shore—Journey, Jimi, Led Zep and the like all crackling dry through the speakers.

Everything, each micro-movement, feels stifling— like burning ants under a magnifying glass— each gesture riddled with intention, Frankie’s words echoing clear in the caverns of your mind.

He glances left right at an intersection.

‘Anything?’

He flips on the turn signal, blinking one two one two one two.

‘You gonna let me have your tight little ass?’

He steers the wheel with the heel of his palm.

‘When I cum, it’s gonna be here—filling you up.’

The engine rumbles as you idle at a red light—stalling. Dawdling. The sun spills lazily from the horizon, draining the last of the afternoon’s light with it, bleeding the sky scarlet—emboldening the horizon— and you watch as the setting glow catches the hair on his arm—there, resting on the console between you. His hand fists over the gear, knuckles creasing as they tense around the worn, leathered head. You’re playing a game—a silent, ruleless game. You know he can sense you observing him, can feel the heat of your gaze weigh on the flex of his fingers—the same fingers that had ripped an orgasm out of you not two hours before.

You almost unbuckle your damn seatbelt and fly out of your chair. You nearly break with it, with the unspoken tension filling the car like gas and fuck, how you crave him; how you yearn to put those fingers in your mouth and suck—lave the summer clean off his digits and bob around the long width and—

The light turns green.

Frankie resumes his hand to the wheel, your lewd fantasy dissipating along with it.

It’s minuscule. You would have missed it save the fact that you’re so acutely aware of every fucking breath you two share in the aluminum confines of your old Jeep. It’s a subtle thing: Frankie adjusts his hips— innocent enough— but your eyes flicker over to find the groin of his drying swim trunks tented.

You’re not ashamed to say it— your mouth fucking waters, you salivate— and as if on cue, he squirms again, seeking relief from both the blood rushing south and the blister of your stare. His lips part— the rasp of an inhale as he prepares to speak—before his focus is torn down to the dashboard, an orange symbol popping up in the gauge stealing his attention.

“Shit,” Frankie mumbles under his breath. Looking around, he scans for a nearby station and groans at the realization that he’s just passed one, spotting it in the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

You swivel towards the passenger side window, attempting to hide the I told you so expression pulling wry at your mouth. Not that you’ll hang it over him, but you did inform Frankie that the tank was empty on the way to the beach. You hear another muffled curse come from the man beside you, and the world goes topsy-turvy and reverses itself— the act of Frankie making a grumbled U-turn.

He puts the gear into park with a huff, Van Halen’s solo abruptly cut short mid chord.

The car door opens with a rusty squeal and Frankie clambers out, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and swiping his card through the reader at the pump—but not before he squeezes a palm into the plush of your thigh, thumb searing like a brand into your skin. I’ll be quick.

Fuck, you could have cum right then.

Your gaze follows his movements, dogging after him as he waits on the gas to fill— arms folded across his chest, strong build leaning on the frame of your car.

It’s not a novel concept to you, but God is that man broad. The ratty t-shirt he wears clings to him, pulled taut between the plane of his shoulders, the cut of his tricep apparent even from your vantage point; the corded muscle running up his neck flashing as he watches the digital numbers on the screen tick higher.

Shit, you’re aching for him— you can feel yourself throb into the crotch of your swimsuit. You’d have him right here—in the backseat, steaming up the glass— if it weren’t for the overencumbered bags and rickety beach chairs crowding the space.

With herculean effort, you wrench your eyes off him in search of a distraction, letting them drift to the dark flooring of the car. It’s been dirtied—white flecks speckling the interior—and you won’t be able to get the sand out of the matted carpets for weeks. It’s a nuisance, to be sure, but you have to admit that you’re sort of fond of it; little memories, vestiges in the grains, lingering long after the season ends.

Hello, remember me? each granule chirped, remember when we laughed giddy for hours, maddened by the grace of the sun? Remember when we burned red that time we forgot sunscreen? Remember when we bought soft serve from the surf shack and it globbed sticky down our wrists? Remember when we when we when when when…

Frankie, ever practical, hates it. It’s a pain in the ass, he’s told you, regaling you with the woes only a mechanic would care to know. It ruins the upholstery.

You’ve had your exchanges about the topic—your faux-squabbled back and forths—and yet despite himself, he can’t help but like that you like it. Conceptually, he gets it—it annoys him to kingdom fucking come and he’ll almost certainly take the vacuum to the mats first thing tomorrow, but he understands. He understands it.

He understands you.

You’re like that, you and him. You’re different. You are made of different things, a compository of fractures and fragments. Mosaic tiles. You don’t quite fit—not all of you—but you never force the pieces into any sort of place. You admire each other’s mismatched bits, those sweetly quilted jigsaws, and you hold each one up to the light and point at the unique curves, the notches and swoops there, and say I love you, I love this, I love this too.

When Frankie keys up the ignition and puts the car in drive, he keeps his hand on your lap. Arm resting over the median dividing you, calloused palm sealing over your quad, his fingertips knead a pulse into the meat of your leg with each bump in the poorly paved road— a reminder. A vow. Almost home.

You think he does it just to torture you.

It fucking works.

/

The sound of laughter parts the front door as you enter— Frankie had made some colorful comment about your absolute favorite neighbors, the ones who always leave their damn garbage bins in front of your driveway— and your key ring clatters as it hits the bowl on the side table.

You discard the bags, plopping the sandy things down in the entryway, and kick off your sandals— bare soles padding along lacquered wood paneling as you head to the kitchen for some much needed water.

The sound of the tap running camouflages Frankie’s movement, you don’t hear him behind you. He’s got stealth in him, harbored there from before. He’s light on his feet when he chooses to be—nimble-like, bordering on feline—and you startle with a bubbly chuckle when you spin around to discover him far closer than you anticipated.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping us hydrated,” you grin, as if it were obvious. You’re welcome.

He hums, the note rumbling against the cage of his ribs, and lessens the distance between you with a single stride. “That can wait.”

He rids you of the glasses, hurriedly placing them on the counter, and meets you in a kiss—and fuck can that man kiss. Frankie, like with all things, is responsive—attentive. His lips are fever-laced and wanton, and he roves against yours like they’re designed to— fated for no one else’s but your own— nipping and tonguing at your honeyed whines, orphaned there in the well of your mouth.

His hands vine up your body, so deprived of the luxury of your form - of touch - and he grabs at anything he can— your hips, your waist, your breasts through the cotton of your shirt— their half moon curves sitting ripe in his palms.

After ushering you up to the countertop, he strips you of your jean shorts, your bikini bottom sloughing down your calves along with them, and hoists your feet onto the fake granite, prying your legs wide for him.

When he gets an eyeful of your gleaming pussy, pearled with arousal, the wind gets punched straight out of him.

“Jesus honey,” he groans, “you been like this the whole ride home?”

Your brain is numb, lagging with lust. You don’t trust your voice to speak—all you can do is nod.

“Poor thing,” he simpers. “Poor pretty thing, all wound up for me—all wet.”

You whimper at his tone—graveled, just shy of condescending—and your knees weaken shut before he snatches them apart.

“Sit still.”

It’s a command, there’s no room for disobedience; he orders it with a soldier's voice—that dead thing he wears like dog tags around his neck. Vice grip widening your legs, Frankie sinks down onto his shins, head leveled with your core, engrossed with the sight of your damp sex quivering.

Blotchy warmth creeps up your neck, like ivy crawling over brick.

He’s staring at you— hungry and possessed and simply staring at your open cunt and you begin to fidget once more—riling under his umbered appraisal.

“Sit still baby girl,” he murmurs, softer now and desperate too—intoxicated with the heady perfume of your heat. “Lemme just— fuck, I gotta taste you…”

When he swipes the deft muscle of his tongue through your slit, your head careens back onto the cabinets, plates and bowls rattling behind the wood.

Oh god, Frankie.

He’s got a talent for this— an excruciating, body wracking talent. He thirsts for you something dangerous, something unquenchable; he tugs at your labia, forming his lips around your clit, lapping at your essence— the ocean musk, that sea foam wet.

You fumble through his hair, mussing the saline woven strands with urgent fingers as you grind grind grind, rolling your hips to meet him in a covetous show of want and he purrs into your pussy as you fuck his face, the scratch of his stubble chafing at your legs.

It doesn’t take long, not with the fervor of how he’s claiming your cunt with his mouth. You soak Frankie’s chin— you nearly fucking drown him with it—and he’s glistening with you when he finally emerges for air, pulling you to him to slant his lips against yours, letting you savor your own taste on his hot tongue.

“Bedroom. Now,” he husks, breath hitching as his nose grazes along your ear, and with two hands under your armpits, he gathers you off the countertop. Frankie lands a swat at the plump of your backside, sending you scurrying through the living room with a shriek—completely bypassing the abandoned pile of laundry left lying on the couch.

He smirks—delirious and ramrod stiff—sauntering behind you, enamored with the pendulum sway of your hips as you lead him to the bed.

/

You’ve never been here. You’ve never gone this far. You both have tiptoed this narrow line for months; he’s fingered your ass plenty—you have even gone so far as to don a butt plug. You’ve discussed anal—toyed with the idea, flirted in circles around it like tittering birds.

But you’ve never taken Frankie’s cock. Not yet.

He’s been working you loose and limber for the better part of fifteen minutes, delving himself knuckle deep into your slicked hole until you’re sputtering for more— until you’re downright sopping and fucking shaking— and not with trepidation but with desire. Frankie’s made you gluttonous. Frankie’s made you voracious.

You’re starving for him.

“You gonna let me have this now?” He presses a digit over your ass, kissing his thumb into the knot there.

You tremble, nodding frantic.

“Think this pretty little ass can take me, baby?”

He serves you a slap, plush skin jiggling and pricking pink under his palm. You keen into him, in search of the promise he’s been baiting you with and you arch your hips, gyrating back onto fucking nothing.

“Yes. Yes—” You twist, chin corkscrewed around to see him. You want to watch. You want to watch as he disappears inside you— as you swallow him.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly gone gentle around the lines fraying from his eyes—those wrinkles he’s hard-earned and won, like badges, like medals—from all his years spent under an unforgiving sun, all of that which he has seen and endured. Survived. Your Frankie, always thoughtful, always checking. A goddamn gentleman, even now—even as his dick brays hard and angry against the soft of his tawny stomach. “Because really, we don’t have to—”

You cut him off with a whimper, splaying your pelvis up to him—spreading yourself, letting him see the filth dripping from your seam, dappling your inner thighs. “Fuck me,” you whine, both holes puckering for him. “Fill me up, like you said you would— please.”

Something shifts across his features like a shadow and his expression morphs until it steels— his pupils dilating to a predatorial onyx— and he spits into his palm, coating his shaft, jerking himself with it.

He hisses as he guides himself into you, as you accommodate around him, as you envelop him entirely— inch by veritable inch. He has to station a hand to the base of your lumbar, struggling to maintain his composure—air rattling in and out his lungs as he attempts to breathe.

“Shit,” he gasps, “t-this okay?”

You fist the comforter, coiling the fabric into a ball. It’s a stretch— it’s a real goddamn stretch— and briefly you consider that he might, in fact, snap you in two...

Francisco Morales is going to split you clean in half—and God, if you don’t you love it.

“Yes - yes baby - keep going. D-Don’t stop.”

He pitches into you, setting a legato tempo— transfixed by the lurid juncture where you converge into one. “You- you’re so tight. Shit, you’re—”

He silences himself with a delicious moan, biting at his lower lip until the vessels there burst and it purples, and deals a particularly aggressive thrust— one you respond to with an ugly wail of your own, eyes somersaulting in their sockets.

You’re both impatient, verging on rabid, and it doesn’t take long for him to set a rougher pace and fuck you faster - harder - hammering into your ass until you see stars, popping and fizzing in front of your retinas, a symphony of guttural grunts and carnal praise fogging up the bedroom.

Your pussy feels so empty you could cry—weeping and gaping and fluttering for him as he takes your tight ring of muscle, fucking himself to the hilt. It’s like he’s behind your brain—like he’s carved his way up your spine and nudging at the nape of your neck with how deep he’s driving into you—restless. Ceaseless. His balls slap slap slap against your puffy cunt and you pant— girlish and buoyant with the dulled smacks to your sore clit.

“Please,” you sob, “Please, I need—”

You can barely push the words out—your mind is of no help and your tongue lolls useless, languid in your mouth. Your motor functions have all but puttered to a halt, every scrap of you fighting to stay above the sensation that’s threatening to drag you under its current. The rip tide of it all, of Frankie’s cock, coursing through your ass, tempting to hurdle you out into the dark, wet blue.

“Tell me,” Frankie rasps, scraping through his throat. “Tell me, pretty baby.”

Your response is pathetic—you can hardly dignify it as a response at all. Your temple is pressed into the mattress, hair knotted with brine and sand, and all you can do is coo.

Frankie folds over you, angling himself to graze his teeth over your shoulder—savoring the salt and sex tang bathing your skin, all those pheromones and velveteen chemicals anointing you—baptizing you anew for him. He’s gruff when he murmurs, his beard grating your freshly tanned skin.

“C’mon sweetheart - hng, fuck - what do you need?”

“My clit,” you rush out, needy. “My clit. Please, oh my god Frankie I-I need you to, I need – oh fuck—” And your pleas are mummed by a rapturous moan as he trails his hand from the hollow of your hip to the apex of your cleft and flicks.

Fuck. Fuck, oh Christ—

There’s a ringing in your ears, buzzing you deaf, making you dumb—or maybe it’s just your heart, beating loud and errant against your skull—you can’t say. You don’t feel human. Frankie’s pounding into that cinched channel and playing with your clit—swiveling eddies into your swollen nub—and you feel like an animal. You feel debased. You feel disgusting and perfect and you’re fucking drooling; cheek squished and mouth agape, saliva pools from your wagging maw, darkening the white linen you’re being driven into.

“You need me in your pussy, too?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer him— he already knows what you need, how you need to have every part of you gorged on him— and Frankie dips his fingertips into your entrance, hooking them up and up and in, fucking in time to the cant of his hips.

He’s in you. Everywhere, everywhere—every possible neuron and synapse consumed with him.

“You need me like this—fucking you this deep? Fucking both your pretty holes?” he growls, weaving his hand lower to grab a fistful of your hair, rucking your head up. Throat stretched bare for him, your mewls muddle to cock-drunk cries as he spears you on himself again and again and again.

Yes yes yes fuck harder please please Frankie

You're pleading with him—you’ve been reduced to meager begging— and a chorus of slurs sings your release as you contract around him and cum, the cradle of your hips bucking reflexively.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he seethes, “you’re so good for me baby, Jesus fuck—”

He’s close now—his blissed finish drawing nearer and nearer with each sharp snap of his hips. Frankly, he’s shocked he’s managed to last as long as he has; it’s a small miracle he hadn’t cum the instant he slotted himself inside you with that very first stroke.

“Baby,” he warns, losing his rhythm. You saddle your spine, hollowing out the valley of your back and arch pretty and supple for him— preening under his weight. He moans at that, and through your fucked out haze you have the wherewithal to smirk at him, devious and prideful, a wild look owning your eye.

Frankie has to brace himself on your hips, untangling from your locks to bruise into the pillow of your skin— gripping on for dear fucking life as he plows you. You’re strangling him. You’re strangling the thick of his cock until he’s dizzy with it—until he’s feral and blind and he can’t hold on, can’t keep fighting this fucking monsoon that’s raging in his core.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—fuck me, oh shit—” He shouts, spurting inside you thrust for thrust, painting your virgin walls with his seed. It’s too much— after all that, and you’re still too tight— and he’s overstimulated to the point of delirium. Frankie roots himself still, cum dribbling out your stuffed hole while he rides out the high of his orgasm—his vision, his senses, his goddamn soul, slowly oozing back into him. When he slides free from you, he does so with a pained heave, leaving you yawning with his absence.

You feel shredded. Vacant. You’ve been sent to another fucking dimension all together.

Without wasting another second, Frankie claws you up. You’re easy and malleable, bones and muscles too strung out to protest, and he whirls you around to bar you to his chest—crushing your sweaty body to his with bullet marred arms— the same arms that have taken lives, that have spared them, too. The same arms that link around you, delicate and daisy-chained, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

And you are.

You are.

Frankie kisses you breathless, drinking rich from your cup— tongue greedy and reverent as he kneels there at your altar, praying his sins into your mouth.

So gorgeous, he croons, peppering your face—your flushed cheeks, your perspired brow—with his lips as he tells you over and over and over again.

So good for me, pretty baby

Was that okay?

Fuck, you’re a dream

You’re my best girl—you’re my only girl

Was that okay?

God, you’re my whole fucking world

Was that okay? Was I okay?

Are you okay?

You swoon, helpless to the contented sigh that seeps out from you like mist. You’ve gone limp against the breadth of him. He has reduced you to rubber, left wobbling in his grasp, and you’re so damn full—your heart and your body—all of it. You feel unequivocally complete. You feel safe, you feel home.

You are home. Francisco is home.

He’s flattening out the nest of your hair, taming the damage he previously delivered to it, earning from you a sleepy grin into the muggy crook of his neck. And with the last of your waning strength you hold his pieces up to the light—the light you left on in the hall as the night grew dark around you, the one who’s yellow glow your naked bodies bask in now, and you say

I love you

I love this

I love this too

tags:

@krissology @heartsofbeskar @madhattervanessa @andiesturgss @sharkbait77 @tenderwhat @javier-pena @pedros-mustache @frannyzooey @chasingdreamer @djarinsbeskar @thosewickedlovelies @juletheghoul @not-the-droids @filthybookworm @pilothusband @letterfromvienna @keeper0fthestars @greatcircle79 @day-off-inkyoto @mermaidxatxheart @lawfulgranola @heatherbel @quica-quica-quica @stuckonthefiction @janesbrontes