#crude palm oil

[kazifatagar]

Selling persisted on Bursa but crude palm oil up

The FBM KLCI ended lower as selling persisted amid a declining regional performance. “We believe trading pattern on the local bourse to be subdued today ahead of the release of the US personalconsumption expenditure data later today. Therefore, we expect the benchmark index to trend between the 1,580-1,590 range today. Read More Business News High Government Trust Opens Door for Public-Private…

[mectech1]

Mectech Palm Oil Refinery Plant- A Legacy of Innovation and Excellence

Oil processing, often known as refining, is the conversion of crude oil into usable products such as petrol, diesel, kerosene, and other petrochemicals. The refining process consists of multiple essential steps, including separation, conversion, treatment, blending, and other refining processes.

Oil refining is a complicated and energy-intensive process that necessitates advanced equipment and technology. It is an important link in the worldwide energy supply chain, providing fuel for transportation, heating, and electricity generation, as well as raw materials for the petrochemical sector.

Of all the oil refining and processing industries, palm oil refinery is the most important sector as it is a very complex oil and for its production it requires good quality plant.

Palm Oil Refining

Palm oil refining industries are among the world's most important manufacturing sectors, and palm oil has grown to become the world's most traded vegetable oil. Indonesia and Malaysia are the main producers, with exporting enterprises for crude palm oil.

Crude palm oil is derived from palm oil's mesocarp. Extracted Crude Palm oil contains some undesirable contaminants, which must be eliminated partially or fully throughout the palm oil refining process to produce good edible oil with increased stability and keepability.

Palm oil is currently a popular cooking oil in many tropical nations, including South East Asia, Africa, and sections of Brazil. Its popularity is attributed due to its higher heat resistance as compared to any other vegetable oil and also because of its lower cost and good oxidative stability.

Palm's unique and finest quality is that it generates two forms of oil: palm oil and palm kernel oil.

Palm oil is derived from the flesh of the palm fruit, whereas palm kernel oil is extracted from the seeds or kernel of the palm fruit using the palm kernel oil process.

Palm oil is derived from fresh palm fruit flesh through pressing and centrifugation at a palm oil facility. To avoid deterioration of Palm Oil, it must be extracted from fresh palm fruit. As a result, countries that cultivate palm oil remove it to prevent it from deteriorating. The crude palm oil's colour is yellow-red or dark yellow, and its taste is sweet.

The crude palm oil extracted contains undesired contaminants, which hurt the oil's physical appearance, quality, oxidative stability, and shelf life. To eliminate the aforementioned pollutants, the oil is sent to a palm oil refinery plant, where it is refined, bleached, and deodorised. After refining the palm oil, the RBD oil is sent to the fractionation unit to extract palm olein and stearin.

Palm Oil Refinery Plant

Palm oil refining is divided into the sections below:

In most palm oil refining plants, the refining process is a vital stage in the manufacture of edible oils and fats. The finished product's properties that must be monitored include flavour, shelf life, stability, and colour.

Crude vegetable oil can be refined in two ways: physically or chemically. During crude palm oil refining, FFA is removed to obtain a maximum FFA level of 0.1%.

Physical refining typically has a smaller environmental impact than chemical refining.

Bleaching edible oils and fats is an important step in the refining process for crude oils and fat. It does eliminate numerous contaminants, which hurt the physical look and quality of the oil. Generally, the oil is taken to the bleaching section first, and the gums are treated with phosphoric acid so that they may be separated in the pressure leaf filter after bleaching.

During this stage, the adsorptive activity of bleaching earth removes trace metal complexes like iron and copper, colouring pigments, phosphatides, and oxidative products.

This bleached oil is next filtered through industrial filters such as a filter press, a hermetically sealed vertical leaf pressure filter, a plate, or a frame filter.

Mectech's unique bleacher design keeps the bleaching earth in full suspension, resulting in no dead zones and lower utility use. Mectech Bleacher guarantees high-quality oil because the bleaching procedure for crude palm oil is carried out under controlled conditions.

Mectech also excels in supplying facilities for rice bran oil processing refinery in India and abroad. Mectech Rice Bran Oil Extraction Machinery in India and abroad offers the following advantages.

[endrusmithreal]

Crude Palm Kernel Oil: Market Insights, Trends, Analysis, and Procurement Forecasts

During the first half of 2023, Crude Palm Kernel Oil prices in Asia experienced fluctuating trends, mainly lingering at the lower end. Some reversals occurred during the quarter shift due to increased consumption during Ramadan. The decline in prices was largely attributed to heightened outputs from key producers Indonesia and Malaysia. Europe mirrored similar market trends, with prices falling in the first quarter due to easier imports. However, they showed some upward fluctuations in the second quarter due to increased consumption. North America also followed global price trends, with prices remaining low but supported by favorable supply-demand dynamics.

Request for Real-Time Crude Palm Kernel Oil Prices: https://www.procurementresource.com/resource-center/crude-palm-kernel-oil-price-trends/pricerequest

Definition

Crude Palm Kernel Oil is a type of vegetable oil extracted from the kernel (seed) of oil palm fruits. It is commonly used in various industries, including food production, cosmetics, and personal care products. The oil's high content of saturated fats makes it suitable for cooking and as an ingredient in many consumer goods.

Key Details About the Crude Palm Kernel Oil Price Trend:

Procurement Resource does an in-depth analysis of the price trend to bring forth the monthly, quarterly, half-yearly, and yearly information on the Crude Palm Kernel Oil in its latest pricing dashboard. The detailed assessment deeply explores the facts about the product, price change over the weeks, months, and years, key players, industrial uses, and drivers propelling the market and price trends.

Each price record is linked to an easy-to-use graphing device dated back to 2014, which offers a series of functionalities; customization of price currencies and units and downloading of price information as Excel files that can be used offline.

The crude palm kernel oil price chart, including India crude palm kernel oil price, USA crude palm kernel oil price, pricing database, and analysis can prove valuable for procurement managers, directors, and decision-makers to build up their strongly backed-up strategic insights to attain progress and profitability in the business.

Industrial Uses Impacting the Crude Palm Kernel Oil Price Trend:

Key Players:

Cargill

Wilmar International Ltd

BASF SE

Bunge Loders Croklaan (Bunge Limited)

Natures Natural India

IOI Corporation Berhad

About Us:

Procurement Resource offers in-depth research on product pricing and market insights for more than 500 chemicals, commodities, and utilities updated daily, weekly, monthly, and annually. It is a cost-effective, one-stop solution for all your market research requirements, irrespective of which part of the value chain you represent.

We have a team of highly experienced analysts who perform comprehensive research to deliver our clients the newest and most up-to-date market reports, cost models, price analysis, benchmarking, and category insights, which help in streamlining the procurement process for our clientele. Our team tracks the prices and production costs of a wide variety of goods and commodities, hence providing you with the latest and consistent data.

To get real-time facts and insights to help our customers, we work with a varied range of procurement teams across industries. At Procurement Resource, we support our clients, with up-to-date and pioneering practices in the industry, to understand procurement methods, supply chain, and industry trends, so that they can build strategies to achieve maximum growth.

Contact Us:

Company Name: Procurement Resource Contact Person: Chris Byrd Email: sales@procurementresource.com Toll-Free Number: USA & Canada – Phone no: +1 307 363 1045 | UK – Phone no: +44 7537 132103 | Asia-Pacific (APAC) – Phone no: +91 1203185500 Address: 30 North Gould Street, Sheridan, WY 82801, USA

[lokisgoodgirl]

Open Skies [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki's first time flying the Quinjet is a memorable one. Warnings: 18+ Only Minors DNI. Smut. Loki x Female Reader. Silly things. Mutual pining. Oral (M). (w/c 2.2k)

Tony dangled the key between his thumb and forefinger. The fob swung in front of Loki’s smirking face. “To Virginia, and back again,” Tony said. He was not in the mood for games. Loki’s eyebrows shot up. He pressed his fingers to his chest in mock-hurt before extending the cup of his palm out, fingers unfolding with a graceful flourish. “I need to learn, Stark..." he postured innocently. “The simulations only go so far. You know that.”

“And you’ll behave?” Loki rolled his eyes. “What egregious sin could I possibly commit with your garish vessel while under the watchful eye of our trustworthy Agent here?” he said, flicking a finger towards you. “Is that not why she has been chosen for this farce? To keep me in line? To make sure I don’t damage this metal substitute for masculinity?” Tony’s eyes darted in an aborted eye-roll. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, observing Loki with suspicion. “It should only take you twenty minutes- if that,” he said, tossing the fob in the air. The god caught it. Loki let you walk ahead up the ramp. The weight of his stare clung to your ass like wet paint as you made your way to the front of the craft and slid into the passenger seat. He paused, giving both headrests a squeeze as he observed the screens. You watched his profile stiffen, a swallow working his neck. For all his breezy pomposity, he was nervous. “Just like the simulator,” you said, “you’ll be fine.” Loki's face remained unchanged by your re-assurance. He cleared his throat, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater; the one with the Avengers logo that he swore the first time he saw it that he would never wear.

He manoeuvred himself into the driver’s seat. “Is he watching?” he asked quietly. You pressed the screen, making the rear camera pop up. Tony stood below the under-hang of the landing area, arms folded. “Right..." Loki said, lips pursing.

He ran his palms down the tight chinos creased to his thighs. One long finger tentatively pressed against the central screen.

In a matter of seconds, the Quinjet’s engines fired to life. Loki flinched. His fingers flexed before their length curled around the lever sitting between you. He pushed it into elevate. "Thirty-five-thousand feet..." Loki murmured to himself, pressing a series of buttons on the screen.

He reached up, pressing an intercom above his head.

"This is Loki Laufeyson, Avengers Unit, Stark Tower," he said, gazing out the huge window at the skyscrapers.

His voice made goose-bumps ripple on your skin. It massaged over the syllables like crude oil over glass, thick and utterly erotic in its uniform sincerity. “Lifting off - flightpath expected from New York City to above Richmond, Virginia. No target, no landing. Training exercise, thirty-five thousand feet. Copy?”

He released the button. Static hummed. Loki’s fingers readjusted around the lever. “Copy, Mr Laufeyson." the radio crackled. "Clear for take-off. Route mapped. Any changes, let us know.”

Loki let out a small, satisfied sigh. He shot you a weak smile. “Good?” he asked. You nodded. His hair was tied back in a messy bun, delicate strands falling around his face. It framed his cheekbones perfectly. “Try not to be too aroused by my piloting-skills, Agent,” Loki goaded, turning his attention to the thrusters. “I have been practising very hard to make it seem effortless.” He pressed several more buttons without a pause.

You and Loki had hooked up for several weeks just before his most recent mission. But whether it was clarity during the absence, or simply lack of interest; when he had come back no moves were made on either side. On your part, it was simple terror. Being with Loki in that way was unbelievable the first time that it had happened, never mind the seventh, eighth, ninth. Part of you didn’t want to push your luck. It had crossed your mind that he had actually forgotten. And if that was true, then you didn’t want to know.

The force of the ascent pushed you back into your seat, facing forwards. Out the corner of your eye you saw a grin stretch over the god’s face as the New York skyline became mere dots below. He yanked the lever a few more times into position, setting it in cruise. The beep of buttons and the hum of the engines were the only sounds. Ahead, there was nothing but open skies. “Well done, I’m very impressed,” you said with a smile, shifting to face him. The seatbelt dug into your shoulder. Without realising, you had set a hand to rest on his thigh. The two of you looked at it, eyes rising to meet. One of Loki’s brows cocked. “Agent?” he growled. “Are you trying to seduce the captain?”

You were about to deny it. But he was the god of lies, after all. In which case there was no getting around it. And even if there was – did you want to? “Yes.” you said. Loki barked a small laugh of disbelief, turning his eyes back to the wide windows. “It will take more than that, Agent.” he said, offering a small nod to the hand resting mid-way up his thigh. “Especially after giving me the cold-shoulder on my return.” Your stomach dropped. “I did no such thing-” you started, but Loki had begun to tut. It’s slow methodical click ticked over the air between you. His eyes never left the blue sky out the front of the Quinjet. “On the contrary. On my return, I came to your rooms. I left a note, and quite a suggestive one at that. I made myself quite vulnerable, actually.” You frowned. “Loki, I moved rooms like three weeks ago.” Loki pressed a finger to his forehead. “Who’s in your old one?” “Scott.” “Ah,” Loki said, grimacing. “I was wondering why he had been particularly familiar of late.” The god shot you a sheepish smile. “I may have gone into great detail about oral sex in my correspondence.” “Giving or Receiving?” “Receiving.” The two of your burst into raucous laughter.

Loki took his hands from the steering wheel, wiping a tear of mirth. “In defence of my uncouth written request, you do give the most glorious blowjobs,” he muttered, offering a tilt of his head. “And it was a very long mission. I was in desperate need of attention.” “Did you ever get it?” “No. Although in hindsight, Lang did attempt to ease my disposition.”

You and Loki exchanged a restrained smirk before bursting into laughter again. “I feel terrible,” you said, starting to feel giddy. “I thought you weren’t into me anymore, so I just…” “Gave up without a fight?” Loki said, pressing a button and shifting the stick. “Understandable. I am rather intimidating.”

Your hand began to dance up his thigh, following the rise of his insane quad muscle. You squeezed. The fingers slid inward, brushing the growing bulge in his crotch. Loki shifted in his seat, chinos rustling. “Agent…” he warned. But his eyes sparkled.

The god’s legs widened in the generous seat. Creases ran thick across his spread thighs, the outline of his cock stark against the light fabric. It stretched up to his hip by the side of the zipper. You bit your lip as he thrust gently into your cupped hand. “We shouldn’t…” you said, tracing the length of his cock with one light finger. “No,” Loki breathed. “But we will.” The click of your seatbelt and the resulting flurry of your fingers at his buttons was instant. Loki raised one arm to let you work, lowering the tight zipper and setting his cock free with a bounce into your waiting hand. “Fuck,” he choked through ragged breaths, “Agent you don’t have to-” You looked up at him, head pressed back against the rest and the veins in his throat tightening. He had that stoic, regal set upon his features, cheekbones hard and unwavering, mouth closed as he stared at your with hungry eyes. The only thing that gave him away was the sound of small puffs of air flaring in rapid succession from his nostrils. Without looking, you could tell his knuckles were white on the wheel. One of his forearms rested on the nape of your neck.

“If you don’t think I want to suck your cock, Laufeyson,” you whispered, pausing to place a kiss on the leaking tip, “then you’re even crazier than I thought.” Loki inhaled sharply as you swallowed him. The breath caught in his throat, forcing its way back through a series of stuttering breaks that made desire thrash deep in your cunt. Fingers wrapped around the base of him, you worked slowly back and forth until his manhood was slippery with spit. Your face lowered on to the bottom of Loki’s sweatshirt with every dip of your head. Sucking wet and hot as the vein that ran the length of his cock throbbed against your tongue. There it was, that sweet saltiness pearling at the cracked creases of your lips. God, how you’d missed that. The taste of him. There was nothing like it.

Loki’s placid moans filled the cockpit. It was polite, in a way. Gentlemanly, while his slender fingers grasped delicately against your hair. You lingered at the crown, running your tongue against the sensitive underside.

Loki jolted in his seat. The Quinjet took a dive, and you froze - cushioning his glory with your tongue as the god corrected the flightpath. He chuckled, hissing as you tightened the grip of the fingers around his root and began to pump in time with your mouth. “We’ve reached-uh...g-gods, Richmond,” he stammered. His fingers grasped at your hair, knees beginning to tremble. “I’m carrying out a soft turn, bringing us one hundred and sixty degrees before returning to the original..f..f-fuckk-flightpath.” Humming approval through a mouthful of his cock, you lost yourself in the warm musk of his public hair. The metal zipper caught against your chin, grazing with every deep dive of the god into your throat. But you didn’t care. Loki’s gentle whines were all you could hear over the engines, panting praises and murmurs of lustful promises that you would hold him to when this thing landed. If it landed.

“Gods-” Loki choked, punctuated with a thump as his skull fell against the headrest. "How can you do this to me, Agent?” he gasped, rubbing your back as you quickened the pace. “You’re the best…” he moaned, hips rising to meet the bob of your jaw, “you’re the b-best I’ve ever had..I- uhh...”

The god’s fingertips dragged down your back, fist clenching and unfurling. He let out a primal grumble. “I’m going to cum, darling-” he growled. “Has anything c-changed?” You shook your head, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth and pooling in a wet patch on his chinos. Swallowing all the spit you could, you pressed your lips tighter around his girth, sucking furiously. Loki flinched with pleasure; and although you couldn’t see him, you knew his eyes were rolling back. You’d bet a few more of those slutty little curls had come loose too. Loki’s bucks were quicker now. He was trying to be restrained, but still his hips shuddered against the seat trying not to fuck your mouth with all his might. The Quinjet thrashed to the side, immediately correcting.

The god’s breaths were heavy, unintelligible filth falling from his lips and slithering into your ear as you worked him. "Good girl," he gasped, palm flying to the window my his side, "oh, f-fuck yes...good girl-vakker... just like, u-uh-" His palm slid down the window with an obscene squeak.

With a curse-littered groan, both of his arms went flying up behind the headrest. He pulled it forwards, the force of his abdomen’s clench pressing against your forehead. Loki’s hot cum hit the back of your tongue, filling your mouth with the sweet tang you craved. It kept coming, spreading into every pocket of space not occupied by his meat. His groans of pleasure filled the cockpit while you swallowed - pretty little moans snaking from his throat as he rode higher than the clouds.

Your lips left the tip of his flushed member with a slurp. Loki looked at you, dazed and slut-drunk. His seed glistened at the corners of your mouth as you squeezed his cock from the base a final time. A thick ream of cum blossomed at the opening. With one finger, you scooped it off, placing it carefully on the tip of your tongue.

“How I’ve missed you,” Loki slurred before his mouth was on yours.

You could feel his tongue search your own, tasting himself on each caress, swallowing the mess that you had made of him. Breaking apart, you took a moment to appreciate just how fucked-out Loki looked. The god’s cheeks were flushed, his lips raw and pink from rough kisses; his tied-up hair was askew, one side falling down in inky tendrils across his shoulder. The sweatshirt was rumpled, and there was a spreading wet patch on those lovely cream chinos. “How long do we have?” you asked, realising that you probably didn’t look much better. Loki’s eyes flickered to the screen. “Three minutes.” he said, disappointed. As Loki nailed a perfect landing, you made a final check of yourself in the window’s reflection. His knuckles trailed gently down your bicep. “I’ll see you inside?” he asked quietly. His pupils were still bottomless pools. “At your rooms,” you smiled, fighting to contain a laugh. “Not Scott’s.” Loki nodded agreement, lips curling. “I really did wait, you know.” he said. “I know.” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. The two of you disembarked and Tony was waiting for the debrief exactly where you'd left him. He seemed happy with everything, by and large. But his arms remained folded. You began to make your way into the Tower. “Laufeyson. A word.” Tony barked. Loki rolled his eyes, subtly gesturing for you to go on ahead. “How’d you like her then? State of the art?” Stark hummed, gesturing to the Quinjet. Loki raised a brow. “It was perfectly fine.” Loki said. “Not ‘the best you’ve ever had’?” Tony slipped his sunglasses down his nose. Loki’s brow furrowed. “Cameras?” “Cameras,” Tony replied, tossing Loki the key-fob. “I’ll delete my evidence if you hop on back and delete your evidence with some of that magic-bleach. Deal?” “Deal.” Loki sighed.

Tags (cont in comments) @lokischambermaid @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @marygoddessofmischief @thevillainswhore @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @icytrickster17 @buttercupcookies-blog

[spurbleu]

hi!

i love your writing so much and if you're looking for requests, could i ask for ghost w fem reader who has really long hair, but no one really knows because it's always up? so one day, she pulls her hairstick out and he's shocked + it gets heated w him pulling her hair?

thank youuu :3

yeah! so.

simon is eely off the reddeye.

dampened sheets of earlgrey morning still cling to his leather coat. phantom steel sits in his mouth, and for once the neighborhood, nestled in an uglier corner of London, is silent (heard him coming, he reckons).

when he walks into the apartment, dayray heat still haunts the space below his knees, simmering and exhaling at his boots. but the house is dark, and the night yawns, purple mouth and pitch tongue.

he’s keens on peeling off the working months- oil and blood and sudor. you often pry him from it, generous, soft palms shucking layers of carrion and exhaust. but at this hour, you must be dreaming. he can sleep filthy for one more night.

that is until, he sees the angelic state your rest has left you to.

hair finds his place on the bed, rolls of strands that sit dark and soft in the night. leaves him in a stupor, breath slowing in his shock.

oh and he’s not nice about it.

throws his thigh over the end of the bed and pulls your hips to him, fortunate for him you were already on your stomach. the crude handling rouses you, and you slowly come to as his hips buckle to cage yours.

“si….you’re..b-“

he hushes you, rutting his chub against your silk dress and you mutter something he doesn’t understand. you say it louder.

“hold on…”

so he yanks your hair.

you’re sober and awake within an instant and let out a choked groan. he seems satisfied when you go limp in the shoulders, moving your hips back to him.

fucks you ruthlessly and without respite. holds your hair in place for what feels like hours, plowing against the bend of your spine until he’s properly welcomed home.

he stutters behind you and cums against the folds of your sleep gown, which had been shoved up to your chest 2 orgasms ago.

you fall to the side and he lays down next to you before pulling your body into his chest, inhaling the sweat that collected on your scalp before kissing it.

“keep yer hair down.”

you’re hair bands mysteriously go missing after that.

[toxicanonymity]

stop playing

3.8k, (dark) slasher!Joel x f!reader

Ty @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for the slasher joel edit and movie poster. And @iamasaddie for the big girthy wrench and the mood board on the master list.

slasher Joel master list | spotify playlist

SUMMARY: Joel fixes and returns your car, pays you a visit, and stuffs you full of his cock and more. WARNINGS: I8+ unsafe dubcon P in V, creampie, m masturbation, crude language and degradation, knifeplay, superficial injury (cut), incidental pussy slap, fisting (be the change you want to see in the world), penetration with wrench A/N:  If something sounds unappealing to you, please quietly skip the fic. This blog is kink-positive. Comments that could have a kink shaming effect may be removed, regardless of intent. Asks: @xdaddysprincessxx and 🔧 anon, ty

“Not here to make love to ya, sweetheart.” His cock twitches against your hand. ”That what ya want?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

You shake your head no, catching his scruff against your cheek. “want ya to fuck me.” 

He chuckles, then puts on an air of sympathy. “Shame. . .that’d be nice. . .” His breath hot on your ear. “Shouldn’t’a left me.”  You try to move and he pins you by your wrists.

------------

Joel is in his garage, under your car, finishing up.  Yeah, he didn’t just tow it, he fixed it.  Bet you're an ungrateful bitch about it. You're a brat, but god damn, you can take a dick. He’s never had anyone sink right down and ride him like that.  He vividly recalls the sensation of being swallowed up.  As blood rushes south, his cock strains his jumpsuit, still crusty with your combined juices. Every time he sees or smells it he thinks of how it all leaked out of your used up hole. He wipes his bicep on his forehead, then palms his growing bulge.  He manages to ignore it while he finishes the repair, then rolls out from under your car. 

He sits up on the roller, holding his big, heavy wrench against his thigh. He looks down at his arousal. He wonders if he's getting a beer belly as he sucks in his stomach to better see his engorged bulge.  He unzips his jumpsuit all the way and pulls his T-shirt out from sticking under his pecs. Then he stands up with a groan and adjusts himself. 

He sets his wrench aside and goes to the dingy old bathroom. His mom tried to make it nice, so there's soap and lotion and a little candle, but it hasn't been cleaned in forever. In the filthy mirror, he has motor oil all over his hands, and some on the side of his face. He takes his sleeves off and presses the hardness in his jumpsuit against the low sink as he washes up, then he takes his cock out and holds it in his hand. It's so fat he can barely get his own massive hand around it if he squeezes. You took it like a cock taking queen. He imagines that's what you are as he pumps the lotion into his hand. 

He begins to stroke his raging erection and stares at himself in the mirror as he does it. The mirror lets him see a lot. His jumpsuit is hanging down, mostly out of the picture, the hems of his sleeves skimming the nasty floor as he strokes his cock. His hair is messed up.  He rakes his free hand back through it. His forehead is sweating again as he runs his fist up and down his length. Cheeks are flushed, lips slightly parted, head tilted back as he's beginning to grunt softly with the stroke of his hand. His white t-shirt, stained with oil, stretches over his strong chest and little belly with a little dip of looser fabric in between, under his pecs. His sleeves barely contain his arms and his forearm flexes as he jerks it. 

With his other hand, he takes his boxers under his massive balls so he can see those too. He tilts his head down, casting a shadow over his eyes, mouth hanging open, breathing heavily. He wets his lips and moans approaching the finish. He looks at his cock in the mirror and pictures you sucking his balls. Nasty little sex kitten sucking them so good. For a moment, picturing you between his knees, he feels like you want him. . . until his thoughts are jolted back to how you left him.  His jaw clenches and he wonders what to do with you. When you're only good for one thing, you better be real good at it. Cunt. He jerks himself thinking about how you probably take so many cocks. He wonders how much you could take. 

He takes a deep breath, his cock twitches in his hand, and he groans as he cums into the sink. As he finishes coming, he makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. Under his weathered face, for a moment he sees a younger, sadder man before his nose twitches into a snarl and he rinses the cum down the sink.

As he goes to leave the bathroom, half his footsteps are clicking.   Something is stuck in the bottom of his work boot. He lifts his foot to look at the sole, and he pries a tooth from between the rubber ridges. He tosses it in the toilet on his way out. 

. . .

Joel changes out of his uniform, showers, and puts on jeans and a tight t-shirt. It’s dusk when he gets in your driver's seat and starts your car.  Empty coke bottles, goody's pain relief, fast food receipts, empty packets of gum.   There’s plenty of personal information about you, too. He could take you tonight, if he felt like it. Fuck you and dump you. Oh, not figuratively, literally.  If he feels like it. If only you hadn’t left him. . . he would’ve let you go. 

He pulls up google maps and types in your address.  It’s a long ass drive, an hour and a half, but might be worth it, he thinks.  “What the hell were ya doin’ out here,” he mutters to himself.  He knows the answer– whoring. Of course your gas tank is empty. He’ll fill it up on your dime. He hasn’t decided what to do with you when he puts the car in reverse. He'll figure it out on the way.

As he's driving off, the heavy wrench slides off the roof of your car. "God damnit," he mutters and stops to pick it up. Before he gets back in the car, he pats his pocket and makes sure he has his switchblade.  He calls his mom on the way to your house and tells her he needs to swing by for his extra key to the car. She asks him to stay for dinner. 

—---------------

It’s only been a few days. You’ve been driving Joel’s car. You know he’ll come for it eventually, and that’s okay, you think. Depending on how pissed he is about you leaving him handcuffed on his bed and stealing his car.  You think about him constantly, and it always turns you on. It’s making you irritable, living in a constant state of arousal. What’s wrong with you? He could kill you. He might still.  And yet, you have half a mind to drive all the way back to his sad little camper just to chain him up and ride him again. 

You’re home alone, watching TV when you hear a car park outside, then a car door closes. You look out the window and it’s your car. Your heart flutters. Then you hear another car door open and shut–Joel’s car–and the engine starts.  He drives away in his car without so much as a glance toward your house.  Your heart sinks and you’re disgusted with yourself.

You go out to your car and there’s a piece of paper under your windshield wiper. You unfold it and it says, “Take care, sweetheart.”  There’s something on the other side. You turn it over. It’s a drawing. You can’t tell what it is until you turn it to the side and a chill runs down your spine–not just from the content, but the quality. It looks like a kid could have drawn it, but it’s so crude. The focal point is a detailed vagina, clit, hole, labia, and all, liquid leaking out of it.  In much less detail, there are two legs spread with knees up, tits, and behind the tits, a picasso type face you presume is supposed to be you, based on the hair. Uneven eyes. 

Something’s wrong with him. And, of course, something’s wrong with you–Because your heart sank when he drove away, but it sank more when you read, “take care.” 

—

You think about him even more after that. Non-stop.  You convince yourself he was never going to kill you. He was trying to scare you. It was a fucked up game. You wash the grisly t-shirt he gave you–rendered pointless with slashes through the front, and stains. You wear it and wash it and wear it and wash it, and it’s so fucked up. 

A week or two later, you’re taking a walk in leggings and a tank top. You’re walking by some woods in an undeveloped stretch of your neighborhood, right before a big, vacant lot when you get an unsettling feeling. You jog the rest of the way home.

When you’re standing in front of your fridge cooling off with a cold glass of water, you hear metal on metal and look over to see your sliding glass door being pried open. Joel’s imposing form pauses in the doorway. Then he turns and tosses the crowbar outside. He shuts the door behind him. He’s holding a huge wrench and his other hand is flexing around nothing, fingers slightly wiggling. He’s wearing his mechanic jumpsuit and a scowl. 

His voice is deep and gravely. “Miss me, sweetheart?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask as his boots thud ominously toward you. He’s so imposing, muscles begging for more room in his uniform.  His nose twitches one side of his mouth into a smile, then he tilts his head and wets his lips. He lifts the wrench and lets the end of it fall heavily into his other massive hand. You stand frozen against the kitchen counter. You let him pin you to it with his hips, and that's not all. He puts the wrench down with a loud clunk on the faux granite.  Then he plants his massive hands on either side of you, caging you to the counter. He presses his pelvis into you and the warmth of his semi-hard bulge makes you tingle. His belly presses into your middle. Your heart races.  You wedge your hand between you and palm his bulge.

He laughs, nearly silently, then brings his mouth to your ear. “M’not here to make love to ya, sweetheart.” His cock twitches against your hand. ”That what ya want?” 

You shake your head no and say, “want ya to fuck me.” 

He chuckles, then puts on an air of sympathy. “Shame. . .that’d be nice. . .” His breath hot on your ear. “Shouldn’t’a left me.” 

You try to move and he pins you by your wrists. You knee his groin and when he falls backward, you run around the counter. He grabs his wrench and comes after you. You trip over a pair of shoes and he grabs a fistful of your shirt on your way to the floor, lessening your impact. You’re face-down on the carpet. he discards the wrench with a soft clunk and takes out his knife.

“Stop fuckin’ playin’,” he growls. He doesn’t let go of your shirt. He stabs through the fabric and slices all the way down to the bottom hem, then turns the blade upward and cuts the collar in one quick snap. You squirm under him. He puts all his weight on you, pushing his hard bulge against your ass. Then he lifts his pelvis off you, straddles your thigh, and shoves his hand between your legs, digging between your mound and the carpet to feel you through your leggings.  You know they’re already damp. Joel opens and shuts his hand over your cunt, plucking the stretchy fabric out from your body and snapping it back against your pussy.  Then he gets up on his knees, pulls the spandex out one last time, and stabs through it. He rips a big hole in the crotch. And he keeps stabbing and slicing at the fabric between your legs and then he nicks your inner thigh and you yelp. 

“sorry, sweetheart.” he backs down your leg and gives the booboo a kiss. He slices the seat of your leggings more carefully, ripping them all the way open, then he presses the flat of the knife against one buttcheek, separating your crack more. 

“Stop playin’,” he reminds you. 

“Okay,” you whimper and stop fighting. 

He puts his weight back on top of you, with his belly on your back and his knees straddling your thighs and his cock hard against your ass. He cups your exposed cunt and growls when he feels how wet you are. “There’s my sex kitten,” he murmurs. “Pussy’s dyin’ for it, ain’t she.” 

“Just fuck me already,” you whine, disturbed by what a lack of sexual interest could possibly  mean for you. Then you taunt, “Unless you can’t.”

He runs his thick fingers through your wet folds, then pushes one, then two, then three fat digits into you. He slowly pumps them and his cock swells against you. You twitch around him. 

He sighs and says, “Course I can” and unzips his jumpsuit. “Only ‘cause I feel like it.” He spits loudly, then notches at your entrance and he’s even wider than you remember. He shoves himself into you, parting your core with his absurd girth. 

“Mmmfuck,” he grunts. He retreats slightly then plunges in and you gasp as he bottoms out. “That what ya want?”

You get wetter around his cock and he begins to fuck you at a steady rhythm with your face pressed into the carpet. His hand engulfs the back of one knee to nudge it on the carpet, spreading your legs open more. He grunts as he pounds into you with the thickest cock you’ve ever had, even thicker than you remember. 

“Nasty girl,” he rasps as the heft of his cock splits you open. “Take it like a real cockslut, don’t ya?” 

Your nipples harden at his words and you whimper. 

“But damn you can ride it, too,” he pants. 

He grunts and moans as he buries his girth in you.  

“More,” you whine, unsure why you have the constant urge to provoke him. 

He pounds you harder and faster, grunting like an animal with his broad cock stabbing into you, massive balls slapping your skin through the tatters of your torn leggings.

“More,” you beg.

“Careful,” he warns.  “Cause I’ll give ya more.” 

His hips snap into you, stuffing you so full of cock, rearranging your guts. 

“More,” you pant and his hips slow. He thrusts his fat cock into you slower then takes it out entirely. The void he leaves is jolting and the air is cold on your dripping cunt. 

“Fuckin’ warned ya,” he bites. “Turn over and keep your mouth shut.”  He forces you onto your back so you can see him.  He slices through your sleeves and collars and you flinch with the knife near your neck. He tears your shirt off.  “Give ya more,” he mutters. He straddles your right leg so his right hand is closest to your cunt. He slaps your pussy and rubs his flattened fingers around in your ample slick. Then he wipes it on his cock.  He repeats the action until he’s satisfied with his lube. Then he spits on his cock again and slowly strokes himself with his left hand. 

He pumps his cock with his left hand, and with his right hand, he puts three fingers in a triangular formation and wedges them into your cunt while it’s still stretched from his cock.  He pushes his three fingers in and out, curling them, moving them side to side, stretching you slowly. Your body catches up with him, and your cunt gets even wetter. You’ll probably shrivel his fingertips at this rate.  He pulls his fingers almost all the way out, then adds his pinky to the others and begins to wedge all four of them into you, clustered together barely inside your entrance. He puts his thumb on your clit.  All four of his fat digits push into you and you moan. 

“Ooh she likes it,” he coos. “Ever had your gash this full?” You spasm at his crudeness. “Mm?” He thumbs your clit and keeps stroking himself with his left hand. 

You shake your head no. His four move in and out of you, and his eyes glue to your cunt, watching you take them.  He thumbs your clit faster and your back arches. Your cunt relaxes more, like you want to swallow him whole. 

He scowls, sliding all four of his fingers in and out of you as your body keeps you moist. Then he slides them out and pauses.  He spits on his thumb, despite how sopping wet you are. He wedges his thumb between his fingers, so his thumb and pinky are touching each other, clustered with the three middle digits. Then he begins to push his hand into you.  You groan at the stretch. His hand is massive, and gorgeous. You look at the other hand wrapped around his cock. It’s veiny–they both are, the hand and his cock. He adjusts his position and his massive balls rest on your thigh.

“Wanted more, didn’t ya?” he asks. He’s only buried his fingers to the second knuckle, with the bottom half of each digit still outside your cunt. He subtly twists his hand from side to side wriggling it into you. “Yeah, you can take it,” he says. Thank god you’re so shamefully wet for this psycho.  “That’s my sex kitten.” He lets go of his cock and plants his hand on the floor for leverage, leaning over you.  His hand pushes further into you, and you feel his major knuckles prodding at your poor, stretched hole. He pauses as though taking in the sight. He moans and his eyelids are half shut watching your dripping cunt stretch obscenely around his hand. “Fuck that’s hot,” he breathes, then he pushes the rest of his hand into you. 

The stretch burns when his major knuckles crest your hole, with the heel of his palm still outside you. You whimper and he keeps going. He pushes his hand in, making your hole grow even wider.  Your cunt stretches and swallows his hand—his whole hand. The heel of his palm nudges your g-spot, and his knuckles push against your walls. He’s buried to the wrist now. “Fuck, yeah,” he breathes. “God damn. . .hungry, ain’t she?” He pushes in a little further.  Your walls hug his massive hand and don’t want to let go. You’re shocked by the moisture just pouring into your core, like your body wants more, more, more. 

“What’s wrong with ya, huh?” You wish you knew.  “Lemme ruin your clothes, ruin your hole.” He breathes heavier, grinds his cock against your thigh, and keeps the hand inside you mostly still. He clenches the hand inside you and his breathing falters. He slightly twists his hand.  He starts to withdraw it, then pushes it back in before the knuckles emerge from your hole. He does this a few times, partly out and back in, and your walls squeeze him. You writhe under him.  Then, he begins to wriggle his hand out of you. “Fuck, you should see this, baby.”  He sits up straighter and takes his cock in his left hand again.  “Ohh, fuck,” he breathes. “Spread wide open around my hand.” his thumb slips out first and he puts it back on your clit. You whimper. 

“Yeah, ya like that?” he rubs you with his thumb, four fingers still inside you. Your hips lift into him. “Good girl,” he whispers, rubbing you rhythmically. You look at his fat cock in his hand, leaking precum, and you want it back so bad. “Not yet,” he shakes his head. He moves his four fingers inside you and thumbs your clit, watching between your legs with his mouth hanging open, saliva pooling at the corners of his lips. The tension builds and builds with his thumb on your clit until you begin to clench around his hand and he groans as your walls clamp down on him. “Ohhh,” he moans. “Good girl, oh fuck.” When you’ve finished spasming around his hand, he slides it out the rest of the way. When it’s out, he gives a low whistle and lightly taps your cunt with the backs of his fingers. “Don’t worry,” he reassures you. “Ain’t gonna leave ya empty.” He picks up his massive wrench and admires the wide end of it, a little bigger than his fist. 

You’re dumbstruck. It’s nasty, it’s gross, but your body wants it, really bad. It’s like a dream where you can’t make yourself talk. You don’t move. You just look at it, clit throbbing as he brings the fat end of the wrench to your deflated, weeping cunt. He uses his left hand to spread you open and hold you open, then the cold metal makes you wince and your whole body erupts in goosebumps.  His left hand helps, sticking his fingers in with the wrench and using them to tug your entrance around it as he wriggles the wrench into you. He’s gentler than you expect. He works the wide end of the tool all the way into you. It feels so dangerous and crude, but at least it’s smooth.  It doesn’t scratch, thank god. It’s a little awkward, the way parts of it jut out, but at least the metal is smooth. And having it inside you is somehow exhilerating

“And just like that,” he marvels, “ya took it.” He raises his eyebrows. “Damn.” 

“It’s fucking cold,” you complain. 

He begins to fuck you with it in short little thrusts, watching your cunt take it. You’re stretched around the metal. The danger, the obscenity of it turns you on, but you find yourself staring at his cock, wanting it back.  He lazily strokes himself with his left fist.  He follows your eyes and says, “Had enough, huh?” 

You nod. 

“Want my big fat cock back?”

You nod. 

“Alright, kitten.” He carefully wedges the wrench out of you and inhales sharply watching it emerge obscenely from your stretched out hole. He watches your body begin to pull itself back together as he puts the wrench down and gets between your legs.  He lines up and shoves all the way into you, sliding easily to the hilt. He begins to rail you unrestrained. “Not too bad,” he pants, sliding in and out of you easily. This time, he feels like an average sized man. “Fuck,” he breathes, already close. “Don’t worry.  Won’t leave ya empty.”  He slows down a little and seems to be holding his breath. “fill ya up now,” he pants. “Much as this cumsock can take.” Your cunt twitches. “That’s right.” 

He slams into you and erupts, pulsing massively into your worn-out hole, and a second climax sneaks up on you. Your hips lift into his and he groans.  He hovers over you as he cums, and you admire his face, barely keeping your eyes open with waves of pleasure crashing through your core.  

When his balls are empty. He hovers over you for a moment, gives a subtle but demented smile, eyes sparkling. Then he pulls out.

“Whew.” He sits back on his heels, and tucks his massive cock back into his jumpsuit. Your legs are still spread. He brings his face close to your cunt and says “all fucked out.” He gives it a pat with the backs of his fingers again. “Mmm.” He zips up his suit and braces his hands on his thighs. He stands up with a groan.  

“Why did you come here?” you ask him. 

He ignores the question, picks up the wrench, and leaves you on the floor.

----

Thank you so much for reading and interacting!! Love you guys. Happy Friday the 13th, and Happy Halloween.

[solbaby7]

*walks towards the bar*

Ummm can i please a

Neat Espresso Martini with salt and sugar rim

it’s givinggggggg fuckbuddies to lovers 🤭

[ “kiss me like that again and I’ll start thinking you’re in love with me” + smut/fluff + azriel ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

Everything starts out casual—just a little fun.

Heated make out sessions with Azriel’s tongue rubbing against the roof of your mouth. His hands cupping at the fat off your ass, squeezing; prying it open to make room for the middle finger that nuzzles between a clothed cunt.

It’s the perfect arrangement for mutual stress relief and you weren’t exactly complaining if the byproduct involved earth-shattering orgasms from a hot male with stamina to spare. “You’ve been avoiding me.” He mumbles into the curve of your neck, palms groping at the softness of your hips, thumbs digging into the crease where waist meets thigh.

“I’ve been busy working, insatiable boy.” It’s instinctive to lean into his touch; body plaint under his command. “Not all of us live in mansions atop mountains with shadowy servants to do our bidding.”

“Do you want to? All you have to do is ask—already got an empty drawer with your name on it.”

You struggle to ignore that and the many other mindless proclamations that begins to roll off his tongue once your tits are bare in his face. Every time without fail, Azriel catches you off guard with the sly comments of how you’d never have to wait so long for him if you’d just lived together. “If I did that then how else would I keep you so desperate for me?”

He groans, answering your question with the rut of his cock along your abdomen. He’s rock solid in his breeches and you’ve barely even touched him—a physical testament to his uncontrollable desire for you. “Somehow, I doubt that will be an issue.” Nowhere in his features do you find embarrassment, only a controlled confidence that allows him to be so fucking crude as his tongue explores places you forget is attached to your body.

Love bites are suckled into the swell of your breasts, teeth biting their imprint along your ribs hard enough that it makes you yelp. It was going to leave a mark but for some reason you figure that’s Azriel’s whole plan. There’s no inch of skin he leaves untouched and it’s not until your thighs are trembling with want does he work his way back up.

The gusset off your panties are ruined and Azriel remains perfectly content with his mouth slotted against your own. Manicured nails take through the thick of his hair, palms grazing against the neat taper along his nape. “Keep kissing me like that and I’ll start thinking you’re in love with me.”

“Good, I thought I’d been obvious enough before.” He’s down bad, that much is clear when his cock fucking throbs at the girlish giggle you let free. “Truly, would that be so awful?” The line of his nose drags along the length of your neck as he takes a greedy inhale of you, memorizing body oils and lotions, perfumes and the lingering of incense—committing it to memory for if this were to be his last time with you then he wanted every moment of it branded in his brain. “You and I?”

There’s a brief bout of fear that churns his belly but it’s gone as quickly as it came. Worry and strife have no residence here in your presence. Not when you cup his cheek so tenderly, thumb stroking along the line of his jaw as if he were fine china to be treasured. “No, wouldn’t be awful at all.”

[crybaby-bkg]

Bakugou asks you to join him during one of his photoshoots for a pro hero campaign. he doesn’t understand the point of it, nor why he has to only be in his underwear, but he doesn’t mind it much when he gets to look over to your shy little face.

you’re propped up in a corner on an old couch, laptop perched in your lap, its glare bright despite the way you never really look at it. you’re supposed to be catching up on some work, but you’ve been distracted by the glorious sight that is the love of your life.

when he looks at you, do you duck down, eyes suddenly focused on your screen again. it only makes him smile a little, step away from the assistant of the photographer who comes up to him, calls out your name.

“Huh?” your head whips up with a quickness neither of you expect, goes to show just how invested you really were with your work. but Bakugou only grins at you now, jerking his chin over to you as he grabs the bottle of oil the assistant was trying to pour over him.

“C’mere and gimme a hand, won’t ya?” he asks you, boyish smile gracing his face as he tilts his head at you. immediately, your face warms as you put together the request that’s suddenly dropped in your lap. everyone in the studio looks at you, with both envious and excited gazes, and it only makes you shrink in on yourself.

“I hate you.” you mutter under your breath when you finally rise up from your place on the couch, which he somehow hears. but Bakugou only laughs at you, grabs you by the waist when you’re close enough to kiss you breathless in front of everybody, before he’s handing off the oil to you.

“Such an attention whore,” you whisper when you’re close, the air between the two of you thick. everyone tries to look away, give you guys a bit of privacy, but it’s hard when such a soft and amused look passes over the usually rough and hardened hero’s face.

“Only for your attention.” he grunts back to you, holding his arms out for you to start dripping the oil down his skin. it’s a sensual gesture, the softness between you two sliding into something more, something that you only ever reserve for the bedroom.

you tip the bottle over his shoulders until it drips down his chest, massaging it all in with your hands in crude, circular motions. you can see the way he bites his lip, ignore the way he looks at you down the bridge of his nose lest you two create a scene not meant for the public eye. you gather more oil, warm it between your palms, kneeling in front of him to help massage it into the defined muscles of his stomach.

you ignore the twitch in front of you, swallowing thickly, glancing up to Bakugou who hasn’t taken his eyes off of you yet. you mouth at him to behave, but he only grins, something feral.

“We only need it above the waistband.” the photographer suddenly calls out, snapping you back to attention. you stand on shaky knees, nodding with your eyes casted low, ashamed, that your freak of a man had you doing something so…so—

“Go wait in my dressing room, yeah?” Bakugou asks you, pulling you in close to peck at the corner of your mouth. “Gonna wrap this shit up.” he promises you, and you can only nod silently, mind going a mile a minute. but before you go, you remember to grab the oil. just in case.

[1800titz]

A little drabble on Trivia!Harry and inspections (aka the most unsatiating pussy massage)

Trivia!Harry likes to get his girl out of her own head in a really simple way. It’s a little invasive, sure, but it gets the trick done— and, poor girl, her gears are always sort of just turning, aren’t they? It feels like his place to help. His purpose.

And, really, it’s very simple. Easy. And he can tell when she needs it most— when she’s maundering beside him on the couch. Fingers twisting together in her lap. Prating off without a gap to suck a breath in between her teeth to oil the grinding flow.

It’s failsafe.

All he has to do is fold her over the cushion on all fours. Peel her shorts off to bunch over the backs of her thighs, or flip her skirt up over her hips and pry her panties off. Leach the warmth from her pretty, little cunt with the tips of his fingers, prodding her lips apart with either thumb.

It milks the blustery vim behind her skull dry, until all that’s left is an incomprehensible, soporific sludge. Tinted in the haze of humiliation, because it’s embarrassing at its core, isn’t it? His fingers poking at her pussy, tucking the hood of her clit back, brushing over her pulsing seam.

She’s hot-faced, with warmth spuming under her skin and frothing in the pit of her tummy. And of course, it fosters a new snowball down the (suddenly frozen) piste of her brain— absorbed in the way the blunt pad of his forefinger grazes her exposed clit (almost overstimulating, for a nanosecond, before it retreats) and passes.

Because he’s seen her pussy so many times, hasn’t he? Ogled down at the thick of his cock splitting her apart when he fucked into her, thighs pinned apart with his palms on her knees. Parted her lips to spit onto her clit, dewy eyes blown onyx, staring, before he puckered his lips around it. Bullied it with his tongue.

But this is different, this is—

His digits stuffing in past her throbbing (progressively …leaking) seam (his middle finger, twisting in, his thumb tucked to her clit hood). Exploring. Scrutinizing the way he nudges between her legs. The sloppy string of slick that stretches from his skin to her hole when he pulls his finger out.

It’s humiliating to feel him trace a sticky glob of her arousal, pooling, down to her clit. Spreading her folds again, tracing the shape of her swelling button with his thumb (avoiding the screeching nerve endings there, pulsing, twitching like a visible plea for him to touch, please, touch).

And he does, eventually, pulling the hood of her clit back again to scrape the tip of his index so light over her most sensitive bit, just enough of a window to have her hips canting back (almost indiscernible). Have her swollen bud throbbing when he pauses the ministrations (stops to admire the scenery) and her hole twitching. And she knows that he’s …inspecting is the thing. Watching the way her cunt squeezes uselessly at the air, empty and unstuffed.

And that gets her dumb and quiet. Gnawing into the knobs of her knuckles when he’s just peeling her apart to stare, only touching like he’s making observations in some crudely gnarled, abrasively invasive experiment.

When he pinches her clit between his thumb and forefinger, lightly, rolling—

When he spreads her cheeks and pointedly finds her other hole, humming, the nail’s already hilt-deep in the coffin.

That’s his little trick. Gets the job done.

It’s either that, or he collars over the column of her throat with his palm. And then just… squeezes. Watches the cogs stutter through the windows of her eyes, fogged over and misty.

Either or :)

[nottivagos]

i love art student danny im begging for more🙏 literally anythinh

Welcome Notti's "Not So Innocent" Notebook where I write some filth to make your Friday a little bit better <3 || 18+ mdni pls and ty

an: can this be classed as filth? i don't know. NONNIE, I AM GONNA BE SO HONEST WITH YOU, THIS ASK MOTIVATED ME TO FINISH THIS SO TYSM<3<3 this was originally going to be called "Crude Drawing Of An Angel" but i couldn't commit to a full fic, sorry! :(

The droning bell signalling the next period droned over Daniel’s campus. The lights were dim in the typically busy art department in his college. All the students had left after the lesson had ended, but here he still was, with you sitting pretty on his lap.

He didn’t understand why he was so nervous about it. You’d done this numerous times before, just when you actually had clothes on. Adjusting his glasses, he pushed them up the bridge of his nose before exhaling deeply, feeling the breath fan against his face slightly from his nostrils.

Maybe it was because you’d given him your time of day. You were special to him, not like he’d fully tell you that, as you’d been becoming his muse subtly. The way he hid his sketches around you explained that in more ways than others. Danny was used to just hiding in the shadows of the college art studio, left to his own devices to doodle in his crisp sketchbook or to play around with a new set of oils he’d bought due to him running low, but not this. 

He’d completed many real-life pieces beforehand, but that was using models as references out of an odd Playboy magazine he used to keep hidden from his parents before he’d moved on campus. But having one on his lap? So intimately too? It was enough to make him drunk on the intense nerves he was feeling.

“Have you never had a naked lady on your lap before?” you whispered smoothly, eyebrow raised as your bare tits brushed against his clothed chest. Lazy arms rested on his shoulders, a knowing smile on your face as Danny looked on edge, unsure on where to place his own frantic palms to keep you stable in his lap.

Danny’s face fully flushed at the question, breathing hitched before he chuckled awkwardly, flashing a bashful smile that revealed his shiny braces whilst his brown doe eyes studied your own features. He let the question simmer in his mind for a moment, a gulp following as he tried to remove the embarrassment growing in his throat.

“N-No. Never,” a croaky voice replied, stuttering and fumbling on his words as his growing nervousness became more palpable. 

“First time, huh,” you mumbled, a soft hand trailing from his shoulder to cupping his burning cheek with a smirk. “Makes sense why you’re so jittery then,” you added, brushing a soothing thumb over the scorching apple, making Danny divert his gaze elsewhere meekly.

He swallowed timidly again, squeezing his eyes shut briefly, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly at the harsh gulp. Bashful and fidgety hands moved to hold your bare torso’s sides ever too tightly, nails piercing the flesh, as the grip on your body felt like a clammy vice.

Giggling softly at his skittish body language, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of cuteness in your stomach. He really was a nervous thing. “You’re so cute, Danny,” the compliment rolled off of your tongue sweetly, your thumb coming down to trail his freshly shaven jawline. “All bashful like this…” you trailed off, thumb now pressing against his bottom lip with a gentle ease, “makes me wanna keep you like this forever,”  you continued with another small, giddy smile.

He didn’t dare look at you. If anything, he didn’t know where to look. Did he look at your bare tits or at your face? Both ideas made his brain fuzzy— a flurry of frantic thoughts jumbling together— and his insides jump with excitement. 

Danny was painfully hard. The tension of his erection in the confines of his boxers didn’t help. It was embarrassing, really. How the hell did someone get hard from a woman just sitting on their lap? His giddiness was the equivalent of a horny teenager having their first partner kiss them for the first time, and if anything, that made him more cuter in your eyes.

“Someone’s a bit excited,” you giggled, eyes flicking down to his clothed hardness before looking back down at his face from above. His eyes had followed yours, as your hand came to guide his gaze back up on your own when you cupped his jaw, flashing a knowing smile.

“I-I’m not!” He protested, practically blurting the words out in desperation but failing miserably to convince you. “I’m just not used to it, that’s all,” he added with another bashful mumble, his doe gaze fixed on yours.

“Keep telling yourself that, Danny,” you teased lightheartedly with a small scoff. “I bet if I whispered in your ear right now that you looked beautiful, you’d come in your boxers,” you added with a smug smile, to which Danny replied with wide eyes. “Or maybe if I taught you how to touch my breasts properly you would too?”

“I mean, is that really necessary? I don’t—” Danny messed up his words dramatically, his cheeks pricked a deep crimson colour as you looked down at him with that cheeky glimpse in your eye. “—think it’s necessary, that’s all,” he tried to protest again with a low voice as slow hands came to place his hands on your soft breasts, the intimacy of the action electric. 

“That’s better,” you mumbled quietly, half-lidded eyes darkening at the sight. “Such a good boy for me, aren’t you, Danny?”

“Y-yes,” he muttered almost instantly, following your eyes so intently. Such a good boy for you, following your every movement like an eager little puppy. It made you adore him more really, he was useless like this, and that’s what made it endearing. 

Danny shifted uncomfortably on his stool, the stifling hardness of his erection fighting his boxers was becoming torturous. It created some friction that made you gasp softly on your own part, before you giggled at Danny’s discomfort. 

“Who knew you could get hard just from looking at a naked woman, Danny?” you teased, giggling as you came down to rest your lips against the shell of his ear. “You look so pathetic right now,” the purr rolled off of your tongue so intoxicatingly for Danny, as his thumbs came to graze against your nipples almost hesitatingly.

You gave him the nod of affirmation, and almost instantly he started to roll his thumbs in circular motions until your nipples became hardened peaks. Danny could feel his body burning with an overwhelming passion he’d never felt before. Something about touching a bare body for the first time made him ever so pathetically aroused, and God did it look good on him.

“Good boy, Danny,” you praised ever so seductively into his ear, hot breath hitting it ever so harshly. “Just like that, mhm, that’s right,” you added whenever he stopped, (a subtle prompt for him not to stop) to which he quickly started to do the motions again.

His hips started to buck pathetically as he whined when you pressed a searing kiss onto his mouth. You began to move with him, his trembling hands still groping your breasts with a sort of palpable passion now. It was no doubt that he was close to coming, the way his movements became desperate and erratic was in no doubt because he was chasing his inevitable release. 

Tongues twisted together in your mouths as you silenced his moans when they dissipated from you two making out with each other. You devilishly smiled as you felt his head tilt back and his eyes shut whilst you trailed your kisses down his neck. He groaned out in his response, a guttural one, as he became overwhelmed whilst riding out his high.

Panting as you tried to gain some composure at the same time as Danny, you laughed breathlessly as you looked down at him again, removing your lips from his neck. “Did you just come in your boxers?” you asked whilst amazed that he’d actually come in his boxers as Danny’s eyes widened at the uncomfortable stickiness he was now sitting in.

“For fuck’s sake…” Danny muttered, laughing meekly. “I’m sorry, I just got carried—”

“No, Danny,” you cut him off, pressing your pointer fingers against his lips. “That was fucking hot”, you continued, before letting your hand rest against your side.

“I-It was?!” He exclaimed dumbfounded, eyes wide as his breathing was still a little unsteady. “Yes, it was,” you murmured, brushing a gentle hand against the side of his face. “And next time we’re like this…” you whispered against his lips, “I’m going to make you even more excited so you come harder.”

like art student!danny? fancy sending me an ask so you can be included in my notebook! - notti <3

[vitalnourish]

What’s really in our food?

Recently, many people have been checking the ingredient lists of our food to determine if it is ultra-processed. We are able to see strange sounding ingredients on the back, but what exactly do they do to our food?

Let’s examine a proclaimed ‘healthy’ food, a gluten free KIND bar. Its ingredients include;

tapioca syrup, produced from tapioca starch that is used as a thickener, sweetener, and stabiliser. It has been linked to causing fatty liver disease.

vegetable glycerin, a sugar alcohol that is a byproduct of the soap and biodiesel industry. It can lead to nausea and diarrhoea.

palm kernel oil, made by the bleaching, deodorising and neutralising of crude palm oil. It increases levels of bad cholesterol.

Keep in mind that these effects are shown when the ingredients are eaten in excess, however 60%-90% of the average American diet are full of these foods (that are ultra processed). Learn your ingredients!

Sources;

Dr. Chris van Tulleken

Learn - the whole truth. (n.d.). The Whole Truth Foods. https://thewholetruthfoods.com/learn

[polutrope]

You like Daeron/Maglor and Maedhros/Maglor, right? Have you ever thought about Maedhros/Maglor/Daeron? The three of them together, in a threesome or polyamorous relationship? Have you ever thought about writing this or your opinion about this ship and idea?

"You like the emissary of Doriath," says Maedhros.

The lamp Maglor attempts to light spits hot oil on his hand. He hisses, flicks his wrist, then strikes the flint again. 

The flame leaps awake and washes the room in saffron light. Maglor sets his sights on his brother, who drapes his heavy robe over the back of a chair.

Over the course of a day of councils and speeches and feasts and, at the last, dancing, strands of Maedhros' hair have come loose from his braid, and they curl, soft orange tendrils, about the edges of his profile. Drawing near, Maglor takes one and twists it around his finger; he arranges it over the jut of Maedhros' collarbone and drags the heel of his palm down his chest.

Maedhros seizes his hand before it can travel lower. "Answer my question."

"I did not think it was a question," says Maglor. He smiles coyly, then nips at Maedhros' knuckles. "But, well. If you say so." Twisting his free hand through Maedhros' sash, he tugs him closer. "Though I know not which emissary you mean."

Maedhros pulls a sharp breath as Maglor attempts to knee him towards the cot at their tent's further wall. But Maedhros is immovable. In answer, he thrusts the blunt end of his wrist between Maglor's thighs. Maglor moans, bucks involuntarily.

"Mm, as I thought. How long have you been thus? Since the morning's council, when you could not let a single remark from Elwe's minstrel go by without inserting some pithy witticism of your own? Or was it during the evening's entertainment, when you could not keep from scraping your teeth across your lips, watching his fingers fly over his pipes?"

"Nelyo..." Maglor whimpers into the curve of Maedhros' shoulder, weak now from the firm pressure of Maedhros' forearm rubbing him full. "I want... you... please..."

At last Maedhros lets go of the hand clutched between their bodies and tips Maglor's face up by the chin. "Do you?" He kisses him, and Maglor's eyes pinch shut with pleasure, but upon the backs of his lids is Daeron -- dark, deft, enchanting Daeron, quirking a smile, inviting, even as Maglor disentangled himself from the swirl of dancing bodies to follow his lord-brother to bed.

Maglor pushes hard against such thoughts. "Do you think me so wayward?" he teases, as he loops his arms around Maedhros' waist to work free the ties of his sash.

On a sudden, Maedhros pushes him off. "Go to him," he says.

"What?" Maglor staggers.

"Go to Daeron. I am certain he will not deny you."

There is no bitterness or deception in Maedhros' manner, and at that Maglor wonders. There has been no other between them since their exile; it was, until mere hours ago, unthinkable to Maglor that he could ever again desire another.

"But..." Maglor says. "You would sleep alone?"

Maedhros hates to sleep alone; does not sleep at all, Maglor knows, on the many many nights they must spend apart, now they are lords of their own lands. Surely, Maedhros has not brought him so far merely to talk of defenses and alliances and send him to bed with Doriath's messenger. With Doriath's messenger, of all people! At that Maglor almost laughs, for his brother's present instruction is altogether contrary to habit, crude compared to the intricate steps Maedhros dances around those with power.

"I am content," he assures Maglor, and guesses at his second thought, too, saying, "and I trust you not to dash all hope of alliance in a single night. Do prove my trust well-placed, won't you?"

Maglor nods, and Maedhros kisses the crown of his head. As Maglor makes to leave, Maedhros takes him by the hand. "One thing." Maglor turns. "Tomorrow, you are mine."

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Maggot’s Kiss Pt. 2

You must be dreaming. A bad dream, really. One where you’re out in the middle of the desert, hurtling down lengthy, desolate stretches of highway in a sardine can packed with oil and about fifteen sweaty pro-skaters. Bam looks for validation in all the wrong places, and you were one of those places.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Angst, Fluff)

3.3k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, Enemies to lovers, jealousy, crude language, very suggestive content, bullying, (small) implied age gap, injury, wound care, boners, smoking, make outs, bad sex, semi-public sex, insecurity, misogyny

An: Thank you for sending in requests! This is, in fact, the single fic I have worked on for the longest- over nine months! Hours of research and writing (and re-writing…) went into this, so I hope you all enjoy! :) I wanted to keep the door open for a Pt. 3, so please lmk if that’s something you’d like to see! As a note, the opening scene of this fic was largely inspired by my experiences using lidocaine after walking ~10 miles a day for a week- long story, but a fun one!

Your motel room looked like a military field hospital, sweaty, lifeless bodies draped over whatever pieces of furniture were closest when you walked in. What the X-Games doesn’t show you is the toll professional skating can take on your body, and given your usual medic couldn’t make the trip, the severely injured were given priority. Just about everybody had something wrong with them. You got off easy with just a blasted elbow, but that paled in comparison to the rotten luck Bam had up to this point. “Yeah, racked my nuts so bad yesterday- m’still pissin’ blood…”

This was, of course, in addition to several broken ribs and those sore thigh muscles you were slathering up in that minty, burn your eyes lidocaine jelly. Better than the rank, dense sweat that permitted every inch of peeling wallpaper and crusty carpet…Sitting there with one leg dangling over the arm of the chair, Bam looked like some king, waiting for a subject to come and kiss his ring, with the shitty lamp in the corner of the room casting this golden halo around his head. He watched you with half lidded eyes, letting out an occasional wince or hiss through his teeth as the gel stung in the angry little scratches on legs.

“Give it a break, dude. You’re gonna end up in a full body cast before the tour is done- I’m callin’ it.” Bam’s Adam’s Apple bobbed as he let out a low groan, his head leaning back when your scabbed over palms worked out a knot in his pale thigh. There was a weird privacy this afforded you, what with how the rest of the team was passed out or distracted with their own injuries…Your face was inches away from those flannel boxers that sat dangerously low on Bam hips as he wilted in his seat and muttered, “Yeah, yeah- I’ll be fine, Nurse Y/N...”

The worst part of this wasn't the fact that Bam got a hard on while your face was inches from his crotch. It was how he was shamelessly flashing that tattoo and all that prime hip real estate, contours shiny with sweat. Fucking sinful- and he didn’t have a shread of shame about getting a boner in a room full of his half naked teammates. Slut. Glancing down to the tent in his boxers, you bitterly chuckled, not pretending you were some doting, caring mother figure, “Well, at least we know it still works...” Punctuating your sentence with a tight squeeze to a bundle of muscle, you savored the way Bam squirmed as he melted under your numb palms like ice cubes spat out onto the sidewalk.

His little facade crumpled in front of your face, but he still put up the ghost of resistance, “You are suh-such a sadistic bitch…” Sadistic implied you got pleasure from his pain, but there was more than that. The little, soft breaths he let out so as to not make the ache on his chest worse made you want to tug those ACE bandages on his torso to one side and dig your fingers into the tender, purple bits hidden under them.

You could listen to the engine groan, but that won’t pass the time when you need to be in the next state over by morning. Didn’t keep you warm either, as the tour bus you and the rest of Tony Hawk’s skate team were packed into sped down I-10, and at two am became a refrigerator in the desert night. But after a long day of skating in Ari-Fucking-Zona, there was no amount of noise that could wake those guys up. No amount of mattress creaking or stiffled moaning…

Luckily, you could come up with a few ideas to stay warm under the frigid den of night. This sort of writhing, slithering mass of limbs was stuffed into one bunk, with Bam latched on your neck as if he were Cleopatra’s asp. A little petulant about not being able to have sex in a bus with all your teammates present, he greedily palmed at you, wide hands slipping up the bottom of you tank top. Suddenly, a thought occurred to you. Keeping your voice down, you asked incredulously, “What happened to, ‘no way in hell am I touchin’ you.’?” Thank god it was dark so that Bam didn’t see the shit eating grin on your face. But this was something that had been bothering you for a while- ever since that incident at the skatepark, you weren't sure what the two of you were. Friends? Dating? Something between that? Bam let out a low, vibrating groan against your neck, “Shut up…” before he resumed making swollen, fat hickeys on your neck.

No, you were not about to be demoted to Bam Margera’s road fleshlight. Grabbing a handful of his long, sweaty curls, you yanked him off of your carotid with a pop, leaving him to stare up at you with those big, shocked eyes. Bam was about to tell you that it's none of your business- that you should stop being so goddamn weird and critical about everything he does because he could just find another girl who’d be over the moon to be gettin’ all this, and if he did, he wouldn’t have to put up with all your bitchin’. Key word about to, because thevan made this horrible wheezing noise cutting off any sass he was about to give you. Judging from the sputtering coming from the engine and the sudden realization that you were slowing down, it seemed this was more serious than hitting an armadillo.

Despite the initial confusion, you did feel a tinge of satisfaction when Bam thwacked his head on the roof of the bunk trying to see what was going on, wincing and falling face-first into your tits. Flicking on the hazards, the driver eased the dying bus into the parking lot of a nearby rest stop. Surprisingly, the only person who was roused in this process was the team’s pseudo father, Tony, who had this little sensor in his head that went off whenever shit started going south. After he left to see if he could find a technician, you tried to give the tension between yourself and Bam a little room to breathe and stood outside the bus in your pajamas, only for him to follow you.

Wedging a cigarette between your teeth, silence hung heavy between the two of you- as heavy as the desert air could allow. Lips curling into that signature, plastic MTV star smirk, the tip of Bam’s cig glowed red under the white, fluorescent lights of the gas station as he took a drag. Everyone looks bad under those lights, you realized, because you could really see them- more bare than being naked. He just…watched you, studying your movements with odd intensity. Bam wanted a reaction, but you refused to give it to him, and that made him upset. Tossing his smoldering butt about an inch shy of your bare foot, all semblance of politeness fell away. Your lack of a reaction must’ve stirred something in Bam, because wordlessly, he retreated to the bus.

Taking your chance to flee the scene, you slipped away into the Speedway to see how Tony was doing on that mechanic and maybe grab yourself a slushie. Leaning into the little cubicle the pay phone sat in with the kind of stress on his face you would expect to see from a doctor three hours into open heart surgery, he explained, “Well, they can get a guy out in a couple hours, but until then we’re kinda stuck here.” Outside, you caught a glance of Bam in the parking lot about three seconds away from hurling his board through a plate glass window. Still staring at you. Sighing, you took a step out of the shatter zone, ducking past a pamphlet stand and pocketing a few before you slipped out the door. You didn’t even get your slushie.

Call in the bomb squad, Tony. His eyes were hard and distant, like he was searching for something to break or someone to punch. “Hey, Bam! Whatch’a workin’ on over there?” You could tell he saw you on your way to talk him down from his little temper tantrum, because he suddenly got all cool after you called out to him. Instead of responding, he shot you a glare, ignoring your attempts at civility as he re-attempted that frontside 50-50 on the curb he just couldn’t seem to nail. You wanted to smack him upside the head and tell him to stop being such a little bitch. But you didn’t.

“Check this out, they got-“ fishing in your pocket, you drew out the first pamphlet you found and quickly skimmed it, feigning excitement, “they got paintball! C'mon- if we have a free day, we gotta do it.” Like a kid at the store who was promised candy if they stopped crying, Bam got silent. Paintball is fun. Chasing your teammates around is fun. And as it happens, hunting people down with the goal of inflicting nasty, paintball related injuries is very fun. As you watched the gears in Bam’s head spin, the animosity plastered across his face washed away into something more familiar. “Your ass is mine, Y/N.”

The place was a warzone. Literally- Warzone Paintball and Airsoft. Honestly, the last thing you wanted to do after a day skating at Planet Plywood was to roll around in the dust and mud, but you had already convinced Tony, and most of the guys were stoked about it. Key word, most. “Vegas is, like- an hour from here.” Tim complained, lacing up regulation standard combat boots next to you in the locker room. Yes, the single locker room, which nobody cared about you being in except you know who sneaking glances from the corner as you tugged on your camo gear. Walking out into paint spattered no man’s land, trash talk flew across the field from both sides (but mostly Bam’s side). Their demented leader himself even posed you a kind offer, “Hey, captain hardass! Y’want me t’hold your purse for you?” Turning to Tony, you mouthed something about getting the little one in the ribs.

Over the loudspeakers a buzzer went off, and the match had begun! Clacking noises from gunfire echoed off the walls, mingling with shouting and splattering paint. Diving behind a fake oil drum, neon colored rounds whizzed past your ears as you taken out a few men. This was Rambo. No, more like Stripes, because with great timing, you had to reload. “Shit- shit, fuck…” Fumbling with the second round, your nerves were not in any way aided by the advancing hoofbeats from the other side of the course. To your left, Mike Ellis rolled over a plywood crate and joined you, providing decent cover for you to regain your footing.

More than justice, you had your sights set on humbling that little Philly-trash twerp. Staying low, you ducked into a ditch just in time to hear from your side, “Oh, you are dead, fucker!“ There goes Tim, firing with abandon as he charged headlong into the heat of battle, only to be quickly gunned down by the opposition who all whooped and high-fived. Oh well, there goes that plan. Back to hunting Bam! Taking the hint, you decided to stay out of the line of fire, creeping along the far wall to check for openings.

Somehow, you couldn't take your head off a swivel despite the fact you were covered. Some primal, instinctual part of your brain told you not to let your guard down. Crouching behind a shipping container on one edge of the battlefield, that adrenaline thrumming through you was amplified by the sudden silence. The noise of war seemed a world away, and now all that was left was you and your gun. Or so you thought.

Suddenly, the cold, hard steel of a muzzle pressed against the back of your skull, the only part of your head the protective mask didn’t cover. You knew who it was. “Hey…” you put your hands up in a surrender you weren't sure was genuine or faux, “none’a that close range shit…” Blue eyes shining with mischief behind his mask, Bam cast a shadow over you, standing so close that you could feel the heat radiating off of his body- his half shirtless body, courtesy of the un-air conditioned warehouse. There was an unmistakable, vindictive glee in his voice as he broke the silence, “Say uncle.” But you were not about to give Bam the satisfaction, so you kept your mouth shut. Wait a beat, two, three. Behind you, Tony called your name for backup, but you didn’t budge. Your gun was light. Jabbing you provocatively, Bam egged you on, “C'mon- say it!” He sounded significantly more serious now…and you still didn’t. With a click, you were hit with the sting of an intercepted round directly to your asscheek, making you jolt. “Ah! Fuck you, Margera!”

It's easy to let life on the road become moving wallpaper, like the blur of scenery outside van windows, so you measured your time touring in dinners. Tonight was some pseudo Italian restaurant just a step below Olive Garden. Not that it mattered- all you have to do is throw a couple Steak-Umm’s, Bac-O’s, or a wayward fan their way, and these men chow down like a pack of wild dogs. Plus you were happy for a break from your routine visits to the clown, the king, or the colonel.

But as you stared at Bam across the red and white gingham tablecloth, he looked…different. You couldn’t place it- something in the way his curls fell into his eyes made them lack the hardness they usually held when he met your gaze. Maybe this was some post-coital bliss he receives from causing problems? That would explain a lot, actually…Nonetheless, he was just Bam. Immature, dumb Bam, who was eating spaghetti at the same table you were eating spaghetti at. Wiping a bit of sauce off the corner of his mouth with a black painted fingernail, he continued animatedly telling some war story about his latest injury, “I ended up pulling, like- every muscle in my leg and I couldn’t skate for two weeks!”

As Bam went on to explain how he bought a ferrari to lift his spirits, you glanced over to the red frosted glass that sat in front of him and realized something: he was the only person not drinking. In fact, you’d never seen Bam drink. When his story hit a lull and the team got distracted by discussing whatever was on the itinerary for tomorrow, you leaned over towards him, “Hey, Bam. How old’re you again?” Confused as to why the hell you would bring that up, he raised an eyebrow as if you should know this, “I’m twenty one…?” You almost spat your drink out. He was just a baby! Standing next to the other guys on the team, he always looked so goddamn young, and now you know why.

“What, you a cougar’re some shit?” You rushed to defend yourself, because you hadn’t even thought of it like that, “No- no! How old do you th- don’t answer that.” He lost it at your reaction, that signature grin flashing across his face that you couldn’t help finding disarming in a sweet, boyish way. I’m every way, you should have the advantage in this conversation, yet Bam managed to reduce you to stumbling over your words and bring you back to the same banter the two of you had before this whole, ‘will they? won’t they?’ bullshit. Smug as ever, especially now that he had thrown down the gauntlet among a mess of marinara stained plates and half eaten breadsticks, Bam sat back in his seat.

But even though the way you looked at him changed, Bam could not change for the life of him. Yeah, you were in a pseudo-relationship, but obviously the rest of the team didn’t know that- they couldn’t know that, or else there was no way anybody would take you seriously. Oh, look at Y/N, fucking her way onto a skate team…Point is, there’s nothing you could do when he flirted with chicks at the bar, or when the hood women who lined the rail at the skate exhibitions made no effort to conceal what they wanted, because unlike Bam, you have a modicum of grace and decorum and you do not turn into a brooding teenager when your property is threatened.

On the tour bus, there was always a blackjack game running somewhere, some guys playing Pro Skater on one tv, watching dvds on another- and when that wasn’t happening, Mike Ellis was blasting DMX and trying to start impromptu wrestling matches. Conversely, Bam had his own ways of passing time. See, he got this idea in his head about figuring out how to fuck in a bunk because bus toilets are decidedly unsexy. He positioned you any which way he needed, “Alright…if you put your leg here, an’ I move like this…” Tangling your bodies together, Bam remained determined, “Yeah. Yeah- we could do this…”

For a moment, you wondered how long he’d been thinking this over, but your mind quickly wandered to someplace else…Those girls that frothed at the mouth when Bam breathed obviously didn’t know him like you and the rest of the team knew him. They didn’t know that the only reason the fact you shared bunks most nights was never questioned was that he couldn’t stand to be alone, whether that be in life or just for an evening (At least, that’s your theory). They didn’t know how when he looked around after he did something stupid, he wasn’t looking to see if someone got that on camera- he wanted to see if anyone was paying attention to him, laughing at him. They weren’t aware that his on tour fuckbuddy knew what it took to get him whining and squealing like a girl, which frankly wasn't a lot.

Keeping your voice down so as to only be heard by the young, afterglowy man clinging to your chest like the dirt from his last fall, you couldn’t fight a grin as you shook your head, “Don’t look at me like that…” You could just feel those expectant baby deer eyes boring holes into your head before you finally admitted, “It was fine!” And like a light switch, he fell. The look on Bam’s face was as if the paparazzi had just caught him outside a strip mall porn shop with ‘Anal Rampage’ tucked under his arm. “What? Wha’dyou mean, ‘fine’?” Bam would’ve rather you slapped him across the face and told him he was awful in bed. Despite his indignation and the shattered little look on his face, you just couldn’t bring yourself to take him seriously enough to lie that you were any more enthused at his performance than you actually were, “It’s alright- It was just…it was good.” You took pleasure in patronizing him, doing everything short of ruffling his hair and telling him ‘nice try, champ’.

Hurriedly, he launched into a rant, “Hey- it was cramped! This thing barely fits one person, and I pulled a muscle in my leg yesterday. Why don’t you try t’do better?” Fumbling in his flustered state, Bam neglected to keep his voice down so as to not alert the rest of the team, whisper yelling just audibly outside of the drawn curtain. But even though Tony and Mike and whoever else was listening, he felt no need to cover himself. In fact, he doubled down, “No, no- bullshit! I’ll show you just how good I am. This ain’t over!”

[wakandamama]

Monday

In anticipation for me watching season 2 of the Bear 🐻😈. This is another smut continuation of Routine, that I may or maynot add more too. Enjoy fellow Chefkissers👩🏿‍🍳🧑🏼‍🍳 if you know me, I had to get my fav couple rn, car fucking.

“Carm…Carmy please.” she pleads, the damn near echo in the car. Her thighs clenching over his hand again. Carmy has to bite his lips in, hard. His dick achy at the sounds she makes at this point. The sound is fucking obscene, slick and wet as he forces his hand out the grip of her thighs. Her whimper at the loss of him is whiny and upset.

“Seriously?” She pants, all hot and bothered. Her eyes promising revenge for him stringing her along like that while in traffic.

____________

The way Sydney can’t get the obscene and lite salt taste of Carmy’s dick out of her mind is insane, it contemplates her to join her father at evening prayer tonight. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was currently pretending to reorganize her locker as she waits for him to finish the books, she’d be dosing herself in blessed oil as she entered the sanctuary. Right now, she could only thank God that Richie’s little girl had another dance recital so his smart mouth was out of the restaurant first. Carmy’s crude play-cousin was starting to linger too long for them to be safe from prying.

It is easier to wave off Tina as she has to get home to make dinner for her family. It was easier to excuse her lingering to Marcus as he’s been packing himself into mixing bowls and the oven lately. But Richie? The man was a tick with the capabilities to talk and apparently a bloodhound with how he commented about the smell of sex in the air lately. Sydney blames Carmy’s inability to relax unless he’s in her pussy or marinating a brisket.

She is drawn from her pondering by Carmy’s hand swiping over the smalls of her back. She glances at him when he opens his own locker and tosses in his apron. She closes her own when Carmy starts to trade his no-slips for his worn nikes. 

“Good day, chef?” he asks while he bends over to tie his shoe. Sydney is practically licking the lingering memory of the velvety feel of girth in her mouth. 

“It was. Richie was only half- annoying today. Glad he jetted out for the recital. Marcus made me this orange cream puff sampler thingy. He’s getting better. It wasn’t too sweet, flaky, the cream wasn’t gritty at all. Was a perfect bust in my mouth.” she teases. Carmy gives a little huffing laugh when he stands back up. He grabs his jacket, leans in close to her ear as he thread his arms through. 

“I can put something better in there.” He rasps to her. She chuckles, he smirks at it and softly bumps her shoulder  He follows right behind her, only pausing to put a step between them to turn out the lights. They get to his car, he is cute but swift to open her door and close it behind her before going around the front. 

The two take off, both letting out sighs of annoyance at the standstill of traffic they hit within 4 minutes of the 12 minute ride to his place. Carmy settles back in his seat one hand impatiently grips and un-grips the steering wheel and the other rests on his thigh. Sydney peels off her jacket, then pops her button until the cleavage of her breast just peaked out. Carmy bites his lip as he spies the perks of her dark nipples under her white tee. 

“We have to stop hanging back so late. Get a frickin life.” She mentions. He hums and gives a short nod to it. Sydney grabs the hand resting on his thigh as they creep forward in traffic. She inspects his short and bitten nails, yet his fingers clean and callous but dry. She didn’t like how dry it was. 

She rests his hand on her thigh and grins as he starts to massages the inner meat of it. She tucks it close to her lap as she reaches down and grabs lotion out of her bag. Carmy gives her an amused side glance as she squirts a bit of aquaphor into her own palms then starts to massage and rub it into his hand. 

“Having fun there?” he asks and Sydney hums.

“You gotta take care of your hands better, Carmy. I like them.” She tells him and he blushes as she starts to kiss over his knuckle tattoos. He shifts as he feels her tongue to trace the letters, and her lips kiss off the joints. 

“Syd…” he breathes softly, she grins and settles his hand back to her lap. She lives for the bright blush on his face, the way he nervously licks his lips and looks over the traffic in front of them.

“They are nice hands.” she comments when she sits back. He hums and clears his throat and Sydney’s moans a bit as he starts to play his hand under her shirt.

“Y’know I’m ambidextrous right?” he comments and Sydney raises an eyebrow.

“Forreal?” She asks and he nods. 

“Yeah, can do two things at once. Pretty good at it,” he tells her. Sure enough, using only one hand he undoes the button of her jeans. She gasps as sinks his hand into her pants then smoothly one arm turns the steering wheel with the other. 

“Oh...” Sydney breathes. She is forced to buck up over his fingers at his deliberate hard stop on the brakes for the next red light. She wraps her hands around his arm. Pressing the limb between her breasts, her eyes low and full of lusty excitement. Goosebumps prickle Carmy’s skin at the feel of her as he shifts her panties aside and starts to massages into the folds of her wet pussy. Snapping shiverings fucks over Sydney when Carmy press her clit to meet his palm as two of his nimble fingers sink further into her. 

“Fuck Syd, were you this damn needy all day? You’re fuckin sopping,” he hisses out. His own bulge appeared at the filthy moans puffing out of Sydney’s mouth with each backward pump of his slickening hand.

“Oh god, Carm-”

“Woulda bent you over the sink-”

“Shut the fuck up! Sh-shut..damn, righ-right there Carmen,” Sydney stutters.

Sydney clutches his arm closer, drawing him further into her, he slips another finger in. He licks his lips like a starving man when he looks down. The small glimpse of Sydney’s thigh opens to the air is glistening, her white panties are fucking transparent from how wet he has her. 

The fact that his own tattered hand was causing such a mess gets him rock hard. Her thighs snap down to squeeze his hand still, she’s trembling, her window slightly foggy from her horny gasps. Carmy flushes hard when she starts to dig her nails into his bicep with one sweet lay over her clit with his middle finger. Her pinky nail pierces a crest shape into the head of the ink angel on his arm as she muffles another curse into her curtain of braids.

“Aye-aye, none of that Syd. You want me in there. Shit! The fuckin’ nails-” He swears. He pinches her thigh making her yelp over her moan and spread apart again. She buck in time with his coaxing fingers now, whimpering when he becomes distracted in the light turning green and some fucking SUV honking behind them. Her hips chase his hand, as he eases up on pumping two digits into her in order to turn on his street. 

“Carm…Carmy please.” she pleads, the damn near echo in the car. Her thighs clenching over his hand again.  Carmy has to bite his lips in, hard. His dick achy at the sounds she makes at this point. The sound is fucking obscene, slick and wet as he forces his hand out the grip of her thighs. Her whimper at the loss of him is whiny and upset.

“Seriously?” She pants, all hot and bothered. Her eyes promising revenge for him stringing her along like that while in traffic. 

“Hold on, I just got to get us parked.” he offers in a flighty tone, he shifts in his seat. His pussy wet hand dragging at his belt to better settle his hard on. He faces them into the dead end behind his building. Private but nosy as fuck with the sound of the city.

It doesn’t fucking matter. 

The car is barely turned off before Camry jacks his seat back and undoes his belt. Sydney watches as he wipes her wetness over his nose and mouth, then slips his jeans down. His dick springs out. Sydney knew it was fucking insane to think of, but Carmy’s dick was just so, him . 

It wasn’t too long, but god it was fucking thick! Tan-ish, veiny and curved to the left.

Sydney shimies her jeans and panties down then climbs over the center console. Carmy helps her to his lap, staddling over his hips with her knees and she shivers as his dick lays overtop her pussy lips. He hisses when she grabs down and start to line the shaft up to her slit.

Both of them moaning in unison as he sinks her fully onto him. He grips her hip tightly and wraps his other arm around her back to push her closer. He buries his face in her chest, teeth biting on her tender breast as she gives a yelp that melts into a moan of his name. Her braids slap his shoulder as her head bows down and she start to ride him. He pumps up into her, strong arms sweaty and steady as the window fogs from their stamina. 

The seat creaks from the stress. The stanch fabric of his shirt barely saves him from her nails raking into the back of his shoulder. Her hands rack back up into the back of his head, gripping his hair. He winces and bounces her shallowly at it. She's learned he likes that pain, he gives it back with a echoing smack to her ass in rythm to the rocking of the car.  She sucks bruises onto the back of his neck to leave her mark instead. The idea of her leaving a mark on him, him red and sneaky trying to hide it around the kitchen the next day, it makes her pussy clench around him. He hitches with a hiss at the pleasure. 

"C'mon Syd, c'mon baby." He pants into her cleavage. He looks up at her with those piercing blues full of lust. He aches to cum in her. He tightly squeezes the meat of her ass to hold himself strong. He wanted to drag this fuck out. Sydney sighs, lips popping off his skin as she sinks to a sit to rest. Her thighs achy and pussy full. She moans into his face from it. 

The both just breath for a moment, her hands playing through the back of his hair making his eyes flutter. Carmy smoothly brushes his hand up her thigh, then between their laps. Syd gasp and slacks back against the steering wheel, lightly tapping the horn with the action. He used his fingers to massage her clit, keeping her wired up.

"Fuck you, Carmern." She stutters, she grips his hair so hard, she pinches the top of his ear. He hiss and drives forward, they smash into another kiss. Smacking French kisses, Carmy relishes in the taste of throaty moan and near-whine of his name Sydney release as she cums. Carmy wishes he could season everything destined to touch his tongue again with the taste of her lust. He wants her to cum again so he can feel it, he's greedy like that.

Sydney shakes over Carmy as her O rushes over her. Her head rests on his shoulder from it,  her braids splaying over the both of them. She puffs a laugh of disbelief at how wet his hand is when he takes it from her pussy. She feels it as he re-settles His hand to her hip.

"I'm achin' Syd, you gotta move" He says tightly. Sydney groans loudly. He rubs at her thigh impatiently, urging her to move before he burst and they do even more things they regret. 

"Then move me." She snaps and Carmy huffs. She swallows as he does so, lifing her with his hips before re gripping her hip and lifing her off his dick. The both shiver at the loss of connection and he half-sits her on his car console. She slumps back to the passenger seat fumbling to put her pants back on as he palms his dick a few times, before sliding up his own pants. 

The both walk wobbly to his apartment building, eager for more. Carmy barely close the door before Sydney is on her knees, unbuttoning his jeans. 

Taglists for the Moots🥰:

@blowmymbackout @kdoxkeic @godsfiercest @pantherxrogers @gingerylangylang1979 @beauspot @soufcakmistress

[lustfulchaldea]

Unfair of Earth to say nobody watch when even her videos are loud enough that crowds gather around Kukulkan's room just to hear divinity.

There's no need for something so crude. For, without fail, 2 days after Kukulcan and Earth have a 'session', an... anonymous Servant posts a link to the Chaldea After Dark forum.

Always at 6PM sharp, and always with the same message.

Today is no different.

Dicked servants that lack paramours wait at their computers, dicks and lube in hand. Their balls gurgle and churn as they refresh the browser, anxiously waiting for their prize.

Then, a post pops up. From the same person as last time.

nffbossbabe: You've all been such good goonpiggies, waiting for this, haven't you? <3 So patient, so pent-up... That's so adorable. Enjoy your fap material, cuties... And remember to HAVE. FUN.~

The moment any of those dickhard apes click the link, the video immediately starts.

Thwap... Clap... Smack.~

A pair of immense cheeks, pale as snow and glistening with sweat, wobble in the camera's frame lazily, the shaking filmography clearly a result of the videographer's dickbrained erection controlling more of their motor functions than their mind does.

Each gigantic asscheek claps off the other every few seconds, the basketball-sized bootymeat smacking down against the tops of their wielder's thighs, so fat and thick that they sag ever-so-slightly before popping up into that perfect, round, rippling shape.

"Haaahh... mffff... Mmm...~"

The loud, panting groans of a beast about to pump her cock emanate from behind the camera, each heavy throb of her dickmeat making her shake the camera even further, and the growing bulge peek into frame.

As she does, those cheeks slow down ever so slightly, the lazy clapping of that rear becoming even softer as their owner finally speaks.

"Goodness, Kukulcan... You're already quivering, and I haven't even oiled up these gargantuan Arche-cakes. Are you quite sure you don't need to just pin them down and fuck them right now, you imbecilic cock-for-brains?"

Her tone is cold, but her words are full of lust and affection, as her pale hand reaches behind herself and sinks a palm into the heaving mass of rippling assflesh that she calls her butt.

[lukefics]

Hi! Can I request a fluffy/comfort Luke x Reader, where reader has just been going through a lot and Luke is there to have their back and make them feel better? Thanks!

The Storm Will Pass

Pairing: Luke Skywalker x GN! Reader

Summary: When the weight of the world becomes too much to bear, Luke is there to comfort you.

Warnings/Content: Mentions of blood/injury, minor bullying, alcohol, feelings of depression, strong language, angst ending in fluff, mutual pining.

A/N: my first request! be warned tho - it’s very long. also i apologise in advance for any unfamiliar slang, i’m scottish lmao. that being said i hope you enjoy, pls let me know what you think! <3

──────── ༻❁༺ ────────

It had felt like the entire universe had been against you recently - if such a thing was possible. It had been a busy couple of weeks for you and your rebel comrades, what with the Alliance moving its new base of operations to the ice planet of Hoth, you'd barely had a moment to breathe.

The transition to your new home, Echo Base, hadn’t been the most straightforward. Immediately upon arrival, there were issues; starfighters wouldn’t fire up due to the cold, equipment had gone missing in transit. Since then almost every day something had gone wrong, and as luck would have it - or rather lack thereof - today would be no different.

You were currently in the repair hangar perched on top of a Blue Squadron X-Wing trying to fix its faulty hyperdrive, your grey overalls and padded snow jacket covered in oil and grime. This was the third time this hyperdrive had packed in this week, and now the task of repairing it again had been assigned to you. You’d been at it all morning; removing parts, dismantling parts, putting them back together with your hypdrospanner or replacing them entirely, trying to get the ship back in full working order.

Your hands, which were gloveless as it was the only way you could reach and grab smaller components in tight spaces, were freezing which only made the job more difficult. Why High Command couldn't have chosen to establish their new headquarters on a planet with a tropical climate instead, you had no idea.

"You're still working on that hyperdrive, Y/L/N?" You looked down to the hangar floor to see the unimpressed face of the base’s Chief Technician glaring up at you.

You swallowed nervously and assured him, "I'm almost done, sir."

But that answer wasn't satisfactory, "Do you think if the Empire were to find this base they'd give us a fair chance and wait around until our ships were in working order before launching an attack? No - so get a move on!"

"Yes, sir." you nodded, your voice quiet and heart pounding.

Shaking his head as he stormed off, the older man left you to it. You sighed, returning to your work. Miserable git, you thought to yourself. He'd been getting on at you and the other technicians even more so than usual, probably because of the huge backlog of repairs yet to be done due to the missing equipment. Just a few days ago he'd called you 'useless' for being a minute late for your shift. You were exhausted from all the overtime you’d been doing recently, which was why you’d slept in, but that wasn’t a good enough excuse - he’d made that clear when he threatened you with disciplinary action if it happened again.

Knowing it'd only be a matter of time before he came back and gave you another earful, you quickened your pace, trying to get this hyperdrive fixed as soon as possible. However, just as you were going to install a new coupling, in your haste your hand grazed against the edge of some sharp metal inside the hyperdrive bay.

"Ah fuck!" you seethed as you dropped the coupling and clutched your injured hand, the gash across your palm beginning to bleed. Great, what next? Quickly grabbing a rag from inside your jacket pocket you crudely wrapped it around your hand, biting down hard on your bottom lip to stop yourself from emitting a very loud string of curse words, before climbing down the ship's ladder and going to find help.

Half an hour later you were sat on a bed in the base's med bay, your hand being tended to by one of the Alliance's medical droids. You zoned out on your boots and the sterile white floor beneath them as 2-1B finished stitching up your wound, occasionally wincing in pain when it hurt most. You couldn't believe you'd made such a rookie mistake. You were an experienced technician; in the Alliance long enough that you could probably take apart an X-Wing and put it back together with your eyes closed. You could only imagine the lecture you were going to receive from the Chief Techie about your carelessness, probably in the middle of the main hangar for everyone to witness.

But you could hardly focus on that. Sitting here, you could feel the exhaustion of the last few weeks washing over you, your mind drifting a million parsecs away. Being in the Alliance was always hard work - you had signed up for it - that wasn’t the problem. It was the frayed patience’s of your colleagues, the gruelling extra hours and being stuck on a frozen hellscape which didn’t help general morale one bit.

You were brought back to reality by 2-1B talking you through the aftercare of your wound and to return in a week to have your stitches removed. Thanking the medical droid for his aid, you hopped down from the bed and left the med bay, sighing quietly as you walked through Echo Base’s maze of underground tunnels.

༻❁༺

You couldn't return to duty until your hand had begun to heal so you retreated to your quarters for the rest of the evening. Your roommate was working a late shift which meant you had the room to yourself, a fact you were quite happy about as the last thing you wanted to do after today's events was socialise. You were laying there in your bunk reading a holobook absentmindedly when there was a knock at the door.

Getting out of your bunk and padding over to the entrance to your room, you worried about who it might be. Pressing the button to open it, the hydraulic door whooshed open to reveal your best friend Luke, still dressed in his orange flight suit, “Hey!”

Your eyes widened in both surprise and joy, “Luke!" you practically jumped into the boy’s arms, “I wasn’t expecting to see you till next week - when did you get back?”

“About five minutes ago. The mission was over sooner than planned.” Luke laughed, hugging you back. He was about to pull away but your arms around him didn’t loosen. You closed your eyes as an unexpected wave of emotions hit you, compelling you to hold him just that little bit longer. The pilot didn’t question it, he just rubbed your back comfortingly as the two of you continued to embrace.

Luke had been on a relief mission with his squadron to the Eriadu system for two weeks. It was always hard to watch him leave on long missions, being as close as you were, not knowing if you’d see him again. This time though, what with everything going on, it had been even harder, “I’m so glad you’re back.” you mumbled into his shoulder before finally letting him go.

“So am I,” Luke gave you that sweet smile which always made your heart flutter. However, his cheerful expression immediately changed to one of concern when he noticed your bandages, “Hold on, what happened to your hand?”

Taking your injured hand gently in his, you reassured him, “Oh, that? Stupid mistake while fixing an X-Wing today. Just a couple of stitches - I’ll live.”

“Still, must be painful,” Luke grimaced, “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, "It’s actually not that bad. Those medical droids patched me right up, and the painkillers I was given have been taking the edge off. If the pain gets worse, I can always take enough to completely knock myself out - then I won’t feel a thing.” you joked.

“Yeah, maybe don’t do that,” Luke chuckled, running his thumb over the back of your bandaged hand, his eyes softening, “I really missed you, Y/N.”

You pushed your emotions down into the pit of your stomach, giving him a wavering smile, “I missed you too.”

Carefully letting go of your hand, Luke gestured to the door, “The squad and some of the others on base are having a couple of drinks to celebrate the success of the mission. You’ll be joining us, right?”

Your smile had faltered almost completely, “I dunno, Luke. As much as I’d like to, I’m just not…feeling it tonight.”

You hoped your friend wouldn’t pick up that something else was wrong, but Luke knew you too well. He stepped forward again, “Are you sure there’s nothing else bothering you? You don’t seem…yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Honest. I’m just tired…that-that’s all…” Before you could stop it from happening, a lone tear rolled down your cheek. Embarrassed, you quickly wiped it away and avoided eye contact with the boy in front of you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Luke moved closer, cupping your chin to encourage you to look up at him, the gentle act just making it harder not to completely fall apart.

“I’m-I’m sorry, I dunno where that came from," you managed to utter with a shaky voice as you waved your hand dismissively, "Just ignore me, I’m being an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. C’mon, sit down.” the pilot coaxed softly, bringing you over to the edge of your bed and sitting you down. You’d managed to stop more tears - for now. But the way Luke was looking at you, with those blue eyes filled with such care and concern, you knew you’d be struggling to keep them at bay. Sitting down beside you, he ran his hand up and down the side of your arm, “What’s going on?”

As much as you wanted to bottle it up and insist that you were fine, there wasn't much point. You knew that if you really didn’t want to go into detail, Luke would understand, but he was your best friend - he was the last person you'd want to lie to.

“It's nothing, it’s just…these last few weeks, as you know, have been so hectic. I think the stress is just getting to me a bit, that’s all.”

"You wanna talk about it? Only if you want to, of course." Luke asked. It never failed to amaze you just how kind the former farmboy was. His aunt, who he rarely talked about but from what you'd gathered from past conversations was like a mother to him, had done an outstanding job raising him, that was for sure.

You sighed quietly, “Well, the Chief Techie has been on my case, but that’s nothing new.”

Luke scoffed at the mention of his name, well aware of how he could be from the many stories you had told him, “Asshole.”

“Agreed,” you replied, “He’s been relentless recently. No matter what we do, or how fast we work, it’s not good enough for him. He had a go at me today for taking too long on a task. That’s how I made that mistake and injured myself - because I was rushing.” you looked down at your bandaged hand, “Still, I should have been more careful.”

“Are you being serious? Y/N, that’s not okay,” Luke stated, his voice stern, “I can mention this to Command, if you want?”

That brought an amused smile to your face, “Of course, I forget - you have the power to do that now, Commander Skywalker.” you emphasised the title of his new rank.

“I’m not looking for a power trip opportunity,” Luke rolled his eyes and nudged your arm, “I’m trying to look out for you.”

“I know you are, Luke,” you reached over and took his hand in your uninjured one, “And I’m grateful for that, but it’s not just him. I haven’t mentioned it before but…I’ve not been feeling like myself for a while now,” tears began to well in your eyes, “I’ve been trying to stay positive, brush it off as fatigue but, I dunno, I’ve just been feeling so…useless lately. Like I can’t do anything right. And after these last couple of weeks, I think I might be starting to believe it.”

Before you could stop it from happening, tears began to stream down your cheeks as you covered your mouth to silence a quiet sob.

“Hey, come here. Come here.” Luke said softly as he immediately moved closer and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him. Letting the floodgates open, you cried into the pilot's chest. Luke rested his chin on top of your head as he held you tightly, one hand rubbing your shoulder; the other gently combing through your hair, "You're not useless, Y/N. I've never met anyone more knowledgeable and hard-working as you - and I'm not just saying that because you're my friend. Please don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

You couldn't even respond due to your outpour of emotions so you just closed your eyes and sank further into him, his body warmth which radiated against you welcoming against the cold air of Echo Base. He smelled faintly of hyperfuel and standard-issue soap, and you knew that if you weren’t so upset you’d probably be blushing furiously at your close proximity. Your feelings towards Luke had grown from that of friendship to something more a while ago, and while you suspected he might feel the same, neither of you had dared to make a move out of fear of ruining the relationship you already had. You were fond of the farmboy’s company and the bond you shared, it was too precious a thing to risk losing. But that didn’t stop your gaze from falling to his lips when he spoke to you, or your heart from skipping a beat when you made him laugh and your mind from wandering; lost in tender thoughts about what could be. After a while, your tears began to cease.

"I’m so sorry, Luke. You’ve been back all of ten minutes and you've already had to deal with this.” you managed to say between stuttered breaths, fearing you'd made a complete fool of yourself and your friend uncomfortable.

“Don’t be silly, there’s no need to apologise. If anyone should, it’s me,” You looked up at him confused, “I’m sorry you’ve been going through this, Y/N. I want you to know that if you need someone to talk to, vent to, or cry to,” he reached over and gently wiped away the last remaining tears away from your reddened cheeks, “No matter what, even if I’m away on a mission, I’ll be at the other end of that comlink as soon as I can. I’ll be there for you - always.”

You smiled gratefully, “Thank you, Luke.”

Smiling back, the pilot hesitated slightly before leaning in and placing a kiss on your forehead, the loving act surprising you as he’d never done anything like that before. You looked at each other for a moment after. Neither of you said anything because you didn’t know what to say, but luckily you didn’t have to - what could be read in your eyes said more than enough. The two of you would talk about it later as the sound of Luke’s said comlink interrupted the silence.

“That’s Wedge wondering where I am.” Luke said as he started getting up, “You sure you won’t come along, even just for a bit?”

You thought about it for a moment, now feeling a hundred times better than you did the first time he’d asked, “You know what? I will actually," you smiled and put on your boots, "Only if Han's there, though. Is the Falcon still here?"

"Yeah, it was there when I walked through the main hangar, I don't think him and Chewie are leaving till the morning," Luke gave you a curious look as he helped you put your heavy snow jacket on when he noticed you struggling one-handed, "Why?"

"Because I need cheering up and he's great entertainment after a few drinks," you explained, "It's like he has a complete personality transplant!"

Luke laughed at your comment as the hydraulic door opened and the two of you left your quarters, "Don't let him hear you say that."

"Can’t make any promises, but I’ll try my best." you chuckled as Luke nudged your arm amusedly again, the two of you walking through the frozen corridors of Echo Base to meet up with the rest of your rebel comrades.