#palm oil trade

[newwavenewsandentertainment]

The Controversial Sale of Nigeria: Who Sold the Nation to the British for £865,000 in 1899?

In a pivotal moment of history, the late 19th century witnessed a transaction that would reshape the destiny of Nigeria.

[eelhound]

"For thousands of years, those native to West Africa have cultivated the oil palm, deriving from it cooking and lighting oil, medicines, cosmetics, and much else. The 'ever-giving' oil palm remains central to the traditions and the culture of many from this part of the world. Nothing about the African oil palm, or the oil it exudes, demanded the emergence of a globalized, destructive, and profitable industry. It was the international slave trade, inaugurated by agents of European imperialism, that created a global market for palm oil.

At first, the oil fed enslaved Africans enduring the middle passage or greased their bodies to increase marketability. Yet throughout the nineteenth century, industrialists began relying on palm oil to lubricate railway locomotives, steamship engines, and the machines of newly thrumming factories.

Initially, British merchants purchased palm oil from a distance, relying on Africans themselves to extract the oil. Yet as European demand increased in the mid-nineteenth century, enterprising British colonizers began invading the African interior to seize direct control of palm oil production themselves. Backed by the capital of corporations — still fairly novel entities in the Victorian age, a 'strange legal fiction' created to 'facilitate the risky colonial and later slave-taking ventures of the rising European bourgeoisie' — palm oil merchants hired private militaries to confiscate lands and subdue their inhabitants. In 1897, the British launched a 'punitive expedition' to crush the Edo Kingdom, a powerful empire that considered palm oil to be a holy substance and therefore strictly regulated its trade — 'to the chagrin of British merchants.'

Those merchants (and their hired chemists) were learning how to bleach and deodorize palm oil, to drain it of any characteristic smell or color and thereby render it as maximally usable and minimally distinctive as possible. Palm oil became so profitable precisely because of this protean quality, and soon it was central to the creation of a range of cheap commercial goods like candles.

William Lever, a Liverpool industrialist, started using palm oil to produce bars of soap, and soon he had established massive oil palm plantations — another 'uniquely modern and fundamentally colonial' innovation — throughout the Congo. Counterintuitive though it may seem today, soap was not at the time an especially common consumer good, so Lever had to use advertising to create a market for his wares, adopting the language of personal responsibility to communicate to middle-class and later working women that the bars were needed amid increasing urban pollution.

Thanks far more to the advertising than to the quality of his soap or the efficiency of its production, Lever (and his eponymous company) grew rich. Today, his company — since renamed Unilever — remains 'one of the world’s single largest consumers of refined palm oil.'"

- Scott W. Stern, from "The Story of Palm Oil Is a Story About Capitalism." Jacobin, 19 January 2023.

[celepeace]

I'm not willing to bend on it but I wish it was less annoying to find fair trade chocolate in the baking aisle. If I don't go to one of those organic overpriced grocery stores it's about a 50/50 shot that they'll have any chocolate chips/baking chocolate bars that are fair trade at all

[seairexim]

An In-Depth Look at Indian Palm Oil Imports in 2024

India, the world's largest importer of edible oils, has a substantial reliance on palm oil imports. As of 2024, the country's demand for palm oil remains steady due to its versatile use in food processing, cosmetics, and even biodiesel production. This article will take a closer look at the Indian palm oil imports,  importers of palm oil in India, why India is so reliant on palm oil, and who the biggest importers of palm oil are.

Overview of Palm Oil in India

India's population, which crossed the 1.4 billion mark in 2023, continues to expand its consumption patterns, making palm oil a critical component of the country's dietary needs. Indian households and industries use palm oil for cooking, frying, and as a base ingredient in various packaged goods, such as margarine, instant noodles, and baked products. Moreover, its non-food applications in soaps, detergents, and personal care products underscore the importance of palm oil across industries.

Why India Imports Palm Oil

Palm oil is favored not only for its versatility but also for its cost-effectiveness. Compared to other edible oils like sunflower oil or soybean oil, palm oil is cheaper, thanks to its high yield per hectare and its cost-efficient production in tropical regions like Indonesia and Malaysia.

Although India does produce some palm oil, the domestic output falls short of the demand. India's climatic conditions are less suited for large-scale palm plantations compared to tropical countries. The country relies on imports to meet about 70% of its total edible oil demand, and palm oil accounts for the bulk of this figure.

Key Sources of Indian Palm Oil Imports

Historically, India's palm oil imports have come primarily from Indonesia and Malaysia. Together, these two nations account for nearly 90% of the global palm oil supply, making them the natural partners for Indian importers. In recent years, however, other players have started emerging on the radar, albeit in smaller capacities.

Indonesia remains India's largest supplier, providing both crude palm oil (CPO) and refined, bleached, and deodorized (RBD) palm oil. Indonesia's vast palm plantations and competitive pricing make it the primary destination for India's importers.

Malaysia, which had been second to Indonesia in recent years, continues to be a vital partner, especially for refined products. Malaysia’s quality and reputation in the international palm oil market make it a preferred source for Indian refiners looking for premium-quality products.

Importers of Palm Oil in India

The structure of the Indian palm oil market is heavily reliant on a network of refiners and traders who act as the importers of palm oil in India. These companies source crude and refined palm oil from international markets and distribute it throughout the country to meet consumer demand. Some of the key players in the Indian market include:

Adani WilmarOne of the biggest names in the edible oil sector, Adani Wilmar is a major importer of palm oil in India. Its flagship brand, "Fortune," is well-known throughout the country, and a significant portion of its products contain palm oil. Adani Wilmar imports crude palm oil, refines it, and distributes it to both retail and industrial sectors.

Ruchi Soya IndustriesPart of the Patanjali Group, Ruchi Soya is another leading player in the Indian edible oil market. The company has a long history of palm oil imports and is known for its "Nutrela" brand. Ruchi Soya imports significant quantities of crude palm oil, processes it in its extensive refining facilities, and markets it across India.

Emami AgrotechKnown for its edible oil brands like "Healthy & Tasty," Emami Agrotech is another major importer of palm oil. The company imports both crude and refined palm oil, and its brands enjoy significant popularity among Indian consumers.

Cargill IndiaAs a subsidiary of the global giant Cargill, the Indian arm of this multinational corporation is also deeply involved in the palm oil trade. Cargill India imports large quantities of palm oil, leveraging its global supply chain network to meet the demands of Indian consumers.

Godrej AgrovetGodrej Agrovet is a key player in the agricultural and food processing sectors. The company not only imports palm oil but also engages in palm cultivation within India, although its production capacity is limited compared to imports. Its brand portfolio includes various edible oils, with palm oil being a key ingredient.

Trends in 2024: Indian Palm Oil Imports

As of 2024, several factors have shaped the Indian palm oil market, influencing the buying patterns of the biggest importers of palm oil:

Government PoliciesThe Indian government has periodically adjusted import duties on edible oils, including palm oil, to protect domestic producers while ensuring affordability for consumers. In 2024, the government continues to balance between reducing duties to curb inflation and protecting local oilseed farmers.

Shifts in Global PricesGlobal palm oil prices fluctuate due to various factors, including production output in Indonesia and Malaysia, labor shortages, and the impact of environmental policies in producing countries. Any increase in global palm oil prices directly impacts the import costs for India, making it essential for Indian importers to monitor international trends closely.

Growing Environmental ConcernsPalm oil production has been criticized for contributing to deforestation and environmental degradation, especially in Southeast Asia. In response, there has been growing demand for sustainably sourced palm oil. Indian importers are increasingly looking to source palm oil from suppliers that adhere to sustainability standards like the Roundtable on Sustainable Palm Oil (RSPO) certification.

Rise of Domestic ProductionWhile India will continue to depend on imports for the foreseeable future, there are efforts underway to boost domestic palm oil production. The Indian government has launched the National Mission on Edible Oils – Oil Palm (NMEO-OP) to reduce import dependence by promoting domestic palm cultivation. However, this is a long-term initiative, and significant results are yet to be seen in 2024.

The Biggest Importers of Palm Oil in 2024

As outlined earlier, companies like Adani Wilmar, Ruchi Soya, Emami Agrotech, Cargill India, and Godrej Agrovet continue to be the biggest importers of palm oil in India. These companies have well-established supply chains, strong relationships with international suppliers, and extensive refining and distribution networks across the country.

These large corporations play a pivotal role in ensuring that India's palm oil demand is met consistently, despite the various challenges that crop up due to global supply chain disruptions or price fluctuations.

Conclusion

In 2024, Indian palm oil imports continue to be essential for the country's food security and economic stability. Companies like Adani Wilmar, Ruchi Soya, Emami Agrotech, Cargill India, and Godrej Agrovet remain the backbone of India's palm oil supply chain, ensuring the availability of this vital product. Although India is working toward self-reliance in palm oil production, it is clear that imports will remain crucial for the foreseeable future. However, if you need a detailed report on the biggest importer of palm oil in India, palm oil import data or global trade data connect with Seair Exim Solutions.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Q1. Why does India import so much palm oil?India imports a large quantity of palm oil because its domestic production of edible oils, including palm oil, is insufficient to meet the demand. Palm oil is cost-effective, versatile, and widely used in cooking, food processing, and non-food products, making it a vital import for India.

Q2. Who are the biggest importers of palm oil in India?Some of the biggest importers of palm oil in India include Adani Wilmar, Ruchi Soya Industries, Emami Agrotech, Cargill India, and Godrej Agrovet. These companies import significant amounts of palm oil and distribute it to meet the growing domestic demand.

Q3. Where does India primarily import palm oil from?India primarily imports palm oil from Indonesia and Malaysia, which together account for the vast majority of the global supply. Indonesia is the largest supplier of palm oil to India, followed closely by Malaysia.

Q4. How do global palm oil prices affect Indian palm oil imports?Global palm oil prices directly impact Indian palm oil imports. Fluctuations in production levels, labor shortages, or environmental regulations in palm oil-producing countries can lead to price changes, affecting the cost of imports and consumer prices in India.

Q5. Is India working on reducing its reliance on palm oil imports?Yes, India has launched initiatives like the National Mission on Edible Oils – Oil Palm (NMEO-OP) to boost domestic palm oil production. However, due to the high demand and limited production capacity, India will continue to rely on imports in the near future.

[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.

[delphi-shield]

— 「 FLASH FIRE 」

lighter lorenz x reader — 2.8k — mdni summary: it’s reciprocal - lighter helps out with your car, you fuck him in the back seat. everybody wins. content: unprotected sex, forgetting to pull out, creampie, titsucking, hair pulling, brief mention of fisting.

You're running out of excuses.

You had traded favors and supplies for car maintenance for months now. Strictly business, at first, but the aimless teasing had quickly evolved into flirting, and the flirting had rapidly shifted to something more physical. Soon, your car became plagued with all kinds of problems, both real and imagined. Lighter had even let you get away with asking him to change your tail light. He didn’t even seem to realize what you were up to - not at first, anyway.

In reality, Lighter's had you figured out ever since you called him to check your tire pressure. You don't really need his help for most of this stuff, but he puts on a good show when he spreads his tools out in your garage. Your eyes always drift to his biceps when he hefts up the hood of your car. He braces a hand against the side, leans his weight into it, and you're torn between gawking at the way he peers down at the guts of your car, appraising, or the way his ass is squeezed into those jeans, hips cocked, heavy boots tapping against the garage floor.

It usually ended up in the backseat of your car -- or on the hood, or pressed up against the side. You had started stashing condoms in the center console.

“Need me to change your oil?" He offers one day, cutting off the way you're grasping at straws, floundering to keep him on the line. "It's about time."

Was it? You didn't know. You assumed he didn't either, figured he'd show up, check the mileage, and shake his head. Not quite time yet - but that's all right. He already came over, so he can find something else to work on.

But when he rolls up to your place he's got oil and a catch pan in hand. His jacket is discarded on the back of his bike, leaving him squeezed into a white tank top. He pats your arm as he walks by, eyes gleaming behind his sunglasses. Your surprise clearly delights him.

You plop into the back seat while he works, peppering him with offers for his service. Faint guilt swirls in your gut. You hadn't expected him to actually work on your car today. You could pick up his groceries when you ran into town, or help the Sons out with planning for Settlement Days. Each offer was barely considered, dismissed by a muffled ‘nah’.

It turns out the benefits of hooking up with Lighter include free car maintenance.

“You're all set,” Lighter says, slapping his hands against his thighs as he stands. He rounds your car to tower over you where you sit. Your legs swing, hanging off the edge, scuffing against the floor.

You spread your legs for him to step between — force of habit. Can't help but spread ‘em when Lighter steps up like that, when his hands brace against the top of your car and he sways down. He steps between your legs, nudging your knees wider with a powerful thigh.

“How am I going to pay you back?” You sigh dramatically, stifling a giggle. Lighter pretends to think for all of three seconds.

“A kiss?”

“That's all?”

“You're right. Two kisses.”

You grin. You can do better than that. You grab the front of his shirt and tug him down. He ducks past the door, laying you back against the seat. His kiss is languid, smiling against your lips as you laugh. You pull back to take his sunglasses off, noses bumping. You fold them closed and set them in the front seat, half-sitting up to reach.

Lighter takes advantage of the way you stretch, the column of your throat bared to him, ripe for his kisses to darken you skin. He sucks a mark beneath your jaw as you lay back into the seat. His hand slip up your shirt, palms lighting a warm path against your skin.

You roll up off of the seat, tits pressing into his chest. Lighter rolls your shirt up, separating from your neck briefly to fling your shirt outside of the car. His body covers your again, pressing you back to the seat. His scent, earthy and mouthwatering, infused with a tinge of oil and sweat, blankets you as he noses against the hollow of your throat.

You flip open the center console, searching sightlessly for a condom. Lighter works your bra off to paw at your tits, taking a moment to appreciate the weight in his palm before he latches on and sucks. His teeth scrape against your hardened nipple and you keen, back arching, pressing his face deeper into your breasts.

"Fuck - relax. Milk's not gonna come out," you grumble, free hand fisting tightly in his hair.

Lighter moans. He pops off one tit, dropping a sloppy kiss to the valley between your breasts. His knee slides up firmly against your pussy, grinding against you until you catch onto his rhythm and do it yourself. He's got that smug look on his face when he licks up your other, neglected breast, tongue lapping at your skin but lips never sealing around you.

You tug at his hair. Another moan, louder, more whiny. Your clit pulses against the seam of your jeans, and he finally commits to sucking your tits again.

Christ, you've got to find that fucking condom.

You sift through old receipts and miscellaneous bits and bobs blindly, struggling to find that elusive, crinkly little square. Lighter's hands slide down your sides, squeezing the dough of your hips tightly. He flicks the button of your jeans open, drawing his leg back to wiggle your pants halfway down your thighs. He palms your cunt through your panties and whines again, tremulous and pitiful.

"I'm so damn hard," Lighter groans. He drops his forehead against your collar bone, warm breath puffing against your skin. A searing heat blooms in your belly.

“Do you have a condom?” You blurt out. You can’t keep fumbling around like this - you need him now.

Lighter’s hand squeezes you, middle finger trailing against your clothed slit. He keeps one hand stroking your pussy while the other reaches behind him, patting the pockets of his jeans. He swears under his breath. His finger taps just over your clit - using your pussy like a damn fidget.

“I’ll pull out.” That’s his genius solution.

You should say no. You should offer to blow him, or let him fuck your tits, or anything other than the tried and true pull out method, but Lighter dips his fingers beneath your panties, presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and rolls. Sparks ignite in your veins. His finger teases your entrance. He only has to press gently into your before your greedy cunt tries to pull him deeper.

You grit your teeth. The promise of more makes you whine. Fingers won’t be enough. He could take his time finger fucking you open until he could fist you and it still wouldn’t be enough. You need his cock and you need it now.

“Okay,” you breathe out, face warming. You shouldn’t be agreeing to this. Even Lighter seems surprised. He picks his head up from your chest to meet your eyes, brows arched. You melt under his watch, body puddling against the seat. You roll your hips. His thumb stays steady against your clit, lets you roll yourself against his hand.

If he wants to ask if you’re sure, he loses the will when you squeeze around his finger.

He’s got more patience than you. Lighter presses kisses along your jaw, murmuring “okay,” as he slips down your body. He nips at your neck while his finger strokes through your soaked cunt. You try to spread you legs wider, to accommodate the fit of his hips, but your knees are trapped by your jeans, still hanging on for dear life.

You kick your foot and whine, your pants flapping comically. Lighter laughs. He struggles to pull them down further with just one hand.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, shifting awkwardly in the cramped back seat. His chest presses against yours, pinning you down with his weight. In the tight space, it’s impossible to escape his scent, his warmth, the hand toying with your pussy instead of shucking your pants off, winding you up.

You squirm beneath him, barely able to move. His laugh pools from his chest and into your.

“So fun to play with.” His voice is a rumble next to your ear. Your body tenses, skin feeling tight, flushed, stretched thin in anticipation.

“Hurry up,” you whine, jolting your hips up against his. He sucks a breath through his teeth.

It’s a heated blur. His hand withdraws from your pussy. He struggles with his belt long enough for you to wedge a hand between your bodies and try to help. It's finally open, his zipper barely down before you're shoving your hand into his pants to palm him.

He pushes your wrist away gently to pull himself free. The thought of taking him into your mouth makes drool pool in your mouth. You swallows thickly, swollen lips pouting. Eyes on the prize.

“Whatcha want?” Lighter leans back, his back hunched awkwardly in the small space of the back seat. He strokes himself slowly, his eyes fixed on your cunt.

“I want you shut the fuck up and fuck me.”

He taps the head of his dick against your clit, eyes lingering on the way he bounces it off your body, the way your thighs tense. Your struggle to stay still is plain as day in close quarters. Lighter grips the base of his thick cock. He slides himself through your folds, glistening tip nudging against your clit, each pass making you clench around nothing.

“Please,” you whine, smacking your head back against the seat. Your hands grip his biceps, nails biting into his skin.

He doesn't give you a chance to beg again. The fat head of his cock glides snugly into your pussy, the first inch frictionless and squelching. His fat cock catches, the stretch enough to make your breath sutter. Lighter plants a hand by your head, fingers dimpling the cushion. He pulls out, fucking himself deeper.

His forehead drops against your breast, chest near heaving. Lighter's hips stutter - barely restraining the desire to pound you into the carseat.

“You feel so fucking good,” he moans. He grinds into you, thick cock dragging against your walls, each roll of his hips sucking him in deeper and deeper until you can feel him in your stomach.

Your voice is caught in your throat, toes curling, knees pressing in, pussy trying to lock him in. You squeeze around him again and again, pulsing. Lighter bottoms out with one last, powerful roll of his hips, his restraint slipping, shuffling you up against the seats. Your cry out, pushing him back only to tug him closer, his face suffocated in your tits.

His hand slips down your spine, finding the small of your back. He angles your hips up, cock battering perfectly against a spot that has you crying out at each thrust, nails streaking red line against his biceps.

"Shit— shit," he pants, face buried into the junction of your neck, hips pinning you to the seat.

Lighter’s hips rabbit into you, fucking you hard and quick, lost in the feel of your gummy walls.

“Never going back to fucking condoms,” Lighter puffs out. Every thrust presses him against your clit. Tears prick at your eyes. Your mind blanks. You babble something incoherent in response. Your hand wedges between your body, rubbing frantically against your clit. “Feels so good. Not gonna last– fuck!”

Your dripping pussy has him in a vice grip, spasming as his hips drive into you again, again, again. Stars explode behind your eyes, fingertips clenching, chest too tight. His hips pin your hand against your clit. He doesn't draw back fully again, drags his fat cock hard and languid against the same spot over and over until all that tension unspools and the warmth spills over into your veins, onto his cock, coating your seats.

Lighter fucks you through it, voice pitching higher as his thrusts get sloppier, more desperate. He grumbles promises into your skin – gonna buy your birth control, baby, don't make me squeeze into a condom again, you feel too fucking good, holy shit, fuck, cumming—

You're already half-way to bonelessness, riding out the current of pleasure churns in you, when he floods your pussy with his cum. Spurt after spurt of his thick seed splatters against your walls. Your stomach flutters, eyes glazed.

Lighter's hips pump and sputter, staggered and stuttering, fucking his cum deeper into you. He leans his weight against you fully, muscled body pressing the breath from you. You don't know how you could be closer than this but you crave it, crave him, need more, need this to be unending.

Gradually, his hips slow. He comes down from his high, the whine in his voice pitching back to gravel. His cheek rests against your shoulder, hands flexing against your skin. You pet his hair idly, eyes shut, soaking in the bliss and the closeness.

His cock softens in your puffy walls, but his muscles tense with a sudden realization.

“Shit– I'm sorry,” he says in a rush, picking his head up to look at you. You only hum, confused, barely cracking an eye open. “I– inside. I didn't mean to–”

Oh. Ohh, fuck.

You swear quietly beneath your breath. Your teeth catch your lip, worrying it for a moment – but as fucked out as you are, brain still melted, it's difficult to muster panic.

You stroke his hair firmer, trying to urge him to lay back against you. His strength is evident in that moment when he resists your pull. The restraint in his touch is clear - and the threat of his strength has your aching clit twinging painfully. You were going to have to unpack that later.

“Lighter - it's fine,” you say. “I'll go to town later.”

“I'll drive you.” His tone brooks no argument. He pulls himself away from you, and the cold prickles against your flushed skin. You can't help but feel lost when he pulls himself out of you, pussy throbbing for the stretch of his cock - missing him already.

He tucks himself into his pants again, not bothering to zip back up. He bends, the curve of his tight ass on display. You sigh dreamily - nearly forget to react when he tosses you your discarded shirt back.

Lighter holds up a finger, chest still heaving and flushed, fluffy hair matted to his forehead with swear. He disappears from view, rattling around in your garage out of sight, before he comes back with a rag in hand.

"We should do this in a bed," you say, accepting the rag Lighter passes you. You inspect it carefully. No oil, no dirt - good enough for you.

"I think I can get a truck for an evening."

"What? No," You laugh. "Like a bed bed. With pillows, and blankets."

Lighter keeps his back turned to you, arms pausing mid-stretch. He rolls his shoulder, fluffs his hair - takes his sweet time turning back to face you.

Your stomach churns. Fuck. That was too much too quick. Sure, he just came inside you, but you were going to scare him off like this. He wasn't going to help you air up your tires ever again, much less fuck you–

"I can put pillows and blankets in a truck bed," he points out.

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. “I guess that's better than nothing.”

Lighter's lips quirk into a smile. He ducks back into the car, tapping your hip. You scoot back to make room for him. He lifts his arm, expecting you to curl up against his side.

“I'll drive you out for the sunset.”

“The sunset?” You repeat skeptically. You hadn't expected something so… sweet.

Lighter shrugs you closer. He tugs at a lock of your hair, teasing.

“Or for stargazing,” he counters, a hint of desperation sneaking in, cracking past his suave performance. “Whichever.”

You study him for a moment. He feels so unguarded in this moment, without the vestiges of the champion. He's just Lighter in this moment - just the man who fucked your brains out in the back of your car, who was at your beck and call for every stupid excuse you could conjure up just to see him.

“Both,” you decide. You nestle your cheek against his shoulder, eyes slipping shut. “If we stay long enough, we can do both.”

A guaranteed, precious few hours with him all to yourself. Your stomach squirms. You blame it on the feeling of his cum slipping out of you, pretend that your affection isn't burning you up from the inside.

Lighter shifts to kiss he crown of your head. His hand trails a lazy path against your arm, fingers warm, comfortable against your skin, his touch so different from the way he had pressed against you moments before.

One of these days you were going to get this man into a proper goddamn bed, but you'd settle for malapropisms until the time came.

[kitasuno]

after-shower hair-care | boyfriend!wriothesley x fem!reader

wriothesley blowdries your hair after you take a shower. (he's hopelessly in love with you).

(´• ω •`) ♡ the only fem pronoun in here is 'ma'am' <3

you sit between wriothesley’s knees, head slumping into his lap as he cards his fingers through your hair. the blow dryer is warm and so are his hands as he dries the damp strands, fingers gentle as he massages oil onto your scalp. you’re drifting in and out of sleep, stirring slightly when you feel his hands move to caress the curve of your cheek. 

“my turn, babe.”

you shuffle, turning to face him, vaguely noticing that he’s tied your hair up in a claw clip. 

“wrio…” you mumble, pressing your cheek against his thigh. “m’ tired. later.”

“nuh-uh,” he says, eyebrow raised. “i want my hair done too.” 

you wrap your arms around his waist, eyes shut. he smells like your peach body wash. 

“but you’re so comfy.” 

you can’t see the smile on wriothesley’s lips as he puts his arms on each of your shoulders and shakes. 

“wriothesley!” you exclaim, his laugh contagious as you brace your hands on his knees. slightly dizzy, you look up at him as his body shakes from laughter, eyes gleaming. his hair is still damp from the shower, a towel around his neck as he holds a blow dryer in his hands. it doesn’t help that he’s not wearing a shirt, either. “you-” 

a blast of hot air in your face. your mouth drops as wriothesley turns the blow dryer on max, turning the heat down after he remembers your complaints about how hot the blow dryer gets. 

“don’t go falling asleep on me, pretty.” he says, tilting your chin up. “or i’ll blow dry your cute face.”

“wrio-” 

he cuts your words off with his lips, ever so gentle as he kisses your complaints away. he pulls away and your dizziness is back. 

“i’m gonna get you back.” you pout, getting up to trade places with him on the bed. “i’ll show you what these fists taste like.” 

“yes, ma'am.” wriothesley salutes. you groan. 

“oh god.” you look down at him as he sits on the carpet between your legs, his legs crossed lazily as he bats his eyelashes up at you. he hands you the blow dryer. “you were into that, weren’t you!” 

“i’m into you.” wriothesley corrects. he’s incredibly smug. you hide behind your palm as you blush, biting the inside of your cheek as his hands gently remove any obstructions from your face. “let me see your pret-”

you turn the blow dryer on max. 

“oh, i like you.” wriothesley says in between his laughter, turning so that you can focus your attention on his hair. “love you, actually.” he corrects. 

“love you too.” you say, ruffling the black and gray strands of his hair. he places a kiss on your knee. you pause before kissing the crown of his head. 

you continue blow drying his hair, towling the strands occasionally. wriothesley’s thankful you’re so focused on his hair that you don’t notice how warm his face has gotten, nor his crimson red cheeks as he blushes into his palm.

[lorelune]

oh to be alhaitham and kaveh's third roommate. less of a stray, more of a tax-paying citizen of sumeru city who mellows the two of them out. mediates by your nature.

you listen to kaveh's rants and ravings, let him show you his blueprints and new inspirations, and inspire him in kind with casual beauties you bring him. a padisarah in full bloom you found by the market. a seashell, found on the shores of yazahada pool, carried in from the ocean by the rivers current.

you sit quiet with alhaitham. you pet his hair after long days, lean against his side during the kinder ones. he likes when you read over his shoulder or have your nose in your own book. you start keeping a book of crossword puzzles on the coffee table, topped with a black ink pen, and you'll ask alhaitham to do one with you when the mood strikes.

(nsfw)

you cow them both into being a bit more... reasonable with one and other. they're oil and water, sun and moon, sky and sea. you remind alhaitham that antagonizing kaveh with staunch logic isn't the best way to resolve a conflict. you remind kaveh that not everything he feels is a personal slight is intended to be taken in such a way.

you are the jar that hold the oil and water. the star bed that carries the sun and moon. solid earth that keeps the sky tethered and the sea close.

alhaitham takes your recommendation for books seriously-- dives into fiction at your request. his assistant at the akademiya catches him reading what could only be called a "smut novel" between meetings. kaveh drags you into the study and kisses you breathless on the comfy chaise lounge in the corner, pushing you into the cushions and telling you sweetly-- "stay just like that." sketches you. paints you. memorizes the contours and curves of you.

when you tumble into bed, it's a dance.

kaveh maps out the curves of you with soft, long-fingered hands. leaves scratches and opened-mouthed kisses in his wake. kaveh wants to feel you. the rush of heat that comes when he sucks a bruise into your neck. the breath that rushes from your lungs when you let out a pretty keen.

alhaitham wants to know you. wants to learn you in the most intimate way. he wants to know the best angles to crook his finger inside you, the positions that make your eyes roll back in your skull. there's something about rendering you-- someone so horribly intentional, kind, present-- into a puddle, at his hand, that alhaitham quietly adores. shows you, more than tells you. you never leave bed without a limp, or a drooling web of slick and spunk stickying your thighs.

you drag them close. glut yourself on them. watch starry eyes when they kiss, whimper at the way they both go weak for teasing. you spit in your palms and tug at them both, watch with a split smile when kaveh has to duck his head into alhaitham's neck. overcome with just a little touch.

it's all reciprocal. you trade teeth marks (and in alhaitham's case, chomps) and have a schedule for who cooks dinner each night. you link arms with kaveh on the way to the market and steal sips of alhaithams tea before bed. you all attempt to steal the duvet during the night, so you propose to invest in another to keep folded at the end of your shared mattress.

you're grateful, to have fallen into step with them

[megamindsecretlair]

The King and I, Part 2

Pairing: King Ghezo x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Mentions of violence, killing, slavery, forceful touching, and suicidal ideation. Kissing, mentions of female and male body parts. Doesn't follow canon of the movie.

Summary: You have waited in agony for King Ghezo to send the guards or the Agojie after you, after the stunt you pulled. He invites you on a morning walk instead where you have to address that he is not the man you thought he was.

Word Count: 2,856k

A/N: OMG! I am outdone by all the love and support for this one. Thank you!! I'm not so sure this will still be 3 parts. I'm not yet ready to say goodbye to these two. We'll see, bear with me! I haven't been feeling well, so this is a little short. Forgive me. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Taglist: @planetblaque @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @honeyoriginalz @gg-trini @eggnox @naj-ay444 @sheepywritesfics @westside-rot @twocentuar @pinkpantheris @tchallasbabymama @sevikasblackgf @slippinninque @abeautifulmindexposed @neawarren @monaeesstuff @blackerthings

You did not know what to make of the King. You walked beside him, heading outside of the palace. There were no guards to follow you or servants to trail behind like ghosts. He had come to your room early this morning, looking fresh and radiant.

You, however, had not been able to sleep at all. It was too quiet in the palace. You were used to your father’s loud snores, your mother’s quiet murmurings. The noise from the surrounding forest. 

When he came to your door, you had sleepily answered it, holding the door open just a crack. The crack had been enough.

“Will you kill me today, my Queen?” King Ghezo asked, like he did every day this past week. You didn’t understand him. 

You feared that an Agojie would swoop in the middle of the night. Would hold their hand over your mouth and stab you through the heart. Night after night, you prepared for death. And morning after morning, it was kept at bay.

Beside you, the King walked with his head held high, shoulders back, and magnificent in royal blue robes swishing behind him. It was as if the air itself parted for him. 

“The day is still young, my King,” you had told him. You don’t know why you said it, only that it seemed to please him. He smiled and invited you on a morning walk with him. He encouraged you to bring the knife with you. 

Was this a trap? 

Leaving the palace, you were greeted by just how large his land was. True, you knew he ruled over the whole kingdom, but his palace lands were huge. Jungle stretched in front of you. A worn path was set off to the right. In the distance, you saw the valley open up and the fruits of the palm oil trade were under way.

But the King set off to the left, towards the cliffs. The sun with its rich oranges and golds was starting to lighten the world. Like a giant’s eye waking up. The King kept moving, without a sound.

If he was finally going to kill you, he chose a fine morning to do it. The air was still, calm, and peaceful. The grass beneath your feet was soft. Its blades softly crunched beneath you. 

You looked to the King once more. To the way he carried himself, flitting from one task to another. This past week, he had attended so many meetings. You were now expected to attend these meetings and sit by his side. You had moved to sit in one of the seats before him, but he had beckoned you to his side. You looked to his first wife, who merely smiled kindly.

She rarely spoke, so you didn’t bother to either. Once you sat by his side, in a place of honor, you had looked at him the entire meeting. It was hard to think that this man and the cruel man your father taunted you with were the same person. You kept your defenses up, but you were growing weary. 

Maybe today was the day, after all. He had not come to your room since that night. You quickly learned that the eunuchs were horrible gossips. They would let everyone know that the King had not touched you. Had not planted a baby inside you yet. Every servant you passed gave you funny looks.

You wondered if they cackled and laughed at the skittish new wife who will not give the King a baby. Did they think you defective? Why should you care? You had not cared that your father treated you like elephant dung. You had not cared that your mother let him take you away forever. You did not care that you were married to the King. 

You looked to the ever brightening sky as if you could see straight into Mawu-Lisa’s eyes. If they wanted you dead, so be it. 

The King held out his hand to you. You looked at him and he only smiled patiently. You took his hand and he helped you climb the hill. At the top, there were trees with heavy foliage. He moved a branch aside and pulled you ahead of him. 

Your breath escaped you. Before you, you could see the ocean. You sank clumsily to your knees as you looked at the sight. You had never seen it before. You lived too far inward and the river was fed from the ocean, so there was no reason to venture half a day there and back. 

The sun rose over the water, stretching rays of red, orange, and gold across. The light refracted off of the water, like diamonds. The sound of the waves were mighty yet soft at the same time. As if that same giant heaved sighs as it awakened. 

“I wanted to show you something that would make you smile,” King Ghezo said. He moved beside you and knelt down, running a finger across your cheek. You had not realized you were crying until you tore your gaze from the ocean and looked at his finger.

“Do not weep, my Queen.” His eyebrows drew together as if he cared about such things. As if it wounded him to see tears in your eyes. 

You bowed your head, shook it. You were in such disbelief, you had no words. None. Such an everyday sight for him reduced you to silly tears. 

“Why? Why do this?” You asked. Why allow you to see such beauty before he took it away forever? 

The King looked towards the ocean. He sat so still, you did not think he would answer you. “How can I ensure my people’s happiness, if my own wife is unhappy?” He asked. He folded his hands in front of him. 

“Your first wife…” 

“I have a special relationship with her. As I hope to have with you. I do not see you as one of many. You are one. Unique. I thought giving you space, seeing me as a just ruler would help you come out of your shell. Perhaps I was wrong,” he said. 

You chewed on your bottom lip, completely dumbfounded. Your head spun. There were too many conflicting emotions to make sense of any one. Somehow, he made you feel special even with the knowledge that you are not his only wife. In fact, there will be more after you. Each one thrown at his feet as you were. Or offered from other tribes in hopes of allyship against the Oyo.

A burning coil of anger knotted around your heart. You pressed your hand to it. What kind of feeling was that? It continued to burn and pressure burrowed. You did not have a name for that so you focused instead on the King. 

“I am not unhappy,” you said, softly. And it was true. For the first time in your life, you felt…quiet. You have fought your entire life to be heard or seen. To make a mountain of yourself in the eyes of someone who saw you as a rock. 

Here, you didn’t have to do that. People saw you. You had dreaded a life of invisibility. To be passed like stewed meat from father to husband, your role nothing more than a broodmare. To live an unremarkable life. To die never having known joy. Love. 

Here…here was different. And you did not know how to put that into words for him. 

“But you are not happy either,” he said. 

He glanced at you, turning the full weight of his gaze on you. You searched his eyes with unspoken questions. What did he want from you? Could he not simply find someone easier, daintier, more demure, more accommodating, more…wifely.

Again, the burning coil squeezed your chest harder. You took deep breaths as you looked out over the ocean. That wondrous sight. The sky had lightened, the rich blue racing across the sky and beating back the paint splattered hues of the sun. Heat was starting to press in from the sun.

“Have you plotted yet, how to kill me?” He asked.

You huffed a laugh and he toppled over, holding his chest. “Ah, the first real smile I have seen on your face. Does my death bring you happiness?” 

“N-no! I would never-” 

He chuckled. His entire body shuffled as he did so. He still confused you so. It was frustrating! He stalked through life with his heart on his sleeve, emotions given freely. You ached with the desire to be the same way.

You were so mired in your own thoughts, you did not know which way was up. How could he identify them so quickly? Give them without reservation? 

“I am messing with you. So tell me,” he said. He leaned up from the ground, resting his hands behind him to support his weight. The vivid blue of his robes ought to clash with the surrounding greenery, but he looked as home there as he did on the throne. 

You fiddled with your hands, unsure what to say. Were you really going to joke about killing the King? 

“If I told you, you would see it coming,” you offered. You peeked at him from underneath your lashes and he grinned. Oh, that grin. He was handsome, you had to admit. 

“Beautiful and smart. A deadly combination in a Queen. I shall keep my eyes open then,” he said. 

The tips of your ears burned looking at the intensity of his expression. 

“Did you play here often as a boy?” You asked to break the tension. When he looked at you like that, it was far too easy to be ensnared. To remember that you were his wife. And you were all alone with your husband. 

The stirrings of arousal made your belly flutter. Your core ache. You shifted on the ground and cleared your throat. You could not lose focus.

King Ghezo smiled. “I did. My father was busy with my brother, the heir. I was left alone, free to explore. Read. I used to watch the kingdom from here,” he said. He jerked his chin into the distance and you followed his line of sight. 

There was a little alcove of land that you could see from this height. Then he turned his head and you did the same. You could see the entire expanse of the kingdom. 

“Did you know? That you would one day be king?” You asked. 

“No. Had I known, I would have run away,” he said.

You looked at him. A small smile hovered his lips. “I did not wish to be king. It is a heavy burden. So many look to you for safety. I have to fight tradition and the minds of men who see us only as property. How they can come here, look me in the eye, and wish I toiled their fields fills me with such…hatred.”

“But still you sell Oyo prisoners?” You asked.

“We cannot fight two wars. They know this. I know this. It is an ugly reality,” he said. 

He never looked away from you or shied away from your questions. He did not tell you that this was not appropriate for someone who looked like you. Who had breasts instead of a penis. That you were incapable of understanding the harsh reality you all lived in. 

“Will we ever be free? Truly free?” 

“Yes. They cannot kill us faster than the hope in our hearts,” he said. 

You nodded. You played with the hem of your orange robes. You did not know what to make of the king. But he was so passionate in everything he did or spoke of. 

For the rest of the morning, you asked him questions about growing up, becoming King, and how he wished that one day, women would have more freedoms than they did now. That little girls would not be thrown away at the king’s feet.

“I will not kill you today, my King,” you said and smiled at him. Genuinely smiled. He matched your smile. He held out his hand and you took it without reservation. You will not kill him today. And it appears he will not kill you either.

He suddenly cocked his head, looking at you. “Since I am safe from your blade today, wife, may I ask you for something?” 

“What?” You asked, an edge of wariness creeping into your tone. 

“May I kiss you?” He asked.

Your lips parted. That was the last thing you expected him to ask. Your father had ensured that you were never left alone long enough to experience a kiss from any local boy. He didn’t want even a hint of impropriety when it came time to sell you. 

Not trusting your words, you nodded. You wanted to know what his lips felt like against yours. It was a crazy notion, but it was there. 

He leaned up from his relaxed position, never having left it throughout your entire conversation. He inched closer, settling next to you until he was pressed into your side. 

You were as still as a statue. Your hands were planted on your thighs, fingers bunching up the fabric of your robes in a death grip. You watched everything he did. Every move of his powerful arms. His thick legs. The way his robes slanted over his exposed chest. A single droplet of sweat running between his pecs and down the front of his pants.

You swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic in your chest. 

He reached out his hand and carefully extricated the fabric from your fingers. He massaged the feeling back into your fingers. Wasn’t he going to kiss you? You had said he could. 

Your mind began to spin with anxious thoughts. Did he change his mind? Was he still going to?  

“You must relax, my Queen. It is a kiss, nothing more,” he said. 

You nodded and took deep breaths, willing your body to cool down. To be present. You were back to breathing normally, not quite holding yourself so stiffly. 

He lifted a hand to run his finger across your cheek. His touch was warm, feather light against your skin. His finger trailed to below your chin.

“Close your eyes, my Queen,” he whispered.

You closed them slowly. Somehow not wanting to look away from him. He was so close. Your head screamed that this was inappropriate. But it wasn’t. You were his wife. 

Once closed, he tipped your chin up. His breath fanned over your face. Smelling somehow sweet, as if he had sucked on fruit before coming to you this morning. 

You felt his face get closer. Your belly flipped once more. You knew you grew damp and you half wondered if he’d be able to tell. Then, all you could think about was how wet you felt. How badly you wanted him to lift your dress. See how he made you feel since you had no words nor bravery to tell him. 

His lips descended on yours like a bird landing on a delicate branch. His nose pressed into yours. You breathed in the heady aroma of the palm oil and other oils he rubbed into his hair and skin. He smelled earthy. 

His lips moved over yours, pressing and retreating. You matched him, following his lead. He suckled your bottom lip into his mouth and a faint moan escaped you. Your clit throbbed. That was a new sensation, even for you. 

It was as if he’d awakened something in you with each pass of his lips. He licked your lips and you gasped. He swooped in, slanting his tongue to play with yours. Your hands drew up to cup his wrist, still holding up your chin. 

His skin was still warm. There was a faint bump bump of his heartbeat. 

You grew out of breath but you didn’t care. His breath supplied yours. His kisses filled you with all the sustenance you needed. The world was so quiet where you sat, that you heard the smack of your lips. The wet plop and suckle of his tongue meeting yours. The gentle groan in his throat.

The heat of the day paled in comparison to the heat of his lips. The strength of his arm. The delicate way he held your head up to meet him. Savor him. Crave more and more.

His kisses slowed until your breaths mingled, panting for air. He rested his head against yours. Then, he kissed your cheek and your forehead.

Your eyes slowly opened and he looked at you with unbridled lust. You wondered if he’d go further. Demand more from you. You gave him this, what was more? 

“If you do not kill me tomorrow either, my Queen, may I kiss you again?” He asked.

“Yes.” Yes, of course he could. Your lips tingled. You licked your lips, tongue searching for any remnants of him. More, your heart whispered. You looked at him as he pulled back to look at you too. 

You smiled, knowing that pretty soon, your head and heart would gladly meet him in the middle.

The Secret King Ghezo Files | Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[strawberrystepmom]

gojo x f!reader. cw: food mentions and suggestive theming. he refers to reader as sunshine.

this is a bit of a love language exploration. reader’s giving love language is acts of service (😔 never beating those allegations) and gojo’s is giving physical touch with a dose of words of affirmation. wc 1.3k

divider thanks to @/cafekitsune

There are times when the simple daily acts of taking care of Satoru feel like the sole thing you were put on earth to do.

Not in the fashion of the maids he was raised by, tutting over his wrinkled yukatas and forcing him to eat the slimy natto he’d swallow through a pout with eyes as watery as the oceans that color them, but as if you’re the well from which his energy springs. He wouldn’t think about little things like slowing down to eat, rest, drink, and enjoy without someone there to remind him to do it. The curse and blessing of being as close to otherworldly as one can be without entering the uncanny valley.

This realization came to you long before you admitted to anyone that you were enamored with him. Back when you were a pair of bratty teenagers and you’d only ever seen him munch on konpeito with a hand wrapped around a bottle of melon soda to wash the scratchy sugar crystals down. You were appalled at how little he cared about himself (you didn’t take excellent care of yourself either in those days, judgmental one…) but you took it upon yourself to start taking better care of yourself and him by proxy in the process. A small act of compassion for a friend would never hurt, you reasoned easily at 17.

At that point, your role was merely sharing bentos or onigiri you made for yourself with him, trading a bite of your tuna filled rice for a sip of his soda - the indirect kiss aspect of this ritual made him giddy for more years than he’d like to admit aloud - or some of the star shaped sugar crystals in his palm that he’d toss between your lips and teeth when you’d open your mouth wide enough to catch them.

(You’d stick your tongue out far enough to allow him to watch the sugar melt away and turn into a colorful splotch. His big eyes, animated as ever, widened further with each bright green and orange spot that appeared and washed away in a flash. This little ritual is also how both of you learned to French kiss but that’s a memory to reminisce upon another morning.)

The two of you experienced some terrible things your first year and his second year of high school. A certain part of you felt bad for how unapproachable and closed off he seemed after Suguru’s departure and you know now that the acts of kindness had a larger impact than intended. A stray cat that gets fed always returns, after all.

He keeps returning. You thank the stars above morning, noon, and night.

Now, caring for him is as steady and effortless as the click, click, click of the knob thay controls the flow of gas on your stove as a flame ignites beneath your rectangle shaped tamagoyaki pan. Oil sizzles and the sound of it mingles with the shower running across the apartment and Gojo’s singing that is somehow louder than both of these happenings.

No wonder the neighbors hate you.

Whatever off key song he has come up with at least makes you giggle while pouring enough egg into the pan to start the process of making breakfast. Some days you are both too busy to sit down and share these moments but you still make sure he eats, a bento always tucked into his bag that matches the one in yours. Thankfully you are both off today so you get to enjoy the process rather than rush through it.

“It smells amazing.”

You didn’t hear him shut off the shower, too busy pouring and positioning egg to notice wet footsteps across the floor and heading directly toward you. A towel is slung carelessly over his hips and you giggle when he drapes himself over your shoulder, his hands dangling down the front of you. Shifting your face, you meet his with a smile and pretend to frown when water droplets fall out of his hair and onto your shirt.

“Whatever happened to good morning?”

He looks up at you from the corner of his eye and then feigns a bright idea coming into his head, shaking it and making more droplets fall on you at the same time. Giggling, you try to simultaneously monitor your eggs and him at the same time.

“You’re so right, how could I forget!” He clears his throat dramatically and stands up, hands wrapping around your waist. He bends to whisper in your ear. “Good morning, sunshine.”

You glance up at him with a too fond smile. When did you become so soft? You’re no better than the sugar that used to melt on your tongue, more than charmed by his sweet words and tender touches. It may be written all over your face but you do your best to hide it, raising your brows and sighing dramatically.

“That’s better.”

Clicking off the heat and shooing him as much as you possibly can, you pull the hot pan off of the stove and deposit your eggs onto a cutting board. Even a few seconds of time apart makes Satoru antsy so he’s by your side long before you can miss him, an arm draped around your shoulder and a hand on his hip.

“Thank you for doing this. I know the sun makes you hiss before 10 so it means a lot.”

Rolling your eyes, you slice the tamagoyaki and he hums his approval immediately. Steam wafts through the air and you have to admit that it’s making your mouth water, too.

“You’re the only person I’d do it for,” you mutter under your breath and he laughs, leaning to kiss your cheek. “You’re a liar. You’d do this for anyone who needed it.”

You continue slicing and he removes his hand from his hip, reaching to grab one of the already cooling slices off of the cutting board and stuffing it into his mouth. It’s still too hot and whatever he was going to say next is lost completely when he burns his tongue. He breathes through his mouth for a second to cool the eggs down the rest of the way and you groan.

“Mouth closed. You’re an adult, I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

Now that it has been sufficiently cooled down, he chews the mouthful and swallows. He knows you’re joking so there’s no hurt feelings, just a cheeky grin and a dramatic eye roll.

“I was going to say, before your breakfast tried to murder me, that I’m grateful you do it for me and not just because we live together.”

The way he beams down at you is all the thanks you need, his smile as big as he is, but the words make you squirm. You’ve never been good at accepting praise or compliments no matter the amount of them you’ve been given.

“Yeah, yeah. I did it willingly when I was just your late night call too, I know.” He scoffs and shakes his head, reaching for another piece of egg. You slap his hand away playfully. “You’ve never been just a late night call to me, you know that.”

This is true and you lean into his side, aware again that he’s naked except for that damn towel. Wrapping your arm around his waist, you tickle his side and he whines.

“Go get dressed. I’m feeding you natto this morning.”

Satoru Gojo, alleged grown man, whines again. Loudly, childishly, pathetically. You giggle at his dramatics and slump when he puts most of his weight on your shoulder, drooping.

“Really?” He asks and you shake your head. “No, we’re having salmon. Go get dressed.”

He shakes his hips and the towel wrapped around them threatens to fall right in the kitchen and you tap his side with a coy smile.

“Goooooo,” you urge. “The sooner you do the sooner we can eat and then our day can really begin.”

Raising your eyebrows suggestively, he picks up on your meaning immediately and holds the knot of the towel against him while he hurries to your room to pull on some sweatpants. They’re his favorite for easy access and he’s more than prepared to give you his thanks in the form of as many orgasms as you want as soon as you’ve both fueled up.

[balkanradfem]

So, I've been reading 'Seeds of Hope' by Jane Goodall, because I am curious to what other people are saying about plants, and this book truly delivered. I've been introduced to some past plant drama in the world and that was incredible lore that should have been taught in history.

Apparently, when people first discovered tulips, they were so intensely valuable and popular, that people would trade huge amounts of money, diamonds, or even acres of land, for just one bulb. People were pre-paying for bulbs that didn't even exist yet, they would pre-order bulbs that are not yet even made. One servant ate a bulb thinking it was an onion and he got jail time for it. And I mean they're all correct, tulips just are that good.

There was also a lot of, much sadder drama about orchids; I didn't know this, but they originally grow very high up in the trees, and people were competing for discovering new and rare species. These rare and exotic species would then be displayed in rich people's gardens. Because they became so valuable, poachers would go trough the forests and take almost all of the orchids in there, making them near extinct in nature. This was resolved by orchid gardeners carefully growing them, multiplying and sharing to the point where they were sold commercially, which lessened their value on the black market, so there was no need to pillage them from the forests anymore. Growing rare plants is protection of them!

The book goes on to talk about botanic gardens, herbariums, and the value of collecting and archiving plant material, which is then showing us the effects of climate change, and stores valuable information about what is happening to the plants. It made me want to start a herbarium for sure, I'm always stressed about the loss of local plants, and it's happening more and more as green areas are cleared out.

The book touches upon plants that people have found harmful, such as plants that people make drugs out of; she clears it out to us that these plants are sacred to the native people who grew up with them, and creating drugs from them is in fact, abuse of these plants, and offensive to the communities who hold them sacred, and use them in appropriate doses as medicine. The book talks a lot about plant medicine! Apparently the pharmacy companies have been learning the knowledge about medicinal plants from native people who knew how to use plant medicine, and then the pharmacy would make medicine from those same plants, and profit off of it, without giving any credit or profit to the communities they got this knowledge from, which is not great. But then the demand for this medicine would go so high, they would go and gather all, or almost all medicinal plants from the areas where native people lived, devastating their medical supplies and natural habitats. Book goes on to question the ethics of acquiring medicine in this way, and never informing people where it came from, or what was sacrifices in order for the world to have it.

Similar things happened with valuable crops that are grown in native areas; once the demand for these crops grew, big monocrop fields were established, damaging the land and the local ecosystem, killing millions of animals who lived there, and sometimes forcing people or children into modern slavery, in order to grow them. Coffee, cocoa beans, vanilla beans, palm oil; they've been described as specifically devastating for the communities and the environment. But the book doesn't condemn these foods at all, instead the author goes on to describe, what has been done to improve this. Instead of monocrops, which are devastating for the environment, people are now taught to grow fruit trees in the same fields as coffee, which makes the coffee plants healthier and stronger, and creates and environment where some plants and animals can thrive. I personally don't believe you should have only 2 or 3 plants in a big area, I think you need about 3 millions, but it's a progress from monocrops.

The author describes finding and helping the local farmers who found ways to healthy, natural and non-damaging growing of these plants, and she helped them sell it! She also encourages buying organic food because it helps if the demand for non-monocrop food is growing.

Now there's a section of the book standing strongly against GMO foods, and for some reason I never heard any arguments against gmo, I didn't understand much about the harm coming from them, so I was very curious to hear this. The author explained how 47 million dollars was spent just for lobbying for GMO, which explains why all my information on gmo was positive, and I remember hearing it was 'the best way to reduce world hunger', but the world hunger is still a problem, so it obviously did not succeed. But now I have a better understanding of what it is.

GMO foods were specifically developed to have pesticides inside of them, so they'd be poisonous to pests, but not to people eating them. The research on whether they're poisonous to animals showed that the animals who ate them long term, had their inner organs irritated, enlarged, stomach infections, and had higher risk of cancer. So it was not proven to be safe, but it ended up in the stores anyway; the author says that about 70% of food in american supermarkets has unlabelled gmo, which is scary to think about. She also explains that this is the reason so many people in america are now trying to grow food at home, they don't want to be poisoned by pesticides.

GMO foods were specifically designed to support monocrops, and to protect them pests; this worked out in creating more and more bugs that are resistant to the pesticides, and farmers have reported the appearance of 'superbugs', which are resistant to any kind of pesticide. There's now also 'superweeds', which are resistant to herbicide. The industry is trying to develop new pesticides and new herbicides, in order to counter these new problems, but it is obvious that they're only sinking deeper and deeper; monocrops are unsustainable. Poisoning the earth and the plants, and even the seeds, is not going to lead to the end of world hunger. Farmers are often ending up losing their entire farms due to new bugs that are now thriving because all of their competition has been eliminated by pesticides, they're now the only bug and they can eat up the entire crop easily.

The other problem of GMO crops is that they're spreading their seeds and mixing with the natural crops, making them into GMO crops as well. According to the author the canola crops has already been lost, now all canola existing is genetically modified.

I'm dissatisfied with this knowledge, but it's better to know and be aware rather than to be in the dark. The author suggests designing living spaces that have gardens in them, and encouraging local community to garden, as well as planting city gardens, where food would grow for everyone. She goes on to describe the efforts of universities and cities who already had built their own living gardens in order to support the community, and how it worked to create a more beautiful, life-sustaining, happier place. She even explained how having local gardens makes the crime rate lower.

I loved this book, it had the environment awareness that can only be compared to Greta Thunberg's book, it described trees and plants so lovingly, and the connection people have with them. It showed me there's so many people fighting to save the forests and grasslands and native plants, and it's an effort that will make a big difference to how we get to live on this planet in the future.

[whencyclopedia]

Sugar & the Rise of the Plantation System

From a humble beginning as a sweet treat grown in gardens, sugar cane cultivation became an economic powerhouse, and the growing demand for sugar stimulated the colonization of the New World by European powers, brought slavery to the forefront, and fostered brutal revolutions and wars.

The geographic center of sugar cane cultivation shifted gradually across the world over a span of 3,000 years from India to Persia, along the Mediterranean to the islands near the coast of Africa and then the Americas, before shifting back across the globe to Indonesia. A whole new kind of agriculture was invented to produce sugar – the so-called Plantation System. In it, colonists planted large acreages of single crops which could be shipped long distances and sold at a profit in Europe. To maximize the productivity and profitability of these plantations, slaves or indentured servants were imported to maintain and harvest the labor-intensive crops. Sugar cane was the first to be grown in this system, but many others followed including coffee, cotton, cocoa, tobacco, tea, rubber, and most recently oil palm.

Beginnings of Sugar Cultivation

There is no archeological record of when and where humans first began growing sugar cane as a crop, but it most likely occurred about 10,000 years ago in what is now New Guinea. The species domesticated was Saccharum robustum found in dense stands along rivers. The people in New Guinea were among the most inventive agriculturalists the world has known. They domesticated a broad range of local plant species including not only sugar cane but also taro, bananas, yam, and breadfruit.

The cultivation of sugar cane moved steadily eastward across the Pacific, spreading to the adjacent Solomon Islands, the New Hebrides, New Caledonia, and ultimately to Polynesia. Cultivation of sugar cane also moved westward into continental Asia, Indonesia, the Philippines, and then Northern India. During this advancement, S. officinarum ("nobel canes") hybridized with a local wild species called S. spontaneum to produce a hybrid, S. sinense ("thin canes"). These hybrids were less sweet and not as robust as pure S. officinarum but were hardier and could be grown much more successfully in subtropical mainlands.

Sugar cane was for eons just chewed as a sweet treat, and it was not until about 3,000 years ago that people in India first began squeezing the canes and producing sugar (Gopal, 1964). For a long time, the Indian people kept the whole process of sugar-making a closely guarded secret, resulting in rich profits through trade across the subcontinent. This all changed when Darius I (r. 522-486 BCE), ruler of the Persian Achaemenid Empire, invaded India in 510 BCE. The victors took the technology back to Persia and began producing their own sugar. By the 11th century CE, sugar constituted a significant portion of the trade between the East and Europe. Sugar manufacturing continued in Persia for nearly a thousand years, under a revolving set of rulers, until the Mongol invasions of the 13th century destroyed the industry.

Continue reading...

[diamondwerewolf]

"Good Night, AZed."

Short, somewhat suggestive mini-fic. AZ is in charge of leading himself, a small party of pokemon, and a new travel companion up a mountain still gripped by winter. They've stopped for the night, with intentions of continuing on in the morning.

I haven't written anything super involved in a while, so apologies if I'm rusty or there's any mistakes. Thanks for reading if you do! Enjoy.

______________________________________________________________ The sharp whistle of the wind shook the thatch outside their camp. AZ had stuck his head out of the opening for only a moment to spot the moon, but that was more than enough time for frozen air to claim the tip of his nose and cheeks. He rubbed them, trying to banish the icy bite and restore precious heat from his gloved palm. As he retreated inside, he tightly drew the door closed, and glanced over shoulder at the company situating herself behind him.

AZ, as he started to discover, knew now that Kiss had a particular bedtime routine. He gave her as much space as the cramped burrow would allow without interrupting her ritual. The sound of her brush treading her hair tangled with the wind, and filled the comfortable silence between them. 

AZ grunted and made himself busy while he waited. He needed to make hot water for his canteen before they slept. Awkwardly, he hunched down beneath the dusty wooden beams of their buried hut, and offered his torkoal more firewood. It perked its head up, stretched somewhat in its corner, and took the pieces in cracking, splintering bites. Its mouth grew bright and swirled with warping waves of heat. AZ would have patted the Pokémon fondly if it weren’t so busy keeping them warm. He wished it goodnight, and it dozed off again while he took to boiling some water on the top of its shell. 

With the canteen filled and steaming, and bits of fallen bark swept from their bedding, all AZ had to do was wait on his…companion., He turned somewhat to watch her again. 

Kiss had stopped brushing her hair. The black and red tresses were neatly oiled and braided thickly into two. A compact mirror was in hand while she rubbed some sort of fragrant cream beneath her eyes. Soon enough that treatment was snapped closed, and she was opening another strange, expensive container from her smallest travel pack.  Her habits weren’t unfamiliar, but they were foreign to him. Still, he had to honor her determination to continue following them no matter where they were. AZ knew well that she was out of her natural habitat. 

Kiss was a fashionable, posh woman, a beautician of many trades, and most importantly, -not- an outdoorsman. She quite liked her domestic comforts and neat living in pompous Lumiose, but was accepting the inconveniences and grit of his way of living. Wherever he was going, she wanted to be there and see it, too…despite all the ample opportunities to encounter dirt, cuts and scrapes, and rough weather. 

Kiss unzipped and pulled down some of her winter clothes, exposing her neck and the beginning of her bosom. A new smell mingled with the heat in the air, rich and sharp and relaxing like cinnamon. Her long , polished nails dimpled and gently scored her freshly oiled shoulders as she slathered the sweet liquid in. 

AZ’s eyes skirted away, trying desperately to find something interesting in the nooks and crannies of the inner roof. To retain any gentlemanliness he had left, he lowered himself down to the sleeping bags with hot canteen in hand, folded in absurdly long legs, and curled up on his side. He and his travel companion were closer than they’d ever been, but not intimate enough to warrant the rudeness of his drool. 

Several clicks, a spritz, and a few zippings later, she was finally ready to join him on the bedding.

“Is there…something up there?” Kiss followed AZ’s line of sight up above them. Neck craned, light concern made her forehead crease.

He snapped out of his concentration. “N-No,” AZ squashed his embarrassment and relaxed “Nothing is there. I’m in my mind, is all.” 

Kiss’ face softened. Her tiredness met halfway with her smile, both showing up in her eyes. The red hue could have taken on a glow. Her gaze was pulsing coal and smoldering, like the belly of his Pokémon slumbering not too far away. The way she tended to look at him always made him pleasantly nauseous…

“Are you worried we wasted time?” Kiss drew herself under cover facing him, but wasn’t satisfied enough with being near his side to stop there. She drew in closer than usual, huddling to his chest where he’d propped the canteen. 

“We won’t be here long enough for the flowers to bloom, no?” She wedged her cold fingers somewhere near his armpit, relishing in more decadent heat. 

They were here for his floette. After long, agonizing years of searching, she appeared to him again. That itself was two or three years ago. They were traveling by foot these days to hidden flower beds. They were ones he had started and nurtured by himself, hoping to coax her out of hiding decades ago.  He was eager to see if  Floette had seen them in her own travels, or would approve of them if they were new to her little eyes. This was the fourth field of blooms for the start of the season, though normally by this time the valley wasn’t still wrought with frost. 

Wasted time…? He thought about that a little longer than he would have liked, but AZ answered. 

“No time has been wasted,” his heart was starting to pound in his ears. He had just gotten used to company, but her open affection would still take some time to adjust to. Once her fingers were sufficiently heated, that sneaky hand of hers, accompanied by her arm, stretched itself over broad shoulder and lazily hooked around his neck. She seized his nape, nails scratching through messy hair and leaving his skin tingling. 

He intended to swallow his soft groan, but it escaped him before he could even consider. It just encouraged her to keep massaging his scalp. He didn’t have to see her smile to tell she was pleased by his response. It was positively oozing from her aura. 

What was he saying? 

“No time has been wasted,” AZ began again. “We can return another time. I’m happy you’ve seen what lies here.” Before they left, she told him she’d never seen the mountains. Witnessing her reaction to the mighty visage, the wild frosted Pokémon, and the tower of evergreens, made their journey here more than worth it. It reminded him that the wilderness wasn’t ordinary to everyone. 

“No flowers…” Kiss tutted her tongue thoughtfully. “So you’ll take us to the hot spring instead?” He did mention one being around here. It would be a desperately needed reprieve from the cold, and her own reward for doing something she thought she’d never do. A mineral soak to restore the moisture the weather stole from her sounded divine. 

He had melted into her, only half a step away from jigging his thigh like the happiest mutt. Did she really expect him to hold a proper conversation while practically in control of his mind…? Her petting had breached the band of his beanie, the scratching audible beneath the pilled fabric. AZ didn’t recall being this reprehensibly simple. 

“AZed?” She knew exactly what she was doing. Kiss’ face was so close to his that he could feel her breath, and her smugness on his cupid’s bow. He could only grunt back in distracted agreement, expecting her to claim his lips. Her heady cinnamon scent and the tangy root she’d used to brush her teeth filled his nose. Unexpectedly, she peeled back his scarf, and kissed his neck instead. “Kissmira.” AZ barked. He didn’t like to use such a tone with a grown woman, but she was being so very naughty!

“How dare you,” She snapped back, but it was void of any seriousness. “Who do you think you are? Using my whole first name…” She tried to match his sternness and furrowed brow, but couldn’t manage to do it around her laughter. “Awful woman.” AZ’s sigh left him in steaming puffs. He had started to sweat. He turned onto his back, and she let him go.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her in that way. Oh, he absolutely did, but now was not the time to beckon or erect any of his dormant natures. If they started something now, he didn’t trust he’d have the self control to…

He pinched the long bridge of his nose and cut the cord on even imagining where she intended to take such a kiss. She would have to forgive him for being old fashioned.

“You adore me.” She was still snickering, rivaling the most bemused of mightyena. Kiss relaxed again, letting him know she understood. She wished him goodnight properly, leaving her sweet balm behind on his lower lip.

“Good Night, AZed.” 

[probablyasocialecologist]

In Eastern Europe, for instance, the number of people living in cities declined by almost one-third during the seventeenth century, as the region became an agrarian serf-economy exporting cheap grain and timber to Western Europe. At the same time, Spanish and Portuguese colonizers were transforming the American continents into suppliers of precious metals and agricultural goods, with urban manufacturing suppressed by the state. When the capitalist world-system expanded into Africa in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, imports of British cloth and steel destroyed Indigenous textile production and iron smelting, while Africans were instead made to specialize in palm oil, peanuts, and other cheap cash crops produced with enslaved labor. India—once the great manufacturing hub of the world—suffered a similar fate after colonization by Britain in 1757. By 1840, British colonizers boasted that they had “succeeded in converting India from a manufacturing country into a country exporting raw produce.” Much the same story unfolded in China after it was forced to open its domestic economy to capitalist trade during the British invasion of 1839–42. According to historians, the influx of European textiles, soap, and other manufactured goods “destroyed rural handicraft industries in the villages, causing unemployment and hardship for the Chinese peasantry.”

Jason Hickel and Dylan Sullivan, Capitalism, Global Poverty, and the Case for Democratic Socialism

[psychotrenny]

On a more serious note, the Islamic Revolutions of the 19th Century West Sudan (region) are interesting because they provide a relatively early example of holistic ideologically-motivated revolution that follows a deliberate plan of societal renovation. This contrasts with the many less directional revolutions that sought to solve very specific issues or merely change the individuals/associations who held power in society without changing the social structures themselves.

Like the backbone of these Islamic revolutionary movements derived from the West Sudanese intelligentsia and associated strata. Usman dan Fodio, Seku Amadu and Al-ḥājj 'Umar were all prominent scholars with close ties to the regional Islamic mercantile community, while much of their initial following derived from their students and the relatives of students. These movements also had very clear ideas of how they wanted to restructure society both socially and economically. While rallying against the specific misdeeds of local rulers (abuses of power, unfair taxation), each of reformers also had their sights set higher than the replacement of bad individuals with good ones.

Instead of merely removing the morally corrupt and religiously syncretic rulers, the reformers strove to expunging all pagan elements from broader society while establishing a stronger education system to more permanently spread and maintain orthodox Islam within their territories. And instead of merely lowering the taxes as new rulers they changed the basis that taxation laws were founded on; employing Maliki school Sharia instead of going entirely off the whims of worldly rulers. There were institutional changes to the very nature of Statehood in the region too. States were no longer ruled by kings who were divine personages themselves; they were replaced by Amirs who functionally first among equals with the other governing scholars. This meant that many formerly powerful institutions were either rendered impotent (Palace Slave officials) or eliminated altogether (the office of Queen mother/sister). Like through their study of Islamic literature and analysis of the societies they lived in, these scholars came up with a plan to change their societies and to one extent or another put it into action. The changes the wrought went far far deeper than the names of the rulings families

Mind you it's important not to exaggerate the extent of these changes. They may have deliberately altered the nature and mechanisms of culture and politics, but the mode of production did not receive similar treatment. There were certainly economic changes in the region throughout the 19th century but these were driven more by international trade relations than any domestic political programmes*; a decline in demand for slaves and increase in demand for the agricultural products from the region (Kola Nuts, Peanuts, Palm Oil etc.) meant a region wide decrease in the export of slave as more of them were retained locally for employment in agriculture. However this was a process that occurred throughout West Africa rather than being confined to the Islamic Sudan; it was not a result of deliberate effort by Islamic Reformists. These were revolutions of the Superstructure, not the Base. To put it in European terms they had much more in common with the Liberal revolutions of the 18th century than the Communist ones of the 20th.

Still the fact that there was any kind of genuine ideological program at all, complete with its share of well known thinkers and an entire library of relevant literature, certainly makes it more recognisable to the modern revolutionary than many of the other civil wars and succession disputes given such a title. Even ignoring how important this process was for the West Sudan specifically, it's a very interesting slice of history that more people should be at least aware of. This post was largely based on volume 6 of the UNESCO General History of Africa (mainly chapters 21-3) and I'd highly recommend reading the whole thing if you're curious. At bare minimum it should be remembered that this sort of history is not unique to Europe

*I've definitely read a paper (which I cannot for the life of me find in my notes so if anyone knows something relevant it would be greatly appreciated) that suggests these processes aided the Islamic Reformers as many of the Pagan/Syncretic rulers relied mostly on slave raiding and sale while the more orthodox Islamic communities were already more involved in plantation production. However I've seen nothing to suggest this was a direct influence on or result of Islamic Reformist politics and a similar process occurred in the Pagan kingdoms to the South and East too

[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