#Palm Byproducts

[greenfue]

Dr. Tarek Kapiel: How Date Palm Byproducts can be a Springboard for Circular Bio Economy

A new book from authors Hamed El-Mously, Mohamad Midani and Eman A. Darwish presents an innovative vision for developing circular bioeconomies by unlocking the potential of date palm byproducts as renewable, sustainable resources. “Date Palm Byproducts: A Springboard for Circular Bio Economy” a book published by Springer Singapore, demonstrates how these agricultural residues could serve as the…

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Sex on the Beach

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Suncream...cum, is there a difference? Bucky is painting you either way.

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: bratty reader with Bucky doing his best at taming, teasing, oral sex (m), bucky fucking your tits, p in v sex, sarge/good girl kink, fingering, creampie, Bucky getting his own back at the end.

A/N: Thank you Daisy @firefly-graphics for this banner!

As Bucky sprawled out across the plush double sun lounger, his chiseled physique on full display in nothing but a pair of well-fitted swim trunks, he exuded an air of pure tranquility. The Ray-ban sunglasses you had thoughtfully gifted him just before the trip now shielded his eyes from the late morning sun's gentle rays, which danced across his lightly tanned skin. Every muscle in his body was completely relaxed, not a hint of tension to be found, as he teetered on the edge of drifting off into a blissful morning nap.

The lounger was situated on the expansive deck of Tony's luxurious Hamptons beach house, mere steps away from the glistening, azure waters of the pool and the endless horizon of the ocean beyond. The expertly positioned fencing surrounding the property offered the two of you a welcome sense of privacy, shielding you from prying eyes while still allowing the soothing sounds of the waves crashing against the nearby shoreline to reach your ears.

When you had first packed for the weekend getaway, the weather forecast had called for nothing but rain and stormy conditions, and you had almost left your vibrant yellow bikini behind, certain that there would be no opportunity to don it. However, Bucky had insisted that you bring it along, and now you were endlessly grateful that you had heeded his advice, eagerly anticipating the chance to join him in soaking up the unexpected sunshine.

As you emerged from the pool, the cool, refreshing water droplets glistening on your skin, you couldn't help but marvel at the unseasonably warm weather. The sun's golden rays felt almost soothing against your unclad flesh, a stark contrast to the chill of the pool you had just left. With a towel wrapped snugly around your waist, you cast a playful, impish glance over at Bucky, who hadn't moved from his reclined position on the nearby lounge chair, sunglasses perched on his nose. A mischievous smirk crept across your lips as you bent down and scooped up a handful of the chlorinated pool water, your fingertips lightly skimming the surface. Carefully, you tiptoed over to where Bucky lay, the water sloshing gently in your cupped palms. 

Though his eyes were shielded by dark lenses, you knew Bucky's heightened senses were ever alert, a byproduct of his turbulent past living in fear - whether under HYDRA's control or on the run. Sure enough, as you neared him, one of Bucky's eyes snapped open, his body instantly tensing, ready to spring into action at the first sign of perceived danger. But when he saw it was merely you, a playful glint in your eye and a splash of water in your hands, his posture relaxed, and he sat up, the sunglasses sliding down his nose as he fixed you with a playful glare, silently daring you to make your move.

“Whatcha doin’ there, doll?”

You flicked the remaining water droplets in your hand at him but they barely reached his bare chest.

“That the best you got?” he taunted, his piercing gaze daring you to try again.

“Not even close,” you replied with a mischievous grin, letting the towel slip just slightly as you pretended to consider your next move.

Bucky raised a single, dark eyebrow, his playful glare still firmly in place. “You think you can just come at me with that pathetic splash? I’d be ashamed if I were you,” he goaded, his deep, rumbling voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Unable to resist the challenge, you let out a bright, carefree laugh that seemed to dance in the air around you. “Oh really? Is that a challenge, Barnes?” you retorted, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you prepared to retaliate, the tension between you electric.

“Depends on what your idea of a challenge is. Because if it involves getting me wet, you might just succeed.” He smirked, leaning back slightly as if preparing for something.

You laughed, sitting down beside him, letting your wet skin rub against his as you rubbed the towel along your arms. “Do my sunscreen?” you asked, looking over your shoulder at him and batting your eyelids coquettishly.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he shuffled closer. “Sunscreen, huh? You sure that's all you need me for?” he asked huskily.

He was halfway through a playful eye roll when your hands moved to the back of your neck, swiftly undoing the halterneck string of your bikini top to reveal your soft breasts. “Don’t want to risk getting tan lines,” you smirked at his widening eyes.

“Of course not,” he mumbled, shaking his head at your antics.

“So you gonna help me or not?”

“Get over here.” He wrapped his arm around your waist and hoisted you into his lap. With his flesh arm he flicked open the bottle of sunscreen, making the same popping sound that you associated with him opening a bottle of lube and you felt a shiver through your body, your skin erupting in goosebumps.

Bucky noticed immediately, there wasn’t anything he missed when it came to your body’s responses. “Cold?” he smirked.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as Bucky pulled you closer, his chest pressed flush against your back, his breath tickling the nape of your neck. Despite the warm fall air, a shiver of anticipation still rippled down your spine at the feel of his body against yours.

“N-No,” you breathed out, your voice a breathless whisper. “Just a bit… sensitive.”

Bucky's eyes darkened further, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he felt your shiver and heard the huskiness in your voice. He knew the effect he had on you, and he loved it.

He leaned in, his voice low and deep, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. "Sensitive, hmm?" he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. One of his hands drifted downwards, tracing a slow, tortuous path along your bare hip.

"Mmm, don't forget the front," you moaned.

Bucky's smirk grew even more wicked at the sound of your moan, his chest rumbling with a low, appreciative growl. He shifted you in his lap so that you were straddling him, your legs on either side of his hips, giving him full access to your front.

He leaned back, the sunlight casting a glow around his head like a halo, his eyes roving hungrily over your body, taking in every inch of bare skin.

"Are you just going to sit and stare? Or you want me to get burned?”

Bucky chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he met your gaze, his hands still resting on your hips.

"Patience, doll. I'm just admiring the view," he teased, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your hips, sending prickling shivers through your body.

Slowly, he began to apply the sunscreen on your torso, his hands moving in sensual, deliberate circles, covering every inch of your skin in the creamy liquid.

Bucky's hands slowed as they reached the curves of your breasts, his palms hovering mere inches away, as if reluctant to touch them just yet. His eyes locked onto yours, his gaze dark and hungry. He swallowed hard, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale.

"You don't know how hard it is to keep my hands off you, doll," he murmured, his voice gruff, his hands slowly moving closer, his thumbs just barely brushing against the swell of your tits.

You leaned forward so your hardened nipples grazed his chest. "Who said you had to?”

Bucky's breath hitched at the feel of your nipples gliding across his chest, a low, guttural moan rumbled in his throat. He shifted his hips, his growing hardness pressing against you through the thin fabric of his swim trunks.

"Mmm, doll. You're a damn tease, you know that?" he panted, his fingers digging into your hips, his thumbs still brushing against your sensitive skin, teasing but not quite touching where you wanted.

"Who's teasing?" You asked innocently, pushing your ass down into the growing bulge in his trunks.

Bucky's eyes darkened, his expression shifting from playful to downright feral, the veins in his arms bulging as his muscles tensed. He let out a growl, his voice deep and strained.

"Oh, you're playing with fire now doll," he warned, his hands gripping your hips tighter, his body quivering with barely restrained desire. He bit his lip, trying to hold back, but it was taking all his willpower not to throw you down onto the lounger and take you right then and there.

"The only fire I'm feeling right now is that giant ball in the sky that's unevenly tanning my boobs right now," you pouted.

Bucky let out another soft growl.

"Aww, did I make you mad?" You put on a baby voice.

Bucky huffed out a sardonic laugh, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your hip. He was far too distracted by the feel of your body on top of his to be truly angry.

"Mad? Nah, doll. Just struggling to control myself with you being so damn frisky right now." He raised an eyebrow, his eyes locking onto yours, the heat in his gaze undeniable. "Question is, what’re you gonna do about it?”

"Want me to kiss it better?" You leaned forward with pouty lips.

Bucky's eyes darkened at the sight of your pouting lips, his resolve slowly crumbling. This teasing game you were playing was getting torturous, but damn if he wasn't loving it. He reached up, his hand cupping your chin, his thumb tracing along your lower lip.

"Mmm, I think I might need a little more than just a kiss, doll. You're being a brat and you know it.”

"Ask nicely.”

Bucky bit his lip, his breathing growing heavier as your defiance only seemed to fuel his desire. His hand threaded through your hair, pulling you closer until your faces were mere inches apart.

"Please, doll," he said huskily, his voice low and thick with lust. "Stop being such a damn tease and let me have you.”

"Only if you're good, Sarge." You bit your lip seductively.

Bucky's breath hitched at the sound of the nickname, a low moan rumbling in his chest. You knew how much he loved it when you called him that, and the effect it had on him was always immediate.

"Doll, you know damn well I'm always good," he said huskily, his eyes locked on your lips as you bit them seductively, his hand in your hair gently pulling your head back, exposing your neck. "But today, you're going to need to follow my orders.”

Your walls fluttered with excitement at his words and you bit back a moan.

Bucky smirked at the reaction he saw in your eyes, his gaze raking over your body possessively. He could see the effect his words had on you, and it only made him more possessive. He knew your weakness, just like you knew his.

"So obedient," he murmured, his mouth hovering over your neck, his lips just barely grazing your skin. "But I want to hear you say it. What’s the safe word?”

You whined against his ear, wiggling your ass in his lap. "Oklahoma.”

Bucky let out a harsh breath, his eyes fluttering closed for just a second as your body moved against his in his lap. He took a moment to collect himself before opening his eyes, a smug look on his face as he looked at you.

"Good girl," he praised, his lips finally claiming your neck, his mouth hot against your skin. "Now, why don't you get on your knees and show me how good you can be for me?”

"No, thank you.”

Bucky's eyes widened slightly at your defiant reply. No one disobeyed him, especially not when he had laid out clear instructions.

He chuckled, but there was an edge to it, a hint of a warning.

"Doll, you can’t be defying my orders already. I know you know the punishment for being a disobedient little brat. Is that what you want? A reminder of who’s in charge here?”

"You're so cute when you try and control me, even though we both know that I'm in charge," you smirked.

A deep rumble left Bucky's throat at your words. He knew you were playing, pushing his buttons and testing his patience, but it was getting harder and harder to hold back.

"Oh really, doll? You think you're in charge?" he purred, his eyes darkening as he held your gaze, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Maybe I need to remind you who you belong to.”

"Do it, I dare you.”

Bucky's eyes flashed with a predatory gleam at your challenge. It was as if you were dangling a steak in front of a lion, and expecting it not to pounce. You were playing with fire, and he was itching to teach you a lesson.

In a swift, fluid movement, Bucky shifted your position on his lap so that you were lying back on the lounger. He hovered over you, his body pressed against yours, trapping you beneath him.

"Oh doll, I'm gonna do more than just remind you," he growled. "You're gonna do as you're told.”

"Yeah?" you asked breathily.

Bucky smirked at the breathlessness in your voice. It was clear that you were already affected, your body responding to his proximity, his touch. He brought his face closer to yours, his lips hovering just millimeters from your ear. His voice was rough and low, carrying a threat that made your heart skip.

"Yep. I'm gonna teach you a damn lesson in obedience, doll. And you're gonna love every second of it.”

"Oh, am I?”

Bucky leaned back to look at you, his eyes raking over your body, taking in your flushed cheeks and heavy breathing. He could see the effect he was having on you, and it only served to make him more confident.

"Damn right you are," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I can see it in your eyes, doll. You love it when I get all dominant, when I take charge. And I love it when I have you all submissive and pliant, begging for more.”

You could only whimper in response, your body consumed by the arousal and promise of his cock.

Bucky smirked, noticing your inability to form a response. He could easily see how turned on you were, how badly you wanted him to take you. His eyes darkened with a mixture of lust and satisfaction. Slowly and sensually he rolled his hips against your core.

"See, doll? You can try to play the brat, but deep down, you know what you want. You want me to be in charge, to take control and make you feel good. And that's exactly what I'm gonna do.”

"Good luck... with... that." You wanted to continue with your little game but his proximity had your resolve faltering. 

Bucky chuckled at your attempt to keep up this charade, but he could see that your resolve was weakening. Your body was responding to his proximity, betraying your act of nonchalance.

He leaned down, his lips grazing your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"Doll, you forget who you're dealing with," he murmured. "I've got you all figured out, and I know all your weaknesses. You can try to resist, but deep down I know you're craving my touch, begging for it, in fact.”

"So what are you gonna do about it?" you challenged softly.

Bucky's eyes darkened at your challenge, his smile turning into a predatory grin. He knew damn well what he was going to do, and he was aching to show you just how in control he was.

"Oh doll, don't tempt me," he warned, his voice low and husky. "I can think of plenty of things I could do to a disobedient little brat like you. But I think you'll find it hard to keep up this act when I've got you pleading and begging.”

"Oh please, I can do this all day.”

Bucky chuckled at your defiant words, taking in your flushed cheeks and breathless state. He could see the effect he was having on you, the way your body was responding to him, even as you tried to keep up your act.

"Is that so, doll?" he taunted. "You think you can keep this up all day, huh? We'll just see about that.”

For the first time since you started this game, you held your tongue. You welcomed whatever punishment he had in store for you... you craved it.

Bucky smirked at your sudden silence, sensing the shift in your attitude. It was clear that you were finally submitting to him, and he loved it. He could see the desire in your eyes, the need for him to take control and give you what you wanted.

"Looks like someone finally realized who's in charge," he murmured, his hands roaming over your body, tracing gentle patterns on your skin, his touch both soothing and dominating.

"Ready to be a good girl and do as you're told?”

"No," you breathed softly.

Bucky chuckled at your persistence in playing this game, his eyes darkening with a mixture of annoyance and desire. He knew you were testing his limits, seeing how far you could push him before he snapped.

"What do you mean, no? If I want my dick in your mouth, it's going in your mouth whether you like it or not.”

You shuddered with anticipation. Of course, you wanted his dick in your mouth. Bucky smirked, noticing the shiver that ran through your body. He could see the desire in your eyes, the way your tongue darted out to moisten your lips, betraying your own need for him.

"I see that got your attention," he murmured. "You want me to use that pretty mouth of yours, don't you?”

You struggled slightly under his weight. Bucky laughed at your attempts to move under him, the sound deep and throaty. He knew he had you right where he wanted you, trapped beneath him. 

"Struggle all you want, but you're not going anywhere until you're dripping with my cum.”

Bucky chuckled at the pout on your lips, but he allowed you to prop yourself up on the lounger, his knees still trapping your hips on either side. The position he had you in was intimate, his cock was almost pressed against your face, his eyes locked on yours, his hands resting on either side of your shoulders, caging you in.

Bucky loved having you like this, so vulnerable beneath him but his body completely at your mercy.

Bucky's eyes darkened as he watched you lick your lips, the gesture driving him wild. He could see the need in your eyes.

"You want it, don't you?" he asked, his voice heavy with desire.

"Only because you want it so bad," you smirked, your eyes roving over his throbbing length. He had pulled it out of his swim trunks, the veins full and pulsating readily. "Look at you, can't wait, can you? Need my lips around your pretty cock?”

Bucky nearly lost his breath at your words, his body shuddering with need. You knew just how to play him, how to push all his buttons.

"Damn doll," he groaned, his voice ragged with desire, momentarily forgetting his character. "You talk like that, and you're gonna make me lose control. But yes, I need your lips. I need your mouth on me. I need you, doll.”

You softened a little, wanting to give in without a fight, to give him what he craved. But a tiny voice in your mind reminded you that this would be so much more fun.

A slow smirk formed on your lips. "Make me," you said with as much defiance as you could muster.

Bucky's eyes darkened with annoyance and desire at your disobedience once again. He loved the challenge. The way you tested him pushed him to the edge, but it was hard to hold back when you were so goddamn sexy.

"Oh doll, are you really gonna push me like that?" he gritted out, his voice strained as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Slowly, he reached out and made a fist in your hair and moved your face right up to his with his firm grip. "Head back, mouth open, tongue out... now.”

Slowly but petulantly, you complied, letting him slide his head onto your tongue. Sensually, you rolled it around the edge before kissing the tip. You loved seeing the way his muscles contracted with pleasure.

Bucky's head fell back slightly, his eyes fluttering shut momentarily, a moment of ecstacy coursing through him.

"That's it, that's my good girl. Now you remember what to do if it's too much?”

You nodded, tapping his thigh three times, making him praise you again. You took him into your mouth again, lips forming an O. Narrowing your eyes, you looked up at him with a hint of rebelliousness and daring.

Bucky's eyes darkened at your gaze, his breath hitching in his chest. He wasn't used to anyone giving him this level of sass, and it was driving him crazy. 

"I see you're still feeling mouthy. Looks like I'll have to find a way to keep that pretty little mouth of yours occupied.”

You decided to show him how mouthy you could be, letting him slip further into your mouth.

Bucky's head slumped back, his breath coming in short bursts as you teased him. Damn, you were so damn good at this, and it was driving him wild.

"That's it, doll. Just like that, that's my girl. You know just what I like.”

You tried to answer him, but you couldn't form any coherent words with the way he filled your mouth.

"What's that, doll?" he chuckled despite his ragged breath, a hint of pride in his voice. He loved making you speechless, especially with your mouth full of him.

"Can't talk now, can you? You look so pretty with your mouth all full.”

You moaned, sending vibrations straight up his aching cock. The way he tasted always turned you on and your pussy was begging for attention. You squeezed your legs together to offer yourself some relief from the throbbing between your thighs.

Bucky groaned, your moans resonating through him, shooting straight through his body. It was like a jolt of electricity to his nerves, and he had to grit his teeth to keep control. 

"Ah darlin’, you know how that mouth of yours is affecting me," he breathed out, his eyes darting down to your squirming form. "Damn doll, you look like you're aching for something.”

Finally, you sank down all the way, your nose brushing the short strands of hair on his skin for a moment before pulling off with a gasp, a long string of spit connecting your lips to the tip of his cock.

Bucky could hardly think straight with the way you were working him over. It was a good thing he was sitting down because he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stand right now. 

"Damn doll," he breathed. "That mouth of yours is something else. But did I tell you you could stop?”

"It's my turn, Sarge.”

Bucky's eyes darkened, his breath hitching in his chest at the title. Something about you calling him by his rank made him a little weak.

"I don't think so, doll," he warned. "You know who's in charge here, and I haven't given you permission to take it your turn yet. You gotta earn it. You're gonna follow my orders.”

You whimpered softly, so turned on now that you couldn't think for yourself.

Bucky's eyes scanned over you, taking in your flushed and panting form. He could see the way you were responding to him, how your need was taking over and making it hard for you to think.

“There’s my good girl,” he murmured, his voice silky smooth. "Now open that pretty mouth and stick that tongue out so Sarge can fuck your face.”

You followed his orders without question, tilting your head back and sticking your tongue out as far as it would go. Seconds later Bucky was shoving his fat cock between your lips, thrusting his hips until the head of his dick was hitting the back of your throat. You did your best to suck around him, hollowing your cheeks while your tongue lapped up every drop of precum leaking from his tip. One of your hands braced on his hip while the other came up to play with his balls as he grunted softly with your ministrations.

Bucky was losing it a little more with each passing second. You were so damn gifted with that tongue of yours, and he wanted to come inside you.

“You’re gonna make Sarge come,” he moaned. So did you, right around his cock. “Bet you'd like that, huh?” His hips thrusted deeper into your throat and you felt tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. “You wanna taste me?”

You gazed up at him with desperate, pleading eyes, and he responded with a dark, mocking laugh.

“Too fucking bad.” He grunted, pulling himself from your mouth as his eyes fluttered shut while you were left panting and speechless.

“Ruined that chance,” he continued. “Show me those gorgeous tits. You want me to make sure they're protected from the sun? I can cover them in cum and you won't have to worry about that any more. How does that sound?” 

Bucky's hands moved to rest on your shoulders, firmly pushing you down onto your back, his body hovering over you, trapping your wrists above your head in his hands. His cock resting between your breasts.

“Is that a nod, doll? You gonna let me come on your tits?

"No,” you answered, rather weakly.

He chuckled, but there was an edge to it, a hint of a warning.

"Oh go on now, get me off, darlin'.”

You struggled slightly in a weak attempt to free yourself from his grip, to take what you wanted.

"Struggle all you want, doll. But you're not going anywhere 'til you're dripping with my cum," he muttered darkly from above you.

This man and his filthy mouth. The way it had you squirming, panting. You could feel the heat pooling between your thighs. The need for him to take you was overwhelming. Your body writhed beneath his, your aching pussy silently begging to be filled.

"Aww look at you all stuck," he laughed. "You're dripping wet, aren't you? You might as well tell the truth because I'm going to fucking check anyway.”

"Go on then.”

Bucky smirked, his eyes darkening with a familiar look. He loved this game, the push and pull, testing your limits and seeing how far he could go.

"You sure?" he asked, his tone taunting. "You want me to touch you, make you squirm even more than you already are?”

"Please..." the word slipped from your lips before you realized what you were saying.

Bucky's eyes darkened at your whimper. He could always tell when you were starting to let your guard down, when you were giving up the fight. It made him want you even more.

"Please? Look at that, you're begging now, doll. You need me, don't you?” He asked, gently thrusting between your breasts.

You whimpered softly. There was no denying it, you wanted to be touched, you wanted him to fill you up, you didn't want to wait. 

Bucky could see the look in your eyes, the desire that had taken over and left you a needy, begging mess. He loved seeing you like this, completely under his control, waiting for his touch.

"You're starting to be a good girl now, huh? I knew you would give in eventually. You just need a little push, don't you?”

"The only thing you should be pushing right now is little Sarge inside me.”

Bucky chuckled deeply. Damn, your filthy mouth was going to be the death of him.

"You're getting cheeky, doll. You won't be getting that anytime soon until you learn some manners.”

"You gonna teach me?" you smirked.

Bucky's laugh was dark and dangerous. "You're just asking for it, aren't you? But I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson, doll.”

You just gave him a long, silent look, slowly wetting your lips.

Bucky's eyes tracked the movement of your tongue, the way it glided over your full lips. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, and he was loving every second of it.

"You're playing with fire, doll. I don't think you realize just how much you're testing my control right now.”

"Show me.”

Bucky's breath hitched at your words. The challenge in your voice, the slight attitude behind your words. He loved it.

"You really want me to show you?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "You want me to lose control? You think you can handle that?”

"You think you've been in control all this time?”

Bucky actually laughed at that. You were trying so hard to regain a little bit of power, to knock him off balance and turn the tables. But he could see through it all.

"Don't act like you haven't been the one begging for it this whole time, doll," he smirked. "You've been desperate for my touch, my attention, my control. And you know it.”

"Then do it.”

"Oh, doll, you're so impatient," he taunted. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you, just the way you need. You'll get your fill, but on my terms.”

He moved down to kneel between your legs.

Bucky knelt between your legs, his body towering over you as he settled in. He could see the way your breath hitched, the way his presence alone was affecting you.

"You good, doll?" he asked, his voice low and sultry, "You ready for this?”

You smiled at your boyfriend, something had suddenly shifted between you, teasing put aside, your closeness and intimacy taking over as he hovered against your entrance.

Bucky froze for a moment, his eyes softening as he saw the change in you. He knew that feeling all too well, that moment when playfulness gives way to something more tender and true. He met your gaze, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You look so beautiful, doll," he murmured, his voice gentle. "I love you so goddamn much.”

"Love you too, Buck," you whispered.

Bucky's heart filled with warmth every time he heard you say those words. It was a moment of vulnerability, a reminder of the love and trust that existed between them.

He leaned down a little more, his body pressing against yours, the tip of his hard length resting against your entrance. He could see the love and longing in your eyes, and he wanted to make you feel good.

"Are you ready for me, doll?" he asked.

"Always ready for you, Sarge." You spread your legs, inviting him in. 

Bucky darkened eyes sparkling with affection. He loved that nickname, the way it sounded when it left your lips.

"There's my good girl," he praised, his fingers caressing your skin as he positioned himself at your entrance. "I'll take care of you, doll. Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

You panted softly as his thick cock filled you, the glorious stretch of your walls as he pushed into you making your eyes roll backwards. The first movement was slow, cautious, and almost gentle, giving you the chance to accept him. He kept going until he was fully seated inside you, his nose not even an inch away from yours. 

Bucky was in ecstasy, there was nothing quite like the feeling of your body wrapped around him. It was like coming home, a moment where he was yours completely, where he felt safe and accepted.

Bucky could feel your body twitching beneath him, begging for more. He knew he couldn't hold back any longer, the need was too strong.

The moment of stillness was just long enough to let the realization sink in that they were truly connected, body and soul. Bucky was fully lost in the moment, the heat and the sensations that were coursing through him. He needed more, needed to feel those highs, those peaks. He needed you.

"I need you, doll," he managed to gasp out, his voice gruff and raw, "Can I move?”

You nodded fervently.

Bucky could sense the pleading in your eyes, the unspoken plea for him to take you, make you his. His hands moved to your hips, holding you firm while he pulled out and then slammed back into you hard, a groan leaving his lips.

"Damn doll," he grunted. "You feel so good.”

"Ohhh, Buck." You moaned, no other words were left in your vocabulary as he pounded in and out of you, the sound of your skin slapping together almost drowning out the waves crashing on the beach.

The sound of your voice, the way you said his name, it drove him wild. He knew he couldn't last much longer, not when you were looking so damn beautiful, lying under him, taking every inch of what he had to offer. 

"That's it, doll. M'close.”

You weren't too far off either, not with the way that his tip brushed your A-spot before he pulled out, dragging over your sensitive G-spot. You moaned salaciously as he pushed up your thighs, burying himself deep inside you with each thrust.

Bucky was barely holding it together anymore, the need to make you fall apart first was the only thing keeping him from letting go.

You reached down to touch your clit, to speed things along so you could keep up with Bucky. Bucky's hand shot out, stopping you quickly.

"No, doll," he said, his voice firm. "You don't touch yourself unless I give you permission. That's my job. Understand?”

You whined softly, in the midst of your pleasure, you'd forgotten to keep up your act.

Bucky saw the look of frustration on your face and knew you had slipped. He couldn't help but chuckle softly, even as he was on the edge himself. 

"That's right, doll," he teased. "You forgot who was in charge here, didn't you? But don't worry, I'll remind you.”

He thrust into you harder, pounding into you so hard that you weren't forming any coherent thoughts. The familiar feeling was building rapidly inside you. "Buck," you moaned, as if the sound of his name would communicate what you were feeling.

Bucky recognized that sound, the way you were begging him, calling his name. He knew you were close, right on the edge of falling apart. He didn't let up, keeping that hard and steady pace. 

"Yeah, doll," he grunted, "You're gonna come for me, aren't you?”

Your fingers tightened around the towel that was still hanging on the side of the lounger as you whimpered.

Bucky could see the way your body was tensing, the way your grip was holding onto the towel for dear life. He knew he was pushing you to the limit. He wanted to see you come undone. 

"That's it, doll. Let go for me, I want to feel you squeezing me, come on, be a good girl for me and come.”

"Oh fuck!" The words tumbled from your lips as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Bucky felt your body convulse around him as you came, and it was all he needed to tip him over the edge. The way your walls squeezed around him, milking his throbbing cock, sending fireworks shooting through every nerve in his body.

"Buck-uhhhh," you panted as your body relaxed, coming down from your climax.

Bucky collapsed onto the lounger next to you. He was panting, his breath coming out in gasps. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to his chest, tucking your head under his chin.

"Damn, doll," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "That was something else.”

"Aww baby, did I make you all weak?" you smirked into his chest.

Bucky chuckled deeply, shaking his head slightly. "Don't get cocky, doll. I still got plenty of stamina left." He nipped playfully at your ear, his hand trailing down your side.

“I'm still waiting on that suncream, Sarge.” You gathered some of his cum that had trickled down your thigh onto your fingertip and held it up. “Not sure this is gonna cut it.”

Bucky growled, his eyes narrowing. Suddenly he scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the end of the pool.

“Bucky!” you shrieked. “Don't you dare.”

“I think you need to cool off.” The grin on Bucky's face was positively smug.

You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and gave him a warning look as he threatened to throw you into the pool.

“Don't,” you said warningly.

Bucky chuckled, turning around and held you closer. You were about to sigh with relief but the glint in his eyes betrayed his intent. You gasped as he took a step backwards sending you both tumbling into the pool with a huge splash!

[yesimwriting]

omg i’m so happy ur taking young coriolanus requests!! i’d love a oneshot of him falling for reader (whos from the districts) and him trying to deal with it

Summary: Coriolanus has no interest in his assigned tribute beyond her potential assistance in helping him win the Plinth prize...or at the very least, that's what he tells himself.

Warnings: Coriolanus being kind of delusional (in deep denial) and possessive, jealousy, a crush being treated like a terminal illness, Coriolanus trying really hard to talk himself out of said crush by comparing the reader to an animal/pet in his internal thoughts

----

His nails dig into the soft skin of his palm with enough force to leave stinging crescents in their wake. He's too far gone to feel the marks, to know when to relieve pressure to avoid breaking skin.

When the idea of having the best and brightest of the Academy's senior class was initially presented, the concerns about having such prominent members of the Capitol interacting so closely with representatives of the districts was highly contested. Most of the outcry had been from concerned parents--wealthy fathers and overly doting mothers desperately attempting to convince their leaders to not subject their poor, innocent children to that kind of proximity with something considered so other.

After all, those from the districts are closer to animal than man. If an outburst of hatred doesn't result in a Capitol heir's life and potential being cut short, perhaps some sort of disease would take them instead.

Coriolanus had found that part ridiculous. Not the way the tributes were seen, but the level of coddling the Capitol elite were willing to openly mark their children with. There are ways to mentor from a safe distance and there hasn't been public knowledge of a strange and fatal virus running through the districts in some time.

Now that he's here, standing at the zoo's entrance under the cover of night, food that he can't truly afford to waste tucked into the pocket of his coat, he realizes how naive he had been to not head their warnings. He's come down with something, that's the only explanation for the sweat coating his palms and the nervous turning of his stomach.

This infliction is something that you've done to him. Unintentionally, of course--your lack of cut throat nature and maliciousness had been a disappointing discovery at the time--but still true. Why else would he come here to feed you when his family can barely feed themselves?

Coriolanus walks further and further into the zoo until the familiar cage is in view. There are a no peacekeepers inside of the space and less than a hand full patrolling the perimeter. It's late and the games are tomorrow morning, any of the tributes that wanted to cause problems would have done so by now.

It shouldn't matter to him, none of them would turn him away. The mentors weren't explicitly told to stay away which means that the peacekeepers wouldn't bother him. He could always say that he's here to discuss last minute strategy, that the earlier bombing had cut his time short and that Dr. Gaul had given Academy students permission to make up that time if they so wished. But the thought of having less of an audience soothes him slightly.

He stands where he had stood beneath the daylight, near the corner, as far from the other tributes as physically possible. Regret begins to knot his stomach. Everyone's asleep. This will be the most alone together the two of you have ever been. It's also so dark, and you're likely asleep as well. How will he find you? Is it wrong to disturb the last peaceful rest you might ever experience?

The more he thinks, the more an urgency he can't wraps itself tight beneath his bones. The sensation, a likely byproduct of his ailment, makes him wish that there was some way to scratch beneath his skin. Right no longer matters, and neither does his growling stomach that begs him to just eat the food he had taken from the Academy's lunch and disappear back into the night. He needs to see you, to see that--

"You're going to be okay." Your voice, a soft whisper that brings him back to the present.

You're awake, the vague shape of your crouched form resting against one of the artificial rocks. You're also comforting someone with a much larger frame. Something in his chest turns to stone.

Here he is, wandering the Capitol streets in the dead of night, a pocket full of food that he had hidden from his own family for your sake and you're--you're not thinking of him at all.

Maybe his infliction had been more intentional than he thought possible. Your kindness could be a ruse and Coriolanus has heard rumors of your people. Some say that your ancestors practiced spirtual arts in order to enchant others. Perhaps you've bewitched him.

His own naivety burns through his chest. You're supposed to be his. If that's how it is, then he's freeing himself of you and your kind eyes and honey-laced voice. He'll--

"Coriolanus," a surprised, careful sound that's much warmer than your attempts at soothing someone had sounded.

His name forces the pinching feeling in his chest to be replaced by an uneasy warmth that crawls its way up his neck. He's suddenly glad for the darkness.

He follows your silhouette as you quickly push yourself to your feet with no regard for the boy next to you. Your movements are swift yet quiet, and the care behind them keeps him steady. You don't want to wake anyone; you want this to be just you and him.

"You're--" You stand so close to the bars that it'd take nothing at all to reach for you. "You're here." You place a hand on the bars that divide you, fingers curling around the cool metal. "Are you okay?"

The question is laughable. He's at the tribute zoo only a few hours before the games begin because some instinct had made seeing you again feel as important and necessary as breathing.

But you're not asking about that. You're asking about him, about his injuries from the bombing. "I'm fine," he assures you, "A little scraped up from the debris and I did lose consciousness, but I was treated for all injuries."

You're finally close enough for the moonlight to make a difference. He can make out the unruliness of your hair from the way that life has treated you since your reaping, the form of your tattered dress, your facial features and...the long gash that now marks your forehead.

"And I was told that you were as well." Someone in passing had mentioned that the tributes were cleaned up after the bombing. They weren't prioritized or given valuable resources, but they were cleaned up. Injuries were cleaned and dressed to prevent infection from getting in the way of the games.

You frown, tilting your head slightly as if to hide the length of the mark. Something in his chest tightens again, the sensation much more aggressive than before. Your smooth, gentle skin now marred...

His own defensiveness hits him like a physical blow. Coriolanus blames the feeling on familiarity. The desire to keep you in the best condition possible is no different than what someone would feel for a prized pet. You're his tribute, after all.

"It sort of happened after."

Panic seizes at his chest. After. One of the peacekeepers or another tribute had hurt you. "Who?" The coolness of his own voice shocks him.

You angle your head downwards, the motion distinctly dismissive. Coriolanus won't accept that. Who are you to hide something like this from him? After everything he's done for you, don't you trust him? His arm moves forward without his permission, pulling at your arm so that your body shifts closer to the bars. His other hand then slips between the poles and grasps your chin firmly between two fingers.

He tilts your head, giving himself the space needed to examine the entirety of the cut. It stretches down the start of your hairline and stops just short of your eyebrow. Not too long or wide, but the dried blood still smeared on you implies that it's deep.

"Who did this to you?"

His hold on you is steady, but not so tight that you couldn't step away if you wanted to. You hold still as he takes the time to examine the rest of your face for injuries. Your acceptance leaves a metallic taste in his mouth. Coriolanus releases you like you might burn him.

"I don't--" Of course you don't want to tell. Your nobility runs so deep, you don't care what it costs you.

An odd wave of distress washes over him. The night air feels wrong against his skin, too cold for the thin clothing he put on in his hurry to get to you. "You shouldn't alienate your mentor the night before the games."

Your lips pull down into what feels like a pout. You stare at him with wide eyes. "I'm not trying to alienate you." The genuineness of your words knots his stomach. "I--I'm glad that you're here, that you're okay." Usually, sugar coated words from you are enough to crack at his exterior. He's feeling a lot less amicable tonight. "The girl from district 4 was aggravated tonight. I think she wanted to intimidate the other careers into listening to her so she targeted Wovey and I was kind of--around."

Translation: your too-good-for-the-arena heart took over and you inserted yourself in a conflict that had nothing to do with you. "I told you to be careful."

You nod solemnly at the reprimand. Your lips part, but before you can say anything, the sound of your name steals your attention. You turn away from him, keeping one hand on the metal bars. "Yeah?"

"Are you coming back soon?"

The question jabs at him like a thumb finding a bruise. The tribute you were comforting may come from the same district as you, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. By morning, your destiny to be rivals in the arena will be sealed. He won't risk anything for you the way Coriolanus is. He'd snap your neck in an instant if it meant going back home. Surely, even you're not kind hearted enough to not see that.

You crane your neck to look back at him, but your body stays angled towards the other tribute. The urge to hold you in place, to bring your attention back to him physically aches. Is your final meeting before the games really going to be cut short because of some other tribute? The look you give him is apologetic enough to make his chest constrict. After all he's done for you.

"I'm talking to my mentor." Your response dislodges something from his chest. "Why don't you check on Wovey? I think that'll help."

The sound of shuffling fills the space, and then that's that. The two of you are as alone as two people like you can be.

"It was nice of you to come here," the admission leaves you carefully, "I-I tried to see what happened to you after, but they brought us back here so quickly, and I--"

"It's alright."

He never expected for you to be at the hospital. The mental image is strange enough as a concept in itself. You, sitting in one of those stiff hospital seats, waiting desperately at his bedside. You, in the same room as his cousin and grandmother, all three of you concerned and co-existing. It doesn't fit, you're not like them. You're district. That's inherently lesser, inherently replaceable no matter the level of your charm or--or appeal.

But if that's reality, than why was your name the first thing that stumbled past his lips when he woke up? Why was his first thought after being discharged about getting back to you? Why does the fact that you were sitting with the male tribute from your district turn his stomach? Why does he now have a personal vendetta against the girl from 4? These can't possibly all be things that someone would feel for a favorite pet, can they?

This train of thought is nauseating, and the last thing he wanted for the final night before the games. "I was worried." You force these words out in a jumble of colliding syllables, like if you didn't pry them out fast enough, they'd never manage to find their way out.

Coriolanus watches you carefully, imprinting the details of the small crease between your eyebrows and your nervous eyes to memory. The look tugs at something dangerously close to fondness. "Then you know how I'lll feel tomorrow." That, in itself, is a confession pulled from him the same way a rotten tooth would be extracted. "How I'll feel until you come back."

You stare at him, eyes wide. "If this is about the prize money the peacekeepers talk about, you're doing a good job."

There's a stiffness to the way you say this, a guarded quality that soothes him more than it should. The thought of him only being invested in you only because of what he can get out of your success displeases you.

It's instinct to want to ease you. It'd be easy, too. All it would take is a comment that implies that he can be here for more than one reason. The response sits at the back of his throat. Is that why he's here?

The natural answer is of course. Why else would he lose sleep? What other reason could he have for risking taking Academy food and exposing his poverty? Something he's rarely willing to do for himself and his own family.

"A person can want more than one thing at the same time."

You can't hold his gaze, eyes cautiously darting downwards. The display of shyness makes things feel a little warmer. It makes him bolder. Coriolanus moves his hand again, letting his fingers cover yours. You don't move away.

"I almost forgot." His free hand makes its way into the pocket of his coat, finding the carefully folded napkin. He's going out of his way to emphasize the casualness of food. The only thing caring about this gesture is that he had thought to come, not the food itself. There's no such thing as scarcity in the Capitol. "Here."

He offers the neatly tied fabric in the gaps between the bars. You don't attempt to take back the hand pressed between the pole and his own palm. You take the gift in your free hand and don't attempt to let go of him until you realize that you won't be able to untie the makeshift parcel with one hand.

You open it slowly, examining the contents of his offering carefully. Two biscuits, a few crackers, a small wedge of cheese, and another baked good that reminds him of a denser, more durable version of cake.

"Thank you," The truth to your gratitude forces something uncomfortable to wedge itself between his ribs.

You don't start eating right away, your head instinctually turning back. He realizes what you're doing almost instantly. "If you're going to share everything I give you, there's not much point in bringing it."

A little harsher than he meant to be out loud. It's not your fault. Your family is large and of a taking care of each other mentality. If there's food for one, there's food for all.

You nod, accepting the criticism the way you usually do. It's a good thing that you're so pliable, that you're eager to keep the usual comfortable atmosphere between the two of you. Sometimes, though, it feels a bit like kicking a puppy.

Carefully, you bring a cracker to your lips, chewing cautiously. Taking anything makes you guilty, another byproduct of your upbringing. Sometimes Coriolanus wonders if all of this would be easier if you were brought up like the majority of district children, more ravenous and unapologetic.

You'd told him about your mother before, a free spirit who works in a textile factory that produces lavish fabrics instead of standard peacekeeper uniforms. Even though the work isn't much different, you spoke about it like it made all the difference. My mother loves beautiful things so much she doesn't even care about who they're for.

That had been the first time he had found himself thinking about your appearance. If your mother's love is reliant on beauty, he realized, then you must have grown up with consistent affection.

You speak of her, of your entire family, in a way that confirms his hypothesis. You've told him stories of the way she hangs up the prettiest fabric she can find to hang up and turn one room into two--a necessity with so many of you living in a set of conjoined apartments.

"You're..."

You trail off, pressing your lips together nervously in a way that he's gotten used to. It usually signifies that you're concerned about being impolite. That's another thing that doesn't fit the district mold, even here you hold onto manners and social cues. Even when you first met him, you had fallen back on habit. He had introduced himself as your mentor and you absentmindedly asked how he was in that way that people do when they run into an acquaintance.

Normally, if he presses or even just prompts you once or twice you'll reveal your initial thoughts. They're rarely what he expects them to be. Instead of responding to the light raise of his eyebrows, you pick up a biscuit before stretching your arm towards him.

"Oh, no I'm--"

"You're hungry." That's what you almost blurted out.

You don't mean anything by it, or, at the very least, not anything beyond the realm of worry. Heat rises up Coriolanus's neck slowly but surely. You know nothing of his world and yet you knew that to have his hunger exposed would be embarrassing. You know that it's not the kind of hunger that comes from missing a meal or two on a particularly busy or chaotic day.

"Don't worry," you tack on, "It's not noticeable unless you know what to look for."

The comment is a little too reassuring, too on the nose. Can you read him that easily? Coriolanus takes the biscuit before he can pick apart your comment any further. The corner of your mouth shifts into an almost smile. You then break apart the wedge of cheese and try to hand him that along with most of your crackers and a piece of the pastry.

"No, I can't take all of that."

You stare at him oddly. "You've been injured," you stretch your hand out again, "You need your strength."

There are several reasons why you need your strength more than he does, but he can't figure out how to insist on that without making it seem like this is a final meal. He doesn't want to give you a chance to see it that way, so he takes the a little less than half of what you're offering. "Compromise."

You nod, accepting his terms. He's unsure who starts it, but the two of you end up sitting in front of each other. You smooth the napkin out in front of you, setting up what's left of your food like a makeshift picnic. "My mother used to take me for picnics."

"Yeah?" There's something about your stories about your life back home that are attention drawing. It's not so much mundane content of life in district 8 and the fact that it still managed to produce someone like you, it's the way you speak. You're expressive and bright.

"Mhm," you finish off your first cracker, "Eight isn't exactly full of nature, but there's this wooded area past the factories and if you know where to go, you'll find this clearing that's practically untouched. She'd go there sometimes on days off when she needed to collect wildflowers to turn into paints and she'd bring who she could...me, my siblings, cousins..."

You pick up a piece of cheese, setting it on a cracker. "Neighbors, sometimes." Your voice wavers in a way that sticks out. Despite an initial tearing up on your first night, you haven't cried or behaved in anyway that indicates that this could be your end. He doesn't want you losing hope now. "Tanner used to go with us."

It's whispered with the intensity of a confession. The boy you came with, the boy you were speaking with--you grew up with him. That's a bond that's not as easily dismissed. That's something strong enough to challenge his connection with you.

Why does it matter? He's earned enough of your trust, you spoke in a way that earned more donations than anyone else. You trust him enough to actually fight in the arena. It--it doesn't matter if you...

"Do you care for him?" The question surprises both of you equally. His own bluntness, the slight edge to his tone...it's too much for a mentor.

"Uh," you sniffle once, "He was a good friend when we were little, our families know each other." An knot so tight it's difficult to stay sitting there twists his stomach. "We're a little less close these days."

If you comforting him during the dead of night, losing sleep during your last chance to rest is your version of less close, Coriolanus doesn't even want to imagine your normal. "You shouldn't expect any loyalty during the games, the second the count down begins, there's no such thing as friendship."

You wipe at your face with the back of your palm. "What makes you so sure?"

Your question isn't a challenge or an attempt to convince him that the boy would never hurt you. You're asking because you're curious, because you want to know his thoughts. "Human nature."

It's more nihilistic than he usually is in front of you, but his patience is wearing thin. The soreness of his body is starting to catch up with him and wasting the little time you have less discussing someone so insignificant is draining.

His annoyance has to stem from how little the other tributes matter to him. That's the only reason he can piece together, especially when his brashness is likely pushing you away.

"Then why can I trust you?"

Another question that you mean. It's not a slight or an attempt to indicate that you're not there yet with him. He didn't come here to cast doubt on the bond he so carefully helped build.

He can't look at you as he speaks, "Because I'm going to do anything I can to get you back."

You nod, your eyes retreating to focus on your lap. "For the prize money, for your school."

He picks at the edge of his biscuit, a few crumbs falling to the ground. "I already told you, I want more than one thing."

That's not exactly what he said...this reiteration of it is more blatant. Heat burns his face. You peak up at him through your lashes.

If you had been born in the Capitol, you would have done well. You're found of civility and social norms despite a lifetime in the Districts and despite only knowing you stained in various levels of grime, he can tell that our features are pleasing. Polished, dressed, and brought up differently, you would have been a regular Capitol darling.

Coriolanus shakes his head once, an attempt to dismiss his thoughts. Why care about what you could have been? Why imagine what you'd be like if you were part of his word?

"You're not going to--to rely on him in the arena." It's framed as a question, but in reality, it's more of a hopeful statement.

You pause, genuinely thinking about your response. "No." You rest a hand on your bent knee, gently scratching at the skin. "Not rely."

The answer isn't concrete enough, but he has no right or reason to say much else. "Don't let your guard down. Not for anyone."

You nod, reaching for what's left of your biscuit, "I won't, I promise."

"Good, I'll be watching and I'll remember when you get back."

Get back. You wipe at your cheek with the back of your palm. "Yeah, when I get back."

The dryness of your voice cracks at him. If you consider yourself defeated before even stepping into the arena, you won't come back to him. For him. For the Plinth prize.

He shoves the thoughts down as deep as they'll go. They don't manage to get very far, crowding his throat in a way that makes it hard to breathe. Coriolanus doesn't trust himself to speak, so instead he slips his hand between the cage's bars. He lets his hand sit there, palm facing upwards in a silent offering.

Coriolanus stares at his arm as a way to prevent himself from taking in your reaction. A beat passes, and then the tips of your fingers are brushing against his before settling against his palm. He squeezes your hand tightly, so tightly he's aware that it's probably uncomfortable, but the prospect of holding you so tightly that you can't vanish is too assuring.

"Do you have to--to go soon?"

He adjusts his hold on you, bending his fingers so that they can rest between yours. The rest of his household is asleep by now, but they'd be able to tell if he spent the night here and that would worry them. It would also make the morning much more complicated...he'd have to shower and change before the games begin in order to hide where he spent the night.

"No," it leaves him before he realizes what he's saying, "I can stay as long as you'd like."

A hint of a smile tugs at your lips, "Good."

That makes something in his chest feels like it's going to burst. He shouldn't care. He should see this open display of clinginess as an inconvenience. And why would he risk getting caught as someone that spent the night on the floor of the zoo when there's nothing left to convince you of?

The answer strikes him so harshly he nearly lets go of you. He didn't just want you to ask him to stay to prove something, he wanted the excuse to stay. He--he wants to be near you...and not in the way that someone wants to spend time with a puppy.

The truth to it is simple. Straightforward. He cares about you.

He can hear that you're speaking, but your words are too distant to mean anything.

"Coriolanus?"

No. No. He--he isn't meant to care about you of all people, to feel these kinds of--No. No, he can't. He's not biologically wired to. And yet, he can't let go of your hand.

"Coriolanus?"

He squeezes your hand even tighter. "You didn't ask me."

"What?"

"The other thing I want, you didn't ask me about it." The words leave him in a rush, an uneasy mess that he needs out.

Confessing turns these kinds of thoughts into reality, an undeniable force that he wishes he could vanish. But maybe if he gets it out, the ache of it will be expelled from him. Maybe he'll finally be able to think about something else that doesn't involve analyzing your every expression like your life depends on it.

"No," your eyes are wide, a deer realizing they're not the only ones at the watering hole, "I-I didn't."

A small part of him is disappointed that you don't take the opportunity to press. You usually do, chatting like you're a regular friend and not his tribute. "I'll tell you anyways." He swallows, gripping your hand like a lifeline. You squeeze back, a silent display of support. "It's you."

Your hand goes slack in his. Coriolanus warns himself that it's best to keep his eyes away from you, to not read any--he breaks, gaze snapping upwards to watch you.

"Me?" Your voice is fragile and impossible to read. You lift your intertwined hands as best you can between the poles that make up the cage. You lean forward, pressing your lips against the back of his palm. Your eyes briefly fall shut.

"I--" You set your intertwined hands back in place. "I think the practical thing to do would be to forget about me." The rejection cuts through him. All he can do is stare. "You know what's going to happen tomorrow."

Your twist your hand in an attempt to steal it back as you push yourself upwards, adjusting so that your weight is on your knees. Coriolanus instinctively shifts forward, grabbing your arm to keep you close. He moves to sit up on his knees. "You're going to come back." You stop trying to push him away. "Do you care about me?"

"You're being unfair," your whisper is harsh, "Even--even if I win, where would that leave us?" He's silent. "I'll be back in a cage and you'll stay on the outside, only this time they won't be in proximity to each other."

You're logical. You're right. And he can't bring himself to care. "Do you care about me?"

"Of course I do," the response is frustrated, exhausted, "I think I might even--" Your mouth clamps shut, eyes briefly leaving him. "I think I love you." You drop head, giving Coriolanus only the slightest glimpse of your now glassy eyes. "But what does that matter?"

The word loosens something in his chest. He gets as close to the bars as physically possible, pulling on your arm in a way that almost makes you fall forward. The new proximity seems to drain any remaining fight from you.

He leans forward, his lips finding yours in the space between metal. It takes you a second to catch up with what's happening, but once you do, you return the display of affection. He pulls your bottom lip between his own before releasing you enough to let you breathe.

"Is this real?" The question takes its time coming out, slow and through pants. If he thought thinking about you before was a type of sickness, then this is something terminal. You nod instinctually, urgingly. "Then we'll find a way." You're both resting your head against the bars. If it wasn't for the invasive metal in the way, you'd be resting against each other. "Just come back to me, and everything else--we'll figure it out."

He can write to you. He can find an excuse to bring you back to him. Maybe another aspect of the games--something that requires victors to visit the Capitol.

You nod, acceptance finally coloring your features as you squeeze his hand. "We'll figure it out."

----

a/n i've gotten so many Coriolanus/thg requests,, pls feel free to keep them coming <3

[back2bluesidex]

Return the Favor - JJK (18+)

Pairing: Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: PWP, SMUT, established relationship au, tiny fluff

Wordcount: 0.7k+

Summary: You return Jungkook's favor for fucking you so good.

Warnings: explicit description, nudity, blow job, deep throating, balls fondling, cum eating, mentions of morning boner. NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: Could not get this picture out of my head ever since GCF Budapest has dropped. So, here is the byproduct.

Could be read as a standalone, as well as a follow up of Seven Days a week couple.

Morning boners are irritating. 

They don’t let Jungkook sleep peacefully, nor do they calm down while he palms them reluctantly. For the love of god, he can’t always wake you up like the needy, horny boyfriend he is. But it would be so pleasing to have you sucking on his cock right now. Ugh- only if he could. 

Jungkook palms his cock twice - thrice - a fourth time before your slender fingers wrap around his bulge through the fabric of his boxers. 

“Hey” you call out sweetly “need some help?” Your groggy morning voice sounds so good, so needy, so sexy exactly the way you look in your thin sleeping gown. 

Jungkook turns his head towards you and nods sheepishly. 

You smile. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up then?” You question, already settling on your elbows to get up. 

“Thought you might be sore from the last few days. We are having a sex marathon.” he smirks, as if to punctuate the sentence. 

You chuckle as you slowly take off the covers of Jungkook’s body.  Your eyes dip down to his prominent bulge, you palm it once. 

“My pussy is sore.. Not my throat.” and then you are releasing his length from the confinement of his Calvin Klein, spitting on your other palm and using the lubrication to pump his length. 

Jungkook shudders with the senssesion. He must be very lucky to wake up to his beautiful girlfriend giving him a head. 

His eyes start closing with pleasure when he feels the hot wet muscle of your tongue circling around his tip. You kiss the tip once and then run the tip of your tongue through his slit. 

Jungkook forces his eyes to stay open, focusing on the way your head is dipping further down his hard cock. The thin straps of your nightgown have started giving up as you set yourself on motion. You tits start spilling out from every possible space the gown has provided. 

You shove his dick further down your throat before coming back up and licking the tip. You repeat the action again. 

Jungkook sighs. He tries hard to keep himself sane but you… you snatch his sanity away in the most nasty ways. 

“T-Take off the gown please.” he whispers briefly, trying not to choke on his saliva because you have started deep throating him already, bobbing your head in a rhythm. 

You don’t say anything but you halt your movements for a moment to slip off your gown. You are only wearing your panties now. 

Before Jungkook can register your naked form in his mind.. You are taking him in your mouth again. This time you grab his balls and start fondling those as well. 

“Fuck baby. You- you are so good at this.” A quiet appreciation leaves Jungkook’s throat. 

You saliva rolls down his length as you keep deep throating him like it’s the last meal of your life. Jungkook’s eyes roll back in pleasure. When he looks at you again, he finds you staring at him with hooded eyes while your pretty lips are wrapped around his veiny cock. 

He might explode at this rate. 

“Gonna c-come” he warns softly but you don’t budge. You keep fondling his balls and bobbing your head to pull out the best ever orgasm out of his body. 

So he does. He comes. He comes so hard that you can’t contain all of it in your mouth. His white hot seed spills out of your lips, runs down your throat and flows down the path of your cleavage. Some land on the swell of your breasts as well. 

“Holy cow! That was so good, baby.” Jungkook murmurs, coming down from his high. He pulls you towards his chest. He uses his thumb to wipe the remnants of his release from your lips. Jungkook is a little dizzy, a little breathless but he could make out the smile on your lips regardless. 

“Don’t overthink before waking me up next time.” You reply, placing a wet kiss on his lips as you cover both of you two with the covers again.

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie

[solbaby7]

*walks towards the bar*

Ummm can i please a

Neat Espresso Martini with salt and sugar rim

it’s givinggggggg fuckbuddies to lovers 🤭

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

-> BLURB BAR <-

Everything starts out casual—just a little fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[iliketangerines]

light vs shadow

a/n: this took way too long

pairing: light!raiden x afab!reader x dark!raiden

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), fingerfucking, implied size kink

you feel like you’re going insane with the way Lord Raiden kisses you

or the darker version of him? it doesn’t matter, not with how his scarred and callused hands cradle your face as if you are made of porcelain

his voice is low and soft, face carved with lines of stress and age and anger, and yet he is so soft with you, lips moving against you so slowly and gently

he does not protest when your hand goes into his long white hair and pulls it out of its neat bun, and he does not protest when you tug on the shimmering locks

he simply lets out a low groan and moves one hand from your face to press against the small of your back and drag you in closer to him so that your chest presses against his

there’s a slight shuffle behind you and then you feel the hands of your Lord Raiden rest upon your waist as his teeth nip at the back of your neck

his hands are not nearly as callused, only slightly softer, but they are just as experienced as one hand dips down and brushes against your pussy folds

you let out a small sound, trying to grind your hips down on his fingers for some more pressure, but he simply moves with you, a small laugh escaping from his lips and splaying on your back

“you should have more patience than this, little one.” your Raiden teases you only slightly, and you can already see how his eyes crinkle with his amusement

before you can retort, your attention is brought back to the older Raiden as he groans and nips at your lips, sensing how he was losing your attention to the younger version of him

he continues to kiss you, his grip on you firm and strong as the lighter version behind you finally presses his fingers upward against your clit, slowly rubbing it in small circles

a sigh escapes from you as your hips grind against him on instinct, and you tug on older Raiden’s hair as you start to whine

“you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” a shiver crawls down your spine at the older Raiden’s words, voice hoarse and rough from his wars and his anger

“no! i-i’m not!” you let out a whine as your Raiden slowly pushes one finger inside of your drooling pussy, and your hips jerk forward, not quite used to stretching so quickly

both of them let out a small chuckle, and the younger Raiden simply responds by slowly pumping one finger in and out of you while grinding his palm into your clit

“it doesn’t seem that way with how you’re soaking my hand right now.” your Raiden teases you, breath splaying across the shell of your ear before his lips move down to kiss along your neck

you want to make a jab back at them, but you can only let out a strangled whimper as the younger Raiden slides another finger inside of you

his fingers already feel impossibly big inside of you, stretching you out much further than your own fingers, but you don’t get a chance to concentrate on the thought as the older Raiden kisses you once more, stealing the breath out of your lungs

all you can do is tug at his shining white hair and moan into his mouth as the slightest form of rebellion

the younger Raiden only hums and curves his fingers, looking for that one spot to make you melt, and he presses kisses to the skin of your back as he searches

it’s not long before he finds it, your back arching off him, a loud whine escaping from your throat as your hips jerk forward into his hand

he smiles against you, working his fingers against the spot, feeling you tremble and shake underneath his hand as he continues to pleasure you, and he can feel the burning stare of the older version of him trying to burn holes through his head

a byproduct of jealousy and longing, he supposed, after all, it had been several years since this older version of him had gotten to see you, much less touch you

looking back up at the darker version of him, Raiden simply smiles and brings his free hand up to pinch at your nipple, silently jeering at the god as you moan louder at the feeling

the older Raiden simply growls and focuses his attention back on you, his eyebrows for a moment softening, his eyes staring at you as if you held the world in the cup of your palm

you don’t seem to notice, mind too hazy with pleasure as your body tries to grind down harder on Raiden’s fingers, attempting to bring yourself over the peak

Raiden can feel you clenching around his fingers, your arousal dripping from you and staining the inside of your thighs and the sheets the longer he fucks you on them

“that’s it, that’s it, so good for me, for us.” the older version of him speaks up, his voice gentle even as he bites at the exposed flesh of your neck

his hands stay on your waist, moving with you as your hips grind down further onto the younger version of him, and he hums at the sight of your face etched with pleasure

it’s truly a wonderful sight, one that he had missed for so long, and Raiden brings his head up to swallow your sounds as you whine and cum on his younger version’s fingers

he can feel every tremble of yours beneath his fingertips, the way your lungs struggle to breathe against his chest, your fingers tugging at his hair

you separate the kiss first, bringing your forehead down to rest on his muscled shoulder as you try and catch your breath, and the younger version of him slips out his fingers, admiring the glisten of your arousal on them

he brings them to his mouth, tasting it with his tongue, and Raiden can’t help but let ou a soft moan at the taste of you: it’s so much better than anything he could’ve imagined

it was a mistake to have thought you did not return his feelings, he should’ve courted you sooner, if only to see you smile and to undress you completely with his hands

the darker version of Raiden hums, lifting your head up and pressing one more kiss to your plush lips before you push at his chest and slightly shuffle backwards

your hand goes to wrap around his cock, eager to give him some semblance of pleasure too, but Raiden simply catches your wrist to press his lips to the back of your knuckles

“please, just let us worship you tonight.” his eyes slightly crackle red, and you feel the younger version rest his hands on your hips and press his own lips to the crook of your neck

“i mean-well, are you sure?” there’s still a nervous stammer to your heart, unsure if this is real, two versions of the god you have harbored feelings for worshipping you in every way

it simply felt unbelievable

“yes, we’re very sure. you can’t even begin to imagine how long we’ve waited.” the younger Raiden speaks up, his voice slightly hoarse, and you purse your lips for just a moment before nodding

the darker Raiden smiles, kissing the inside of your palm this time and focusing his gaze on you as the younger Raiden let go of you for a brief moment to slip off his pants

you go to kiss the older version, one hand resting on his face as he groans and puts one of his hands on your shoulder and the other at your waist

he wants more, to do more to you, to ravage you until you couldn’t speak, to kiss you until you couldn’t breathe, to have you boneless and spent from his hand alone, but after so many years without your presence and with only anger to fill the gaping hole of your absence, it was much too tempting to not take you right here 

perhaps at a later time, he could properly ruin you

his hand tightens at your waist when he feels you twitch in his hold, and you whine into the older Raiden’s lips as you feel your Raiden grip into your hips, the length of him grinding in between your cheeks

the younger Raiden dips his hand to your clit, slightly rubbing it side to side, just enough to relax you, and he slowly pushes forward, the tip of his cock stretching you out further than you can believe

a strangled sound leaves your throat, and you have to rest your forehead against the darker version’s shoulder as you tremble in his grip

tears spring at the edges of your eyes, and the younger Raiden places a soothing hand at the small of your back, “relax, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

he doesn’t press any further into you, simply waiting for you to relax as his older version presses gentle kisses to your neck and murmurs soft encouraging words into your ear

your breathing evens out after a few moments, and the younger Raiden slowly presses forward, keeping watch of your every small gasp and slight whimper

however, he can’t help the loud groan that escapes him as he bottoms out, his pelvis flush with your ass, and his hands grip on slightly tighter to your hips

you pant and whine into the older Raiden’s mouth, your arms trembling with holding the weight of your upper body to continue kissing him

“see, doing so well for us, taking me without a complaint, so good, so perfect.” the younger Raiden murmurs it, feeling and seeing how you tremble underneath his praise, and he slowly draws his hips back and then thrusts forward once more to listen to the punched out moan you give him

the older Raiden watches, enraptured with how you slowly unravel further and further underneath their collective touch, your moans becoming a blubbering mess the faster and faster the younger version of him fucks into you

soon enough, you can’t support yourself on your arms anymore, and he has to shuffle himself towards you on his knees so that he can support your weight as you whine and gasp

it allows the younger Raiden to slightly change his position, the head of his cock bullying against your sweet spot, and you let out a high-pitched sound as your pussy clenches around him and you come

the younger Raiden is quick to follow, hands gripping so tightly onto your hips that he’ll be sure to leave bruises tomorrow, and a low groan rumbles from his throat

he thrusts inside of you a few more times before finally pulling out, eyes transfixed on how a mix of his and your cum drips out of your cunt

you seem to catch your sense eventually after a few light kisses to the nape of your neck, and then the older Raiden drags you forward so that your hips meet

a yelp escapes from you at the sudden movement, and then a soft sigh as he kisses you, your hips settling down and grinding against the length of his cock

“i hope you didn’t forget about me.” the darker Raiden rests his hands on your hips, lifting you up briefly so that you can sink down on the length of him, and you can’t even find it in yourself to make a snappy remark as he dips his head down to nip at your neck

it seems as though you were in a for a long night

[captain-hawks]

Spicy sleepover with Shoto Todoroki in the back of a car 👀

coming undone

shouto todoroki x f!reader

Your job as pro hero Shouto Todoroki's personal assistant becomes marginally more difficult when he's hit with a Quirk that disrupts his body's temperature regulation abilities—particularly when you have few other options at your disposal in the back seat of his car.

wc: 2.5k

c: 18+only, pro hero!shouto, semi-public sexual activities, dry humping, lap grinding, fingering, coming in pants

SPICY SLEEPOVER — PART V

“Right there,” Todoroki exhales roughly, the leather seat groaning beneath him as he shifts. “Keep it there.”

Despite the borderline pornographic noise crawling its way up his throat as his head tips backward, white and red strands of hair falling across his forehead, it’s most certainly platonic—the steady pressure of your hands on his exposed chest, his black button-down shirt wholly undone. 

There are ice packs between your palms and his bare skin, angry swirls of stream hissing from the place where they meet.

Your job has been fairly simple for the past year, being pro hero Shouto Todoroki’s personal assistant. He’s a kind, fair employer that doesn’t want for much, if anything at all—to the point where oftentimes, you have to force him to pass along tasks you should be the one doing. You’re fairly certain that the only reason he even put up a job posting for an assistant in the first place was at the insistence of some of the shareholders at his agency. 

The easy, amicable friendship that you’ve found along the way—a byproduct of the large amount of time you spend together—has likely been the one thing that’s kept him from phasing out the position entirely.

But this past week has been difficult, to say the least.

Regardless of his constant tenure amongst the top hero ranks, even he has met his match on occasion. Unfortunately, the match in question this time around was an unstable, overpowered ice-wielding villain whose Quirk had a rare, unfortunate side effect. Finding a weak spot in Todoroki’s defenses when his body began to tip over the edge of overheating from the massive amount of flames flowing out of him, the villain managed to dig its claws into Todoroki’s internal temperature regulation, throwing his body’s equilibrium entirely off kilter.

The effects are expected to fade within the month, but for the time being, Todoroki’s been mostly out of commission as his body temperature rapidly rises and drops without warning. As his assistant, you’ve been by his side nearly round the clock since the incident.

By and large, you like to consider yourself an utmost professional. Because despite the fact that Todoroki continues to dominate social media’s unofficial “Most Eligible Pro Hero Bachelor” poll (something which he wasn’t even aware of until you told him one night over take out food in his kitchen), you’ve managed to avoid your body and mind’s subjective opinion on the matter.

Despite the way it seems as if he shares more with you than anyone else in his life as of late.

Despite his complete and utter avoidance of matchups and dates with no explanation other than, “I’m not interested.”

(Despite the frown that flitted across his face when you laughed as you told him someone at the agency asked you out several weeks ago.)

Despite the fact that sometimes, it feels like the soft, relaxed smile you’ve come to know so well is one reserved just for you.

But your patience and self-preservation have been put to the test like never before as of late—particularly during the moments when Todoroki begins to overheat. Twice already, you’ve had to help him out of his clothes and into an ice cold shower, half of your body getting soaked in the process while you helped him stay upright. 

Which is an issue you find yourself faced with now after he insisted he’d be able to make it through a brief appearance at tonight’s hero gala. 

At the very least, he managed to make it up onstage for the few remarks at the podium that he was slated for, but once he returned to the empty seat beside you at your table, that’s when things went south. Quickly picking up on the telltale signs of his body temperature rising as you took one glance at his flushed skin, you hardly made it out to the parking lot with a handful of ice packs you’d begged the kitchen staff to give you before he was collapsing in the back seat of his car. 

Pointedly ignoring the bead of sweat that seems to be teasing you as it drips precariously down the side of his taut neck, you ask, “You okay?”

Exhaling slowly, he reaches out, his hand brushing against yours as he goes to take one of the ice packs from your grip, moving it to his forehead instead, where sweat-damp strands of hair now lie in a messy heap.

You firmly remind yourself how wrong it would be to mull over how ungodly attractive he looks in this moment as he sits there beside you with his thighs spread wide, chest heaving. 

“I think—shit,” he grunts, dropping the ice pack to the floor as a full-body shiver begins to wrack through him.

While most waves are either one extreme or the other, sometimes, his body instantly bounces from cold to hot—or vice versa. 

Quickly removing the ice pack you’re holding as well, you shove it to the other side of the back seat and quickly lean forward to the front of the car to swap the air conditioning setting to heat. When you look back at him, you frown. “I didn’t bring any blankets, but maybe this will…”

You start to shrug off your cardigan, but Todoroki reaches a hand out, placing it gently on your forearm.

“It won’t…can you just…” he trails off, his blue and gray eyes staring into yours as he tries (and fails, miserably) to suppress the way his limbs have begun to shake from the chill. Glancing down at where his fingers are still resting against your skin, cold as ice, he shakes his head, letting you go. “Nevermind.”

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he’s suggesting. And while you’re appreciative that he’s respectful enough of your professional working relationship to backtrack the thought, the scope of your job has already exaggerated such fluid boundaries over the past few days—what’s another line crossed?

You begin to shift, and Todoroki’s eyes go wide as he exclaims, “You really don’t have to—oof.”

Before you can lose your nerve, you slide into his lap.

With his chest to your back, Todoroki doesn’t seem to know what to do at first, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides. 

“It’s fine,” you huff out, voice coming out a bit higher than you mean for it to as you grasp his wrists and wrap his cold arms around you.

Both of you sit in silence for a moment, save for the occasional chattering of his teeth, and you hope he’s not looking in the rearview mirror to see the way your eyes are scrunched shut as you try to resist the urge to mentally catalog the way your body fits against his. 

“Thank you,” he finally says, voice a little rough. 

Though his limbs are still ice against yours, you can feel him begin to relax just a fraction as the combination of your body heat and the warm air blasting through the vents up front begins to defrost his chilled extremities. 

“I feel like the shower was worse than this,” you joke, if only to lighten the moment as you remember the sight of the endless rivulets of cold water cascading down his broad, bare chest.

The warm scent of his cologne that clung to the t-shirt he insisted you change into after you ended up halfway drenched yourself.

But as he exhales, a lukewarm huff of air tickling the back of your neck and your body unintentionally sliding deeper into the cradle of his hips as he shifts slightly, you know you’re lying.

This is far fucking worse.

His hand twitches against your chest as he shivers, and you inhale sharply when his thumb unknowingly skates along the skin just beneath one of your breasts, the thin fabric of your dress doing little to dampen the sensation. 

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with all of this,” he sighs, voice taking on a remorseful tone. “I could put you in an easier position somewhere else at the agency, if you want.”

Turning your head sideways, the corners of your mouth tilt downward, brows furrowing. “You think this is going to make me want to quit?”

He shrugs, and you bite the inside of your lower lip to stifle the indecent noise that threatens to burst up your throat as his forearms press into your sides. “I would completely understand.”

“You’re going to have to fire me if you want me gone that bad.”

“Never,” he quickly replies.

You smile. “Dumping ice cold water over your head and wrapping you up in five layers of blankets could hardly be considered a difficult job. And this—this is perfectly fine. You’re kind of comfortable, you know.”

He rolls his eyes. “I can feel you starting to shiver, too.”

Shrugging, you flippantly wave your head. “This is still way more fun than that date I was supposed to go on tonight.”

Todoroki stiffens a bit beneath you, swallowing audibly. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t go.”

Given that you’ve yet to even admit to yourself yet that you’d rather spend time with Todoroki than anyone else, you simply reply, “I knew you were going to need me here tonight.”

Head falling back against the seat once more, he sighs. “I feel like I always need you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you let your gaze fall toward the windshield as you weakly respond, “I’m the one that has to force you to stop doing everything yourself and give me work to do half of the time.”

Todoroki’s quiet for a beat, and you can see him flick his gaze up to the roof of the car from the reflection in the rearview. “Because I don’t want to let myself—”

You blink several times. “It’s okay to depend on me, that’s my job.”

His voice sounds strained when he answers. “It’s more than that.”

It’s a battle in and of itself to resist the urge to fidget in his lap beneath the ministrations of your rapidly galloping heartbeat. 

“I want things that I shouldn’t want,” he exhales, voice low and careful.

Briefly, you begin to wonder if perhaps you’ve succumbed to hypothermia.

Carefully, you place one of your hands over his. Todoroki stills, his shivering limbs falling quiet beneath your touch. 

“Do I get a say in this?” you ask, lacing your fingers together.

He inhales sharply. “I didn’t think you—”

“I’m good at my job,” you shrug, finding the courage to turn your head sideways to look at him again, your body moving in his lap in the process.

And it’s then that you feel something hard pressing up against your ass.

“You’re very good at your job,” he confirms, the last few words dissolving into a groan that he can no longer stifle.

Letting yourself relax further into him, you angle your face so that your noses are nearly touching. “I feel like there are easier ways to get warm.”

He leans a little closer, the scent of mint gum lingering on his lips as they skirt near the periphery of your own. “Are there?”

You nod, subtly pressing your backside down into his front. “Science would shame us for not trying.”

He groans again, his mouth brushing against yours. “I think you’re right.”

This time, it’s Todoroki who rocks his hips upward, slowly dragging his cock against the divot between your ass cheeks. And when you finally let out the breathy, keening moan that you’ve been holding back, his lips crash into yours in a messy, hungry, sideways kiss. 

Your hypothesis very quickly proves itself correct as Todoroki grinds against your ass, blazing heat flooding your body and flaring white-hot in the pit of your stomach as he groans into your mouth, your spit-soaked lips slotted together in the best messy approximation you can make of kissing at this awkward angle. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, hands roaming across your front to grasp your breasts. 

Shrugging down the straps of your dress and bra, you let your tits spill out, and Todoroki’s hips stutter as his fingers begin to knead your bare, supple skin. 

“Want you to feel good, too,” he breathes out, and the gravelly state of his voice alone leaves you whimpering as he begins to pinch and tease your pert, sensitive nipples.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to resist the urge to touch yourself, particularly when your aching, dripping cunt is right within your own reach beneath the skirt of your dress. Sliding a hand down between your legs, you writhe under Todoroki’s attentive touch as you feel how soaked your underwear are.

“Can I—”

His chin is on your shoulder, his eyes focused on where you’re currently stuffing two fingers into your panties and moaning softly as you slide them through your creamy slit. You can practically feel the fresh wave of arousal that leaks from your quivering hole at what he’s asking.

“Please.”

Todoroki lets out a satisfied, relieved sound as his hand makes its way down your chest, quickly replacing your own inside of your underwear. His hips grind up against your ass harder as a near-feral groan rumbles in his chest while he drags three fingers through the sloppy mess your folds have become.

“You’re so wet,” he pants, struggling to get the words out fully as they die on a groan when he slips two fingers inside of you.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, your body drenched in a burning wave of pleasure as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, thrusting a finger in and out of your cunt while he drags his thumb over your swollen clit.

“So fucking warm,” he breathes out, teeth caressing the soft juncture between your shoulder and neck. 

“Are you?”

He plunges a second finger inside of you, and you spread your even legs wider in his lap, choking out a moan as he makes a point of fitting his fingers inside of the hot, tight, soaking wet warmth of your pussy, still rutting his hard cock against your ass all the while. 

“You are.”

A scorching whip of pleasure snaps sharply inside of you and bursts open wide, flooding your veins with a euphoric, intoxicating feeling that leaves you trembling and gasping and moaning as he finger fucks you through each cresting wave of your sudden climax.

“Shouto,” you whimper.

His hands slide to your hips, gripping you hard as he brokenly moans, dragging his cock up and down your ass in firm, hurried strokes. You can feel it when he tips over the edge of his orgasm, his thick cock pulsing as he comes in his pants, breathing hard.

With one hand grasping the back of the driver’s seat, you turn to look at him, a fond, excited, and dizzying wave of warmth blooming in your chest at how entirely undone Shouto Todoroki looks—lips slightly parted as his chest heaves, eyes alight in post-orgasmic bliss, a dark stain of cum seeping through the front of his pants.

“Warm enough yet?” you ask coyly.

He tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly as his mouth curves upward in a smile that makes your heart leap. “I think you should stay at my place tonight, just in case.”

[1800titz]

SPANKO!HARRY x NEIGHBOR PART 1 — NOW UP ON PATREON

The one where Y/N and Harry are neighbors in an apartment complex, he's got a bunny called Snuggles, he makes softcore porn spanking people (it's a REALLY LOUD HOBBY), and Y/N has definitely called the police for a domestic disturbance next door. 

preview

“Frankly, I think it’s wrong to put your hands on a woman.” 

Harry’s face doesn’t immediately crease. It’s a slow progression (he blinks, then again, and a thunderbolt of white-hot shock clouds his features and shapes them bewildered). He ducks his chin. Sounds almost furtive— 

(Which is worse).

“Sorry?” 

“Sorry,” Y/N snips, “It’s absolutely disgusting to put your hands on a woman.” 

The flinty prehnite in his sockets wanders, left to right (a discomfited side sweep, probably at her volume— he should feel ashamed!). He steps in. There’s seedlings of a storm in his gaze.

(The pacific eye of a hurricane before it migrates and the tempest swallows her whole).

Harry tells her, even, and low, and careful, ”I don’t put my hands on anybody that doesn’t consent to it first.” 

Her face crinkles. 

“I think— maybe there’s been a misunderstanding—“

“I’m not misunderstanding,” Y/N maintains— the piece of her mind he’d beckoned for with open palms outstretched floods in vitriolic disdain, “I’ve heard a woman yelling no, and stop, and please from your apartment— I have ears, you know, and— and it’s gross that men like you think that it’s okay—“

He blinks, stunned, swallows, and then says, in a tone that’s soft-spoken and (impressively) imperturbable, “You’re the one that called in for a domestic disturbance?”

“Any sane woman would call the police when she heard another woman being abused.”

“Abused—“

She blusters, scorn in the molten lavascape of her gaze, “Yes! Abused! And— and— honestly—“

He rearranges, shifting the fleecy animal onto the bolster of one forearm, and culls his phone, brows pinched—

“—I don’t know what form of assault would be worse, but when someone says no, it means no!”

There’s epinephrine spuming, and the byproduct of venting the pent discontent— floodgates shattered—

“Excuse me,” she snaps, stifling when his thumb scrolls, “I’m talking to you. And also, while we’re at it, you’re unbearably loud, and an unmannerly neighbor—“

Harry turns the phone. She’s nearly tempted to tell him to piss off with… whatever this is, but her eyes roam, vexation worn in the kink of her eyebrows, and then—

An almost archaic website, like a kitsch relic— repository archives of a porn blog from the early 2000s. Spankinggram. A profile; Rings&Paddles. The squared avatar bifurcates the garishly burnt amber logo of the site’s logo. Her eyes sweep over the vista; a man, sitting, thighs splayed, palm curled over a …hairbrush.

The image sunders at the neck. It’s a faceless silhouette, but the miscellany of sketches cascading across a forearm and the distinctly chunky medley of rings are… enough—

“I do, like, a… softcore porn-type thing,” Harry admits, and the chiaroscuro of his sudden embarrassment to her venom makes her chest tight. She feels sort of sick. 

He tacks on, like he needs to, “Consensually. No one is being abused.”

[vitalnourish]

What’s really in our food?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources;

Dr. Chris van Tulleken

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

[whalesforhands]

side story i: injuries and patch-ups (satosugu x reader)

warnings: fantasy au, VERY suggestive, ultimately fluff, just geto having dirty thoughts, gojo being cute bcs i think he is, helping with their injuries after the dynamic duo fight each other (ft. shoko) 👍

“Hurrrrryyyy uppppppp!”

Gojo Satoru doesn’t like waiting. Not when he’s been cut, minor slashes all across his torso and upper body, his shirt off to better add the dramatics to how much pain he’s in.

“Satoru, Shoko is coming back with tweezers in a while… Please be patient.” You feel bad for him, you really do. But you can’t exactly help the poor man, leaving only a consoling pat to his head before turning your back on him.

His frown grows ever bigger as he crosses his arms, wincing at the pricks that dig further in.

He would have been clinging onto you, his hands around your waist and chin upon your shoulder from behind as he watched you mash up balsam from plants his cheek pressed into the skin of your neck had it not been for the fact that he was also covered in jumping cholla, the palm-sized balls of cacti clung to every part of his exposed skin, a byproduct of wrestling Suguru gone wrong.

He’s upset. You can’t touch him, can’t come near him. And all he can do it sit, pout and wait as you help Suguru first, all cute and sitting on his lap as you rub the ointment all over the admittedly, beautiful man’s bare chest, feeling up those stupidly prominent muscles of his abdomen and thick, burly arms as he sat there with an even stupider smile, pretty hair all over those broad shoulders that—

Yeah, he’s too upset. And his pout and puffed up cheeks that grew even bigger with his irritation showed that.

Geto Suguru is a very patient man. He would’ve been fine to have you deal with the pouty sorcerer first, would’ve been fine if you had him wait in favour of helping Satoru first. He’s used to it, likes seeing the look of relief on said man’s face when he’s finally out of pain, gleefully smiling towards the man once again as he hurriedly ushers Shoko to patch him up too.

He just isn’t used to it when you start fussing over both of them equally.

“How did you both get yourself like this?!”

“Sit, sit!” You’re ushering them both in, undoing their vests, unbuttoning their coats with almost zero precaution of the potential harm you might bring to yourself.

Very much unlike Shoko’s blank look-overs at their wounds.

“You’re both idiots.” She’s looking over her medkit tools before she sighs, a hand on her forehead before she turns to you, sinking into your arms in tiredness as Satoru lets out a whine at the sight.

“I’m still injured here!” He’s tapping his foot against the ground impatiently. “I wanna be consoled too!”

It’s the middle of the night, they’re both within your tent, Shoko is gone for a while, you’re dressed down in your nightclothes that are unbearably thin and you’re… Sitting upon his lap, practically straddling him as you gently clean his cuts.

(Not that he’s complaining. He’s elated.)

You are, however, testing him. The curves of your body highlighted by the shadows of the dim light, the concentrated stare on your pretty face. You don’t even flinch when he moves a hand to tuck back a strand of your stray locks, only smiling at him as you continue your work.

How precious.

He’s in two minds. Not sure whether he would prefer you to be atop of him, your body twitching as you watch him with a cute pout, your hips slamming down to take all of him in as his grip on them grows stronger, tighter— He does quite like a challenge.

Or would he like it better if he was the one controlling your pleasure, holding you down whilst your legs are wrapped around his waist. Your cries spilling into his ear as he continues to kiss up your neck, itchy hands groping at your chest.

Perhaps it would be the best if Satoru was also involved. The man’s loud voice would finally be put to good use as he laid atop of you, buried in you till the hilt as Suguru mounts behind him, atop both of you as he watches just how pliant you both could be underneath him before he decides what sort of reward you both deserve.

He snaps out of the daze when he hears the rustle of the tent entrance, Shoko making her back in, adorned with a pair of gloves and a comically large pair of tweezers in her hand.

“You asked for this.” The metal tool is clanking in her hand as a shine of mischief glitters in her gaze, her voice an impish drawl.

“I’ll be sure to make sure you’re all healed up, Satoru.” The menacing tone had yet to relent.

——

Gojo Satoru is now very upset as Shoko bandages him up, watching as you attempted to get up from your position still upon Suguru’s lap, only for that raven-haired idiot’s hands to drag you back down, a furrow forming between his brows, as his lips begin to mouth words of disapproval, only for your smile to only simply take on a confused look.

Gojo Satoru does not know if he wants to strangle you both, or join in. It’s most probably the latter. Probably. He just wants you both to shower him in some of that affection too.

“You’re good to go.” Shoko’s steady, bored tone of voice falters as she lets out a yawn, removing her gloves as her closing eyes zero in on your bedroll.

“Don’t make too much noise…” Were her final words before she collapsed onto the soft material, knocking out instantaneously as she made herself comfortable.

Good. Just what he wanted to hear. He’s making his way towards the both of you, towering his height over both of your sitting forms before plopping himself right next to Suguru, dropping his head on his teammate’s shoulder as he pouts.

He wants attention too. And you both better be prepared to give him some. Get the hint already.

It isn’t long before he feels hands pat at his bandages, fingers gently trailing them and leaving a slight shiver to his spine despite the warmth within the tent.

“Feeling better?” It’s your lovely voice that he hears first.

“He definitely looks a lot better, if he can pout like that.” Now he’s annoyed again, he closes his eyes, simply resting against the man he was just roughhousing with earlier over… Some dumb reason even he doesn’t remember.

There’s a shift, a rustle of fabric that his ears barely catch, before he feels his once empty side fill with a warmth.

“You look cold.” Your side is pressed against his own, getting in close to help him preserve warmth. (You seem to be helping a lot, it seems. His eyes are tinging red, his forehead turned inward more to bury it onto Suguru’s shoulder.)

He’s still not replying. Is this because you neglected him earlier? Your eyes flicker to meet placid purple, before they go back to the back of Satoru’s white hair.

Injuries… Suguru did mention that this white-haired menace likes being fawned over.

“Would you talk to me if… I kiss your injuries better?” A beat passes. And another. You can swear that even his neck was growing red as a giggle escapes your lips.

…

“Yeah.” His blushing face is lifted up and immediately turned to face yours as he swallows. Hard. “Do it.”

masterlist

Notes:

“You missed a spot.” Gojo’s practically glowing, a pleasant tune being hummed as you kiss the bandages on his forearm. Your lips pull back slightly, moving up as you leave another by his upper arm.

“Can you do my shoulder too?” His tone is extremely jolly, expectant, excited. You relent, bestowing another chaste kiss to his shoulder.

You kind of regret offering him this now.

Shoko awoke to 3 people piled atop of her. She does not dare to move or twitch a muscle in fear that you wake up.

She does, however, attempt to kick at the other 2 to wake them up in order to kick them out of your tent. It’s hard, since Satoru has made himself the main star by resting his head atop your stomach, whilst Suguru was on his side, huddling everyone into him with an arm stretched over your waists. (And Satoru’s snoring face.)

Breakfast was taken really late that day.

[argowrites]

Eden

They were in a field of flowers. They were naked. Viktor was flesh again. None of it felt embarrassing. He looked down at Jayce who was looking at him in wonder. That was a little embarrassing. He had never felt another person’s gaze so intently.

“Your hair,” Jayce said, getting to his feet now, reaching out to wind an unnaturally white wave around his finger. Viktor leaned into it. They really should talk.

“A byproduct, perhaps,” Viktor said softly.

“Perhaps,” Jayce echoed.

They were close now. Viktor put a hand on Jayce’s cheek. He had a beard. It suited him. He had always loved him. That had never been a question. When they were young and working all night to change the world. When he woke in the hospital bed and Jayce told him of his fate. When he left him in the lab. When Jayce killed him. When he tried to kill Jayce, when he lost himself, when he nearly ruined everything. Another thing to discuss. For now, it was enough to hold him. For now it was enough for Jayce to snake an arm around his waist and take the weight off his bad leg.

“Where are we?” Jayce asked.

“I don’t know,” Viktor said. He hadn’t been there before.

“At least we’re together,” Jayce said and there was a haunted look in his eye.

Viktor kissed him. It didn’t feel monumental. It felt like it should have happened long ago. It felt like it had. Jayce kissed him back, unhurried, soft. A simple thing. A human thing. When they separated, Viktor felt a little like crying. How had he ever thought humanity was some terrible curse?

“I love you,” he choked out and Jayce kissed him again. 

“I love you too,” Jayce said when they broke apart. He held Viktor’s face in his palm for a moment before dropping it and sighing. “We probably need to talk. About what happened.”

“Eh, I think we have time for that,” Viktor said, wryly, himself.

“Yeah, probably,” Jayce said leaning in and kissing him again.

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Rating: Mature

One Shot

Characters: Jayce, Viktor

Relationships: Jayce/Viktor

[bullet-prooflove]

3500 Follower Celebration: Culture - Wade Grey x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ravennaortiz @anime-weeb-4-life @hellostickerdoodle

You learned early on in your career in the LAFD to stand up and take your medicine. It’s a byproduct of working in a male dominated environment, one where sexism is still institutionalised. It’s not as bad now as when you were coming up but Wade’s heard the stories. He knows about the Lieutenant who’d harassed you, the one who’d chased you out of your last firehouse because he wouldn’t take no for an answer and when you’d reported him, it had been swept under the rug as if nothing had happened.

You’ve rose up through the ranks since then, switched over to arson investigations. You’ve poured blood, sweat and tears into your career over the years and it shows in your diligence and efficiency. You have a clearance rate that is second to none.

It’s when you take on a case in Lieutenant Waldron’s district that things become probmatic. You haven’t been back in the locality since you’d left but you’re covering for another investigator whose on sick leave when you get the call. It’s apparent from the get go that Waldron hates having you on his patch, it gets worse when you contradict his version of events regarding the fire you’re looking into. The comments, the taunts, the sexual advances you let them all wash over you because once this case is over you won’t have to deal with him ever again.

It’s Nolan that tells Wade what’s going on, he hears it from Bailey who has a couple of friends in that firehouse. They’re the type of people who are sickened by the things that Waldron says about you, who are willing to go on record if you need it.

“You need to report it.” Wade tells you that night as the two of you make dinner together. He’s stirring pasta sauce on the stove as you chop peppers on the wooden board. “Nobody deserves to be treated this way…”

“I did that the first time. They basically told me to suck it up.” You remind him as you focus on the task at hand. “It got worse after that.”

Wade pauses because that’s the part you haven’t told him. He thought you’d transferred out when they’d told you they weren’t going to investigate. He hadn’t realised you’d tried to stick it out.

“How did it get worse?” He asks you, his palms coming to rest on the counter.

The line of your jaw tightens and your gaze stays fixed on the chopping board in front of you, the rhythmic sound of the knife slowing.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.” You say quietly, your grip on the knife tightening, your knuckles turning white.

“But he put his hands on you.”

You tilt your head in concession and Wade feels something murderous rush through him.

“Has he done it since?”

“I carry a gun these days remember?” You say as you resume your chopping.

“Baby, stop.” Wade says quietly, his hand coming to rest on yours, stopping your motions. You set the knife down before you turn to face him and Wade sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the sadness, frustration. You’ve been dealing with this for days now and you haven’t breathed a word of it, it’s part of the culture. That’s why shit like this is so insidious, it wears on you, erodes you.

“You are so strong.” He tells you, his palm cupping your cheek. His thumb ghosts along the apple of your cheek and you exhale for what feels like the first time in days. “But you don’t need to carry this by yourself anymore.”

His forehead comes to rest upon yours, a show of solidarity. He wants you to know he’s here if you need him, that it isn’t like the last time, you aren’t alone.

“I know it’s hard.” He whispers and he does. He’s been on this road before, he knows how tough it is to make this decision, risk your career or stay the course. There’s no winning here. They both come with their own risks. “I’m here for you, no matter what you decide.”

Love Wade? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[lionheartapothecaryx]

The History of Candle Magic in Hoodoo, American Folk Magic & Across the Globe.

Hey there, Venusian Dudes and Dolls! 🌟

Lately I've been obsessing over candle magic and how it's so important to a multitude of cultural practices. In modern magic many practitioners use candle rituals to hone our intent and hopefully manifest the energies we desire. Maybe it's the ADHD hyperfocus but this has always fascinated me. So today I'm taking you on a journey through the bright history of candle magic—a practice steeped in mysticism, transformation, and a universal yearning to connect with the divine.

Our story begins in the ancient world, where the first candles were more like rushlights—bundles of reeds soaked in animal fat, used in ancient Africa in Egypt around 3000 BCE. These early lights weren’t just practical; they carried symbolic weight, often illuminating temples and rituals that called on divine favor. The use of reed bundles soaked in animal fat began as a practical solution to meet the need for light after sunset. Reeds, abundant along the Nile River, were a natural and accessible resource, and animal fat was a byproduct of cooking or butchery. While reeds and animal fat were early components of lighting practices in ancient Egypt, they were not the sole origin of oil lamps.

The evolution of oil lamps was influenced by a combination of available materials, cultural ingenuity, and practical needs, leading to more sophisticated designs over time.

As Egypt was a hub of trade and culture, particularly during the height of the Pharaonic and later Ptolemaic eras, these lighting methods spread along trade routes. Merchants, travelers, and nomadic communities carried this technology to other parts of North and Sub-Saharan Africa and to other lands outside of Africa.

These Egyptian oil lamps, crafted from pottery, stone, or metal, featured a reservoir for oil—commonly castor oil, sesame oil, or animal fat—and a spout to hold a plant-fiber or papyrus wick. Oil lamps were integral to daily life, lighting homes, workplaces, and public spaces. Beyond their practical use, they held significant ritual importance, often used in temples and religious ceremonies to honor deities and ensure divine favor. The soft glow of these lamps was also believed to guide souls in the afterlife, with many placed in tombs as part of funerary rites. This duality of function—practical and spiritual—reflected the Egyptian emphasis on the interconnection between earthly existence and the divine.

In ancient Rome, oil lamps evolved further, becoming more ornate and widely used. Romans preferred terracotta and bronze lamps, often featuring intricate designs or depictions of gods and myths. Olive oil was the most common fuel, symbolizing prosperity and abundance. Roman oil lamps illuminated homes, streets, and public baths, while their use in temples and during festivals underscored their religious significance. They also served as symbols of status, with wealthier individuals commissioning elaborate designs.

The Romans later perfected the art of candle-making with wax, creating the first dipped candles and creating objects of both daily use and sacred purpose. To these ancient peoples, the flame wasn’t merely light; it was life, a tiny sun held in the palm, connecting the earthly with the celestial.

As time flowed into the medieval era, candles found a deep and meaningful home in religious ceremonies. Catholicism and Christianity, in particular, adopted candles as symbols of divine light and spiritual purity. Every flicker in a darkened cathedrals and church became a prayer in itself, illuminating the path to salvation. The association of candles with prayer and intention became so ingrained that they naturally merged with the folk magic practiced in villages across Europe.

Here, we see some of the beginnings of candle magic as a personal, intimate practice. Villagers would light candles while uttering blessings, casting protections, or even weaving spells of love, fertility, or prosperity. The Renaissance added yet another layer to candle magic. The rebirth of Hermeticism and ceremonial magic brought a new understanding of how candles could be used to align with cosmic forces. Practitioners believed that the color of the wax, the timing of the flame, and the intention behind the lighting could channel planetary energies, summon spirits, or manifest desires. It’s no wonder that candles became indispensable in the practices of witches, alchemists, and mystics, serving as tools to focus will and amplify power.

Across the globe, candles begin to carry similar meanings. In Hindu traditions, oil lamps and candles were offered to deities as a gesture of devotion and to invoke blessings. In Afro-Caribbean practices, candles became central in rituals honoring ancestors and spirits, their light seen as a beacon guiding energies from the unseen world into the physical realm.

The History of Candle Magic in the Americas

The history of oil lamps and candles in America ties into the colonial and early settler experience. In the early 1600s, colonists brought tallow candles, made from animal fat, as their primary light source. These candles were smoky, smelly, and burned quickly, but they were accessible to all. By the 1700s, whale oil lamps became popular among wealthier settlers, producing a cleaner and brighter flame. However, enslaved and impoverished communities often relied on homemade tallow candles or simple oil lamps, repurposing whatever materials were available. The multicultural blending that defined American folk magic brought spiritual significance to these utilitarian objects.

In Hoodoo, a system of African American folk magic which is deeply multi-cultural and rooted in African, Indigenous, Judaistic and other practices, oil lamps and candles became potent tools for connecting with ancestors, spirits, and divine forces. Oil lamps were the original form of candle magic before the advent of electricity, and were longer lasting the candles. Hoodoo practitioners, often called rootworkers or conjure doctors, would craft oil lamps as magical devices by combining oils, herbs, minerals, and even personal items of the target (like hair or nails) inside the lamp. When lit, the flame was believed to activate the spell, drawing in spiritual assistance or amplifying the worker’s intention. These lamps were often made from everyday materials like mason jars or old lanterns, emphasizing the resourcefulness and ingenuity of Hoodoo practitioners in the face of oppression and scarcity.

As time progressed, Hoodoo folk magic evolved with the times. Candles were introduced and now play a central role in Hoodoo. Each candle color carried a specific symbolic meaning: green for money, red for love, black for protection or banishing negativity, and white for purity and spiritual clarity. Practitioners would carve their intentions directly onto the candle or dress it with oils and herbs before lighting it. As the candle burned, its flame became a channel for prayer, intention, or communication with the spiritual world.

In Appalachian Granny magic, another eclectic and practical form of folk magic rooted in the mountains, candles and oil lamps were tools of necessity that took on a mystical role. The grannies, as these wise women were lovingly called, used candles and lamps in rituals of protection, healing, and divination. For example, a Granny might place a candle in a window to ward off spirits or guide a loved one safely home. They also believed in the "reading" of a candle’s flame or wax drippings, interpreting flickers, cracks, and shapes as signs or messages from the spiritual realm. Oil lamps were similarly revered in Appalachian folk magic. Often kept burning in the home, they symbolized the hearth and protection of the family. These lamps were sometimes used in protective magic, with certain oils or charms placed inside to keep malevolent forces away. If illness struck a household, the lamp’s light might be used as a focus for healing prayers or blessings.

The multicultural blending that defined American folk magic brought spiritual significance to these utilitarian objects. African enslaved people integrated their knowledge of oils, herbs, and spiritual practices into their use of lamps and candles. Meanwhile, European settlers added their traditions of candle-burning spells and charms. In Appalachia, the influence of Celtic, Germanic, and Native American traditions created a unique fusion of spiritual and practical uses for light.

By the 19th century, paraffin candles became widely available, offering a longer burn time and cleaner light. These advancements allowed magical practices to become more elaborate, with practitioners using candle wax readings or crafting intricate oil lamp spells.

Metaphysical Reason why Lamps & Candles Work in Ritual

The power of oil lamps and candles lies in their unique ability to combine all the elements. Both oil lamps and candles are transformational tools, combining the elements of fire (flame), earth (wax or oil), air (smoke), and spirit (intention). The flame is fire; the melting wax, oil, glass or clay base is earth; and the smoke it produces, air. This elemental balance makes candles perfect for spell work, because it seeks harmony between the practitioner and the universe. When a lamp or candle burns, it transforms solid oil or wax into smoke and heat, symbolizing the alchemical process of turning intention into reality. No wonder they’re seen as conduits for wishes, blessings, and change. Their light is seen as a direct link to the divine, symbolizing clarity, hope, and the power to transform one’s reality. Whether guiding spirits, warding off evil, or sending a prayer to the heavens, these lights illuminate more than the physical world— oil lamps and candle can light the path to magic itself.

So, the next time you light a candle for a spell, a wish, or even just to create a cozy vibe, remember that you’re tapping into a practice as old as time itself. From ancient Egyptian temples to your modern altar, candles have always been there, carrying our hopes and dreams skyward, one flicker at a time. Whether you’re burning a dressed candle in a conjure spell or lighting an oil lamp to protect your home, know that you are a part of a global lineage of witches, priests, magicians, grannies, and root workers who have used the power of flame to ignite change, protect the vulnerable, and honor the divine.

xoxo

Lyonessa

[sassydefendorflower]

I am actually intrigued by another but I'll start with the one that pulled my eye first, the Royai Adoption AU (how surprising!). Considering you already had Ed adopt Roy for the best of results, I am CURIOUS 👀😁

Oh, this is a wild one - and I am not surprised you picked that one :D

Unsurprisingly, it is quite angsty. Surprisingly enough, it doesn't have that much Roy. At least the first part.

It is basically a story set a few years post-Promised Day in which Riza gets pregnant - the child is Roy's. She knows she cannot have this child, because a) she never wanted to be a mother for very complicated reasons and b) because it would destroy their plan to save Amestris in the long run if it ever came out that she had an affair with her superior officer. And duty always comes first. No matter how painful.

So, she reaches out to Ed and Winry, who just had their first child two years ago, and asks them to cover for her during her pregnancy - and they end up adopting the child.

(inspired by how in the late 19th/early 20th century unmarried women who got pregnant would go on "travels" or "vacations" on the countryside for six to nine months, and some aunt would suddenly have a new baby)

Here's a snippet from it:

“Ed said you had to ask us something?”  Winry was drinking sweet tea from a pitcher left in the icebox, her smile friendly, her skin glowing.  Riza opened her mouth to answer, only to find the words missing. She knew why she was here, knew how stupid her plan was, had gone to all this length just to make sure— and now that she was supposed to reveal it all, she couldn’t. “Riza asked if she could stay here. For about five or six months.” Edward’s words were a gift, and Riza gratefully accepted it. She knew she wasn’t imagining the look Winry sent her way, her eyes taking in the state of Riza’s clothes and the fit of them around her stomach. It was easy to forget, but Winry was awfully clever as well.  “How far along are you? We can introduce you to a woman’s doctor, if you need.” One hand resting on her own stomach. Winry’s voice was free of judgment. Still, her words felt harsh in their directness, Riza not prepared for the younger woman to go straight for the kill shot. Maybe she should have. Winry dealt in severed arms and legs, her business dependent on people with broken bodies in search for something more. How often did people make that mistake, Riza wondered, when looking at Winry? With her long blond hair, the big blue eyes, and friendly face it was easy to forget that Winry had helped stitch up her childhood best friend when she was only eleven years old.  Riza knew the calluses on her own hands intimately, knew they came from carrying her favorite rifle – a cherished Winchester – through countless battlefields, knew the dent on her shoulder to be permanent after hundreds of hours on her stomach shooting straight. The lines carved into Winry’s palms came from different tools, the scars on her arms an unavoidable byproduct of countless nights spent helping others, the paths they had chosen in life impossibly far apart. Looking at the strength in Winry’s stance, the love and affection on Edward’s face, it was easy to understand why her heart had urged her to seek them out. Whatever came next, those two would be able to help. “A little bit over four months.” Riza had no reason to lie. “And I can’t— an abortion would be too dangerous. Especially considering how far along I am. I cannot risk dying over this.”

Riza's in an awfully vulnerable spot for most of this fic, so her voice is harder for me to find! I hope you still liked it :D

[ghostchanuwu]

Little character things (gen 1 and 2 will get their own, I have some really funny ones in regards to Leaf and Brock)

Wallace's ADHD was undiagnosed until he was 20 (he had broken down into hysterics mid battle having been physically unable to focus for weeks at that point, in retrospect it should have been obvious but he never held it against anyone)

He did at one point have memory issues in his late teens but that was a byproduct of his ADHD and just being overwhealmed at that point in his life

Winona has a couple of vocal stims (Aerodactyl noises when happy and a chirp when there really isnt much noise or when she is alone) she doesnt do them in public and hid it from everyone outside of her family but opened up when Wallace mentioned that it was cute

She is funnily enough double jointed in her elbows and ankles and tends to perch on just about any piece of furniture in their home (she does have a tendancy to do the same on fences, railing and on occasion towers and poles saying that its comfortable) nobody questions it and it turned into an injoke about her being part Swellow

Steven as much as he denies it he definitly is autistic (he was never diagnosed since he had always been adverse to it for his own reasons) he rarely walks flat footed unless he has shoes on which forces him to along with digging his nails into his palms and scratching while fidgeting or sensory seeking (he used to clench his jaw and pull on his hair but stopped when it started hurting in all the wrong ways, he still bites himself when he is hungry though)

The comet amplified everything along with adding bouts of disassociating, severe depression, memory lapses and mild paranoia (Winona's vocal stims help him snap out of those bouts which he is endlessly thankful for) it also had the side effect of him now being much more affectionate craving those interactions (he had designated the two as being his 'safe people', its an odd classification but he truely feels safe around them along with a very small amount of others)

Wallace is chronically dehydrated but it has become much more manageable throughout the years (being a fishman does help with that but it has the drawback of having to live near the sea since freshwater makes him very visably scaly and irritates his skin) he has a habit of flaoting face down on the water when hes upset or annoyed (he thinks its funny since not very many people even know he has gills)

Winona has an army of bird pokemon plushies (she doesnt know how many she has all she knows is if a new Swablu plush comes out she N E E D S I T N O W) she also has her pilot's licenes and has a degree in pokemon biology specifically avian species (anything bird or flying related are her special interests)

Steven is partially vegetarian (the only time he eats meat is either when Wallace cooks fish that he catches while out on his swims or when Winona makes chicken salad for everyone, her pokemon really like it too since the majority of them are either carnivore or omnivore) he refuses to eat meat otherwise and had developed a red meat allergy recently rendering him unable to eat beef or pork (he takes suppluments to compensate for the nutrients he is missing) his body is almost always running on fumes due to the comet taking up so much of his energy so he has to overcompensate just to stay just above underweight for his height

[nerdy-nook]

Giving Voltron Characters Weed: MFE Addition!

James Griffin

Keith introduced it to him while they were still at the Garrison. (For time's sake, I'm going to say this is after Keith and James made up from their fight and became friends.) They're both 17.

Very nervous about saying something stupid while under the influence.

He's hesitant about smoking it because it damages your lungs but Keith convinces him to try it bc it doesn't have any carcinogen byproducts.

LOSES CONTROL OF MOTOR SKILLS. Trying to open a bag of chips? Hand slips and smacks someone in the face. Trying to sneak into the kitchen for snacks? Tripping over his own feet and slamming into the wall.

Similar to Lance, he becomes very giggly and social. His walls fall down and he's much more open. Because of this he only smokes with people he trusts.

No longer the voice of reason when he's high, he's down to do all sorts of dumb shit.

James always made sure that, at least once a week, he and Keith could sneak off somewhere and have a private smoke sesh.

Ryan Kinkade

Usually a very stoic man, but get some cannabis in his system and he won't shut up.

The team has weekly movie nights to bond, and this is where he first tried it.

Blurts out movie trivia and facts. Also yells at the TV when the characters are doing something stupid.

“Did you know in the original Halloween you can see the wrench used on the fake hand when Micheal Myers’s breaks the cars window?”

Mister mistro! Though he mainly listens to movie soundtracks (what a nerd) he has multiple playlists to smoke to for whatever vibe the team is feeling at the moment.

Holds all the gear (papers, pipes, grinders etc.) for the team. When it’s smoking time he’s expected to bring it all.

Nadia Rizavi

Weed FIEND.

Has been smoking daily since she was 17.

Doesn't have her medical card so when the Garrison does drug tests she goes knocking.

Queen at hiding her stash.

When Ryan suggested a "movie night" (code for a smoke sesh) but realized they didn't have any weed Nadia was like "Come here".

She opens a secret compartment in her drawer Death Note style and there's just like 5 ounces sitting there.

Loves to dance to some of Kinkade’s playlist, specifically his R&B one.

Will smoke and do edibles at the same time.

Ina Leifsdottir

Had no idea the team was eating edibles.

So when she popped five gummies in her mouth the entire team was like :O

Poor girl had no idea what hit her.

Absolutely immobile, limbs heavy, palms sweaty, mom's spaghetti.

REALLY likes a body high but doesn't mind a head high as it makes her mind go quiet for once.

Catch her eating some of the most delicious food when she has the munchies.

“What do you have Ina?”

“Traditional Belgian waffle with sugar pearls!”

“Where did you even get that…”

She doesn’t really feel like she needs to mask her autism since she was always praised for the intelligence that came with it. But she really struggles in social situations. Weed helps her become less rigid and helps her come into her personality.

She doesn’t like to smoke because she coughs so hard she gags.