#fic: not my taste

[evilresidentz]

oui

[lcndo]

okay... but bestfriend!lando who has kissed you only once before, is DYING to be your new years kiss, who sticks with you throughout the new years party. this boy does NOT let you have a single moment with anyone else. he's needy, he's got his eyes stuck on you, his hands on you at all times. and when you're no where to be found 10 mins before the clock strikes 12, he loses his shit, frantically going through every room in the house to find you, only for you to be in a bathroom, brushing your teeth and using mouthwash- cause lando's made it quite clear that he is gonna kiss you at midnight and you are NOT risking bad breath, not today. you come out, glancing at the big numbers on your lockscreen which scream 11.59 back at you. you finally bump into him in the corridor, from where he practically drags you out to the balcony to see the fireworks when he finally, FINALLY, kisses you. you both make it just in time, the cold air wracking a shiver down to your spine. lando places his hands on either side of your neck, cradling your face oh so close to his, when your lips meet, devastatingly slow. he kisses you, passionate and rough yet sweet and gentle and god... his kiss has you weak in the knees, moving impossibly closer to him to stabilize yourself. you finally pull apart, a string of spit still connecting your lips to his. his voice is beautifully low, eyes half-lidded and focused on you, through all the chaos of the party around you. he's asking you if you've eaten a mint- and when you can only muster up a nod, half out of your mind, still dizzy from the kiss, he's telling you to never do it again, telling you that he's obsessed with the way you taste, that he misses your flavour. he's telling you that his appetite for your lips has only grown larger now that he knows what he's missing out on. and if this is the beginning of your year with him, you're only left wondering how much better it gets from here.

[vyzz-undercover]

[Squad Damocles/f!serf]

(11,000 words) (OOPSIEEEE MAXED IT AGAIN)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•intercourse [M/M/M/F]

•oral sex (m & f receiving)

•discussions on the codex

•discussions on reproduction

•essentially a bukkake

•vaginal fingering

•dubcon (via power imbalance)

•definitely size kink

•mild fear elements

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i live despite god, cato chapter 6 will be coming soonish ANYWAYS PSPSPSPSPSP heeeeere kitties kitties!!!! @moodymisty, @mothiir, @sinistermojo, @kit-williams, @primarisly-marooned, @thevoidscreams, @the-raven-lady, @lemon-russ, @blasphemme, @grimdark-raccoon, @pluvio-tea, @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond, @ma1dmer, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @scriberye, @sinistermojo, @undeaddream, @historitor-bookshelf, @vivacious-hyena, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan. If you want on or off lmk!! I HAVE BAD MEMORY ILY!! ALSO SPECIAL FUCK YOU TO MY DEAR @triassicnautilus WHO IS TO BLAME FOR THIS FIC!!

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It is by no means an offhanded consideration.

Your familial line and ancestors have served the highest echelons of the great Angels for hundreds of years, and yet—of all of your far more worthy, servile kin—you're the first in generations to be sequestered to a new voidship.

It's terrifying.

You're not even sure if you're being demoted in status, because you drift between duties like they hadn't really planned to have you just yet.

When the head serf of the Barge finally has you delegated to a Primaris—it is to Lieutenant Demetrian Titus, of Second Company.

It has been less than a week, now. To say nothing of the fact he hadn't even acknowledge you in his dormitory, at first.

He has made no comment of your presence besides a huff. It's to be expected, as is his right. Your duty is to serve with or without order. But it's certainly not entirely unpleasant being freed of demands —pointedly, he appears to be largely self sufficient. Your new Lord sets his rest attire aside for you, folds sheets to be washed; and, once, brought his cot down from the wall when he saw you struggling at the task.

It takes three days of this for you to notice stern green eyes lingering.

Like most of the Adeptus Astartes who are more often called to active service, there's scant bric-a-brac to be organised in his lodgings.

Perhaps due to the fact that none of the souvenirs of his long service are small in any way.

Much rather, everything your Lord owns is each a hulking testament to his might in war. Like the intricate pauldron hung on the side wall that is the size of your ribcage, and the length of fine red fabric fitted within that which is almost the height of you.

Nonetheless, your Lord begins to try snag your gaze; despite the fact you most often keep your head bowed.

It begins first as you rise to your tippy-toes to dust off the chainsword upon a small outcrop.

It's a tap on his chest armour, that you turn to catch the sound of. Then, when you return with a small crate to stand upon to better reach the shelf, it's a rapt of gauntlet'd fingers on his hip-plating; and a curious focus in his eyes as you spin around to heed the noise.

Lots of little things to coax you to glance at him.

His strange plans pay off, more often than not. It's very difficult to ignore the out of place song of ceramite and steel being drummed against.

This all entertains your Lord, apparently. He doesn't go so far as to laugh or anything, Throne forbid; but he does huff a little from his nose while keeping a neutral, unchanged face. And to that ends, it's difficult to believe a great being as he would stoop to such.

But the Astartes aren't as stalwart every waking hour as the average individual would believe.

Your Lord included, it seems.

On the fourth day, he starts speaking to you.

Nothing more than, 'Good, serf.' when you neatly fold his sheets under the thin mattress and press the wrinkles flat. His voice is a steady lilt, stoic and rugged, and all you can do is nod doltishly.

Then it worsens. It worsens into fully fledged questions, that you shudder and hesitate to answer. At first, it's a stray comment of asking why you have hair still, and that too is a surprise—the serf's on this Battle Barge appear to be clean-shaven on their heads, and yet nothing has been asked of you to undertake such yet.

Then the situation nosedives.

"Where were you stationed, prior to this?" He asks as he's unclad, seated on his cot in a loincloth as you mop.

You haven't dared look at anything more than the skin below his knees as you labour. Even his calves dwarf you, they may as well be one of your thighs.

"I–" you begin, stammering. "I was previously assigned upon the Primarch's Flagship, my Lord."

"Truly? To whom?"

"My mother is indentured to the Chapter Master, as were her parents," you say softly, and clutch the handle tightly.

His brows furrow before asking, "And you were bade sent here? By Lord Calgar, of all people?"

You cock your head, and you aren't sure why his tone is accusative; nor can you parse out the confusion in it. The fact remains your family served on the flagship, the point of who matters not more than simple competence pedigree.

"Nevermind," he sighs, and tips his head down.

You realise you're actively looking at him a bit too late.

He is very handsome, ruggedly so. It is a fact you've viciously tried to repress acknowledging since your assignment to his service—he is as all of his kind is—tall, mighty statue given flesh, built for warring on a million worlds and excelling at such a leviathan task; yet there's a softness to your Lord in the warm, yellow-red candlelight not afforded to him under the harsh hallways lumens.

His chin is darkened with light stubble, and his usually sternly knitted brows are steadily becoming calm and flat. The harsh lines on his face aren't at all as unnerving when they're countered by the thoughtful expression he now wears.

"I believe you may be a sort of gift from him," he supplies dryly.

"A gift, m-my Lord?" You stutter, unseated by the hulking, unclad form of the Primaris Lieutenant so close.

"Titus," he corrects softly, leaning in; and the room is a little less frigid with him practically breathing on you.

"My Lord T-Titus," you adjust, and he snorts good-humouredly.

"Close, but not quite," he tuts, "You may call me Titus."

You lower your head nervously, keeping your gaze down; ultimately receiving an eyeful of his large chest and navel. The scars littering his flesh are a hodgepodge of livid cicatrix, old tissue, and the healed over pitted marks of bullet holes. He has a light dusting of hair across the span of his pectorals, patchy with the aforementioned damage.

Then it deepens to a darker, coarser shade down his dense abdomen, arrowing lower, and lower and—

"Calgar's privy to much," he chuffs, then reaches a large hand up and you're greeted to the sound of a palm scrubbing against stubble. "My predilections, too... worryingly."

You hesitate, completely bemused by the admission—you have no clue what your Lord is talking about. Point of fact, there's a need to reply hanging in your heart; but you stifle it down.

He seems to recognise this, and sighs.

There's a fey, strangled sort of anchor in his voice as he says, "Is it a stretch to say you've been with an Astartes before?"

You cock your head again, "I have served my whole life, my Lord Titus, I assure you that I am—"

He snorts, "Not that kind of service."

"I–I don't understand," you stutter.

"Have you bedded another?"

You hesitate, and feel very real fear seize your mind as you speak, "I-I—If you mean intercourse, such has not been sanctioned for me, m-my Lord."

He stares at you with a deep contemplation, and you can feel your heart thundering in your chest at the lie of omission.

"You can answer truthfully," he says.

Swallowing around the dryness in your throat once more you mumble, "Once, m-my Lord."

"We are evenly matched in that contest, then."

Eyeing the Lieutenant in place of further responding offers you little respite from the heat and panic boiling in your veins.

"If it's to your liking," he starts, "I could indulge you?"

You blink, "My Lord?"

"I'm not going to see you punished should you decline me," he says with that same terribly earnest tone, "I'd only ask you not to speak of this proposition occurring with any others."

There is something in the way the he speaks, the way his voice slips lower, into rougher and barer territories that vaguely resemble what you imagine your Lord might've-been propositioning you as a mortal man that is utterly staggering. It isn't even about what he is saying—it's more about how he is saying it.

The naked urgency is strange, and you're terrified and entranced all in one.

He pats what little space on the side of the cot his bulk doesn't consume and you take a half step before freezing on instinct.

He repeats the gesture and you drag your feet, cautiously approaching before perching yourself beside him and being swallowed by his seated form in the candle-light's shade.

His hand raises, and you shrink slightly.

Your Lord seems to recognise the worry and lowers it a little, only to leave it hovering over your tunic'd leg.

You imagine the great Angel sees you as some shivering wet animal at his mercy, somewhat. You eye his huge hand nervously but ultimately sigh out your nerves and relax a little.

If this was a test of some sort, surely the guillotine would have fallen by now—not that the thought eases you in any way.

His hand tentatively settles on your thigh, and you're shocked at the sheer heaviness of the thing. It's a pressure all it's own, and so heated that you're hyperaware of the warmth suffusing through your garb onto your skin.

It drags up, ever so slowly, and you inhale shakily—stunned by the strength in just one hand most definitely being more than you have in your entire body.

You feel like you should be squirming with the thrill of the gesture, moving against that huge limb; but are too frozen by the gravity of the situation to act.

"I will need an actual answer, however," he remarks belatedly, smoothing his calloused palm back down your thigh.

A cold, wild animal horror sinks in beside something wretchedly simmering as you dither, finally replying with, "I-I would, should you wish it, my Lord."

"Titus," He raises a dark, scarred eyebrow lazily, correcting you once again with a light sigh, "Calgar has schooled you on your manners a bit too well, it seems."

You frown, at shameful odds with maintaining discipline despite your Lord's repeated protest, and avert your eyes again. Trying to play off the shiver his voice so close inspires in your spine.

A choked grunt escapes him not long after and you meet his gaze haphazardly.

Only to be met by an uncanny sight, and heavy, clogged-engine laughter.

Your Lord's lips have skinned back over his teeth at you in a large grin. Charming as the gesture should be, it is certainly not something a fellow baseline would call a particularly friendly expression—maybe due to the fact it felt strange seeing so much emotion at once from him. It looks more akin to a beast in human skin baring it's fangs, and just as animalistic. The back of your brain screams there's a threat of being mauled.

It is a somewhat fey thing to witness, despite the fact it appears to be a genuine display of mirth. And when it falls away to a closed smile, it's much better to behold—the age lines on his face crinkle just right to make him just that little bit more attractive.

"We'll get there," he chuckles. "But first, you will need to be stretched."

That sounds painfully ominous.

You scowl a little in confusion and parrot the word, "...stretched?" back at him in an almost unconsciously quiet voice.

He hears it, and his brow raises a tad.

"You can't fit me ordinarily."

The breath you take in is almost choked with hind-brain panic, mind crafting a series of impossible sizes—crushing and rending, turning your insides to paste. Worse than the time you'd seen a servitor veer into the pulleys of the lift platforms.

"Move further up on the cot," he huffs,

You oblige, and slide back a little; ruining your earlier efforts of fussing with his sheets.

He lifts himself off the cot, kneeling, and breathes in solemnly; his face pinched a tad.

"Settle," comes the Lieutenant's affirmation, "I'll make sure you're unharmed... now, if you allow me see what I'm to be working with?"

You nod shakily, and the massive hand previously upon your thigh splays you out. His other joins it on the converse and mimics the gesture, spreading you.

He shuffles closer to the cot's edge on his knees and chuffs, "Lean back, and put your legs up on me."

Stuffily, you obey, resting your calves on his broad back as you sidle astride his head.

"Very good," your Lord hums; and Holy Terra, you can hardly believe that you're feeling his warm breath dance across your skin. You have a feeling of what he's planning to do, it's unfathomable—nor can you bear to watch one of the great Angels do this.

One of his huge hands cups your hip as he hikes up your tunic's hem to keep you still, nudging it up, and up, until you realise he's trying to coax you into disrobing—to which you oblige with a flustered timidity.

Emperor have mercy, you can't fathom the looming act, and it's consequence—so with scant preamble, you quickly cover your face with both palms.

What a wretched day to've forsaken briefs in favour of a longer garb. Now, you're stuck stark naked on the Angel's bed, and you can feel he's—he's kneading your waist, then squeezing your hip—you're so beyond forsaken it's laughable. You're doomed. But your insides are twitching at the contact, and the feeling of his worn palm taking a moment to grope your thigh has your nerves aflame with anticipation. What a great shame to have brought an Astartes so low, to have him disgrace himself in—oh, no.

A wide band of slick muscle drags upward, and the sensation is nigh ecstasy. The heat of his mouth is divine, and—and rolling against your clit.

Your Lord rumbles contentedly when your legs jump and you almost choke trying to hold back a ragged, stunned moan.

His huge tongue worms into you, big nose jammed against your clit; his mouth several times larger than your own forced to practically eat at your cunt—going at you with an almost desperate eagerness before raking up again and humming against your tender little nub.

"Are you aware you're in season?" He says, still smothering himself to your sex, and it is so offhanded it's jarring; like a finger stuck in a door hinge.

A flabbergasted whine is all you can offer in answer.

He steals another greedy lick of your entrance, "I already knew by how you smelt—but I can taste it too," he notes smoothly, and laps at you again.

Your Lord pulls away and you grow enough backbone to glance between your fingers. He has a blank look on his stern face, pupils blown out, rolling his tongue around his mouth before he apparently frees himself from whatever haze overtook him.

His chin and chops are wetted with clear, slimy lubricant—your slick—and he takes a deep breath.

It's a little mind boggling seeing his other hand rise up from beyond your view. Why is it already glistening slightly? Had he been...? Surely not, surely...

"Your turn with this, I suppose," comes the straightforward, depraved confirmation of your suspicions.

The hold already on your side turns into a vice; and then there's massive digits tracing your entrance.

"It's alright," he rasps, "It's only two."

—then you're crammed full of a Primaris' ring and middle finger.

The sheer size of just that alone is insane, but most of all, it's brilliant. And yet, somehow everything gets even better.

Your Lord's mouth claims its' place back on your clit and sucks.

A garbled whine, and the bliss has you shaking like a leaf.

His fingers stretch your walls as he scissors them out, only to curl in sharp, precise motions; as if your cunt is some weapon he's searching for the trigger mechanism inside of.

Wound too tight, it all comes to an embarrassingly quick end with you letting out a ragged sob, bucking sharply in surprise. Absolutely stunned into orgasm as your core muscles cinch up, keening.

Unfortunately, set on his goal, your Lord does not let up immediately—holding fast and unmoving—and is only disengaged when, cotton-mouthed to words by overstimulation, you blindly flail, stamping your heels into the massive span of his upper back.

He looks a little confused as he releases you, as if he'd been in some sort of trance again.

Blinking a few times and righting himself, he clears his throat, "We should... learn to coordinate that better," he admits, his voice a little rougher, "Tap three times to stop. Two to slow. Once to continue."

There's a short lapse of speaking after that as you ogle his face lingering between your thighs; until you abruptly realise he's waiting for your answer.

"Y-Yes, my Lord."

A big, dark brow raises, "I believe you're simply misbehaving, now."

Your stomach leadens as panic sinks its' claws into you and with a blubbering whine you stammer, "N-No, no... please, my Lord—I mean, my Lord Titus, I-I am not, I swear—"

"It's only a joke," he huffs, and his dark brows arch down a hint in a somewhat sympathetic manner. "Do... do I really frighten you that much?"

You swallow harshly and stutter, "I-I-I—I am a serf, my duty is humility."

It's not the right answer, that much is obvious. It's strange to say that some sort of childish disappointment passes over his features.

"You'll settle in time," he says softly, more like a prayer than anything.

His hands manoeuvre you onto your belly, so your ass is poised high at the edge of the cot for easy access.

Your Lord is tall enough to mount you on his knees like this, and it's clear that's his intent when a thick cock slides experimentally between your thighs.

You try to look behind you to see just how big a thing is to be rammed into you—but he clicks his tongue like you're some unruly little creature, and that's all the discipline you need to be dissuaded.

"You'll only spook yourself," he sighs lowly.

A fat, rounded tip prods at your entrance, wet and hot.

"I'll be gentle as I can," he continues.

You strain to fit even that, and then the burning starts.

Your Lord groans, his hips hitching forward in little motions as you shake, fighting to keep yourself presented on steady knees for him as he presses deeper.

The pain is incandescent, and you cry out—

"Breath," your Lor—Titus urges, sounding strained himself, "Breath."

You squirm, and there's a burning at your rim as he pushes a little deeper; it's a painful reminder of your own lacking size compared to him.

"Almost there," he all but growls, then you hear him raggedly ask, "How... how are you faring?" but you're nowhere near up to the task of responding.

Still, attempting to be dutiful, you try—and all that comes out is a seizing gasp.

You are far too preoccupied with twitching on the scalding slab of Primaris currently giving your insides a stern word to manage a sentence.

In your panic, you manage to smack some part of him twice, even if you have no idea what you're hitting—dragging your hand across wall-sturdy muscle.

Titus stills.

You freeze in fear, waiting for a reprimanding that never comes.

He takes a deep breath in and grits out, "It's alright, it's a difficult fit," to which you whine dumbly, and Titus continues, "I am... larger, than I once was," he says softly, pausing to groan when a shudder sends you squeezing on him, "You're still taking me very well."

He is large, that is true; but he's also warm. So terribly warm, he's almost fever-hot inside of you.

The pain abates in the interim as the pleasure of you steadily acclimatising replaces it, and slowly, you ever so carefully tap him once to continue.

Titus shimmies and you squeal at the burr of electric sensation that makes your mind melt for a half-second, only for your ass to coincidentally scud backwards into his hips with a sticky plap.

You're struck daft when a sudden shrill of lightning sparks up your spine as you feel him bottom out at last, hitting your cervix, blinding you for a heartbeat.

You whine loudly at the sensation.

"All in," he rasps, breathing harshly as he rocks his hips to keep you pliant. "You've done it, hush... it's all inside, little one."

Your cunt's tingling around every inch of him, clenching down—trying desperately to decide wether to buck back against him or scramble off and run for your life. You doubt you could manage the latter. Despite his strange insistence on altruism, there's no way you'd have the nerve to deny the great Angel, lest the Emperor Himself punishes you for it. But you're surely not about to complain about the situation when you're enjoying it so thoroughly.

It's dazzling having him so deep, it feels more akin to being impaled than simply filled.

His balls sit snug against your vulva, heavy against your clit; and you moan—rolling your hips back against his in a moment of delirious bliss.

Titus groans appreciatively, and you strain to tip your head into the big hand petting you while your chin is tucked into the crease of his elbow.

"You're tough for such a small thing," he begins with an airy huff of satisfaction, "I was stunned the last time I managed to fit in a baseline..." he hums, then apparently something seizes his humours and he grumbles, "...let alone now after crossing the Rubicon."

His voice rumbles in his chest where it's pressed to your back, like the purring, hardworking systems of some mighty machine spirit. But the strain behind his cadence plays havoc with your mind, and the sinking realisation you've got him hilted inside your truly takes root.

Your thighs shake, and the room feels stuffier—he feels impossibly closer, and your body is boiling despite the cold press of armour interface ports against your skin as he thrusts back and forth; to say nothing of the fingers fussing your hair out of your face—he's–he's so agonisingly tender.

"Are you finishing on me?" You hear him say, but you honestly cannot even tell if you're cumming because everything is a buzzing lurch of cramping electricity. "Good, that's... very good. Throne, you're—"

You're barely cognisant of him straining forward to a stop; but your body judders with satisfaction, and the rest of his words melt together in your ears into an insensible baritone as you struggle through dazzling ecstasy. It steals the air out of you, nigh agonising bliss sharp and rising from your belly—scrambling at the huge forearms now keeping you in place while he continues fucking into you, weakly crying.

When you return to having a functioning body, you're hyperventilating; and leaving a smear of drool across the interior of Titus' elbow.

Slowly becoming audibly cognisant beyond just the ringing in your head to the wet slapping sound of him chasing his own end in your cunt.

"You'll... you'll have to forgive me for being a little quick, on the first... round," he rumbles against your ear, panting as he nails you right through your afterglow. "It's been... so long, since..."

Titus doesn't even manage to finish his sentence. Instead, he snarls out a low, subharmonic sound and his hips slam forward into you. He's bending you up underneath him; forcing you to let him stuff himself to the base. You feel his balls sandwich against you, and you hear the sopping wet squish of him bottoming out.

His cock throbs inside you, and you're left warbling a dazed whine rife with pleasure addled pain at the sudden roughness.

Hot spend fills you and you keen, acutely aware of it spilling over and dripping out between.

The sensation of having it so deep and yet still too much to contain is playing havoc with your hindbrain, and in that fucked-out state you exhaustedly rock your hips.

A soft grunt is your reward for the effort.

"Careful, careful..." He grits out, panting as his hand draws a smooth, comforting line down the side of your leg before he manages, "You'll get more, just... give me a moment. I promise you, there's plenty where—"

You hear the sound of steel parting, and the white lights of the corridor near blind you.

"Brother," Titus says sharply.

You sober nigh instantly as your stomach proverbially drops to the floor, and your head snaps to the doorway shutting behind the form of a tall, darker Primaris.

"Brother," he receives in answer, "What are you doing?"

"Entertaining... a guest," Titus clears his throat against your ear and tips his head back a little, leaving you clearly shaking in mortification.

He still graciously keeps his body covering yours, and you try to hide under the mass of it.

"I was not aware this sort of entertainment was sanctioned," the other Primaris says, taking a deep inhale and making a strange face—hold on, you–you know this Astartes. You had served in his arming staff temporarily for a day while your judicator had been shuffling positions to keep you busy on the Barge prior to your Lord's arrival and your assignment. You remember the first letter. It was a C—perhaps Cato? No, it began with a digraph—like the end of the word stomach. Chrysion? No, no—it's Chairon—his name is Chairon.

"I ask only that you don't involve the Chaplain," Lord Titus groans, seemingly exasperated. "Just petition the Chapter Master and be done with—"

"No," Chairon interjects flatly as he exhales.

Titus' breath catches, "...no?"

"I want to understand why," he receives in answer, snorting a bit before taking another gulp of air and making the same strange face.

A long, tense silence—and you ought to be terrified and flee, but you can't do much more than squirm weakly on the fat cock stock stiff against your cervix. He still hasn't gone soft, why hasn't he gone soft? Is–Is this what he meant by first round? The frightening stamina of an Astartes in battle is one thing, but it extends even to this? How many rounds have you signed yourself up for?

Chairon harrumphs, "I've never heard of this sort of thing happening, so I want to understand."

Titus huffs hard through his nose like a sort of equine and regards his battle-brother with a knowing tone, "You want a turn then, I assume?"

"If you're willing to allow it," Chairon answers, then looks to you. "And if she's up to the task of two."

You hear Titus hum lowly, and then he gently—ever so gently—cups your chin and tips your head up to see his face.

"Are you?" He rasps, "We'll be mindful not to harm you, should you... accept, such a task."

It's painfully difficult to even think about denying Titus when his big, pupil-blown green eyes meet your own. Your insides ache where he's still buried, but nonetheless some brainless, whorish urgency sends you swallowing harshly and nodding, "Y-Yes, my Lord."

"Go on," Titus chuffs, clicking his tongue at Chairon as a gesture to sit.

Chairon lowers himself down on the thin mattress with one leg off the side of the cot and the other tented up on it, thighs spread.

"I ought to pull out, now."

"No," Chairon huffs, "Not yet, I have an idea."

"Very well," is Titus' answer.

You blanch, and the urge to curl up and simply die nearly overcomes you. You're still—you're still full of your Lord, in every sense of the word, what more can you fit?

Chairon slides himself a little closer until you're practically nosing at his loincloth.

A big hand tilts your chin up and stuffs a thumb between your surprise-parted maw, depressing your tongue.

"You have very pretty lips," Chairon hums as his metal hand pulls his garments away for you.

With a little pressure, you're being guided close to his mostly flaccid cock like a fish by the hook. Then his thumb leaves your mouth and you glare at the length presented to you.

You look up at Chairon's face next, and he raises a brow. So, in turn, you press a soft kiss to the side of his shaft; watching intently when he inhales sharply at the act, pursing his lips for a second.

Then he smiles.

He has a smile that makes you want to melt despite the fact he's an Astartes. It's warm, and suits his fuller cheeks—it's more personable in appearance than you would ever admit aloud out of shame.

You fluster and glance down, taking the head of him into your mouth. He's still huge, regardless of the fact he's mostly half-soft.

Your reward is a thoughtful hum, and a big hand petting your head.

"Lieutenant, do you wish to continue...?"

Titus apparently needs no further invitation.

You're being driven into anew, whining around the steadily hardening member in your mouth and time, for a moment, loses it's bearing. All your mind can bother to focus on is red hot pleasure and heat on your tongue, your own airy, cock-stifled sounds and two syncopated sets of groans and grunts.

"Her mouth's nice and warm," you hear Chairon moan above you.

There's no stall to Titus' pace of thrust as he pants, "I wouldn't know."

"Care to try?"

You have no idea how long you've simply been content in having them both sink in you, but you suddenly return to awareness when you hear Titus' curt, "Gladly."

Then you're suddenly being manhandled like a doll, the cock in you slips out with a pop—as does the one in your mouth—and the room spins as they lift you and change.

You groan in confusion, and paw for the familiar figure now afore you, glancing up.

Titus' hand combs through your hair softly and he chuffs that strange subvocal sound that makes you entranced for a moment.

"Deep breath," your Lord says, and then to your surprise—Chairon's cock presses into you.

It's actually largely easy to take, after having had Titus in you for so long. Chairon's is not as thick as to send you aching, yes, he's big of course, but it's a perfect, pleasurable size inside—and judging by Titus' length now a few inches from your face, it makes sense why he needed to stretch you.

It's practically a bottle of wine, how on Terra did you manage to—

Your thoughts wither as you're forced to moan heartily; namely due to Chairon bottoming out and settling against your cervix.

He moans back, and a huge, warm hand strokes down your spine, heat thudding in your face at the sheer show that he's enjoying you.

Then you're yelping, and something bitterly chilled is on your flesh, sending goosebumps arcing up your back as you flinch.

"Are you alright?" Chairon starts abruptly, and you groan at the freezing steel now pawing at your side.

Titus scowls as he finds the issue before you can voice it, "I think it's your augmentic."

"Really?" Chairon tuts, and leans down to ask, "Is there something the matter with my hand?"

It's clearly a lighthearted accusation, but you haven't been properly subjected to this sort of teasing by a Primaris until today, and you whine.

"It's—it's c-cold," You stutter, and nose against Titus' thigh for comfort; a little uneasy by the confrontation.

Chairon pouts, "I'll keep it's use to a minimum, then."

You swoon at the meagre kindness, and feel your already scalding face boil over as excitement rises.

Titus simpers down at you and remarks, "Is that to your liking?"

You nod and seek a closer hold on his leg for leverage, squirming a little before settling. Your cheek rests against the high point of Titus' thick leg—every so often able to sneak a lick of him.

Titus tuts, "She's very sweet."

The cock in you jerks when the hulking Primaris inside you laughs.

"She smells it, too," Chairon coos, "Don't you, sweet little thing? You smell like you're practically sugared."

You whine needily at the words, Titus' huge cock plastered against your cheek as you leer forward desperately and lap pre-cum from the tip.

"Because she's currently mid-cycle," Titus says flatly. "Her hormones are trying to convince you to breed with her."

Chairon hums thoughtfully, "Fortunate for her that we are, then—still, I'm glad to know that's what that is."

Titus pets you as you continue licking him, one hand carefully managing your hair as the other holds his length to better allow you getting it in your mouth.

Chairon bottoms out again and your body shakes, a trying whine escaping around the cock on your tongue as you relish the sensation.

"You're doing well," Titus rasps out at you, hips making small circles that let him dip into your mouth in short pumps.

Your reaction is wantonly pathetic, if you're completely honest with yourself.

It's a desperate, nasally whimper and a sudden eagerness to please that sends you letting his cock-head bump your epiglottis. Holding for a second despite the ache of your jaw and swallowing before inching yourself away; sputtering a little and moving the heavy swell of his member to warm your tongue instead, sucking on him.

Titus groans in approval, and his hand pets just that much more; earning a sigh when you try stuffing more of him in your mouth again.

Chairon's thrusts steady as he simply takes his time, pacing himself; it's all the better to give your Lord Titus a nice, wanting hole to fuck at his own pace.

"I completely understand... why you were doing this, now," Chairon hums, his pelvis skewing with a slight jerk.

All pretence of steadiness are banished as he starts grinding downward into you, causing a wave of hypersensitivity to stagger you daft.

You clench down hard with a flinch of surprise. Pleasure swelling out of the blue to a crescendo, tipping you over the edge only moments later. The roll of your orgasm ripping through you has your legs locking stiff for a moment, your internal muscles tensing on the intrusion.

Chairon inhales sharply, holding himself perfectly still as your insides cinch down hard around him erratically.

It's certainly not the only finishing happening though, because the cock in your mouth is suddenly painting the inside of your mouth and gullet as you hastily try swallow it down.

Your hear Titus hiss, and the hand in your hair tightens when his thighs start shuddering through heavy throbs of spend.

It feels for a moment as if it's going to come out of your nose there's so much. What doesn't go down your throat definitely tastes wholly unpleasant, but the resumed affections nullify any complaints you have.

You cough and carry on a little at the rapid succession of events and hide your face in Titus's lap again; half-consciously licking your spend stained chops where hopefully neither of them can see.

"My... apologies," Titus is still panting as he says, "I... I should have warned you."

A soft whine is all you can offer.

"Are you well?" Titus asks, tone a little ragged.

You practically shiver around Chairon's cock, and the sound you let out is long-suffering, but not enough.

His voice turns serious, "I need an answer."

A moan flees your throat, "Less—less than before, m-my Lord," you whimper, breathing hard, "But, I'm okay, I'm—n-ngh... not injured."

The grunt he makes in return is an amicable noise, and Chairon seizes your hips with his flesh hand. Lifting you to line up better with his rutting, trying valiantly to ease the pressure.

Oh, that's so much better on your internal walls—the pressure is bliss, and everything is warm and fuzzy and soft; you shut your eyes, moaning—and then you hear the familiar thunk-thunk-click-vshhh of the door opening.

"Titus, you've returned! I'm so glad to hear of your—" a voice starts, then rightly hesitates.

The silence is deafening.

"Chairon?" the blonde Primaris barks suddenly, "What... what are you... what is the serf...?"

You hear Chairon blubber for a moment before laughing in astonished horror, "I'm not even going to try explaining this."

"Gadriel, this is perhaps not a good time," Titus sighs.

The blonde Pri—Gadriel, looks at what little he can of you past your Lord's form and sneers.

The expression only deepens as he scowls, "What are you both doing?"

Chairon lets out a long, trying breath and you feel him lean back a little, yet still remaining inside you as he says, "At least let the door shut before you set about interrogating us, Sergeant."

Gadriel blinks and takes a step in, and promptly sets about putting himself in the furthest corner from the spectacle as possible.

"It reeks of molasses in here," the Sergeant huffs.

Chairon harrumphs, a little strained, "We have been at her a while..." then the attention turns on you, "...she's enjoying herself."

"And that's what the stink is?"

"That," Titus answers, "And seminal fluids."

"To what ends?" Gadriel grumbles and crosses his arms over his chest. "Procreation?"

"There's no restrictions on it in the Codex, believe me."

The look on the Sergeant's face is somewhere between intrigue and confusion, "I've never even heard of it happening."

"It does," Titus offers.

"Really?" Gadriel says.

"I wouldn't have guessed before either," Chairon scoffs.

"From time to time the odd one of us engages in it," your Lord digresses over them both, "But it's under absolute discretion."

"Interesting," the blonde hums.

"Sit," Titus says this time.

Gadriel pouts, "I think I'll stand by, for a while, Lieutenant."

"Suit yourself," Chairon scoffs.

It's distantly amusing watching the trio of great Angels bicker like baseline teenagers.

You might've even dared to laugh at the sheer absurdity, if not for the fact the instant you're about to start you're promptly being fucked stupid again—a heady plap, plap, plap of balls against your vulva and pelvis against your rear.

You try to hide your face in Titus's warm lap, but you're still visible to them all and it's mortifying. Squirming on the heated drag of a cock in you with nothing to shield the fact you're loving every second of it, you toss your gaze aside and accidentally meet the Sergeant's.

He's—he's definitely standing by, and he's certainly watching.

There's a growing redness on his patrician face that proves he's aware of the lewdness of the situation.

"How does it..." Gadriel starts, only to hesitate; failing to feign only vague interest. "How does it feel?"

"Warm and wet... and tight," Chairon rasps, and strokes a huge hand down your back.

Titus hums in agreement, "Very tight."

"Especially when you..." Chairon bucks forward, bottoming out and stealing a gasp from you as your cunt shivers around the sudden effort.

Gadriel's gaze half-lids with the distraction of the sound.

He shifts his weight between his feet irritably, and you can—on some strange level—tell you've got yourself into a looming predicament.

Three. You're to take three Primaris, sooner or later.

Evidently all the so-called inhuman warriors need to return to baser wants and lusts is an example and free reign.

"Where did you even get her?" Gadriel asks, and takes a step closer, keenly looking at your face as you drool on Titus' lap.

Too many eyes on you at your most vulnerable sends flustering, even if your cheeks blaze at the thought.

"I second that," Charion huffs out a wry, short laugh and pets you again, "Where, Lieutenant?"

You whine in embarrassment, insides clenching—there's an infinite torment to the moniker that sends your heart into your throat with lust so wanton you can hardly bare it.

"Lord Calgar apparently knows my tastes all too well," he says lowly above you.

His hand outstretches and cups the whole side of your head including your cheek in one huge palm.

You can't bring yourself to stifle the urge to moan at that, and lean into your Lord Titus' touch like a lovesick dog. "I'll make sure you're not hurt, hm?" Titus rasps, then, to your dismay, decides he's to extricate himself for the time being and starts to scud off the cot.

"Your turn, Gadriel," Chairon huffs at the Sergeant.

You can't really say how quickly he sets about swapping himself in place of your Lord Titus in front of you, because for some reason you blink and the Sergeant is there.

Quite frankly, you weren't sure how long you'd even blinked for. You might have dozed off for a few seconds as far as you're aware.

The cock in front of you is long, smooth, and pretty; with a thatch of dirty blonde hair. Which seems to match it's owner to a fair sum, and it's also already hard. Which is somewhat surprising, given the fact you'd had to mouth at—

"Get on with it, serf," Gadriel says with a stiff jaw; and sits a little more forward, thighs spreading, presenting himself. Big, sturdy quads that would surely be a perfect temporary cushion to rest against.

His cock's heavy with blood and leaning leftward, and you lap at the side—dragging your lips from the base lined by dark blonde hair to the flushed, leaking tip.

You slowly start pumping him with a small hand in a steady jerking motion as you keep the tip of his cock on your tongue.

"Not so bad, then?" Chairon ruts forward, and the push coaxes you to take the Sergeant into your maw.

"Not so bad," Gadriel groans, and a large hand cards across your scalp to fist rudimentary reins out of your hair.

He lets out a choked noise, hips jerking forward in shallow movements in time with the bobbing of your mouth.

It's too large of a thing to even manage more than a few inches, and when the Primaris currently hilted in your cunt decides he's simply got to start grinding himself against your cervix, you're nigh slack jawed on the cock in your mouth.

Big thighs judder beneath you as you let too much too far in all at once, and Gadriel makes a sound you only have a split second of sensibility to associate as an Astartes whining. Then you're gagging around him, tears in your eyes—before he rears back a little and angles himself against your soft palate, a hot flush thudding on your face when he sighs appreciatively.

You moan, and then you're being filled again; only this time it's from the back as nigh molten hot spend spills into your cunt.

Chairon makes an almost inaudible groan, subvocal and menacing; and then smoothes a war-calloused palm down your back.

A shiver races up your spine, innately aware of the feeling as Chairon lets his balls drain as deep as he can.

You're dazed and sensitive as he slackens against you, chuffing softly, "That... that was good."

"Let me have a turn," Gadriel huffs at him, to which he's obliged.

Without complaint, Chairon tentatively withdraws, moving you on top of the Sergeant as he settles on his back.

You swallow the excess drool pooling in your mouth, focus fixated on the sheen of sweat on his scarred face; raising yourself a little with a splayed hand resting between his large pectorals.

"Up, serf—" he rushes, and sneaks a hand between you both to hold himself straight, trying to quicken you sliding down onto his cock.

You can't entirely reign in the shrill whine that escapes your throat.

He's—he's a lot.

You slump against his chest and groan impotently into his large pectorals.

He's too long, and gravity is damning you.

It feels as if he's slamming into your diaphragm instead of your uterus.

Then you're being treated to a ride.

And Throne of Terra, the Primaris Sergeant is rough.

Rabid, even.

A particularly poorly executed thrust jams into your cervix so hard it makes you yelp, blindly clawing at the Sergeant's forearm twice.

He does not heed it, nor feel it, apparently; and continues rutting, head thrown back, heaving in great gulps of air—using you like a toy.

"Gadriel," you hear Titus interject, "Slow down, she's much smaller than you."

Titus' words sends heady attention rushing south despite yourself, and your insides squeeze around the Sergeant, matching the well-fucked ache that thrums through you.

"Can't, feels... ngh—" He bites out in answer, snorting harshly as the grip on your thighs grows bruising.

It hurts, but your mind is suddenly screaming harder, harder, harder—namely thanks to the fact your clit slams into his huge pelvis on the downstroke.

You slap his deltoid and claw down the skin pointlessly.

He sits himself up in reaction, with you in tow.

Your vision smears to colours and shapes for a moment and then you're limbless, being made to bounce on his lap.

He's heaving into against your small shoulder, using you to satisfy himself like a free hole to fuck to completion—and by Terra, he's dragging you along to the same place.

It all happens absurdly fast.

Your insides feel swollen and electric, then they're suddenly jerking, finishing with a quick, wet splash—and everything's stickier where the cock inside you sits.

For a second you can't breathe, it's torment.

But fuck, if it's not amazing.

There's a heavy moan afore you, laden with rumbling subvocals—then finally an airy, pitched keen—and you're pressed flush to the Sergeant despite the fact he can hardly fit all in.

He bucks, and tucks his head against you; and you feel a big slick tongue drag across your shoulder as his cock knocks into where your cunt ends again—sending you sobbing against the huge, scarred span of his chest.

Boiling, overfilling spend leaks out between, adding to your Lord's and Chairon's earlier expenditures in your cunt.

"T-Throne... that's—good," Gadriel strains momentarily, shivering as he grits his teeth and rides out his fulfilment.

Tears have blurred your vision again as your mind reels to understand that you've just been fucked to apparent incontinence. You've just had your insides over-screwed and bullied into squirting on a Primaris, Emperor help you.

Apparently, despite your horror—none of them seem to care.

A few droplets stray from your cheeks and land on the Sergeant's skin. He makes a strange, confused chuff before he realises what's happening.

"W-Why...?" Gadriel pants, attempting to gather himself before he adds, "Why are you... crying, serf?"

You sob weakly, face buried against the hulking swell of one of his pectorals.

"...are you hurt?"

You shake your head.

He inhales harshly, lifting you off him weightlessly with a wet, slick sound of you both disconnecting.

Gadriel's eyes glue to the cum sloughing out of you. It's mostly his, currently—and there's a foreboding look of rabid hunger on his face that almost makes you want to shut your legs.

Suddenly, another set of huge hands join the Sergeant's, holding you aloft as Gadriel moves to stand.

The metal of the right is frigid, and the pressure mechanisms are a tad too stiff to be considered gentle; but the other is warm and tender.

You glance up, and find Chairon softly looking down at you; his big brown eyes crinkled at the edges in a muted smile as he says, "He's too rough with you, isn't he, sweet thing?"

Chairon's lovely smile makes you dopey with sudden charm. It's an infectious sort of look, full of doting that makes you ogle him dumbly; trying to reciprocate with a tired, cock-drunk flutter of your lashes.

"You need to be more careful with her," Chairon glances at Gadriel and clicks his tongue before turning back down at you. The discipline seems purely theatrical, though—and that fact is wildly apparent when you hear the Sergeant scoff.

Then, Chairon is tilting his chin down to fuss over you; his wide jaw nudging your temple, nuzzling into you. Your heart jumps, and it's–it's painfully gratifying having a great Angel do such a thing. Even if you're being buttered up before finally being asked; "Do you still want more?"

You strain up to nose against the large Primaris' jaw, panting as you mumble in agreement.

"I believe that's a yes," Titus hums somewhere to the right, and your vision swims as it tries to find him.

Lo and behold, he's leaning against the wall of the small habitation, glaring low on your body over the rim of a water cup.

Chairon makes a similar sound and adjusts his handhold on you to your legs; splaying your thighs, presenting you.

"We've made a mess," he huffs amusedly.

Peering down yourself if absolutely lurid. Given how you're folded slightly, you can see the sticky lines of leaking semi-opaque white smeared down your thighs, and feel seed leak from you.

You can only imagine how egregious it looks from your Lord's perspective.

Strangely, Gadriel groans at the sight.

"Can..." he starts abruptly, "Can I have her again?"

Chairon laughs, "You've only just finished, she needs a break."

Gadriel grumbles, but gets distracted when you squirm a little and he says, "I... I could give her a break—" but abruptly hesitates and looks over his shoulder, "—unless you want her now, Lieutenant?"

Titus harrumphs, "I'll have her afterwards."

The Sergeant nods, and looks back at Chairon before asking, "Can you keep her up like this?"

"Only if I get her tongue next," he counters.

Gadriel huffs, "Haven't you already?"

"You're to be in her cunt twice," he claps back rather swiftly, "Why can't I do the same with her maw?"

Gadriel snorts sourly, "I'm not going to be just yet, I..." he hesitates, "I have a plan."

Chairon hums, "What sort of plan?"

"Just be careful with her," You hear Titus grunt from the sideline, and then—then you're being lifted a little higher, spread a little wider—and the blonde Primaris gets to his knees.

Two big thumbs spread your labia and you squeal, dithering at the fact he's fondling you in your current dishevelled state.

"If her mouth on us is pleasurable, then the converse must be the same..." he mumbles.

A loud, dry humoured, sarcastic huff from Titus is quickly followed by, "Impressive deduction, Gadriel, you've discovered cunnilingus."

Gadriel shoots a petulant pout over his shoulder at his Lieutenant, before your wriggling drags his attention back.

"You want to...?" Chairon hums.

Gadriel nods, "I just like the sounds."

"Fair enough," says Chairon.

"Now, where do I..." the blonde starts almost inaudibly, seemingly more to himself than anything.

Titus takes a ling sip of water before clearing his throat, "There should be a nub at her upper flesh, that's the female equivalent to our glans."

The Sergeant nods, then turns his big blue eyes up to yours.

"Can you show me, serf?"

You whine and chew your bottom lip, "L-Lord?"

"You'll show me, won't you?"

Your mind can't even begin to think to decline nor argue with him. Swallowing your useless shame, you tentatively move your hand and spread your own folds to give him a target.

Your skin is slippery with slick and cum and hard to properly get a hold on, but you manage and he grins.

It's not as vaguely friendly as Chairon's, nor as strangely brutish as your Lord Titus'... but it's still a little unsettling. Even if it's eager.

"Good, serf..." is the last thing he says before wet warmth is practically locked on your clit.

An airy whimper leaves you, and your body jackknifes pointlessly at the sudden acute pleasure.

You shudder bonelessly in Charion's arms, and you're only vaguely aware you're tugging two-handed at Gadriel's hair while you squirm.

His tongue curls against it, rolling in nigh tidal attenuation; making your hamstrings pull taut and shudder lax. He's not as precise in his torments as Titus, but the enthusiasm makes up for it.

Both Chairon's organic hand and mechanised one grip under your thighs, while Gadriel's firmly keep your hips still.

Throne of Terra, you can feel your own heartbeat reverberating through you against his tongue.

Your fingers dig into his scalp but it just makes him lap just that little bit faster, only for him to discover that sucking makes you cry out. Your abdominal muscles start to hurt at the strain of your body being tormented while reaching down to tug, as do your hips from being so wide.

Your left's fingers find cold metal instead of hair in a mindless haze and you hiss, and try to find a hold.

Gadriel's suddenly open-mouthed against your cunt, keening with a groan.

His scarred chin is saturated with cum and slick, and he's bright red across the belt of his cheeks and sloping nose; he looks dazed periodically, like a slavering hound going at it's cut of meat.

One hand moves from your hips, and a finger prods at your perineum—then jabs you in the arse entirely on accident.

To your surprise, there's enough of his semen coating you that half of it slides in with lubricated ease; still, you yelp loudly.

It burns almost as much as it stings and the stretch of just his finger is maddening, but it starts to disappear in an instant when he licks your clit again.

Chairon grumbles, "What did you do?"

"I..." Gadriel pants, huffing in bemusement as he licks his lips and pulls away from your cunt. "I only put a finger in?"

Titus groans and claps a palm to his own forehead, "In the wrong hole, Gadriel."

The blonde pouts, looking up to Chairon with open confusion, "Should... should I pull it out?"

Even squirming with a Primaris' ring finger up your ass, it's surreal to be treated to the spectacle of them bickering once again.

"It's not my rear," Chairon laughs a little and looks down at you, straining and thudding hot in the face.

Gadriel blinks and realises himself, then meets your gaze.

"Is this painful for you?"

You manage a quick, "F-Fuh—feels a lil w-weird, m'lord."

"How's this?"

His finger curls inside your guts and by sheer blind luck pokes right into the back of your uterus. There's only a membrane and a thin bit of muscle between the two channels, afterall; and the shiver of surprised bliss that assails you doesn't go unnoticed.

Gadriel's breathing quickens, "Is that better?"

You nod shakily as he repeats the gesture, and then ogles up at you from between your spread legs.

His middle finger suddenly crooks to fit into the hole he intended, and you're overwhelmed at the feeling.

It's a combination you can't even begin to explain, new and odd, but addictive and then you're crying out something—something you're barely even cognisant of saying, a high pitched; "P-Please, please—"

Gadriel all but groans at the words, drawing his fingers out and rearing up to lick your abdomen; trailing his mouth up to one of your breasts and dragging a wide band over one with his tongue before groaning.

Before you can even moan, Gadriel's crowded himself against you and his cock is sloppily pressing back into you.

A sob rackets out of your throat, and your eyes swim in their sockets for an instant. Head thrown back against Chairon's clavicle as you heave in desperate gulps of air.

You're hyper-aware of the two sets of massive hands now holding you in place, and the huge cock sawing in and out of you; kissing your cervix on every thrust. This position is easier on your insides, but not by much. Gadriel is still a fraction too long to manage sheathing himself without your mild discomfort.

Both their eyes are locked upon your face, one pair of brown and one pair of blue—both half-lidded and focused on the surely fucked-out expression you're wearing.

It's pure, utter debauchery; and you paw mindlessly at the Sergeant's pectoral, gasping as he grows more and more frantic.

"She's... she's s-still so tight," he groans.

Chairon laughs lowly, "Never thought you'd be brought so low by something so tiny."

Gadriel's too preoccupied to meaningfully argue beyond curling his lip derisively.

Time blurs into delirious moments of aching and bliss, and Gadriel is much less feral in his pace than the last time—every thrust is easier, as your body begins to learn to take it. Or at least, you're certainly getting there—even if there is probably another agonising orgasm on the dusty blonde's cock.

You're only cognisant of being spoken about when Chairon's smooth voice offers, "Put your thumb on it—"

Gadriel snarls, "I... I know."

You blink, and glance downward, confused—and then you're fighting uselessly against the massive vices holding you open.

A reedy, straining shriek tears from your throat as the Sergeant's finger depresses your clit.

Your struggles make the overwhelming sensation so, so much more intense; and you may as well be getting electrocuted for the abrupt sensation you experience. It's as if you're being doused in ice and steam and promethium in one fell swoop.

They're beasts scenting weakness like blood on the gale in that moment, for all intents and purposes.

Chairon rocks you forward into Gadriel's hips and you're overfull of cock and shaking—dragged insensibly into your finish with another scream.

Every nerve in your body is a live wire as you try to fight the severity of it, mindless to the fact you're clawing at skin that's too invulnerable to even hope to mark.

They force your crest higher and higher, Charon still fucking you into the Sergeant's animalistic rutting, even as you cramp and squeeze helplessly.

Lungs several times larger than your own gust out a rapid series of breaths, and abruptly there's a long moan reaching your ear—and fresh heat in your cunt.

A weak, exhausted moan leaves you as you're carefully relieved of the massive cock inside you and deposited on the cot, on your back—only for Chairon to take his place near your head like he had to begin with.

Except this time you're on your back, and his cock is already at your cheek.

Meanwhile, Titus moves your thighs to bracket his hips as he kneels; sliding himself in place, seating balls-deep.

A whimper tears from you at the heavy sensation of being filled so soon again, and you moan when he slowly pulls out, only to slide back in. The pace is tender but firm, keeping you alert to the stretch but not suffering from it. Your body has had what feels like—and what very well may have been—hours to get used to having an Astarte in it.

You mouth at the side of Chairon's length with a daft sort of hunger; drooling across the blood-fat shaft before tilting your head to let him angle the swollen tip of himself in.

"That's it," he huffs, and pets your cheek.

You can taste your own slick, plus he and Titus' cum, and it's still not an entirely pleasant of a tang on your palate—but the big hand raking soft strokes through your hair riles you to continue.

It's clear he's high-strung after having to help Gadriel with you to no service to himself, and it's all the better to give him that attention.

You're getting tired, but regardless, you offer your tongue to Chairon and try heartily to let him take what he can; and he's more than happy to apparently just use your mouth to keep the head of him nice and warm while he strokes the base of himself.

His breathing starts to stutter as Titus gains pace, and you're actively tipping your head forward into his thrusts to let him stuff more of himself into your mouth.

The thrill of having the two of them panting like beasts is sending you spiralling, bucking your hips up against your Lord's pelvis in time with his thrusts in a sloppy, uncoordinated desperation that he rewards with a moan each time.

You hear Chairon keen, heaving through his nose as his hips jerk forward; groaning heavily as he finally finds his end.

A fat, heated spill of cum on your tongue makes you whine and double down your efforts, swallowing the Primaris' load.

"Hah, there... you go," he grind, teeth gritted and sneering a little.

Chairon pets you again before he runs a thumb across your lips to wipe away the few ropes of his spend that you hadn't managed to wolf down. He promptly sits himself back and continues carefully patting you while Titus manhandles you closer beneath his frame.

You glance down to watch your Lord's cock disappear inside you, pulling free and then sinking back in before repeating the action; eyeing big sturdy hips made for supporting a huge cock.

The Emperor surely is all knowing given his proportioning of His Angels.

But you aren't given a chance to think further on the matter as you're suddenly being folded under Titus.

Squirming, you're deaf to the sounds being driven out of you as you're locked in place by a body infinitely stronger than your own.

You paw at his chest, whimpering nonsense and he groans—and you're all but stunned daft and pliant by what he says in answer.

"That's it, one more... good, very... very good," he pants, fucking just that little bit harder.

You're helpless to your own orgasm, crying openly when it's claws sink into you. It's too much, it's far, far too much and this is as far as you can go—anymore and you feel like you'll dissolve into the cot. And you can't even stop yourself from sobbing your Lord's name as the tide of it nigh smothers you.

"Finally..." He groans loudly and his rhythm deteriorates almost immediately to choppy little bucks—and with a last bit of effort, he keeps you pinned and held down despite your overstimulated squirming and his load is emptied right into your womb like it's always meant to've been there.

Titus keeps you like that for a moment as you barely scrape your sense off the proverbial floor. Legs twitching where hooked over his hips, all the while you cunt's milking him for every drop he's got.

"I think... I think you've had... enough, hm?"

Titus lifts himself away and pops loose of your sore, puffy hole with an audible wet slide and a frothing mix of cum layered on his cock.

A soft groan escapes you as the weight and toll of exhaustion sets in, drowsy and well-fucked almost to the point of limpness.

"Up," you hear Gadriel harrumph.

Despite the fact you feel like you're about to pass out, you try valiantly—and get about a forth of the way there, leaning forward while resting back on your elbows as Gadriel takes a seat beside you, with a mug of water precariously filled a bit too high in his huge hand.

Gadriel thrusts the cup close to your face, sending a few drops over the cusp and onto your chest, trailing down a cum splattered chest.

You and he both ogle the water dumbly for a moment in surprise, flickering your gaze between him and it a few times for good measure.

He pouts and his cheeks redden a little as he mumbles, "Drink, serf."

You lap at the side for a second and manage to gulp down a mouthful, swishing it about for a second before swallowing.

You get three more sips as he steadily tilts the cup into your mouth, before he decides you've had enough kindness for the time being and pulls it away.

Titus hums, "Up you get, little one."

You fuss, and try to rise once again.

"There we go," Chairon tuts as he lifts you by the arm as you struggle to stand, supporting you effortlessly.

The care is flattering, even moreso seeing as they've apparently drawn a line in the sand for your apparent usefulness as a seminal dump.

Titus has long since settled back into a kneel again at the side of the cot, petting your thigh like he's trying to calm a skittish stray animal.

He reaches sidelong for the discarded fabric of his loincloth, before promptly deciding it unfit; and reaches for a stray corner of the half sloughed off bedsheet, tearing a large piece away.

You start at the sudden display, half in belated surprise and half in concern for the state of his bed—it's your duty to make sure it's in good keeping foremost, and—

"Hush," your Lord says with a small chuff, "Don't worry about that, just stay still."

Gadriel lowers the cup towards Titus and he dips the edge of it in the water before carefully dragging it across your cheek.

The three of them are very much ogling you, and it's very hard not to dither and fluster at the attention as you're methodically wiped clean. Especially when the cloth dips between your thighs and drags over your abused, sensitive sex, making you whine.

Titus chuffs, "Sore?"

You nod sheepishly as your insides cramp, and rub your legs together, accidentally making a show of liquid leaking out of you.

"Poor sweet thing, look at you drip..." Chairon interjects.

You dare a soft, impish smile which your Lord mirrors.

But the comment makes Gadriel almost instantly tilt his head to watch your overfilled cunt weep their combined slurry of cum; to which he decides the best thing to say is, "Shouldn't have bent over for us so easily."

In your weary, near fucked-to-delusion state, the urge to frown sourly like a petulant child supersedes any decorum, and you're met by a husky snort of amusement from your Lord.

"Some of that's yours, Sergeant," Titus remarks dryly.

Chairon begins laughing as Gadriel's face colours a pretty, endearing pink.

[veerbles]

Pynch Fic Rec Wrap-Up

35 fics you would be doing yourself a favor by reading. divided into 5 (+1) neat categories for your convenience.

GOATs

the best to ever (ever ever) do it.

Free as a Bird by pinkhorizon rating: M | wc: 31k (10 chapters) | musician au this fic is at the very top of this top tier list not because my heart was pounding and I was giggling and teary-eyed and overwhelmed and emotional throughout it - although it's all true; but because I obsessed over it non-stop for a week after reading it, and still think about it with alarming frequency. this is, truly and embarrassingly, my roman empire. if you ever read an au from this fandom, please dear lord: let it be this one.

Ronan is the lead guitarist of the Ravens, and Adam is a roadie. Romance ensues.

Friends We Keep by pinkhorizon rating: M | wc: 56k (10 chapters) | non-magical future this section of the list only has three recs, and this is the second one by pinkhorizon. this is not by mistake. in this case, ronan and adam are occasionally friends with benefits but continuously deeply in love; this fic gives you the kind of good pain that puts a lump in your throat but keeps you so, so hopeful for that happy ending because it earns it. for bonus points, it deals with mental health issues and trauma and just all the heavy stuff from canon in a truly superb way.

Adam doesn’t know what he wants, and Ronan wants whatever he can have.

Fall Back by flightspath rating: E | wc: 14k (6 chapters) | college au unlike free as a bird, I didn't fall into obsession with this fic immediately. I read it once and enjoyed it, found myself craving a reread shockingly soon thereafter, and loved it more and more each time. I only noticed how special it was when I easily passed the 10+ rereads. much like adam and ronan in this fic, friends with benefits whose feelings creep up upon, my deep pure love for this fic creeped up on me.

Adam, at the library, scanning books with a pen behind his ear. Adam, trudging across the quad in the snow. A recurring dream, all throughout fall semester, a bright spot in Ronan’s days.

Canon Compliant

* compliant with the original series; I tend to ignore td3's existence.

Of Being the Tenders of Gardens by shaenie rating: E | wc: 85k it's honestly beyond my comprehension how this fic isn't its own classic in this fandom, if only for its arguably unparalleled focus on the magic system and adam's powers and the connection to cabeswater. in short, it's a post-canon take on adam and ronan trying to bring cabeswater back, but not by dreaming a new one.

It's Adam Ronan takes to what he thinks might be a remnant of Cabeswater first.

Rock Me Like by zephfair / @zephfair rating: E | wc: 6k I read many fics about different aspects of adam and ronan cohabiting during the summer after high school, but I specifically liked how this fic alludes to their different upbringing in the more practical ways.

When bad weather threatens the Barns, Adam does his best to take care of his loved ones.

negative capability by smileymikey / @smileymikey rating: G | wc: 3k the general consensus is that these two find it easier to communicate through touch than through words, so I really liked how this tackles the way touch may present its own issues as well.

If Adam were poetic, he and Ronan would be spinning planets, constantly drawn together by gravity and the sheer power of the universe, sometimes aligning so they would be both at the furthest points of their orbits at the same time with millions of miles of emptiness and dust between them, but sometimes aligning so they would be at the other edge of their orbits, hovering inches away from one another, the dust between ionised and pulsing with tension. But he’s not. So they’re just assholes.

lavender and burning skin by deathlessaphrodite rating: E | wc: 8k very early in their relationship, spending time in the barns with the lynch brothers and fumbling around sex and communication the way god intended.

To: Adam Parrish From: Ronan Lynch Subject: (no subject) come round tonight? not if you’re working obv r. Adam stared at the email for several seconds before he could even begin to comprehend it. Ronan Lynch and email did not belong in the same sentence.

Between Eternities by BeautifulSoup / @thebeautifulsoup rating: T | wc: 12k (10 chapters) actually fucking brilliant vignettes of moments from the year after trk ended.

The world is waiting for them. Not the world they saved last night, but the other one. The solid, undreamt and undreamlike world of Aglionby and Ganseys.

Wringing Out the Hours by quietcoast / @sentimentalspiders rating: T | wc: 8k one of the very few future fics which gave me that exactly-right feeling.

It felt irresponsible to leave. He had willed the thought away, and breathed in the sleep-sweat of Ronan’s neck instead. He thought about the scratch of Ronan’s jaw, and the soft fury of his mouth. He thought about how far into the drive his first exit would be. He thought about Opal, who had hidden herself in the enthusiastic buttonbush that grew alongside the house; she had taken to crouching there whenever it looked like Adam and Ronan were doing things related to Leaving, and had gnawed an entire branch clean. She watched them as they swayed and whispered, and Adam had thought she would stay in the bush and not come see him at all, but he was wrong: at the last minute she had been unable to stand it, and had burst out to wrap herself around his legs. It was impossible to leave them. He had gotten in the car.

The hang of being alive again by Goshen (applecrumbledore) / @goshen-applecrumbledore rating: E | wc: 13k I can say with a good amount of authority that I've read every single iteration of immediately-post-canon pynch, and every single take on their first time, and this is just the most heart-stopping and disarming and gorgeously written one of them all.

Falling for Ronan had felt like going to speak at the same time as someone else after a long silence, two people bumbling over their words to say, no, sorry, go ahead before one of them says what they were going to say.

Roses in Between My Thighs by orphan_account (*) rating: E | wc: 6k I marked this with an asterisk because technically speaking, it's not canon compliant - it was written before the series was completed. but its grasp on the characters is so good that it's honestly impossible to tell it wasn't written post-trk, so I'm counting it.

Four things that could have ruined them but didn't.

Canon Divergence/Non-Magical

where the setting is close enough to the original universe, with minor changes.

Never Knock by burn_it_slow / @burn-it-slow rating: E | wc: 28k | non-magical adam goes off to college and unintentionally loses touch with his best friend ronan, all the while realizing he's in love with him. a summer later they meet again. also: all the emails adam never sent, but probably should have.

“We good here?” Ronan sweeps a knuckle across his lower lip and glares at Adam as if daring him to say something about… any of this whole situation. Whether it’s the destroyed car, the forgotten phone number, or the gratuitous kiss from a super hot dude with an expensive motorcycle, Adam can’t exactly determine.

A Strange and Complicated Thing by ungoodpirate / @ungoodgatsby rating: T | wc: 39k (12 chapters) | non-magical a retelling of select parts of a non-magical canon if adam and ronan started sneaking around to hook up first and became friends and boyfriends later - with a slow and excellent build of emotional intimacy.

Didn’t Adam Parrish deserve nice things? Didn’t Adam Parrish deserve to be pushed against the back wall of Boyd’s and be kissed like he was addictive by a boy who had the cheekbones of a model? Didn’t he deserve hands grasping at his waist with an eagerness to be held close that Adam had never known? Adam Parrish didn’t have many nice things in his life, and he wasn’t going to question this one that had happened unanticipated this one random, Saturday afternoon.

every dream i've ever had has been of myself by cloverspies / @parrishh rating: T | wc: 8k a different version of how their first kiss could've gone that literally had me breathless and kicking my feet.

Chasing down a mysterious address left behind by a dead psychic was much more attainable than getting ice cream, which was all sorts of messed up but also the truest thought Ronan had had all day, so he shifted into reverse and peeled out of the two spots the BMW had been taking up without even bothering to glance at his mirrors. He was already burning rubber, practically drifting around the corner of the parking lot exit, when he asked, "Where to?"

Every Stupid Little Thing by Diana_Dreams / @diana-dreams rating: M | wc: 10k a canon-divergence vaguely placed in the timeline in which floundering teenagers struggle through expressing their emotions. more importantly, this has a first kiss car scene that still lives rent free in my brain.

Courting. Jesus. It sounds like an awful joke. Parrishs don't court. They get girls knocked up and beat the shit out of the people they're supposed to love.

Alternate Universe

A Moment in Time by pinkhorizon rating: M | wc: 132k (20 chapters) falling in love, getting together, breaking up, pining, getting back together, all crafted by pinkhorizon's masterful hand. if you're still not convinced to read all of their works: why, and also, do.

Ronan likes being alone. Adam's looking for summer work.

(i’ll clean up) the mess that you are by ecoterrorism / @bartskull rating: M | wc: 5k there's just something about baseball au's and soulmatism.

It will work because Adam willed it so. Even when Ronan doubts God, he still knows better than to doubt this.

go running by thesehands / @ahotknife rating: E | wc: 72k (5 chapters) emotionally unavailable rich professional adam starts having kinky sex with his co-worker's brother ronan and somehow convinces himself there are no feelings involved. then it blows up in his face.

most of the time, ronan takes his crucifix off when they have sex. sometimes, he doesn't. sometimes, adam thinks he might be ready for a relationship. most of the time, he doesn’t.

light by paintedpolarbear rating: T | wc: 3k a paramedic au with the tangible sort of attraction that makes you want to read meet-cutes in the first place.

When the tones drop at four in the morning, Adam briefly entertains the fantasy of rolling over and getting more sleep. Then he puts his boots on.

seek ye the living by charactershoes / @charactershoesfic rating: T | wc: 40k (9 chapters) a fleabag au that I enjoyed with all my whole ass self despite committing the cardinal sin of not really enjoying fleabag. this deals with grief and religion and god-slash-magic and purpose versus autonomy in a way that changed my interpretation of trc forevermore.

Ronan says, “What’s the church’s stance on fratricide?” “Frowned upon,” says the almost-priest. He’s got a remote, orphan-eyed face like something off a prayer card, but his voice is as Henrietta as cicada song. “Although there’s precedent.”

gets late early by charactershoes / @charactershoesfic rating: G | wc: 18k I've already made my point about baseball au's and soulmatism, so let me add this: there is just something about authentic depictions of teenage boys and their repressed emotions. also, like, essentially everything by this author is gold.

That year, Ronan was Declan Lynch’s Little Brother, The Kid With The Dead Dad. That year Adam Parrish was The Public School Kid. That year Adam Parrish was God’s Gift To Southpaws. That year they went to the league championship and blew it badly. Next year, Ronan was Academically Ineligible. Next year, Adam Parrish was gone. Now, Ronan is a senior and starting catcher on the Aglionby Ravens. Now, Adam is back on the clubhouse bench, tightening the ragged laces on his cleats.

A stillness at once awful and sublime by Wisteria_Leigh / @purrincesscatitude rating: T | wc: 18k adam experiences a crisis and applies to be a fire lookout on an isolated mountaintop in montana. this is a truly remarkable lesson in interweaving canon into a completely alternate setting, which manages to be both beautiful and poignant.

It’s a momentary lapse of emotional regulation, if one is generous. An absolute fucking meltdown, if one is honest. When Adam comes back into his body, he’s lying on his bed, empty styrofoam staining his duvet with red chili oil, blank-eyed scrolling through his LinkedIn feed of job openings at Harley-Davidson for motorcycle engineers. He doesn’t want to work for Harley; he’s got brand loyalty to Honda. Also, being a mechanic again would be backsliding, and he is absolutely, most certainly, not backsliding. No, he just needs a sabbatical. A break from reality. Something temporary. Remote. Far from Virginia. Then he sees it: "Fire lookout."

The Course of Certain Stars by quietcoast / @sentimentalspiders rating: T | wc: 9k truly an exemplary take on adam's characterization and the existence of demons and the catholic church.

Once upon a time, Adam Parrish had not - if you’ll pardon him - given a good God damn about God or the devil. At eleven, Adam took for granted that praying did not mean an answered prayer. At twelve, he understood that devil was just another word for the man who lived in his house and shared his eye color. At thirteen, Adam realized that, actually, he was fucking wrong, that the devil was literal and maybe so was God. He knew this because one day, a demon crept into his parents’ trailer. As an adult, unmaking the rules of good and evil consumed Adam Parrish. Proving his experience was the undercurrent to everything he did. That was why it was so absolutely fucked up that when he did finally encounter a demon for the second time, he wasn’t even trying to do it.

Careful the Tale You Tell by shinealightonme rating: T | wc: 26k (4 chapters) if there's one thing I like, it's trope subversion. this had that misty, fairytale-like grimms vibe and incredible relationship development, but more notably, it managed to not be at all what I was expecting.

Ronan makes a deal with a witch. It's okay, though. He'll never have to go through with his end of the bargain.

This Is Canon To Me

a collection of short fics-turned-headcanons that you could not pry from my cold dead hands.

How To Train Your Fire-Breathing Reptile by pinkhorizon rating: T | wc: 1k if you weren't hoping for this during the end of tdt, idk what is up with you.

If you asked Adam, Ronan's latest dreamthing is absolutely not a dragon. (If you asked Ronan, it totally is.)

worship by ssstrychnine / @oneangryshot rating: T | wc: 1k do you ever remember that ronan canonically worships adam like his god. because I sure do.

ronan dreams stained glass.

oreos and peanut butter by lizpaige / @lizpaige rating: G | wc: 1k this is actually bronan in a pynch disguise, and I fully mean that in a complimentary way.

Adam shows up at Monmouth after work and Gansey is breathing into a paper bag while Blue pierces Ronan's ear with a sewing needle and an apple Parent Trap style.

Dog Days by cheeryos / @cheeeryos rating: T | wc: 1.5k I legitimately wondered about this while reading trb and was sad it never came up again.

Ronan picks up a surprise for Adam.

Unfold Me by cherishadamparrish / @cherishadamparrish rating: N/A | wc: 1k the idea of ronan pulling embarrassingly mushy things out of his dreams, especially after they have sex, is so important to me (you can also find this scenario referenced in another fic on this list, and it's great both times).

The entire bedspread was covered in a canvas of rose petals.

like a dog with a bird by charactershoes rating: G | wc: 3k so many attempts have been made at what this conversation would be like, but none have stuck with me quite as much as this one, so this is the Canon one to me.

The bruises at Ronan’s neck are fading, the pools of dark green and purple dispersing. Adam knows intimately the phases of a bruise, how the brutal press of fingers washes out dingy and yellow. Still, if he looks, he can discern where his nails bit in, where his thumbs pressed hard against Ronan’s windpipe.  “I’m sorry,” he says. His hands shiver.  “Don’t start,” Ronan says.

out of the dark day, into the brighter night by York / @ellipsesetcetera rating: G | wc: 4k I always wished we'd seen more of their st. agnes sleepovers and their burgeoning friendship moments.

"Blink and you'll miss it. I'm not doing this shit all night, so when it does happen, don't be fucking daydreaming and gripe about it later like some —" "I won't miss it," Adam promised. "It's not a circus act." "Ronan. I won't miss it."

Honorary Mentions

made me laugh / surprised me somehow.

i told the moon about you by broyals rating: T | wc: N/A (10 chapters) mixed media fic, told through fake social media images

ronan lynch and adam parrish grew up together on the set of the strange case of jane armstrong, and as their careers took very different paths the media couldn’t help but compare them every step of the way, creating a rivalry that wasn’t quite there. as they accidentally feed into the rumors, they must now get along publicly to dispel them, and get to know each other once again.

vanitas vanitatum, omnia (pro Adam) by JayJEx rating: T | wc: 11k in a truly unhinged post-canon universe that somehow almost feels plausible, ronan becomes instagram famous.

“You can’t really blame him,” Ronan hears Adam shifting on the other end of the call, like he’s moving into a more comfortable position. “You’re using your phone. Willingly. That’s gotta be, like, a sign of the apocalypse, or something.”

should've left my phone at home ('cause this is a disaster) by shinealightonme rating: T | wc: 4.5k the only thing you need to know is that I laughed out loud through the vast majority of this fic.

Most of the interesting customers that Adam meets are terrible interesting rather than fun interesting. The hot guy who can't keep a cell phone alive might be both.

[hinamie]

So remember me in a softer light

[satsuha]

my brother's keeper by carolinaa (@officialratprince)

a really nice fic that i keep coming back to... i love the idea of exploring nahyuta and apollo in between 6-2 and 6-5 in general and age regression is always fun especially when characters are so different as kids. i also really enjoyed the aspect of apollo being so secretive even with the people closest to him and nahyuta respecting his decisions despite everything... i just like it a lot 🥹🥹

[satowooo]

THE BEST AND STRONGEST DOCTOR

contents. fluff, sick reader x gojo satoru

satoru hates it when you get sick. as much as he loves taking care of his sick girlfriend, it also never fails to make him worry. sometimes, he would even feel like crying everytime he looks at your weak state, whining about how he had not protected you enough, and you'll only end up taking care of him. and he might cry even more, because why is he the one being babied now?

“satoru, stop crying.” you chuckled, followed with another cough. you cupped his cheek on your palms as you wiped his tears with your thumb.

satoru sniffled, pulling away immediately and pouting. he straightened up and took your medicine in his hands. “i’m not crying.”

no matter how much he denied, he always worried every time you were sick. he wanted to appear strong in front of you nonetheless, and if he could, he'd ask the gods to just take your pain away and give it to him instead. he never liked seeing you suffer. and because you were frequently sick, it made him want to just stay by your side all day even when he had to work at jujutsu high.

“open up.” he ordered, tapping the spoon with your medicine on your lips as he helped you to drink it. once you swallowed the liquid down your throat, he handed you a glass of water.

you sighed, seeing his now concentrated face. his eyes were furrowed, a frown forming in his face while he carried the empty tray of your dinner to take it down the kitchen.

“i’m sorry, toru.” you smiled apologetically up at him as he stood up.

he looked at you with a confused face, setting the tray down on the bedside as he kneeled down to face you properly. “why are you saying sorry?”

“i’m always sick, and i know how much it worries you.”

“don't say sorry for things you can't control.” satoru said pointedly, brushing a strand of her across her face. “i should be the one saying sorry for being dramatic.”

satoru’s face warmed into a smile when he heard you laugh. he couldn't help but want to drown in the sound of your sweet voice, a sound that he wished to always hear every single morning.

he kissed your forehead, then your nose, and lastly, your lips. he lingered a little longer, squeezing your cheek between his fingers before he pulled away out of breath.

“i’ll always take care of you, baby. so you don't have to worry.” he smiled reassuringly, lacing your fingers between his. “you'll get better soon enough because you have the best and strongest doctor taking care of you,” he winked, pointing at himself.

i love satoru sm you don't get it

[benevolenterrancy]

Swords pining for each other's cultivator is my new favorite type of pining. Love your NieYao content! <3

I don't suppose we could get Baxia or Hensheng throwing a tantrum while Jin Guangyao / Nie Mingjue are away, leaving their owners to deal with the embarrassing aftermath?

Also, do you have any recs you'd recommend with these two?

this is the exact moment Nie Huaisang realised he was going to have to start meddling in his big brother's love life (con't: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

Hensheng, on the other hand, doesn't throw tantrums but WILL sulk...

[enden-agolor]

ok so like

what if i told you my bf and i made another admin au about jesse being an admin and being cast out of society and he becomes this sad, lonely, brutish, and mute forest deity and also what if i told you lukas shows up in the forest one day and they meet each other and lukas basically changes jesse’s life

what i’m saying is they catch feelings for each other

better explanation:

im just gonna use my discord screenshots from me explaining to others the beginning

[moonheavens]

moonheavens' (wolfstar) fic recs, Nov 24

hello! since my last list of fic recs is now over a year old (Aug 23), I figured it's about time for a new one, especially on the back of the recent discourse about shouting about work you love, which I'm always happy to do.

so without further ado, here are some fics I have "recently" read and loved and whose praises I'd like to sing, very loudly. please do note this only includes wolfstar or multi-ship Marauders fics.

authors, if you want to be untagged, have your fic removed or have the one line summary changed, just message me.

all recs with ao3 links below the break <3

WIPs

All's Fair in Love and Trivia, by @cancerravenclaw ~75k, Explicit, Muggle. exes to lovers years after a huge, painful break-up. I've been eating this up with a spoon and re-read multiple times so far, it's soooo good. really hot ex-sex, yet also handles the complex emotions beautifully, and I love the group dynamics.

The Labyrinth, by QuillNib ~45k, Explicit (check tags), AU. Sirius is forced to sign a contract with an A/B/O breeding facility. really interesting take on omegaverse dynamics, very handmaid's tale vibes. great writing and plot, and keeps you on your toes constantly.

How To Jeopardise Your Friendship With Remus Lupin, by @amberlink ~200k, Teen, Hogwarts. everything you could ever want from a Hogwarts-era best friends to lovers fic. beautifully written, amazing characterisations and also just super funny and sweet. I love this Remus dearly, and this is one of those fics where you drop everything else when the update email comes in.

A Song for the End of the World, by @wannabelilybriscoe ~200k, Mature (check tags), AU. zombie apocalypse wolfstar!! amazing plot so far that really keeps you guessing, with great links to canon yet entirely fresh and inventive. wonderful friendship dynamics and writing, and I would die for this Sirius (but also lowkey steal his man).

Shorter finished works (<30k)

back to the old house, by @saintlupin 20k, Explicit, First War. Sirius, Regulus and Remus get stuck in grimmauld place and have to deal with the tension between them. absolutely beautiful, and painful in all the best ways like only saintlupin can achieve.

Sirius Black and the "mystery girl", by Anonymous 30k, Teen, Hogwarts. the marauders try to guess who Sirius is mysteriously dating. this one is so much fun, really light-hearted and joyful and a great twist with the Lily POV.

What I Heard, by fishcommuter / @fishpilgrim 28k, Explicit, Hogwarts. definition of idiots to lovers; wolfstar acting like a couple and having to be told they're basically dating. light-hearted, sweet, and a lot of fun.

The Barista, the Burglar, and the Sofa, by orphan_account 21k, Explicit, Muggle. summary reads "the story of how Sirius tries to seduce a man by slowly furnishing his flat" and.. that totally checks out. absolutely hilarious and very sweet, and I too would fold if Sirius Black bought me a bookshelf.

Wishes on Stars, by Quietlemonhush and @theresthesnitch 19k, Explicit, AU. Remus makes a wish upon a star and gains a friend. without spoiling too much, this one is a wonderful journey - so sweet, so beautiful, so poetic, so heart-warming.

A Good League Hence, by @eyra 15k, Teen, Muggle. a country hotel in the wintertime. I could put eyra's entire bibliography here as they're incredible, but this is one of my favs. sweet christmas fluff with animals and eyra's ever-incredible writing, just perfect.

June: or how Sirius finally figured himself out, by MarigoldWritesThings / @marigold-hills 15k, Explicit, Hogwarts. does what the title suggests, and wonderfully so. I adore this version of pining yet oblivious Sirius, and the writing here is stunning. tender and heart-warming.

Just a Little Bit of Magic, by @cancerravenclaw 25k, Explicit, Muggle. music journalist Remus falls in love at first sight with model Sirius at a club. flirting ensues. one of my favourites ever - sensual, delicious, beautifully written. the kind of fic I'm grateful exists, and secretly wish I could write.

Tear My Chest Open, by @puuvillaa 22k, Explicit (check tags), Post-Hogwarts. Remus never goes to Hogwarts and meets Sirius, who is taken, in a writing class. complicated feelings ensue. this one was painful, but beautiful. a beautiful expression of care and tenderness.

nothing sweeter than my baby, by damagecontrol 7k, Explicit, Muggle. wolfstar dads on a date night at a Hozier concert, except it's mostly sex. ridiculously hot and sexy, yet sweet and fun. one of my favs if I want something nsfw.

Match Point, by @billspaid 14k, General, Muggle. wolfstar as husbands who are both tennis players, inspired by Challengers. exactly what you want from it; ridiculously fun. competitive yet sweet as they go head-to-head. a blast.

lunch poems, by aeridi0nis / @steelycunt 5k, General, Muggle. tourist Sirius bothers bookstore employee Remus into adoration. aeridi0nis and their gorgeous gorgeous writing never disappoints and this was so much fun. swotty Remus my beloved.

Three Card Monte, by @enjambament 14k, Teen, Muggle. I love heist AU's and this is one of the best ones out there. tensive and exciting the whole way through, and this wolfstar... I want what those bitches have.

The Right Reason, by softsilkentofu 11k, Explicit, Post-Hogwarts. wolfstar get married (as friends) to evade anti-werewolf laws. incredibly funny and heart-warming, with great writing, and a fun twist on fake dating.

Longer finished works (30k+)

Dunes and Waters, by MarigoldWritesThings / @marigold-hills 36k, Explicit, AU. curse breaker/convict Sirius is forced to work with ancient Egypt researcher Remus on a riddle. I loved the mythology aspects of this and the twist on canon, and it was beautifully written.

The Road to Sweetwater, by @euripidestrousers 57k, Explicit, AU. Wild West AU, with outlaw Sirius and bounty hunter Remus. I've been yelling about this one a lot recently - one of my all time favs, beautifully written and so brilliant. I'll be coming back to it for a long time.

The Spy Who Loved Him, by OptimisticDinosaur / @mostlyoptimisticdinosaur 35k, Explicit, AU. James Bond AU, with spy Sirius and 'man in the chair' Remus. intensely exciting and tensive, and so much fun. I really had a great time with this one.

an endless sky of honey, by @colgatebluemintygel 35k, Mature, AU. Greek mythology inspired; Sirius is a God, Remus is a mortal. that's all I'll say, you gotta go into this pretty blind, but it's just. incredible. toothpaste never misses and this one is really special.

through the gaps of sunlight, by grumposaur / @pancakehouse 48k, Explicit, AU. victorian era exes to lovers wolfstar with aristocrat Sirius... this one was so much fun, the yearning! the pining! the longing glances! I ate that shit up with a spoon.

The Waste Land, by afieryfox / @a-fiery-fox 51k, Mature, AU. Remus is a resistance fighter for the Order; Sirius joins the fight. brilliant wartime-wolfstar characterisation and a really tense and engaging plot, plus amazing writing. one of my favs of 2024.

love finds a way, by @littleoldrachel 60k, Mature, AU. Jurassic Park exes to lovers... who doesn't love dinos? Rachel always delivers with her writing and characterisations, and I'm obsessed with these nerdy, mopey versions of R & S.

Lie to Me (Another Secret), by Whoops_e 151k, Explicit, Hogwarts. Sirius is expelled from Beauxbatons and joins Hogwarts late. beautiful fic with a focus on mental health, with amazing dialogue and super tender wolfstar (one of my favs). the bathroom scene in ch40 is everything to me.

back when we were dinosaurs, by epicblueblanket / @kaaaaaaarf 37k, Explicit, Muggle. Remus and Sirius meet at their workplace, a museum in Toronto. paleontology!!! nerd Remus!!! sexy Sirius!! this has everything you want, just a perfect fic in every way.

Bonus recs that you've probably already read, and if you haven't you absolutely 100% should

Harry Potter and the Dog and the Wolf (series), by thewholeofthemoon ~605k overall, Mature. a retelling of canon (starting from POA) but with Peter captured and Wolfstar taking care of Harry, aka how we all wish canon had been. beautifully written and super original take on the story. it's long, but it's worth it for the wolfstar alone.

Hey, Sharpshooter, by @tortoisebore 200k, Explicit, Muggle. college, basketball player Remus meets figure skater Sirius. recently finished, and I couldn't not include it as this is in my top 5 most re-read and loved fics ever. it makes me want to pull out my teeth one by one (affectionately). they're engraved in my memory at this point.

on another ocean, by @colgatebluemintygel (WIP) ~133k, Explicit, Muggle. recently dumped Sirius drags Remus on a holiday across through Europe. if you haven't read this, please, please do. it's literally my favourite thing in the entire world. like, no competition. I would sacrifice my firstborn for this fic, and like, raze the city of Troy for this fic (my Helen).

Chimaera & The Wolf (series), by lostmy_keys / @lostmykeysie 337k, Mature, First War. Regulus and Remus work together to find the horcruxes. this one is popular, and for good reason; I devoured this, one of my favourite things I've ever read in my life. so exciting and tense, and the wolfstar is everything to me.

and if after all of these you’re still looking for more, may I humbly inform you I’m also a wolfstar writer myself—you can find my fics on my ao3.

and that's all, folks. this is just a small selection, I have read dozens more so if you want more you know where to find me. love always, Ames <3

[senipsenipsenip]

Stan shook his head, chuckling as he hung up the phone. Geez, if he hadn't put a stop to that he was pretty sure his nephew was going to overheat and explode like one of Ford's old computers. Speaking of, he should probably make sure the fire extinguisher down in the lab wasn't expired if Ford and Dipper were gonna be messing around down there the rest of the summer.

Eh, that was a tomorrow problem. Dipper was still up in the attic with Mabel unpacking for another summer in Gravity Falls. Hopefully that meant Stan had at least twenty-four hours until the nerds started blowing stuff up. Mabel and Dipper's parents had seemed surprised the twins wanted another summer with their Grunkle Stan. After all, they were teenagers now, Stan couldn't blame their parents for expecting the two of them to want to spend a summer with kids their own age in California rather than an old fart in the middle of the woods. Well, two old farts, but their parents didn't know about the second one. Besides, Ford would probably object to being called a fart. He'd probably complain that's not the proper term Stanley, if anything I'm an old flatulence.

Stan shuddered. Man, he musta been on that boat with his brother for too long.

"GRUNKLE STAAAAAAAAAN!"

Speaking of the kids. Stan grunted as he hefted himself out of his armchair and made his way up the stairs toward the attic. There hadn't been any sound of breaking glass before Mabel's call, so he figured he could take his time getting up there. He heard a loud thump, a groan from Dipper, and a loud giggle from Mabel. Okay, maybe he should walk a little faster.

"There you are!" Mabel called. Stan stood in the doorway, staring at both of his niblings sprawled out on the floor, a half-rolled poster laying between them and a hammer still clutched in Mabel's hands.

"Dipper's trying to hang up this poster, but he's still not tall enough. I tried climbing on his back, but I guess he still hasn't gotten his puberty muscles yet." Mabel scrambled up and ran to Stan, holding out the hammer in front of her. "Can you do it?"

"I do too have muscles," Dipper grumbled, sitting up. "But no one can expect to hold up the forty pounds of sequins on your sweater and your giant head!"

Mabel stuck her tongue out at her brother. Stan laughed and took the hammer from her, ruffling her hair.

"No sweat, Pumpkin. Let a real man take over." He couldn't ignore the way Mabel's smile grew wider at the nickname. It had been almost a year since Stan got his memories back, but it seemed any little reminder that he was recovering still made his family happy. It was weird, in a good way, to see people care about him so much. And if he made sure to call Mabel by her nicknames even more than her real name, well sue him.

"You could just get me a stepladder," Dipper grumbled, shuffling to his feet.

"Ugh, then I gotta walk all the way back downstairs," Stan picked up a bent nail off the floor. "I'll just get it over with now. Besides, then Mabel can whip us up some lemonade while I work."

"Ooooo can I make Mabel-ade?"

Stan shrugged. "Sure, knock yourself out."

The words were barely out of his mouth before Mabel was squealing and running down the stairs. In the silence, Stan shifted on his feet, giving Dipper an awkward sideways glance.

"I haven't...had Mabel-ade before, have I?" he whispered.

Dipper smiled. "Nah, don't worry. That's a whole new horror you get to experience first hand."

Stan chuckled. "Right." He made his way to the wall, squinting at the wooden beams to try and figure out where he could safely sink a nail in. It's not like the place was structurally unsound, but he also hadn't had any sort of building inspection in uh...ever.

"So," Dipper started. "Why'd you want Mabel out of the room?"

Stan smiled. "Perceptive. Good job, kid." He lined up the nail on the beam that had the least amount of termite holes. "You're not in trouble, just wanted to warn ya. Speaking of 'puberty muscles', your Pops called. Apparently he thinks you still haven't had The Talk yet. He told me to keep an eye on ya and that he'd explain everything when you get home."

Stan slipped the edge of the poster under the nail, resting his elbow against the poster to hold it in place while he started hammering.

"Had himself all worked up over it. 'Oh Uncle Stanford, Dipper's a teenager now, he might start to get ideas'," Stan laughed as he finished hammering. "So just, ya know, when you see him pretend I didn't tell ya about the birds and the bees already or anything. Some dads get weird about that. Apparently, he wants to be the one to tell you himself." Stan put his hands on his hips and admired his handy-work. A little crooked, but what wasn't in this place? He nodded and turned to Dipper, who was looking at him with his eyebrows drawn together.

"But...Grunkle Stan, you didn't have that talk with me," he murmured.

"Ha! There ya go," Stan grinned, punching Dipper on the shoulder. "You're gettin' better at lyin' kid."

"But I'm not lying."

"Wow, I almost believed you that time!"

"No, Grunkle Stan," Dipper grabbed Stan's hand before he could leave the room. Stan looked down at Dipper and realized the boy's face had turned from confusion to distress. "You really didn't."

Stan frowned. "Whaddya mean I didn't? Don't tell me you forgot. I still remember having that talk with my old man." He shuddered. "Not the sorta thing you forget."

Dipper gripped his arm tighter. "How well do you remember having that conversation with me?

"Kid, you were making a face like I was about to pull your teeth out the whole time and you screamed, like, a lot. You couldn't even look at the diagrams in my Why Am I Sweaty? book."

"Grunkle Stan...none of that happened."

Stan froze. "But I remember it."

Dipper gently pulled the hammer out of Stan's hand and set it on the ground before grasping his other hand. "Have you...has this happened before?"

"Has what?" Stan could feel his heart rate picking up.

"Remembering things that aren't real."

"Alright kid, whatever joke this is, it isn't funny." Stan ripped his hands from Dipper's hold, rubbing them against his pants as his eyes darted around the room. An old habit. Looking for an exit.

Dipper held up his hands as if approaching a wild animal. "Stay calm. I can get Ford, maybe he can help figure this out. Maybe the memory gun just...um..."

"Just what?" Stan could feel his voice going shrill. "That gun was supposed to take stuff out of my head, not put stuff in!"

Dipper was beginning to look as panicked as Stan felt.

"Oh God," Stan muttered. "What else did it put in there. Dipper? What else isn't real?"

"This is the first time!" Dipper began to pace. "Unless...has Great Uncle Ford said anything? On the boat, did anything like this happen? This conversation?"

Stan shook his head, his breathing starting to feel funny. "No. But apparently asking me to remember stuff isn't exactly trustworthy - "

"He would have told me," Dipper said with certainty. "Great Uncle Ford would have told me if something happened. So it didn't. So this is the first time and, and, and, we can fix it! Right?"

Stan just stared at Dipper. They shared the same frightened eyes. For Dipper's sake, Stan nodded.

"MABEL-ADE IS READY! YOU WERE OUT OF CHERRIES, SO I USED MARBLES!"

Dipper and Stan glanced towards the stairs.

"Let's get you something to drink first," Dipper muttered, walking slowly towards Stan to take his hand again. "Then we can figure everything out."

"Sure, kid," Stan whispered. He didn't let go of Dipper's hand until they reached the kitchen.

***

They decided it was best not to tell Mabel. After all, it didn't seem like the sort of problem that the scrapbook could solve, and it wasn't worth causing her distress until they knew what they were dealing with. Instead, Dipper had been tasked with distracting Mabel while Ford and Stan commiserated in the kitchen. Stan really wasn't sure how good of a job they were doing of fooling Mabel. She had given him a weird look when he gave the kids money to go get ice cream in town. He couldn't blame her. He'd even thrown in a couple quarters so she could get sprinkles.

"Didn't Dipper mention some sort of brain scanner?" Stan offered. "I don't really like the idea of you poking around in there, but would it help?"

Ford shook his head. He was pacing the kitchen, hands clasped behind his back. "No. Project Mentem is broken. And even if I were to fix it, all I could do with it is see and or encrypt your memories. There would be no way for me to discern what's true and what's false since your mind interprets all of them as true." He stopped his pacing to take another swig of his Mabel-ade. Stan liked to give Ford grief about his coffee intake, but at this rate he'd be willing to let Ford have a couple cups of Joe if it meant he'd stop ingesting whatever sour, spicy, glittery drink Mabel was trying to pass off as lemonade. He was pretty sure Ford's eyes were starting to shake.

"So, you had no memory of this talk with Dipper until your phone call with his father?"

"Right."

"And when the memory returned, did it feel like the rest of them? Think hard, was there any difference in sensation?"

Stan shook his head. "Nope. The same sort of itch I always get."

Ford hummed. "Fiddleford told me once that some of his returning memories would get scrambled. Two puzzle pieces fitting together that shouldn't. For example, he swore there was a Christmas that I spent with him and Emma Mae, but it turned out he was combining his memories of Christmas with her with our own holiday celebration in the lab. Can you think of any other conversation with Dipper you could be mixing up? Anyone else you would have been having that conversation with other than Dipper? Perhaps your mind replaced your real conversation partner with Dipper?"

Stan frowned. "You think I just go talkin' about the birds and the bees with everybody?"

"Stan, just think."

He shrugged. "The only people I talk to who would even be young enough for that would be Soos or Wendy. There's no way I woulda given that talk to a girl, and I'm pretty sure Soos's abuelita woulda ripped me a new one if I had done anything to take away Soos's 'innocence'. I have enough self-preservation not to do that."

Ford nodded. "Alright. I feel comfortable with that reasoning." He took another swig of Mabel-ade. "However, then we're dealing with the more uncomfortable reality of the memory being completely fabricated."

"If you keep drinking that stuff, you're gonna start hallucinating too."

Ford's glass slammed down onto the table. "You've been having hallucinations?"

"No. I mean, not that I know of at least. Have I been?"

"Not that I've seen."

"Alright, then no."

Ford sighed and sat down in the chair across from Stan. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table and hands clasped together.

"I don't like hearing you do that," Ford murmured.

"Doing what?"

"Doubting your mind." Ford looked up to Stan, his eyes that horrible mix of calculating and pitiful that tended to appear these days.

Stan shrugged. "Why shouldn't I? We know I'm just making stuff up now. Heck, if Mabel didn't have pictures of all the crazy stuff we got up to last summer I'd probably think that was made up too."

Ford's eyes narrowed. "Hm. That might work."

"The scrapbook?"

"No, physical stimulus." Ford stood from the table again. "You said that when you had this conversation with Dipper you used a book to show him diagrams and such, correct?"

"Yeah. Why Am I Sweaty?"

Ford blinked. "You still have that thing?"

"Ma mailed it up back when she was cleaning out the house. She said she had a whole bunch of 'old science books' she thought her 'little scientist' might want before she donated 'em. I said I'd take 'em 'cause I was hoping some of them would be able to help with the portal. Turns out it was just a bunch of textbooks I stole from the high school and that thing. Came in handy though." Stan shrugged. "Maybe."

"Where is it?"

"If it wasn't destroyed it's probably still in my office. Why?"

Ford left the room without a word, coat billowing behind him. Stan took the opportunity to dump the rest of Ford's drink down the sink. He had a hunch he was about to have the full attention of a scientist on him for awhile and he'd prefer if that scientist wasn't vibrating like a beehive.

"Here we are!" Ford announced as he entered the room. "As I was saying, a physical stimulus might -" he stopped, staring at his glass. "My drink."

Stan shrugged. "I got thirsty."

Ford squinted at him. "Hm. Try looking through the pages of this. Maybe it will help ground you."

"But, won't that just make the fake memory more real?" Stan asked, flipping through the pages. The Pituitary Gland.

"That!" Stan shouted, pointing at the diagram. "Dipper screamed at that!"

Ford frowned. "That seems unlike him."

Stan groaned, dropping the book and putting his head in his hands. "I know but...I swear I can see it Ford. It feels so real."

Stan could hear the sound of Ford getting out of his chair, and there was suddenly a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"We'll figure it out, Stanley," he said softly.

"I just don't get why my brain would choose that memory to make," Stan mumbled through his hands. "Not that I want a buncha fake memories, but I could have at least come up with something cooler. Like winning a prize fight or kissing a mermaid or something."

Ford chuckled. "Well, I - " he was interrupted by the sound of the Shack door slamming open, frantic footsteps racing toward the kitchen. Stan lifted his head from his hands, leaning back to adopt a more nonchalant position in his chair. Ford gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!" Mabel burst into the kitchen, two small paper cups in her hands. "The ice cream lady said I could have two free samples, so I got two old people flavors! They're melted, but you can drink them. Who wants Butter Pecan and who wants Rum Raisin?"

Dipper shuffled in behind her, Mabel's enthusiasm waning as she took in the tense atmosphere of the room.

"What's wrong?" she asked hesitantly. "Do you guys not like those flavors?"

Stan turned to look at Ford, who had that pinched look around his eyes again.

"Mabel," Ford said gently. "Maybe you should sit down. We have something to -"

He was interrupted by a scream. Mabel had dropped the ice cream cups on the floor, leaving two splats that Waddles wasted no time in beginning to lick up. Stan sat up quickly in his chair.

"Sweetie, what - " before he could complete his sentence, Mabel had grabbed Why Am I Sweaty? and hurled it through the open kitchen window.

"Die childhood killer, die!" she shrieked. She stood huffing for a few more moments, eyes slightly crazed, before straightening up and looking towards the floor.

"Awwww piggy cream!" she cooed, squatting down to pat Waddles' head.

Dipper was the first to break the silence. "Mabel...what was that?"

She glared at Stan from the floor. "An evil book. Is that why you wanted us out of the house? So you could trap us with that horrible book when we got back?"

"You know that book?" Ford asked.

Mabel shuddered. "Ugh, unfortunately. Why do you even wanna read that thing again? It's not like it's hard to forget. Unless..." she frowned. "Were you...showing it to Grunkle Ford? Grunkle Ford, do you not know where babies come from?"

"No, I am well acquainted with a variety of human and alien reproductive systems." This time it was Stan's turn to shudder.

Ford reddened. "Not like that!"

"Wait, Mabel, you read Why Am I Sweaty?" Dipper asked. He looked to Stan, who was beginning to look green around the gills.

"You're the one I read that to?" Stan asked hoarsely. "But that's...that's not for you! I thought I read that to Dipper, you're telling me that I read that to...What?!"

Mabel slowed her petting of Waddles, beginning to look sheepish. "Well...you didn't know it was me. You thought I was Dipper."

Stan's mouth hung open. "Are you telling me my brain was swiss cheese before the memory gun?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh," Dipper groaned, slapping his hand against his head. "That was during the whole carpet thing wasn't it."

Mabel nodded.

"Carpet thing?" Ford asked.

"Yeah," Mabel began to scritch under Waddles' chin. "That carpet from your secret room. It made everybody switch bodies. I was Dipper for awhile and he was me. Soos was Waddles and Waddles was Soos!" Mabel grinned, holding up Waddles to stand on two legs. "Just look at this adorable little former handyman!"

"I was also Waddles," Dipper admitted. "A lot of people were a lot of people. McGucket tried to eat Soos."

Ford frowned. "Soos as Waddles?"

Dipper and Mabel shared a look.

"Never mind all that," Mabel offered, smiling tightly. "Let's talk about why Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford were talking about puberty. Do old people do it twice or something?"

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. "We weren't talking about puberty, we were talking about a memory Stanley had of discussing puberty with Dipper. Which Dipper thought wasn't real. Now we know why."

Stan raised his hand. "I would now like to pivot the discussion to Ford not leaving his experiments lying around where small children can find them."

"Wait!" Mabel gasped. "Does this mean that Dipper hasn't had the talk yet?" She leapt to her feet. "Because Mom gave me the girl one when we got home last summer! Does this mean I know the girl one and the boy one and Dipper knows none of them?"

Dipper sighed. "Mabel, I've seen nature documentaries."

Mabel whooped. "I know more about something than Dipper! Like, an actual science thing!"

"Mabel, I still know about - "

"Oh yeah?" Mabel reached into her skirt pocket. "Then what's this then?" With a wicked grin she slapped a bright pink wrapper covered in stars onto the kitchen table. Stan slapped his hands over his eyes. Ford's face went slack. Dipper grimaced.

"Mabel...I share a bathroom with you, I know what a pad is."

Ford cleared his throat. "They certainly," he coughed. "They certainly have changed a lot in the past thirty years."

Mabel frowned. "Were the old ones in black and white?"

Stan groaned. "Can we skip ahead to the part where Sixer burns that carpet and we all celebrate that I'm not actually losing my mind?"

Mabel wrapped her arms around Stan, pulling him into a big hug. "Of course! I'll go grab the lighter fluid!" And with that she fled from the room, snatching the pad off the table as she went. Stan lifted his head from his hands and the three Pines men stared at each other awkwardly.

"Well," Ford clapped his hand back on Stan's shoulder. "Another mystery solved."

Dipper nodded. "Sorry to freak you guys out like that. I don't know how I didn't think about the whole 'body swap' thing earlier."

Stan hefted himself up from the table. "No sweat, kid. Er." The three of them turned to the window where Gompers could be seen chomping away at the pages of Why Am I Sweaty?

They turned to each other. A silent agreement was made. Stan grabbed the popsicles out of the freezer and they began to file out of the kitchen, ready to meet Mabel at the fire pit to send that carpet back to Hell where it belonged. If there was anything they'd learned from last summer, it was that some knowledge was best left hidden.

AN: Sequel to this and this! I may or may not manage to get another one done by the end of Stanuary tomorrow (probably not), but either way, thanks for joining me!

[choccy-milky]

So I've been re-reading "The Raven and the Snake" and I love Clora and Seb together. Unfortunately, I am not much of an artist - unless you count stick figures wearing top hats as art - but it has inspired me to get back into writing. So I guess my ask is, if I wrote something inspired by Clora/Seb, would you be okay if I posted it?

OMG YES YES OF COURSE!! 😭😭🧎‍♀️& gonna highjack this to say @magic-in-onyx is actually working on an older seb/clora curse-breaker story rn, and i consider it canon and got so inspired i drew a 5 page comic based on it that ill post along with it when its ready!!

heres one of my fav wip pages from it so far that i had to share BAHAH....bc i love angy protective seb what can i say💖....(her ao3 is mageonx go sub to her shes an amazing writer and altho the seb/clora story isnt out yet, she also has an amazing wip story called pearls of golden about MC saving a merman garreth from a poacher camp) ANYWAY ALL THAT TO SAY, YES ANYONE CAN WRITE ABOUT SEB AND CLORA/ANYTHING INSPIRED BY SEB AND CLORA AND ID LOVE TO READ IT BC IM SEB AND CLORAS #1 FAN AND WOULD LOVE TO SEE IT

[halsinsnaturepocket]

Yearning for a Taste

Summary: Halsin is in his tent minding his own business, trying to read a book, when he hears a couple of voices meeting up outside of his tent. It's Tav allowing Astarion to feed on her, but it becomes…more, as the two of them seem to be entangled in a passionate affair.

Halsin, obviously, hears the whole thing and is trying to be Normal about it.

CW: MDNI, explicit behavior, Voyeurism, finger-fucking, astarion feeding on Tav, teasing, edging

Wordcount: ~ 3k

Notes: I'm aware Halsin’s tent doesn't actually shut and it's like…an open-faced lean-to-style deal, but for the good of the smut, we're going to pretend his tent has flaps on it that he can pull down to give himself privacy.

As far as actual timing of the story, I'm picturing this early act 2, before finding Thaniel, and before going to moonrise.

an extra special thanks to @mothermoth92 for beta reading and letting me throw ideas around

read it on Ao3!

Halsin was lying in his tent, using a bedroll to prop himself up as he read one of the books Tav had managed to find during her travels. A book on mindflayer anatomy she had gotten from Omeluum – it was a fascinating read, and it gave him some further insights into the threat they were facing. His attention was so focused he almost didn’t hear the sounds of two people meeting up near his tent. Unfortunately for him, his hearing was rather keen, and the secluded clearing he had settled in at camp blocked out most of the noises from the adventurers he was traveling with, but not the sounds of anyone in the clearing.

“Gods you're such a little freak,” he heard one voice purr. “You're so good to me, sitting in my lap, letting me feed on you.” The praise was followed by the sound of lips smacking against skin followed by a soft moan – he would recognize those voices anywhere. 

“You taste like wine.”

“Is that a bad thing?” That was definitely Tav. Her soft melodic voice was unmistakable. 

“Not in the slightest.”

“Can you get drunk off of my blood?” She giggled.

“We can certainly find out together.”

Ah, a drunken meetup, Halsin mused. It reminded him of a more frivolous time in his youth. Hopefully Tav had the sense to drink plenty of water if she was drunk and being drunk from. 

“Did you want more, darling?” Astarion’s voice was silken, lined with hazy lust. “Or did you just want to be my little snack for the evening?”

“You’re sure you saw Halsin go towards the north of camp?” 

“Almost positive. There’s no light on in his tent either, he’s probably off meditating or whatever it is he gets up to.”

They were quiet for a moment. It was true, he had wandered to the north of camp earlier in the evening, but when he had seen Karlach sneaking Dammon into the abandoned house at the border of  their camp, he had returned to his tent to give them privacy. Besides, he had his research to attend to now that they were in the thick of the shadow curse, and quite honestly he was exhausted from trying to find a way through to Thaniel.

“I see you’re not wearing any underwear tonight…” Astarion murmured. 

Halsin squirmed against his bedroll, trying to ignore the sounds coming from just outside. Of all the people to have a liaison behind his tent…did it have to be these two? From the sounds of it, Astarion was drinking from her neck, his hands likely snaking beneath her clothes, pleasuring her…

“Nnnnf…Don't stop…” Her voice was barely a whisper, a near-silent plea. Not silent enough.

Halsin was desperately trying not to listen in. He had been pent up for so long, and the two of them had each tried a few times to bed him; it had taken everything in him not to give in. He feared indulging would make his mind wander far too much, and before he knew it, he would be seeking them out every night for further indulgences. He was more than glad they sought company with each other, but did it need to be right outside of his tent? 

There was a pause in their sounds, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully it wouldn’t last long. Hopefully he would just bite her and they would sneak off to one of their tents.

His hopes were futile as he heard a soft gasp escape from Tav. “Astarion—gods that feels so good.” 

“Breathe a bit deeper for me darling – that's it.” He heard Astarion coax. “Good girl, that's my good little treat. You're so nice and wet for me…” 

Halsin turned on his side, his back towards the sounds, trying to ignore the two of them, but it proved…difficult. Her stifled moans were stirring emotions he had been trying to suppress for far too long. Both Tav and Astarion had long since held his attention – maybe it was just the kindred feeling of being around two other elves, or maybe it was more. He didn't want to think about it. He had to stay focused on his goals. The shadow curse lurked right outside the edge of their camp. He couldn't entertain such frivolous thoughts of companionship—

A loud moan interrupted his thoughts. 

“Bite me again, Astarion.” 

“With pleasure.” He heard him murmur, followed by the sound of Tav hissing from the sting of being bit, only to be chased by another soft moan. 

“Gods, you taste so sweet when you're on the edge…come for me, darling. Come while I drain you dry.”

Halsin froze, recalling the sensation of Astarion’s fangs sinking into his own neck…it must feel amazing to be on the very edge of pure ecstasy and feel yourself shaking with the cold chill of life being drained—no. He shook his head as if to rattle the thoughts away. He turned his attention back to his book. 

Many curious scholars have noted the illithid's disdain for arcane magic— “aahh! Astarion!” —yet do not understand the reasons behind it. In traditional illithid circles— “right there!”

Yes, quite interesting, to find that illithids were weak to arcane magic. Many curious scholars— “fuck!” 

He had noted the tadpole he studied back in the grove had reacted to arcane magic when used on it— do not understand— He had read this same sentence at least four times now. 

He couldn’t avoid it any longer. His mind was wandering. The familiar sensation of arousal gripped at his senses as he felt his heartbeat quicken and his underwear grow tighter. If they kept this up for much longer he’d have to find a way to relieve the tension himself. It was difficult to control his wildshape when he was so…pent up. 

“Oh gods, fuck , Astarion!” He heard Tav cry. They weren't even trying to be quiet anymore. 

“Shhh… my love, you'll wake up the whole camp at this rate,” he said, a twinge of teasing laced with lust spilled from his voice. 

Halsin had always wondered what sounds Tav would make. He'd heard her laugh, cry…her sneeze, even. He savored the sound of her moving, of her humming to herself. Her battlecry, her happiness…they were all so beautiful. But the sounds of her ecstasy…he didn't realize they could sound so sweet. 

“Don't make me gag you, darling.” He heard her moans become muffled, as though a hand had come to cover her mouth…likely exactly what was happening. 

Halsin grit his teeth, picturing the image of Tav tied up his vines, a thin cloth gagging her. Then the idea of her entwined in the pale elf, one hand over her mouth while the other was plunging himself into her while a trickle of blood from his fangs ran down her neck…He couldn't help himself. A groan escaped from him like a growl from a hungry wolf. He quietly clapped a hand over his mouth, despite the sound coming from deep within his throat. Covering his mouth would do nothing. 

The sounds stopped. Utter silence. The silent eeriness from the shadow lands was not helping. 

“Shit—Astarion you said he wandered off to the north of camp, is Halsin IN HIS TENT?”  He heard Tav whisper angrily. They had heard him. Hopefully this would pass, and it would never be brought up again. 

“I—ugh, I don't know, Tav. I thought I saw him leave his tent. What does it matter anyway?…I'm sure he’s enjoying the show. If he was so inclined, he could join. Though, perhaps he’s deep in a trance.”

“Gods…damned it, Astarion—” 

“Should I stop?” 

“I–I’m so close…” she moaned. “Maybe he’s not…”

“Shall I invite the druid to join us?” He teased. “I’ve seen how you look at him. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t love to have him fucking you senseless.” 

“Astarion— hush… if he is in there I don’t…” she trailed off with another light groan. 

Halsin decided to risk himself—he moved as quietly as he could, crawling on all fours, inching his face closer to the opening in his tent to see if he could glimpse at the two of them. He knew he would regret it, he knew it might not be a good idea, they could easily find him out…there was the risk of him transforming if he got too excited. It felt wrong but if they were going to continue despite thinking he might be there…

“Well we better put on a show for him then, shouldn’t we?” 

Halsin managed to peek out of his tent…he watched Astarion silence Tav with a kiss. She was sitting up against him, her back against his chest. Her shirt was still on, but it was loose, her collar unlaced and pulled aside to allow access to her neck, which was smattered with a couple of oozing bite marks. Her head lolled on his shoulder as she leaned onto him. Astarion was sitting on a raised section of rock that jutted up from the ground, the staggered granite created just the right spot for him to sit upright against, his knees draped over the edge and feet flat on the ground. As far as Halsin could tell, he was still fully clothed, Tav’s bare legs draped over his knees, her weight fully resting against him. Her skirt was hiked all the way up to her waist, held back only by Astarion’s wrist as he splayed her wide open across his lap. He swore his heart was beating loud enough for them to hear it. Would it be wrong for him to give himself some relief? 

He abandoned all sense of guilt as he watched Astarion’s slender fingers disappearing into Tav’s wet, squelching folds. Fingers he wished were inside of him, flesh he wished he was sinking himself into. He wasn’t sure which he wanted more – he wanted both. Halsin was grateful the only piece of clothing he had to struggle with was his underwear, which came off easily enough. He brought himself to his knees and slid them down, leaning carefully against one of the sturdy posts holding his tent up. He cupped his throbbing cock gently and gave it a few light strokes. 

One of Tav’s hands grasped desperately at Astarion’s legs as she thrust into his hand motions, matching his pace, her other hand reached behind her to grab onto his hair while he closed his eyes and drank from her neck again. His expression was peaceful, satisfied, his long lashes contrasting against his ivory skin. Tav’s movements were hypnotic, her body moved like gentle waves at sea as she undulated with his hand movements. Astarion’s free hand moved from her neck and slid over the top of her shirt through the unlaced collar of her camp shirt, Halsin could see his hand moving over her breast beneath the shirt. He grit his teeth as he held back another groan. 

Halsin set a steady pace as he began to stroke himself to the sight of them. He wanted to know what Tav liked…was Astarion just rubbing her nipples? Pinching them? He wanted to see them for himself…he wanted to taste her soft buds and suck them gently between his teeth. He wanted to feel them hardening at his touch as she moaned softly in his ear. He wanted to see what shape nature had sculpted beneath those clothes, to see if her nipples were as pink and pretty as her lips. 

Astarion gently kissed Tav's neck, licking at the wounds he had given her, not letting a drop of her blood go to waste. 

“I can feel you clamping around me, are you going to be good and come for me again? Show that druid what he’s missing if he would just give you a chance…”

Halsin felt the raging beast within him surge at his consciousness and he had to bite his lip to suppress a growl. He wanted Tav so badly, if only she knew how many times he’d had to resist the urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off into a secluded glen and claim her body with his. Every fiber of his being itched to feel her soft skin grow sweaty and warm at his touch and to feel her writhing with pleasure beneath him. All he’d wanted since the moment he joined their camp was to have her. He couldn’t indulge…he was so close to his goals. He knew he was often obsessive, he didn’t want to lose focus and she would be his downfall but he craved her so desperately—

“I’m going to—yes…yes…!” She was breathless, her movements becoming erratic as Astarion’s hand moved faster, he adjusted his arm and reached further, diving in deeper.

Halsin matched his pace with theirs, his breath growing ragged. He reached around into one of his bags for some lubricating oils…no sense in denying himself at this point. 

“I bet his cock is nice and big... I’d love to watch him pounding into you, darling. Just picture it…him bending you over and fucking you into oblivion…”

He quietly uncorked the bottle and poured the oil over his hands and let out a relieved sigh as he stroked himself faster…faster…the oils soothing and warming his skin as his hand slid over himself. 

“And what would you be doing?” She said, her voice sounded like she was pleading.

He removed his hand from the tent post and sat back, closing his eyes as he sat in a more relaxed position so he could just focus on his pleasure. He shouldn’t continue to watch, but he could listen…he was so godsdamned close…

“Watching, of course. Unless he wants me on top of him…” 

Halsin let a gasp out as quietly as he could as he leaned himself back onto his other arm…gods he would give anything, anything, for that right now. 

Tav moaned again, louder this time, the sound came from deep in her chest. Her scent was heavier in the air. Halsin’s breathing became shakier as the smell of their combined arousal wafted into his tent. His cock was starting to leak at the thought of being sandwiched between the two of them, rutting into Tav while Astarion was buried deep inside of him. Or better still, being balls-deep in Astarion while he fucked Tav, his thrusts moving both of them—

“Oooh someone loves the idea of that…” Astarion crooned as he heard the unmistakable sounds of Tav reaching the apex of her pleasure, just as Halsin was starting to reach his. He yearned to see her skin flush and her body shaking as she lost control. Honestly he should punish them both for teasing him, for coming into his territory, for continuing to pleasure each other even knowing he might be a witness…

“It’s too much...Astarion…” She gasped. “It feels so good – ah! Fuck…fuck! Astarion!” Another series of loud moans…and then she nearly shrieked: “Fuck me…oh gods… Halsin!”

His orgasm hit him like a tidal wave at the sound of his name escaping from Tav’s lips. He doubled over on his knees, shaking uncontrollably; he had to bite down on his hand to keep from crying out as a hot stream of liquid pleasure escaped from his body, his abdomen twitching, his toes curling, gods damned it all, he wanted them. Badly. Halsin laid down on his back and stared at the ceiling of his tent, panting, spent…and yet still barely feeling satisfied, his cock twitched with his pulse as his heart continued to drum in his chest.

“Careful, darling, don’t stand too fast. What little blood you have left might not be in your legs right now.” Astarion crooned. They were silent for a moment until he heard a soft sucking noise and a pop…like Astarion had sucked on his fingers and pulled them out of his mouth dramatically. 

“You are delicious, my dear.” A pause. “Would you like a taste?”

Silvanus save him. He didn’t need to see them to know Tav was sucking on the fingers that had just been buried deep inside of her…sucking them…licking them…he couldn’t take much more of this. He could clearly imagine her lips caressing his cock, barely fitting her mouth around him...

“You’re teasing me…cheeky pet.” Astarion tutted.

“Aww, does the sad little vampire want more? I’ve already given you so much… you’ll have to ask nicely if you want anything else.” She said in a pouty voice he’d never heard her use before. “I should punish you for teasing me with my little crush on Halsin…”

Halsin knew she had some sort of affection for him…the way her cheeks would turn pink every time he spoke to her drove him mad, but to actually hear it aloud was damn near torturous. His cock twitched, the spark within him reigniting already. He was still so sensitive but nonetheless, he tried to satisfy himself again. He gently gripped his length and stroked slowly, taking long, deep breaths in as he tried to keep himself quiet.

“Please darling, there’s nothing little about your crush–ah!” Halsin could only assume she had managed to get into Astarion’s trousers, or had done something to tease him further like grabbing him, stroking his growing bulge through his tight little leather pants, the ones that hugged his ass just right. 

“Tav…how likely is it that Halsin is in there?” He groaned. “If he’s not in there…what's to say you and I have a little fun on his bedroll?” 

Halsin froze. He should put a stop to this. He should. What would be more embarrassing…them coming into his tent to see him pleasuring himself to them or him walking out of his tent right now? Perhaps they were joking. Surely they wouldn’t take it this far. Halsin quickly searched around for his underwear. He couldn’t find them, not without making noise. An invisibility potion, maybe…a scroll…anything. He wasn’t sure if he was more panicked or more angry that they would put him in this position. 

“Astarion… Gods, you’re so naughty.” She giggled. “We could get caught if he comes back…”

He contemplated turning into some manner of small creature and sneaking away…but alas he had used too much of his magic today. There was no way he could voluntarily focus on shifting right now, either. It didn't necessarily need to be embarassing... maybe he should embrace the moment. Maybe he deserved a night of passion, just one night wouldn't ruin him.

“We could get caught out here, too.”

“We could already be caught.” 

He heard footsteps approaching and the sound of Tav giggling and their lips smacking together growing closer. 

Halsin would just have to embrace the moment as it unfolded.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There will be a part two, as soon as I decide how I want the next part to play out. but I pinky promise there will be one!!!!! I've already started writing it!!!

There is a possibility of me writing two endings. tbh, the direction I go might depend on what feedback I get, so let me know what you'd like to see happen :3

[fluffypotatey]

sharpwolf fic go brrrrrrr

“There are some”— Eurymachus eyes the group of maids intently. Somewhere in there stood Melantho, probably giggling or gossiping about whatever the maids did in their spare time— “advantages in seeking alternatives while biding the time.” Antinous scoffed. “You mean lucky.” You can call it that.” A maid on the far left side of the group chanced a glance over to where Antinous and Eurymachus sat. Whatever was exchanged between her and his friend, Antinous didn’t care to read, and the woman’s eyes left their area quickly after.  “You should try it. Maybe that will help ease your frustration.” Antinous laughed, pushing Eurymachus’s head down. The thought of slamming it on the table, the harsh smack of wood and skull, entered his mind, but Antinous was a friend of good humor. Maybe if it was another suitor. He cares for their voices even less.  “You forget me, friend. My tastes cannot be sated so easily.” “Ah of course, my mistake.” Eurymachus fixed his hair, his feet now just a few inches further than where they were. “You need a tramp of higher status, and we will all suffer for it.” “I am only a man of fine tastes.”

i cannot WAIT until both of them die :D

[glucosegaurdian]

I want this twink obliterated.

[reddamselette]

valgrace except they steal eachother’s clothes all the time. it started off as something small. jason didnt bring a jacket so leo offered his because he always runs hot, he never asked for it back so jason kept it. leo scorched his camp shirt during a bad run in with the forge and jason came to the rescue with his own shirt, he was wearing an tank top underneath and leo walked around with the dark blue custom camp shirt made for the cabin of zeus.

then it became something bigger. they’d swap hoodies, pajama pants, everything possible until their closets were split between half and half.

after leo died, all jason could wear was his clothes. he wanted to keep leo close, to never forget how he smelled of birch wood and kindling ash. leo’s clothes were thin so jason almost always wore the first jacket that was given to him even in 100 degree weather.

when jason died, leo wore both. his clothes were covered in jason’s scent and he would switch them out for jason’s clothes when it eventually washed and faded away. it was the last things he had from jason and the night that he couldn’t smell him on the blue camp shirt, leo sobbed until his throat was hoarse and his eyes were sore.