#if i make it a reader insert...

[gogogodzilla]

day 29, somnophilia

mike schmidt x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, free use (kinda), semi-established relationship, neighbor!reader, part 2, part 3 kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You and Mike came to a relatively simple agreement. You’d watch Abby while he worked nights and he’d repay you by fucking your brains out. He was hot and good in bed, plus Abby spent most of her time in her room. So, you didn’t mind your arrangement much. 

That was until Mike got so busy you hardly saw him enough to receive your payment.

“You know,” you said as you took a seat at your usual spot on his couch, “you still owe me from last week.” 

He sighed and leaned over you, placing a hand on each side of the back cushion, trapping you. 

He pressed a kiss to your lips, “I know. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.” 

You grinned, “I’ll leave the light on for you.” 

Mike surprised you that night when he came home late that night, and you had curled yourself up in his bed, fast asleep. You awoke with Mike pressing heated kisses along your neck and his hand between your thighs. He pressed his free hand against your mouth, muffling the desperate moans that fled past your lips. 

You’d stay tangled between his sheets until the early morning when you’d sneak back across the street to your own home. Ever since that night, you’d tell him that if you wanted him to wake you up like that. The light was on more often than not. 

When he started working nights, things became slightly more complicated. By the time he got back in the morning, it was time to wake Abby up for school and you had to get ready for the day. That was until you had the day off and an idea struck you. 

You were about to head out the door before you turned to Mike, “Leave the light on for me?” 

His eyebrows furrowed for a split second before the corners of his mouth quirked up. “Yeah, of course,” he nodded and you were out the door, grinning. 

You waited a few hours, performing menial tasks around your home before you decided it was time to put your plan into action. Abby was off to school and Mike was asleep soundly in his bed, headphones placed securely on his ears and nature sounds drifting out of them. You slowly crept further into Mike’s room and began to set up the camcorder at the foot of his bed, flinching at the slightest creak of the tripod. 

You knew Mike wouldn’t wake up, but it was more exciting if you made yourself believe there was a chance. You pressed record and giddiness filled you. You made a show of stripping for the camera. You slowly slid off your sweatpants and underwear in one swoop. 

You picked up the pair of jeans he had on the floor and held them up to the camera, doing your best game show girl impression. You picked up your underwear and tucked them in the front pocket, patting it in before setting them at the foot of his bed. Your shirt was the next to go. You faced the camera as you slowly tugged your shirt over your head, revealing your bare chest underneath. 

You trailed your fingers up your torso and circled your fingers around your nipples, causing them to harden under your touch. You leaned your head back to give him a full view of your chest as you pinched one of your nipples between your fingers, gasping slightly. 

You turned and sauntered to his side of the bed where he was sleeping soundly. You ran your fingers gently over his forehead, brushing his hair out of the way, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

He made your job easier by wearing a black t-shirt and briefs and by always sleeping on his back. You threw the blankets covering his form to the side and kneeled beside the bed. Your hands wandered over his thighs before palming him through his briefs. 

You crawled into bed next to him and your hands drifted past the waistband of his briefs. You stroked him, slowly, before freeing his cock from its confines. You pulled his briefs down and over his balls, just enough for you to access everything freely.

You threw a leg over his thigh and your hand wrapped around his cock once again. He had begun to harden in your grasp but you couldn’t quite get enough friction. You slid down his body and turned so the camera could get a clear view of what you were about to do. 

You held him in your hand and swiped your tongue across the head of his cock. You groaned at the taste of him and enveloped your lips fully around him. You swirled your tongue around the pink-hued tip and Mike’s breath caught slightly but he didn’t stir. 

You steadily bobbed your head, gradually taking more of him with every stroke. One hand stroked what you couldn’t reach while the other gently fondled his balls. You pressed your tongue against the underside of his shaft, and Mike’s cock twitched in your mouth. 

You pulled away and licked your lips when the ache between your thighs became too great. You carefully straddled his lap and ground against his cock, spreading your slick. A soft moan left you as the tip hit your clit just right. 

You brought your hand down to where your bodies met and aligned him with your entrance. The whine that escaped you as you lowered yourself onto him was loud and you slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle it. 

You missed his hands roaming your body as you rode him, but there was something so pleasurable about seeing the minute changes in his demeanor as you used him. You dipped down to press open-mouthed kisses against the column of his neck. You clenched at the thought of covering him with hickeys to find later. You leaned down and explored his chest with your lips and tongue. 

You smiled as small red marks covered his neck and chest. You were confident that they’d blossom into the purple marks you desired once he awoke. You began to rock your hips faster against him as one hand drifted down to circle your clit. You used your free hand to knead your breast, pinching and dragging your fingertip across the bud of your nipple. Your legs were beginning to burn and tremble but the familiar heat pooling in your belly spurred you on. 

You leaned forward, and the new angle had you reaching your peak in no time. You spasmed around him as you continued to jut your hips against him, riding out your high. A satisfied moan escaped you as you felt Mike twitch within you and he filled you with his cum. 

You panted softly as you slid off of him. You kissed his lips softly before fixing his briefs and covering him back up. You stopped the recording and quickly got dressed. You tucked the camcorder and tripod under your arm before leaving Mike’s home. In a few hours, you’d bring him the lunch you made him, tucking the VHS tape inside the paper bag. 

You’d hold the door for him, and walk him out to his car, smiling the entire time. 

“I hope you enjoy your lunch,” you’d mention. He’d grin, a knowing glint in his eyes. You’d leave the light on for him for when he came home.

[sunrotdropbrain]

Source under cut

[yanderedrabbles]

What happens when the Yandere state trooper finds out y/n is pregnant?

(❤️)

Oops, looks like you're stuck with him.

Yandere Cop - Baby Trapped

Yandere! State Trooper might be an asshole, but he's not an idiot. You've been avoiding him.

Yandere! State Trooper who puts an alert out on your plates and is the first one pulling up when they get called in. Who plans to draw this out for as long as possible and think of your pretty lips on his cock the whole goddamn time.

Yandere! State Trooper who sees you flinch when he shows up at your window. Who can't hide his annoyance when you keep avoiding his eyes. Who raps his baton on your car door and snarls at you to look at him when he's talking to you.

Yandere! State Trooper who asks you to kindly step out of the vehicle and when you do, he's grabbing hold of your upper arms, digging his fingers into the flesh and pressing you between him and the car.

Yandere! State Trooper who wedges his knee between your thighs and scraps it across your clothed cunt.

"Why're you avoiding me, hmm?"

Yandere! State Trooper who watches you go pale, trying to shrink into yourself like that will somehow make him go away. You claim it's nothing, you just haven't been out much.

Yandere! State Trooper who shakes you like a ragdoll and snaps that you're the shittiest liar he's ever met. And you spill your secret in a stuttering rush of words.

You've missed your period.

Yandere! State Trooper who carefully presses his hand against your lower belly, his mind going a mile a minute. There aren't any other men in your life, he's made sure of that. So it's his, without a doubt.

Yandere! State Trooper who smiles slow and lazy. Do you have any idea how expensive kids are? Were you really going to manage with a job, a single income and kids?

Yandere! State Trooper who finally has you in a position where you can't possibly say no to him.

Yandere! State Trooper who knows more than anyone how tightly binding the law can be. And when you're his wife...well, the law has and always will be on his side.

"Tell you what dollface, why don't you come over and we can pick out your ring together?"

[lycheeloving]

Why is there almost no Lex Luthor content... I saw him in Young Justice and immediately got inspired lol

Anyways, here's a yandere!Lex Luthor fic, with Superman and Batman trying to rescue you, but do they have good intentions? 👀 (gender neutral reader ofc)

Warnings for mind controlling/altering devices & substances ✌️ and general yandere stuff ofc

You're not the biggest fan of big events with many people, but with Lex at your side, you find you don't really mind anything, even the gala you're currently at.

Holding his hand, you happily watch him as he talks to rich people you couldn't care less about, when he turns to look at you.

You perk up as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You try to lean into it, but he pulls away too fast for your liking. At least you catch a whiff of his scent, he always smells so good...

"Be a doll and get yourself a drink at the bar, would you?"

Ah.

That's code for "we're going to talk about confidential business stuff". Sure. You can spend some time away from him, even if it makes you feel a bit uncomfortable. You'll do it for him!

You silently nod, reluctantly let go of his hand and start making your way across the room towards the bar.

As you're leaving, you make out the word "Justice League". They have been giving him trouble recently, is that what their conversation is about? You can never remember what exactly their issue is with him... He's just a CEO!

Unfortunately the bar is out of earshot, so you can't keep listening, which is exactly why he sent you away in the first place, but you sit on a stool from which you can still easily see him.

He always says that you shouldn't worry your pretty little head about his boring business stuff, so you don't, but he always looks so good when talking about it! So serious and in charge...

After ordering a fun looking cocktail you sigh, already missing him.

You didn't use to like alcohol, but everything tastes better now that you know him, so you indulge in the occasional drink.

You catch yourself staring at Lex. Maybe you shouldn't look at him this much? What if people think he's weird for dating someone who's this obsessed with him? You don't want that for him, he has so much to deal with already... Swishing your drink around, you try to tear your eyes away from him.

You sigh again.

Somebody slides onto the stool next to you and orders a fancy sounding drink. He turns to you.

"Are you ok? I could hear you sighing from across the room."

"I'm fine... I just miss my boyfriend." You hold back another sigh and absentmindedly trace the rim of your glass.

"Oh, so you came here alone?"

"No, he's over there." You subtly point at him. "He's just talking about some important business stuff without me right now."

"Lex Luthor?" He pulls a face as you nod.

"So you're..." He says your name. Apparently people know you! Huh. You hadn't realized.

"I'm Bruce Wayne, by the way."

Now that he mentions it, you don't know how you didn't notice it before. He is quite famous. You probably should have recognized him, but you were too distracted by how dreamy Lex looks...

"What are you doing with him? I mean, he's not known for being fun. Or kind."

He sounds like he's joking, but you don't think it's funny. Your face turns serious.

"You must not know him very well, then."

He holds up his hands in defense. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you or anything. Or him, I guess..." He trails off.

Changing the topic with a grin, he says: "I'm guessing that means I don't have a chance with you?"

You shake your head. He can't be serious.

"...What if I shave my head? Would you consider leaving Luthor for me if I was bald?"

You crack a little smile at that. But your answer remains the same.

"No, I wouldn't leave my Lexie for anyone."

His eyes widen. "Oh, wow, so your relationship is pretty serious, then?"

Why would he even ask that?

"Of course it's serious, I love him!"

He pauses for a moment, seemingly contemplating something.

"...and does he love you?"

You gently touch the spot where Lex last pressed a kiss to your face and look in his direction, only to find he's already looking right back at you. You smile.

"He does." You're sure of it.

Bruce gets up from his chair as Lex starts making his way towards you. "Well, it's been fun, but I'm going to go find someone I actually have a chance with." And avoid a confrontation with Lex.

He winks at you. "Bye!"

You don't say anything back as he leaves, because you're too busy looking at Lex, who's now standing right in front of you. He puts his hands on the bar behind you, caging you in with his arms.

"What did Wayne want from you?"

"Oh, I don't know, nothing important." Already distracted, you reach up to play with his tie.

He raises an eyebrow. "Were you not paying attention to him? Good. Can't have you leaving me for him."

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, even though you know he's just teasing you.

You would never! He smirks as if he can read your mind.

"Well, I have some more business to attend to. I have informed our driver that he is to take you home whenever you wish, while I will be returning to the office."

You pout at him. "I know your work is important, but please don't take too long. I'll miss you..."

He smirks. "I know, darling. I will hurry back to you."

The kiss he presses to your lips is eagerly reciprocated by you, before he gently pulls your hand away from his tie and goes back to the people he was talking to earlier, vanishing through the door.

No reason to stay here now that he's gone, right? You finish your drink and leave the building, but as you turn to look for your driver, you bump into someone.

You go to apologize, but the other guy is faster.

"Sorry! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

His eyes widen and he straightens his glasses.

"Wait! You're Lex Luthors significant other, right?"

You nod with a smile. How lovely that this is what people know you as!

"I'm Clark Kent, with the Daily Planet. I've been meaning to talk to you about-"

Your smile vanishes. "No comment."

Lex told you that no matter what you say, reporters twist it in a way that makes you look bad, and that it's best not to engage.

He seems a bit disappointed at your quick response. "That's fair. But off the record, can I just ask how you met him? As far as I know, you weren't a part of these circles before you showed up on his arm one day."

"Off record?"

He nods.

You think you can trust him, at least with some of it.

"We met at my workplace. I used to be a barista."

Not knowing how to make it sound nice, you leave out the part where you thought he was rude to your coworker and reprimanded him, and how you only grudgingly agreed to go on a date with him because he cornered you after work and threatened to get your coworker fired if you refused.

But it was all a big misunderstanding! During that first date you realized that you really like him and that he's a really good guy!

He just didn't know how else you'd agree to go out with him after you were so angry at the beginning!

"So it was love at first sight?" Kent questions.

"Not first sight, maybe, but I knew he was the one during our first date. It just... felt so right."

Lex, of course, did know at first sight, but he's always been smarter than you, so it's not a surprise that he caught on more quickly.

"Well, thanks for the conversation. I'm going to find someone I can actually interview now, so my boss doesn't get too mad at me. Bye!"

He stumbles towards the building, bumping into someone else. What a clumsy guy! You catch him looking at you again before he enters through the door.

You finally make your way to the driver and get into the limo, driving home in silence.

Time for a lonely night without Lex...

That way you'll definitely wake up when he returns, because he refuses to sleep on your side. He'll have to get you out of the way somehow, probably pick you up...

After you get home and get ready for bed, you put on one of his shirts and go to sleep on his side of the bed.

Burying your face in his pillow where his scent is the strongest, you fall asleep.

A noise from the direction of Lex's home office wakes you up.

You're still on his side of the bed. Did he come home and keep working? Seriously? Maybe he'll let you sit in his lap while he finishes whatever he's doing...

Quietly walking towards his room, you hear low voices. Is Lex on a call? In the middle of the night?

As you make it to the entrance, you can finally make out words. It's not Lex.

"-only let you come because you said you could be stealthy. If I knew you'd be this loud, I would have come here alone."

You sneak a look around the door. Is that Batman? And-

"This is my city, and I know Luthor better than anyone, that's why I came along. Besides, I didn't make that much noise!"

-Superman!

You take a step back. Where is the button that alarms security again...? Next to the bed, right? You start making your way back to the bedroom, but...

"We have company."

You're almost at the button, try to start running towards it, but Superman is in front of you before you can blink. Shit.

"Sorry, can't let you inform anyone that we're here, we still haven't gotten everything we came for!"

He actually looks apologetic. What is wrong with him? Breaking into your home, but pretending to feel bad about it?

He holds onto both of your arms and leads you back into the office, where Batman is tinkering with Lex's computer. What could they be looking for?

"Well, if you're here already, we might as well ask you directly. What do you know about Luthor's mind-controlling technology?" Batman asks you.

Mind-controlling? What would Lex need that for?

"I- I think you've got the wrong person. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"People who usually would never cooperate with Luthor have started working for him, so I got suspicious. After some research I was able to figure out that he uses microchips to control them. But we haven't been able to figure out how to extract them without causing damage to the person they've been installed in."

Batman takes a step towards you.

"So I'll ask one more time. What do you know?"

You really have no idea what he's talking about.

"Wh- What would Lex even use that for? I don't understand!"

"Batman, are you sure they know anything? We're already 99% sure there's a chip inside of them as well, maybe one of its effects is not remembering anything about the chips?"

"It was worth a try." Batman turns to look at Superman. "I assume this means you haven't checked for a chip yet? Make yourself useful and use your x-ray vision."

"Oh, right! Right..." Superman mumbles. "No need to be rude about it."

He focuses his gaze on you. It's pretty unnerving, knowing he's looking inside of you. There's nothing you could hide from him, nothing you could do to make him stop looking at you. You hope he's really only looking inside of you...

After looking at you for too long for comfort, he chimes up: "Yep, there's a chip! Right in the shoulder."

Of course there's a chip in your shoulder, but that doesn't mean you're being controlled!

"That's just a tracker! Lex put it there in case I'm ever kidnapped or something, so he'll immediately know where I am!"

"...You let him put a tracker in you? Voluntarily?" Superman seems confused.

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I?" You're confused as well. Why wouldn't you let him? He did it because he loves you! To take care of you!

Batman doesn't seem to care, only humming in acknowledgement and going back to fiddling with the computer.

That reminds you that Lex put another gadget on you...

Your necklace (beautiful, expensive, and of the letters "LL") sends him a discreet emergency signal as soon as you take it off! You just need to be able to reach it...

"Um... Superman?" You crane your neck to look up at him.

"Do you have to hold onto me like that? I mean, just, what could I do to get away, right?"

You look up at him and try to look as confused and innocent as possible.

You glance at Batman. He seems to not be interested in your conversation at all, instead focusing on the computer. Good.

"You're fast enough to immediately catch me, before I could even take a tiny step! Just- This position is kind of awkward to be in, right?"

Please fall for it, please fall for it...

"Sure, you've been pretty cooperative so far, I don't think we have anything to worry about with you..."

He chuckles, almost embarrassed, then reluctantly lets go of his hold on your arms, flexing his hands.

Holy shit. It worked.

"Nice, thanks!" You smile. What an idiot.

Now you just have to play it cool...

Act natural and normal and not like you're up to anything...

You reach up to rub your neck, as if having turned it to look up at Superman strained it.

Well, it did, but you're mostly doing it to get your hands near the necklace. And now you just have to-

The necklace opens with a quiet click, followed by an alarm sounding from the computer.

Right. You forgot it sends a signal to all of Lex's technology, including the computer in this room. Oops.

Oh well, doesn't really make a difference if they're aware that you alarmed Lex or not. What could they do about it now?

Both Superman's and Batman's heads snap towards you. You smile. Lex should be on his way now.

"Superman, why would you let go of-" Batman cuts himself off. "Doesn't matter. I have the information we came here for. Let's go."

"Are we just going to leave them here?" Superman sounds concerned.

Batman walks towards you, holding something up to your face. "No."

It smells weird, what is that? You feel dizzy, try to pull your head away from it, but Batman is holding onto you, you can't move.

Then, everything goes black.

You wake up on a bed in a bright, unfamiliar room with an ache in your shoulder.

There's a bandage in the spot where your tracker is. Or, used to be, you assume.

Rude of them, to dig around in your body without your permission.

Lex will freak out when he hears about this. He must be looking for you already.

What is this, some kind of infirmary? Where exactly are you?

Just when you decide to get up and try to leave or find out more about where you are, Superman enters the room.

"Oh, you're awake!" He gently pushes you to lie back down. You don't object, you know how strong he is, even if he is being careful right now.

"You shouldn't get up yet, your body should still be adjusting to the chip being gone."

He looks at you with curiosity. Or with hope? You can't quite tell what his expression means.

"Which, by the way, do you feel any different? About Luthor? Any memories popping up that you couldn't remember before?"

Now that he mentions it, some of your time with Lex seems... clearer. You suddenly remember the whole chip thing. And that he's constantly trying to fight (and kill) Superman and the rest of the Justice League. And a bunch of immoral business choices. And villain stuff.

But you still love him.

"I don't feel any different."

Lex must have had a good reason to block those memories from your mind.

Maybe it was for exactly this scenario, so that if the Justice League kidnapped you, you wouldn't be able to tell them anything! Unfortunately they were able to restore those memories, but that doesn't mean that you have to tell them that and make it easier for them!

Superman looks disappointed. "Oh... That's unfortunate."

Why does he seem to be so invested in this? Just because he hates Lex? What does he care if Lex is in a relationship, that shouldn't concern him at all!

"So can I go now?" You throw your legs over the side of the bed and sit up again.

"I mean, now that you know that I wasn't influenced by that chip? You can't keep me here, that would be kidnapping!"

It already is kidnapping, technically.

"Sorry, I can't let you leave." He doesn't look super apologetic about this.

"Batman is still working on something."

"I'm done working on it, actually," Batman responds.

Wait, when did Batman get here? You didn't hear him enter the room...

Superman perks up. "And did you find anything?"

"I did." Batman turns to you, his expression even more serious than usual.

"Blood tests revealed that you are affected by a toxin that messes with your pheromones. After digging through more information on Luthors computer, I was able to find correspondence between him and Poison Ivy. Apparently they made a concoction that is specific to your dna, meaning only you are affected by it, and it causes you to be attracted to him alone. He must have used it as an aftershave or perfume, but it seems pretty long lasting. The effects should last up to a month after exposure."

No. That can't be true.

"You're lying. Lex wouldn't do that. He had no reason to do that, I love him!"

Batman ignores you. "Luckily I was able to synthesize an antidote. Hold still."

You don't hold still, of course, trying to scramble off of the bed, but Superman holds onto you.

"Shhhh, calm down. You'll feel better soon," he whispers, his mouth unnervingly close to your ear.

Batman gets closer to you with a syringe, preparing to inject you with a green liquid.

"This is going to hurt."

"Wait!" you try to protest, but-

-you feel the syringe enter your skin, and then you feel pain. In your entire body.

It hurts! Why does it hurt so much!

You squirm in Superman's grip. Your head feels like it's going to explode.

There's nothing but pain for a few seconds that feel like eternity.

But then- nothing.

You feel nothing. No pain. And-

"Holy shit." You blink.

"Holy SHIT."

What did that fucker do to you?

"I was in a relationship with Lex Luthor? Why did nobody stop me! What is wrong with everyone!"

You blink again.

"I mean, I guess you stopped me. So... thank you?"

Superman lets go of you, seemingly content that you've come to your senses.

Batman seems to be holding back a smirk.

You're not done processing everything yet.

"Why would he-"

You forget what you were going to say and gasp, distracted by a new thought.

"Wait, what the fuck am I going to do now! Where can I go? I moved in with him and he made me break off contact with all of my friends! I don't have an apartment anymore or friends to stay with!"

You look at the two heroes. "D- Do you think he'll look for me? Probably, right? I mean, we were going to get married."

You feel sick.

"Wait, is an engagement legally binding? Fuck. Can I just leave? We didn't make it public yet, but that doesn't make a difference, right? Fuck!"

Superman puts his hand on your shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll take care of all of that. We won't allow him anywhere near you ever again."

Batman adds on: "And you can stay in the Watchtower for now. That's the safest place for you. He won't manage to get in here."

You frown. "Are you sure that's ok? I don't want to be a burden..."

Superman's smile gets wider, it's almost creepy.

Batman moves closer to you, putting his hand on your other shoulder. You're starting to feel a bit smothered.

"We'll gladly take care of you. For however long it takes."

You wonder if that means forever.

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Aussie Athletes

♥ masterlist

♥ pairing: oscar piastri x fem!sargeant!ballerina!reader

♥ smau - fluff

♥ a/n: I said I'd write some ballet fics so here's one lol. I'm going to write some ship fic ballet au's (drivers as ballet dancers) after I finish my folklore and Romeo and Juliet series'. Also! I'm performing a don quixote variation this weekend so wish me luck lol :) (none of the pictures are mine)

liked by logansargeant and 32,406 more

yourusername First Day @/ausballet

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logansargeant congrats sis

yourusername <3

user14 she's in Australia now 🫢

user3 PLEASE let that mean she'll be at more races now

yourusername 👀

user5 💗💗💗

oscarpiastri welcome to Australia

landonorris trying to get a date on main?

logansargeant don't even think about it piastri

oscarpiastri ???

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

2023 British GP

You walked into the paddock bright and early to find your brother before he was busy with qualifying. You ended up running into a different, yet familiar face instead. 

“Oh, hey Oscar,” you smiled 

“Didn’t expect you to be here with your new Australian ballet career,” he smirked and took a sip of the water he had in his hand. “You don’t have a busy schedule? 

“I do, but the season wrapped last month. I figured I’d come down here and support Logan, you know? I’ve got a lot of training to do when I get back, though.” you laughed softly. 

Oscar hummed in an understanding response. 

“How’s it been there?” 

“Good,” you paused. “Tough, too.” 

“I’m sure it is. It’s an art and a sport.” 

“People don't really consider what I do “a sport”.”

“They say the same about racing.” 

“I guess we have something to bond over.”  you smiled.

You both heard Lando call Oscar's name, gesturing for him to go to their garage. Oscar gave an awkward, blush-filled goodbye and ran towards the Brit on the other side of the pit lane.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 340,967 more

yourusername he says I'm so american

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lilymhe top golf double date

yourusername we are so there

user7 WHO IS HE

user9 y/n x oscar crumbs

user2 crying and writing fics

logansargeant 😐

yourusername ...

user6 @/landonorris please tell us she's with oscar

user8 why would lando know?

landonorris 🤐

user8 @/user6 I'm sorry I wasn't familiar with your game, clearly Lando does know

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 305,678 more

yourusername opening night 🧡

logansargeant you did amazing 💐

user2 the orange heart...

user5 NOT a coincidence

user8 AND it's f1's winter break meaning Oscar is back home in Australia where it just so happens y/n dances at

user4 the pieces of the puzzle are finally coming together

ausballet our sugar plum fairy

yourusername <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Time Skip - 2024

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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yourusername MONACO <3

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charles_leclerc welcome to the piastri-leclerc family

yourusername I'm honored, thank you charles

oscarpiastri so when should she meet my brother leo?

user6 Y/N'S APART OF THE JOKE NOW 😭

user10 someone go get Nicole

user4 y/n l/n-piastri-leclerc

logansargeant don't break her heart

oscarpiastri I won't I swear

[paperultra]

hammock.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader Word Count: 866 words Warnings: Kissing, slightly suggestive

“You’re blushing.”

“I am?” Sanji gazes up at you, dreamy and distracted. “I didn’t realize.”

You hum. You’re only vaguely aware of the hammock’s sway, of the blanket slipping down your shoulders as you prop yourself up and place your hands on his cheeks. Warmth soaks into your palms like sunlight, and you tilt your head, thumbs drawing over the flush on his cheekbones and tapping gently.

“Don’t say this is because of me,” you tease.

His hands reach up to cover yours. “Then I’d be lying,” he replies, turning his head to kiss your fingertips, “and I would never lie about how you make me feel.”

“Not even if you hated me?”

“The day I hate you is the day I should be tied to an anchor and fed to the sharks.”

“That’s awful.”

“I know.” His eyes search your face, and they narrow as he murmurs, “Who could ever hate someone as gorgeous as you?”

(Whoever coined the phrase “flattery will get you nowhere” has never met Sanji, you’re sure of it.)

Leaning down, you press your lips to his nose, to his forehead, to each cheek. A contented sigh brushes past your ears as you do so.

Eventually, you make your way to the source of his sweet words. You pause, and Sanji opens his eyes as you hover above his lips, just shy of meeting them with your own.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“No,” you say. “Just wanted to see your pretty eyes before I kiss you senseless.”

He stills. Then he laughs, the sound blooming from deep within his chest and staining your world with gold. “Well – aren’t you a charmer,” Sanji quips, stroking your waist and pecking your cheek. His words are softer than usual. “Careful with my heart, now.”

“Don’t worry,” you say, and you kiss him fully, drinking in the way his grip on you tightens and the way his breath stalls in his throat when you speak against his mouth. “It’s in good hands, I think.”

The kiss is just as warm as his cheeks. You feel drunk as you pull away, and Sanji lifts his head to chase your lips, whispering your name with the reverence of a believer.

“You guys mind doing that somewhere other than here?”

The two of you freeze in each other’s embrace.

You jolt out of it and push yourself up, accidentally knocking the breath out of Sanji in the process. He wheezes and curls up as you lock eyes with a very unimpressed swordsman.

“Z-Zoro! We”—you scramble to unrumple your shirt, which had ridden up underneath the blanket—“I’m sorry, we – we thought everyone was going to be in the lounge for a while.”

“You thought wrong.” Zoro strides past and drops his laundry on the couch. “This isn’t your personal bedroom, Sanji.”

“I’m aware of that,” Sanji replies, annoyance dripping from every syllable. “Now would you mind just stepping out for a few more minutes?”

“Sanji, it’s fine,” you whisper, patting his chest. “The mood is kinda killed now, anyway.”

He visibly droops. “I know.”

“Good.”

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion, mosshead.”

The room fills with a completely different kind of tension as Zoro crosses his arms at Sanji’s response.

You, still trying to cover up your embarrassment, move to block Sanji’s view, pushing his bangs away from his face and attempting to smooth out his frown lines. His cheeks are still flushed, though the color is quickly fading back to normal as his attention turns back to you.

“C’mon, Zoro wants to fold his laundry. Let’s go up to the lounge and see what the others are up to.”

“Is that what you really want to do?”

“Yeah.” (It is now, anyway.)

“… All right, then,” Sanji acquiesces.

With that, you push the blanket off and clamber out of the hammock, nearly tripping and falling flat on your face in your haste to do so. Sanji follows close behind, and once he’s on his feet, you turn to Zoro and give him another quick apology before you and Sanji leave the men’s room.

“Of all the times to be interrupted,” your companion mutters as the two of you head to the lounge. He takes your hand in his and interlaces your fingers. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. Ships don’t have a lot of privacy …” You think back to the moment Zoro spoke up and groan, burying your face in your free hand. “I’m just embarrassed he caught us like that. I didn’t even hear him come down.”

“Me neither.” Sanji lets out an irritated sigh and then looks over at you; his displeasure softens. “At the very least, I’ll take it to mean you were enjoying yourself.”

Your face heats up. “Of course,” you say quickly. “I like our alone time."

“I like it too.” He squeezes your hand and leans over to whisper into your ear. “Next time, I could be on top, so I can hide you away if anyone walks in unannounced.”

“Wh – Sanji! Don’t say it like that!”

The man grins as you smack his arm playfully, planting a kiss to your temple as penance.

“Just evening the score, sweetheart.”

[taruruchi]

Random heartshackle, adeuce and yuu, thingy I came up with over a week ago, here u go !!

Sorries if they don't type how they seem like they would, I'm so bad at coming up w stuff like that 😭

[imagination-phantom]

Day 16! OWL!

LOLOL Ford found some long distance relatives. He’s such a ladies man~~~

[simonriley09]

Cockwarming - Werewolf!Price [Kinktober Day 19]

TW/CW: NSFW, Cockwarming, Humping, Belly Bulge, Fem!Reader.

Sitting on Price's lap, Cockwarming him while you watch a movie on his day off, your hands gripping his thighs so you don't accidentally slip past the knot on the base of his cock, when he finally notices he uses one clawed hand to push you down fully onto his lap, the knot stretching your cunny so wide you can practically feel him in your throat.

"Wus wrong luv?" He mumbled into your hair, eyes fixated on the movie. "Fuck- sometimes i forget you're a werewolf John.." He smirked at that and shifted so your knees were spread apart, slotting his thick shaft impossibly deeper. "Like tha'?" Your breath hitched and your lips parted in a silent whine as you felt the tip of his cock press against your womb. He slowly started humping you, but only for a while until he stopped which frustrated you, Price only looked away from the TV and down at you when you clenched tightly, your slick going down his hairy balls onto the couch. "What ya' clenchin' me like tha' for what luv?" His claws dug into your waist when he felt you clench harder. He realized what you wanted and grinned, his sharp teeth shining in the light as he flipped you on his lap, your chest pressed against his chest as he lifted the back of your hips, thrusting up into you. You couldn't breathe, it felt like he was all up in your throat, the knot of his thick cock stretched you so far your eyes prickled with tears. Price's pace picked up until he started growling, his cock throbbing inside you before you came, shaking and crying out. Just as you came Price filled you up till you were overflowing. "Mmmmh... gon' be nice n' full w' my pups yeah'?"

[a-pastel-edgelord]

Shinsuke Kita is a man who likes what he likes and gives little thought to things he doesn't. He'll go about his daily routine: rise with the sun, eat, morning ablutions, out to the fields until lunch, take a break, then back into the fields until dinner, do chores around the house then a small past time or two until it's time for bed. Unless it's the weekend or a game day, then he goes to Onigiri Miya to catch up with Osamu, Gin, Akagi and Omimi around lunch time.

However, he finds himself going to Onigiri Miya a little earlier on some days with the hopes of catching you while you're on shift. You're a part-timer and university student—but Osamu has been telling him that you have the chops to run the restaurant by yourself. "I know I don't hafta worry about leavin' for an hour or so. S'good feeling, Kita."

It's easier to like someone if a friend vouches for them. Yes, that must be the reason he's fond of you, because Osamu is. He arrives at the restaurant an hour early—an electronic bell chimes through as he enters. It's busy as usual but there's no line.

"Welcome!" You look up from the register and beam. "Kita-san! I'll call the boss over, he's in the back doing inventory."

Before he can protest, you've bounced away. He hears a muffled conversation the opening of a door and a moment later Osamu takes your place with a raised eyebrow. "Yer awfully early, Kita. S'not delivery day is it?"

"Nah, nothin' like that. Just... Had some spare time."

"Spare time huh." Osamu repeats, like he's tasting the words for the first time. "Well, did ya want anythin' ta eat? The usual?"

"Sure, that'll do."

"Uh-huh." Osamu leans back to shout into the kitchen. "Go ahead and make Kita his usual!"

You respond in a sing-song voice. "Already started!"

Shinsuke can't help the grin that hitches onto his features even as Osamu casts a wary but amused eye over him. The two men make eye contact for a few beats before Osamu sighs. "Please don't go scarin' off some of the only good help I've been able ta find."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Yeah-huh."

But nothing else can be said on the subject because you emerge from the back with a tray laden with food. There's even a side of fried tofu—not typically part of his order. You must have seen him looking because you hurriedly explain, "The boss said you like tofu, so I just did some up. I hope that's ok." Osamu rolls his eyes and walks back to the kitchen, catching Kita's eye as he goes.

"S'just fine." Kita takes the tray. "But I'd like to repay ya."

"You don't have to do that! It's my pleasure." You try and reassure.

"Then it'd be my pleasure to make ya dinner some time. Could do it today, after the game if that's ok?"

As you fumble through saying yes, Shinsuke savors his first bite of food. Yeah, he could eat your cooking for the rest of his life he thinks. It would be a nice addition to his routine.

[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

———————————————————————————————————

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!!

———————————————————————————————————

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.

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

On the topic of oviposition, have you considered: a drider who needs to find a safe, warm place to lay their eggs

How could I have missed Driders?????

Forgive me if the first bit isn't a typical oviposition theme but it popped in my head and now I need to vent it!

But a Drider female who needs to lay her eggs in a safe place, but she cannot find a secluded area to her liking.

You offer to harbor her eggs for her. Since you're around her den a lot and don't go far, you could keep her eggs close. And your warm body would be a great asset to the eggs growth and development.

Plus, she wouldn't have to lay the delicate sack against the hard stone walls. Or worry her webbing would fail if she's away for too long.

She's unsure at first. Not because she doesn't trust you but because she has never placed her eggs on a living organism before.

But after some discussion, she agrees and it's a rather messy endeavor. Lots of webbing and thick, bulbous sacks that rest against your chest and stomach as you lay on your back. Allowing her to lay her eggs against your skin.

There's something intimate about this situation. You rub your hands along her lower abdomen, soothing her and massaging her as she carefully places each sack against you.

Once her eggs are laid, she delicately wraps web and silk around you. Securing the sacks to your body.

She assures you that her brood won't eat you when they hatch. She promises to remove them when the incubation period gets close.

She's worried her brood might be too heavy for you. But you shoo her worries away gently as you wobble around with the new weight.

Your back would definitely start aching after a few days, but the eggs are safe and your Drider partner is absolutely thrilled about this new prospect of egg-laying.

A little NSFW version below with a Male Drider:

Your Drider lover needs to breed. A different sort of breeding than your usual intimate activities, you found out.

He's sweet when he explains about the ache in his arachnid abdomen and the build up of eggs he needs to deposit. And speaking about such a topic starts to rile him up.

He grows incredibly needy.

You agree to bear his eggs. And he lays you on a bed of silk, mounting you differently than he usually does.

Instead of his humanoid cock from the front of the body, be begins to grind a pointed tip against your center from the end of his spider half.

It's hard at first. But with more friction and the encouraging warmth from your body, his second length begins to slide from its hardened sheath.

You've never seen this part of him before. It's thick and flexible, but finds your waiting core easily. Your head rolls back as your penetrated in one smooth stroke. And your lover hisses above you. His many legs twitching as a blinding pleasure overtakes him.

You feel a cool substance slide between your legs from him and very quickly, your body falls into a relaxed state. The bliss and pleasure remains as your partner fucks slowly into you. Thrusting until you feel him so deep inside you it feels like he's pressing against your womb.

You watch as his abdomen swells and tightens, then something round begins to slide down the length that connected the two of you.

Your mouth falls open as your walls are stretched and the burn of the intrusion is soothed by whatever aphrodisiac like secretion pours from his cock.

The egg sack settles heavily in your core and you groan as a second follows.

Your Drider lover purrs sweet words to you as you open your legs more for him. Welcoming his eggs as he continues to pound into you. A loving, but brutal, rhythm so his eggs are left as deep within you as you can take.

Your Drider lover only stops when he feels you can take no more. And he slides out of you slowly. Kissing his way down your body until his fangs trace over your inner thighs.

When his tongue licks over your core, you feel his eggs roll inside you as you squirm under the harsh stimulation.

"You look so beautiful swollen with my brood, my love." He says. Pressing more kisses along your rounded abdomen.

[totallynotashieldagent]

falling for jason todd happens slowly and then all at once

it starts with lazy pre-patrol Friday evenings. he knows you don't have work in the morning so he stays for a snack before heading out.

it turns into "hey wanna watch a movie?" which turns into "I'm ordering food for us" and then you're lying on the couch at other ends but your feet are in his lap as top gun plays on the TV and he doesn't even realize he's doing it but he's rubbing the tension out of your heels.

it turns into "oh my office has a workshop for first aid happening" and you take it because you figure you should know how to patch him up after the bad nights

that turns into him showing up on a Tuesday night, which NEVER happens but he's on edge and he's anxious and he doesn't know what else to do and he just needs a hug and you do it.

you hold him until he stops shaking and he falls asleep on you like a weighted blanket.

maybe in hindsight, that is where it all started. waking up in a mess of limbs and untangling yourself, pushing him off until he falls on the ground and you laugh before leaving to get ready for work and... he doesn't leave. he's there when you come back in the evening because he just- he doesn't have an answer except, he didn't want to go.

you shrug and say you don't mind and you continue with your evening errands and chores and he orders food and during it all you realize how... domestic this all is.

it's a wednesday evening and he knows gotham is waiting for him but tonight...just tonight, he wasn't something calm, something normal.

the air is thick but neither of you address it. and he leaves eventually with unsaid words and confusion hanging in his mind.

the routine of friday night hangouts continue but every touch is more.. electric and neither of you say anything because you really do think that it's just in YOUR mind and the other doesn't feel that way at all.

it goes on for weeks and weeks until the tension gets so bad that you're snapping at each other for even breathing too loud but still you're in the same space because you can't handle the thought of being a part

it goes on for an embarrassing long time because even though the love is requited, you're both just fucking idiots

it goes on until a bad patrol night and he shows up with a bunch of knives sticking out of his back and instead of going to a safehouse or alfred, he's here. with you. and your hands are shaking because this surgery level shit and you took a BASIC aid workshop. you're crying silently as you do your best to fix him even with the Lazarus healing kicking in and you keep whispering to yourself "not yet not yet not like this not like this not before I can say-"

and everything just ...freezes

"Before what?" He rasps, his breath laboured and hard

"It's nothing-" You whisper and continue to bandage him

so he twists his back and looks at you, asking again.

"Before what?" His eyes are glowing green as his wounds are slowly starting to heal under your fingertips. "Please-" He strains. "Before what?"

"Before I can be brave enough-" You swallow, your shaking hands pressed against the bandage of his back

"Brave enough for...?" He whispers, his eyes darting across your face, memorizing every feature. Your eyes, your Cupid's bow, your parted lips-

"For this-" You finally take a leap and press your lips to his.

Drabble Master List.

[hotwritergf]

Thinking about Spencer who doesn’t like physical touch at all, constantly about germs and feeling uncomfortable at the thought of someone else’s fingertips. Until he meets you. It started with holding hands, interlocking fingers. Then letting you hug him good bye, perhaps a kiss on the cheek. Until one night, he pulls you into a kiss, his tongue flickering between your mouth and his own, as if it was shy. Now he can’t fall asleep sleep without you playing with his hair and peppering soft kisses on his face as he giggles and smiles up at you. He melts your heart when he glances up and whispers,

“I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch you.”

[elixirofblues]

~ I fell in love with hope...

[gilverrwrites]

idk if this is your thing but i've been thinking about reader and breastmilk. specifically, ak!jason finding out bat!reader has breastmilk after he rips off their chest uniform and then sucks the milk like a starving man and you could hear him gulping it down

Haha, BatBrat? Hero? Parent? Nah, now Jason’s got his hands on you he’s gonna turn you into his personal hucow, or maybe it’s a mommy thing? Who knows, you pick. Tbh, lactation isn’t a kink I’ve explored before but AK!Jason could do anything to me. ANYTHING! An’ I had fun writing something a lil different, so much fun in fact that it turned out way longer than I'd intended, so thanks for the ask, anon <3 Warnings: Dub/coerced-con, lactation, captivity/restraints, mild angst

At first, he’s just trying to antagonise you, at least that’s what he tells himself when he notices the discomfort in your stance; the way you keep awkwardly shifting, causing the chain around your neck to echo and clang as you gently pet your breasts, trying to hide the moisture seeping through your shirt with the backs of your hands until you finally plead; “You have to let me go… I… I need to pump.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” He spits, mouth-watering as he approaches your spot on the floor. There’s no chance he’s letting you go, but he’s certain he can solve your problem if you ask nicely enough.

“Please J-“ You hesitate for a moment, your doleful eyes searching his blue ones, unsure how to address your predecessor gone ‘bad’ before you fall on the same term his men have been using out of respect, or more likely fear. You’ve spent so many hours yelling and screaming at him that your voice cracks even as you attempt to sound softer. “Sir.”

You’re making an effort to appeal to him, looking up at him as non-threateningly as you can muster.

He pins it on your demeanour, not the fact that he’s lecherously enthralled by the way your tits are slowly leaking right before his very eyes. Whatever he wants to blame it on, it’s working. Nevertheless, his stance doesn’t change, he stands above you forebodingly, that same stern, unfriendly expression on his scarred face as he attempts to suck back his salivation.

“Please, I can’t stop it.” You continue. “It’s painful, I need relief.”

The irony isn’t lost on either of you, that you’re complaining about the pain of your overfull breasts, as you sit before him broken and bruised.

“Can’t let you go.” He reaffirms as he crouches down onto his haunches, almost eye to eye with you, but he’s not looking at your face as he reaches forward, hooking his fingers into the neckline of your shirt and pulling. “But since you asked so sweetly.”

“N-no! Wait. Not like this!” Your hands wrap around his forearm but with little purchase. Your cries are ignored, your feeble grip does nothing to slow Jason's strong hand and in seconds he’s running his gloved thumbs over your aching nipples, rubbing the damp cotton of your bra against the sensitive skin with a dreamy, far-off look on his face.

You swat at him until he retracts. For a moment a weight is lifted from your chest until you realise he’s simply removing his gloves. Unease quickly returns as he snaps open the centre of your bra, and despite yourself, a groan of relief escapes your lips. You fight the urge to relax into his strong hands as he begins to massage the underside of your heavy breasts.

“You don’t have to do this.” You try once more, but he looks up at you with a quirked brow, and a smile on his lips. He doesn’t have to, he wants to.

“I thought you were hurting.” He challenges, as his hands roam higher, finally, his bare, calloused fingers dig into the fat of your tits, he barely even has to squeeze before your milk begins to drip onto the backs of his hands. You squirm and grunt, staring at the ground, unable to make eye contact with him, too ashamed to accept the respite his hands are offering. “Thought you needed it.”

His voice is scathing, a taunt, despite the fact that you can see the outline of his throbbing dick, and the hunger in his eyes. The sight of you, all tired and timid, engorged tits exposed, is doing it for him. He wants this, bad, but what he wants even more is for it to feel like he’s doing something for you, a favour he can lord over you. Whatever keeps him in control.

“I can help you out.” Speaking slow and concise, his proposal could never be construed as kind. All the while he keeps palming at your chest in tender, measured motions, getting far too much of a kick out of the way you try to fight how his actions soothe you. “Or you can keep on suffering.”

He watches you expectantly, titling his head as a third suggestion comes to him. “Or, hey, I could invite some of my militia in here, I’m sure they’d get a kick out of watching B’s favourite brat spilling her milk everywhere. One of them might take pity and help you out. If that’s what you’d prefer.”

“No.” Obviously. He deliberately isn’t giving you a real choice in the matter. “Please help me.”

If he was thinking straighter, he might have spared you a snarky comment, or gone through the effort of making you beg explicitly for him. Something to really get under your skin, but he doesn’t want to wait any longer. With your permission he locks his lips around one of your nipples, cradling your breast in both hands as he begins to suck with a force far stronger than you’re used to. His teeth sink into your skin painfully and he closes his eyes, savouring the moment, the taste of your sweet milk. It’s like a switch is flipped, how his harsh features soften, his body slowly relaxing against yours as he greedily gulps down every drop he can squeeze out of your teat.

“Feeling better yet?” He asks at one point, speech slurred by his refusal to detach himself from you.

He watches you through half-lidded eyes as he awaits your answer, whispy black lashes only fluttering closed once more when you nod, only somewhat reluctantly. “Yes. Thank you.”

Though you’re sure his teeth might draw blood if he bites down any harder, your body does start to unwind, mitigated as Jason alleviates the internal pain. Neither of you really realise the change in yourselves until Jason is draped across your body, your arms around him in a cradle-like fashion as you stroke his hair; some kind of maternal instinct seemingly kicking in as you idly observe how The Big Bad Arkham Knight is pacified by your milk.

As soon as the well dries, however, his nails puncture your sore skin, and he glares up at you until you remind him; “The other one.”

He has the decency to look sheepish for his near-outburst, only for a second before he kneels back to change position, stopping briefly to remove the upper half of his armour, revealing how the scars don’t stop at his face. His torso is expansive, built with muscles and littered with taut, pale, overlapping lines. There are holes in his nipples, punctured at mismatched angles that have you suspecting they’re not from being pierced, at least not professionally.

What happened to you? You want to pry.

I’m so sorry. I wish I’d been there. I would have done something. Any consolations die in your throat, killed by the fear of how he’ll react. You’d learned quickly that the past was a touchy subject for him, a thread that when picked at can trigger a volatile reaction.

Before you can spend too long following that string, Jason distracts you. His jaw is locked tight, eyes judgemental as he watches you watching him until he starts to trail the tips of his fingers down the centre of his chest. The nervous edge of having your eyes on his marred body easing once you allow your gaze to be drawn to his crotch where he deftly unbuckles his belt and slips a hand into his boxers, squeezing at his needy cock.

“How about you milk me when I get done with you, huh?”