#maybe reader insert

[cherry-blossoms-in-red]

A damn joke or something.

I wonder sometimes, is my life a bloody joke to the gods or something? Because I certainly do not remember asking for an assassination attempt nor a ridiculously handsome nemesis.

I am Belladonna Valencia, the sole heiress to the throne of the Kingdom of Pandorra. My father, Nikolas the second and my mother, Maya Singhania were married in the name of political diplomacy.

My maternal grandfather is the CEO of the Singhania Enterprises. The largest weaponry and military equipment providing company in all of Europe. My mother as the second born ended up as a mere pawn in his wretched game.

As the only living first born of this generation after the assassination of my uncle's entire family when he was away for a business trip in Asia. I am officially a candidate for the position as the CEO. Who is the other candidate, you ask?

Ace FUCKING Hernandez. Like I think someone up there really really hates me.

[sincerelybubbles]

hotch x shy!bau!reader <3 fem content: slight age gap implied. reader is new to the team and more on the introverted side! not proof read, as is my hubris.

Tired, nerves buzzing from a night spent up and chasing sleep that was not welcoming, you throw your bag down on your desk and go off in hunt of coffee. You usually try to curb your caffeine intake, especially with the travel associated with your new job, but this morning is a happy exception to your new rule.

"Here," Emily says, watching you scan the cabinets of the kitchen. You hadn't heard her walk in, but she's offering you a mug with a sympathetic smile. "Long night?"

"Yes," you say, tone thankful, and spin to figure out the coffee machine.

"Three weeks and i haven't seen you use that once," she comments, sipping from her own warm mug and watching you settle the filter in place.

"I've stayed away. it's harder to sleep when I get back because of the jet lag, anyway, don't need to add coffee at all odd hours to the list, too."

It's the most you've said in casual conversation like this. To say you've been shy with your new team would be an understatement. You're good at your job, you were pulled from the academy early to do this for a reason. You fit well into the team, generally. You like listening to Spencer ramble, especially on the longer flights. Rossi's dry humor reminds you of one of your old professors you grew up admiring. JJ is a constant breath of fresh air, Morgan's consistent strength has built up your own moral. Garcia took no getting used to, lifting you up and settling into your life easily. Hotch is intimidating but kind under the colder-tones, long glances sometimes distracting but oterhwise comforting. Emily is easily one of your favorites on the team, friendly and whip-smart. But, at the core of it, you're shy. Painfully so, even.

The team caught onto this quick, settling into the truth that your observational nature that makes you so adept at noticing the smaller details is bound to weep into your social life as well. So, despite your comfort levels rising with the team, you find these situations hard. Do you explain your nightmares to Emily? Share that you're a diagnosed insomniac who spent the night watching FRIENDS reruns after chasing sleep that pranced beyond reach?

"You're better than me, then," Emily says, smiling over her mug. Her eyes tell you she's pleased at the little crack into your life that you've let her see. They're all like that: insufferably kind and polite with your introverted nature but greedily sipping up everything they can learn about you.

"It's a new development," you admit, clicking start on the machine and settling back against the counter facing her. Something about your sleepiness makes it easier to talk, your tongue looser, your ache to let loose around the team more profound. "I'm sure most of us are insomniacs, though."

"Not me," Emily says, chuckling. "I get home and feel like I don't wake up until I get back here."

"Ah, well, I'm sure it can feel like a curse no matter what way you fall," you say with a shrug. Emily lifts her coffee in cheers to that.

"Morning," Morgan says, turning into the kitchen and giving you a surprised smile. "Hello, sunshine, you're looking bright eyed today."

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "I know, I know."

Emily points with her chin at you, "She's making the coffee this morning."

"Ah-ah, remaking it because you and pretty boy always get here first and finish the first pot." Morgan teases her with a slight shake of his head, grinning and opening the fridge to pull out the creamer.

"Well, you snooze you loose. Or," she sends you a smile, complete with a little nose wrinkle and a tilt of her head, "you don't snooze and still loose."

"Clever," you say, voice dry with humor, hiding your laugh by turning around as the pot finished brewing. "I'll remember this later."

"Careful, she's got teeth," Morgan warns Emily, reaching around you to grab the coffee before you can and filling his cup.

"Hey!" You call in protest, voice raising louder than usual and a pout hitting your lips. Morgan laughs, white teeth on display, eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Here, here," he says, placating, tipping the pitcher to fill your cup as well. "Any sugar or cream to placate the beast?"

Before you can answer, a laugh on the tip o your tongue, Hotch walks in and settles his watchful eyes on you, interest sparking them. You shrink, not in fear but in self-awareness, and send him a closed lip smile. Stepping away from Morgan, you turn quickly to fix your own coffee.

"Good morning," Hotch says, nodding at Emily and Morgan, answering Emily's question about Jack's recent sickness (he's recovering well, thank you) and trying to catch your eye.

You duck away, cowardly and regressing back into your shell, deciding it's time to get to work and stop indulging. You catch Morgan tease Hotch as you leave, though, "Aw, you've scared her off."

You try not to think about it as you duck away, pushing all thoughts of your boss away.

You're unsuccessful.

The problem isn't that you're afraid of him because you think he's mean or unkind in any way. He's done his best to welcome you to the team, allowing you to take investigations in your own direction and listening to your insights since day one. There was a brief moment in your first week where you felt tested, like his questions weren't to gain your insight but to see if you were up to the task, but you slipped past that easily. you have the credentials to back yourself up. you're quiet, yeah, but you're always right on track to where you need to be. pulled early from academy to jump into investigating was hard but it made this easy. a few years of experience under your belt and the job feels natural and, even with the shift in teams to join the big guns in Quantico, you feel like you're exactly where you're meant to be.

No, embarrassingly, this has nothing to do with you not liking your boss or being afraid of him. Rather, he makes you too comfortable. He ducks his head to hear you speak as you walk and talk, settling deep eyes on your face. He's sturdy, dependable, and exactly everything you're all too interested in.

You hate it, harboring a school crush on your boss like you're a teen pining over your teacher. You know it's normal, you know it's perfectly reasonable and there's absolutely nothing wrong with being attracted to him, but you still slink away from him more than the others because of that attraction.

Because it's more than physical.

He listens when you talk. Granted, so do the rest of the team - they're profilers, of course they catalogue everything everyone is saying for future reference. But, beyond that, you catch him paying attention. He complimented your new blouse earlier in the week and it caused air to catch in your throat, suffocating you. It looked new, bright white and without wrinkles, but you knew he must have been looking, noticing, to remember you not wearing it before. He's kind, remembering details about you and the team and using them to aid in everyone's comfort. He knows Spencer can't handle dairy and you've heard him reminding an intern to stock the dairy-free alternatives for creamer in the jet. He brought you a neck pillow on your second flight because you didn't have one.

That gift you accepted with stuttering thank-you's and a flushed face. It hadn't flared this crush, but it definitely aided in your ability to accept it when you finally got around to no longer avoiding how he made you feel with every kind smile and gentle good morning.

You settle down at your desk, putting your steaming mug on a pile of paperwork you really need to sort through, and try to physically push the thoughts out of your head by ranking your hands through your hair, lifting it from your forehead and squeezing your eyes shut. Today isn't the day. You're too tired, sure that the team will be flying out today, and really need to be on your A-Game.

"Everything okay?" A calm voice asks from your elbow. When you look up, you decide the universe hates you. Hotch is leaning on the desk adjacent to yours, holding his own travel cup full of fresh coffee, chin tilted down to check on you. His gaze is kind, light on your face, and his eyebrows are lifted slightly. You get the feeling that he's doing everything in his power to present himself as less imposing.

"Yes, of course," you answer automatically, heart thudding in your throat.

"You know, you shouldn't lie to profilers," he says, tone teasing, voice still low. "If you're tired, it's okay to admit it to me, too."

You're about to brush him off when something in your brain freezes before clicking into place.

He's looking at you, pleading, expression open. He's usually guarded, professional. Caring, but with a guard up. Rare are these moments of genuine asking, especially rarer so are the moment of pleading hidden behind a mask of gentle humor. You think, briefly, about how it must seem to him. He heard you, Emily, and Morgan joking in the kitchen. You haven't been here long, you're shy, but slowly thawing to everyone but him. He doesn't know your reasons, he couldn't, you've made a genuine effort to hide them, and you force yourself to see it from his perspective.

"Sorry," you say, softly, slowly. "I didn't sleep well. First nightmares and then insomnia. Hence," you gesture toward your mug. You shrug, heart beating out of your chest, eyes searching his. Nice, be nice, be open and kind and yourself. "At least I have FRIENDS reruns to keep me company."

You see something relax in him at your gentle offering of the information. He sends you a not-quite-smile, nodding once and pushing himself off of the desk he was lightly leaning against.

"Take a few minutes, I'm sure JJ will call us in soon." He scans your face for a moment before looking down at your desk. He reaches forward, slowly but with purpose, and lifts a file that has been nagging you for days. The new computer system is hard to get used to and the paperwork load is heavier than you've experienced before. "I can help you with this to ease some of your load, too."

He's walking away before you can protest, tucking the file under his arm and ducking into his office. He moves swiftly, leaving no room for argument, and you're left at your desk, mouth agape and heart in your mouth.

"Wow," Spencer says, jolting you in your chair to spin around and face him. His desk is near yours, across a walkway, and you hadn't registered him sitting there. You think he was nose-deep in a book when you walked in but you hadn't been paying attention. "I don't think I've seen him warm up to someone that fast," Spencer admits, leaning back in his seat and giving you a confused look, eyebrows lowered. "Actually, he's never offered to help me do my paperwork. Ever."

"That's because you read far too fast for it to actually help you," you offer, mind racing, words hollow as your thoughts are elsewhere.

Eyes trained on the windows of Hotch's office, you take his advice and relax for the few minutes before JJ comes to gather you all in the conference room. Coffee on your lips, you let yourself smile behind the rim of your mug. You can't imagine how you could think of anything other than that, really.

[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!!

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It is by no means an offhanded consideration.

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

It's terrifying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Lord included, it seems.

On the fourth day, he starts speaking to you.

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

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

Then the situation nosedives.

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

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

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

"Truly? To whom?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seems to recognise this, and sighs.

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

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

He snorts, "Not that kind of service."

"I–I don't understand," you stutter.

"Have you bedded another?"

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

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

"You can answer truthfully," he says.

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

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

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

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

You blink, "My Lord?"

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

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

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

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

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

His hand raises, and you shrink slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That sounds painfully ominous.

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

He hears it, and his brow raises a tad.

"You can't fit me ordinarily."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A flabbergasted whine is all you can offer in answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y-Yes, my Lord."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The pain is incandescent, and you cry out—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Titus stills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whine loudly at the sensation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A soft grunt is your reward for the effort.

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

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

"Brother," Titus says sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," Chairon interjects flatly as he exhales.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I ought to pull out, now."

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

"Very well," is Titus' answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he smiles.

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

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

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

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

Titus apparently needs no further invitation.

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

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

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

"Care to try?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Titus tuts, "She's very sweet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A soft whine is all you can offer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence is deafening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And that's what the stink is?"

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

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

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

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

"It does," Titus offers.

"Really?" Gadriel says.

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

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

"Interesting," the blonde hums.

"Sit," Titus says this time.

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

"Suit yourself," Chairon scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Titus hums in agreement, "Very tight."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's—he's a lot.

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

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

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

Then you're being treated to a ride.

And Throne of Terra, the Primaris Sergeant is rough.

Rabid, even.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You slap his deltoid and claw down the skin pointlessly.

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

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

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

It all happens absurdly fast.

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

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

But fuck, if it's not amazing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...are you hurt?"

You shake your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strangely, Gadriel groans at the sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gadriel huffs, "Haven't you already?"

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

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

Chairon hums, "What sort of plan?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gadriel nods, "I just like the sounds."

"Fair enough," says Chairon.

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

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

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

"Can you show me, serf?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chairon grumbles, "What did you do?"

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

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

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

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

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

Gadriel blinks and realises himself, then meets your gaze.

"Is this painful for you?"

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

"How's this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Up," you hear Gadriel harrumph.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fuss, and try to rise once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Titus chuffs, "Sore?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[tlou-reid]

as much as he’d hate to admit it, spencer kept a lot of secrets from the team.

some were minor, like how the cardigan jj gave him really was itchy, or how the new coffee machine in the office was significantly harder to clean than the old one, making each cup of coffee slightly more bacteria-filled than the less. other secrets were major, like the time his addiction had taken hold of him or the many social media accounts he had on the smart phone the team had recently found out about.

it’s true. he was on almost every platform, usually under some variation of user17376 and with no icon. but he was still there. he followed exactly one person, who also seemed to be his biggest secret.

you.

he wasn’t even sure if you knew of the vaguely-stalker-esque accounts he created just to keep tabs on you. he could only imagine how hard it would be to keep track of one user, without a name, located in your hundreds of thousands of followers. you might’ve hit one million after your newest single dropped, he hadn’t had time to check.

spencer felt bad stumbling out of your release party. he’d stuck to the back as you did your thank you speeches, excitedly dropping hints to your upcoming album. your relationship with spencer, if it could even be called that, was very private and he intended to keep it that way.

that’s why he was keeping you a secret. obviously. not because he hasn’t truly asked you to be his girlfriend. or because he was too shy to admit he even knew someone as famous as you. or because of his own insecurities telling him that he didn’t deserve you. no, of course not.

after your speeches and singing along to your brand new pop single that dropped at midnight, you did scooch your way to the back to talk to him. spencer’s arm still had goosebumps from where you held it as you laughed at his joke. he was a bit more bold now that he was three fruity drinks in. despite your fame and all of the attention you received, spencer felt comfortable in the hidden depths of your party.

his mind sort of shut off, just enjoying his time with you. every conversation topic was riveting, and he wished he could stay here with you forever.

and then his work phone rang in his pocket. spencer pretended like he didn’t see the small flash of disappointment when he answered it, saying a “hey, jj,” quietly into the speaker. you gave him a quick side hug, and then ran off, knowing he was about to leave.

and here he was, stumbling out of the party, listening to jj’s authoritative voice tell him that he needs to get to quantico asap, bring a go-bag, and meet the team on the jet so they could go over the case.

yikes. right to the jet. must be important.

as he hung up, he looked solemnly into the building your party was in. despite the empty feeling in his chest, he couldn’t help but smile at the pink lights pouring out of the windows.

and off he was to quantico.

the train ride there gave him a lot of time to ponder your interaction with him. sure, it felt like you maybe wanted to be his girlfriend when you were together. you held strong eye contact with him, weren’t afraid of small physical touches, gave him all of your attention, and stood close to him when engaged in conversations. all tell-tale behavioral signs of a crush.

but things never went deeper than surface level. it always seemed like he was catching up with a friend, not flirting with someone who he was interested in. even if he was definitely interested in you. he sighed, realizing that feeling had to stem from you, then. if you were into him, you’d also flirt with him.

so, no matter how many times you invited him to things, or he slept on your velvet couch after a game night with you and a few of your friends, that’s all he’d ever be to you. a friend.

spencer decides to turn his mind off (and his hidden smart phone), opting to bury his nose into a book. he brought a few, just in case.

he doesn’t turn his phone back on until the second night in the dingy motel. he really was trying to give himself space from you. you were infecting his mind, preventing him from thinking clearly and making decisions on the case. he thought one look at your social media might clear his head.

he opened your twitter, seeing only one new tweet. it was a video, captioned ‘been working on this one, hope you like it.’ the video played in the small media player as he inspected it. you were sat criss-cross, an acoustic guitar resting in your lap. your nails were pink, matching your newest single cover.

as he looked closer, he could see the glitter across your collar bones and your slightly-smeared makeup. this was filmed the night of your party. it must’ve been after it, given your disheveled appearance. he couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful you looked.

finally, he opened the video, your beautiful voice filling the room. spencer closed his eyes, trying to listen to the words you were singing.

“i told myself, don't get attached, but in my mind, i play it back, spinning faster than the plane that took you.”

spencer gasped, realizing the similarities to his situation. oh my god oh my god oh my god.

“and this is when the feeling sinks in, i don’t wanna miss you like this. come back, be here. come back, here.”

this song was for him.

read about how popstar!reader and spencer met here <3

[pnfc]

today i was revisiting the pnf choose your own adventure book where the author they roped in to write it has an only middling understanding of pnf, thinks candace is blonde etc, but still got this much correct

[a-pastel-edgelord]

Despite all the commonly held beliefs about him, Atsumu is not a bad guy. He knows this because he hasn't moved from his spot at his desk once today. And sure, maybe his eyes wander over to you and his mind keeps conjuring vague questions about how your day is going—regardless, he's not going to budge. He may end up burning a hole into his math work sheet from his staring, but it's a small price to pay.

He's taken you for granted. After you got a boyfriend. Little ole you, who never quite changed from being a snot-nosed brat in his mind until all of a sudden you couldn't hang out. The space you used to occupy (somewhere between Suna and Samu) is conspicuously empty. It's not right.

You don't eat lunch together anymore: instead, your stupid boyfriend (he's in Kita-san's class, and not even that good-looking by the way) collects you and off you skip to some obscure corner of the school where you guys probably make eyes at each other over your bentos. You don't walk home with him and Samu these days, no it's Whatshisname doing it in their place while holding your hand and calling your name with sugary familiarity. Like that guy knows something he doesn't. Well, jokes on your boyfriend because Atsumu knows how ugly you are when you cry or how spine tingling your whoops of glee are, or how your eyes absolutely sparkle when you eat something you like. Atsumu is willing to bet a month's worth of Osamu's cooking this scrub doesn't even know what your favorite café order is.

Fuckin' ridiculous.

But what's Atsumu supposed to do about it?? If you like this guy seriously, it's the least he can do to not get in the way of you being happy.

Are you happy? You deserve it, more than most people, in his opinion. Life hasn't been super fair to you, so the least it can do is give you someone who treats you well. Yeah, maybe it's just the universe balancing itself. This thought sustains him for a little while as the days pass.

Until he misses a spike serve in a particularly spectacular fashion. The ball ricocheted off the wall and out of the open gym doors. He rounds the corner of the gym, snatching up the wayward ball, only to look up at a sound. On the other side of the chain link fence that separates the gyms from the fields is your boyfriend with his tongue down the throat of the captain of the soccer team.

A grin, all teeth, cracks across his face. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears as blood rushes to his brain. His breath becomes shorter, and he checks himself before he starts hyperventilating. Atsumu Miya is not a bad guy, really he's not. After all, who wouldn't be happy to get what they want?

[diz-eaze]

fem (y/n) (yan! characters: malleus, rook, riddle, jack, & deuce)

in which devotion is him upon you.

couldn't resist adding hair to (Y/N) and I was originally going to have no hair versions but I realized that the layer I added the hair in was on the render layer T.T next time bald (Y/N) will return I promise !

[spencerslover-blog]

★. a saturday with spencer reid

[averycutesalamander]

getting into a relatively innocuous but heated argument with boothill. you jab your finger into his chest while you're ranting and, without missing a beat, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls your hand up and takes two of your fingers into his mouth, just barely scraping you with his teeth.

his eyes sparkle with mischief as he pulls away, your fingers chilled with his saliva. he has the most self-satisfied, smug look on his face when he rasps, "what were we arguin' about again?"

[slimybeth69]

Thirst: Part 3

Marcus Acacius X lady reader (no descriptions, you're a virgin though)

Summary: Your freedom had a price and Marcus Acacius was willing to pay for it... but you also had to do something for him.

Chapter 3 of 10: Slick

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

Rating: EXPLICIT -- Shameless smut with a little plot

a/n: NO SPOILERS to the new movie. I do introduce characters from the movie in the next couple chapters (plus a surprise guest), but they're based more on the historical Geta and Caracalla, and what I thought each character was going to be like based on the trailer and a quick wiki search on who everyone was.

This is cross-posted from my AO3. (there is one more chapter up now if you can't wait for me to post it here)

WARNINGS: dubious consent, ownership, loss of virginity, mutual mast., exhibitionism, voyeurism. Mentions of being a whore. Oral (f receiving).

It’s been several days since you’ve seen the General. Several— you’ve lost count of how long it’s been since he brought you gifts that could be inserted into you. You inserted that alluring glass toy into your forsaken ass so many times you’re basically a professional. 

Where is Marcus Acacius? Hmm? Where is the man that paid for your freedom from that brothel— only to keep you locked up here in this room? Where is he? Gone for days at a time and you have no idea where he goes or what he does? That doesn’t seem fair to you. Not at all. He gets to go gallivant around Rome, and you get locked away from the world?

You’re not upset about being locked away. You don’t mind it at all, actually. Everything you need is brought to you and you visit the bath house once a day to clean and relax. You’re fed very well and given more wine than you know what to do with. 

It’s the General that you’re yearning for. You need him more than you ever thought you could need another human person in your entire life…

Now here you are pining for a man who…leaves… do what? 

Go find other brothel women to fuck while you rot in this room? 

Your heart pangs. 

Marcus cannot be out fucking other women without you! No, he hasn’t even fucked you yet. How is he going to go and fuck someone else while you’re waiting for him right here?

As your thoughts are flooded with him and the idea of where he could be, the doors to your chambers swing open and crash against the wall loudly. 

“Morning Dove… the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on.” Marcus’s voice booms and echoes in the large space. 

You cringe and pull your shoulders up to your ears at the sudden but not unwelcome intruder. “What do you want?” You snap at him, the shock from his entrance still shivering down your spine and settling into your toes. 

He looks at you sadly, his brows furrowed gently in disappointment. “You’re not happy to see me?” He stands at the end of your bed with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You look like a vision , as always.” Marcus winks at you. 

You raise an eyebrow and look at him with suspicion. “Are you drunk?” You question, pulling the satiny sheets up to your chin, not wanting him to see your nakedness. 

Marcus grins down at you and shrugs his shoulders. 

You blink at him and then squint your eyes as they dart between him and the balcony outside… where the early morning sun is just starting to peek out over the horizon. “It’s so early…”

“Or very late!” Marcus corrects you with so much vigor it makes you jump in shock. 

“You haven’t slept yet, have you?” You eye him, his crimson tunic looks slightly disheveled and his hair is a mess. “You’re…drunk from last night…still?”

Marcus blows a raspberry at you and waves a dismissive hand your way. “I am not drunk. I indulged and then went to go to my chambers to rest and couldn’t stop thinking of you.” 

You roll your eyes at him. “It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you. Weeks, Marcus… and you barge in here before the sun is even up and for what—”

Marcus smiles and grips the sheets that are covering you in both fists and tugs at them gently. You grasp them tightly in your hands and widen your eyes. 

“What? You want my blankets?” You hold them closer to you as Marcus pulls them back towards him. You two are now pulling the sheet tight.

“Let go.” He growls at you but it is playful and lighthearted… there is a flash in his eye when he says this like it might be some kind of game to him. 

“No.” You snap just as playfully as him. His eyes flash again…something you’ve never seen them do before. His strong arms flex before he yanks the sheet with more vigor. You weren’t expecting as much force, so you lose your hold on the blanket in one hand. It slips and one of your breasts, the peak hardened, is now exposed to him. His tongue dances across his bottom lip as gives the sheet another good yank.

“Marcus!” You scold him as you get your grip on the silk sheet and pull it with all your might back to your chest. 

You get a foot of fabric to cover yourself with, but you think it’s because he let you have it. 

“Dove!” He scolds you back but there is no aggression in his tone. He is playing with you. 

Marcus has a stupid smile on his face that you’ve never seen before and now, he wants to play tug-o-war with your favorite blanket? 

“If you rip this sheet I will be—”

“Gifted a new one? That is softer and more comfortable to sleep on? Is that what you will be? Showered with gifts and comfortable while you sleep, little Dove?” He gives you a handsome smirk, and in your distraction he jerks the sheets back and both your hands lose their grip.

“Marcus!” You scold him again in your newfound nakedness, remembering the brothel in which he ‘rescued’ you from. 

The General is still smirking as he waits at the end of your bed with the sheets in his hands. “ Dove .” He coos to you softly. 

You cover yourself the best you can with your hands and arms, and you glare at him. “Give me my blanket back.” You snap, the thought of him fucking other men or women without you rush back to your head. “Go fuck one of the other virgins you buy and hide away all over the city of Rome. I’m sure they’d be glad to see you.” You humph loudly and turn your body away from him. 

You watch out of the corner of your eye as Marcus drops the sheet and then eases himself onto the bed. “Cara Luna, why do you say those things?” His voice is much softer and his rough, calloused fingers trail up your spine. 

You turn further away from him and arch your back at his touch and scoot closer to the edge of the bed. “Go away. Go find comfort in one of the other women or men you choose to spend your time with when you’re not with me.” You feel the sting of tears coming.

Marcus sucks his teeth quietly as you wipe your eyes before they can fall. “I don’t find comfort in others.” His deep, calm voice does nothing to soothe you. 

“I don’t believe you.” You scoff and roll your eyes even though your back is turned to him and he can’t see. “You haven’t fucked me— and you’re a man! Men need to fuck.” 

Marcus inches closer to you and now you can smell the wine on him. “Aurelia, are you jealous?” His voice is velvet as he presses his lips to your upper back. You can feel the heat of his body behind you now. His hands rub the outside of your upper arms as he plants gentle kisses along your shoulder blades. 

You scoff softly and roll your eyes. “Jealous of what? The other whores? No.” You tug your arm out of one of his hands, but he finds his hold quickly and grips you. 

Marcus leans in so his lips are pressed to your ear. “Who is locked away in a tower where no one can reach her but me?” He growls softly, his massive hand sliding forward and over your shoulders.

You snort quietly but find yourself leaning against him and saving the feeling of his muscular chest against your back. “How many other people have you locked away all over Rome?” You huff softly as Marcus settles behind you, supporting your weight as you lean into him. 

The pads of his fingers graze your collarbone while his lips move down to the nape of your neck. “Do you want to know why I bought you, Dove?” His voice sends a tingle down your spine and you do your best to suppress the shiver it creates. 

“Because you want to take my virginity.” You roll your eyes again as his hands move lower and cup your breasts completely in his palms. His skin is so rough against the soft, suppleness of your tits. “Fuck.” It’s moaned under your breath as he adds weight to his touch and begins to drag his hands across your sensitive flesh. Your nipples pebble under his touch.

Marucs chuckles and nips at the curve of your neck gently, his teeth tease you and make your cunt throb and you can feel the wetness pooling between your legs. “Wrong, my Luna Flora.” His voice barely whispers. “I paid for you…” He pauses to kiss your neck gently and you tilt your head to give him more access. “I keep you locked away…” He murmurs with his mouth still pressed to your skin, “I come here and tease you…” He trails off now, his lips gliding up the soft skin of your neck and to your jaw. 

This is the most he has ever touched you. The most his lips have ever been on your body and every nerve ending you have inside you is on fire. “Why do you do it?” You whine softly as he bites down on your flesh with a possessive intensity. 

Marcus squeezes your tits and he pushes his chest against your back. Marcus unleashes your neck from his teeth and licks the spot gently. “ Because I can,” his voice is steady and confident now. “As the General, I have power and influence that stretch far beyond what you think you know.” He’s growling softly and his hands are still groping and squeezing at your breasts. 

“What does that—”

Marcus pulls you into his warm, strong body tightly. “You weren’t given permission to speak, Luna Flora, you’ll remain quiet until I tell you to talk, understood?” His tone is firm and serious and you bite your lips between your teeth and nod. “Good.” His grip on your chest softens and he returns to massaging his hands across your breasts. You feel every callous and every line on his palm across your nipples. “Apologize…” His tone is softer now too, just above a whisper. 

You turn your head to gaze up at him, his brown eyes are dark and glassy from the wine he had indulged in before he came here. “I’m sorry, General.” You mew to him softly. 

Marcus respires softly through his nose and his eyes fluttering almost goes unnoticed but you’re so close to him. You feel the rumble in his chest before you hear him speak. “It’s a privilege to be in my company, did you know that?” He asks this as if you didn’t already.

You don’t respond. You just gaze up at him as his right hand leaves your chest and slides slowly down your stomach. 

“You might not fully grasp the depths of my influence,” Marcus sounds like he might be mocking you, but you’re not sure– his words aren’t really registering to you right now as you watch his hand slide lower down your torso. “But, know that when I’m here–” His hands and words pause. 

“What?” You whisper as his fingers scrabble at the patch of curls sitting atop your mound. 

“It’s because I couldn’t resist temptation anymore—” His giant hand slides down between your legs and he palms your cunt gently. “I needed to come look…” Marcus flicks his tongue against the shell of your ear. “I needed to hear your voice,” his lips find your jaw and he kisses you gently. “I needed to taste you…” His two middle fingers part your folds and you gasp softly, feeling his intense warmth against your pussy for the first time. 

“Marcus…” You plead quietly for more. 

“I needed to give in to temptations… which I’m not allowed to do as a General.” Marcus pulls his fingers from between your thighs and there is a clear string of your slick arousal connecting your swollen, aching pussy to his fingers. It glistens in the morning light and your entire body blushes and starts to tremble against him in anticipation. 

You watch as he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them hungrily, moaning softly at your taste. “Move.” He demands with a low growl and nudges you to the side of the bed so you’re perched with your ass barely on the edge. 

His warmth and strength is gone from behind you and you sit back on your elbows as he climbs off the soft, pillowy mattress and onto the floor between your legs. 

Your breath catches in your throat as he hauls your left leg up on to his shoulder but you reach out for him and run your fingers through his mess of loose, dark curls. 

He hesitates and looks up at you with a hint of annoyance in his expression. “What is it, Luna?” His voice mirrors his frustration as he kisses the sensitive skin on your inner thigh. 

“I want to see you— really see you…” You murmur, gripping his hair gently and tilting his head, guiding his kisses down your upper leg. “Please, take your tunic off, General… let me admire you…” You coo to him softly as his teeth graze your skin. 

Marcus chuckles and his lips curl up into a smirk. “Little Dove wants to see me?” He questions you with a raise of his eyebrows. 

You nod and feel your heart start to race. “I’ve never seen you… really.” You admit to him breathlessly as his fingers glide across the skin on your other thigh. 

Without a word he stands before you with the smirk still on his face, and with practiced fingers he unties the belt cinched around his waist. His eyes never leave yours as his fingers pull the fabric up over his thighs and then his hips. 

You want so badly to look at his cock but you don’t, you gaze stays locked onto his as he slowly lifts the tunic over his stomach and chest. 

Finally, once his face is covered by the tunic, you take in the sight of him. Every naked inch of him. His chest is broad and strong and covered in scars, old and new. His tight, muscular stomach, also marred with battle wounds, looks so soft. His entire body is sun-kissed and perfectly golden. 

Marcus drops the tunic on the floor beside him and stands there so you can take him in a little longer. His left hand gently rubs his lower abdomen while his right hand hangs at his side lazily. 

Your eyes trace every line and contour of his body until your gaze rests on his hardness, jutting from a thatch of dark curls. Your eyes linger on him, even though you’ve seen his cock before, it still makes your mouth water. The very tip of him is flush– almost purple and he’s already drooling. 

Marcus takes a step towards you and is between you legs. He wraps his right hand around his cock and starts to stroke himself slowly. “Are you satisfied?” He asks, but you’re too focused on his dick in your face to answer him. You reach out and with your index finger swipe the bead of precum from his slit. Marcus shivers and sighs softly as you suck your finger into your mouth. He’s salty and bitter, but you’ve been dying to know what he tastes like. 

Your eyes flick up to him and then back down to the sight of his fist wrapped around his throbbing cock. “Can I touch it?” You whisper, eyes darting between his face and his groin. 

Marcus shakes his head and his hands fall to his sides as he sinks to his knees. “You’ll get to touch it, Dove. Soon enough. Patience.” 

You want to protest but he’s inching closer to your cunt. Now you’re panting and he’s barely touched you, he’s just breathing against your slit. 

His eyes flash to yours, “You smell so fucking good, Flora,” Marcus dives in, his tongue wasting no time to part your folds.

You gasp as the feeling of his mouth on you for the first time. He moves slowly but deliberately and with pressure around your clit as he positions your legs how he wants them; both knees bent with the ball of your feet on his shoulders. You push against him and arch your hips against his mouth. 

Marcus groans as you roll your hips against his tongue. One of your hands finds his hair, grips it tightly and uses it as leverage to grind against his face. His hands find your waist and pull you against him, putting more pressure behind his tongue. 

“Oh fuck, Marcus.” You groan loudly, unable to close your eyes or look away from his face. His mouth is warm and wet and perfect. It's everything you pictured it to be when you'd lay here at night, thinking of him. His cheeks hollow and he’s grazing your sensitive flesh with his teeth as he sucks on your clit. “Fuck fuck fuck.” Your hips move with the guidance of his strong hands. 

Marcus pulls away from your pussy with a loud, wet smack and leans back in to deliver one last lick of your entire slit. “Fuck, you taste just as I imagined.” He pants softly. “Are you ready to touch me?” 

You nod up at him, not even upset that he left you on the verge of an orgasm and dripping. 

Marcus stands and straddles your hips and inches himself up until he’s practically sitting on your chest, the tip of his cock presses against your chin. 

"I want your hands on me," He growls, his voice low and rough.. "I want to feel you stroke me. Worship me." He makes his cock flex and bounce, the head of it tapping your chin gently. 

You wrap your fingers around his girth, marveling at the hard weight of him. It was everything you had thought it was going to be and more. He pulses in your grip, his skin silky and hot to the touch. Slowly, you start to stroke him, your hand gliding up and down his length. Marcus hisses in pleasure, his hips rocking into your touch.

"That's it," he pants, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. "Just like that. Fuck, your hands feel so good..." 

you pick up your pace, pumping him faster. Your thumb swirls around the head, smearing his leaking precum. Marcus groans, his thighs trembling on either side of your ribs. His cock throbs in your fist, growing even harder.

You bring your other hand up to join the first, alternating your grips. One hand pumps his base while the other works his tip. “Do you like this? Are my hands very soft?” You coo up to him.

Marcus is panting now, his head thrown back at your ministrations. “So soft… don’t stop.” He moans. 

There is a knock at your chamber door and it makes both of you jump. 

Marcus growls quietly and his eyes snap down to yours. “Were you expecting a visitor?” He questions, sounding annoyed with you. 

You pinch your brows together, your hands still moving on his cock and you shake your head. “I never get any visitors. Just you.” 

The General bats your hands off his dick and you whine loudly in protest as he crawls down the length of your body. He quickly pulls the tunic back on over his head and creeps to the door with quiet feet. 

There is another knock, more urgent this time. Marcus’s upper lip curls in distaste and he opens one of the two large doors as you scramble to cover yourself with the sheets. 

It’s a man you don’t know, but he’s wearing full Roman army attire. Sword and all. Marcus eyes him and his nostrils flair. He says nothing to the man in front of him. 

“Sorry, General… but Lady Lucilla has asked to see you.” The man says shakily. 

Marcus doesn’t say goodbye. He doesn’t even shut the door when he leaves.

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Sorry not sorry for the slow burn/ cliff hangers. I love you all so much <3 All the likes and the reblogs on the last two chapters has me reeling. Thank you, I didn't think I'd get one single like, so I appreciate you guys all so much, honestly.

I'd also be willing... to like... take requests for lil one shots (under 2-3k) fluffy/ or smutty if anyone wanted to toss some into my inbox. <.<

[softhairedhotch]

imagine being on a case with aaron, who you've been dating for years at this point, and the unsub manages to kidnap you both. he keeps you trapped somewhere for a few days and aaron genuinely thinks he's about to die, thinks he's gonna have to watch you die first (you're barely holding on), and...

he proposes.

it's definitely not what he had planned, he has it all written down in a secret notepad and has the ring waiting for him in his office. but right now he doesn't think he's ever gonna see that ring again, or have the chance for you to see it, to hear you say yes as you slip it on, to see everyone's reactions as you tell them, to get to marry you in front of everyone he loves most in the world. and he panics. it breaks him.

so he proposes.

it's less of a proposal and more of a rushed out i-love-you-please-marry-me-if-we-get-outta-here in one hushed painful breath but it lights you up inside and gives you the hope you need to keep holding on. to keep fighting. and when you say yes, yes of course, you see the same feeling rush over him, and the both of you finally, for the first time since getting kidnapped, feel like things might be okay.

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Strawberries and Cream

I will be so real I made this title up while watching strawberry shortcake *Hyena laughing gif*

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x reader

Word count: 4.6k YEAH THATS RIGHT I ACTUALLY CHECKED THIS TIME

🔪remember to reblog🔪

Notes: You know the strawberry shortcake from the early 2000s? That’s MY GIRL. P.s I’m in the middle of writing this rn 1:47am 4/19/24 and imma be so real this fic is full on Christopher erasure I’m SORRY

Episode 1: First Appearances

Eddie had never been a “bumbling idiot” when it came to women, or okay at least he hadn’t been in a long time. 

“Hi there! Can you help me?” 

And there goes that record.

It’s like you walked in on a cloud of sugared lavender and cotton candy and strawberries and anything else sweet he could think of. He whirled around, nearly knocking into you

“Oh shit- god no shit- no I shouldn’t say shit-“ He grabs your arms to steady you, and it’s like he’s holding an angel. You’re… soft? Yeah soft is the word he’s looking for. He’s taking way too long to talk like a normal person and he knows it. But god if that short pink dress isn’t doing things to him…. 

“What um- What can I help you with?” Eddie leans against the fire truck, crossing his arms over his chest, coming back down to earth. What a smooth recovery. 

“Well- I’m looking for Evan Buckley. He goes by Buck?” She looks up at him, her hands clasped behind her back sweetly.

Oh. 

Oh, she wanted Buck. 

Eddie deflates just the tiniest bit, okay a lot but he can’t let her know that “Oh yeah sure, I think he’s upstairs, come on” 

He leads the way, his hand flowing over the cool railing, trying to ground himself a little. Was it wrong he was hoping Buck fumbled this one? He wanted his best friend to find happiness- to know what that felt like…but like he could just wish that a teeny bit right?

“Hey, Buck? Someone’s here to see you” He says as he stands at the top of the stairs. You pop out from behind him, throwing your hands in the air. 

“Surprise!!!” You yell, doing a little spin 

“It’s me!!!”

Buck's mouth drops wide open, his fork falling from his hand as he gets up from the table so excitedly he knocks his chair back.

“Y/N?!? What are you doing here?!” He runs over, picking you up and spinning you around, you squeal, holding onto him tightly.

“Buck!! Put me down!! You’re gonna drop me!” You’re laughing, your head tilted back as he squeezes you to his chest

“Not, I’m never putting you down again” He buries his face in your neck, hugging you as tight as he can before he sets you on the floor. He holds your arms, shaking you like a ragdoll.

“It’s been years Y/N, does Maddie know you’re here???” 

You push away from him a bit, steadying yourself and putting your hand on your forehead.

“Can you rein it in for like five seconds” you giggle, looking up at him “I thought it was finally time to come see you! And no Maddie doesn’t know I’m here yet, I wanted to surprise you two! 

“Well, do you have a place to stay? Because you’re staying with me you can have the bed I’ll take the couch! We can have Maddie over too! Oh god I’m so glad-“

Bobby finally clears his throat, looking up from the salad in front of him. 

“Uh…Buck? You wanna maybe introduce your friend before you kill her with whiplash”

“Or from crushing her sternum,” Hen says, pouring a cup of coffee

“Oh shit, yeah! This is Y/N, my cousin!” He puts his hands on her shoulders pridefully, pushing her towards them. 

Eddie perks up at that, turning around and leaning against the counter… cousin? He stirs his coffee slowly

Bobby gets up and shakes her hand, patting her on the shoulder 

“It’s nice to meet you! Family of Bucks is a member of ours. Welcome to the 118”

They fawn over her, really that’s the only word Eddie can come up with. Chim compliments her “adorable” dress, Hen tells her she’s working those shoes, showing off that black girl magic. She’s a bit overwhelmed by the attention, giggling through her nerves as she talks to them. A wide smile on her face. 

Buck takes her hand eventually, yanking her over to Eddie 

“This is my best friend,” He says proudly, patting Eddie on the back. “Eddie Diaz!” 

Eddie melts when she looks up at him with those sweet eyes, he smirks, looking away for a second and biting his lip. It's subtle but Buck catches it, narrowing his eyes. 

“Yeah, we’ve met,” he says, looking back at you and shaking your hand “It’s nice to properly meet you Y/N” 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Eddie,” You say, a smile on your face, you bite your lip and Buck sees that too. He looks down at you, and then back up at Eddie.. and then right back down to you. His head goes up and down like a paddle ball and he whips out his phone, distractedly pushing you at Eddie.

“Ed do me a favor and keep her entertained for a minute. I need to call Maddie real quick I uh- I remembered something” 

“Don’t you dare tell her I’m here! I want to surprise her” you warn him and Buck struggles, his hands gesturing wildly. 

“Oh. Uhhh I’m sorry. I already texted her!” Chim interjects, shrugging awkwardly and you frown a little but shrug back “Oh okay! That’s fine” 

Buck shoots Chimney a thumbs up for covering for him and immediately calls Maddie, running down the stairs for privacy.

“So um…where are you from?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Admittedly he does it to make his chest look better, and God does it. Hen snickers but ignores him doing that and Chim makes faces behind your back at Eddie.

“Oh, I’ve been in Minnesota for a while! It’s nice there, pretty quiet. I’m maybe looking for a place around here now though… but don’t tell Buck or Maddie I don’t wanna get their hopes up.

“Buck would probably just make you move in with him,” Bobby comments over his salad.

“Hey! We have plenty of space” Chim adds “if you’re looking for something temporary. I'm sure Maddie wouldn’t even mind permanent if we were able to discuss it”

“Eddie has a spare room. If you were here temporarily at least, that would probably be your best bet at this point” Hen chimes in, looking at him. His cheeks heat up and he chokes a little on his coffee 

“I- I mean. I-“ he doesn’t even know what to say to that because god yes would he want that. Is that premature? That’s premature. Like so premature wanting to live with you……Anyway, a dog maybe? he knows exactly what old clothes he’d get rid of too to make space in his closet for you. Definitely a dog, gonna name him- 

“Okay, okay slow down you guys” You laugh lightly, interrupting his internal life planning. 

“I’m not moving in with anyone yet. It’s just a thought… and there’s no way in hell I’d feel comfortable imposing on Eddie like that. Family is one thing. A literal stranger? Yeah, I don’t know.” 

“It’s not an imposition!” Eddie is way too quick with that answer. He clears his throat 

“I- it wouldn’t be. That is if you need a place to crash. Besides I’m at work all day you know! It’s not like my place gets too much use…” 

“See! Problem solved!” Hen says happily and you roll your eyes at her, scrunching your nose and making a little face at her

“Oh ha-ha, very funny. I’m not moving in with Eddie” 

“You’re moving in with Eddie?!” Buck’s mouth is dropped wide open as he stands at the top of the stairs. 

“What?! No!” You tell him, your hands up in defense “I’m not moving in with anyone.”

“Good,” Buck says as he picks up his chair from earlier. “Because if you’re moving in with anyone it’s gonna be me.” 

“Told you” Bobby rolls his eyes. 

After he finishes his pad, Thai, Buck eagerly shows you around the firehouse, dragging you and Eddie around like a kid in a candy shop. He just has so much he wants to show you, and he wants Eddie there “for backup” in case he misses anything. He proudly shows off his locker and you giggle, he’s incredibly cute sometimes. He shows off Eddie’s locker too, to which Eddie rolls his eyes and shuts the door, giving him a shove. 

“Trust me when I say I saved the best for last.”He climbs up into the truck, reaching out for you. “Eddie help her?” He requests, taking your hands in his. Eddie shrugs, putting his hands firmly on your hips as you step up into the truck, he gives you a little lift and push and you’re in. Buck winks at you and you roll your eyes as Eddie climbs in behind the two of you. 

“Isn’t this cool?!” He practically yells “Cool” and you’re looking around like a little owl, your eyes wide, head swiveling. It’s a lot to take in but it’s cool, he’s right.

“Uh, yeah!!!” You agree, touching everything in sight. Eddie sits on one of the seats and watches you walk around a bit, looking at everything and running your fingers over it. Buck makes you sit down in one of the seats and buckles you in. 

“You look awesome!” He chuckles as he takes pictures of you for Maddie. He unbuckles his belt and gets up, looking around outside the door. Eddie gets on one knee, helping to unbuckle you. He looks up at you as you pull your arms out from the straps 

“Thanks” Your voice is a little breathless, god his smile is gorgeous and he smells so damn good. 

“Yeah no problem” He grins, standing up out of your way. 

“Hey Y/N, you wanna pretend to drive?” Buck asks excitedly, rubbing his hands together as he turns back around.

“Oh my god, can I??? Please!!” You squeak and Eddie chuckles, shaking his head at the two of you…he can see your similarities. Buck makes Eddie get out first and smirks as Eddie grabs your hips again, it’s a little harder getting out and you stumble into his arms, squeaking. 

“Hey, Don’t worry I got you” He chuckles, holding you against his chest, you look up at him as he smiles down at you. 

“T-thanks uhh again, I guess' ' you mumble, your cheeks feeling like they’re practically on fire. Buck sits on the floor of the truck, swinging his feet as he just gleefully watches the interaction. Eddie sets you down properly, taking a second before he lets you go. 

“Guess he’s gonna make you help me into the front seat too huh?” You ask a bit shyly 

“I’m lazy as hell so yes” Buck pipes up from behind you and Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“It’s fine. I don’t mind it anyway, just gives me an excuse to get closer to you” He practically purrs and even though he’s joking (he’s not) you melt on the spot, your mouth falling open quickly and snapping shut just as fast. He cracks up as he helps you up into the driver's seat. His hands feel so hot on your hips, they sear into your sides and you wish he’d keep them there. Eddie shuts the door and goes around to the other side, climbing inside. 

“Alright children, go crazy” he teases you and Buck as he watches, he has to swat your hand away from so many buttons that Buck is trying to make you push. Eventually, you’re both just doing it to drive him crazy. 

“Honk the horn, honk the horn!!” Buck chants from the backseat and you look over at Eddie, he shakes his head snickering as he nods

“Alright alright, God. Go ahead, Bobby will know Buck made ya do it” 

You put both hands on the large horn and push down, the loud honking noise echoes through the entire station and Buck bursts out laughing. You fall back in the seat, kicking your legs laughing excitedly and it takes everything in Eddie not to just lean over and kiss you. You look so happy and gleeful as you all hear Bobby already yelling at Buck

“Scatter!!!” Buck yells and jumps from the truck, running away. 

“No! No, that's not fair!” You yell after him, as Eddie jumps from the front seat too. You scramble over to the other chair and Eddie is already waiting with his arms out to you. It stalls you for a second, your heart beating out of your chest as you climb down into his arms. 

“Safe and sound,” he says as he shuts the door and pulls you with him over to a little corner to hide. You can see everything from there, you’re pressed against Eddie as you both watch Bobby coming down the stairs. Buck is hiding in front of the engine, he runs around the opposite side and you’re giggling. Eddie is snorting as he covers your mouth

“Shhhh you’re gonna get us caught” he whispers and god does Eddie not want to be caught. He didn’t mean for this to happen, for your body to be pressed into his, one hand on your back pressing you into him and the other over your mouth. It’s intimate, and soon your giggles die out and you look up at him, his hand still over your mouth. You both stare into each other’s eyes…is it getting hot in here??? Did someone open the bay doors?? 

He slowly removes his hand and you blink at him 

“Sorry” he apologizes softly, he’s just glad there’s no way you can feel the way his heart is beating out of his chest.

“It’s cool,” you say back just as quietly, feeling the same way. You bite your lip, your hands feeling the hard muscles under his tight shirt. Kinda makes you wonder if all his clothes fit him this nicely. 

You’re about to say something when alarms start blaring. You jump, holding onto the front of his shirt and he pulls you in for a second 

“Shit- Shit I gotta go,” he says, reluctantly letting you go. “Hopefully I’ll see you again sometime soon” He tilts your chin up, like he wants to kiss you but decides against it… he did just meet you. Instead, he kisses your forehead before running off to get his stuff on. 

The truck is gone for about 10 minutes before you get a text from Buck, telling you Maddie is coming to pick you up and take you back to his place and that he’ll see you for dinner. He sends a little heart emoji at the end of the message and you smirk. Buck was ridiculous, sincere, but ridiculous. 

The truck rolls back into the station a couple of hours later, It’s time to clean up and head out, their shifts are almost over finally. They work together, putting things back in their places and giving the truck a little wipe-down in a few places. Finally, Bobby dismisses them as the next shift starts coming in.

Eddie walks into the changing room, exhausted and ready to crash at home. He grabs his clothes and tosses them down, grabbing his shirt and yanking it tiredly over his head. 

“So are you ... into her?” Buck asks as he walks in, getting his stuff together and standing next to Eddie to change and chat. He pulls his blue shirt over his head and looks at Eddie as he reaches for his pants

“Into who?” Eddie raises an eyebrow, pulling up his pants. He knows exactly who he’s talking about but he’s not confirming that. 

“ “Into who” Yeah okay” Buck scoffs “Are you into Y/N?” 

“Buck I just met her this afternoon. How could I be into her.” He lies through his teeth…and Buck sees right through him. 

“Okay sure, anyway. Since you wanna play coy I’m not inviting you to dinner anymore”

“Wait, you were inviting me to dinner?” He stops buttoning his pants and looks over at Buck who’s pulling on his jeans

“Yeah I was… but since someone isn’t into someone… I’m not bothering” he buttons his pants and claps him on the back “See ya tomorrow bestie!” He goes to leave, a smirk on his face and Eddie stops him, grabbing his arm. 

“I’m not….I’m not saying I’m into her. But- like-“ he sighs

“I’m hungry” 

Buck walks into the studio, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat. Maddie is sitting at the table, eating a bowl of grapes and you’re standing at the stove, stirring the pot. 

“I’m telling you Mads, he is literally so cu-“ 

Maddie cuts you off, clearing her throat “Hey Buck! Hey… Eddie?” 

Buck pushes Eddie ahead of him and over to the counter, he walks past him to the fridge and grabs a couple of drinks 

“Look who’s staying for dinner,” He says in a singsong voice, tossing Eddie a bottle of water, Eddie rolls his eyes and leans against the small counter next to the stove, he gives you a wink as he opens the bottle 

“Hope you don’t mind? He just invited me at the last minute” He shrugs, sipping the water. He looks over at Maddie, who is staring at Buck intensely. They’re definitely having a sibling conversation. 

“No, not at all! I made more than enough!! I’m glad you could join us.” You give him a little hip bump, feeling your cheeks flush and he bumps you back. He looks up to see Maddie and Buck staring at the two of you, Buck eagerly wiggles, trying to hide his excitement, you turn around and he instantly stops, making Eddie laugh. 

Dinner is good- like really good, Eddie hasn’t eaten Mexican food like that in a while, sure he could go to Catrina’s but it’s just different when it’s from home. Buck had nearly shoved Eddie into the chair next to you, as he plopped down next to Maddie

“Oh don’t mind me! Just wanna sit by my wonderful, loving, perfect, sister” he explained and Maddie facepalmed, Buck couldn’t be more obvious…but at the same time, you couldn’t be more oblivious…Buck was acting weird but he’s Buck he’s always weird.

“So I guess it’s safe to say you’ve got a little Latin flair in you hm?” Eddie asks as he takes a bite from his carnitas, even the tortillas are freshly made. You’d brought them with you from home for Maddie and Buck.

“Yup,” you smile proudly as he moans and rolls his eyes back “I’m half Mexican. And uh, I take it the food is good?” 

“I’m so sorry for the absolute slut I’m about to become while eating this, yes it’s delicious” he nods his head while he’s eating and you break down laughing. Buck and Maddie are looking at each other with that certain sparkle in their eyes again while you’re shoving Eddie and he’s stealing a bite of your rice. 

It’s kind of natural the way you hang all over Eddie over dinner and the way he holds onto you, maybe it’s the Hispanic in you both, very touchy. Or maybe it’s just that he’s fun to be around. Eddie learns a good deal about you, most of it incredibly embarrassing as Buck can’t help himself but tell all of your embarrassing moments as kids together. Eddie gets him back for you, telling the story about how he quite literally peed himself on a date once and you and Maddie are both scream laughing as Buck starts throwing leftover lettuce at Eddie screaming at him to shut up.

“I’m sorry you got into a lettuce war” You giggle as you walk out to Eddie’s car together, nudging each other occasionally. He’s got his hands in his pockets 

“Yeah that’s Buck for you”

Buck had made you walk Eddie out to his car, claimed he absolutely had no choice but to start the dishes or he’d forget, and said Maddie had to use the bathroom and it wasn’t safe for pregnant women to hold it for so long. You’re pretty sure he made that last part up but you just shrug it off, slipping on your slides and following Eddie outside. 

You stop in front of his car and you lean against it a little, dragging your finger down the hood. He clears his throat and you look up at him, he’s blushing as he runs his fingers through his hair nervously. 

“Do you…wanna like to hang out? While you’re in town?” 

“Yeah sure why not! You’re Buck’s best friend I’m sure he’d love to “

“No no- just. Like just us. Just me and you?” He interrupts you, as he gets in his car.

“Oh,” You feel your cheeks flush. “Like…- like a date?” 

“No! No not. Okay- okay that sounds bad I said it way too fast-“ He’s stumbling over his words “Jus- just like being cool hanging out I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t ask you on a date…yet. Like we just met you know so I mean I don’t want to take things too fast for you!!” 

His head falls heavily back against the headrest groaning at his awkwardness, and you’re smirking, your arms crossed over your chest. He looks over at you, his voice low as he takes a deep breath.

“Would you like to go to the zoo with me this weekend? As friends. I’d like to get to know you better.” 

You smile at him, leaning into the car window and kissing him on the cheek.  

“I would love to go to the zoo with you this weekend, as friends” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, that blush on his cheeks deepening as he starts the car, looking at you. “Friends don’t kiss friends” He dares to say that as if he hadn’t kissed your forehead that afternoon. 

“I promise you, friends kiss friends on the cheek. Trust me” You tell him a matter of factly, assuring him as you step back, giving him a little wave.

“Guess I gotta get on that trend huh?” 

He smirks as he drives off. Is he speeding? Yes. But does it look cool as hell, also yes. He’s so giddy all the way home. Not only does he have a Tupperware full of some of the best food he’s eaten in a long time that you’d shoved in his hands and refused to take no for an answer when he tried to tell you he couldn’t possibly take it. But you’d also said yes to the date… okay a “friend” date but you still said yes!!

The next morning he’s got a little more pep in his step, he gets through his workout faster than usual and he’s even early to work.

“You’re in a good mood” Hen comments, as she drinks her coffee, he shrugs as he finishes tucking his shirt into his pants

“I guess I am …yeah” He smiles, fixing his hair. He is in a good mood…he can’t stop thinking about you. He’d even dreamed about you… it was impossible not to think about you. It’s like he could smell your perfume as he was just standing there, whatever you wore was everything to him, he could practically bathe in it. 

“Why are you standing with your hands in your hair like that?” You giggle as you walk up next to him. 

Oh, so he could smell your perfume.

“I was just distracted..” He says awkwardly, turning towards you.

“What are you doing here?”

“I brought brownies! Me and Maddie are hanging out today so she brought me up here ...didn't realize I’d run into you” you say, your hands behind your back as you look around the firehouse. 

“Didn’t think I’d get to see you either…” he says, mimicking your stance

He leans down, kissing you on the cheek. His lips are soft and plump and it makes you blush, his hand ghosts over your hip before he pulls you a little closer to him. 

“So, I was thinking we could go to lunch after the zoo? If you wanted” 

He’s so close now, looking down at you. He’s tall…and he still smells so good, like he always does. You could bottle that and just bathe in it.

“Lunch?” your voice is a bit dreamy as you feel his hand on your hip. He’d been touching you yesterday too and today felt just as good. You can practically feel his body against yours like it was the other day when you were hiding. 

“Yeah, figured we could go to the zoo early…maybe spend the day together. If you’re okay with that” His voice is smooth, sort of deep. Like he’s purposely trying to overwhelm your senses. 

“Y…yeah okay. Yeah, that sounds nice” you agree easily because he is overwhelming you. And you can’t help the way your lips part softly like you just need to know what his feels like. He’s got a smirk on his face as his eyes flick down to your lips, he runs his tongue over his own before he chuckles lightly.

“Alright…it’s a date. But you know, not” His voice is playful as he wiggles his eyebrows at you and you roll your eyes, finally pushing at his chest, shoving him away from you.

“Yeah, yeah whatever I’ll see you this weekend.” You can finally breathe again. 

He watches you walk away, practically thirsting over that sway in your hips and the way those shorts you’re wearing hug your body so deliciously. 

“Shoulda taken her to the beach…” he mumbles to himself.

“Can you not eye fuck my cousin in front of me please, I truly don’t think that’s too hard of a request.” Buck groans as he shoves a brownie in Eddie’s mouth. 

“And she’s good at baking?!” Eddie moans around his bite, accepting the brownie from Bucks's hand 

Buck rolls his eyes “Of course she’s good at baking. She’s good at everything”

“Eddie you better get to talking to her before I do” Hen threatens him jokingly “These are damn good”

“I know okay, I know” Eddie sighs “I’m not going to jump at her though, that’s like….desperate right? I don’t want to come off as desperate…even if I think she’s pretty. Like really pretty- stupid pretty”

“Hey, guys? You think she’s pretty?” Chim asks as he comes over to help Hen restock the engine. 

“Not sure. Maybe we should ask Eddie” Hen nods as she walks away with him. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, flicking them both off as he leans against the wall, rubbing his hands over his face. Buck chuckles at him, putting his hand on his arm.

“She's not gonna think you’re desperate Eddie… Y/N isn’t like that. And I think she’s into you too. Just be yourself, man, You’re a good guy Eddie, and a total catch. I love Y/N with all of my heart but if she can’t see that? She’s a total loser. And you know two sides of the same coin if you can’t see she’s the greatest woman in the entire world you’re the loser” He snickers as he elbows Eddie in the ribs. Eddie chuckles and sighs nudging Buck back. 

“Thank you for restoring my confidence…I needed that. You’re the greatest friend in the world man, honestly”

Bobby makes a gagging sound as he walks by “And you’re the greatest crew in the world” He says in a high-pitched voice, fluttering his eyelashes. 

“Hey! We’re having a moment” Buck says, throwing his napkin at Bobby. 

Masterlist

[ms--lobotomy]

@avggendelmain YOU.

Summary: Curze's pinky is gone. I wonder what that could mean?

Word Count: 842

Content Warnings: Konrad FUCKING Curze, Body horror, mention of cannibalism and all that jazz, reader is SASSY this time around holy shit, what he's planning is as much of a shitshow as it can be with this man, war criminal uppies

Image Credit: @squishyowl (new dividers eeee)

"Your finger," you started, looking at the missing pinky on his left hand. Your eyebrows furrowed, and your mouth hung slightly open. He was standing in the doorway and leaning on it with his right arm. He had a devilish smirk on his face, trailing his left hand up and down his hips as if he wanted you to notice the missing digit.

"What about it?" he asked, his sharp teeth bright against his pale face. He was wearing a simple tunic and linen pants with pockets, along with a bright red cape that contrasted the darks of his clothes. It was a very fancy outfit for a man who typically walked around naked.

"It's..." you trailed off, folding your own hands over your stomach. You felt yourself moving slowly over, as if you weren't in control of your own footsteps. Soon you were inches away from him.

"Go on, spit it out," he said. He drummed his remaining fingers against himself before kneeling down. Even kneeling, he was the taller one.

"It's gone." You grabbed for the collar of your shirt with one hand, shakily reaching out to his with the other.

He grasped your hand, hard, and a shiver went down your spine as he all but confirmed your fears. His smallest finger was gone. Your look of primal terror was met with a calm smirk, teeth disappearing behind faint lips.

"It'll grow back," he mumbled, pressing into you. He got up and walked forwards, prompting you to walk backwards and fall onto the hardwood floor. He leered above you. His long hair framed your face, and you felt his breath hot on your cheeks. "There is something more pressing at hand."

"More pressing than losing a finger?" you asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. You've seen him eat people, flay people, and generally do multiple unkind things in quick succession. Some of them were in your name. And in your right mind, you knew that sassing him would be a bad idea. But nobody in their right mind courts Konrad Curze and lives.

"More pressing than that," he says, clearing his throat and moving off of you a little bit. You panted, exhaling deeply.

"Who died?"

Konrad let out a little chuckle, turning into a hearty if off-putting laugh. He threw his head back, and your expression turned into one of bewilderment. You felt your heart pound in your chest. Someone definitely died, and Konrad definitely had a hand in it, if an incomplete one.

"Konrad, cut the shit and tell me who died."

As Konrad composed himself, you propped yourself up on your elbows behind you. He smirked at you again, and you two made uncomfortable eye contact before he spoke.

"Nobody died, my beating heart," he said quietly. He straightened himself out and reached inside his pocket. Inside was a pale box; it may have been completely white had it not had little scars hatching it. There was a beauty mark, for lack of a better word, on it.

"That's skin," you stated.

Konrad's smile widened. "Do you know whose it is?" he asked, his other hand grasping for the side of his shirt. Your mouth opened slightly.

"Konrad, keep your shirt on. It'll heal faster." You felt the words tumble out of your mouth before you could do anything about it.

Konrad huffed. "You're no fun," he mumbled, before he stood up. He offered a hand to you. "Take it, and stand."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, taking his hand. He pulled you up, standing himself. He towered over you, relishing the moment before he knelt in front of you. His cape folded against the ground, and he looked down at you with pitch black eyes. He grabbed the top of the box with the other hand, and you knew what was going to happen.

"You are my heartbeat," he started as your eyes widened. "you are the red in my veins, the taste of iron in my mouth. I don't think I could be anything without you. So please," he said, before saying your name. He opened the box to reveal red muscle encasing an off-white band that was perfectly your size.

"Will you marry me?"

Your mouth hung open again before hesitantly reaching out to take the ring. "Konrad..." you began as two of your fingers grasped the smooth, dry material. "You already know the answer." You took the ring, and put it on your finger. As expected, it was perfectly encased.

You grinned and opened your arms up to him. He wrapped his arms around you, dropping the box to the ground as he raised you into the air. You laughed, relaxing into his touch as he spun you around. He pressed his head into your shoulder, where your skin was exposed right up next to the neck. He grazed his teeth against you in an almost-kiss, and you wrapped your arms around him.

"Don't worry," you said. "You won't hurt me."

Taglist: @bispecsual @justeverythingnothingelse @bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae @historitor-bookshelf

And also @whorety-k because they inadvertently helped me write Konards better :)

[ridreamir]

May I request a Wolverine x Clingy!Reader fic/HCs/anything,,?

Preferably male or GN!Reader,,, also,,, tysm for awnsering my ask ^-^,

[I always write Gender Neutrally! Not a problem friend!]

It was inevitable that they'd keep and monitor you. Some excuse about it being for your health. You understand their scrutiny to some extent.

You are not a mutant. You just so happen to have an entirely unique human genome unrelated to any living person on this planet. One that may or may not give you near supernatural advantages against the mutated people of this planet. Yeah, not a mutant. Definitely not a mutant. Your 'house arrest' has been fine, for the most part. Lots of labs. Tests. CT Scans. X-rays. If there's a foreign chemical in your body, you're sure they already know about it.

You should have had nothing to do with him, then. Two strangers in the same vicinity. A passing face behind the glass of your test-tube home.

It was when he stopped, sniffed the air, and his eyes caught yours that you knew something was bound to be amiss. How he smelled anything behind sterile nothing was beyond you.

Behind that side glare was something. His face scrunched, but it wasn't anything you did. Misplaced anger. A hint of curiosity.

He would come around in the guise of passing out of obligation. Stalk past the long hall, slow his steps, watching you through his peripheral.

No one here would talk to you. Nothing more than a quick pleasantry as they examined your physical condition. No substantial conversation nor stimulation. An obvious outsider. Someone not to get too close to. You started hanging on to each and every second of his sporadic visits, which sometimes went even weeks between each other. You know he must be busy. Must be some kind of important.

Not you. Never you. They called it monitoring, but you knew. This was just a fancy jail cell. Not for anything you did. Just for something you hadn't done, but could do.

He was watching you. Probably waiting to tear you down under their orders if you attempted anything. Not that you would, for you were normal. Nothing. Could not stand against them.

Even still, as he stalked, and stalked, and never spoke a word to you, you grew, unfortunately, attached.

You shouldn't be here, Logan.

Just wait until it figures out what it is.

You can't just keep someone locked up for something they never did!

I knew you wouldn't understand, Logan. Ever the bleeding heart.

This is for the safety of all mutant-kind.

He passed the glass, reinforced and strong enough to block several tons of pressure being thrown at it. A bit overkill for one small normal human being.

You clung onto every hidden glance and clench of his fist.

You knew they had cameras, that they'd stow you away if you tried anything.

Still, you stood up, matching his pace. He paused, and you stalked. Closer, ever closer.

You stood before him. Separated by nothing but a thick, near-invisible sheet of glass.

There was a fire in his eyes, a burning rage. Good. He could feel angry for you.

They shouldn't have kept you here. They should have left you to your civilian life. As you stared at him, a flicker of instability amidst resigned sadness, he knew.

It was all over, before it had even begun.

[aihaloos]

Tempted to write a replaced au twst fic where Yuu (or alternatively, I'll use my Yuu, Riyuu, who is basically who I'm writing this for) used to be the cutest girl around, the cheery one who's always around everyone, the one you can't seem to dislike even if your crush falls for her because she earnestly says sorry (even though it's not her fault) and will always help you out if you need her back in her old school. But one day, a new girl comes around and her whole reputation got destroyed. She helps the new girl adjust, tells her all the rumours and introduces her to all the popular kids. But the girl ends up backstabbing her, telling the popular girls rumours about how she intentionally plays up the act to steal their crushes to her, and lies to the boys, telling them she's just playing with their hearts and that she's a horrible person.

Yuu ends up alone and excluded, being seen as "annoying" and only having a few close friends who doesn't really interact with her in public in fear of their reputation being ruined. She ends up miserable at school, and wishes to not go anymore. But one day comes a saving grace, she gets whisked by a mysterious black carriage into Twisted Wonderland, or more specifically, Night Raven College. She doesn't mind working if it meant she doesn't have to deal with her old school, there was still 1 and a half years left of school and she doesn't want to deal with all ghe group projects to be assigned that will inevitably end with everyone not wanting to team up with her. Plus, as annoying Grim is, he's like the animal friend all of the anime and storybook protagonists she knows has, and she doesn't mind him too much.

Some things did change after she and Grim got officially enrolled, but she had no problem adapting to the social expectations of the world, part time jobs with Sam -- and occasionally the canteen -- paid enough to get her tools for cooking basic but delicious food, and new friends without the weight of her past helped her get settled comfortably.

The existence of Overblots stunned her for a bit, but a peek into Riddle and Leona's memories helped her understand the concept, even if just a little. However, things began to change eerily simlarly to her old school when a new girl comes, also in a similar position to her, getting transported to a new, unfamilliar world, and seemingly hailing from a similar world to the Earth she knows. She warmly welcomes her, eager to finally befriend another girl, but it seems that the girl does not share the same enthusiasm.

The girl only barely responds to Yuu's attempts at forming a friendship, and always seems to talk her in a condescending way, and often dismisses her, and especially so whenever there are any boys around.

Yuu will not deny any statements claiming she's an attention seeker or that she plays up her sweet innocent girl act, but she knows to never, ever sacrifice a bystander for it. But if someone insists on war with her... well that's another, different story. She's learnt her lesson of being overly optimistic, and she will not make the same mistake twice. She will not let her make her life a living hell more than it already is with Crowley's irresponsibleness.

Aaand thus begins the story. Or well, however you wanna continue it. I'm honestly in favour of most Housewardens (Kalim, Vil, and Idia in particular. I'll put my reasoning in a few paragraphs down) Adeuce, Tweels, and Ortho for team Yuu. Why?

Well, first of all, Adeuce. This is mostly because the duo is like. with Yuu since Day 1, as much of a bitch as Ace is, I think those two are the most likely to trust and know Yuu well enough to not believe the lies R (< Replacer) tells. Especially Deuce, he doesn't want to betray a friend he knew for quite a while, that would not be very honor student-like of him!! And she helped him out in a lot of situations too! He doesn't want to hurt you after all the trouble you go through to help him, and also knowing how horrible your living conditions are. Ace would most likely give in to peer pressure if the student body is overwhelmingly in favour of R, but as of now, he maybe enjoys your company just a bit more than R. Just a bit, promise.

Tweels I feel like is self-explanatory. Those two are perceptive as fuck istg it scares me. Jade especially. I feel like the two would just toy with R for a bit despite her facade and lies before dropping her after she bothers them for attention and favours one too many times.

(Ortho ties in with Idia so I'll explain him in Idia's paragraph)

Kalim is actually very emotionally intelligent. He can come off annoying and stupid, but from all the scenes I see of him, he's actually really good at dealing with people. Have you seen how he deals with the Scarabia residents after Jamil's OB??? The way he phrases his sentences?? He didn't force or even plead with them to forgive Jamil, he simply asks them to wait before making permanent judgements, and I think he's gonna be uncomfy with how condescendingly R talks to Yuu, and even if he's used to people going after him for money, I feel like R mostly eyeing him for money and how she "secretly" sighs in annoyance everytime she goes out of the party for a "bathroom break" will only solidify his dislike/discomfort, even if he doesn't show it.

Vil is also kind of self-explanatory if you read into his character and not just the shell the official English localization makes for him. (I could rant for hours about how the official tl portrays his character istg. He's hardworking and he actually didn't attempt to poison Neige out of pure jealousy, he did it because he felt like all his efforts to be beautiful will never be able to surpass Neige, who, in his eyes, always seemed to be innocent and naturally beautiful. He feels like the villain in Neige's story. He feels like he is reduced to what he often plays as, a snobbish, overconfident villain obsessed with overthrowing the hero. And because of it, it became a twisted self-fulfilling prophecy, pushing him to, in a fit of despair, be that same villain everyone sees him as.) I really don't think he will take well to R's condescension to Yuu, who genuinely wants to befriend R. (I actually have a whole thing in my head where Yuu and Vil occasionally have sleepovers where they do skincare together after the whole VDC thing happened. I feel like this is also a "vent sesh" of sorts for the both of them, just to air out their grievances without much seriousness, and I think Yuu would admit to wanting a fellow girl in the school that she could befriend, since no matter what, being the only girl can be exhausting.) Ik Vil's not a girl but he is such a girls' girl istg.

Idia... this mostly ties into Ortho and The STYX Incident, but like,, I think we can all agree on this one,, Idia is smart and capital V Very pessimistic. Would you rather trust the girl you've known for a while, who saw your memories, who helped you in awkward social situations when she can and is besties with your brother or some random new girl who trash talks said girl behind her back? The former, right? Plus, even if Yuu did only hang out with him and his brother because she likes to secretly laugh at him behind his back, there's mo guarantee R wouldn't do the same, given his experience. And he would rather have someone who actively helps him and his brother out than someone who wouldn't.

I didn't put Malleus in because of how canon him actually treats Yuu. I feel like the fandom kind of put on rose-tinted glasses on with his character, and kind of ignored some things like, idk... him just leaving them to fend for themselves homeless during Octavinelle... maybe he thought Crowley would offer them a place to stay but like... I'm still bothered by how didn't atleast offer a spare room in Diasomnia. He's a housewarden goddamnit. He's not as distant or scary as the rumours say but like. still rubbed me the wrong way.

Anyways I don't think my attention span will let me write it to completion so if anyone likes this and wants to write it feel free. Pls tag me if you do tho. I would love to read it :3

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan: Hey Y/n, you pet sit right?

You: Yeah- do you know someone that needs my help?

Yan: Actually, me and the gang are going out of town next week so if it's not big deal we'd like you to watch them all. Just a couple of big, but friendly pups. I'm sure they'll love you

You: That's no problem, just send me more detail later

Yan: Gotta warn you tho, they're cuddlers

[Next week, you arrive at the location discussed over text and walk inside the unlocked home to a room full of collared werewolves. The door slams shut as a leash falls over your shoulder]

Yan werewolf: Woof