#Elastic Shields

[manuelamordhorst]

Tipp: Elastic Shields in der Q Galerie für Kunst Schorndorf

[wandasaura]

RED WINE SUPERNOVA

summary — when wanda first proposed making you cum in front of her friends, you’d thought she’d been joking, but when maria and carol come over for your annual halloween movie night, you realize she wasn’t at all

warning(s) — established relationship, heavy dom/sub elements, exhibitionism, slight voyeurism, humiliation, degradation, praise kink, teasing, cum tasting, finger sucking, make out session, nipple stimulation/torture, orgasm control/delay, unintentional edging, fingering, clit stimulation, alludes to maria being dommy, carol and maria watch, possessiveness, eventual orgasm, soft aftercare, brief domestic fluff/cuteness, men/minors dni

kinktober

The fabric of your panties had once felt soft against your skin, comfortable and easy as you slid through the house on sock covered feet, preparing for a movie night with your girlfriends and two of their friends. It had become something of a tradition, a soft moment to look forward to in a life overwise filled with chaos and constant movement. Tonight, you’d thought you’d be cuddled up close to Natasha, holding onto Wanda’s hand as you watched Coraline and countless other films that had always inspired spooky feelings in your heart, but when Natasha had steered you away from the wardrobe, declaring that your outfit was enough on its own despite the nakedness of your uncovered stature in frilly panties with a dull pink bow sewn onto the waistband and a lacey top that matched so sweetly, that soft cotton fabric between your legs had very quickly become damp with persistent arousal and anticipation; no longer comfortable as every time you shifted in place, you were reminded of your desperate state and unwavering vulnerability. 

Maria and Carol had been right on time, barging straight into the quaint albeit perfectly cozy apartment that you, Wanda, and Natasha shared whenever they weren’t crashing in safe houses and Shield facilities off the grid. They’d hardly even glanced in your direction as they barrelled through the door, something that was odd and had your belly twisting with wild emotions and sensations, especially when you came to realize why they were acting as if you weren’t there at all. This had been something brought up in passing conversation one night, merely a wild fantasy that Wanda had shared after coming back from a grueling solo mission. You had always known that she was on the kinkier side, especially out of you and Natasha, but hearing about how she wanted to show you off to her friends, wanted to stake her claim with you in front of an audience of your most trusted acquaintances, had you eagerly agreeing to her little fantasy. That’s all that you thought it would be, a fantasy that stayed within the walls of your shared bedroom, but then Natasha brought it up last week, and now here you were, sat on the couch between both of your girlfriends, your naked thighs glimmering beneath the ambient lighting of the television as one of them held your hand, and the other stroked your inner thigh as if you were nothing more than a priceless object to flaunt. 

Your cheeks were heated with flushed humiliation and undeniable arousal, the center of your panties damp and darkened, although thankfully hidden from view yet not ignored entirely. Every few minutes, when you had been led to believe that Natasha’s heavy, possessive, hand wouldn’t rise any further up your thigh, she would stretch her fingers outward and fiddle with the lace edges of your panties, pulling the elastic material away from the crevice of your thigh only to let it snap back into place like a broken record that wouldn’t stop skipping. Wanda squeezed your hand occasionally, reminding you of her steady presence beside you on the couch, but even that did little to quell your racing thoughts as you tracked the way both Carol and Maria traced the outlines of your pebbled nipples through the dainty tank top adorning your torso and upper half. 

After a while, yet only midway through Coraline which nobody was really paying any attention to, Natasha grew bolder in her ministrations with your wanting body, and as a result, the flush plastered across your cheeks and ears became darker with bated arousal and humiliation. That soft, tantalizing touch on the insides of your thighs became curious fingers sweeping through your sodden folds, prodding at your aching clit and pressing against your wanting entrance that begged to suck her fingers in despite your greatest attempts to remain unbothered and unaware. You hadn’t thought it could get any worse, any more humiliating, but just as you got used to Natasha’s cold touch against your hot cunt desperate for relief, she retraced her fingers, instead holding them up to the light for Wanda and her friends to marvel at. 

As she pulled her fingers apart, revealing stringy ropes of warm arousal clinging to her knuckles and the pads of her delicately scarred fingertips, a whine of mortification fell off of your cat clenched tongue and into the air thick with tension and lust, though like before and every minute since both Carol and Maria had stepped inside the apartment, you were ignored entirely by the onlookers who caught a glimpse at your most vulnerable headspace typically reserved for Wanda and Natasha exclusively. “Well would you look at that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the little slut likes being shown off.” 

A pitiful whine fell off of your lips as Natasha rubbed her fingers together for everyone in the room to see, making an extravagant show of your glistening moisture that dirtied her fingertips. Your face fell into Wanda’s chest on instinct, seeking protection from the dramatic show Natasha was putting on for her own entertainment, however that was hardly allowed, and mere seconds after you settled with your face against the breasts of your younger girlfriend, her fingers were tangling into your hair and pulling you upright, demanding you watch as Natasha unravels your autonomy, reducing you to nothing but a slut for her friends to ogle; and shamefully, it was turning you on more and more. 

A startled gasp fell off of your lips when Maria came closer, leaving Carol behind on the loveseat adjacent from the couch you sat cuddled into, and stalked up to Natasha with slow, calculated strides of maintained authority. She had always radiated a gentle energy, someone that you found comfort and ease being around whenever you visited your girlfriends at whatever Shield base they occupied, but as she stared down at you, traced the evidence of glistening moisture on the insides of your thighs and snickered to herself when she found that telling patch of darkness on the center of your panties, she’d never appeared more dominant, and your heart lurched in your chest at the prospect of misbehaving in her company. 

When her lips wrapped around Natasha’s fingers, cleaning them off without so much as a grimace as she let the taste of your arousal sink into every taste bud on her tongue, a blush so dark it nearly burned your skin crept down your neck and provoked tingles and goosebumps to rise along your spine and in your belly where that coil of anticipation grew bigger and bigger each time Natasha humiliated you further. When Maria moaned softly, only pulling off of Natasha’s fingers because she couldn’t contain the laugh that bubbled over in her chest as you squirmed and whined with impatient humiliation, you nearly melted into the couch entirely, not sure what was worse; being beneath her heavy, pointed stare, or watching as your girlfriends shared your intimate sweetness with their friends. 

“My shy girl. Why are you pretending that you don’t like this, huh? Your pussy’s aching for Natty to touch you, and yet you’re pretending to be my shy girl like you don’t want her to make you cum for Carol and Maria to see.” Wanda coaxed tantalizingly, her fingers ghosting along your chest for the first time that night, taking an interest in your pebbled nipples that pleaded for attention just as Maria sat back on the couch with Carol, being abruptly pulled into a searing kiss that conveyed passion and intense need. 

Between the sharp sensations of Wanda fiddling with your pebbled nipples, pinching and pulling and twisting, your eyes remained locked on Carol and Maria who seemed to be lost in the whirlwind of their passionate makeout session. You hadn’t known that they were an item, wouldn’t have suspected it even if the signs had been laid out in front of you, but they moved together so cohesively, it couldn’t have been the first time they found themselves in this position. It was most definitely the first time you found yourself in this position however, and you couldn’t stop the involuntary whine that clawed up your throat and forced its way out when they finally pulled away, a lust drink smirk on Carol’s lips as she practically undressed you with her eyes. 

“You’ve been holding out on us, Romanoff. I didn’t know your girl was so sweet.” Carol’s lips curved with dominance that hadn’t been traceable when Maria had tangled her long fingers into her short blonde locks and tugged so aggressively you feared Carol may recoil from the kiss in momentary pain, but as she sat on the loveseat that you had spent many nights cuddled up on, she looked absolutely dominating with her icy blue stare and sharp jawline. 

“She’s the sweetest, isn’t she?” Natasha’s eyes glimmered with dominance as she turned her attention to you, fully focusing on the pink hues that formed along your cheekbones and skin, marveling at the glaze of submission that had come across your eyes since she’d first denied you access to the wardrobe in your shared bedroom. “Why don’t we take these off, show Carol and Maria how wet you really are for me, hm?” There wasn’t much of a question in her softly uttered words, but there was enough grace given that you knew you could back out at any moment. You declined that subtly placed offer, though your embarrassment didn’t lighten any. You couldn’t explain the strong feelings turning your blood into butterflies, but despite being utterly humiliated, you were beyond turned on. You wanted Natasha to continue to condescend you, you wanted Carol and Maria to watch as she unraveled your walls and brought you through a glorious episode of bliss and pleasure. You wanted to know that despite sharing the sight of your body with two people that you trust most in Wanda and Natasha’s tight knit circle, that you were truly only theirs to have. 

When your panties came off, you tried not to watch as Natasha playfully flung them across the room in Maria and Carol’s direction, or how the Commander grabbed them without batting an eye and inspected the dark patch adorning the center that had laid so snugly against your weeping entrance. You shuddered in anticipation when Natasha pried your legs open just the slightest bit more, draping one of your naked thighs across her material covered lap, opening you up for eager eyes to search. You whined when her fingers swept through your folds again, although this time, she didn’t spare her touches like she had been. Her fingers fell onto your clit heavily, rubbing rushed tight circles on your pebbled bundle of nerves that pleaded for attention and relief. 

When Carol commented about wanting to taste you herself, Wanda’s ministrations on your nipples seemed to double, fueled by possessiveness that was intimidating and unspeakably arousing, and through a haze of intense pleasure that was sparking through your body at various places, you just barely recall her telling Danvers to remember the agreement at hand. Her possessive touch lit your body up, and before you could comprehend the desperation that was truly turning you into a mindless slut for two of the most powerful and influential people in the world to witness, your hips searched for more from Natasha in desperate twists and pathetic reaches. 

“How long do you think it’ll take me to make the little slut cum?” Natasha wagered, her smirk devious as she stopped rubbing tight circles around your clit without so much as a warning that you were about to lose what you’d been begging for all night, her eyes trained on Carol and Maria, paying no mind to the way you babbled and sobbed for relief, having been seconds away from an orgasm that was now ebbing away into the abyss. Desperately you fought for her attention, arching your hips up against her hand, attempting to gain back even an ounce of the pressure she had been providing, but Wanda’s arms snaked around your waist and pulled you back before you could succeed. 

“A minute.” Carol laughed, her tone painfully condescending as her eyes traced the gleam of arousal that had marked your skin with glistening moisture, your pussy on full display as Natasha unintentionally spread you farther, giving both Danvers and Hill an extraordinary sight of your pulsating clit and weeping hole that was desperate for any ounce of attention. 

“Fifty six seconds, but nobody's counting.” Maria’s response was dry, laced with infectious dominance that was spurring Natasha on to be better, harsher. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when two fingers sunk into your cunt, enveloped by velvety walls that squeezed her knuckles tight. There was no time to grow used to the stretch as she worked you open, but it felt so good you didn’t care. 

Her thumb found your clit again, and relentlessly she worked you back up towards that orgasm you’d been desperately chasing. Wanda’s fingers didn’t stop pulling and twisting at your nipples, but at some point, she’d pulled your top low, trading in thin fabric for warm flesh. You hardly flushed when you realized all of you was now exposed to Carol and Maria, so desperate for an orgasm that you let it fade away entirely. Strained whines and pleads fell off of your lips as Natasha worked you closer and closer to a blissful orgasm embarrassingly quick, but she kissed your insecurities away as she mumbled for you to let go, to let her make it all better. 

“Shh, there we go. There we go, pretty girl. Making such a mess for me. It’s okay.” She coaxed softly, pecking your lips multiple times as she withdrew her fingers, quickly finding a blanket to throw over your body, no longer wanting you visible to her closest friends who seemed to understand, and didn’t comment on her quickness to cover you up. 

“Forty seven seconds. Impressive.” Maria taunted lightly, her smile dazzling as she flashed you the softest look you’d ever seen her give. You blushed, hiding your face in Wanda’s chest as she allowed you to get comfortable, seeking out her tender affection that she would never dream of withholding. “Where are you going?” Maria narrowed her eyes at Natasha when she noticed the redhead itching to rise from the couch, her arms slowly falling off of your still trembling frame as you leaned heavily against Wanda in post-orgasm bliss and hazy submission. 

“To get her a water?.” Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed as she found herself explaining the routine steps to your preferred aftercare scene that she had engraved in her mind like a sacred text since starting her relationship with you, but Maria merely scoffed and stood up herself, tenderly handing your panties back to Wanda who took them appreciatively. 

“I’ll get her some water. You make sure that she’s okay.” Was her affectionately mumbled response. You didn’t really pay any attention to Natasha easing your panties back up your legs, or Wanda softly fixing your top over your breasts, but by time Maria returned with a glass of water, you were dressed and snuggled into Wanda’s lap contently, holding tightly to Natasha’s hand, just barely able to focus on the credits rolling across the screen.  

“Thank you.” You mumbled to Maria when she passed the water off to you, smiling encouragingly before she took a seat next to Carol again, seemingly unphased by what had just happened, although it did ease the knot of anxiety in your belly. Nothing had changed, they didn’t see you any differently, and if anything, these were the best post-scene cuddles that Wanda had ever given, partly because her possessiveness fueled her need to hold you tight and stake her claim despite there being no threat. 

“What do you say we watch Halloween Town?” Carol mused, seemingly just as eager to assure your comfortability as Maria, to which you were beyond grateful for. 

“Twitches. Someone thinks it’s fun to watch witch movies and compare everything about them to me.” Wanda giggled, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head, silently settling the question of which film would be the one that you all agreed to pay attention to. Maria agreed easily, fighting Natasha for the remote and winning, victoriously scrolling through your streaming platform until she found what she desired. 

“I love you.” You mumbled to Wanda, slouching against her chest as your attention drifted between her soft touch and the opening scene beginning to play at a low volume. 

“I love you too, baby. So much more than you’ll ever know.”

[honeyssilk]

the thing about nerdy men...

mechanicalengineer!rafe staying at your apartment after work! contents: established relationship, cigarette usage, maybe a lil suggestive? & rafe knowing he's fine hehe wc: 435

your body is curled into one of your couch pillows as you wake up to the light sound of fingers tapping against a keyboard. the sky is pitch black compared to the pale blue one you fell asleep to.

the living room is now warmly lit from the floor lamp at the front of the room. you then turn over to see your boyfriend, rafe, slumped on your couch.

his glasses are on the bridge of his nose while his eyes intently focus on the computer screen before him. the two buttons of his polo shirt are undone as he blows cigarette smoke into the air.

"rafe, you're here," you say happily, voice still laced with sleep. a delighted expression emerges on his face, replacing his exhausted one.

"i would've stayed awake if i knew you were coming over." you move to sit closer to him.

"jus' needed to be near you," he explains, immediately setting his laptop aside to pull you into him.

the two of you bask in the silence of each other's company. rafe's fingers gently rubbing your skin through the soft lace of your cami pajama top. he's still taking drags from his cigarette, lightly tapping the falling ash into the ashtray.

"so, what were you working on? seems like a lot since you bought it home with you," you ask, knowing you wouldn't understand much of what he's describing, though you do find it attractive when he talks about his passions.

"nothin' much, just finishing some sketches for the new project i'm workin' on," he replies. your eyes flit around the paper-filled coffee table, observing the intricate sketches and formulas written alongside them.

"but now, you've got all my attention," he continues, leaning up on his elbows, a lazy smirk etched onto his handsome face.

he watches your face flush as his blue eyes meet yours before they dance around your features. his large hands grazing the elastic band of your sleep shorts to the curve of your hip.

"you're making me nervous," you mumble, nestling your head into his chest to shield yourself from him. even though with looking down at him, you still feel small under his passionate gaze.

"oh yeah? tell me more, baby," he urges, guiding your face to meet his.

"you keep looking at me like that," you huff, and he chuckles at your gestures to his facial expression.

"'cause you're so fuckin' gorgeous," he hums, and it's like the smile that appears on your face was contagious, because even through his tiredness, there was still something within rafe that couldn't refrain from smiling too.

a/n: thank you so much for all the support on my first post!! i hope u all enjoy this one as well!!

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

Dbf!Jack Abbot x F!reader

Word Count: 3361

Summary: You can’t orgasm. Doctor Abbot, your father’s best friend, is willing to fix that.

Warnings: PORN-NO-PLOT. Virginity loss + first orgasm. Doctor ‘Big Dick’ Abbot. Unprotected p-in-v. Creampie, (Jack is snipped!) Fingering. Girthy unspecified age gap. Everyone is legal and consenting. Don’t come for me. Probably more but I am EXHAUSTED. No Beta.

A/N: Big dick energy so enormous he still has 2 legs. Happy fat cock Friday!

Look at him. Feel him. It was Doctor’s orders, after all. 

His shirt was already thrown somewhere onto his bedroom floor, probably halfway under the bed by now. His belt unbuckled, fly unzipped, the elastic of his briefs peeking through. You had already sealed your fate for the night, you both did the second you found each other tumbling into his bed. Heat settled low in your tummy, pawing his biceps in an awe of the size. To put it lightly, you were fucked. 

Or, you were about to be. 

Your teeth caught your bottom lip as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. You had begun the night with a confession, the classic: ‘Y’know, I never–’ to which, he was quick to shush you with an ‘I know.’ and a thumb to your lips. Your virginity wasn’t the half of it. 

That being said, as soon as you had thrown the–‘No, I never… Orgasmed.’–at him, he paused, stuttered, even. But his mouth was soon to return to yours. Heavy hands squeezing into your waist as he pressed you close. He reassured, he’d teach you. 

You had the utmost amount of faith that if anyone could make you cum, it’d be Jack.

He’d palm himself over his jeans, craning his head backwards–left, right, popping it side to side against his broad shoulders. He’d notice your legs spreading, beckoning him in as you perched on the edge of his bed. He tsked, not going out of his way to be a dick, he was doing everything in his power to avoid rushing. 

He’d make you feel everything but his cock at first. 

“Put your hands on me. Chest– stomach, anywhere.” 

His hands reached for your wrists, guiding them up to his warm skin. Your hands draped lightly over his strong chest, then, upwards to cradle his neck. Your fingers would just barely brush against the ends of his silver curls. He nodded in approval. 

“Mhm. Now my face.” He’d direct. Quickly, you obliged. 

Now is when your fingers developed a very gentle tremble, your thumbs brushed against his stubble-pricked cheeks. Really, you should be grateful he was doing this for you, conducting you, risking blue balls for you– because fuck, he was straining. Your eyes would often shift down every time he’d pat himself through the denim of his jeans, giving himself friction in rations. 

You’d take a slow, deep breath. “I’ve been soaked ever since you kissed me. You realize that, right?” 

“I don’t doubt it for a second, baby.” He paused for a moment, eyes never leaving yours. 

“That plays a big part in it, of course. But, sweetie, I don’t want you to be just wet…Need you to feel everything.” 

His voice was so soft, so sincere. Your fingers trickled down his skin until you were past his pecs, tracing over the thick of his belly. His skin was warm, satisfyingly dewy. You puddled at the sight, eyes tracing every perfect–imperfection, an oxymoron that only made sense while staring at him. Your face slowly leaned forward, placing a kiss upon his ribs. Then, mirroring the affection to the opposite side. 

You felt the familiar, gentle grip against your wrist once again, he guided it low, your soft digits ghosting beneath his navel, down… down… Until the heel of your palm brushed against the elastic band of his boxers. 

“Careful,” He shuddered beneath his breath, carefully reminding you. “Don’t go too quick. Guide him out slowly.”

With all the warnings he was giving you, you were almost fearing that there was a monster beneath that shield of grey cotton– well, both, metaphorically or, literally. Either a big cock or something that’ll bite off a finger. You were opting for option number one. Pretty please?

You curled both your middle and index and tugged down slowly, as he recommended. Your left hand hovered over his hip. The silence was loud, tension too fucking palbable in the atmosphere of his room. You dipped your hand underneath the hem, finding his warm, thick shaft, wrapping your palm around it. 

Option one. Definitely. 

Giving it a careful squeeze that coaxed a moan from deep within his throat. He gulped, and the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes squeezing shut as he gave it his all to hold himself steady, sure was one you’d miss.

You tugged upwards, bringing his cock out to the open air of the room. You breathed through your nose and tried not to overthink, he was swollen, fully erect and standing tall against his tummy as soon as you had let go. Your gaze traced every inch, vein, brows pinching as you were seemingly trying to calculate his size to the one of your untouched, sopping entrance. 

Before you could stammer in protest, his large hands were quick to return to your skin, lunging you forwards onto your feet. Nearly falling back onto his mattress before he slid a palm up your thigh, hiking it over his hip in order for him to yank you up against him. His front pressing flush against yours. On instinct your legs tangled around his hips, locking tight so you wouldn’t fall. 

Hot breaths puffed from his parted lips right against the shell of your ear, his palm cupping against your lower back as a thumb flicked against the clasp of your pink, lace bra. It’d be too embarrassing to admit you wore it just for him, but, both he and you knew, you most definitely did. 

“Let’s see these pretty girls, Baby.” He murmured, pressing his lip to the side of your jaw. 

Pathetically, with the fall of your bra to the floor, you squished tighter against his form. He took note of how you clung to him, tracing his middle finger down your spine. 

“Sweetheart, please?” 

Jack could feel the exhale you took against his shoulder, finally letting yourself lean back, just enough to bare your breasts to him. It was an action that wasn’t taken lightly by him. He’d breathe a low ‘fuck’ as his fingers itched to touch them. His eyes blinked back up to yours, awaiting approval. 

And once he got the nod, he wouldn’t waste a second. 

His hand quickly twitched forward, weighing a tit in his palm before giving it a generous, solid squeeze. Letting up for a second to brush a thumb against your nipple, watching it swell due to the stimulation. 

“Do you have…any fucking idea how sexy these are?” He growled into your neck, and all you did was shake your head and swallow. 

“Why don’t you tell me?” You moaned just as your voice faded off, his nail teasing the tip of your nipple. 

And at that, the faintest, most miniscule smirk crossed his features, tracing his lips across your collarbone, breath fanning warmly against your skin. Slowly, he began pressing hot, wet kisses down. 

“Prettiest,” He began, voice low. “I’ve ever fucking seen, Sweetness.” 

His thumb pressed inward, deep into the bottom of your breast. His tongue poked out, wetting his lips before he ducked his head down, latching his mouth to the cusp of your boob. He moaned into the flesh, feeding sloppily as his tongue frenched your erect nipple. 

Your hands desperately searched for something to ground yourself, placing your palms flat against his broad chest. Moaning and wiggling yourself in his grasp. 

“Ah– fuck!” Your legs only lugged higher, to his waist. He was observing you closely, mapping out what touches made you whine, what made your fingers dig tighter into his skin.

You heard a grunt, then a clank as his belt hit the ground. A thud, that followed with his jeans. For now, he wouldn’t bother himself with his leg. For now, all that mattered was getting you comfortable, tucked into his sheets and pillows before he nestled his cock deep within you. And fuck, now the crave of that was turning into a hurt. It wouldn’t be too long now. 

He slowly strode his way over to his bed, kneeling onto it as best he could without too much discomfort– or, the risk of his sheet getting caught in the nooks of his prosthetic. Neither was particularly ideal. He laid you back against his pillows, clad with plain, grey pillowcases. Lowering himself down before he fitted his body comfortably against yours. Pressing you deeper into the plushness of the tempur-pedic– he had bad joints, alright? 

His mouth slotted onto yours, kissing with the deep, heated passion he had given in his kiss earlier. He greedily rubbed his cock against your thigh, spitting a thick glob of saliva into his palm, dipping his hand down to clasp around himself. Sliding his fist up and down in long, languid strokes up the length. He groaned. 

“Fuck– Daddy’s gonna check how wet this pretty little pussy is, alright?” 

Extremely. 

Flooded, even.

It didn’t take much, a gentle, hollowed palm to your mound with barely any pressure, and your cunt pulsed deep. Your hips bucked pathetically against Abbot’s hand. 

“Hurry–” You gritted, teeth clenching as every–smallest–ounce of friction you received had your body stirring. 

He curled an index around the hem of your undies–that he presumed were from the same set as the cute, flowery-laced bra you had on just moments ago. Now a fixture on his carpeted floor. He slid them all the way down to your ankle before he finally threw them off. Not with much care, little-to-none coordination. He’d find them in the morning. Buy you a brand new pair if they god forbid, got lost under the bottomless pit he could only assume was under his bed frame. 

He knew he was going painstakingly slow. The moment he heard that you had never even cum before, he knew how slow he’d be. Take his time, touching, feeling, making sure every nerve beneath your skin knows what his fingertips felt like. He also knew how bodies worked. He knew the longer he spent poking and prodding, the wetter and warmer you’d be for him. 

“Jack–” You whined, hips arching upwards. ”I need you.” 

With that, Jack’s fingers finally spread your folds apart, the mess of arousal leaking from you glistened beneath the warm lighting in his room. You’d think you were already ready to blow, just from the feather light touches of his digits. 

He took his time, pressing his fingers against the ring of your entrance, gathering up all that slick, dragging it upwards to your clit, glazing over every inch of you. He paused for a moment, considering what he was about to do.

“When you touch yourself,” He pressed his pointer right against that bud. “Do you touch here?”

You nod, so fucking quickly. Yelping out a fast, breathless, ‘Yes!’ as he toyed with the sensitivity of the pearl. Pretty girl, already out of her hood. 

“How?” He questioned, his finger slowly beginning to slide in circles. 

“U–up and down…” You shuddered, “Sometimes circles.” 

“Shit. And she just doesn’t give, hm?” 

You shook your head twice more, breath hitching as he let on more pressure to his slow massaging. Your thighs twitched. Eyes wide orbs as you just– stared, refusing to let up your sharp gaze. You wanted to get fucked. 

Before you could shrill in protest of his incessant foreplay, you felt something broad and warm prod at your cunt. Then, stretching.  

Without a vocal warning, his cockhead was slowly pushing in. Your lips parted in an attempt to protest but the feeling of your hole expanding to hopefully sheathe his dick in safely made you shrill. Head bumping backwards into the pillow that was cradling your head. 

A moan died in your throat the moment his head pressed in halfway. It was only the beginning, and it had already begun to feel endless. 

“Too– too big…” You choked out. 

As cliché as it was, during the moment in play it was more than the truth. Jack would grunt as he squeezed himself with the hand he had been using to guide himself in. His head drooping down, sweat beaded on his brow, just from this. 

“It’s alright.” He sighed. Soft. 

He slid in just a smidge more in hopes to get at least his head in. When you let out another whimper, wiggling your hips against the sheets, he paused. 

“Just breathe,” Seemingly, he was stating the obvious. Watching that cunt opening up wider around him, forming a tight ‘o’ around his shaft. He stroked your side tenderly with his free hand.  

“Your pretty pussy was made to adapt, to stretch. C’mon, baby, you can take him. Open up for me.”

It was like ripping a bandaid off. You had done it with your own fingers, to no avail, of course. Though, this was more intense, at the very least–the biggest fucking understatement of your life. This was Jack splitting open your sweet, young cunt over his cock. 

But, just like that, he had ��ripped the bandaid off.’ His bulbous tip popping through your hole with a wet, sickening squelch. You seized once he was in, body stiffening soon before relaxing again as he, slowly, slid the rest in. It was all so wet, your walls sodden as they fluttered around him. 

“See? You’re so wet– like a fucking dream, Sweetheart.” He muttered, pressing a kiss to your cheek. It was all disgustingly sweet. 

Whilst, his cock was disgustingly thick. 

Jack retreated once, before plunging himself back in again. His precum mixing with all the fluids leaking from your poor, crying cunt. Desperate for more, all so needy for his cock. He’d be lying if he said all of this wasn’t inflating his ego, just the tiniest amount. 

His hips began rocking back and forth in slow, measured thrusts. Staying fairly shallow, careful not to hit your cervix– hardly even graze it. Focusing solely those soft spots that he knew would only have you weeping more than you already were. 

His nose brushed against yours, kindly reminding you of how close you were to each other. He saw your brows furrow, and quickly he had captured your mouth between his. Sliding his tongue past your lips before the moan could climax out from your throat. Apartment. Thin walls. 

His cock ticked with a pulse against the side of your walls, his head punching against the ribbed, spongy spot that was going towards your tummy. You felt it– low in your pelvis, simmering, pinching at your guts. Jack pulled back.

Only because he could feel it too. 

You had both been panting in a staccato rhythm. Breaths mingling in the air, between each other. Then, something all-too odd happened, completely unfamiliar to you. Your heart began pumping. Faster, harder. Hammering against your ribcage so quickly it nearly led you to tap against Jack’s shoulder and ask him to get out his stethoscope to make sure you weren’t having a heart attack just from his dick. In any other circumstance you’d find yourself laughing at the thought– but with how you were feeling right now, it didn’t seem like the most far fetched thing.  

Matter of fact, going off the way you felt and only that, it seemed pretty fucking likely.

Now, worse, you were squirming. Involuntarily. And that– that heat, only grew to about 10x the size throughout your lower abdomen. Abbot’s voice only threw your train of thought for a loop.

“That’s it. Good girl– gonna cum for me?” 

Fucking– huh?

Jack thumbed some sweat away from your forehead, brushing your hair back behind your ear, while, at the same time, rutting his hips into yours to drive his cock deep. Hitting your G-spot more insistently. Slowly, you were running more and more brainless with every passing second. 

“Feel you clenching around me, Baby,” He grunts. “That’s it, let her go.” 

Oh.

Oh.

Your bottom lip trembled as his head nicked your cervix, softly. Hardly even a graze, but it made your legs shoot outwards out in front of you. A numbing, novocaine filled out your legs, pumping deep beneath your skin and bones. You whined, only making him force his forehead against yours, pushing your head down into the pillow behind you with the pressure. 

There was a pinch, then another, each one seemingly punctuated by firmly placed kisses against the side of your jaw, neck. His cock stilled, filling you deep, buried to the hilt. He was so proud of you, taking him so well like this. Proud of your cunt for accepting him like this, accepting being stuffed like this– fuck.

There was a slow, but deep, trickling warmth that ran through you. Every thrust inflicts more of that overwhelmingly, tightly drawn pleasure. You wound your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Just one more, one fucking more and–

Suddenly, a loud, broken wail had left your slacked mouth. Cunt clenching around his member, again and again, squeezing. All of this was like your body had gone completely rogue, wringing him in tight in rippling pulses. You’d stuff your face into his shoulder, basking in the warmth of his body, the perspiration left against his skin. Trembling hard, unable to hold back any unorthodox cries spewing from your lips. 

Your body twitched with tremors. Body folding in on itself around the hot, wet ache of your orgasm. Pleasure tapped into your spine. Weakly, your fingers trembled as they swiped through the damp, greying curls atop of his head. You were unable to keep track of the amount of times you had moaned ‘Yes, daddy!’ at that moment. You could guesstimate around twenty. 

With the constant flinch of your muscles spasming around him, he couldn’t last. 

He drove himself deep one last time, holding his wide, thick head right against your tender cervix, before a flood of white, sticky, heavy seed spilled into you. If he had never got that vasectomy a couple years back, he’d be praying to any god out there that this wouldn’t stick. 

His cock twitched, continuously sputtering out thick ropes of cum, your walls soaking up every last drop of his spend. His brain was mush, body boneless for a minute. A long minute. 

Once his breath was caught–just barely–he lifted a hand up to stroke your cheek, instinctively, you leaned into the soft touch. It felt so loving, tender. If he wasn’t your father’s best friend, meant to be only that, you’d think it meant something real. 

Though, the deal to make this a one night occurrence had already been dealt. 

You laid back against the feathery softness of his pillows once he pulled out of you. Your breathing had slowed, just barely calmed after you took a second to reflect. Gaze up at his ceiling, hypnotized by the quick spinning of the fan. The moment felt domesticated. 

Forbiddenly domesticated.

All while you were all skin, no bones against his blankets, Jack was somewhere between your legs, examining the sight of his thick, weighty cum spilling out of your hole. Then, a thought struck him at the sight of your cunt, still fluttering, still stretched without the fill of him. But, before she could fully return to size–

His middle finger would glide in. 

“Jack–” You moan, taken out of the state of euphorics and suddenly back to reality. 

Though, the hitched breath quickly turned into a giggle at the feeling of his finger stroking your tender walls. Just the slightest bit more sensitive– particularly, ticklish. 

Jack, in the career path he had chosen, was experienced in his professionalism. If anything, he knew too many things about human anatomy. As he mentioned earlier, you were built to stretch, adapt. Fucking made for it. That being said, the sight of his spend trickling out of you, syrupy and slow, made him only curious to test the limits of your pretty, little pussy. 

He worked a second finger in, slowly, his ring. You felt his wedding band press against your skin–long story, one that he assured that you didn’t want to know. 

“Tell me,” He kissed the side of your breast, then your nipple. “Did I end up teaching you… Anything at all tonight? Or was all that just for fun?”

There was a beat between his words and yours, your lips pursing before responding with the honest truth:

“I learned that I don’t wanna do it alone anymore.”

‘It’ being, trying to get yourself cum, alone. Which, usually translated to— sitting in bed with fingers shoved in your cunt, unmoving, virtually not even trying as you toss and turn, just ending up frustrated in the end. Jack nodded, pressing a firm kiss against your sternum.

His finger pumped an inch deeper into your cunt.

“You’re gonna have to,” He chided. “I work nights, sleep days. You’re gonna have to live without my cock, Sweetheart.”

You pouted, brooding like a small child. You could acknowledge you were being stubborn— dare I suggest, bratty. But by god, you’d fucking miss it.

And you’re gonna miss him once tonight is over.

[nasa]

Athletes Go for the Gold with NASA Spinoffs

NASA technology tends to find its way into the sporting world more often than you’d expect. Fitness is important to the space program because astronauts must undergo the extreme g-forces of getting into space and endure the long-term effects of weightlessness on the human body. The agency’s engineering expertise also means that items like shoes and swimsuits can be improved with NASA know-how.

As the 2024 Olympics are in full swing in Paris, here are some of the many NASA-derived technologies that have helped competitive athletes train for the games and made sure they’re properly equipped to win.

The LZR Racer reduces skin friction drag by covering more skin than traditional swimsuits. Multiple pieces of the water-resistant and extremely lightweight LZR Pulse fabric connect at ultrasonically welded seams and incorporate extremely low-profile zippers to keep viscous drag to a minimum.

Swimsuits That Don’t Drag

When the swimsuit manufacturer Speedo wanted its LZR Racer suit to have as little drag as possible, the company turned to the experts at Langley Research Center to test its materials and design. The end result was that the new suit reduced drag by 24 percent compared to the prior generation of Speedo racing suit and broke 13 world records in 2008. While the original LZR Racer is no longer used in competition due to the advantage it gave wearers, its legacy lives on in derivatives still produced to this day.

Trilion Quality Systems worked with NASA’s Glenn Research Center to adapt existing stereo photogrammetry software to work with high-speed cameras. Now the company sells the package widely, and it is used to analyze stress and strain in everything from knee implants to running shoes and more.

High-Speed Cameras for High-Speed Shoes

After space shuttle Columbia, investigators needed to see how materials reacted during recreation tests with high-speed cameras, which involved working with industry to create a system that could analyze footage filmed at 30,000 frames per second. Engineers at Adidas used this system to analyze the behavior of Olympic marathoners' feet as they hit the ground and adjusted the design of the company’s high-performance footwear based on these observations.

Martial artist Barry French holds an Impax Body Shield while former European middle-weight kickboxing champion Daryl Tyler delivers an explosive jump side kick; the force of the impact is registered precisely and shown on the display panel of the electronic box French is wearing on his belt.

One-Thousandth-of-an-Inch Punch

In the 1980s, Olympic martial artists needed a way to measure the impact of their strikes to improve training for competition. Impulse Technology reached out to Glenn Research Center to create the Impax sensor, an ultra-thin film sensor which creates a small amount of voltage when struck. The more force applied, the more voltage it generates, enabling a computerized display to show how powerful a punch or kick was.

Astronaut Sunita Williams poses while using the Interim Resistive Exercise Device on the ISS. The cylinders at the base of each side house the SpiraFlex FlexPacks that inventor Paul Francis honed under NASA contracts. They would go on to power the Bowflex Revolution and other commercial exercise equipment.

Weight Training Without the Weight

Astronauts spending long periods of time in space needed a way to maintain muscle mass without the effect of gravity, but lifting free weights doesn’t work when you’re practically weightless. An exercise machine that uses elastic resistance to provide the same benefits as weightlifting went to the space station in the year 2000. That resistance technology was commercialized into the Bowflex Revolution home exercise equipment shortly afterwards.

Want to learn more about technologies made for space and used on Earth? Check out NASA Spinoff to find products and services that wouldn’t exist without space exploration.   

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[jesuistrestriste]

i absolutely adore your pastor’s son art but..hear me out…pastors son patrick 😈 but unlike art he is lowkey sacrilegious and not as hard to drag into sin like art

-🍰

♱ pastor’s son!patrick zweig x reader

cw (18+) : switch!patrick, switch!reader, mild corruption kink, mutual masturbation, giving each other a hand, general filth and dirty talk

patrick’s a good boy.

a true believer; he’s someone who idolizes his father, the only pastor in his small town, and does everything he can to remain physically and emotionally devout. doing bible studies alone in his bedroom, attending every service that’s held, upholding the religious teachings that have been woven into his very soul from a young age.

but.. that’s not to say that temptation is easy for him to push down and pray away.

temptation is more like a toxic friend that mumbles dirty little nothings into his ear when all he wants to do is avoid the draw of engaging in sin. it thumbs the waistband of his underwear when it’s late at night and he can’t stop thinking about the curves of people’s bodies. it licks warmly at his lower stomach when he catches you sparing him a glance on your way out the tall church doors. and god, your lips.. oh, your lips..

temptation is more like a sick, twisted, toothy monster that clings to his back and digs its claws into his flesh. bleeds him out from the puncture wounds, letting the filth leave his body and become realized. it’s impossible to ignore. it gets him into trouble.

you’re mostly to blame though. this time, at least.

you had chatted him up after a particularly stirring sermon, when everyone had already left, and then relished in the flush of his cheeks that had been so deep in color it almost hid his freckles completely. you’d touched his arm and smiled all sweet, your poison seeping into his frame from your fingertips. he tried to resist, he really did.

if temptation was a monster trying to fuse to his spine, it was certainly your henchman.

now you’re sitting beside him in an empty pew in the empty building. heads turned toward one another as shared, heavy, stuttered breathing echoes out into the spacious church. despite it being a peaceful place, it’s beginning to smell of nothing but sticky immorality. it’s easy to pick up on the scent of sweat from warm bodies and faint musk from the fluids involuntarily spilling forth.

his hand is shoved down into his unzipped jeans and past the elastic of his boxers, pumping himself shakily as he watches you play with yourself at the same time. your fingers rub quickly at the sensitive spot that makes you feel hot all over. patrick spares half a glance to your hand’s movements as you shift it underneath the shielding fabric, and lets out a soft, strangled sort of sound at the sight.

“does that feel good?” he breathes out, his voice breaking around a moan as he accidentally thumbs his tip. it’s already covered in his fluids. slimy and lewd.

you nod quickly, your brow pinched up and your legs trembling.

“y-yeah, feels really nice,” you murmur, “how does your cock feel?”

immediately, his legs kick out in front of him and he sinks a little in his seat—his stomach flipping pleasantly at the sound of that vile word slipping from your mouth. cock. he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard to stop himself from saying something stupid like “please, say that again”.

this is the first time he’s ever seen someone else touching their body this way, let alone with him. this is all so new and thrilling and terrifying, but he can’t help but enjoy it—it’s ironically the closest he’s felt to salvation in a very long time. his hips feel floaty, his head is spinning, and his toes are curling in his shoes. he doesn’t quite remember how he let you talk him into this.

“.. aah, oh— it’s so good..” he shakes.

you swallow thickly and arch your pelvis into your circling fingers. you hump your touch, trying to get more friction. thrumming bursts of heat begin to burst in your lower stomach like fireworks..

patrick suddenly keens and cries out, pulling his wet palm from his bottoms in half of a second, like he just burned himself on a scorching stovetop. he pants raggedly and then looks to you with lidded, watercolor eyes. loose brown curls hang in front of his forehead as he parts his lips.

“i almost—..” he can’t finish the sentence, reaching his digits up to tug at his damp collar. it’s like god is actively punishing him by cooking him alive. he’s never felt quite so overheated. and he does feel guilty, more than he’s willing to admit to himself, but you’re all he can see right now. there’s no way he’s going to give this up. not a chance in hell.

he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he’s doing it. his clean hand reaching for your occupied wrist, guiding you out of your underwear and then down into his own. he gives you a pleading look, a desperate one, and then his jaw slacks when he feels you instantly wrap your touch around his throbbing length. how is it that you know exactly what to do? have you done this before? with who?

he tries not to get jealous. he’s in absolutely no position to feel that way.

all thoughts melt away anyways when you begin to stroke him. up, down, up, down, up, down; the squelching of your tightening hold on him only further igniting his forbidden arousal. it’s hypnotic, and holy fuck, it’s so much better than doing it himself.

everything feels so sensitive.

“please, just touch me,” he shudders out, looking deep into your eyes as he instinctively reaches out to find your body. his fingers inch down past the waistband of your panties to brush over the swollen bud hidden beneath. just the feeling of your soft, squishy flesh sends him careening towards the edge. he’s losing it quickly. almost embarrassingly so.

your knee knocks into his as you whine, spreading your legs farther apart to give him more access. your own release only a handful of agonizing moments away.

you’re both filling the place with sounds filthy enough to shatter the stained glass. the fragments that would come down in the wreckage to slice at your bodies would be less painful than this act of teetering on the precipice of something so primal and grotesque.

he swipes his fingers awkwardly from side to side over your parts as he fumbles with the angle of his touch and his lack of experience. but despite all of that, it feels incredible. your legs clamp around him and your back arches up from the wooden pew. your fist glides over his frenulum as you jolt.

he leans in closer, almost close enough to kiss you, and chokes on a whimper.

“im think i’m about to— im ’bout to—..!”

his voice shakes the earth.

the waves of overwhelming sensation in your body start to flare; your muscles pulling taut as patrick’s do the same.

“i think im really gonna come.. i-is it okay if i come—?” he whispers, whiny and urgent.

like a plea. a prayer.

“yeah, yeah, yeah.. me too..” it tumbles from your chest and stills the air around you.

everything stops for just a moment.

him gasping and squeezing his eyes shut. you gripping the edge of the wood below you with your free hand, nearly squealing as his thumb flicks messily over your bead of nerves. he jerks forward in his seat before seizing up at the sound of your strained little noise—toppling over the edge with a jarring finality that seals him in his shame and blinding pleasure. he all but wails.

wet warmth meets your skin and you touch him through the waves of orgasm that have him promising to repent. your own climax rips moans from your throat and forces you to gush into your clothing. patrick doesn’t even know what to think, not that he can, brain much too melted to salvage any coherency. the sound of bells and doves and the choir fills his head. ringing out deafeningly, like a sick joke. he can’t seem to come down from the high.

he trembles as he pushes down softly on your slick bud, then collapses afterwards into a heap of jelly-like limbs. you follow not a second later. you're both a mess of slick parts and damp faces.

he wipes at his upper lip and then his cheek.

“oh my-..” he trails off, knowing he probably shouldn’t finish the sentiment. he’s already on bad terms. no need to make it worse for him later in the confessional. he sighs, still feeling your hand resting around his softening dick. he tries not to think about the fact that he covered your fingers in his depravity, but the thought comes and goes without his permission anyway. his flesh twitches. he stifles a groan.

“yeah.. woah..” you smirk lazily,

he gets the urge to drop to his knees and pull you down with him. to press his lips to yours before bowing his head and asking for forgiveness. that would probably be the proper thing to do. the better thing. his dad always says that the harder something is to do, the more likely that it’s the right thing to do. he doesn’t know if that’s true, but.. holding himself back from kissing you while also grappling with the remorse has him struggling to maintain composure.

patrick vows right then to never repeat this sort of thing in the future, to refuse the clutches of temptation whenever it pricks his skin again, but the vow begins to crack the moment he feels your index finger lazily rub at the vein bulging from his shaft. he inhales sharply through gritted teeth at the sensitivity, and then turns his head to look to your expression. eyes glazing over with reigniting desire.

he can deny it no longer. oh, you are temptation in human form, flesh and bone.

you’re inescapable.

[latenightdaydreams]

König x Lactating!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

For more: Master list

>CW: fem/afab reader, oral, breast milk, breast play

1.8K Word count

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König sat across from you as you secured the baby bottle to the pump part. It was your first time pumping and the first time your baby has slept for more than three hours. You pull your shirt off and unclip your nursing bra to expose your hardened leaking nipple; a drop of pearly white lingering on the tip. Slowly you bring the breast shield to your skin and press the button on the machine. A low humming begins and starts a steady rhythmic motion as the pump begins to suction to the skin and pull the nipple forward.

König’s eyes were glued to your breast in the pump.  He swallowed hard as he began to see the white milk being drawn from your swollen breast. Slowly your breast begins to let the milk flow, your nipple being pulled forward and milk making a splashing sound against the hard plastic. The bottle begins to quickly fill up.  König’s mouth dropped open and he began to subconsciously move his tongue in a suckling motion without realizing it. He cleared his throat and adjusted how he was sitting to try and conceal the growing arousal in his pants.

The stimulation from one breast being relieved made the other breast feel like it was threatening to release all the milk at any second. A small wet circle began to form on the shirt over my other breast. I look down once I feel the wet fabric.

“Shit, I’m leaking out of the other breast now.” I began to laugh and reach for one of my baby’s burping rags to soak up the milk.

“You know Schatz, I could help you with the other one.” König’s voice quiet and smooth as his icy blue eyes look from your breast to your eyes.

In confusion you raise an eyebrow at him, “What do you mean help?”

Without words König stands from the seat across from you and moves to kneel in front of you. His eyes move from your eyes to your full and sore breast that are full of milk. Watching the pump pull milk from one breast as his hand begins to unlatch the other side of the lactation bra.

“König, wait-“ You try to protest but he gently shushes you and exposes your other breast. Your dark erect nipple leaking milk, drop by drop quickly spilling from you.

Gently he flicks his tongue to get a small taste of what your milk is like. It was surprisingly sweet and only left him wanting to taste more. He grasped your sore breast with one of his massive hands a squeezed lightly. A shower of milk squirted out and landed on his face, you couldn’t help but to giggle when he jumped slightly with surprise. You’ve gotten use to seeing the milk shoot out like that everywhere. König chuckles softly along with you as he licks around his mouth to collect some of what’s there.

He leans in and places his mouth around your nipple and began to suck. A gush of sweet warm milk spurts into his mouth. His eyes close as he enjoys the sensation on his tongue. A soft moan falls from your lips as you look down at him, his mouth latched to you as if he needed your milk to live.

Quickly he began to feel his cock begin to get hard and press against his jeans. He reached his hand down to slowly fumble with his belt and undo his jeans with one hand while the other squeezes you breast. Once his cock is released, he begins to slowly stroke his length, rubbing his precum around the head before dragging his fist along his shaft.

His other hand eagerly moves from your breast down to your pants waist band. He began to tug at the elastic band of your sweat pants. Your hand quickly stops his.

“König, I still have stitches remember?”

He stops and looks up at you, his blue eyes full of lust. You reach out and turn off the breast pump and put the bottle down on the bedside table. He pulls away and looks between your breast before his gaze meets yours again. He nods his head remembering, his cock just feels so hard and wants to sink deep into your wet velvety walls.

“Ja, ja I remember.” His voice shaking with lust. His eyes fall on your breast as he continues to slowly stroke himself.

“Schatz, I don’t mean to be selfish...” his voice trails off as he takes a deep shaky breath. “I need to cum, my hand isn’t doing it for me anymore. I miss your body. I miss your touch. Ich muss deine Berührung spüren.”

“I know, but with the baby I’ve just been busy. Plus my body needs to heal still-“

“Liebling, I don’t need your pussy to cum.” His eyes drop to your lips before falling to your breast.

Before you can respond he leans in and pulls your shirt off completely then reaching behind you to unhook your bra. His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss as his hands work eagerly. Slowly he pulls away from your lips and lets your bra fall down your arms and to the floor. He stands to his feet and drops his pants and underwear to his ankles.

“Lay back Liebling.” He Austrian accent smooth and sensual.

König steps out of his pants as he gets on the bed straddling your hips, his heavy weight pressing your smaller body into the bed. He grabs at the hem of his black shirt before pulling it over his head revealing his muscular and scarred body.

His hands began to squeeze your breast causing more milk to squirt of out your dark erect nipples. You wince slightly from his large hands groping your sore swollen breast. You feel his hard cock pulsing from excitement, resting on your stomach as his hands continue to fondle you.

“Scheiße, your motherly body is so sexy…”

His blue eyes travel up to your face to see the slight blush that his words gave you. After having a baby, you felt anything but sexy and he could read how you felt on your face.

“I mean it,” he moved back slightly and ran his hands down your stomach and caressed your new stretch marks and the belly pouch that hold his child only a few months ago. “All of you Schatz.”

His mouth clashed with yours in a passionate kiss. His tongue pressing past your soft lips and invading your mouth. The smell of your breath consuming his senses. He gently bit down on your lower lip before peppering kisses along your jawline and down your neck. His eager lips eventually found their way wrapped around on of your nipples, sucking desperately as your milk filled his mouth.

“Du schmeckst so süß,” he says before circling your nipple with his tongue before moving his attention to the other breast. His fingers pulled on your other nipple, twiddling the sensitive peak between his thumb and index. His mouth latched to you as his eyes watched your face relax into pleasure.

König lifts his head from your chest and moved his body up over you more so he was straddling your waist. Your hands travel un and down his massive thighs as you look up at him biting your lower lip. A small smirk appears across König’s lips as he begins to drag his heavy cock across your breast. He began to squeeze milk out as he moved the head over your nipples back and forth to get himself covered. He slaps his cock down on your breast as he lets out a deep groan before slipping it between your breast.

His hands come together to squeeze your breast tightly together around his cock as he begins to buck forward. A quiet moan falls from his lips as he looks down at the milks slowly seeping out of your nipples adding to the lubrication. Your breast had gotten so much bigger since your milk came in making them easily hold his dick in place. His pace begins to pick up slightly as his breathing becomes more labored.

“mein Gott,” his blue eyes stuck watching your breast swallow him. White droplets of milk scattered around your whole chest and his arousal. “Suck the head.”

You bend your head down slightly and open your lips as his thrust pushed the head of his cock into your mouth. You get a strong taste on your tongue, a mix of bitter precum with sweet breast milk. The sound of König moaning begins to fill the room. He begins to mumble in German under his breath as his gaze drifts from your breast to your lips wrapped tightly around his pink leaky tip.

“I’m so close,” he pants out as his hips continue to thrust forward. His heavy balls began to feel tight as they drag across your chest.

“Fuck-“  In a quick motion he lets go of your breast and moves over your head as he pushes his cock further into your mouth. His hips begin to buck rapidly fucking your mouth as if it were your pussy. His balls slapping against your chin as you become consumed with the scent of his masculine musk. You begin to gag with each thrust forward; your hands move to his thighs and you squeeze.

He pulls his cock out as rubs it across your puffy lips, getting your own saliva all over your mouth and chin. “Stick your tongue our for me.”

You comply and stick your tongue out for him. He slaps his dick against your tongue before squeezing the tip of his head to get precum on the tip of your tongue. He slowly pushed himself back inside your mouth and pushed deeply into your throat before picking his pace back up. Spit beginning to run down the sides of your mouth as your eyes begin to water slightly.

“mein schönes Mädchen…” His gaze meets yours before slowly dropping down to see your full lips stretching around his fat cock.

König’s fingers run through your hair and holds tightly as he keeps you in place. He begins to let out soft whimpers as he pushes his cock in deep into your throat and holds it.  His eyes flutter closed as he throbs, coating your throat in white ropes of him cum.

He moves himself off of you and drops down on the bed breathing heavily. His eyes travel over your body and back to your face before he leans in and kisses you again.

“Ich liebe dich.”

“I love you too,” you scoot over to him and snuggle into the blonde hair on his chest as he wraps his arms around you. König leans down to kiss the top of your head before letting out a content sigh.

[avocado-writing]

don’t look at me, men deserve to feel pretty. based off this pic. minors dni.

he feels pretty stupid.

if the someone had approached him, say, fifteen years ago with this idea, he’d have absolutely told them to go and fuck themselves. the shield of his masculine bravado would have prevented it - an impassable barrier. cute girls wear stuff like this, after all, not big guys like him.

but…

he’s older now. mellowed. when Wade pitches an idea for something kinky he’ll try and pretend not to be interested, but when you ask him, too? when the pair of you gang up on him, two pairs of pleading eyes and soft, sensual, suggestive hands?

ah, fuck. he’s weak. he finds he’d do just about anything to make you two happy. you both would for him, after all.

at the moment he’s just laying there, wearing nothing but pink lace around his cock. the two of you are staring, and he’s pretty sure Wade is actively salivating. your eyes are just wide and wanton.

he shifts.

“can one of you fuckin’ speak? feel like I’m on display here…”

“that’s kinda the idea, peanut,” breathes Wade, too enraptured at the sight for his usual quips. damn. he must be doing something right, then, Logan guesses, if it shuts the merc up maybe he should do this more.

“they’re comfortable, I wear them all the time,” Wade had said while trying to convince him, and as proof had hooked a thumb under the waistband of his sweatpants to reveal clinging chantilly at his hip. “plus they fit so nice under the suit. can’t imagine ever going back, not when my ass looks so damn good in pink. isn’t that right pookie?”

“that’s right,” you’d hummed, dropping a kiss on Wade’s skin over the lace. Logan remembers the way Wade had let out a juddering sigh at that. you’d left it with a simple, “you don’t have to, Lo. but it’d drive us both kinda crazy.”

you’d been right.

“Logan, you’re so pretty,” you sigh, finally closing the gap, crawling up the bed slow and seductive. he feels the mattress dip as Wade mirrors your movements so that the two of you can hook a thigh over either one of his legs. ‘pretty’. once he’d take that as an insult, a joke… but he knows you mean it as the highest compliment.

maybe he doesn’t mind so much.

“fuckin’ better than anything hanging in any shitty art gallery. and speaking of hung…” Wade presses a kiss to Logan’s cock. his lips over the fabric give just a ghost of warmth, a little tease of what’s to come, and Logan feels himself begin to harden. when you reach down to run your tongue across the elastic and up to that vein which pops out on his abdomen he leaks a little.

you and Wade are delighted.

”you’re gonna ruin these…” you sigh, faux-annoyed, obviously thrilled.

“see? I knew you could be kinky,” Wade claims.

Logan huffs.

“shut up, or I’ll take these off and gag you with ‘em.”

Wade lights up.

“promise?”

you chuckle and go back to kissing him.

“lie back, Lo, we’ve got you.”

he does, and you do.

[rayhalloffame]

Getting butterflies in my belly thinking about bf!art who actually worships the ground you walk on. When it’s Halloween and you convince him to dress up as a dentist so you can be the tooth fairy he barely complains. And at the bar he can’t decide between standing in front of you to shield your chest or behind you to cover your ass from the perverts who can’t take their eyes off of you. He doesn’t stop himself from staring at you though, tells you you’re beautiful with his warm lips ghosting against the shell of your ear. He keeps rubbing his hands over the soft lacy dress you’re wearing and isn’t even really bothered by your fairy wings that snap against him when you’re shifting around in the crowd. He watches your mouth lewdly whenever you lean in and wrap your lips around his straw to sip from his drink, and then laughs seconds later at the cute scrunch of your nose when you dislike the taste.

Back at home he happily lets you kiss him silly while he guides you backwards to the bathroom. Your body is pressed so tightly against his that he can feel your pert nipples through his scrub shirt. He takes a second to slip the wings from your back, then lifts you so you’re seated on the counter. He’s rubbing your thighs and apologizing moments later when you shudder from the contact between your bare thighs and the cold counter top.

He very sweetly arranges your skincare in the correct order, then starts delicately removing the makeup from your face. He gets distracted and presses a few kisses to your lips and chuckles against your mouth when you ask if “the dentist needs to do an oral exam”. He finishes cleaning your face, wets your toothbrush and puts a dollop of toothpaste on it, steps forward to fit in the space between your thighs. His big hand comes up to cup your chin, then he prompts you to say “ah”, which you do. Art is very gentle brushing your teeth, focused on doing a good job and not hurting you. He holds your face firm by your chin to avoid any unexpected movements. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t purposely sweep the brush a little too far along the back of your tongue just to see you gag. His pants do get a little tighter.

He tells you to spit, and you lean over to do so into the sink. You give him your best doe eyes when you sit back up and wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb. His hand is back on your face, squishing your cheeks and giving you a wet kiss on your lips.

You watch him when he brushes his teeth next, veins prominent in his forearm. It’s all too easy to get your hands into the elastic of his scrub pants and pull him flush against you. His erection is hot against the inside of your thigh. He ends up with his pants and briefs hugging his upper thighs minutes later, burying his thick cock deep inside you. He’s slow and intentional, complimenting you and holding your head in his hands while he kisses you. He tells you that you should be a vampire next year so you can mark him with your fake fangs. Art hisses when you sink your blunt teeth into the side of his neck, hard, and then he comes.

[mynameismckenziemae]

Behave

Bob Floyd x You x Natasha Trace

This is the result of the following prompts I received:

"Behave, I wouldn't want to have to punish you now."

Toying with a piece of clothing, whether that be the collar of your shirt, slowly undoing your belt, sliding a finger under the waistband of your underwear before letting it snap back against your skin.

Warnings: Adults (18+) only! MDNI! This work contains: smut, f/f, f/f/m, adult language, dirty talk, teasing, oral (m&f receiving), biting/marking, overstimulation, a little spanking.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

It’s late. The patrons left at the Hard Deck are long past sober, with the exception of you three.

A quick glance around the bar shows no familiar faces as you take the pool cue from Bob, not sparing him a glance, still sullen from earlier.

“‘’scuse me,” you murmur, not looking at Natasha either as you brush past, your pushed-up tits grazing hers before you turn to bend over the table to line up the shot, pushing your ass out when you arch your back.

Hands much softer than Bob’s run up the outside of your thighs when she steps close to cover the skin revealed by your sundress riding up.

"Behave,” her thumb lifts the elastic band of the underwear Bob had you put on earlier as she leans over your back, “I wouldn't want to have to punish you now."

She lets it go and it snaps against your tender skin just as you shoot.

“No!” you drop the cue on the table and straighten, missed shot forgotten as you turn to face her, “I mean, please no,” your cheeks heat as you quickly correct yourself at an arch of one of her perfect brows, “Bob already did…earlier.”

“Poor thing,” she pouts, “That’s why you were late, huh?”

You nod bashfully, still refusing to look at Bob who’s approaching the two of you.

“What’d you do?” She leans in to whisper. Her warm breath against your ear and the hint of her perfume make you shiver.

Your eyes drift closed as gently sucks your fluttering pulse point.

“Answer her question,” Bob orders softly as he pushes your hair back, out of her way so she can kiss lower.

“I forgot-“ you gasp as Bob tugs in warning, “I mean I didn’t put undies on.”

“Naughty girl,” she smiles between kisses, sliding her hand beneath your dress again, “and Bob caught you, didn’t he? What did he do to you?”

Bob smiles as he leans his hip against the pool table, shielding you from any prying eyes.

“He spanked me,” you reply, embarrassed yet so turned on. You open your thighs in a silent request to her fingers tracing closer and closer to where you want her, finally ghosting over the fabric, soaked from your arousal and Bob’s release, “and then he fucked me, but didn’t let me cum. And…” you trail off as she starts circling your clit.

“And?” Bob prompts, voice low and husky as he watches his two favorite girls.

“And he made me put on underwear,” you sound pathetic and whiny but can’t seem to help it; being denied earlier have you toeing the edge of release already, “boring, ugly white ones.”

“Well,” Natasha murmurs as she makes her way back up, nipping your jaw, “did you learn anything from it?”

“Yeah,” you pant, forcing your eyes open to meet his steely blue gaze as she pushes you off the edge, “Don’t get caught.”

But just as quickly the pleasure begins, it ends when her hand stills at your words, ruining your orgasm.

“Kidding,” you gasp, hips bucking to follow her hand as she pulls it from under your dress, “I was kidding!”

“She didn’t learn a damn thing,” Nat ignores your protests, holding up her fingers to Bob.

“Nope,” he says matter-of-factly, doing a quick scan of the bar before licking them clean.

“What if…” she trails off, stepping away to whisper something to him, making you whimper from the loss.

His hand finds her hip and squeezes, heat flashing in his eyes at whatever she’s saying. “Yeah,” he swallows thickly, “let’s do that.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“Only you,” Nat smiles between kisses as she follows the dress over your ass, revealing the white underwear, “can make these look sexy.”

A breathy laugh escapes and your head drops back when Bob latches on to one of your now-exposed nipples.

“Oh you poor thing,” she coos as she pulls the cotton down, “I can still see his handprints. He really did a number on you, didn’t he, princess?”

“Yes,” your fingers card through his hair, “he’s so mean-“ you cut off when he sucks hard at the nipple in his mouth.

“He is mean,” Nat agrees, pressing a kiss to one of the handprints, “but you deserved it, didn’t you?”

Yes. Always.

But ever the brat, you bite your lip to keep from admitting it.

Which earns you another sharp slap on the ass when she rises.

“Do I need to spank you too?” She murmurs in your ear, “Can’t believe I even have to ask after last time.”

The memory has you shaking your head quickly and Bob groans as he switches breasts, obviously remembering too.

Nat had had enough of your teasing and showed you she had a mean streak that rivals Bob’s when she pulled you over her lap. By the end, you were a sopping, teary, sniffling mess. While she kissed you better after, you didn’t sit comfortably for days.

“I deserved it,” you concede, “I always deserve it.”

“That’s right,” she murmurs before nipping the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder, “but you’re not off the hook yet.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

A few minutes later, Bob sits on the bed before reclining back on the pillows, stroking himself slowly as Natasha leads you to the bed.

When she guides your hips down onto Bob's cock with his chest at your back, you can’t imagine how this could possibly be a punishment.

Until they share a look over your shoulder. Bob takes your arms, crossing them behind your back before holding both wrists in one of his hands while Nat settles between his thighs, pushing them apart…which forces yours even wider.

“What-what are you-oh God,” you breathe when she dips her head to brush her lips over your knee to your inner thigh.

“So soft,” she murmurs, softy sucking the supple skin before taking a bite.

You jerk in Bob’s hold; the hint of pain has you clenching around him.

“Oh, she liked that,” Bob chuckles, his free hand coming around to toy with your nipple, still tender and puffy from his mouth, “do it again.”

Nat smiles against your skin as she moves higher before obliging. Soon each thigh is littered with the marks from her teeth and your chest is heaving; the pain lasting only momentarily before blooming into pleasure and settling between your thighs.

She hasn’t touched you intimately and yet your arousal covers Bob.

Then she relents, making Bob groan as he tongues his sac up to his cock and finally to your clit before sucking gently.

Your back arches from the sudden onslaught and the position change pushes him against your g-spot, setting you off without warning.

Bob inhales sharply but tightens his hold on you as you writhe, trying to get away from Nat’s relentless tongue.

Realizing this is her form of punishment when she doesn’t pause before you fully come down, and cry out as she works you into a frenzy once more.

Then again.

And again.

It could be just minutes but it feels like hours as she continues the sweet torture on your clit. Bob’s breathing just as hard as you are and tears stream from your eyes as you squirm in his hold. A deeper, more intense pleasure is building rapidly as you grind on his thick cock, and just when you try to warn her; it crests.

White-hot pleasure engulfs your entire shuddering body; from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Your release soaks Bob and the bedding beneath you two.

“N-n-no more,” you shake your heavy head, voice shaky and hoarse from your cries, “please Nat-baby? Please?

“I-fuckkkk,” Bob cuts off with a groan when Nat finally, finally gives you a break, her mouth dropping to his sack, “I’ve-I think she��s had enough.”

“More like you’ve had enough,” she smiles, placing one last kiss on your swollen clit as she slowly sits up, lazily sucking on your nipple.

Bob releases your arms and they weave straight into her hair. You try to bring her up for a kiss but your limbs feel so heavy.

Pulling off your breast with a smile, she allows you to bring her up to your lips, kissing you slowly for a moment before guiding you down beside Bob.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Though you’re completely worn out, nothing could keep you from watching your two favorite people together.

“Nat,” Bob chuckles breathlessly as she dips her head to suck his cock sloppily, lapping up his precum, “you don’t have-I’m-.”

“I know,” she pulls off him with a wink, climbing over him and sinking down with no more preamble, “I wanted to taste you both.”

They’re beautiful together; Bob’s big, strong hands gripping her fluently moving hips, letting her lead them to bliss.

Her eyes flutter closed when she slides her hand between her strong thighs to find her clit but fly back open when Bob pinches her butt, “Ah-ah,” he smirks, “eyes on me.”

She nods, an uncharacteristic blush staining her cheeks.

Your spent body still tightens when they cum together; the way those breathy little moans escape even though she’s biting her lip, Bob’s low groan and look of pure bliss.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Later, you fall asleep between the two of them with a smile on your face and absolutely no intention of behaving in the future.

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A/N: welp, it’s finally done! I hope I did it justice for the bisexuals lol. Also, Bob has a corruption kink thing for innocent, white, cotton panties. I don’t know why, but he does. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Tagging:

@lexixstewart

@dizzybee03

@its-the-pilot

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@atarmychick007

@littlezee80

@k-k0129

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@jessicab1991

@lonelysoul50

@landpiranha-blog

@fandomology101

@writtingrose

@rascallyrascalreads

@glenpowellluver

@seitmai

[cece693]

Promise To Return Pt. 3

RECAP: He pressed his hands to his face, unable to stop the torrent of tears. All he could see was the half-faded memory of you—your warm smile, the way you used to loop an arm around his shoulders or tug Bucky into a playful headlock. All he could hear was Bucky’s agonized accusation: 'maybe you never really believed in him coming back at all.' “It’s not true,” Steve whispered to the empty air, voice cracking. “I swear it’s not.” But there was no one around to hear him. Nothing but the echo of silence, and the ghost of your promise that you’d find your way home—somehow.

The first thing you notice—every time you wake—is the stench. The cot beneath you is nothing but two sagging strips of army-issue canvas, always a little damp, always gritty with rust. Disinfectant and wet iron cling to the fabric so thickly you taste it when you breathe. You have learned to lie perfectly still in that stink: if your chains clink, if the mattress whispers, boots come pounding down the passage and the guards start shouting guttural orders you still can’t translate.

So you drift. In the strip of darkness between one interrogation and the next, you summon the memory of a bedroom on Dean Street in Brooklyn: wallpaper peeling in fern-shaped curls, a radiator that clanged like church bells at sunrise, the bitter half-cup of coffee Steve always forgot on the night-stand. In that memory Steve lies on your left—small shoulders braced against yours. Bucky stretches on your right, grin crooked, hair pushed off his forehead the way you used to tease it back for him.

Hold on, Steve murmurs in the daydream, mouth brushing the column of your throat, fingers combing through your hair with agonizing tenderness. We’ll come get you.

Damn right, Bucky adds, nipping your ear just to wrench a laugh out of you. Nobody keeps our boy for long.

The vision falters when the real shackles bite into your wrists. One blink and the dream burns away like a film strip that’s caught fire. You are back in a stone bunker somewhere in occupied Europe, walls slick with condensation, one bare bulb buzzing overhead. Your wrists are chafed raw from being yanked above your head during “sessions,” and your ribs bloom fresh violets and indigos with every daybreak.

They call themselves Hydra. Some guards spit the word like a curse; the scientists whisper it like a benediction. You stopped counting interrogations after the tenth, stopped counting days when the bruises began to overlap until they were a single mottled shield. The questions were never about troop movements for long. Soon they started measuring your pulse, your lung capacity, the elasticity of your skin.

Every session ends the same. Thick needles—long as knitting needles—slide beneath your clavicle or into the meat of your thigh. An icy solution floods your veins while a bespectacled man with nicotine-stained fingertips and an onion-sweet smell scribbles notes. He clucks his tongue when you pass out too quickly. “The formula is close,” he tells the guards in stilted English. “One more adjustment. Then we perfect our soldier.”

You repeat Steve’s promise like a prayer between your teeth, each syllable a bead on a rosary: I will come home. I will come home. You do not let yourself think about calendars or moon phases. Time is only the number of times you mistake hallucination for memory and the tally of bruises you can see without twisting your shoulders.

BROOKLYN—FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE LAST LETTER ARRIVED

Colonel Phillips’s makeshift office smells like stale cigars and damp wool. Steve perches on one edge of a map-strewn desk, Bucky on the other, the distance between them suddenly unbridgeable. Center stage lies a single Western Union telegram, its block letters dark as a grave marker:

UNIT KIA/MIA. NO SURVIVORS LOCATED. SEARCH EFFORTS SUSPENDED.

“Suspended,” Steve echoes, voice too quiet for the room. Even pumped full of Dr. Erskine’s serum, he suddenly seems small beneath the fluorescent glare. “They’re leaving him out there like he’s a misplaced crate.”

Bucky’s jaw grinds. “Then we don’t ask permission.” He slams the full magazine into the Colt and holsters it. “You’ve got the shield, the Howlies, the whole damn band. Tell Phillips Captain America is leading a reconnaissance extraction—and you’re taking me.”

Steve’s mouth twists. “The colonel says one unsanctioned raid could compromise—”

“Colonel can shove it.” Bucky surges to his feet; the chair skitters back and thuds against a filing cabinet. Then softer, voice fissuring: “He’s our man, Stevie. Our heart.”

Steve’s eyes sting as if someone’s flung powder in them. “I know. Sometimes I swear I feel him reach for my hand in the dark.” He palms the space over his sternum where pain lodges like shrapnel. “But tearing across enemy lines blind is suicide. We need coordinates, we need—”

“You need faith.” Bucky snaps. “Faith like he had when he wrote us those damn letters! He believed we'd find each other. Don’t make a liar of him.”

Steve’s temper finally snaps, voice dropping into the bassy snarl the Howling Commandos obey without thinking. “And I need you alive to reach him. Charging in half-cocked means three body bags instead of one.” Silence knifes between them. At last Steve’s glare falters, the hardness melting into grief.

“I love you,” he says, barely a whisper, like confession in church. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Silence settles, heavy as snowfall after shellfire. Bucky’s chin tips downward—perhaps to hide the quake in his lower lip. For weeks now neither of them has said those words, not since telegrams started talking of friendlies captured, bodies unclaimed. But the confession cracks something open between them, and when Bucky finally lifts his gaze, determination burns hotter than grief.

“Then don’t.” He reaches out, fingers brushing the star on Steve’s chest. “Lead the way. I’ll have your back. Like always.” Steve laces their hands and nods—once, hard enough to set his jaw. Neither knows your captors wear a serpent on their sleeves.

A FEW WEEKS LATER—HYDRA FACILITY, ALPINE SECTOR

The screech of un-oiled hinges detonates in the dark like artillery. You jolt awake, lungs dragging rank bunker-air that tastes of copper and damp limestone. Floodlights bloom, wiping the world to white. Before your pupils can shrink, two guards—faces hidden behind gas-mask snouts—seize your arms. Your legs forget how to stand; boots skid as they haul you into a corridor lit sickly yellow.

Walls on either side are chalked with looping equations—spidery Greek letters and jagged rune-like sigils. Behind iron slats, cages shudder and clang. Something inside them growls deep and wet, a bass thunder that does not belong to rats. You keep your eyes forward. Knowing the shapes of monsters never saved anyone here.

The final door yawns open with a refrigerated hiss. The laboratory reminds you of an abattoir scrubbed obsessively clean: stainless tables bead antiseptic sweat, surgical lamps hover like pale moons, and the floor drains gurgle faintly, as if remembering last night’s spill. In the center stands Dr. Arnim Zola, all paunch and pince-nez, round lenses glinting like freshly honed blades.

“Our resilient volunteer returns,” he trills, precise Swiss vowels wrapping the words in gift-paper menace. “Tonight, herr Liebling, we perfect greatness.”

You’re slammed onto a steel gurney. Leather cinches your wrists, ankles, chest, throat—each buckle tugged one notch too tight until bone protests. Overhead, a serpentine glass coil throbs with luminous emerald fluid; it pulses lazily, a counterfeit heartbeat. Zola twists a brass valve, and the liquid siphons through tubing into a syringe longer than your hand.

He leans close enough that you smell pickled onions on his breath. “The Red Skull teaches that pain is the crucible of revelation. Endure, and perhaps you will witness history rather than feed it.”

The needle descends.

The first puncture blooms cold—a glacial spear sliding under skin—then detonates into molten copper. Fire stampedes along every nerve, igniting spinal fuses, blistering behind your eyes. Your back arches; shackles screech. Sound rips out of you, a roar ragged enough to strip your throat raw, but the cell walls swallow it whole.

Memories burst like flares against the agony:

Steve’s grin as the Cyclone crested at Coney Island, freckles bright under salt wind.

Bucky cackling, shoving a mustard-slathered hot dog into your hand because “you’re wasting away, pal.”

Their bodies braided with yours beneath summer sheets, salt-slick and fearless.

Stars fracture across your vision. Your skeleton feels elastic, bones warping as if kneaded by invisible hands. Organs twist, lungs seize, blood hammers so violently you swear you can hear it—a kettledrum in your ears. You taste metal, then ozone. If begging would help, you would bite through your own tongue to do it, but words melt under the heat.

Zola watches, entranced, fountain pen twitching notes onto a clipboard. “Fascinating,” he murmurs when your skin silvers with sweat and your screams gutter to hitching gasps. “Schmidt will be pleased.”

[manuelamordhorst]

Tipp: Charlie Stein und Ulrike Buhl Heimspiel 2025 »Elastic Shields«

[littlelamy]

The hum of the tires against the asphalt droned like a hypnotic lullaby, the Mercedes truck slicing through the quiet countryside under a blanket of stars. The wind whipped through the open windows, carrying the scent of pine and the crisp promise of the night ahead. Rafe’s fingers tapped the steering wheel in a lazy rhythm, the corner of his mouth twitching into that devilish smirk that always set your pulse racing.

"God, you look good tonight," he murmured, glancing sideways at you. His amber eyes glinted in the soft glow of the dashboard, a simmering heat radiating from them that made your skin prickle in anticipation.

The road stretched endlessly ahead, a winding ribbon of freedom leading to nowhere and everywhere all at once. The city lights had faded into the distance, replaced by the vastness of the open road and the moon hanging like a voyeur in the ink-black sky. Rafe suddenly slowed, easing the truck onto the gravel shoulder. The engine hummed quietly, a gentle growl beneath you as he turned off the headlights.

"Come here," he commanded softly, voice husky as his hand slid over to rest on your thigh, fingers curling just enough to hint at what was coming. The darkness around you cocooned the moment, shielding it from the rest of the world. The two of you were alone, enveloped in a bubble of desire under the watchful gaze of the stars.

You crawled over the console, the leather seats cool against your knees as you straddled his lap, feeling the heat of his body through his clothes. His hands found your hips, pulling you closer, until there wasn’t a whisper of space left between your bodies. His breath was warm against your neck, lips brushing the sensitive skin there, sending shivers cascading down your spine.

"Ride me," he whispered, voice a low growl of hunger. His hands slid under your shirt, fingertips tracing along the curves of your waist before sliding down to cup your ass. The bulge in his jeans pressed against you, hard and insistent, a silent plea for you to take what was yours. The windows of the truck fogged up almost instantly, enclosing you in a cocoon of heat and desire, the night outside forgotten in the haze of your need for him.

Your hips moved instinctively, grinding against him, feeling the friction of your jeans against his. His hands guided your movements, firm yet gentle, as if he was savoring every second of you giving in to the wild abandon. The sound of the fabric brushing together was drowned out by the soft, breathy moans escaping your lips, and the occasional guttural groan from him as you teased him with slow, deliberate movements.

His hands roamed over your body, tugging at your shirt, sliding it up over your head, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air. His mouth followed the trail his hands had made, lips hot and insistent against your collarbone, your shoulder, down to the swell of your breasts. His teeth grazed your skin, a sharp contrast to the softness of his tongue, eliciting a gasp from you as your head fell back, surrendering to the sensation.

You unbuttoned his jeans, fingers trembling slightly with anticipation as you freed him from the confines of the fabric. His cock stood proud and eager, pulsing with need as you positioned yourself above him, your wetness soaking through your panties. He reached between you, hooking a finger under the elastic, pulling them aside as his other hand gripped his cock, guiding it to your entrance.

You sank down onto him slowly, savoring the feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely. A sigh of satisfaction escaped your lips as you took him inch by inch, until he was buried deep inside you, the two of you connected in the most primal, intimate way. His hands gripped your hips tighter, urging you to move, to ride him the way he liked – hard, fast, and unapologetically raw.

Your hips began to roll, the rhythm building as you rode him with abandon, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the small space of the truck. His head fell back against the seat, eyes dark with lust as he watched you, his hands guiding your movements, pushing you to go faster, harder. The friction, the heat, the sheer intensity of the moment built to a crescendo, your body trembling as you neared the edge.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, his grip on your hips tightening as his climax approached. You could feel him throbbing inside you, could sense the tension in his body as he fought to hold on, to let you find your release before he found his own.

The truck rocked with the force of your movements, the world outside a distant memory as you lost yourself in the sensation of Rafe beneath you, inside you, all around you. The stars above seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as your bodies, a cosmic dance of pleasure and desire that left you both breathless and spent.

As your climax washed over you, Rafe followed, his body shuddering beneath yours as he spilled into you, his hands clutching you close as if he never wanted to let go. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, tangled together in the aftermath of your passion, the night around you silent except for the sounds of your ragged breaths and the gentle hum of the truck’s engine.

"Goddamn," he whispered, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he looked up at you, eyes still dark with satisfaction. "That’s the kind of road trip I could get used to."

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx

[saintship]

Handyman

Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, a bit of spice, metallica ;), swearing, Dog!!

Other: POC friendly, most applicable for afab reader

༻✦༺

Daryl hearing you screech his name in excitement used to send a shot of adrenaline up his spine, years of looking over his shoulder making him jump to the worst. But now, things were about as perfect as they could get. He didn’t need much more than you, Dog, and the home you shared.

“What’re you yellin’ about?” Daryl mutters as he walks into the living room, still drying his damp hair from the shower. He’d never admit you were the reason he felt safe enough to use hot water and real soap every once and a while.

“Thought you drowned trying to do the dishes.”

You roll your eyes at his remark.

“Look..”

You showed him what had caused your excitement, a Metallica vinyl in the bin you’d picked up on a run. Most of the vinyls were scratched or warped from the heat, but this one looked usable. He takes it in his hands skeptically, turning it over.

“You sure s’not busted?”

“Have some optimism.”

You take it gently, placing it on the turntable. The needle slowly lowers, the sound of The Four Horseman crackling to life.

“We are old as shit..” You murmur, reminiscing on the memories of playing the same album in your childhood bedroom.

Daryl rarely laughs, but he does pull that stupid half smile that makes your head spin as he rubs Dog’s ears.

“You ain’t old, sweetheart.”

“I’m going to get to those dishes..” You stand, caught in the doorway by Daryl’s lean arm.

“What’s your rush?” He murmurs, the riffs emanating from the turntable seeming like the perfect background noise to his lips on your neck.

“The kitchen is disgusting..” You try to remind him, but his other arm circles your waist, securing you to his chest.

“This ain’t the four seasons, don’t gotta clean all the time..” His thumb traces the elastic of your bra, and you gently separate yourself.

“Okay, okay.. five minutes, and then.. Daryl.”

He’d walked behind you, rubbing your neck gently.

“Hm?”

“Stop..” You murmured half-heartedly.

He gives you a squeeze before relenting, stepping back to pull on his vest.

“Alright.. i’ll be outside..”

The thought of him working on his motorcycle nearly makes you turn your back on your responsibilities, but you start on the dishes, the faint music from the living room and Dog keeping you company.

Just as you’re nearly done, you drop your washcloth, and Dog bends down to sniff and lick it.

“No!” You scold softly, kneeling to quickly shield him from ingesting more of the soap. “Dog, place.”

As he trots obediently to his blanket in the living room, you hear a noise from inside the cabinet you’re kneeling beside. Suspecting some kind of vermin, you retrieve a knife and kneel again, listening. You couldn’t make out what it was, but it didn’t sound small.

Taking a sharp breath, you quickly open the cabinet door, only to be sprayed in the face by the sink water escaping from a loose valve. A small noise of surprise leaves you as you shield your face, water soaking through your clothes.

“Daryl!”

You hear the door open seconds later, followed by his voice.

“You’re gonna wear my name out, girl-"

He stops in his tracks as he sees the predicament you’re in, water spraying you relentlessly, Dog having abandoned his blanket to come lick the water from your face incessantly. 

Daryl laughed—he really laughed, supporting himself on the wall.

“How the hell-"

“Daryl!” You exclaim, though his amusement made you fight a laugh yourself.

“Idiot..” He shakes his head, still grinning as he leans down and tightens the valve. “You are soaked..”

“Really? I didn’t notice.” You huff, still fighting off Dog’s excited licking.

Daryl takes his towel from earlier off the counter, wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Guess you needed a shower too..”

“Alright, Dixon..” You throw the towel, taking the sink faucet and aiming it at him.

“Hey! The hell’s the matter with you!” He tries to dodge the water, crouching behind the counter.

“I think you missed a spot in the shower!”

The song on the vinyl was now Dyer’s Eve as you laughed at the sight of your boyfriend feebly blocking your onslaught of water. He darts up beside you, wrestling you for the faucet, at which you squeal and object, only to be sprayed again.

“No!” You laugh uncontrollably, water absolutely everywhere, the cabinets, the floors, on Dog, and the both of you. You stop his attacks the only way you can think of, walking right up to him and kissing him deeply.

He turns off the faucet, his body nearly limp with surprise. He takes your face in his hands, one traveling through your now wet hair before you separate for breath.

“Made a mess. You’re stupid..” He mutters, and to anyone else, it would be mean. But you know his ‘Daryl-speak’ well enough to know that he might as well have told you he’d die for you.

“So’re you..” You kiss him again, and he allows himself to be pressed against the counter, his hands on your sides. A few of the dishes clatter to the side as he flips your positions, placing you on the countertop. Your skin feels warm despite the water covering both of you as he eases off your damp shorts.

“This okay?”

“Yes..”

You tug at his shirt.

“Only if you want to..” You murmur.

He pants for a moment before pulling off the shirt with a small grunt, his scars now visible. Your lips meet his again, hoping to comfort him. He absorbs your soft moans into his own lips when his hands rub at your inner thighs, low noises crawling from his chest at the feeling of you.

“Shit..” He mutters, unabashedly dropping to his knees, his face level with your hips.

“You want it, sweetheart?”

༻✦༺

[justvalkyrie]

Equal, Opposite Reaction

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Summary: It's time Matt gets what he deserves.

Warnings: 18+!! MDNI!!, No plot only smut, Whiney!Matt, Submissive!Matt, oral m!receiving, swearing, bad writing, probably things I've missed!

Note: Hello all! This is my first time ever posting anything I've written, and it's also the first time I have ever written smut. I know I still have a lot of improving to do, so please bear with me! I'd like to thank the Tuna Team for their continued encouragement! Without them, this fic would never have existed. Thank you for taking the time to read my writing!

“Every action has its equal and opposite reaction.” The third law of motion, and the divine rule of karma. This scene was inevitable.

Matt had been on his knees at your altar for weeks, sending you into the heavens and making you holy. Night after night, hour after hour, he would spend his free time at your center, giving you everything you could possibly take. He had been saving up his good karma, and it was time he got what was coming to him.

            After a long day of teasing him, he was consumed by you. He was completely, lustfully enamored by you. His senses were either haywire or completely subdued, he couldn’t tell. The only thing he could focus on was you. The way your pretty mouth felt against him, the way your scent crowded his senses and caused his mind to feel hazy, and the slightly elevated yet steady beat of your heart all caused him to melt into the mattress beneath him. He was putty in your hands, a mess for you to clean up, and you were more than willing to oblige.

            “God, Baby,” he praised. You had only just begun to trail kisses down his beautiful, toned abdomen, but he couldn’t focus on anything else except for the way you felt on top of him. You were straddling his thighs, and your body was pressed against his as you showed him just how much he truly deserved to feel good. He could feel the fire in your skin against his bare upper body and through the thin fabric of his black boxer-briefs. With soft, barely-there touches, your fingers grazed over his sides, slowly making languid paths from his hips up to his chest and back down again. Your eyes were shut, and you covered his body in kisses that burned into his skin even after you moved onto undiscovered patches of the scarred tapestry. He sucked in a sharp breath as you began to kiss and lick slowly down his exposed v-line.

            “You make such pretty sounds, Matty,” you mumbled against his skin, “been waiting to hear them, been waiting to make you feel good.” You gently nipped at his skin, and he let out a beautiful high-pitched whine. The euphonious sound caused you to smirk into the kisses you were leaving at the top of the waistline of the only pesky piece of fabric shielding his center from you. You ran your fingers along the elastic, ever-so-slightly grazing his skin with the tops of your fingers. Every time they made contact, he let out quiet but persistent whimpers. You could feel his dick twitch against you as you hooked your fingers into his underwear. You paused and let out a sigh that fanned over Matt’s bare torso. When you looked up at his face, it was scrunched up with need. His brows were knit together, and his eyes were closed tightly. His jaw was partially slack, and he let out a choked whimper.

            “No, Sweetheart,” he begged urgently. His voice was breathy, pitched-up and needy, a stark contrast to his usual deep, collected tone, “Please… please take them off.” A chill ran up your spine, and all your hair straightened up to attention. A low rumble sounded in your throat, and you couldn’t help but honor his request. The action was slow and calculated. You shifted down the mattress as you carefully removed the garment, and your fingers left trails of heat in their wake. He let out a sharp moan as his cock sprang free. You smiled at its stature; you couldn’t wait to put it where it belonged.

            When you finally made your way down his legs, you pulled the lousy piece of fabric off of him and threw it to the side. His hands gripped the sheets as you crawled back over him on all fours. You made a home for yourself between his thighs, and he whined as you smoothed your hands over them. You let your breath fan out over his left one and he twitched underneath you. The uncontrollable movement caused you to chuckle under your breath. A smirk widened over your lips. You tested the waters by leaving a gentle kiss where your breath had just been, and the prettiest low, rumble of a reaction hummed out of him. Hearing it was like taking a cold sip of water after waking up in a sweat; It made you clench around nothing. He could hear the way your muscles tightened, and it only drove him closer to insanity. A bead of pre-cum leaked from his tip and down the length of his shaft.

            You trailed up his left thigh with your lips, kissing and nipping slightly as you went along. When you reached the top of the leg, you left a longer kiss right next to his length. He moaned out our name in a low, and elongated manner. It turned into a sharp gasp-whine when you firmly pressed your lips to his tip, just for a moment, before moving onto his right thigh. His hips rocked up into you when you didn’t go any further; he felt an immense need for your touch. You swear he almost let out a frustrated sob. His hands released their grip on the silk sheets and instead found a home in your hair. He tangled his fingers into the strands and pulled, a futile effort to get you to go where he wanted you to go, where he needed you to go. You ignored his whimper of protest to bite down on the muscle of his right thigh. You soothed the partially pierced skin with your tongue, and a feral, desperate growl rumbled in his chest, reverberating throughout the room.

            “Please,” he beseeched. The plea was so airy that it was almost inaudible, “need you.” His hips bucked again, and you brought your left arm to rest along his stomach in an effort to keep him where he was. You adjusted your position, so you were able to have full access to him. A strained whine ruptured out of the back of his throat as you placed a feather-light kiss to the base of him.

            “Tell me what you need, Matty,” Your lips brushed against him as you spoke, and he strengthened his grip in your hair. He tried to speak, but stuttered as you continued the light affections on his cock. You kissed a line up and down the length of his shaft.

            “Ah! God! Need…” his words came out between strangled gasps, “I need your mouth, Sweetheart. Please- “

            He wasn’t able to finish his plea. You licked a long thick stripe from the base of his dick to the tip. He sucked in a gasp of air, and it caught in his chest. You could feel how tense his muscles were underneath the palms you were pressing into his skin. His caught breath turned into a long moan as you swirled your tongue around his tip. He instinctually tried to press your head down onto himself, but you resisted the force. You raised your head to look at him, but his head was thrown back into the pillow beneath it.

            “Relax, baby,” you told him in a sweet tone, “Lie back and enjoy this. You’ve earned it.” You felt him relax underneath you as he processed the words, and an unintentional sound akin to a whiney sob reverberated from his throat as he released more air that he hadn’t even realized he was holding in.

            You finally took him into your mouth and used your right hand to grip whatever wouldn’t fit; your left hand still kept its place atop his abs. He couldn’t force himself to choke out any sound. It was almost as if he had forgotten everything else. All he knew in this current moment was the feeling of your mouth wrapped so sweetly around his cock. You moaned around him as you flattened your tongue against the back of him. You couldn’t get enough of him. The subtle taste of his skin, the weight of his length against your tongue, the way he gripped at your hair, the intoxicating noises he made. You felt a great appreciation that you were graced with the privilege of being the one to please him.

            You started moving then, skillfully bobbing, licking, and stroking him in every way you knew he craved. You started out at a slow pace, wanting to savor this moment and commit it to memory. The room was filled with the noises he made; they varied between breathy whimpers of your name and long vowels that didn’t quite form words. His reactions encouraged you to gradually speed up your actions. Occasionally, he choked out a “yes” or a “shit.” He moved on instinct, without thinking when he dug his heels into the mattress to leverage his hips into you. The action caused a pleasantly surprised moan to escape you, and he cried out at the feeling it gave him. You released him from your mouth with a pop and matched your rhythm with strokes of your hand. You smirked at him.

“Feel good, Matty?” you asked him, already knowing what his answer would be. He groaned at the loss of contact. Your hand felt amazing, but it was still nothing compared to the wet, warm, bliss that was your mouth.

“Ah, shit!” He choked out, his voice strained and breathy, “don’t fucking stop. Mouth feels so… so good… Fuck! Please…” Who were you to deny him when he looked and sounded so pretty?

You follow his command, returning your mouth to its rightful position. He is falling apart in your embrace. With every lick, he sighs, with every movement, a strained swear. Every touch, every stroke, every flick, every squeeze released whimpers from him. He was a whiney mess, his usual unwavering stoic demeanor thrown completely out the window, and it was all by your hands. As you continued, his receptivity only grew louder and higher in pitch. You could feel him getting closer and closer to his climax. He choked out your name.

“I… I’m gonna,” he spat out his warning between gasps, and you groaned around him to let him know that you wanted him to. You could feel the twitching and squirming of his lower abdomen from where your left arm rested along his bare stomach. The way his hands gripped and pulled at your hair and the uncontrollable gasps and sharp intakes of air only encouraged you to keep going. You stayed consistent in your rhythm. His hips jutted up once more, and he let out a strangled cry.

With a final flattening of your tongue against him, a string of high-pitched gasps, and an impossibly tight grip of your hair, Matt finally found his release. His sounds became more elongated as he spilled into your mouth, and you moaned as the familiar warm liquid filled your mouth, graciously swallowing every last drop. His breathing was ragged, but you felt all the tension being released from his muscles. His grip in your hair loosened, and his arms fell down to his sides. He let out a long, low hum of satisfaction and a breath of relief as he came down from his high.

You gave him another moment to compose himself before releasing him from your warm embrace. He whined at the loss of contact, already missing the pleasure he had just experienced. You pushed yourself up off of the mattress enough to make your way to his side. He was already saddling up to you as you made yourself comfortable beside him. You smiled brightly and pulled him into your side, running a comforting hand through his locks once he made himself comfortable. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride wash over you as you saw the blissed-out look written across his features.

“So, are we even now?” he asked, nuzzling into your chest. He inhaled deeply through his nose and let your scent relax him. The exhaustion hit him like a truck, and he closed his eyes and leaned into you. Your heartbeat was already lulling him to sleep. You continued to comfortingly pet his hair as he fell.

“Not even close.”

[spacemothsota]

Gladiators of Kaon

Let's admit it, we like Kaon? I like that it is in this city of "vice and sin" that gladiator fights have been preserved. Regardless of the iteration of Transformers, it is known that the main "stage" of gladiators was Kaon. (Perhaps I will write about my view of this city later, because one of my OC characters directly works there).

I love the gladiator theme, but to be honest, I would like to somehow… Expand it? Classify it? Sorry, but the term "Gladiator" is so elastic and it seems to me that there is some limitation in what type of bots most often become it. So here are my ideas of what gladiators could be in Kaon. All this is very much a reference to Roman gladiators and is assumed by me for the features of certain frames.

Bestiary (bestiarius)

Bestiary (bestiarius) - gladiator bots of any weight category, who are trained to fight with various animals. In fact, this class of gladiators has no weight restrictions, since their battles can be with both medium and large animals. The opponents can be both Cybertronian representatives of the fauna like turbofoxes, and alien specimens brought from other planets. All gladiators can perform in this class, but if the animal is medium in size, this is not considered very honorable. Very often, Bestiary can perform at the beginning or in the middle of gladiator shows, so that the audience does not lose interest in what is happening. They also traditionally do not have very many weapons, it can be a spear or a sword. Shields are also rejected for the sake of spectacle.

One of the more difficult opponents were considered to be warrior insecticons, who possess intelligence and are capable of giving a worthy rebuff. (Insecticons were not considered full-fledged bots and were treated as available game for baiting, since there were many hives under the surface of Cybertron. At some point, this was even encouraged by the government, since it helped reduce the number of insecticons).

There is a separate class of Bestiaries (Venators?), who fight with the help of their cyberbeasts, as a rule, they are engaged in baiting insecticons and large representatives of alien and Cybertronian fauna (in such cases, they have several opponents).

Representatives: I think Soundwave could be a gladiator who, at the beginning of his career, belonged to the Bestiary class (and the presence of Ravage, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw positioned him as a professional).

Essedarius

Essedarius - Lightweight bots, mostly racing altforms (racing cars, motorcycles, sometimes small seekers). Essedarius are gladiators who fight using a combination of speed, agility, and precision. Fights usually resemble races, where opponents can circle each other. Essedarius are usually more about showing off their reaction and cunning. Fights can be short but spectacular, or they can last for hours, where both opponents prove themselves not only as skilled fighters with a tactical mindset, but also as hardy athletes. The main weapons are spears, energy bows, combat staffs, or blasters. Swords can also be used, but light options like needles (like nails from Hollow Knight) or rapiers are preferable. This class rejects the presence of a shield, as it slows down too much.

Essedarius are one of the few gladiator classes that are allowed to use blasters (blasters are not used in regular fights because the whole point of the fight is lost and spectators may not have time to enjoy the spectacle).

Essedarius are a class of gladiators for whom the arena is changed (gentle slopes, sharp turns, labyrinths). They are also quite popular with racers and aristocrats, as they are considered less bloody due to pinpoint and preemptive attacks.

There is a certain type of fight when Essedarius consume fuel for other types of bots instead of the usual racing energon. To avoid overloads and premature failure of fuel systems, the arena is grounded, which helps gladiators fight (think of it as a pill that gives various effects).

Representatives: Stunticons (Breakdown, Dead End, Wildrider, Drag Strip), etc.

Laquearius

Laquearius - gladiators of flying altforms fighting in the air. Laquearius - seekers, helicopters and reconnaissance air bots. The fights of these gladiators most often resemble complex acrobatic performances. The arena is specially redesigned for them so that they do not step on the ground. If one of the fighters steps on the ground, he is considered a loser, so the fights are about balance, good orientation in space and flying skills. The main weapons of the laquearius are an energy lasso, daggers, sharp swords or sabers. Despite no less ferocity in battles than other gladiators, no laquearius injures the wings of his opponent. This is a kind of taboo. Anyone who covets the wings (blades) of another can simply lose respect and reputation among other fighters (a demotion in status is also guaranteed).

The second type of fighters for whom the arena is specially changed. Gladiators practically do not touch the ground during the fight and use the walls of the arena, ropes and beams in order not to fall.

Sometimes the arena is deliberately limited, which makes it resemble a bird cage, this is done to deliberately bring the opponents closer together. This makes the Laquearius act more quickly, decisively and provocatively. (If you watched the classic Mad Max "Under the Thunderdome", then you can imagine how the arena chants "Thunderdome!" during the fight of the Laquearius)

Representatives: Starsream, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Vortex, etc.

Myrmillo

Myrmillo - all non-specialized standard gladiators, they can be either light or medium weight (anything from a regular machine to some highly specialized bot). These are the most standard gladiators. In fact, most fighters who do not have any type or have just stepped into the arena are myrmillo. They are agile, fast and usually hardy. If a myrmillo has some outstanding features, then after several fights he will most likely be given a type. However, if the fighter is satisfied with everything, then he can stay at this rank, which frees him from a narrow choice of weapons and performance time. The weapons are very diverse - electric batons, tridents, nets, swords, shields, etc. Myrmillo tend to use dirty tricks in battle to gain a tactical advantage (they do not stoop very low, but they are quite insidious).

The most famous myrmillo was Arcee, who fought in a duet with Galvatron (he belonged to the type of gladiators called Crupelaris). She was famous for her ferocity and mastery of two swords.

Myrmillo perform last during days of mourning, as a kind of symbol of a new beginning (it was a symbol that although life was suspended, it was not frozen forever. Young fighters were a symbol of the flourishing culture of gladiatorialism and in the best days there were quite a lot of them)

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are the only myrmillos who performed in a duet.

Bots who already had a main profession could become myrmillos. Among the police of Kaon, this was a good option to relieve tension and show their strength, so that gladiators would know that they should not be messed with again.

Representatives: Barricade, Arcee, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, etc.

Provocator

Provocator - gladiators of small altforms, various minicons. This class of fighters is extremely small (phphph, sorry) in terms of its numbers, since not many minicons have a strong enough body and good load capacity for full-fledged battles. Provocators often act as a duet, where one fighter acts as a distraction and the second as the main attacking force. Especially experienced provocators act solo using weapons like hammers in order to increase the damage inflicted on the enemy. Despite the fact that at first glance they may not seem like the most terrible opponents, they should not be underestimated. This type of gladiators does not have a primary weapon, many prefer to fight with the built-in modifications they have, such as enhanced hydraulics in the servo. Many consider fights with these fighters to be the most brutal due to the "tearing" of the enemy into pieces.

Sometimes provocateurs can act as support for other types of gladiators in team fights or two-on-two fights.

The name of this type of gladiators, historically, came from their daring behavior characteristic of them, it was in response to their not very impressive appearance for other opponents.

The threat of being bitten on the "ankles" is not a threat but a real attack in which the enemy will most likely be left without peds and the medic will have to weld them back.

Representatives: Rumble and Frenzy ("Terror Twins"/"Nightmare Twins")

Crupelarius

Crupelarius - heavyweight gladiators (armored trucks, tanks, shuttles, etc.). Some conventionally call these big guys the real "kings" of the arena, but only smart enough fighters reach the heights of their careers. Tactical mind and cruel nature put many of them at the top among other gladiators (Galvatron and Megatron). Due to their large size, strength and dense armor, they are difficult opponents, but can be slow or clumsy. These are most often close combat fighters, the fight between two crupellarius is like a clash of titans. The main weapons are swords, hammers, maces and shields. In fact, anything that can get under the servo can eventually turn into a weapon, so the fighters are not limited in how exactly to deal with each other (it can be a beam from a broken arena, torn out reinforcement or even a piece that comes to hand). Often, for greater spectacle, the Crupelarius during a fight tries to disarm his opponent in order to test his ability to regain control of the weapon or to fight back without a weapon.

Among the Crupelarius, there are fighters who engage in pure unarmed combat. This can be quite spectacular and mostly resembles fights without rules or a lucha libre show (in the second case, it requires a bit of acting skills from the gladiator).

The Crupelarius is not the most numerous class, so they often participate in inter-type battles. They work well in a duet with other types of gladiators in two-on-two fights.

The Crupelarius do not like to use guns and blasters, although this is not prohibited for them. Many believe that this will simply make the fight insufficiently spectacular (it is more interesting to see an armored one torn apart with the help of other weapons).

The Impactor was the only Crupelarius who used a harpoon-like weapon in combat.

Representatives: Megatron, Impactor, Overlord, Motormaster, Brawl, etc.

I just realized that I will probably do a part 2, because there is a lot of information and my personal ideas for the gladiatorial culture in Kaon. Some kind of my second magnum opus, to be honest. I will try to post a part 2 as soon as possible, in which I will talk about other things concerning the gladiatorial arenas, like traditions and festivals.