#YES I DID BRING IN TOMCAT

[topguncortez]

Congrats on 3k!!! Can I have 68 from the smut prompts list with rooster 👀

pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Female x Reader warnings: smut, spitting, dirty talk, hair pulling, dom/sub, oral (m/f receiving), crawling, spanking, slapping, choking, degrading, this is dirty. please, if you are underaged, miles teller or glen Powell, do not fucking read this for my own sanity. 3 fucking K celebration Rooster masterlist | main masterlist

It wasn't that Rooster didn't satisfy you. The sex was good and it got the job done, but that was it. There was nothing special about it. It was very vanilla, very soft and sweet. Most of the time Rooster fucked you in missionary, occasionally you would ride him. But you were craving more.

You needed more.

The only problem was, you weren't quite sure how to bring it up to him. You started giving him hints, such as putting his hand on the back of your head when you sucked him off. Or placing his hand around your throat when you rode him, but he'd immediately take it off. You even went as far as sending him suggestive tiktoks about different sex positions.

Rooster could tell you were getting frustrated, and he thought it was actually quite comical. At first, he was slightly confused on what you were trying to get him to do, but when he over heard a conversation of yours with Phoenix one night, it finally dawned on him. He did his research at first, watching some porn, reading some Cosmo articles. The last thing he wanted to do was cause you harm, but every time he thought about it, he would get bricked up.

He had it all planned out and was waiting for your breaking point to execute, which came quicker than he thought. Rooster had been ignoring your advances for the past week, and you had had enough.

"What is your problem?" You asked, as you walked into the house behind him. He had taken you out for dinner, but it was the worst date ever. He acted like he would rather be anywhere but there with you.

"My problem?" Rooster asked and you nodded.

"Yeah, your fucking problem, what is it? Cause you have been ignoring me for the past week."

Rooster walked up to you, and you clenched your jaw looking at him. His finger tips gently dragged up your body, ghosting over your breasts and collarbones. You shivered at his touch and looked into his green orbs. You sucked in a breath as his large hand wrapped around your throat. He wasn't even applying any pressure but your panties were absolutely soaked.

"I wanted to see how long it would take you to act like a brat so I can punish you," Rooster said, his voice dropping an octave and filling with lust. You squeezed your thighs together as you felt yourself clench around nothing.

"You are pathetic," He chuckled, "Just have my hand resting on your neck and your pathetic little pussy is leaking isn't it." You nodded, but that wasn't good enough for him, and he squeezed the sides of your neck, "Words."

"Yes, sir," You squeaked out and Rooster groaned.

"Get up stairs, and strip. Think of a safe word on your way up. I'm not gonna fuck you unless you have one. Understood?"

"Yes sir," You responded.

"Go." Rooster demanded and you took off running up the stairs. He grabbed two water bottles and a granola bar for after before going up to the bedroom.

You were waiting on the bed, naked and with a safe word in your mind. When Rooster walked in, he set the items in his hand on the dresser. You watched him carefully as he walked over to you. You had to look up at him as he stepped in front of you, and tilted your head up with his knuckle under your chin. He kissed you, and quietly literally took your breath away. Your hands rested on his biceps as his lips left your mouth going to your jaw and then your ear.

"Do you have a safe word?"

You nodded in response, "Tomcat."

Bradley smiled, "Perfect. What's your color?"

"Green."

It was like a switch went off in Bradley's mind as he grabbed your body and pulled you up from the bed. His strong arms wrapped around your body and he kissed you passionately. Your hands found themselves in his brown curls, tugging slightly. You could feel his hard-on pressed against his stomach and tried to push yourself closer to him.

"Mhm," Bradley shook his head and pulled away from you. He moved around you and sat down on the bed. He looked like a sin, dressed in black jeans and a black button up. The top button was undone and you could see the silver chain around his neck.

"Kneel."

You kept eye contact as you dropped to your knees. He palmed himself through his tight black jeans and you whimpered at the sight.

"Crawl."

You dropped to your hands and knees, crawling to him. His hand was still over his clothed cock, as his brown eyes looked over your body. When you got to him, you sat back on your heels and looked at him for the next instruction.

"Suck me off, slut."

You nodded eagerly and moved to undo his belt. Rooster lifted his hips so you could take his boxers and pants down his legs. His cock was angry and red as it slapped against his lower abdomen. The tip was already leaking pre cum and it made your mouth water. It was heavy in your hand, as you leaned forward and licked a stripe from his balls to his tip. Rooster groaned and tangled his hand in your hair. He guided you gently over his tip.

"Spit," He demanded and you did as he said. He grabbed his shaft in his hand, "Open. Stick your tongue out." You opened your mouth and Rooster slapped his cock against your tongue before he stuck it in your mouth.

"Fuck, your mouth is perfect," He leaned back a bit, but still kept a hand on your head as you sucked him off. You took as much of him as you could, breathing through your mouth as you took him deeper. He closed his eyes and threw his head back in pleasure. Your pussy was throbbing, begging for release. You looked up at him and noticed his closed eyes, and took your hand in between your thighs.

It was as if he knew what you were doing, and snapped his eyes open. You tried to quickly move your hand but it was useless. He had caught you.

"Naughty, naughty girl," Rooster tsked, "One the bed. Ass up."

You complied and got on your belly, lifting your hips up. Rooster took his shirt off, matching you in being nude. He could your slicking covering your thighs, as you waited for him. His grands gripped the globes of your ass and spread them to get a better look at your cunt.

"Look at you clench around nothing, fucking desperate," Rooster said, his finger collecting some of the slick dripping out of you. He brought his finger to his mouth and sucked it clean, "God, you taste so good."

"Fuck, sir," You moaned out as you felt Rooster's tongue part your folds. He had never ate you from behind before, but you were loving every bit of it. His finger circled your clit as his tongue licked your cunt. When he pulled back you whined.

"Sorry, babe, I just had to get a taste," Rooster said, and went back to massaging your ass, "But, bad girls don't get what they want." He raised his hand and smacked your ass sharply. You yelped.

"Color?" He asked.

"So fucking green."

"Good girl, you tell me if it's too much," It made you smile that even in his dominate headspace, he still cared about you. Another slap was delivered to your ass, the pleasurable pain filling your body. Rooster slapped your ass a couple more times, until he was satisfied. He grabbed your leg and turned you over on to your back.

Your eyes were blown wide with lust as you looked at him. His body sculpted by God himself. He kept eye contact with you as he lowered himself just a bit, and spread your legs open. The feeling of his salvia hitting your cunt made you moan loudly.

He ran his cock over your folds a couple times, spreading around a mixture of your slick, spit and pre cum before pushing his cock into you. He closed his eyes, pushing in little by little until he bottomed out.

"Holy shit," Rooster groaned, "God, your sweet slutty little pussy."

"Please sir," You begged, clawing at his back, "Ruin me."

"You asked," Rooster smirked, and brought his hips back and thrusted into you. You moaned and arched your back.

Bradley started slowly, giving you sometime to adjust, but when he felt your walls start to relax, he sped up and hit deeper. Moans and grunts filled the room as Bradley fucked you at a bruising pace. It was the most beautiful sight to see, Bradley totally lost in searching for his release.

"Hit me," You breathed out and Rooster opened his eyes to look at you, "Hit me, please, sir."

Rooster shifted his weight onto one arm, and brought his hand back to slap your cheek.

"Again," You begged and Rooster hit your cheek again.

"God fucking, how did I get you," Rooster asked, and dropped to his elbows to kiss you sloppily. It was all tongue and teeth as Bradley fucked you.

"Sir, I-I can't last," You cried out. Bradley's hand snaked down between your bodies to rub your clit. He felt your legs start to shake and your cunt clamp down on him.

"You'll wait," He growled out, nipping at you neck. He felt the rubber band in his stomach being pulled tight, his own orgasm fast approaching. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to hold out but you couldn't. Tears prickled your eyes as you tried to fight back the orgasm.

"I can't! Please, I need to cum!" His hand found it's spot of your neck again, squeezing the sides. It felt like a white hot branding iron.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, cum for me, baby. Cum with me," Bradley said. Your body convulsed as you gave yourself over to pleasure. White spots filled your vision as you felt Bradley's hot seed paint your walls. His moans echoed off the walls as he put his face into the crook of your neck, feeling his balls finally empty after nearly a week.

"Jesus Christ," Bradley said. Your body felt like it was floating as he pushed himself off of you a bit. He looked you over, his brown eyes looking into yours, "Was that okay?"

"More than okay," You said breathlessly.

"I didn't hurt you did, I?"

"No baby," You said, and ran a hand through his sweaty curls.

"I can feel your legs shaking like an earthquake," He smiled as he grabbed your thigh and hiked it up over his thigh. His hand felt hot as it ran gently up your skin, "I put a lot in you. I haven't jacked off in a week."

"Maybe you knocked me up," You smirked and you saw something in Bradley's eyes. It was as if another new side of him was waiting to be unlocked. You made a note to add that into the next time he fucked you like this.

"I love you," Bradley said, and kissed you.

"I love you too."

"Now, let's get you cleaned up and cuddled."

[mcufan72]

Cold winter days, a lonely woman on a bench, a stranger in the park...

An Encounter in Winter ❄️

Loki and female reader

Chapter 15

Chapter 14

18+/adult themes/talking/flirting/slow burn/ fluff/angst/smut

Warnings: implied smut, some sweet soft smut, doubt and self-doubt, some answers and new questions

"Are you sure you don't know that person, Snowflake?"

"Yeah, I couldn't even figure out if it's a man or a woman… I'm just glad the girl is back in her dad's or mum's arms," and you watched them leaving the park.

"Snowflake, I'm truly concerned…what if someone tries to harm you?"

"Lo, why should someone want that?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"Please, stop dramatizing it, Lo. Maybe that person thought they knew me and just wanted to find out if it was like this or not. And I stick to "not". I'm sure it was just a case of mistaken identity. Let's go back to the hotel, Lo. I'd like to spend a cosy last evening with you."

You wrapped your arm around his waist, buried your hand in the back pocket of his stone-grey tight-fitting jeans and Loki slung his arm around your shoulder. He loved that you wore your sleeveless flower dress today so his fingers could touch and caress your bare skin. Loki took a deep breath and looked sceptically at you. He wasn't sure what to think about this whole situation. He didn't want this wonderful free time and these holidays to end but now he just wanted to bring you back home safely. Tomorrow you two would be on your flight back home to New York and somehow he was glad about it.

"You've been so sweet with the little girl. It seemed she liked you."

"If you say so… and yes, she was a cutie, and she seemed curious and… impressed?"

"She definitely liked the fireworks you had conjured for her, Lo …I liked them too," you said softly.

"Mmhhhh, I can conjure other fireworks for you, my love," he purred like an amorous tomcat and nudged his nose against your cheek.

"I'd love that, baby," you giggled.

"If we ever decide to have children, I just want to have them with you, Lo. You'll definitely be a good dad."

You turned your head towards him and his soft gaze met yours.

"Do you still think that? You can't know that. Maybe I won't be a good dad," he answered with sad eyes.

"Do you think I'd be a good mum?" you asked him demandingly.

"You'll be the best mum in the nine realms and you…what?"

You couldn't stop chuckling.

"How can you know that Lo baby?" you questioned him, a big grin on your face.

"Okay, okay, I'm already quiet but… sometimes my insecurities make an appearance again. Sorry, my love."

"Don't be, Lo. You have me now to make them disappear again," and you pecked a gentle kiss on his cheek, a shy smile curving his mouth.

It seems you were a better magician than him because you always did the right things for him and made him immediately feel better again.

"That little girl reminds me of my sister."

"How come and why?" He asked you bewildered.

"When we were children and out on the playground or a little trip she tended to run away to more exciting places. She…didn't really run away, I always knew where she was. For us, it was fun and just a game but for our mother, it had been a catastrophe… every single time," you laughed.

"You had been very naughty girls, you and your sister. Scaring your mum to death was not nice, Snowflake," he stated with a teasing undertone.

"Says the god of mischief," you teased him back playfully, " and…Had been? I'm still naughty, Sir…but nowadays only for you," you said chirping and with your hand, you gave his ass cheek a firm squeeze.

"And I appreciate it, my Lady," he hummed in response and kissed your lips promisingly.

Once back in the hotel he would want you underneath him as soon as possible and fuck the naughtiness out of you. Would his addiction to you ever get less? Hopefully not …and he felt how your heartbeat quickened in sheer anticipation.

"When we're back home, we will try to find your sister, okay? I haven't forgotten the promise I gave you. You still miss her, don't you?"

"Sure, I do." you said thoughtfully. "I hope we find her, Lo."

"We will, I'm sure, my love," and he kissed you tenderly.

"Please don't you ever run away again! I was scared, honeybee. You must stay with me, I can't lose my baby!"

"I didn't run away, I wanted to see the fairies and…and…I needed to see if they live between the yellow rose petals," the little girl tried to explain her excursion.

"There are no fairies, my little honeybee and you can't run away from the playground without coming to me first and telling me that you want to go somewhere else, okay?"

"I'm sorry…I'll never do it again, I promise," she said quietly and her voice was full of guilt.

"It's alright, honeybee I'm just glad that nothing happened to you and that I have you back… did you talk to the woman? And what about the man who knelt in front of you? I saw it from afar when I was looking for you."

"I didn't talk to them, I know I mustn't talk to strangers. The woman was nice and soooo pretty, her name was y/n and the man was a wizard!"

"Honeybee, there are no wizards…"

"He.Was.A.Wizard! And his name was…was…his name was Loki," she pouted and crossed her small arms.

"I've told you too many fairy tales, I guess."

"He was a wizard and sooo nice to me. He made funny lights and sparkles in his palm… the pink ones I liked the most!"

"Oh, honeybee you have way too much imagination. What was the woman's name again?"

"Her name was Y/n."

"Uh hm …come, let's hit home, honeybee."

"Can I have pancakes for dinner?"

"Of course, honeybee, we make pancakes for dinner."

"Yes yes, pancakes," she cheered, clapping her hands. "And he was a wizard," she whispered to herself.

When you were back at the hotel you two got quickly rid of your clothes. Loki carried you to the bed, never loosening his grip around your waist and giving you demanding kisses. He laid you down into the cushions with him on top of you, your hands roaming over the toned muscles of his back. You felt his veiny pulsating cock sliding into your dripping wet cunt and you enjoyed his weight on you and the feeling of his soft skin on yours. Loki gave you slow and deep strokes and held your hand the whole time. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear and you told him again and again how much you loved him.

He made the sweetest, deepest love to you and it didn't take you long to cum around his throbbing length. Loki insisted on making you orgasm one more time before he wanted to find his release in the velvety warmth of your cunt which convulsed about his cock. When his passion overtook him he spent his seed deep inside you, with a low moan until you were dripping. As much as he loved rough sex, the slow lovemaking made him always feel safe and content. And this time he felt so close to you.

Tonight his incredible tenderness and how he looked into your eyes while making sweet love to you, made you cry. He kissed your tears away and after many more love confessions, you took a shower together and had a last dinner at the hotel's restaurant. Later, when you both went to bed again, you snuggled into him and before you fell asleep in each other's arms, you made a decision. Never before have you been more convinced.

Back in New York, day-to-day life had you two in its claws again, sooner than you had expected. Bruce and you had so much work to do in the lab, intensive biological and theoretical studies and tons of paperwork. In this case, it means all of your research results had to be fed to the computer files and systems. Loki and the other Avengers had to go on new missions, shorter ones and longer ones and Loki's and your wonderful holiday slowly faded into a beautiful memory.

One afternoon, when the Avengers were on a new mission again, you took a break from work to have a cup of tea and met Jane in the compound's kitchen. You two have become friends since she lived here too. Things between her and Thor have become more serious and so she decided to move in with Thor. The fact that Jane and you got along with each other well was also a blessing for Loki and Thor. The two brothers were closer together than ever before and both appreciated it.

You hadn't had much time talking to each other since you and Loki had returned from the holidays so you were happy to meet her now and have a little chit-chat with her. You also had a feeling there was some news she wanted to tell you because a few days ago you had spotted a ring on her left hand.

"Hey, Jane, so good to see you!"

"Hey, y/n, it feels like it has been ages since we last met, right?"

"Yeah, I've been so busy since we returned. I'm already stressed again," you laughed and you two hugged each other.

"How are you doing?" you asked her, pouring some tea in a mug. "Fancy a cuppa?"

"Oh, yes please. I don't feel well today."

"Why? What happened, dear?"

"I miss Thor," she answered sadly.

"Oh, yes I understand … I miss Loki terribly."

"I have gotta feeling that something has happened to them…"

For a short moment, you leaned back at the kitchen counter, closed your eyes, and listened to your heartbeat. It was strong, steady, and calm. And there was something like a second voice or a bass line in a choir; strong, steady, and calm…Loki's heartbeat. You opened your eyes again and smiled at her. With teary eyes, Jane looked quizzically at you.

"They're alright Jane, Thor is fine, " you told her calmly.

"How do you know that?"

"I can feel it," you explained.

"You can feel it? What can you feel? I mean, … how?"

"I'm bonded with Loki and somehow I…I just can feel it when I listen to my heart. It's just there."

"Wow, that's awesome. Are you… are you already immortal like him and like Thor?"

"No. Are you?"

"No, neither. I'm still unsure…"

"But…you're engaged already, aren't you?" and you smiled brightly at her and pointed to the ring on the ring finger of her left hand. It was a wonderful brightly shining ruby and diamond ring. "Congratulations!"

"Ohhh, yesss…thank you. We're very happy."

"And I'm happy for you two, dear! I hope it was a romantic day when Thor proposed to you."

"Very romantic, as romantic as Thor can be but yes, he was cute and extremely nervous. The ring fell on the floor twice before he placed it on my finger. He was so afraid I could refuse him," Jane said and giggled with reddened cheeks.

"What about you and Loki? When did he propose to you in Norway? Ohh it must've been so romantic …"

"He didn't propose to me, neither in Norway nor in London," you said quietly and looked at her with questioningly raised eyebrows.

"Oh, aahhmm it's just… Thor meant…"

"What did Thor mean?"

"Oh..nothing, sweetie, nothing. Forget it, forget my question. I'm sorry…"

With a frowning forehead, you questioned yourself if there was something she knew and you didn't. Did Loki want to propose to you in Norway and if so, why didn't he do it? Everything seemed fine during the vacation and you were convinced that you had done nothing wrong. You wouldn't get an answer right now. It seemed you just had to wait until Loki came back. And a proposal or not, nothing could change your deep love for him. Maybe you were a bit disappointed right now but you still loved your pretty alien King.

Jane was slightly irritated and maybe she should've kept her big mouth shut but she clearly remembered what Thor had told her. He recited what Loki said to him before you and Loki headed to Norway:

'This gorgeous woman, who owns my heart, deserves a very special marriage proposal and a wonderful wedding.'

Maybe they shouldn't have assumed Loki would ask you in Norway to marry him. But it seemed to be the perfect place to do it.

"I'm really sorry, y/n. I should've kept my mouth shut."

"Don't worry, Jane. Everything is fine," and you smiled reassuringly at her.

"Did you ever think about eating Idun's apple, y/n?"

"No, never because this is not my path to get the same kind of immortality as Loki."

"It's not?"

"No. As you know Loki isn't Asgardian by birth so I have to do it the Jotun way."

"And… What is the Jotun way?" she asked curiously.

"We're already bonded and we're already one body, one soul and one heartbeat. The last step is to become one blood."

"Wow. Are you afraid of doing it? I mean, it's such a big step, a life-changing decision."

"I'm not afraid of it, I just thought about if there would be something I had to abandon because of my then prolonged life span… but I don't have a family anymore, I just have Loki and my love for him is endless… and then finally it was an easy decision to make."

"Yeah, that makes sense, I've the same thoughts as you… we would have each other then, you and I gossiping forever and ever," she said and you two laughed in unison.

"Wouldn't that be great?" You asked her.

"Absolutely fantastic!" Jane agreed with you.

"Just take your time, Jane. Speak with Thor about it again…and everything will be fine."

After some more chit-chat and exchanging some more of the newest gossip, you returned to the lab. The day's work still wasn't done yet.

A few days later you had the opportunity to take the afternoon off. First of all, you strolled through the park and after that you sat on your and Loki's bench for a while, watching the people and the scenery. It was late summer already and the beginning of autumn was near. Some leaves of the trees were already slowly changing their colours and you looked forward to cosy autumn afternoons. You would sit together with your lover in front of the crackling fireplace and hold each other's hands or you would sit on the sofa, snuggled up into each other under his fluffy black blanket, you and Loki preferably naked, while drinking hot chocolate.

Loki, the love of your life, owner of your heart. You sighed heavily while you thought of him and felt how much you loved and missed him right now. Soon he would be back from the mission and you could hardly wait for him to take you in his strong arms again. You missed his kisses and touches, his scent, his voice, you missed talking to him and cuddling him and of course, you missed the feeling of him buried deep inside of you and his soft skin on yours, his moans and sighs when you caressed him and scratched his scalp, twirling the curls of his black mane around your fingers.

You craved endlessly for him, it almost caused physical pain. You were sad and a bit disappointed when Pepper told you yesterday that she got a message from the team that they would need two more days because of a special mission they were asked to take care of before they could return to New York. You knew that something like this could happen at any time but still, you just wanted Loki to come back to you as soon as possible.

And Loki knew how much you missed him because he missed you terribly as well. He had problems falling asleep without you in his arms. He missed the warmth of your beautiful body, your soft skin on his. He missed spooning you the whole night and the deep and funny conversations you often have before falling asleep. He missed your gaze at him, your plump lips on his, your hands buried in his hair, tugging lovingly at it. He craved you desperately and he wanted nothing more than to return to you as soon as possible. But this special mission was extremely important and he truly pitied that he had to make you wait for him for two more days.

He had recorded a voice mail for you and Pepper had sent it to your phone. You inserted your earphones and listened to his message for the umpteenth time now but his deep smooth and calming voice eased your desperate wait for him.

"Hello, my love, my pretty Snowflake, my precious Queen. Do you miss me? When this message reaches you, you are probably asleep by now. I can tell you, it's not easy for me to fall asleep without you in my arms and I can't wait for the day when you sling your arms around me again. To have you not by my side is torture…and you've no idea what naughty things I'll do to you when I'm back… can't tell you more right now, too many curious listeners around me and what I want to tell you is destined for your ears only. I miss you, darling, I miss you terribly and I can't wait to see your face and your beautiful smile again. Think of me, my love, never forget to stroll daily through the park and sit on our bench. Think of me then, dream of me like I dream of you. Don't forget me, my love, and promise me that you eat and drink properly every day! And trust me I'll recognise it if you don't! Take good care of yourself my sweet darling and wait for me. I'm back soon, I promise. I love you, Snowflake."

A smile curved your lips and you pressed your phone to your chest. He had no idea how much his message comforted you. Before you headed back to Stark Tower you visited your favourite bookstore. You haven't been there for a long time now and today you wanted to have a look at some newly published novels and crime stories. You also wanted to buy a small gift for Loki, maybe a book about myths and legends in ancient times. You weren't sure but you would find something for him. Also, you felt the need to talk to him as soon as possible.

After the conversation with Jane, you had been absolutely sure about your final decision. You wanted to be his blood, you wanted eternity together with him. You wanted to ask him to bring you to Jotunheim so you could have the ritual and after that, you would be completely and irreversibly his and he would be yours, united in this unique bonding he had created with you. You already had a considerable number of books stored in your arms while you still strolled through the bookstore. The staple of books in one arm, you flipped through a book for vintage style for apartments when you felt someone standing behind you. Before you could think further if you maybe blocked someone's way, the person addressed you.

"I finally found you!"

You turned around, jumped and all the books you had stored on your arm, fell rumbling to the floor. Your face went pale and you felt the person's hand grabbing your forearm and you saw the tattoo that adorned the hand. You looked upwards into the person's eyes and you couldn't believe whose eyes they were.

"Josephine!" You said, hoarsely and shocked and you stared into your sister's face, which you hadn't seen for nearly two years now.

🫢🫢🫢🫢🥲🫢🫢🫢🫢🥲🫢🫢🫢🫢🥲🫢🫢

Taglist:

@lokisprettygirl @wheredafandomat @anukulee @stupidthoughtsinwriting @fictive-sl0th @lokixryss @smolvenger @lovingchoices14 @huntress-artemiss @obscureenigmatic

[dalliansss]

’ it’s true, romance is dead: i shot it in the chest, and then in the head. ’

’ FROM UNDER THE CORK TREE ’ SENTENCE STARTERS

Mairon wakes to the singing. He lifts himself up some from his silk-covered, hypoallergenic pillows, his ginger hair a terrible cloud around his head. He listens. Yes, there's the singing signalling that the pop star he had taken home a year and a half ago is up and about, ahead before him as always, and already preparing for his day. Finrod has a very lovely voice and Mairon has found his singing is better than any playlist on Spotify or YouTube. Live concerts every day and not a single ticket charged to his black credit card.

It's true romance is dead I shot it in the chest-- And then in the head!

Mairon takes his sweet time. He rolls onto his back. Then he hears the unmistakable purring of a cat, and a particularly fluffy and round British shorthair jumps up on the bed and trots to him, tail held high. A grin spreads on his lips as the chocolate-colored tomcat loafs on his chest and stomach. Mairon immediately hugs the cat, bestowing a thousand kisses on that cute fluffy face and pink nose and soft, soft ears.

The cat meows -- but for all of his size, what he can manage is a pitiful meow that seems to have cost him all the effort in the world. This is Draugluin, Mairon's firstborn child, love of his life, his chocolate-colored baby. Baby baby baby baby baby. That pitiful meow pinches at his heart unfailing each time. More kisses are bestowed on the cat.

"Have you eaten? Has Helga given you breakfast? You cutiepie. My baby. My cute little chocolate chip. Cutiepie. My baby," Mairon mutters as he lifts the cat a little by its fluffy armpits. However armpits apply to felines, of course.

Just then the master bathroom doors open. He hears Finrod moving about, still singing that song. It must be a new song from an upcoming album. It has to be. Mairon has never heard it before. Another perk of acquiring oneself a world-famous, viral pop idol, dating said pop idol, and then bringing him home. VVIP access to unreleased content.

Draugluin pats Mairon's face with a fluffy paw. He kisses said paw, before hugging the cat to himself. He catches a whiff of Finrod's perfume. Le Labo nut, his partner.

"Mairon?" Finrod's voice comes somewhere from their vast, walk-in closet. "Drive me to the studio today?"

Ah yes. This makes him roll his eyes, this types of request. Mairon Aulëndil, CEO of Angbad Inc., reduced to being chauffeur. Mairon Aulëndil, with an M.A. and Ph.D on Business Management, reduced to a grocer boy. Mairon Aulëndil, gorgeous man, reduced to--

Finrod's lovely face appears in his line of vision, peeking down at him. "I said drive me to the studio."

"Did you hear me refuse? I didn't refuse," Mairon scowls. He kisses Draugluin's chocolate head. Still hugging his cat. His and Finrod's firstborn child, really. They should get another one. A girl. Just so Draugluin has a sibling... "Of course I will drive you to your studio."

"But before that take me to Farmery first so I can buy us some sandwiches. And we're short on those cooked hams you like on your wheat bread. And also a Starbucks drive-thru for coffee."

"Finrod, we have perfectly delicious coffee beans here and an espresso machine that you ordered all the way from godsdamn Italy. Why would you want that Starbucks crap?"

"Because Helga and Alice cannot make my latte how I want it."

His partner pads away. Draugluin has loafed on him now and is kneading biscuits by his neck and chest. Mairon's scowl doesn't fade.

"Mrmf. Your claws are getting long, young man. Time for an appointment with your groomer."

Another kiss to the cat. Another kiss. Mwah mwah.

"Mairon!" Finrod calls him. "Get your ass out of bed and bathe already!"

Ugh. This dumb blond...if only he wasn't so pretty and desirable, Mairon would have kicked him out already nonsense he has a ring ready; he will put a ring on it, and he will seal his fate soon of complaining forever!

Mairon sits up. Now cradling Draugluin like a baby in his arms. The cat still continues to knead at thin air. Purring like a motorboat. Awh.

"You see this? You see how your mommy is treating me? Slave-driver. Eru on a stick. Slave-driver."

"I can hear you, Mairon! Get your ass out of bed!"

"I'm getting up already, damn! Shut up, Finrod!"

"Get your ass out of bed!"

"I'm already up!!!!"

@skaelds

[baby-girl-e]

are you still open for icemav fic based on your spotify wrapped playlist? if yes, can i request song number 10 on your playlist? but if not, feel free to skip this request hehe thank you very much in advance!

Yes of course I'm still taking submissions!!! I will be until every one of the songs are written for, however long that takes!

Song number 10 is Always Forever by Cults!

Now this one is going to be more based on the vibe of the song rather than the lyrics! I've always thought of this song to be a very sappy love song, like the singer was just hopelessly in love, so I thought what better way to convey that then Ice and Mavs very unofficial wedding! This is told in Ice's POV and it's unbeta'd and a whopping 3.2k words so.... good luck! This one really got away from me but I love it so here:

Ice and Maverick had decided to get married fairly early on. To any out couple the speed at which they’d talked about marriage was about as fast as the tomcat’s they flew but it really made sense to them. Sure they weren’t really getting married, by legal standards at least, but to them and their friends that knew it meant just as much. Ice had been the first to bring it up on their first anniversary and scared the shit out of Pete but he recovered quickly and said it was indeed something he had wanted. 

So here they were the night before their wedding, sitting on the couch in the lowlight of the almost burned out lamp and the moon filtering in from the blinds, holding each other while the radio played some love song in the background. Tom had never felt so content in his whole life, his future husbands in his arms while he played with his fingers, Pete had a proclivity for twisting his fingers around Tom’s ring finger lately and he imagines it’ll only become more frequent after they exchange rings the next day. It’ll break his heart to have to put it on his dog tags when they go to work, but they have a few days off after the wedding so he won’t worry too much just yet. 

��Baby?” Pete’s soft voice broke him out of his thoughts.  

“Yeah?” Tom continued to play their fingers together, Pete halfway on his lap with his back to Tom’s chest. 

“We’re doing the right thing right? Getting married?” Pete didn’t sound doubtful, but he did sound like he was making sure Tom didn’t have any doubts. 

“You still love me right?” Tom knew the answer, but he wanted to hear him say it. 

“Of course! Why would you say that!?” His answer was immediate and rushed as though Tom suggesting he didn’t love him was akin to him saying he hated flying. 

“I know but I wanted to prove a point. As long as you love me and I love you we’re doing the right thing.”

“But what about-” Tom cut him off by wrapping his arm around his waist and turning him slightly to face him. 

“No but’s Pete. We love each other and that’s all that matters okay? Yeah it’s not the safest option but when have you ever chosen the safest option? I seem to remember telling a certain pilot he was dangerous and he never left.” 

“Yeah I think it turned him on a little too.” That got Pete a gentle slap to the side. 

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” The little smirk on his face told Ice that yes he did. 

“I have it on good authority that you like that.” 

Tom just laughs and shakes his head and releases Pete slightly so he can relax back into his chest. His heart was swelling with love and he couldn’t help but just swim in his love for a moment. He felt like a teenager in love, his whole body aware of the man beside him. Part of him wanted to fucking bat his eyelashes and sigh like they did in the movies for christsake. 

“You and me Pete. Always, forever.” He knew it was quite literally the sappiest thing he could’ve said but to hell with it. He loved Pete Mitchell and he wanted him to know it. 

“Always forever.” He repeated the words back to him like they were the most natural words in the world. He supposed they were. 

The next morning they woke together and had breakfast in their kitchen before Pete headed to Carole’s to get ready. They thought that the whole spending the night apart before the wedding thing was silly, especially because for one they didn’t want to spend any night apart and for another they weren't a traditional couple anyways. 

As for their wedding attire they just went with simple black tuxedos, not really comfortable wearing their dress white’s even if they would’ve for a legal wedding. They didn’t want the Navy to have any part of their day, they had already taken so much. 

With Pete at the Bradshaw’s Tom had time to really think about what he was about to do. What this meant for him. He was about to get married in private, without his parents there, and even against the fucking law. He was essentially tying himself to a sinking ship. Even one of those things should’ve scared the shit out of him but he was as calm as he’s ever been. 

The whole secret thing was a given, they were prepared to live their entire lives together in private. They couldn’t read the future and they didn’t dare to get their hopes up. Getting married without his parents there stung a little, but he’d been prepared for this to be the case. He really hadn’t ever planned on getting married anyways, knowing early on that he wasn’t like the other boys. Now, going against the law was the only thing that freaked him out a little. He prided himself on following the rules, it was the only way he could survive for the longest time, but now he was doing the one thing that could slap him with a dishonorable discharge before he could even blink. 

But he had Pete. 

That’s what kept him from freaking out this entire time. If he had Pete he could be slapped with a hundred dishonorable discharges and he wouldn’t care. Yes he was tying himself to a sinking ship but Pete would be there to pull him up. He was sure. 

He was in his tuxedo and then went to grab Pete’s ring when he heard the door open and shut. 

“Babe you know it’s bad luck to see me before the wedding right?” He shouted out to who he thought was Pete, inevitably forgetting something. 

“Well I’ve always known you loved me but should you really call me babe? I don’t need shortstack beating me to a pulp with all of his pent up small energy.” 

Slider? How was he here? He was supposed to be in Florida for the next six months teaching. He ran out and sure enough, there was his best friend standing in his living room in a nice suit. 

“Slider!!” Tom ran to him and picked him up into the tightest hug he’s ever given the man. 

“Hey Tom, glad to see me?” Tom set him down and put his hands on his shoulders. He really couldn’t believe it. 

“Glad? I’m ecstatic! How are you here? I thought you were supposed to be in Florida?” he hadn’t checked his dates wrong had he?

“I was but it seems that your husband-to-be knows the right people. Apparently he asked Viper to get me home for a few days and it looks like he delivered.” The ever thoughtful Pete. He loved his future husband so goddamn much. And if it were possible to send the card without outing himself he would send Viper a thank you note. 

“Ron, I’m getting married.” It was suddenly hitting him now that he was indeed about to be a husband. 

“Yeah buddy, I’m here to walk you down the aisle okay?” Tom looked at him with eyes that rivaled Bradley's when Carole agreed to let him sleep over at his uncles’ house. 

“You’d do that? For me?” He knew it was a stupid question but he could’nt help it.

“Tom, I’d take a bullet for you. Of course I’d walk you down the aisle.” 

“And I am doing the right thing right?” He found himself repeating Pete’s question from the night before, now understanding where he was coming from.

“Tom, this is coming from someone who hasn’t always liked Mitchell so I hope you’ll know I’m being serious. You are about to make the most right choice you’ll ever make in your entire life. That man that pulled strings to get me here and is currently pacing poor Caroles living room is the most right person for you. He absolutely adores you so much it’s disgusting sometimes. I’m confident that this is the one thing in your life you can’t possibly regret. That and flying with me I think.” 

His friend's words hit him like a truck and he knows they’re all true. Pete is his everything and he knows he means just as much to him. He can do this. 

He tells Slider as much and he gives one of the grooms a pat on his back before walking him out. They take Slider's car so that Ice can nervously wring his fingers together on the drive. They arrive at the Bradshaw residence, which was chosen for their spacious backyard and high fences for privacy, and Ice can see the subtle decoration of white roses on the front porch. They didn’t want to draw attention and if they were caught they could easily play it off as a fancy party among friends but that didn’t stop Carole from doing what she could to make it feel like a wedding. 

“You ready for this Tommy?” Slider looked over to his anxious friend and grinned. 

“More than you’ll ever know.” Ice was the most excited he’s ever been for anything. 

They go in through the front door and find Carole waiting there for them. She had planned out the entire thing, Pete was to go out first walking down the makeshift aisle to wait for Tom at the end. 

“Hey Tom, excited?” She was grinning ear to ear in her nice pink dress and bouquet of flowers. She was going to be their only bridesmaid, accompanied down the aisle by their only groomsman, nine year old Bradley. In the small audience there would be a few aviators, Chipper and Sundown, Hollywood and Wolfman, and Merlin. 

“Ecstatic Carole, thanks for this.” He gave the woman a hug but when she pulled away she had a very mischievous look on her face. 

“If there was one more surprise would you totally kill us?” Tom couldn’t possibly imagine there was more than Slider but out walked Mike Metcalf himself. His heart dropped at the sight of the CO. Had they really been found out already? 

“Take a breath son, nobody's reporting you.” He had his hands out and he approached Tom like he was a wild animal. “I figured it out on my own a few weeks ago and when I called Carole today I asked if I could walk Pete down the aisle. He just didn’t want you to be blindsided in the middle of the ceremony.” 

His fiance was ever thoughtful. He never wanted to hurt him, even if it meant hiding while Mike made himself known before they started the ceremony. 

“Oh, well thank you sir. I’m sure Pete’s glad to have you walk him down the aisle. He speaks very highly of you.” 

“Damn Kazansky, at least call me Viper if you’re going to marry my godson. I’m going to get back to him so we can get things started, I bet you’re just as anxious as he is.” 

“That I am sir. I’ve wanted him to be my husband for a long time.” Viper gave him a look for calling him sir again but walked away to no doubt find Pete. 

Carole followed him with Bradley in tow, as they were the ones starting the procession. They had decided on a classic love song to both walk down the aisle to, not wanting a traditional wedding march to tip off any unsuspecting neighbors. Pete had probably ever Nat King Cole record to ever exist and they often danced in their living room together to his songs so it was only fitting for the opening notes to “When I Fall In Love” to play out softly in the backyard. 

Slider offered his arm to his best friend and he took it, tearing up slightly. 

“I’m so proud of you Tom. Truly.” Even Ron was tearing up. Tom didn’t trust his voice to say much else but gave him a nod before they walked out to the back porch. 

It had been decorated with grocery store flowers and his friends in folding chairs. The arch that usually stood in the Bradshaw garden was placed about a hundred feet away and his love stood beneath it with Viper by his side. Pete was a sight to see and he nearly stopped breathing. Sure he had seen Pete all dolled up but this was different. This was for their wedding. Slider gave him a little nudge and they proceeded down the aisle, Nat King Cole playing in the background. 

He never took his eyes away from Pete’s, wanting to soak up as much of this as he could, and even gave him a wink. Pete blushed slightly but never faltered in his eye contact nor his smile. This man had him in his pocket, he knew right then that he would do anything for him. Give up anything for him. 

He reached the end of the aisle and Ron released his arm. He gave his friend a hug and mumbled a thank you before turning to take Pete’s hands. He definitely didn’t miss the subtle elbow nudge Pete and Slider had given each other. 

“Hi.” He wasn’t shy, he just didn’t know what else to say. 

“Hey, wanna get married?” Tom laughed and Viper stood behind them to begin the ceremony. 

“Hello everyone, you all know me as I was once your instructor, but today I’m here as a godfather. A couple weeks ago I found out that these two had finally figured their shit out and decided to get married.” That got a small laugh out of their guests. 

“Now I know they’ve been together a lot longer than a few weeks, but to me the news was the best I could’ve ever got at that moment. I had the privilege to see them meet for the first time and to witness first hand how much love had been there even in the beginning. They weren’t as subtle as I’m sure they thought they were and I knew they weren’t paying any attention to me that first day.” 

Pete hung his head in mock shame and Tom threw his back in laughter. He really thought he was slick. 

“From that day on, I had hoped they would one day fall in love and well… I’m so glad I got to witness it. Boys, I’m terribly sorry things have to happen this way, but I think I speak for everyone in this room when I say we have your back.” He was met with cheers from the rowdy ‘86 boys, and Bradley joining in. 

“I’ve been told you prepared your own vows? Pete, if you'd like to go first?” He gave Pete a reassuring pat on the back and Pete released one of Tom's hands to pull a small folded paper from his pocket. 

“Tom, I’m not a man of words but I’m going to give it a try. No time like the present. I love you more than I can ever express and I’m so grateful to have you as my wingman forever. You flew into my life at the exact right moment, and saved my life. I know you always say I saved yours up there the day of the Layton rescue but really you saved mine. After losing Goose I was so lost, but you were there to guide me back. If you’ll let me, I want to vow to always guide you back. To be there for you forever.” 

He had said those last words with such finality that Tom teared up along with Pete. He knew he meant it. 

“I have mine memorized so, ha.” He quipped at his almost husband and earned himself a loving eye roll. “Pete, you amaze me. Every day with you I discover something new and wonderful about you and myself and I am so thankful I get to witness your magic up close. As I was thinking about what to say, a conversation I had had years ago came to mind. Back in 1986 the day you had ditched us playing volleyball to go on your date with Charlie, and I won't be holding that against you okay?” 

Pete laughed and mumbled an apology before Tom continued, “But that day when we were walking back to base from the beach I pulled Goose aside to ask him where you had gone. He told me that you were on a date. I asked “with who��� because I was obviously jealous, but he said he couldn’t tell me as he promised not to tell.” 

Pete was now actively crying at the mention of his late best friend and Tom paused to thumb away his tears. 

“Instead he told me something else. He told me ‘Tom, I just want him to be happy. I don’t think she’s the one, but I hope he finds them soon because he deserves to be loved that way.’ I don’t know why he said that to me, your proclaimed enemy at the time but I think some part of him knew. He was a perceptive fellow, it’s what made him such a good RIO, but he was especially attuned to you my love. I vow to live up to his words every day, to love you in the way you deserve, and in the way Nick had always wanted you to be loved.” 

Mav all but slammed into Tom with a hug, shaking with tears and he looked up to see Carole being cuddled by her son in the same way. Tears for her late husband evident on her face. Ever since he fell in love with Pete he felt her pain. If he ever lost Pete he didn’t know how he could go on. 

“I’ll make this quick as I know you're anxious for this next part.” Pete had released Tom and his tears were replaced by buzzing energy, he was about to be a husband and he was nearly shaking with the excitement from it. 

“Thomas “Iceman” Kazansky, do you take this man to be your husband?” Finally. 

“I do.” He had never been so sure about anything in his life. 

“Peter “Maverick” Mitchell, do you take this man to be your husband?” 

“I do.” Pete was looking him dead in the eye and he could see the certainty. Deadly serious. 

“Then by the power given to me by Mrs. Bradshaw this morning, I now pronounce you husbands. Please kiss each other already.” He stepped aside for the grooms to have their moment and for Carole to step out and get the perfect shot. 

Tom pulled Pete into a kiss and sure by definition it wasn’t the best one they’ve ever shared because they were smiling through it, but it was the best one because it was their first one as husbands. They weren’t husbands by law but they could care less, they were married in the only ways that mattered. They had vowed to love each other forever and they didn’t need their government to sign off on it. 

When they pulled back Tom rested his forehead on Pete’s and breathed in the moment. Tom didn’t mind if they stayed alone together, he’d keep their love a secret forever if it meant he got to keep it. Always, forever. 

[pourablecat]

7. Polly/Ozzer Perks

"And then there was the young-male walk to master. At least women swung only their hips. Young men swung everything, from the shoulders down. You have to try to occupy a lot of space, she thought. It makes you look bigger, like a tomcat fluffing his tail." - Monstrous Regiment

I promised not to draw any primped-up dresses this time, yes? Unfortunately I didn't say anything about ridiculous style changes. So this time we have Ozzer in Osamu Tezuka's style. Aka Shoujo manga Polly. And... I didn't notice until now that I forgot to draw her, ahem, socks. But I swear, I used a male character as reference for her build. Tezuka's characters don't have much in the way of secondary sexual characteristics anyway.

If you've read some of Tezuka you'd probably know why I chose his style for this book. Ribon no Kishi or Princess Knight has the two-hearted Prince/Princess Sapphire, who is in no way like Polly. (By the way it wasn't Sapphire I used as reference - it was her son in Twin Knights). Unlike Monstrous Regiment, though, the crossdressing/genderfluidity was... not really handled that well. Yet there's something so distinct in Tezuka's drawing style that carries very well across genres, I think the wackiness would work very well in some (not all) Discworld novels. For one Jackrum would work awesomely in Tezuka's style - I could see him moving along like a balloon in the wind like how Sir Pterry describes him.

Still, I do find Monstrous Regiment one of the weaker Discworld books. Might be how the Ins-and-Outs don't really do much in the way of bringing about the climax of the story (granted, the problem here is deep and systematic and pretty much unsolvable by a measly few people). One thing I did like, though, was how part of the message was that toxic masculinity is unacceptable even when enacted by a woman. Here it's sockness, in Revolutionary Girl Utena it's the concept of a Prince. A woman can wear socks, or be a Prince, but still step right into the pitfall of misogyny. A world in which being a woman in power means you have to act exactly like the men (which, by the way, Angua mentioned once in Feet of Clay, I think?) is not really much better than a world in which you have a Nuggan-mandated code for womanly behavior.

Jackrum, though - his last confession and the bit where he retires to be a grandfather brought tears to my eyes. Did it never occur to him before that he could leave the army as a man? And yet again how could one say Sir Pterry would've supported the transphobes?

[vyzz-undercover]

rowboat knows cato is stubborn as a fucking ox. so his sudden 180 is,,, hmmm very s u s p i c i o u s,,, also yes i agree. i like to think calgar is surprisingly very chatty in that sweet old man (dilf) way. he loves a good bitch and humouring our dear Ambassador's every curiosity. come here let uncle (battle brother in law?) calgar teach u theoretical physics. did you bring your flashcards? okay good. what do you mean you don't know what the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow is?

also also yes. catos been found out by her for the angry yowling tomcat that he is. hes too pussy whipped to actually hurt her purposefully lmfao.

the voices have made this happen

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3)

(5,900ish words) (OUUGHHHHH)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink (obligatory)

•vaginal fingering

•oral (f receiving)

•mild possessive behaviour

•the consequences of ignoring important medical devices

•mentions of (hypothetical) torture

•tumblrs recurringly cancerous formatting

————————————————————��——————————————

im back on my bullshit after having to do overnights so as payment to the dark gods of whoring and degeneracy i humbly offer this taglist of sweet darling who've indulged my insanity: @the-raven-lady, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @bispecsual, @lemon-russ, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @egrets-not-regrets, @moodymisty, @sinistermojo, @justeverythingnothingelse, @pluvio-tea, @thevoidscreams, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist!!! if you wanna be tagged (or not) in the next let me know!!! also it may take me longer to do a part four to this namely because ive got more wageslaving ahead of me soon but alas i'll definitely have rowboat girlyman catch em. also maybe give cato some top. myehehehehe,,, AND THANK YOU FOR READING AS USUAL ILY ALL!!! :3

———————————————————————————————————

Cato is just about leaving.

After having spent the better part of an hour discussing the predicted destruction pathway of a hive-fleet on the system's rim with his Father; it sends his balls into his throat when you nearly run into him in the chamber's huge archway.

It only takes a fraction of a second to catalogue your presence.

You're wearing the same utilitarian blue robe as you had been last week again.

Last week, when he'd been pounding you insensible on a lounge in the library—Cato promptly quashes the insidious memory, smothering down any sort of reaction. But there is a change in comparison to the dizzying reminder: there's a new addition to the reoccurring outfit.

You've brought a navy, high-collared turtleneck into the mix, layered below your lapels.

So, the efforts of his mouth hadn't gone unheeded, then.

Throne, if he's not smug, he's got no bloody clue what he is.

Cato steps aside and turns to allow you entrance first before his exit.

"Commander Sicarius," you lilt with a soft voice and a small downward tip of your chin, all while holding his gaze.

He's transfixed periodically at the honeyed sort of warmth in your eyes.

Despite himself, he lingers and greets you with a slow, "Lady Ambassador."

The left side of his mouth twitches upward in a half-aborted smirk that he quickly tries to mask as a stern, frown-nod combination.

You break the staring match and Cato's confident he's salvaged his slip-up without detection.

Or not—because oh, fuck—if he doesn't feel the burning focus of a Primarch's eyes boring a hole into the side of his head like a brand.

It only lasts an instant, but the second is an eternity to him.

Of course, you're oblivious to this subtle exchange—and promptly trot past him to his Father's vast desk.

"My Lord Primarch," you say with a curt little bow; and then Guilliman's attention is solely on you, his favourite little pet project. "I read the data-drives you instructed from the preceding article logging. I've arranged them back to the most recent mark counts."

You're looking for an empty spot to lay them on his table, but with all the meticulously arranged stacks, it's none too easy to find one.

"Perfect," the Primarch breaths, "Just on the side there is fine, don't worry."

Obligingly, you lay them atop a small mountain of paperwork.

"Do you need anything else of me, my Lord?" You chirp brightly, the tone of your voice so very painfully sweet—Cato is nearly overwhelmed fighting a pitched battle against the urge to run over, pick you up and shake you around suddenly.

Guilliman chuckles, waving one massive hand about vaguely, "You've done more than enough for me today, why don't we leave it at that for now, hm? Go on."

"Of course; thank you, and have a good evening, my Lord," You say, bow once more, and turn on your heel from the Primarch, and—and smile at Cato as you walk back towards the exit. That's—that's the first time you've smiled at him. His twin hearts lurch, slamming forward against the inside of his fused chest cavity. It's perfect abominable. You rotten temptress, he's—he's going to rectify that audacity later. Or now, if you're... possibly heading the same direction he is. Which is whatever direction you're going, purely by chance.

It's merely coincidence, he swears.

He's certainly not planning on hounding after you like a dog tailing a bitch in heat.

He's certainly not going to drag you into a side room the second he's sure no-one with a credible opinion's around.

He's certainly not going to indulge in anything heretical, like bending you bare over his knee for daring to taunt him.

Cato makes as if to fall in step behind you as you pass the threshold before him, but is quickly halted by his Father's curt, "I do not believe you have been dismissed, Cato."

He's never been subjected to such sinking dread quite so nonchalantly.

"Approach."

Cato complies stuffily, sparing a glance at your figure disappearing down the corridor before acquiescing. He's practically dragging his ceramite boots across the intricate rugs as he nears the Primarch's seated but colossal form.

Guilliman isn't looking at him, having had returned to notating a miscellaneous form.

The scritch-scratch of his gene-sire's preferred, yet archaic method of manually writing on the parchment is like someone grating a plate with a fork to his ears right now.

"You've gotten over your petty grievances regarding the Ambassador at last, I take it?" Guilliman asks, without looking up.

It is not Cato's duty to like or dislike. Nor is it to be biased without reason—his opinions are to be intellectual, not emotional. His duty is to assess, analyse and provide feedback, so that his Primarch can take it into account when making rulings and decisions.

Cato swallows around the proverbial hunk of drywall lodged in his throat and answers, "She has proven herself... useful, yes, sire."

Guilliman finally meets his eyes but says nothing for a short while. There's dark bags under his Primarch's eyes, and the deep, stern crease permanently between his dark blonde brows is a slight bit harsher, but the only thing Cato can parse out of the expression's intent is a vague sense of knowing. Because, insofar, he's thought himself quite adept at reading his Primarch; and rather well versed in deciphering the intricacies of his moods.

And right now, he feels like he's being read like an open manuscript.

The daunting prospect Cato's caught sinks it's teeth in his gullet. It's impossible, he's not left any room for suspicion, he's covered his tracks—there's no logical reason why he should be getting raked with such a look.

His gene-sire isn't a psyker nor omniscient, just impossibly intelligent—and so absurdly good at the mathematics of plotting and planning that it only appears superficially as if he is all-seeing. He can't possibly know what Cato has been doing—or rather, who he's been doing.

"It's about time," his Father hums abruptly, suddenly disinterested. "Now you're dismissed."

Cato nods, turns on his boot heel, and nigh bolts marches out the room. His proverbial tail definitely not between his legs.

The hall outside Guilliman's apartments is a central domed area that functions as a meeting area, where people go to one of six looming hallways. It's the bottom of a series of levels; and above, three echelons encircled by arcades and balustrades, framed on the exterior by engaged columns.

But the structure itself is immense and ancient, even by Imperial standards. One of the few still-original, unaltered parts of the great Gloriana-class warship's innards. It is doused in long swathes of red carpet and great standards of Magcraggian note, alongside glorious, heroic frescoes depicting Legiones Astartes in their thousands, crusading across the heavens with the Emperor their head.

Cato keeps his head down as he passes them, uneasy with guilt. Feeling as if their lenses are following him—intent on venturing into the lower layers to brood.

Several Astartes are hovering about amongst the personnel and serfs. The baselines look up at him in awe, and his Brothers nod in respect, but he pays them all no mind.

The furthest corridor beckons him, and so he goes; down the complex system of broad walks with high, barrel vault ceilings, mazing through the vessel's higher clearance reaches like arteries through a body.

Cato is seething, and self-admittedly itching to take a howler of a swing at the next thing that speaks to him.

He cuts down the southern channel and sees one of his subordinate Victrix Guard lingering in the middle of a groin vault intersection.

The younger Astartes is about to continue straight, yet he pauses.

Brother Marcellus meets Cato's eyes for a second, clearly notes his Commander's absolutely stinking mood from a hundred meters off; nods, swallows, takes a step backward—and changes direction to go left rather than pass him.

Cato's too pissed to even linger on the strangeness of the action.

Still, he doesn't rightly blame him.

Cato strides on, back straight, chin up—the red shawl pinned beneath his pauldrons swirling behind him.

His thoughts are eating at him the whole while.

He's sure his Primarch is just trying to innocently divine his sudden change of mind regarding you. There's no way his Father's aware of why. And yet, guilt is a big black wolf nipping at his ankles, making him hasten; and unease clouds about his heart. He's mortified, for lack of a better word.

The full implications of the situation are too enormous to be faced all at once; so he picks the smallest, most banal facet he can think of.

That being, you.

You, who he'll never see again if his Primarch finds out.

You, who's practically damned him without knowing it.

You, who he's now valiantly trying not to imagine in a hundred different circumstances where he gets away with it all. Each one more heretical than the last—it's like it was before he'd managed a hand on you: his body giving in to suffocating delusions, sleepless in his cot; lapping at whatever scant, lust-soaked morsels his mind offers up.

One of his favourites remains you scantily clad beneath a moonlit night sky, on the parapet of his ancestral fortress on the coastal edge of Perusia.

He likes to fantasise you like it there.

He suspects you would.

He knows just about all there is to know about you on paper, and wonders if you know much of Talassar. Or if you've read about Castra Tanagra. He assumes Guilliman would share the tale of that famed old battle with you as a part of your readings.

Each impossible reverie is a new shiny nail in his coffin, or dreadnaut—it depends where and how he dies, and if there's anything scrape up of him when he eventually goes down in a blaze of glory and duty, and honour.

If his Primarch catches him, there's going to be none of that.

He'll be struck from living record, like Titus had been. Cato would be lucky to get a little plaque in the deepest pits of the Fortress of Hera. Reduced to a whispered memory of his achievements passed solemnly between Captains, followed up with words of disappointment. Of waste. Until his memory dies with them and his deeds fade into obscurity, lost to any new brothers.

The fate that awaits you would somehow be worse. Cato was always going to die in war, as was his right��but you—you were not fashioned for such things. Yes, Guilliman enjoys you, but that fact won't save you. Just like it won't save Cato for all his usefulness. You'd be tried as a heretic, as a source of corruption upon the Legiones, and you'd be made to suffer; because torture ever comes before execution. You're so very soft weak in so very many ways. Your life lived in a gilded cage, without pain nor discomfort that extends further than grating professional grievances—he doesn't want to imagine the sound of you screaming, but he does.

He cannot stand the thought.

The sudden urge to barricade you in his chambers for permanent safe keeping is all-consuming.

It's suddenly all he can think about.

He has to find you.

The amount of serfs passing and parting to allow his passage thin out to nothing.

Even from the sterile confines of one of the many winding hallways, Cato abruptly swears he can hear the echoed rush of sandals—your sandals—reverberating off the floor.

He hadn't notice you following behind immediately because, damn it, he's spiralling thinking.

He chances a confrontation, and rounds about-face.

You stand there in the middle of the empty hallway like you've got a bolter aimed at you, frozen.

"Come here," he says, clipped.

You do not.

"Come here."

Again, no compliance.

"Do you pride yourself on being a idiot?" His voice is scathing now, taking a heavy step into your space and being met by you staying stock stiff, still. "Do you have any idea what that stunt of yours earlier might incur?"

"What?" You blink, finally animating. "I didn't do anything—"

"You know what you did," he hisses, accusatory. "You're hollow between the ears, but you're not blind."

Lips pursing tightly in mental deliberation, you make a fey noise of annoyance as a little frown graces your features, apparently not deigning to offer a comment back.

"Do you not understand that... this," he gesticulates between you both and his voice falls to a whisper. "This... is not common allowance?"

"It's not?"

Are you being intentionally dense at this point, or is it just second nature?

Cato raises a hand to knead the crease between his brows, "No."

"That explains a lot, actually," you say, seemingly without any real comprehension on the gravity of the matter. "I couldn't find any notes or references on it."

He's genuinely stunned, "Is that what you were doing when—"

"When I was rudely interrupted," you cut in, the comment is nigh a spat insult.

Cato isn't sure what to say to that sudden display of spine, and grumbles.

He surmises the optimal action is complete disregard.

Therefore, he has no problem turning on the heel of his sabatons and starting his pace on again.

"So... this isn't normal by Astartes standards?"

He's taken aback at your abrupt want for conversation after all that. Namely because it's atypical. You never attempted small talk with him. You never do anything but scurry off when he's accosted you for you flagrant overstepping—wait.

He feels as if the paradigm between you both has shifted again since the last time for some reason. More than last time, actually. More than you just simply having the audacity to backtalk him.

It's like some symptom of a deeper sickness rising to the surface.

It makes him unreasonably curious suspicious.

He wants to see just how much ground you'll give, so he plays along and answers, "Not as far as I am aware, no."

You hum, and immediately are at it again, posturing, "Surely you have heard of cases of it happening?"

"I have not," Cato says, and you hum in consideration.

You're satisfied at that information for a brief while, but then he remembers you cannot shut your mouth for more than five minutes, and purses his lips. He's already tiring of your incessant questioning.

"But you'd done it before?"

And that's just great.

You've expertly found an exposed nerve.

More kindling on the bonfire of him having an aneurysm before the cycle's end.

Cato can feel the hint of pressure behind his eyes as he begins increasing his walking speed. "I don't think that is a relevant question."

You haste to stay in step, "It definitely is."

"You ought to learn a civil fucking tongue when you're addressing me, woman," he bites out, nose crinkling into a sneer.

Unperturbed by his short-tempered comment, another thoughtful little 'hmm' slips out of you.

"So, to conclude... you where as inexperienced as I was at the start, and all those gloating insults back then were just projection?" You suddenly blurt out at rather impressive speed, like a politician possessed—before finishing with, "Sorry, 'all those gloating insults back then were just projection,' Commander Sicarius."

Cato grits his teeth and feels his eye twitch.

He stops, turns to look over his pauldron, and stares bloody murder.

He can't even imagine the idiocy in your brain that gave you the imprimatur to say that aloud.

But Throne, the sly little glint in your pretty eyes suddenly has his face thudding with heat.

Then you smile at him for the second time ever.

Cato bites back the urge to ogle you dumbly, and actually feels himself thicken in his body-glove in real time, because oh, fuck—his hind brain practically pelts him across the jaw with the mental pict of that sweet mouth lathing up the side of his cock.

Mentally unseated for a moment, his brows furrow; and he quickly turns away, applying himself entirely to the task of trudging down the stagings.

The silence is a breath of fresh air.

Even if he can still hear your laboured breathing a few steps back him from him. You're straining to keep up with his pace, and it's an excellent punishment for you. His heavy sabatons clank-clank-clank on the steel decking, and your little boots practically pitter-patter in contrast. It's a syncopated rhythm that he's absentmindedly trying to match—and when he lingers for a step he manages to even the beat out.

He hangs a left, and scales the wide stairs to the open intersection platform above two at a time; trying not to snort amusedly at the little groan you let out as you hurry up them behind him, heaving.

Cato realises abruptly that you're actually, really, seriously following him—and pretending you're not.

He makes a right at the top and then waits for you to fall in step.

And, pointedly, he then turns and doubles back around.

You stand there stupefied for a moment, before grumbling softly and continuing down the thoroughfare without him.

If his observation skills hold any weight, he heads straight into the nearest open room and waits for you to follow.

He doesn't activate the locking mechanism on the other side in on purpose when he strides in, and lets the sliding door close behind him.

This particular room is forgettable in its ubiquitousness, though unusual. He has no idea of it's actual intended purpose. It's fitted with screens and database terminals as if it's for debriefing purposes, but he has no real way of confirming. What he can catalogue is that there's wraparound surfaces littered with candles. A few strips of harsh lighting and scant furniture—a tallish counter and a few long benches. They're thankfully Astartes sized.

Which means he can sit down and pray for you to walk right into the metaphorical snare he's just laid.

Not a minute later, the door's sliding mechanism triggers and you scurry through—only to promptly go stiff.

You stare at him like a rat he's just found by lifting a crate.

The mechanism shuts automatically behind you and it apparently spooks you enough to jump a little.

"You're disgustingly predictable," he harrumphs, unimpressed.

A flush rises to your face as you scowl, "You're disgustingly predictable," you shoot back, echoing his words.

Of course, that audacity of yours leads to a short stalemate.

He huffs out a sigh as he concedes out of sheer frustration and says, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one."

You blink dumbly at him, "...what?"

"It's my locking code," he growls, and Throne, you must be acting stupid just to grate him; because there's no way your brain is so smooth as to not connect the dots. "It's for the door, moron."

A soft 'ohh' leaves you as you turn and step aside to the key pad fixed into the frame.

"Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," he's agonisingly forced to say once again.

"Three-nine-five-eight-eight-two-seven-one..." you mumble to yourself.

Cato hears an angry beep and suddenly wants to smash his head into a wall repeatedly.

Grinding his molars, he snarls, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," and then adds, "If I have to repeat that one more time, I'm going to throw you out of the nearest airlock."

And it seems the threat of violence works wonders, because you don't bungle the input this time.

Cato sighs, exasperated, and leans back against the lip of the table behind the bench.

He ought to start carrying around a correctional stun rod. Just for whenever you annoy him. If it's good enough for a Neophyte to suffer, it's good enough for you, he supposes.

Or it'll send you into a seizing fit.

He's not to sure of the maximum voltage a baseline can take without their singular, puny little heart giving out.

One disciplinary option scratched out, then.

But he can think of many, many more to make a model Ambassador out of you. The wonders of carefully applied violence are plentiful. A little roughing up never hurts, or at least, not for long. And fuck, do you need some lessons on proper manners. He could have you smacked into shape like a show pony in no time—even if it'd be more like teaching a grox to trot lateral movements. Then again, he also believes if he stuck a frag far enough up a Carnifex's ass, he could probably get it to play Regicide.

And then pointedly, he starts thinking about your ass.

Cato is so utterly lost on the tangent of hypotheticals that he's flabbergasted when a small mouth lands on his own.

He hadn't even been paying attention.

He hadn't even noticed you'd neared.

It feels like the breath has been knocked out him at the sheer unexpectedness of it.

The kiss is hasty, your eyes scrunched shut and cheeks flushed, scowling with focus.

All the while, his mind reels because Throne, the contact of his lips to yours doesn't really feel particularly profound aside from how soft your skin is—but the intention of it is the real reward.

Cato's genuinely infuriated when you pull away.

You blink owlishly at him, giving him a cautious look like you're trying to gauge his reaction.

There are a thousand things he wants to ask, to say, but the foremost among them is but one.

"Again," he huffs, lessening the distance between you just enough to invite you back.

And he thinks that perhaps he’s abusing his station over you, but when you tentatively find a hold on his gorget to steady yourself to give him another kiss—those thoughts are all but erased from his mind. It's a curious weight off his shoulders to have you initiate and to show you want him in return, especially since it's as new to you as it is for him.

Nonetheless, he can't even imagine finding a reason to stop you, so he starts blindly mouthing; trying to coordinate around the fact he's so much larger than you.

The angle is difficult, but he's willing to follow your lead. Your body is even more fragile when he's in full armour. The risk of actually hurting you is realer than ever, but he can't help the desire to wrap an gauntlet around your waist and pull you closer to him. Thankfully, you let him when he urges you to, trembling hands flitting across his chestplate like you're unsure of what, exactly, you should be holding—and he catches the tiny line between your brows smoothing out as you risk a peek. Only for you to yelp, nervously wrenching yourself back in flustered surprise upon meeting his unwavering stare.

It's as if you expected something else.

He senses he's made a mistake of some kind.

Then he remembers from the motion-picts he's not supposed to keep glaring at you when kissing.

Regardless, he studies your face, memorising the lingering want still clearly there like his life depends on it.

He pulls you in and kisses you again, just because he can, this time brief and chaste. And then he goes for a third, fourth—fifth, each time slightly longer, until finally he rears back; and when he does you push up on your toes just a little, trying to chase him, but lose the nerve; although to Cato the reason for your faltering is, frankly, irrelevant. Because just like him, you lack the practical capacity to really know what next step you should take. Still, you look down at his armour, as if there's a latch to pull that magically undoes all his wargear.

He knows he's not going to get himself out of his armour in any reasonable way or amount of time.

There's no way he's getting the satisfaction of having you on him right now—but he still wants to keep you near.

He thinks he hears you ask for something, but he's too distracted to catch it in time.

"What?" Cato scowls, "What do you want now?"

It's clear you've been struck by your own embarrassment, strung up somewhere between shy and wanton, "I.. uh..."

"Spit it out," he rumbles.

You wince, hesitant as you mumble, "You, uh... i-in me."

Cato's brain skids to a halt. And it's the gall of that request alone that has him sweeping you up off the ground and spinning you around to sit in his lap.

It's obvious you're overwhelmed at being held to the formidably larger size of himself in full-plate. But as usual, you're yet to actively complain. Using his vambrace as a leg-bar to scoop under your thighs, he folds you in his grasp—your knees pressed to your chest as you're tucked back against his pauldron and chestplate.

The angle forces the hems of your robe aside, and he can see the underside curve of your ass; along with the plump mound of your vulva under the white of your small-clothes.

Cato's suddenly offended by their existence. You didn't wear any last time, so why now? The irritation of there being one more thing between you and him is enough justification to yank at them, tearing them loose—before throwing them aside.

You grumble sourly, which he chooses to ignore.

The palm of his gauntlet smooths across your hip, and you make a small hugg as you shiver, goose-bumps suddenly covering your exposed flesh.

Cato lets the pads graze closer and closer to your sex, content to watch you impatiently glare at his armoured fingers from between the gap of your thighs.

With little preamble, he's stuffing his middle in. You're already so wet it's practically a cake-walk. Your cunt swallows down each articulating segment of his armoured finger down to the knuckle. The fact he's going to have to personally scrub your slick out from between the joints, instead of a lowly serf, is infinitely worth the shrill whine he receives as tribute.

"Would that my wargear had a zipper," he breathes, and fuck, he grins behind the obscurity of his gorget at the mournful mewl that remark earns. "I'd have you on your knees sucking for all the cunted trouble you've caused me."

You're making a warp-awful attempt at keeping yourself together, high-strung as you evidently are. Little more than a minute of him pumping his finger in and out of you has you red-faced and panting. All it takes to get those heavy breaths of yours to change into proper whines is his large thumb-pad adjusting to rest on your clit, applying pressure. You jerk, reflexively trying to buck into every motion. Fighting and failing to withhold the stuffy little moans escaping you—trying to stave off the inevitable by scrambling at the thigh plating of his power armour with one hand and tugging at his couter with the other.

Some part of Cato wants to stop solely out of spite for you being so grating earlier, or some other stupid mercurial justification of his; but instead, he simply continues, letting you squirm on his fingers.

And squirm you do.

It's clear to him the tide of it all is becoming too much for you to resist. Your sandal'd feet kick out where he's got your legs secured, joining in on the struggling as it begins anew when his thumb starts circling. It's a good sign, so he adds his pointer into you to bolster the stretch, curling in; before letting his fingers fan out inside you, stretching rather than stabbing. Your hips try to stutter forward in time with the quick thrusting of his digits, broken whimpers resonating off the room's walls. He promptly stuffs down to the knuckle and curls them again—and you all but bleat his surname as you're dragged into a fast and apparently exhausting orgasm. Just knowing he's you got you beat has his erection ache where it's trapped under the suiting and plating of his navel.

Cato can't feel you clenching through all the layers separating his skin from yours, but he knows from experience that you're seizing in fits internally—tight little cunt trying to milk a load out of an Astartes cock that should've been stuffed in you.

Just to allow himself one last bit of smugness, he scissors his fingers; giving a final swirl for good measure.

The shivered sob is worth every possible future disciplinary action he'll receive.

He pulls his gauntlet away slowly, and the wet shlick of it leaving you is almost amusingly alike pulling a blade from sinew. It's a degenerate comparison, he knows, but it's true.

Nonetheless, he splays out his hand and swallows dryly, eyeing the sticky, clear liquid webbing out and thinning between each ridge of his gauntlet'd digits.

Suddenly focused entirely on the fluid on his fingers, he pulls his vambrace barring under your knees up away. Now limp, and without the support, you slide off his lap and onto the floor in a slow slump.

"Nn-ngh," You groan weakly, face-down, legs still juddering a little.

Seeing as you're preoccupied, Cato doesn't even dignify the concept of hesitation, and promptly jams his fingers in his mouth—lathing the aftermath of your orgasm from them. And Throne, the taste of your hormones make him groan. He's absolutely stunned, unsure of how to act. He's so fucking stupid, why didn't he do this earlier? He's practically drugged by the omophagic aftereffect—getting off on your second hand bliss. Some sort of fey feedback loop in his brain catalysing his next decision solely on instinct.

He clambers to the floor and gets to his knees guards, securing a mitt on your bared thigh to roll you onto your back.

Apparently boneless with afterglow, you're easy to manhandle.

You barely have the strength to do much more than crane your head up at him and whine as he arranges your thighs apart, settling on his front between them with a warp-awful clank; before lifting your legs up to rest onto either lip of his gorget.

You try to scud back on your ass suddenly, but are quickly halted when he holds you fast by the hip.

He raises a confused brow.

"I-Isn't—" you start, still gathering the scraps of your brain together so soon post-orgasm, "Isn't y-your saliva acid?"

Cato suddenly wants to cuff you on the ear, "Who the hell told you that?"

"M-Master Calgar," you mumble.

Oh, of course, the gossiping hen.

He's going to have words with the Lord Defender of Greater Ultramar the next time they meet—words like 'for fuck sakes, stop scaring the woman he's trying to eat out with talk of Betcher's gland, Marneus,' come to mind, but then Cato realises that doesn't sound like he's not fucking you, so he quickly settles on: 'stop dignifying the Ambassador's hundred-and-one insane questions.'

"Not Ultramarines," Cato manages not to snarl, "It's a vestigial organ in most of us."

Your voice is shaky as you parrot, "Most of us?"

"Yes," He grunts, and promptly buries his face in your cunt.

The disproportion in size is painfully apparent when he realises his whole damned tongue is able to drag a stripe up the entire splay of you with minimal effort.

The pitched gasp he wins out of you is pure sin, and he's on the brink of swooning; but then you're running your trap again.

"Please, d-don't tell me you're one that can spit acid—" you manage to warble, seemingly still stuck on the topic.

Cato sighs as he's forced to pull away from your vulva, "I think you're forgetting I had my tongue on your tonsils in the library."

"Th-that's different," you stammer. "That's not as sensitive."

A long, unimpressed deadpan paints itself on his face.

"So," he starts with a bated hiss, "And let me be perfectly clear in this—you believe your vagina is more susceptible to burns than your mouth?"

Your face transforms into a strange mix of embarrassed and angry.

"I didn't say that—"

"Yes, you did," Cato grumbles.

"Did not," you huff.

"You—you just fucking did," he snaps, frustrated enough that he can feel one of the veins at his temple bulge. "The implication is obvious, you insufferable little whore."

You snort, but stay silent.

The argument appears, for all intents and purposes, to be finished.

"Did not," you say abruptly once more, pouting.

Cato's eyes roll back in his skull as he grits his teeth.

"Throne of Terra, if you don't drop the subject, acid in your cunt will be the least of your worries," he all but snarls, and that apparently quietens you enough that he can get back to lapping at you—the flat of his tongue running over your clit and earning a jolt.

He wraps his lips around the pink little nub and sucks. And that's all it apparently takes to make up for his amateur career in the practice.

You siphon down a sharp breath and let out a garbled cry, hips canting forward into his mouth—to which he obligingly stuffs his tongue into your slick entrance.

There's a satisfaction well beyond simple pleasure that swamps him at the way your thighs shake either side of his head. His own breath is hot about him, stuffy and dizzying; and the skin pressed against his cheeks is warm and smooth.

You're panting when he goes back to lapping over your clit, perching yourself up on a bent elbow and reaching out a hand.

Your fingers card through the messed brown hair atop his head. And he stiffens without realising—but he realises something: like this, the touch is ecstasy—pure, golden ecstasy. Every bit of higher thought in his head evaporates when you stroke him again.

A long, rumbling subvocal moan tears from him.

The infrasound vibration makes you buck weakly into his mouth again, teary eyed afore him as he adjusts his grip on you and crawls closer.

He's suddenly acutely aware that in this new, much more prone position, he's able to grind his body armour into his groin guard pressed on the floor. And as soon as the action bears results—namely a scorching burr of pleasure racing up his spine—he's deadset on rutting against the ground like a slavering beast.

He's frotting himself at a pace so rabid it'd cruel to subject your cunt to. It's brutal, and the harsh scraping sound of plasteel on steel only further proves that. It's just frantic lust—he's desperate.

It's complete insanity how close to finishing he is so quickly.

Not as close as you, though.

He can feel how your legs jump with each pass of his tongue; and then you're unraveling in front of his very eyes.

"I-I can't—I can't, S-Sicarius, I-I—" You ramble, dazed, trying to get away as he works you right through it, sobbing and oversensitive while he's rutting himself closer and closer to his own end.

It all comes to a head when your fingers dig into his hair, tugging—and his brain is overrun with static. A drawn out groan scathes from his maw as any sense of rhythm scatters like light through a prism. For a fraction of a second, the pleasure is serene.

Then it's abject agony, he feels—he feels like Roboute Guilliman himself has just taken a running start and kicked him in the balls.

"F-Fuck–ing—gh—" he chokes, vision swimming, straining against the tide of the torment. His back arches up, and he curls inward on himself; white-hot pain clocking his nervous system into overdrive. Every muscle in his abdomen is doused in acid. He's tolerated being shot, stabbed, burnt without so much as blinking—but this is an entirely new and entirely different sort of wound. It's like he's pissing promethium. It's—it's the catheter, he realises. He'd forgotten about the bloody catheter jammed up his cock.

Through the searing ordeal, he manages to force his armour's facilities to finally abide his impulses and dose him with a pain dampener.

And then everything's fine.

He opens eyes he wasn't aware he'd closed and finds your face has suddenly gotten far closer to his.

"S-Sicarius?" You stammer, and there's an honest panic in your voice. "Sicarius, p-please, please—a-are you okay?"

He realises he's on his back, and you're sitting beside him, half draped on his chestplate, frantically trying to figure out what's wrong with him to no avail.

You've leaned in so close he can feel your rushed breathing.

"I'm fine," Cato groans, and you sputter out a sigh.

"I-I don't know what happened, I-I—" you're still wildly confused and raving, and he inhales deeply; only to be greeted by the sour animal stink of fear practically dripping from you.

Cato rolls his tongue around inside his mouth and cringes knowingly at the foaming side-effect of the chem he'd self-administered, the acrid taste mixed with your slick is certainly not an ideal cocktail.

The sincerity of concern behind your reaction is baffling. He's not made of glass, for fuck sakes—and he's a bit pissy about the fact you'd actually fallen victim to the idea of him suffering some grievous injury so easily. But he supposes where there's a will of baseline overreaction, there's a way.

"You're acting like a child, woman. Pull yourself together," he sighs hoarsely, hoping the comment jars you out of your hysteria—or at the very least scares you off.

It does exactly neither, and you sidle in closer and rest your cheek on his jaw.

It’s an action so overwhelmingly horribly affectionate that it would’ve been a crime to not press into it with a lean of his head. Or, at least, that's the half-assed justification he tells himself.

Because he's loving enduring your attention, not seeking it; and therefore only humouring you when he lifts a hand and settles the wide splay of it on your flank as a comfort.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

[laurelwinchester]

Laurel/Wildcat for the shipp thing(such wasted potential...)

who hogs the duvet: It’s still Laurel. It’s always going to be Laurel.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going: Laurel. Ted texts every now and then to ask how her day is going but if he really wants to check up on her, he’ll just drop by her work and bring her lunch. Laurel is the one who is constantly texting him throughout the day. Mostly she texts him cat memes. Which is a text exchange that usually goes like this:

Ted: stop sending me cat memes

Laurel: You always say that.

Ted: and yet you’re still doing it

Laurel: You can’t take the cat memes away from me.

Ted: baby they’re not even that funny

Laurel: Excuse you. They’re hilarious. Don’t be a grumpy cat.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts: Laurel. It’s easy for her. She goes out of her way to get him a pair of vintage boxing gloves for his birthday because she knows he collects them, she gets him a watch that he’s been eyeing for Christmas, and she’s always picking up little things from the store that he knows he likes “just because.” Ted, however… He has a lot of strengths but gift giving is not necessarily one of them. He does try. It’s just not his strong suit. He can’t even pick out gifts for his own kid - and really, six-year-olds are not that hard to shop for. Laurel has known Tom for like a year and even she is better at picking out gifts for him. She’s never minded that Ted is such a shitty gift giver. She knows he tries. She tells him that it doesn’t matter what he gets. It’s the thought that counts. “Sweetie,” she tells him once, solemnly placing a hand on his shoulder. “You once went to the store in the middle of the night to buy me tampons because I forgot to restock and you didn’t even bat an eye. That’s love right there.”

who gets up first in the morning: They both get up at the same time because they’ve developed a routine. They go for a run together followed by a sparring session, sometimes she makes him do yoga with her, they share a shower to “conserve water,” and then they go out for breakfast and make fun of each other’s breakfast choices before she goes into work.

who suggests new things in bed: Oooh, you know what? It’s Laurel this time. See, Laurel has lightened up and loosened up a lot in the past year. She’s completed her recovery after Darhk’s attack, she has gone through it all while staying sober, she moved away from Star City permanently, she’s working in a flower shop in Coast City (a lot more relaxing than the law, she has to admit), she’s in a healthy relationship with someone who makes her happy, makes her laugh, supports her, and believes in her, and she’s back on the streets as Black Canary. She has this whole new life with Ted and Tom and her new friends. She is, for the first time in a very, very long time, happy and at peace with her life. She’s downright joyful. Ted has become the serious one in the relationship - and it’s not like he’s some super stoic and serious guy; she’s just that happy. Near death experiences do that. They have a way of changing your life and your priorities. Sex - now that she is having it regularly - is a lot more important to her than it was. So there are certain things she’s willing to try with him that she hasn’t been willing to try with anyone else in the past. You only live once (sometimes twice if you’re lucky) and she wants to live her best life. Ted is very, very, very on board with this plan.

who cries at movies: Laurel. For the record, it’s not like she cries at every movie ever made. But who doesn’t cry at Disney and/or Pixar movies???? It’s all emotional manipulation! And it’s not like she can avoid them. Ted’s son, Tom, is still six and at the age where Disney and Pixar rule, so when she tags along with them to movies on Saturday afternoons, Ted makes sure to drop a pack of tissues in her purse before they leave the house.

who gives unprompted massages: Ted is big on giving her leg massages after workouts because he knows that her legs cramp up and she tries to power through it anyway. He also gave her a lot of massages when she was recovering. She’d get stressed in physical therapy or in the therapist’s office and he’d spend the night trying to get the knots out of her shoulders.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick: Well, it’s not technically illness but their romantic relationship literally began when Oliver faked her death and shipped her off to Ted in Coast City so he could keep her safe and help her with her recovery after Darhk’s attack. It was a long and brutal recovery, both physically and emotionally. She had a lot of setbacks so she wound up spending something like six months in and out of hospital, physical therapy, and counseling. Ted was stubbornly with her every step of the way, even when she tried to push him away.

But also, Ted boasts regularly about how he doesn’t gets sick. So when he winds up with walking pneumonia, there is a little bit of teasing at first because he had been so adamant that he never ever gets sick but then she slips right into caretaker mode and fusses over him. She even tries to make him chicken soup from scratch. It’s terrible and utterly inedible but he manages to choke down a few mouthfuls because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.

who gets jealous easiest: Their relationship has made the both of them weirdly chill. It’s like they’re both in perpetually good moods. Jealousy isn’t a huge problem for them. Although, with that said, there was that one time when Oliver came to town and made an ass out of himself in front of Laurel. Ted was not having that.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music: Laurel, of course. Ted complains about her music but when they’re on road trips and she’s in the passenger seat with her feet on the dash singing Britney Spears at the top of her lungs, it’s hard not to laugh. It’s hard not to completely love everything about Laurel Lance, is what he’s learned. Horrible music taste and all.

who collects something unusual: It’s not that unusual but as mentioned above, Ted collects vintage boxing gloves. Laurel doesn’t have any extensive collections of anything other than shoes but she did keep the tip of the arrow that they pulled out of her lung. Ted thinks it’s morbid and that she should let go of the past but she insists that she’s not keeping it to hold onto the past. She says it’s a reminder of how close she came to leaving. It’s pushing her to live her life to the fullest because nobody knows how much time they have left.

who takes the longest to get ready: Laurel takes forever to get ready. At this point, Ted has stopped trying to rush her along.

who is the most tidy and organized: They’re both pretty messy. Ted objects to that word, saying, “We’re not messy, we’re cluttered. There’s a difference.”

who gets most excited about the holidays: Currently, both of them. Neither of them used to be big holiday fans, but things change. Now that Laurel has adopted her brand new “joyful and happy to be alive” attitude and now that Ted has a son, they’ve both become holiday junkies. There’s a kind of excitement that kids and positive life changes bring to holidays. They are both definitely feeling that this year.

who is the big spoon/little spoon: Ted’s the big spoon. The first time she woke up with him curled around her, they weren’t even together. They were roommates and they had fallen asleep watching some really terrible movie. But it was such a different thing to wake up to, a feeling of comfort and safety that she hadn’t felt in a long time, that she almost didn’t know what to do with it. She had missed that kind of human contact in the years since she last had that.

who gets more competitive when playing games and/or sports: That depends. If we’re talking actual sports, it’s Ted. If we’re talking board games, it’s Laurel.

who starts the most arguments: They both do. They already bicker like an old married couple and they’ve only been together for a year. It’s comfortable and lighthearted bickering and honestly, they probably both have way too much fun with it.

who suggests that they buy a pet: One night while they’re getting ready for bed, Laurel pulls the covers back and then stops suddenly, turns to him and says, “You know, I’ve been thinking maybe we should get a cat.” He doesn’t say anything because he can tell where this is going. Sure enough, she follows that up by saying, “Oh, wait, I already have one.” And then she laughs for like five minutes while he has one of those “staring at the camera like you’re on The Office” moments.

what couple traditions do they have: …Is making a lot of “you look like the cat that ate the canary” jokes a tradition? Because Laurel makes a lot of those jokes. His response to that is always, “You’re never going to stop making that joke, are you?” To which she cheerfully retorts, “Nope! And you’re stuck with me. For the rest of your life.”

what tv shows they watch together: During her recovery, she spent a lot of time resting in bed or on the couch. One of the things that happened during those six months was the release of Stranger Things. She got really into it first and then made him watch it with her. He wasn’t that interested at first but he was glad something was getting her spirits up again, so he watched it with her and wound up getting into it. They are now both impatiently awaiting the release of the second season.

what other couple they hang out with: They don’t really have that many couple friends but that might change if she ever manages to get her friend, Hal, a girlfriend.

how they spend time together as a couple: Normally, they’re content to stay in and spend time with each other - and Tom when it’s Ted’s week with him - or to go out, have a nice dinner, and maybe see a movie that won’t make her cry before she has to go suit up and patrol the streets. But lately, they’ve been staying out a little bit later a few nights a week because he’s trying to teach her to salsa dance. She is not the best student he’s ever had, but she’s also not the worst. She’ll get there.

who made the first move: Technically, Ted kissed her first, but it took him forever and he only made that move after Tom complained, “Geeeeez, are you ever gonna kiss her already?” And Laurel said, bluntly, “I echo that question. Are you ever going to kiss me?” It took them a long time to get their act together. When he first met her, she was clearly struggling with her sister’s death. Then he almost died, learned he had a son he never knew about, and wound up moving away. Then she was going through a brutal recovery after her near death experience. He didn’t want to take advantage of her.

who brings flowers home: Laurel brings home flowers from the shop almost every day. She says it brightens up the house.

who is the best cook: Ted is actually really amazing in the kitchen. Especially when he’s making family recipes. Laurel regularly begs him to make his grandmother’s fricasé de pollo.

Send me a ship and I’ll tell you

[shouldershimmycity]

Power Outage (Rooster x Reader)

This is short and is really just a funny little thing I typed out while my own power was out. It's back on now, and I have to go sort through my refrigerator (ew).

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy. It's just a quick little story.

*****

“Isn’t there supposed to be back up power or something?” you asked Bradley, lighting more candles. 

“No, this house is too old for that, we used to have an old generator but it broke down before I left high school,” his voice came from the other side of the room, his face appearing after he lit another candle in front of him. 

“Well that sucks, guess we’re back to ye olden… time,” you snorted. 

There was a pretty bad storm that had swept through the area. Not hurricane level, but not the usual pitter patter of rain either. A lot of people’s power was out, as you had received several text messages from the rest of the Top Gun pilots. 

“Ah crap,” Bradley sighed, “they’re saying the power won’t be back on until Monday.” 

“Aww man, I wanted to cook dinner tomorrow night,” you said in frustration. 

“I’m sorry Baby, the food will probably be bad by then anyway,” Rooster realized.

“UGH! I hate losing power!” you complained.

Bradley gave you a little hug, knowing how much situations like these stressed you out. You both sat down on the couch in the deafening silence of Bradley’s house, ears ringing from it being too quiet. Feeling like you were going to go insane from it, you sighed loudly to fill the abyss.

“Hey! I have an idea!” you sat up excitedly, patting Bradley on the shoulder quickly, “What if everyone came over here?”

“For what?” he asked, confused. There wasn’t much to really do, given that the majority of entertainment was electronic nowadays.

“Oh come on Bradley, we grew up before cell phones, let's make do,” you said, picking up your phone to send messages to everyone to meet at Bradley’s house. Getting off the couch and walking to the closet, you grabbed a cardboard box that was in the top corner and pulled it down from it’s perch. Lifting the flaps of the box, you revealed cards, poker chips, pictionary, and a few other board games.

Mr. Bradshaw was impressed with the little stockpile, nodding his head along to your idea, “touche.”

*****

When everyone had everything taken care of at their own houses, they made their way over. Phoenix was the first to arrive, having picked up Bob on the way. Coyote and Payback showed up next, with some chips and salsa. Maverick, bless his heart, brought peanut butter and jelly fix ins, and even Hangman showed up, bringing his… charming self. Needless to say it was the best idea anyone had out of all of you. Without it everyone would have been sitting at home in the dark. (Which is what I’m doing now and I hate every minute of it). Now, everyone was cracking up at Bradley, who had a sticky note on his forehead with the word “mustache” scribbled on it.

“Am I a food?” he asked slowly.

“No.”

“Nah.”

“Nope.”

“Am I an object?” you asked the group in the same tone.

“Nope”

“Nada.”

“Am I… an F-14 Tomcat,” Maverick asked and the room went silent.

“How the fuck did you get that on the first try?” you asked him in awe, “you totally cheated!”

“Not my first rodeo,” he stated, tearing the sticky note off.

“Okay… we’ll come back to that…” Bradley gave Maverick some side eye before focusing back on your face. 

“Am I an object?” he squinted at you.

“Yes,” you confirmed. 

“Am I hard?” he asked, deep in thought.

“Not that I can tell,” you said with a deadpan expression, looking right into his crotch. Several bursts of laughter filled the room. 

“Ha Ha, am I though?” he questioned, too into the game now.

“Technically no,” you shook your head. 

“Damn.”

“Am I… an animal?” you guessed.

“Yep.”

“Yeah.”

“Am I small?”

“Relatively yes.”

“I’d say so.”

You grinned at the man in front of you who was now sweating nervously. You already knew you had won.

“Am I… a bird?” you guessed.

“Haha, she’s got you man.”

“Yes haha.”

“Am I… Bradley Bradshaw?” you laughed.

“NOOOO!” Rooster cried in defeat. He lost every round and somehow Maverick was incredibly good at it. 

“Hahaha! Yes! Sweet victory!” you screamed, “and YOU my friend, the answer was right under your nose.”

Bradley’s confused expression turned to mild annoyance when he saw what was written on his note, “...fuck it really was.”

*****

While everyone ate peanut butter and jelly with chips and salsa for dinner, everyone shared wild stories they had from the navy.

“A-and then, he’s going off about everything,” Hangman chuckled, “and the Admiral walks in right behind him.” Everyone gasped, and Seresin shook his head, still laughing, “he holds it up, and is like ‘who’s fucking pants are these?’ and the Admiral just says…” he’s too far gone to finish the story, wheezing himself into oblivion and everyone is laughing with him.

“Did I ever tell you about that time when I–” Maverick started.

“Yes,” you said, completely serious. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say–” he defends.

“Yes I did,” you state, still serious.

Maverick sighed, waiting for you to be done.

“Sorry, go on,” you encourage.

“Did I ever tell you about that time when I was inverted and I scared off a MiG 28?”

“Did I ever tell you about that time when I was inverted and I scared off a MiG 28?”

Maverick was dumbfounded, and you still looked at him in complete seriousness after quoting him word for word at the same time he said it.

“...Yes, yes you did,” you said, cracking up at his face, “but we can hear it again.”

The captain rubbed his hands over his face. He loved you, but sometimes he wanted to drop you off in the middle of Baghdad and have you find your way home.

*****

Eventually everyone started to trickle out, having to return home and check up on their own situations, but it was a fun little party while it lasted. Packing everything back into its box, you smiled over at Bradley who was snoring on the couch. 

The power may be out, but you guys made it work. You always made it work.

[yanderefangirl]

Hi ! I have an idea not a request. So Kakucho and Sanzu are basically "dogs" of their leader right. Imagine any yandere of your choice having a crush on f!reader who's a "cat" of another gang reader, because she hunts or gets rid of people for him, while he rewards and spoils her in return. Since cats are only touchy to people they trust, imagine how frustrated the yandere would be since reader avoids them, but when it comes to her leader she's just very clingy like a cat.

Sanzu hated the way that "TomCat"(Y/n) (L/n) looked at her boss, the leader of the Blue Jays. She always acted like a damn cat hence her nickname. She preferred to be around members of the Blue Tigers and would actively pay no mind to Sanzu and almost all of the other Boten members. Mikey was the only one that she paid any attention to and it drove Sanzu crazy. And she would bring back gifts for the Blue Tigers and Mikey but never anything for Sanzu. He just couldn't understand.

All he wanted was for his beloved Tomcat to notice him and give him her undivided attention and love. While yes he did appreciate the fact that she understood that Mikey was a king, he can't stand to see her around the worthless scum of the Blue Tigers. He wanted so badly to be able to just kill every last one of them but they haven't done anything to deserve that yet. So Sanzu was left to daydream about massrcing those god damn Tigers and claiming (Y/n) as his.

After all, there was no one that was a better fit for "TomCat" (Y/n) (L/n) than himself. He would just have to make her see how perfect they were for each other one way or the another.

[cormoranstruck]

dumb fan theory alert:

firstly, if the following doesn’t make it abundantly clear, yes i did study english literature for a long time and i’m also incredibly passionate about music and yes this does mean i tease hidden, convoluted meanings and themes from almost anything i read and any song i listen to. and so this is something I’ve been pondering:

so we’ve been told strike’s favourite artist is Tom Waits. robin gifts Strike a couple of bits of Waits memorabilia, including a special copy of the Closing Time album in The IBH.

arguably the most famous track from that album is I Hope That I Don’t Fall in Love With You. I think at this point a lot of us have drawn enough parallels between that song and Corm and Robin’s relationship so don’t worry, that’s not the theory.

My theory is RG is working their way through the track in strike and robin’s relationship.

Hear me out.

I hope that I don’t fall in love with you, ‘cause falling in love just makes me blue

This is the beginning of the song and the beginning of the journey. Cormoran is still in love with Charlotte. It’s a toxic, twisted relationship that’s making him sad and despairing. Love, to Strike, either brings pain or obligation, or in the case of certain members of his family, both of those at once. Strike is immediately drawn to Robin but neatly boxes that attraction off entirely. We’re told it’s because of her being quite obviously engaged and therefore off-limits. However to a degree, I believe for Strike there’s an element of self-preservation. Nothing good has come from romantic love for him so it’s best to not pursue it to avoid being hurt again. And, as a friendship forms, there’s that age-old trope of not wanting to “ruin” that newfound relationship and throw everything off-balance.

Well, the music plays and you display your heart for me to see, I’ve had a beer and now I hear you calling out for me

This line makes me think of two separate incidents and both fit perfectly. The first is Robin confiding in Strike about her attack at university. To me, the first real shift in their friendship to one of a level of dependency. To trust someone with that information, as such a private person, to trust that they won’t use that against you in any way, shows a level of trust that runs deeper than mere friendship and colleagueship.

Or on the other hand, the argument after Max’s dinner party. Robin laid herself completely bare, highlighting the role she was forced to assume; the peacekeeper, the balm to everyone’s feelings, the pretty, slight, demure one to his brash, insensitive and blokey one. She calls to him her need to be validated as something other than easygoing, peaceable Robin by him, because that’s who she’s been her whole life and she is tired of it now.

And I wonder, should I offer you a chair? Well, if you sit down with this old clown, take that frown and break it, before the evening’s gone away I think that we can make it

This might be more of a reach as this line is a lot more abstract, but I see this as the cautious agreement to embark on a partnership and then later on, a best-friendship, despite the clear animosity and disapproval from Matthew. Robin is unsure where she fits in Strike’s world but knows that she wants to be in it body and soul. Especially around Silkworm era, Robin is in that phase of trying so hard to prove herself to both men in her life as a worthy partner on two very different levels; as a work partner and as a life partner, slowly realising that one has to win out over the other, and slowly, without ever labelling it, allowing the former to win. This line reminds me of Strike warning Robin that he would demand of a partner someone who can sacrifice as much of their life as he has, and then that ultimate agreement to become partners, where optimism seems to be at an all-time high.

Well the night does funny things inside a man, these old tomcat feelings you don’t understand

This line always reminds me of chapter 58 of TB. The evening in the office with heavy and ever-so-slightly intimate whiskey-fuelled conversations. It was the first distinctly noted instance of Strike considering a physical element to the relationship, reminding himself of the distance between the two of them and a double bed. I’ve been playing around with that “you don’t understand” part too - I suppose it could allude to Robin’s inexperience with men of the variety who don’t want to attack her or the one who married her. She doesn’t understand the feelings he has or indeed the sheer weight of them, because he’s never told her or let her know they could be there.

Until her birthday night, when he decides all at once to spring those feelings on her in such a physical sense. And of course, she doesn’t understand, because there’s been no build-up, no hint or suggestion that this is what he wants. Because neither of them use their damn words…

I can see that you are lonesome just like me, and it being late, you’d like some company

Post-separation/divorce Robin has such a welcome air of independence, but also one of sometimes uncomfortable solitude. It’s definitely realistic - this is someone actually learning to be alone for the first time. Strike is a seasoned veteran at this and seems to be a bit of a guide in that respect. He just seems to be quite conveniently guiding her…to him. The imagery of late nights returns again and I’m minded that we see so many of the occasions that spur this relationship onward occur in the evening/night time - Robin’s wedding night, the night in Barrow, the night in the hotel in IBH, the night where Strike stays over Robin’s, the night after the American Bar, the night at the Ritz, the night of Max’s dinner party…I could go on.

The guy you’re with, he’s up and split, the chair next to you’s free, and I hope that you don’t fall in love with me

Once Matthew is out of the picture, Strike doesn’t have quite as many distinct barriers to Robin as he once had. The wedding ring was like the ultimate way to close down any thoughts of romance and without it, there’s only the running of the agency in the way. The shift from “I hope I don’t fall in love with you”, to “I hope you don’t fall in love with me”, makes me think of the point at which Strike started to entertain the idea that Robin may well be attracted to him, which is noticed a lot more in the last 2 books. It’s like his one last resolve before crumbling - he’s too far gone, so the only hope is that she doesn’t love him back.

Well, I turn around to look at you, you’re nowhere to be found, I search the place for your lost face, guess I’ll have another round

And I think that I just fell in love with you

The end of the song and the end of book 6. Strike has finally scraped his shit together and realised he can’t keep up the self-flagellation act of denying the existence of his love for her any more, finally admitting it to himself …. And it’s too late. Robin’s finally seeking that last step of independence and it isn’t with him. Of course, what remains to be seen is what he intends to do about that…

And if there’s no song left, and we’ve reached a conclusion (of sorts) in terms of what Strike is feeling, there doesn’t seem to be much left in the way for the inevitable to happen, right?

[weirwoodking]

I have a small headcanon that Sansa has already skinchanged into a bird without her knowledge once before. This passage about Marillion in the sky cells in particular:

“When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest.”

What do you think?

Oh, absolutely. I do think that she’s experienced her powers in some way, she just hasn’t thought about them.

George does leave these little subtle hints in the text that point to the Stark kids abilities, the earliest being in chapter one:

Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.

“What is it, Jon?” their lord father asked.

“Can’t you hear it?”

Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else.

“There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.

“He must have crawled away from the others,” Jon said. (Bran I, AGOT)

While on horseback, and halfway across the bridge, already far away from where a mute direwolf puppy was, Jon was able to “hear” him. Obviously, he didn’t hear Ghost, he sensed him. Already, he was bonded with Ghost, even though this was about a year and half before Jon had his first “true” wolf dream. And furthermore, it takes a while before he’s able to clearly remember these dreams:

The wolf dreams had been growing stronger, and he found himself remembering them even when awake. (Jon I, ADWD)

So, yes, I definitely think that Sansa could already be having skinchanging dreams with a bird/birds. She just might not remember it. Also, she doesn’t have to have been having direct dreams, but moments of using the bird’s senses. Not fully in the animal, just sharing it’s space for a moment.

Unlike the sh*w, where skinchanging is an on/off switch (you’re either inside the animal or not inside the animal), skinchanging in the books is more nuanced. Jon is able to brush his hand up against Ghost and tap into the wolf’s senses, without fully warging him. He can even taste blood in his mouth after Ghost kills, and he can feel the wolf’s hunger. The most notable instance of this “one mind in two bodies simultaneously” thing is with Arya and the Braavos street cat:

That night she dreamed she was a wolf again, but it was different from the other dreams. In this dream she had no pack. She prowled alone, bounding over rooftops and padding silently beside the banks of a canal, stalking shadows through the fog. (Cat of the Canals, AFFC)

The tavern was near empty, and she was able to claim a quiet corner not far from the fire. No sooner had she settled there and crossed her legs than something brushed up against her thigh. "You again?" said the blind girl. She scratched his head behind one ear, and the cat jumped up into her lap and began to purr. Braavos was full of cats, and no place more than Pynto's. The old pirate believed they brought good luck and kept his tavern free of vermin. "You know me, don't you?" she whispered. Cats were not fooled by a mummer's moles. They remembered Cat of the Canals.

[...]

The Lyseni took the table nearest to the fire and spoke quietly over cups of black tar rum, keeping their voices low so no one could overhear. But she was no one and she heard most every word. And for a time it seemed that she could see them too, through the slitted yellow eyes of the tomcat purring in her lap. One was old and one was young and one had lost an ear, but all three had the white-blond hair and smooth fair skin of Lys, where the blood of the old Freehold still ran strong. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

"It is good to know. This is two. Is there a third?"

"Yes. I know that you're the one who has been hitting me." Her stick flashed out, and cracked against his fingers, sending his own stick clattering to the floor.

The priest winced and snatched his hand back. "And how could a blind girl know that?"

I saw you. "I gave you three. I don't need to give you four." Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto's, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. Or maybe not. If he could have secrets, so could she. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

While Arya is not fully outside of her body and in the body of the cat, she’s able to use the cat’s eyes as her own. And she isn’t even aware that she’s doing it, it’s just occurring naturally. I do believe that the same cat she dreams as in AFFC is the tomcat that she sees through in ADWD.

So, yes, I do believe that Sansa could be looking through the eyes of a bird. She’s just not aware of it.

It does seem like the Stark kids are much more powerful than the average skinchangers/wargs, immediately bonding to the wolves without realizing it, and already connecting with other animals. Arya is able to warg Nymeria from an entirely separate continent, which probably isn’t standard behavior, especially not for someone who doesn’t even know what they’re doing and has no training. Even Varamyr, a man who has mastered the control of five animals, recognizes Jon’s power:

The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it. (Prologue, ADWD)

So, the Starks seem to be pretty powerful. And that includes Sansa, as GRRM has confirmed that she is still a skinchanger, meaning that he’s definitely going to have a bond with an animal at some point. It would make sense for him to have already been leaving little hints about it.

A very important component to Sansa’s character, which could be affecting her skinchanging powers, is her memory. The way that Sansa’s mind has coped with her trauma is by suppressing and rewriting certain distressing, scarring, and confusing memories. This is something that all the Stark kids do, in different levels. For example, Bran believes that Rickon intentionally suppresses the memory of Ned being dead:

"Tell Robb I want him to come home," said Rickon. "He can bring his wolf home too, and Mother and Father." Though he knew Lord Eddard was dead, sometimes Rickon forgot... willfully, Bran suspected. (Bran V, ACOK)

Bran himself does this as well:

The dream he'd had... the dream Summer had had... No, I mustn't think about that dream. He had not even told the Reeds, though Meera at least seemed to sense that something was wrong. If he never talked of it maybe he could forget he ever dreamed it, and then it wouldn't have happened and Robb and Grey Wind would still be... (Bran IV, ASOS)

Sansa does this the most out of her siblings, it’s her primary coping mechanism. One example is how remembers (or tries not to remember) Jeyne Poole:

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. (Sansa II, ACOK)

She tries to not to think of her, because it’s too traumatic for her to do so.

Another example is how she’s trying to process the situations she’s in at the Eyrie.

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. She did not say it, though. If not for Petyr Baelish it would have been Sansa who went spinning through a cold blue sky to stony death six hundred feet below, instead of Lysa Arryn. He is so bold. Sansa wished she had his courage. She wanted to crawl back into bed and hide beneath her blanket, to sleep and sleep. She had not slept a whole night through since Lysa Arryn's death. (Sansa I, AFFC)

He is serving me lies as well, Sansa realized. They were comforting lies, though, and she thought them kindly meant. A lie is not so bad if it is kindly meant. If only she believed them...

The things her aunt had said just before she fell still troubled Sansa greatly. "Ravings," Petyr called them. "My wife was mad, you saw that for yourself." And so she had. All I did was build a snow castle, and she meant to push me out the Moon Door. Petyr saved me. He loved my mother well, and...

And her? How could she doubt it? He had saved her.

He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too... and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle... but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she'd known at King's Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei's ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.

Except to get me out. He did that for me. I thought it was Ser Dontos, my poor old drunken Florian, but it was Petyr all the while. Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King's Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she'd hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr. (Sansa I, AFFC)

Sansa knows deep down (not even that deep, just down) that Petyr is untrustworthy. She knows he’s fed her lies, but she wants to believe them. She wants to be able to trust him. She wants to feel like she can be safe with him. She wants to be safe. It bothers me a lot whenever people say Sansa is “stupid” for trusting Petyr, or “uncaring” for not thinking often of Jeyne. She isn’t stupid or uncaring, she’s a traumatized thirteen year old whose brain is trying to cope with what she’s gone through and what she’s currently going through.

So, she has built a wall. And behind that wall are the memories of Lysa’s death, the truth about Jon Arryn’s murder, and Jeyne Poole. I think it would make sense if skinchanging, something that involves the mind, is also something that she’s subconsciously repressing. I talked about this sometime a while ago, but I believe that a big moment for Sansa in TWOW is going to be her confronting her memories. And most significantly, confronting Baelish about what happened to Jeyne Poole and exposing the truth of Jon Arryn and Lysa’s deaths. Thus, defeating Littlefinger, the mockingbird.

It would make sense if this coincided with her skinchanging abilities truly awakening. As her mind opens, her powers become stronger. I’m pretty deadset on Sansa’s bird being a falcon, not just for the House Arryn connection and because she’s gone hawking with a falcon before, but also because of the symbolism. Falcons symbolize “vision, freedom, and victory. Hence, it also connotes salvation to those who are in bondage whether moral, emotional, or spiritual”. I think that Sansa bonding with a falcon and “flying free” would be perfect for the conclusion of her caged bird arc.

Sorry, this got really long, it just kind of turned into all my thoughts about how skinchanger-Sansa might come to be in TWOW. I think it’s going to be an important part of her story, as you don’t just give four of your POV characters the ability to control animals with their minds and not have that matter. (And, it’s already an important part of Jon, Arya, and Bran’s stories, so it most likely will be for Sansa, too.)

[redux-iterum]

A Kindling: Prologue

(AO3 counterpart here.)

For once, the Aulmir was quiet.

That’s not to say that it was mute—even when the humans slept, there was some form of background noise drifting down the roads and echoing in the alleyways. The rumble of a car, or that odd sound like rain localized to the interior of these buildings, sometimes accompanied by warbling or hissing. The Aulmir was a creature all on its own, breathing deeply as it dozed, never quite going completely silent.

The sun was not fully over the horizon, but the dark of the night was fleeing southward, taking its stars and thinning clouds with it. Long shadows were cast behind anything tall enough to stand in the way of the light, creating an uneven pattern of stripes on the ground like a tiger’s pelt. Those things that caught the burgeoning sunlight sparkled with the remnants of the night’s rainstorm, shining yellow and white to contrast the black and blue behind them.

In the quiet of dawn, lithe forms slunk through the alleys or sat on the rooftops, grooming themselves and shaking off water with annoyed flicks of their tails. They, too, made as little noise as possible, though some little ones squeaked for milk or two adults traded conversation. It wasn’t wise to speak loudly before the humans rose. It didn’t tend to go well.

Apparently, a small cluster of these forms, now seen more clearly as cats in the shadows, did not know that.

“Entirely too late for this,” a black tomcat muttered. One of his white paws went into a puddle of ambiguous liquid and came out brown. He knew better than to lick it off; instead, he shook droplets away with a twitch of his lip. “They work at night, I thought.”

“They do.” The leader of the group cocked his head sideways to give the black tom something like a reassuring look, and his tail, bent at a wrong angle, tapped his side. “But they also move in the daylight. We’ve just as much chance of finding him now as any other time.”

The black tom narrowed his eyes and stalked alongside his leader. He grumbled again, “Entirely too late, even so.”

The leader’s eyes shone pleasantly and yet pierced through the black tom’s pelt. The black tom lowered his head defensively and scowled at the ground, saying no more.

No one else spoke, though they shared slightly nervous glances.

The party continued through the stone paths behind the buildings of the Aulmir, avoiding the sunlight and darting through it to a shadow when they could not. Irritated, sharp eyes watched them from every angle, and the black tom felt it. The leader did not. He just held his head high and strutted along like he owned the place.

After a few turns left and right, the leader stopped, motioning for the rest to halt. They had reached a dead end, and they were not alone. Those metal things that blew air and jutted out from the perfectly flat walls all had a cat on them, glaring down at these thin little intruders. Those that were not on the structures sat atop trash cans or loomed at the edge of the alley.

The leader, seemingly unaware, lifted his chin and called, “Brick?”

For a moment, there was no response, other than the glares intensifying. Then there was a sharp clunk as a dark red tom dropped from a higher place onto a trash can, its previous occupant quickly jumping away and off.

“You just gotta holler and wake up the whole neighborhood, don’t you?” This tom, Brick, spoke casually but quietly, as if he was sleepy. The party knew very well he was fully awake and wary, and watching them very closely. It made most of them nervous.

Of course, the leader did not express anything but confidence. He turned to face Brick, front paws together neatly and bent tail high. “Apologies. I’ve never an idea where you are. I was lucky this time, it seems.”

Brick hummed curtly, took two lazy steps, and almost melted down off of his perch to approach the party. He stood much taller than all of them. “You’re here on the offer, yeah?”

“No time for pleasantries?” The leader tilted his head.

“No purpose.” Brick moved around the party to be parallel to the leader, eyes narrowed. “A few cats expressed interest, with that promise of yours.” He leaned a little into the leader’s face, emphasis on ‘promise’, not in tone, but in the slightest rise of volume that made the word more of a threat than it should have been. “You’re fortunate we have so many hungry families here.”

“We’re hungry, too.” The bent tail awkwardly waved in the air, entirely too casual for the topic. “We’re always hungry.”

Brick’s eyes roamed up and down on the little leader again, scrutinizing. “I’m very aware of that.”

“Which is why we’ve come back with another offer,” the leader continued, as if he had not been interrupted. He met Brick’s eyes with that pleasant-yet-piercing gaze. “And I think you’ll like it.”

---

“You haven’t talked to him yet.”

Far south, in a dense forest, two mollies sat on a wide, flat stone. The trees barely allowed a look at the Houses, where the eyes of the buildings were lighting up, one by one. The scent of alien plants and butchered grass wafted towards the cats, and the smaller one—a beautiful tortoiseshell tabby—shut her eyes and breathed deeply (though silently—she knew not to appreciate such things in front of her leader).

The other molly, a tall, regal blue leader, stared straight ahead, eyes half-lidded with her usual stern expression. She spoke in a much deeper voice. “No. I haven’t.”

“But you have decided.” The tortoiseshell leaned a little forward to catch her leader’s eye. “And you decided to go ahead with it.”

The blue molly’s head drifted ever-so-slightly sideways, her eyes doing most of the work to meet the tortoiseshell’s. “Yes. I’m just not sure what Redtail will say.”

“He’ll agree.” The tortoiseshell straightened up again, her plumed tail curling cheerfully. “I know he’ll agree. Even if you surprise him with it this morning.”

The blue molly hummed. “Has StarClan said anything to you?”

“There were sparks in the sky tonight,” the tortoiseshell said dreamily, looking up adoringly at the disappearing stars. “It’s the perfect time to bring him in, too. He’s the right age.”

“And if he isn’t Clan material?” The blue molly half-looked up too, though her eyes merely touched the treetops. “He’s already going to have to work hard to make it.”

The tortoiseshell’s head tilted to look at the leader. “Kindling needs to get hot before it can burst into a fire.”

The blue molly’s mouth stretched back on one side in something like a grimace. “I don’t like that comparison.”

“It’s alright!” The tortoiseshell’s eyes shut as her head turned back upwards. “His fire won’t be all that bad.”

The blue molly said nothing for a long moment. Then she harrumphed, got to her feet, and turned. “I’ll speak with Redtail, then. Say nothing to anyone until I either bring him home with me or tell you otherwise.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the tortoiseshell said, still not opening her eyes.

The blue molly dropped down off the stone and trotted away, melting into the shadows of the forest. The tortoiseshell stayed where she was, letting a faint breeze curl around her and gently ruffle her long fur. The scents of the Houses seemed to grow stronger as she sat there. Eventually, she looked down again, peering at one particular house, where no lights had lit up yet.

“Be ready, chrii*,” she said softly, regarding the house almost fondly. “You have a long path ahead of you.”

*”Chrii”: a very young cat, usually around apprentice age.

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Stay Peachy: Kwamibuster

Summary: With Ladybug out of commission Chat Noir is the only one who can stop Kwamibuster... If only everyone would just work with him here!

---------------------------------

"Let me get this straight. Tikki's captured. Ladybug's powerless and captured, I was this close to losing you too but you won't tell me where Master Fu is? Am I missing anything?" Adrien asked Plagg.

Plagg twitched nervously. "But- but-"

"You have five seconds to give me a good alternative or we're going to see Fu," Adrien announced.

"You could distract Kwamibuster while Ladybug escapes!" Plagg tried.

Adrien crossed his arms and glared. "I said a good alternative! You getting caught isn't good for anyone!"

"Might be good for Ladybug?" Plagg shrugged his arms and gave his most convincing grin.

"Sure! I'll just hand Papillon the other kwami he needs while I have to use a banana suit to protect my identity or something!" Adrien replied sarcastically.

"You'd love that wouldn't you." Plagg knew Adrien. There was a good chance-

The sound of a door being blown off it's hinges echoed down the hallway as Kwamibuster started searching the floor they were on. "Where are you, little cat? I already have a ladybug for my insect collection. Now I just need a small mammal!"

Plagg gave his best kitty cat eyes.

Adrien didn't budge.

Plagg's arms drooped. "Okay, okay! Let's just get outa here first!"

"Knew you'd see things my way." Adrien smirked.

---------------

Master Fu was having a nice, calming, afternoon tea with Wayzz when there was an insistent banging at his door. Wayzz hiding at the sound.

The Guardian sighed. "Who could that be?"

The banging got louder.

"Patience! I am coming! What's the big-"

A blond headed blur shot in and slammed the door shut.

"So this is where you live. Nice place ya got here. Ladybug's in trouble and I need more Miraculous!" Adrien's words tumbling out in a rush as his heartbeat jumped up his throat. Maybe I should have used the window.

"Chat Noir!?" Fu's eyes nearly popping out of his head in surprise.

"Sorry, Master." Plagg appeared, uncharacteristically serious, ears low. "It was an emergency."

"Plagg!?" This was unprecedented! Yes, the Kwami of Destruction was the most free spirited of those in the Miracle Box. But even he knew the importance of secrecy! "What are you doing-"

"Ladybug's in trouble! I just said that!" Adrien supposed he could have worded it better... But also: Ladybug was in trouble! And he was in a hurry!

The Guardian glanced from boy to kwami. Who nodded. "Very well," Fu conceded. Going to the gramophone and entering the code. Bringing out the Miracle Box which he set in its usual place when Marinette came. "Adrien Agreste, choose an ally to help you on this mission. Remember that they mist return the Miraculous once the mission is complete."

Adrien stared as the Miracle Box opened. Kneeling down in imitation of the Guardian's pose. He hadn't known there were so many Miraculous! One of them surely had the power to help! Only...

"What is it Chat Noir?"

Adrien looked up at Master Fu's face. "I dunno what most of these do."

The Guardian sighed. "This is exactly why it should be Ladybug who chooses the temporary hero."

"Hey, it's not my fault you decided she was the only one who could know things!" So this is what being Chat Noir without the mask felt like. "I'm-" Adrien paused as a thought hit him. "Oh. Oh!"

"... Yes?" Master Fu prompted.

"I just realized how dumb it is that I'm not supposed to know the temporary heroes secret identities."

Fu blinked. "Excuse me?"

Adrien shook his head to get his thought process back on track. "Anyway!"

"Chat Noir, what did you mean by-"

"No time!" Adrien pointed at the Miraculous. "Teach!"

Grumbling something about manners Fu acquiesced.

Skipping over the ones Adrien already knew the Guardian quickly ran down the list. The Pig could show you your deepest desire? Seemed like it'd be a good distraction. The Dragon had how many abilities!? Overpowered but okay. The Mouse could make little copies of you. Heh, that sounded adorable but-

"That's it!" Adrien interrupted Fu to grab the Fox and Mouse Miraculous. Which he promptly put on.

"What are you doing!?" The Guardian exclaimed. "No holder has ever used three Miraculous before! It's too dangerous!"

"Well, I don't know who Rena Rouge is and I'm not gonna spend any more time looking!" Adrien turned to the materializing Fox and Mouse kwamis. "Sorry, we're in a bit of a hurry."

"Oh, aren't we always? Name's Trixx."

"Mullo!"

"Alright. Mullo, transforme-moi!"

Multimouse took a moment to adjust to the unfamiliar magic of his new suit.

"I really don't think this is the best course of action," Fu said, attempting to dissuade the young boy.

"Relax, Master! I'll keep him out of trouble!" Trixx announced.

Multimouse nodded as he opened a window. "Thanks. Now, c'mon Trixx, Plagg. I'll explain the plan on the way!" So saying, he launched himself skyward.

Wayzz finally emerged from his hiding place, floating towards his holder.

Fu looked at his kwami. "Oh, I hope he doesn't collapse on the way."

---------------

"True or false? Ladybug has disguised herself as Mr. Banana!"

Marinette was not having a good day. First, Chat Noir's kwami almost reveals her identity. Then, Tikki got captured! And now that tomcat was nowhere in sight. Marinette had barely escaped from Kwamibuster the first time and now she was cornered mere meters from the exit!

"Uh, stay peachy?!" Marinette ran for it.

But Kwamibuster leapt over her and grabbed her wrist. "You can't get away from me!"

"CHARGE!"

From the doorway came a whole swarm of kwamis! Flitting about Kwamibuster and distracting her enough for Marinette to get away.

"You can't get away from me!" Kwamibuster chased after them as they sped off. "You're no match for Kwamibuster!"

"Ladybug!"

Turning around, Marinette saw Plagg and a little guy holding onto his ears. She blinked, this was the first time she saw the Mouse Miraculous in action.

"It's me!" he declared, grinning. "Chat Noir! Or Multimouse, I guess."

"Chat Noir!?" But that meant- No, no, she could panic about that later. "Well, then you must need my Miraculous." Marinette reached for her earrings.

"Uh, no? Why would you think that?"

"Because... Nevermind. What's the plan?"

Multimouse winked. "You'll see. Make your way back to the roof!" And zipped away before Ladybug could ask more questions.

"... A Chat Noir plan. This oughta be interesting."

---------------

"I will capture you all!"

Kwamibuster laughed maniacally as she shot her beam at the Plagg reskins. Made by Multifox with his Mirage. And that wasn't the only part of the illusion.

"I have to say. I think Ladybug will be impressed," Plagg stated. Floating directly above the supervillain so she would need to crane her neck straight up to spot them.

"It has to work first," Multimouse replied. Still standing on top of Plagg's head. His small army made their way into position.

Now!

Multimouse's invisible doubles launched their indestructible ropes at Kwamibuster. Becoming visible as they wrapped her up like Gulliver on Lilliput.

"What!? What's going on!? Oof!" She toppled none too gently.

Wasting no time Plagg zipped down.

"No! You can't beat Kwamibuster!" She freed her blaster hand.

"Mullo, Plagg, unify!"

"Aha!" Twisting upwards she aimed the beam at Multimouse.

"Cataclysm!"

Adrien's power touched the tip of her barrel and the rust spread from it to her pack. Freeing Tikki as dark mist transformed Kwamibuster back into Mme. Mendeleiev.

Adrien merged himself back together as the akuma flew past him. "Uh, Ladybug!"

A red blur shot out and caught the akuma before it could get far. Ladybug releasing a white butterfly in its place.

Multimouse grinned. "Perfect timing as always, My Lady."

"I dunno about that." Ladybug looked around at the destroyed rooftop.

"You think it'll work without a Lucky Charm?" Multimouse asked, following her train of thought.

Ladybug looked at her yo-yo. "The akuma was purified so it should." Throwing it skyward with a little more strength than usual she called out the words. "Miraculous Ladybug!"

The cure swept around them as Ladybug's yo-yo fell back into her hands.

"Knew you could do it," Multimouse praised. "Now, I've got some errands to run-" he tapped the two Miraculous necklaces "-so you take care of Mme. Mendeleiev."

He half turned. "Oh! And sorry about my kwami. No idea what he was doing at that primary school."

"It was a- lycée, yeah. Lycée."

"Right!" He grinned. "A lycée." Totally not a collège. Giving Ladybug a two finger salute he leapt off the tower. Mme. Mendeleiev's insistence on the validity of her scientific discovery fading behind him.

---------------

Adrien held out his index finger to shake the kwamis' hands. "You were both a big help! Thanks."

"You weren't so bad yourself, Chat Noir," Trixx grinned.

"Yeah!" Mullo agreed. "Usually Plagg's holders are no fun but you ran circles around that kwami snatcher!"

Adrien blushed a little at their praise. "Hope we can work together again someday." The kwamis waved as they reentered their Miraculous.

Master Fu closed the Miracle Box once Adrien placed them back inside. Returning it to its hiding place. "It is quite impressive that you withstood the power of three Miraculous long enough to accomplish your task."

"... Actually it was super easy. Barely an inconvenience."

The Guardian blinked. "What?"

Adrien nodded. "Yeah, I don't think occasionally using two or three Miraculous at once is all that dangerous. Maybe if you wore a whole bunch of 'em. But why would you do that?"

Fu processed that for a bit.

Adrien sipped from his tea, awkwardly. "... So does this mean I finally get Guardian training?"

Master Fu nearly slipped as he sat back down. "Huh?"

"I mean, I already know where you are. And we've seen that if Ladybug is compromised it's better if I know what to do," Adrien reasoned out logically.

"I... That is... Uh..." Fu looked desperately at Plagg, who was gorging himself on cheese.

"Hey, don't look at me. Kid's got a point." Plagg swallowed another wedge of Camembert.

Fu slumped with a sigh. Clearly outmaneuvered. "Where should we start?"

"Potions!" Adrien exclaimed, eyes sparkling. This was going to be fun. He could feel it!

[teeztheflag]

─────────────────────

S i e b e n  S i n n e (Seven Senses) III

⋆ pairing: catking!san x reader (x human!woo young)

⋆ genre: yandere au, fantasy au, suggestive

⋆ trigger warnings ⚠️ strong language, yanderish behaviour, possessiveness, violence

⋆ words: 3,500

a/n: last part of this journey, don’t forget San is more like a soft yandere... I know some of you won’t be happy with the ending but it was too much fun haha

part I  part II  part III

⋆ „But I won’t ever be able to turn into a human again.“ 

─────────────────────

You definitely felt more energy while being in the body of a real cat but also the castle seemed to be much more distant now. You didn’t even know how to turn back into the other form so you just ran until the walls came into your view that shielded the gardens of the castle from outside.

It was very easy to just jump up and use your claws to get steady on the surface. Being a cat was indeed fun but you wouldn’t want to get used to it.

Emerging the building you were confused on how to enter it because all the doors seemed to be locked. After a little while of not knowing what to do you decide to descend some balconies and stop in front of a large room where a big desk was set.

Was this San‘s workspace?

A meow escapes you without knowing when you see a chair turning and San looks outside only to see you leaning against one of the big windows with your paws.

He frowns and stands up to open the window to sniff the air. „(y/n)?“ You try to shy away from him but he’s quicker to take you into his arms and press you against his chest while closing the window again. He sits down on his chair and places you on his lap to look at you with heartily eyes.

„I should be angry that Hong Joong came back here without you but I see you seem to have a little problem there...“ You purr at the feeling of him caressing your (y/h/c) colored fur with pleasurable motions.

„You can still talk you know?“

You lick your paws out of instinct and shriek a little bit when you feel something itching in San‘s lap. Jumping on to his desk you sit down in front of him muttering. „It happened when I wanted to go into the shop and now... I don’t know how to turn back.“

This makes the cat king laugh out loud and he bops your little cat nose. „It’s ok. I was afraid something happened to you...“ His eyes are full with worry but it vanishes as quickly when he stands up to take you into his arms again. He kneels down and with a small push he rolls you over and you feel yourself changing back.

You lay on the ground your tail swinging quickly while you examine your body. „Oh, thanks!“ You smile at him and he hums at you.

„I hope you had a nice day anyway. After this the next time you get out of this castle I will be the one on your side.“ Worry takes over your features and you are afraid he would do something to Hong Joong for not being careful enough.

„Don’t worry. Hong Joong is one of my dearest friends. If something happened however...“

There was nothing you could do now then wait. And you did until the day you woke up and knew soon you would be free again. Hopefully everything would go smoothly today.

Woo Young didn’t know how long he layed in the grass of the wide meadow he woke up but he was sure there wasn’t much time left when he saw the hectic pace of the towns people and the carriages that passed him.

Disoriented he literally lived the past days like a stray tomcat looking for you in all places. It was only when he emerged an older woman with gray cat ears that he decided to ask what the ruckus was about.

„Oh boy where do you even live? Today’s the wedding of our king choi and his beloved (y/n)!“ She smiles and gives him a flower after leaving the boy standing there dumbfounded.

„Oh my god...“ You were in the palace.

He demonized the mask seller for not telling him this important information and started to follow the way of the carriages like a maniac.

Standing in front of the big gate guards were quick to push him back when he tried to casually walk inside the royal grounds.

„No trespassing for uninvited!“

He waited a second after another cat bowed down in front of the guards to tell them he was late for the kitchen help. It was pretty obvious when he imitated this action to them earning him a questioning look by the guard.

„I am here for the kitchen help!“

„Sir Min Gi! The chef is asking where all the servants are!“ Min Gi debates with himself for a second when he utters something and points for Woo Young to enter.

„Today everything has to be perfect. Men, get back to work and you, tell the chef there’s help coming.“

Everywhere he can hear cheering and laughter while the castle is in full festival mood. He wanders around trying to find a tip for your location and comes to a halt when two equally rich clothed people pass him in a hallway. He quickly looks to the ground bowing but not misses the gaze of the man with the black ears and tail.

Woo Young mirrors the glare with a bad feeling not knowing who this person was or why he could swear he smirked after he saw the boy.

He continues his way through the corridors and just when he swears he saw a white fabric a servant stops him. „You! We have to get ready and why do still not wear your clothes?“

„I ehm ...“ He stutters and the man rolls with his eyes annoyed. He turns Woo Young around and pushes him into another direction ranting about how everything is messed up now and that they should better hurry up.

With all the guards and servants around having an eye on everything he gives up to look for you. He has to get you when the ceremony starts.

You find yourself in front of a mirror all dolled up the necklace on your neck feeling like it’s suffocating you. A sigh escapes your shaking lips when Ye Ri comes in to announce that it’s time for you. Joy is busy picking on your gown and hair to make sure everything looks perfect while you are praying every second your plan works.

Soon you would be back to your own world. Living with your mom and going back to school. Seeing Jang Mi ranting about you and having Woo Young to annoy you every chance he gets. You stick to the memories like they could vanish out of your head any moment.

And then the door opens and you’re getting outside into the big gardens where the ceremony is being held. Music starts to play and you can see all the guests turning their heads to your direction where you try to not faint.

Everything is decorated like you would want it to at your imagination of a perfect wedding. The guests look mostly rich and their ears twitch in excitement at the arrival of the bride. Turning your attention back to the end of the path where he is standing.

San looks devilishly handsome. He gasps when he sees you and you also forget to move for a moment. So much beauty wasted on a man like him.

Cat. He’s a cat. Don’t forget that.

Making your way to the podest where he’s standing you hear the little remarks some of the guest make and start to feel insecure.

„She’s so beautiful! Look at her ears and tail I bet she has the prettiest fur...“

„And to be this lucky! King Choi looks breathtaking like always!“

San takes your hand in his when you shyly look up to him. His tail is swinging agitated from side to side tingling with yours occasionally.

From the outside you two probably had to look like the perfect match but you knew how cruel the king could be. The pastor finally starts his speech while San doesn’t take his eyes off you any second.

You on the other hand focus your gaze on his tie mind really blank the whole time. Only when you’re asked to answer you look up to him seeing his shining orbs and suddenly the man announces you to cats in marriage with the guest awaitening the magic kiss.

San carefully takes your hands in his and looks at you promising. Then he leans down and his lips collide with yours in a sensual way leaving you no option to kiss him back. He feels soft and his tongue provokes to claim your mouth with a longing force. He embraces your waist and kisses you for god knows how long leaving you with a bubbly feeling in the stomach that doesn’t feel as bad as you would’ve guessed. Everyone‘s clapping and San smiles and waves at the guests feeling the happiest he ever did.

The party is in full swing when suddenly the big doors to the hall open and servants bring in the wedding cake with spray fountains on the top. You gasp at the size but freeze in your spot next to the king when you see a face you nearly forgot.

You’re trembling and about to stand up when you feel San‘s eyes locked on your form. „Are you ok, my queen?“

Slowly you turn to him and put on a fake smile to not gain any more attention. He smirks and leans down to whisper in your ear. „I am as much nervous because of the wedding night as you are. I have a surprise for you by the way...“

You frown at him and quickly lock your eyes back on your friend. Woo Young‘s ears twitch still not used to the loud noises and he nearly doubles over when seeing you next to the king.

Anger is building up inside of him but you mouth him to wait. You don’t know why and how he managed to get to you but the love you had for him just sparked again and left you with a warm feeling.

He came here. To rescue you!

Woo Young is quickly out of your eyes knowing you have to get to the kitchen to meet him while San leads you to the cake and of course his hand is over yours when he feeds you a piece of it.

Guest after guest scurries to you and the king to make conversation and congratulate you. The people were nice and you didn’t have a problem to talk feely with them much to San‘s goodwill.

Music starts to play and you and San dance to the first song. It would probably feel very romantic if your thoughts wouldn’t be with Woo Young every second and you fear that San recognizes your change in behavior.

After that the party really starts and cats are storming the dance floor.

You realize the time has come to get out of here. You dismiss yourself with a lie to use the restroom and go straight to the cabin in the bathroom where you hid other clothes.

You put on the uniform of the servants and look from left to right before you leave into the hallway. Walking to the kitchen with quick steps you’re trying to look busy while finding Woo Young. Tears are flowing down your cheeks when you see the boy looking out of the window his tail in between his fingers playing with it.

You stand next to him poking him on the side to gain his attention and quickly usher him to stop when he whisper-yells your name and tries to hug you.

„Listen, I have a plan to get out of here but we have to go now.“

„Alright.“ He takes your hand in his and holds it so desperately fearing he would lose you again if he let go. „I just missed you so much. I was so afraid, (y/n).“

„I missed you, too. I cannot put into words how thankful I am that you came here to save me.“ You both smile at eachother and you hurry to make him follow you out of the castle.

You both run like wolves chased you and so often turned around to see if someone followed you. Much to your disbelief no one seemed to recognize your absense meaning you really could have a chance.

The place where you met the mask seller moves closer any second and your heartbeat doesn’t seem to slow down. Sweat is forming on yours and Woo Young‘s forehead when you stop in your tracks to look around desperately.

„Are you awaitening someone?“ He talks between taking deep breaths.

„Yes. Someone who helped me and someone who will get us out of here.“

After a minute you suddenly hear foot steps in the distance and because it already got pretty dark outside you only recognize him when he’s embracing you.

„Yeo Sang!“

„We have to hurry up! I’ve seen San and some guards searching up the castle for you (y/n)! And who’s this?“

„This is my friend, Woo Young.“ You smile shyly and Yeo Sang nods understanding your relationship when the boy takes your hand in his.

The three of your run as fast as you can again into the direction of the portal passing the town, villages and forests until you can hear a slight buzzing.

„Here!“ Your gaze drifts not only to Woo Young but Yeo Sang, too, seeing the relief in their eyes being so close to be free and out of this world.

For Woo Young it is only important to have you on his side again so he takes your hand and motions for Yeo Sang to get the fuck out of here.

„Yeo Sang, you first!“ Yeo Sang nods at you and a tear rolls down his cheek.

„Thank you for everything, (y/n).“ He gets through the portal and your heart skips a beat.

He’s finally free...

You watch Woo Young in awe and with desperation in both your eyes you make confident steps to the portal. Just when you walk into the light something seems to pull you back and you realize it’s Woo Young who doesn’t seem to be able to walk through the portal.

You tumble back and frown becoming nervous. „What is going on? Why aren’t we able to go?“ You ask in desperation watching the boy shake his head while the moon illuminates the scene in a mysterious light.

„I didn’t know what it meant... but I guess that’s the price.“

„What the hell are you talking about?“

„This guy. He told me I had to pay later for it.“

„Woo Young. How were you able to come here?“

The glare he gives you tells you more than he could explain now. You had a problem. A big problem.

„We have to find this motherfucker and - “

„Ouch, your choice of words is hurting me.“ Suddenly Seong Hwa steps out of the dark of the trees and sends the two of you an intriguing smirk.

„You knew he was here! You knew it all along! Why didn’t you tell me?“

You’re angered and Woo Young tries to hold you back ashamed he got tricked so easily.

„You didn’t ask, little cat.“ A few seconds pass by with you letting out a hiss ready to attack if needed.

„Okay, you promised me you would help us. Now do whatever so he can leave this place.“

Seong Hwa chuckles lowly and raises his eyebrows at your words. „I can do that. But there’s a price for it.“

„Wh- what?! Are you nuts?“

„Listen, I am a merchant. I serve the one who pays the most... so tell me can you give me something that is more precious than what the other bidder gives me?“

„What other bidder?“ You grit your teeth at his words and don’t notice your hands turn into little fists.

„Your journey finally ends here, my wife.“

A dozen guards step out of the shadow all lead by the one you were running from - King Choi San himself.

You take a step back letting go of Woo Young‘s hand out of pure shock. „How? That’s not possible!“

San sends you the angriest look he had and grimaces at your reaction. „This is my kingdom after all. Nothing happens without my consent.“

He just states impassively and motions for his guards to get you.

„Stop! Seong Hwa, whatever he gives you I will double it! I will give you everything!“

He shakes his head and sighs. „I am afraid you won’t be able to give me more because... I already got everything I wanted thanks to the king and you, too.“

You’re feeling dizzy because of the situation and start to cry when Woo Young turns to you looking as lost as yourself.

„You loose. Your plan was actually a good one but you didn’t have a chance in the beginning, (y/n).“

„(y/n), he won’t have you. Go through the portal and leave me here.“

The guards and San get into position at Woo Young‘s words being prepared to stop you any second from leaving this world and becoming a human again.

„If you go I will torture and kill him in the cruelest way.“ San‘s orbs turn darker than you ever saw it and his words shake your bones. He doesn’t play around you know that. And in this moment you know exactly what to do.

Not what you want to do but... what is the right decision.

„I won’t go. I want to talk to the mask seller for a second.“

San and Seong Hwa share a quick look and the cat king smiles at you nodding afterwards.

Woo Young takes a few steps to the portal searching your face for answer his question what you’re planning. You dismiss him with an assuring smile and wait until Seong Hwa is in front of you.

„Did you already take his soul?“

„Not yet. I still have his human mask with me.“

You debate for a moment not knowing if he would agree with it. „If he stays here San is going to kill him. If I stay here I will still be the queen and his wife.“

„That’s right.“

„But I won’t ever be able to turn into a human again.“

„Yep.“ He grins at you from ear to ear already knowing what you’re up to.

„Mask seller, please give him back his human mask. I will stay here and you... you can have my human soul.“ He raises one eyebrow searching your face.

„You know you will never see him again right? He might never give you up...“

You’re crying again at the thoughts and bite your lips. „I want him to be happy. Can you make him forget about his feelings for me and everything that happened here?“

„I can do that.“ With a swift move of his index you can feel the mask appearing in your hand.

You nod at him and turn around to get to Woo Young Seong Hwa quickly in your tracks to make sure you don’t do anything funny.

„What’s going on, (y/n)?“ You surprise him with a desperate kiss. San only huffs in the background not forgetting about the wedding night he still has with you and where he would let out all the anger he has in himself right now.

He reluctantly pulls away still in the bliss of the kiss when you mouth to him ,I love you‘. He frowns and yells out when you crash the mask on his face and push him into the portal.

The last thing Woo Young sees is your smile and then his world turns dark.

San‘s eyes were focused on you the whole time. It felt like if he looked away for only a mere second you would vanish. He could never allow that. No one could take you from him. You were his.

„S-san, please, I need you to touch me.“

A breathles chuckle leaves the king at your neediness. The bliss of the still lingering marks on your skin ignite a fire in him he didn’t know before. A feeling of passion and desire; but also something darker… possession.

He had you on his mercy. His fingers slowly leaving trails down your spine until they landed on the curve of your waist. Your eyes were closed so you felt the tingle of the king‘s finger tips only more.

„Sleep my little kitten. You’ll always be safe with me…“

If you weren’t so lulled in his words and touches you would’ve known that his innocent smile hides something you should more than fear.

But you gave yourself to him and there was no turning back.

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↺ back to navi

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[aalissy]

Jealousy

Day 24 is doneee!! And it features a jealous kitty hehe. I loveee writing jealous Adrien/Chat!! I hope we see more of him in the show. Hopefully around Marinette too haha. Anywho, lemme know what you think <3

AO3

Chat blinked, staring inside Marinette's window, his stomach in knots. She was inside, giggling away as she looked up at Luka. The musician was laughing with her, his hand on her shoulder as he said something obviously funny. He twisted his lip, trying to push away the uncomfortable feeling that was worsening in his chest. He had never felt anything like this before and he couldn’t understand why it was happening now. Rubbing his stomach, he wondered if it was because of something he ate. Perhaps his chef cooked something that didn’t agree with him. Yeah, that was probably it... no other reason.

When Marinette leaned against Luka as she laughed at another funny thing he said, Chat unconsciously crossed his arms against his chest, narrowing his eyes into slits. Perhaps he was so upset because this was supposed to be his time with Marinette. Yes, exactly! Fridays were his nights. He was supposed to be the one making her laugh and playing video games with her. Chat’s lower lip jutted out as he tapped his foot impatiently. His tail swished out angrily behind him as he waited for Luka to finally leave.

When the musician finally did wave Marinette goodbye, Chat barely waited for him to fully disappear out of her room before he burst into her room without knocking. Giving her a bright, almost smug grin to her shocked face, he nodded down at the other hatch. “I thought he’d never leave.”

She slowly shut her gaping mouth, raising an eyebrow at him as she stared at him rather pointedly. “So you decided to just burst in? What if someone had heard you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, his smile widening in amusement. “Let them. I don’t think it’d be so bad.”

“What on earth has gotten into you tonight, kitty?” Marinette tilted her head in confusion. “Are you akumatized or something? You don’t usually act like this?”

“Act like what?” Chat blinked at her innocently. He brushed away the fact that his stomach pain seemed to have mysteriously vanished, making him almost want to purr in satisfaction.

“Like... like...” Marinette huffed, pushing up off of the desk chair she was sitting on. She paced on her floor for a few moments, muttering to herself before whirling around to point at him accusingly. “Like you’re jealous or something.”

He slowly made his way off of her bed, taking a few steps towards her. Was she right? Could he be... jealous? The feeling was starting to remind him of the incident with Copycat. But back then it was understandable. He was in love with Ladybug and he didn’t want anyone else stealing her from him. This was Marinette. One of his best friends. Perhaps he was just jealous that Luka was taking up time that was meant to be for him. That made more sense... right? 

Giving her a crooked smile, Chat apologized, “Sorry, purrincess. I guess I was just a little upset that he was taking up a lot of our time,” he gestured between them before nodding at her computer with a bright beam. “Are you ready to play games now?”

“Uh-huh,” Marinette said rather skeptically, her eyebrow rising as she looked him up and down. An odd look finally settled in her eyes as she met his gaze again. “Are you sure that was it? I thought I saw you a few times outside... watching us.”

He flushed, darting his eyes away from her piercing, sapphire eyes as he scratched the back of his neck. Chuckling nervously, he said, “Y-you saw that?”

“I knew that was you!” she snapped her fingers. “I thought I was going crazy after a while but then you slammed into my room like... well, like a jealous tomcat.”

Chat’s cheeks turned even darker as he realized that she hadn’t known for sure that he was spying on them. Marinette took a few steps closer to him, making him move backwards as she bumped him against a wall, poking a finger in his chest. “Just why were you watching us, kitty? Are you sure that it was just because he was taking up too much of my time?”

He blinked down at her, her bright blue eyes burning up at him rather passionately. Her breathing was different, more sped up as she kept her finger directly on his chest. Chat struggled to catch his own breath as he couldn’t keep himself from drifting his gaze down to her lips. They looked so perfect and kissable and she was so close. It would be so easy to just... no! They were just friends and he shouldn’t be thinking things like that. 

Sucking in a deep breath, he banged his head against her wall lightly as he closed his eyes, keeping his thoughts from straying. Quietly, he murmured, “I-I am sorry purrincess. I just saw Luka here making you laugh and I got a little upset that he was taking up our time together.”

“Hmm, I think you’re lying,” Marinette said and Chat’s eyes sprang open to meet her sparkling blue ones. “I think it was a little more than that. You did burst into my room, after all.”

He gulped, unable to tear his eyes away from her smiling, teasing lips once again. She opened her mouth to say something else but this time Chat couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and connecting their lips together. Marinette squeaked once quietly before she relaxed, wrapping her arms around his neck. His eyes popped open and he jerked his head as he gazed down at her in surprise. She slowly fluttered her eyes back open as she gave him a small, happy smile.

“I, um...” Chat said in a high-pitched voice. He cleared his throat once to bring it back down to its normal pitch. “W-was that okay?”

“That was perfect,” she giggled, peering up at him from beneath her lashes, chewing on her lip rather nervously. “Is it alright if we do it again?” 

Instead of answering, he simply nodded, crashing their lips back together again. Chat sank into their kiss this time, snaking his arms around her as he held her tightly against him. For the first time, he was kind of glad that Luka came over. It made him realize that he did have feelings for Marinette. Plus, now he could do this. Tilting his head, he deepened their kiss, nibbling on her bottom lip. He was never going to give this up. Not even if Luka begged. Marinette was his princess. 

[allegra-writes]

"The stray"

Tom Holland x Reader

General audiences

Warnings: None.

Hey, guys! This is actually a repost of an old story I took down before my hiatus because toxic stans made me feel uncomfortable about RPF. But I decided they can go fuck themselves😊

So, I will be slowly but surely reposting all my Tom fics here again, except for the smuts because... Well, several reasons that would make this too long. So without further ado, here's my dearest and favorite Tom fic:

"Oh, no. No way. Forget it, y/n, it's not happening"

"Tommy, please" You begged, lips in a pout and eyes big and supplicating. Your boyfriend sighed, he could never say no to you. Especially when you gave him that look, you could give his own puppy eyes a run for their money anyday. He lowered his gaze from your way-too-adorable face to the grey tomcat in your arms, but that wasn't any better: the thing looked pathetic, sad eyed and dirty and soaked to the bone.

... Very prominent bones under too little flesh, half starved to death. 

"Please, babe, just for tonight. Tomorrow I promise I will take him to the shelter myself. But we can't leave him out here in the storm, he won't survive the night" 

Tom had no doubt you were right, the way the cat wasn't even fighting your hold proof that it was too weak, too tired. 

"Please, Tommy, say yes" You tried one last time, "do it for me"

That was it. If he couldn't say no to you before, there was absolutely no way in hell he was going to be able to deny your request now. It was clear manipulation and he knew it but for the life of him he couldn't ever get himself to resist you. As it was, he didn't really want to, not when he knew you would probably find some very creative ways to make it up to him later in the bedroom. 

"Fine. But we're taking it to the shelter first thing in the morning…"

Your replying smile was blinding, knocking his breath away completely. God, he was so whipped. Fuck his distaste, fuck his allergies, fuck everything, he would foster every cat in the world if it meant seeing that smile on your pretty face all the time. 

That was how Tom found himself replaced by a four legged sack of fleas. Ignored and neglected in his own house. Ok, maybe he was being a little dramatic, but it was his first free weekend in weeks and instead of paying attention to him, you were spoiling, cuddling and even making dinner to a stray. 

"I don't get what she sees in you, you're not even cute" he grumbled at the scrawny feline sitting beside him on the couch, "You're just a dusty, smelly, walking ball of dirty fur… and toxoplasmosis" 

The thing just stared, big green eyes blinking slowly at him. You had told him what that meant but he hadn't been really listening. He blinked back just as slow, pretty sure that that was what you had told him to do. 

"Woah, mate! What are you doing? Get away!" Tom did not screech when the cat walked closer. He did not. Unphased by the decidedly not high pitched noise, the grey furball climbed onto his lap.

"Oh… ok. This is… kind of nice actually" The cat snuggled closer into him, no doubt seeking the heat of Tom's body, before yawning big and closing his eyes, tiny head resting on Tom's abs. 

"Fine" Your boyfriend mumbled, before bringing his hand up to softly stroke the cat's fur, "but I'm still cuter than you!"

Tom laid back on the couch, getting more comfortable. All of a sudden, he had a feeling he was going to be staying like that for a while…

"... Are you vibrating ?"

…

The house was quiet as you took off your AirPods and lowered your wooden spoon. A little too quiet, in fact. Tom had said he was going to be in the living room 'watching some telly' but the TV was off. 

Curious, you left the kitchen to investigate, but you didn't have to go very far: There, sprawled on the couch, was your boyfriend, soundly asleep with the very same cat not even fifteen minutes before he had sworn he hated, now snuggled firmly to his chest.  

You covered your mouth to stop the giggle that wanted to escape so as not to wake him. Taking out your phone, you snapped a few quick pictures, before going to him.

"Tom, love?" You kneeled beside him, placing a soft kiss on his lips, "dinners ready. Both your dinners" you added as the cat stretched, still perched on your boyfriend's chest. 

"Hmmm? Oh… yeah, ok… we're going" He replied, sleepily sitting up, still embracing the cat to stop it from falling to the ground.

"Don't get too attached, babe" You called back, making your way to the kitchen, "we're taking him to the shelter in the morning, remember?"

"Actually, I was thinking" He started, scrambling to follow you, "if Dusty gets along with the chickens… we could, you know... Keep him" 

"Dusty, huh?" You turned, trying to hide your smirk.

"Well, I mean, we can change it to Dustin… after a bath" he raised the still purring cat until their faces were pressed against each other, "What do you say? Pleaseee?"

This time, it was him the one giving you the puppy dog eyes. 

Your smile finally broke free, as you stepped close to him,

"You are the best boyfriend ever, did you know that?" 

"I might have heard some rumors, yeah…" He whispered, before crossing the last inches separating you to capture your lips in an earth shattering kiss.

 

The end.