#all of his cat art is simply so wonderful

[banji-effect]

Théophile Steinlen, sculpting a cat in 1913.

[murdrdocs]

death do us part

description. there's murders happening at camp half blood, and you and LUKE CASTELLAN care about them. really, you do. but you can't help but sneak off and break a few of the rules of survival laid out by luke's brother. besides, what's really the worst thing that can happen?

includes. SMUT 18+, mutual masturbation (kinda), oral (f receiving), fingering, handjobs, mentions of vibrators (m and f receiving), shower sex, some mentions of death, subby luke vibes, dom reader vibes, whipped luke, situationships, slightly bitchy reader

wc. 3.4k+

a/n: art is record separator by phil hale. barely edited

Both of you are being selfish. 

Distantly, in the back of your mind beneath the raging hormones perhaps, you’re aware that this is not only disrespectful but also irresponsible. 

Luke’s brother’s words ring in your head, reminding you over and over again. 

You had been sitting around an unsanctioned campfire at the time, a dozen or so of you all passing around bottles of alcohol that had been snuck in by one of Luke’s younger siblings who was desperate to impress and please all of you. With the buzz taking over your body and providing a general feeling of elation, you must admit that they impressed you. Maybe Luke too, who was surely delighted to have you all over him. Your little game of cat and mouse was finally coming to an end, likely spurred on by the havoc that had taken over Camp Half-Blood. Everyone was on edge, wondering who was next. Because according to Chris and a few other kids who were slasher fanatics, there would be a next. And soon. 

Which is likely why all of you were down by the shore and letting off steam. Simply existing before something happened by the time the sun rose. 

Usually, come morning you would blame your touchiness towards Luke on alcohol. But now, if either of you made it to the morning, you swore you would stop playing hard to get, throw caution to the wind, and kiss him during first daylight, a signifier that your relationship, whatever was going on between you two, withstood the test of the night and could now be official. 

You two could do it. If that was tipsy delusion or rationale talking, you didn’t know. 

All you knew was that Chris Rodriquez was definitely drunk, but there had to be some truth to his words. 

“Listen, listen.” He stood, raising his beer bottle as if he were about to toast. You hoped the bottle wasn’t empty yet, for Chris had a habit of pulling you all into a game of spin the bottle whenever he got like this. Sometimes, you didn’t mind it. Not when you got to kiss Luke. But watching Luke kiss someone else always left a sour taste on the back of your tongue. 

When Chris took a swig, you sighed a bit and slunk further into Luke’s side. 

“If we’re going to survive this–” each of you knew what he was talking about. The grieving families and empty beds made sure you each knew what was happening. “We’ll have to live by a set of rules.” 

“Rules?” Luke spoke from beside you for the first time in a while. You turned to look at him and immediately got distracted. His scar shined in the warm lighting, the orange making the slight flush along his cheeks a little more distinct. His eyes were heavy. They were relaxed. He was relaxed, and the irony didn’t fly over your head. 

Weirdly enough, you found yourself relaxed, too. Tucked into his side with his arm slung over your shoulder like the two of you were together. It was normal for you both to get like that late at night, but the difference in the air made it seem more sentimental. 

Luke, likely sensing your staring, turned to look at you. He smiled just a bit, and you didn’t hesitate as you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. The two of you separated soon enough to hear Chris’ rant. 

“Yeah. Rules.” When no one around the bonfire seemed to understand what rules he was referring to, he took a swig of his beer, sat it on the log behind him, and stood on his soap box. 

“There are a set of rules to surviving something like this. Rule number 1: never say you’ll be right back. Trust me, you won’t.” 

One of the girls raised her hand, her face scrunched into a pout. Chris stopped to look at her, pointing a finger as an indicator for her to speak. “What do we say instead?”

Chris took a second. He hesitated, his dark and glassy eyes searching around him for an answer, then, “Just leave and come back. Don’t announce it.” 

The answer seemed good enough for her and Chris continued. 

“Rule number 2: don’t shower alone. This is just an invitation for the killer to sneak up on you, and slash you up. Next thing you know, we’re finding you stark naked.” This rule seemed to make sense for everyone else and no one spoke up. “Rule number 3: do not have sex. And if you’re a virgin, now is not the time to lose your virginity.” 

This incited a low level of outrage from a few people around the camp. Your hand settled on Luke’s thigh, and you could feel him staring at you. Still, you continued to stare ahead at Chris. 

“It’s not safe!” He exclaimed. “You’re left vulnerable, just like in rule 2, and for some reason, killers love to prey on the promiscuous. Just keep it in your pants until whoever is doing this is caught. That’s all. And rule 4, the most important one: never ever, ever go off alone. This will single you out and make you an easy target. You follow these rules, and maybe you’ll survive.” 

Chris finished his rant, took a final swig of his beer, and sat back down. 

Luke’s hand fell to your thigh. He ran his touch up and down once, and then squeezed your flesh twice. From the corner of your eye, you saw the grin grow on Luke’s face and turned to him. Neither of you had to say anything. Luke raised his eyebrows, smiled at you, and you nodded. 

Luke opened his mouth to likely spew out some bullshit excuse, but everyone’s attention turned towards one of the kids sitting next to Chris who suddenly broke out of a stupor to protest Chris’ rules. Which left you and Luke an opening. 

He took his arm from around your shoulder, placed his hand out for you to take, and then stood with you on his heels. 

“Where’re you two going?” Silena asked from beside you. 

You grinned down at her and communicated all you needed to in that one look. “To sleep. Chris said not to leave alone, right?” 

She was clearly unconvinced, but she still nodded and kept her mouth shut. 

And the two of you walked away to the sound of Chris pitching yet another spin-the-bottle game. 

Which brought you here, in the bathrooms instead of your cabin. Your poorly formed excuse spoken to Luke was something along the lines of needing to scrub off the grime from the day, and especially the thick layer of bug spray that you’ve recently had to use. Some of the more superstitious kids in camp attributed the increase in bugs to the increase in deaths. You attributed it to a malfunction of the Mist. 

You knew that Luke, being the gentleman that he is, wouldn’t dare let you shower alone. Not since his brother laid out the rules. You also knew that Luke, being as infatuated with you as he is, would take any chance he could to get with you, even if it was selfish and irresponsible. 

But you don’t think he’s considering either factor right now as he’s kissing you as if he has a one-track mind. 

One of the showers is running behind you. The two of you had originally been waiting for the water to turn hot, but that happened a while ago, and now Luke was keeping you busy in the center of the bathroom, his hands gratefully roaming over your body, feeling you up. 

He has one hand settled along the back of your thigh, just right under the end of your jean shorts. His other hand grips your cheek, holding your face steady for him to messily kiss you. You don’t mind the mess of it, you’re not bothered by the way his tongue clumsily slips outside of your mouth a few times, because it’s a sign of how he’ll fuck you. Unabashed, uninhibited, maybe he’ll even whimper in your ear when he cums. 

Just the thought alone is enough to encourage you.

You hook your fingers under Luke’s shirt, a faded graphic tee you thrifted and brought back to camp for him, and lift it just over his navel. He gets the message and pulls away from your lips, but there’s a force pulling him back once, twice, and one final time before he pulls back just enough to pull his shirt over his head. He looks like something out of a movie as he lifts the black shirt off by the neckline and tosses it to the floor. You don’t know if he means to, but he flexes while he does it, his abdomen taunt and the veins in his arms popping out more than usual. 

You’ve seen Luke’s body many times and in many different scenarios, but each time you have to take a moment. And he knows you well enough to anticipate it. 

He stands within arms reach, watching you watch him. You can’t tell since your eyes are focused on the way his abs frame his navel, the way his skin has deepened a shade, and the scars and moles that are dotted across his body, but he’s smiling. A small, barely there quirk of his lips. 

Eventually, you take a step closer to Luke, pressing your fingers into his skin and sliding your hands back until your fingers interlock around his back. You pull Luke closer to you, lifting your head and nudging the tip of his nose with yours. 

“You done?” he asks, referencing your prolonged staring. 

You hum, nodding as you reach for Luke’s lips with your own. “‘m done.” And then Luke kisses you again. 

There’s some repetition when Luke lifts your shirt over your head, but he appreciates your frame with his lips. He kisses your shoulders and neck as he unclasps your bra and pulls it off of you. He litters kisses into your stomach as he sinks to his knees, pulling your now unbuttoned shorts with him. He helps you step out of them, taking your shoes off as he does so, and when you’re only left in your panties, he looks up at you. 

“Mind if I do the honors?” 

You answer him through a grin. “Only if you let me return the favor.” 

And he does. 

It has been clear that your shower with Luke was likely going to be more than a shower, even though it was previously unspoken between you both. It doesn’t need to be spoken, not whenever there’s an obvious wet patch in your panties when Luke pulls them down, or when you’re face to face with his semi when you pull his boxers off of his hips. 

You look up at Luke, your eyes slightly narrowed and a tiny smile on your lips. You don’t say anything, but Luke still rolls his eyes. He scoffs, jerks his head in a motion that tells you to stand. As soon as you do, he has your face in his hands and his lips on yours. Your hands grip his sides, keeping him pressed close to you. 

Luke blindly walks you both back to the shower. He turns when your back faces the shower head, and lets the water flow down onto him first, pulling away only when his hair starts to get wet. 

He has his eyes shut, water cascading down his body in a way that makes him look like one of the Greek sculptures that now sit locked in museums. 

He pushes his hair off of his forehead, tipping his head back. 

“Hair,” he tells you. And it takes you a second to tell that he’s asking you if you’re gonna put yours back. You quickly throw your hair up and out of your face, putting it back enough to avoid the stream of the shower, and then you pull Luke closer to you. 

“Not even gonna pretend to shower? Maybe do a quick rinse?” He’s teasing, but you roll your eyes, move Luke out of the way, and then stand beneath the stream, lifting your arms and turning around to let the water roll over your body. 

You look up at Luke and catch him staring. His eyes trail along your tits, deep gaze following individual droplets of water as they collide with your shoulder and roll all the way down to the peak of your tits, where they drop off to fall to the shower floor. 

You scoff but don’t say anything. You’re not a hypocrite. 

“Happy?” You ask him as you step out from the water. 

His answer comes in the form of grateful hands pressing into your lower back. His fingertips pinch your hips as he directs you to the side wall. You don’t have to be told to tilt your head up. You’re already waiting for him, unable to resist smiling into the kiss when Luke brings his lips down onto yours. 

He trails a hand down between your thighs, knocking them further apart with a tap of his knee against yours. 

When his fingers, the middle and index, pull your lips apart, you sigh into his mouth. When they press against you, spreading the wetness already gathered there, you mewl against his tongue. 

Luke’s good with his fingers, you both know it. At this point in your relationship—or whatever both of you decide to call it in the moment—with Luke, he knows you well. He knows that you like it when he hooks his fingers and slightly grazes the top of your walls. He doesn’t have to ask if you’re feeling good, but he does it anyway. 

“Good?” Spoken against your lips, the ghost of his own lips brushing against yours as his words enter your mouth. 

You nod, knocking your head back against the wall without much care of the water there. 

Luke’s other hand clasps behind your knee where he lifts your leg, pressing the inside of it to his hip. He has you opened up for him, giving him free range to practically piston his fingers inside of you. It’s a fervorous pace, more hungry than you’ve known Luke to be. But you don’t mind it. 

It’s late, the two of you are as tired as you are horny, it’s nice to rub one out quickly and then knock out. It’s a routine both of you are used to. 

Like usual, you reach forward and wrap your hand around Luke’s cock. 

It’s no surprise when you swipe your thumb over his tip and are greeted with precum. Truthfully, you’re shocked there’s not more. But tonight, unlike other nights, you hadn’t given Luke the workaround. You wanted him. He knew you wanted him. And you were tired of pretending, tired of acting like you didn’t want to really and truly be with Luke. 

You would tell him. You were gonna tell him tonight. 

… After you came. 

It doesn’t take much more of Luke’s work for you to feel the beginnings of an orgasm creeping in. The urge to reach it is what has you locking your fingers in Luke’s wet curls and nudging him down. 

He doesn’t protest. He just smiles and sinks to his knees, settling his head between your thighs. Without much hesitance at all, he latches his lips onto your clit. 

Soon thereafter you’re arching into his mouth, your standing leg locked while your bent one hooks over Luke’s shoulder, pulling him closer even though your hand in his hair has already assured that he’s as close as he can get. His fingers curl within you, massaging your fluttering walls as you cum around them. Your moans are loud, echoing off of the walls and barely shrouded by the thunder of water meeting the tiled floors. Distantly, you hope that no one else has decided to come for a shower tonight, but the thought in the forefront of your mind is that you hope your orgasm never ends. 

It feels so good when Luke makes you cum. It always does. Rather he does it like this, with his fingers and mouth, or even his cock, or if he does it with one of the toys you brought back from home with you, a recent fascination of his. 

The image of when you had used the toy on Luke, pressing the vibrating shape onto his tip, pushes an aftershock out of your body, one that is pulled to completion by Luke’s eager work between your legs. 

When he pulls himself from between your legs, he swipes his palm, spread out as flat as it can get, along your cunt. You don’t realize that he did it to gather your wetness until he has that same hand wrapped around his cock. He tugs, spreading your arousal with the movement. 

It does the trick, Luke’s eyes fluttering shut as he twists his wrist. 

You tut and pull his hand away from his wrist. He doesn’t question it, only watching you through heavy eyes as you spit a large glob into your hand and replace Luke’s work with your own. 

His arms wrap around your waist. They wrap around your shoulders. He rests his forehead against yours and then lets his head fall to your shoulder whenever you pick your pace up a bit. 

He’s noisy, you can feel his chest vibrating from where you have your hand pressed into his sternum. But he’s too quiet for you to hear. His volume, paired with the noise of the shower, frustrates you. You dip your head to the side, attempting to get your ear closer to Luke. 

It works a bit, you’re able to hear his low groans, but it’s not enough. 

Eventually, you call his name. It comes out as a mix between a request and a demand, existing somewhere in the middle where you hold a considerable amount of control of Luke Castellan, practically the leader of leaders at Camp Half-Blood. 

Yet, you’re his pied piper. 

He hums, his eyebrows pushed together. You can’t tell if his look is one of confusion or pleasure. You figure it’s both. 

“Look at me. I wanna see you.” This is a plea. 

Luke nods once, and then he looks at you. 

It’s something you wanted, but it makes you flush a little. Having Luke’s undivided attention always made you squirm a bit, even when it usually made your ego flare. But that was when you weren’t here. When you were fully clothed and surrounded by the protection of your friends. When they giggled and nudged your side to tell you that the Luke Castellan was staring at you. This look isn’t much different from the one he gave you then, but there’s weight to it. He’s staring at you, with something so sincere in his eyes. Beyond just horniness, beyond a desire for you to make him cum. 

It’s so much, too much, but you were the one to request it, so you don’t back down. 

You square your shoulders and jerk Luke off with more determination. 

His eyes start to flutter shut as he gets closer, getting heavier and heavier as if he’s fighting off sleep. But each time they close, they open back up in a couple of seconds. He’s so determined to obey you, it’s flattering. It’s impossible for the way Luke Castellan treats you to not go to your head. Especially when he starts speaking to you. 

“Feels so good. ‘m so close. A little bit more.” 

He knocks his forehead against yours, holding you still by cupping the back of your neck when your head lolls from the force of the collision. 

He kisses you as he cums. His cock twitched in your hand as warm cum spurts onto your stomach and thighs. His lips move slowly, languidly, not kissing you as much as they just linger. 

But it’s fine that way. You don’t mind it that way. 

By the time both of you have come down, really came down, you’ve washed yourselves clean of the bug spray, cum, and general grime of camp. Luke shuts the shower off, he pads over to the linen closet at the end of the bathroom and you’re momentarily grateful that the kids have actually done their chores and restocked the closet with fresh towels whenever you realize neither you or Luke have clothes. 

Not only did you not have clean and fresh clothes, but the clothes you were wearing before were gone now. 

When you alert Luke of the problem, he groans. He tosses you a towel, wrapping his own around his waist, and stands in the center of the bathroom with his hands tossed onto his hips. He thinks for a second, clicking his tongue a few times. 

“Okay,” he turns to face you. “I’m gonna go grab us some clothes. You stay here.” He kisses your forehead, readjusts his towel on his hips, and tells you, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.” 

[mayhemspreadingguy]

@magnusbae, not expecting I'd follow through, suggested to sketch Anakin but with cat fangs... Things got out of hand.

Also, look! Magnusbae gifted me with a most lovely fic inspired by my art (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) (fic under the cut, 3,800+ words).

That’s it. Anakin had resisted long enough. 

All through morning, noon and even dinner. He had done his Katas, had finished his chores, even went through his studies, all without so much as a single comment. He deserves to be commended personally by Master Yoda for being an exemplary Jedi. He deserves to be knighted right this moment seeing how he never even mentioned just how force karked awful his Master’s hair looked like for the past week. Sticking in all directions, it grows in uneven patches, the addition of a beard is somehow making his elegant Master look like a beggar from the streets and that, that is intolerable. 

Anakin growls quietly, muscles tense. He knows his Master most likely can feel him staring holes through him, and yet he simply continues reading his datapad, not asking nor looking, radiating calm in the force. Anakin wonders if he could tidy that mess with the power of thought alone. Would that be considered a frivolous use of the force? Even if done in the service of the republic? After all, his Master’s good looks are the cornerstone of the… 

Obi-Wan scratches at the back of his head, clearly bothered and Anakin can’t tolerate this anymore, cannot accept this anymore. His tongue is itching something fierce, his hands are sweating, he cannot sit still like there’s fire ants filling his pants and crawling up his spine. He cannot tolerate this. If not for himself, he must do this for his Master. If not for his Master, then for the order. If not for the order, then for the Galaxy. If not for the Galaxy, then for the Force itself. For he can swear by all that he holds dear that the Force itself is embarrassed by his Master being so unkempt, so ungroomed. 

Unacceptable. This is absolutely unacceptable. His Master has to always look neat and nice and put together, smelling fresh and looking proper. That’s the only right way for his Master to be. Anakin will not stand for it being any other way. He will not. He will make it right. 

His Master ignores the first lick. He often does that, pretends to not notice in the hopes of Anakin stopping after catching himself at his instincts. Oftentimes it works. Oftentimes it is an accident. But not this time. This time it’s very much on purpose and very much intended to continue until Anakin is satisfied with the results. All Anakin needs is for his Master to continue pretending to not notice long enough for him to fix this mess. 

Two more licks, lower neck up the scratchy beard and—

“Anakin—” his Master stops pretending so suddenly that Anakin’s tongue moves over his jawline and across the beard in a way that tickles funny. Anakin likes how it feels, rough and interesting, makes him curious about how it’ll feel like to lick across the jawline, where the beard is the thickest.

Knowing he does not have much time before his Master attempts to stop him altogether, Anakin leans in with renewed urgency, tongue ready, mouth starting to water— “Anakin, stop!” a strong hand pushes against his shoulder, moving him a distance away without being as rough as to push. 

“Mrrphh!” Anakin protests, pushing against the hand but not fighting it actively. His Master can be so bossy when he gets like this, so unreasonable. The only way to win is to use his words, otherwise his Master might just walk off and hide in his rooms instead. Or worse, go meditate in the halls, where everyone will see this shameful disaster.

“You need the grooming, Master!” Anakin starts with the foundation and heart of his objection. His Master always teaches that it’s important to be able to pinpoint the problem early on and address it quickly so as to not let it fester and become bigger than it must be. Granted his Master spoke of interpersonal disputes however it absolutely does apply here. His Master simply cannot deny this reasoning, ergo, will not be able to dispute it as untrue. “So just let me!” Anakin adds, before his Master could somehow find a way to object.

Can’t his Master see that Anakin is offering him a service? Out of the kindness of his heart, no less. Him enjoying the way his Master’s flavor sits on his tongue, the way it makes all the small hairs on his body stand on end, how it fills him with excitement— His Master’s scent, rich and spiced and safe— how he favors it above all else even when the exotic teas make him sneeze and sneeze— the way a single point of contact would narrow his senses into a single point of focus, clear his mind of all worries— the way his vision relaxes, the way his nostrils flare and he inhales and inhales and inhales— the way his heartbeat peaks and then slows, the way his mouth goes dry and he feels thirsty, hungry even— all that, all that has nothing to do with his altruistic motivations. He’s just looking out for his Master. Obviously, duh. 

“Master.” He can hear his own voice, can hear how it takes a whiny note his Master often teases him for. It’s hard to care when he has a goal bigger than his own ego. “Just let me.” He demands, he can hear it and he still doesn’t stop himself from reaching for his Master’s flowing robes, claws catching on the material and making him shudder. Maybe he does need trimming just like his Master insists each time they spar. Maybe Anakin will allow it, if his Master is good and allows him this. Maybe he’d even let his Master groom him too.

The bewilderment in the force clues Anakin on the fact that yes, maybe he did forget to shield, again. He huffs through his nose, wrinkling it. He really doesn’t know what the big deal with this is, doesn’t understand the obsession everyone and especially his Master, has with hiding every single urge and instinct and thought they have. It’s not like he thinks anything he wouldn’t also say out loud. Maybe if the Jedi used less of those shields, it would have been much easier to communicate with them, to bond with them, and maybe then he’d feel less like an outsider, like an odd bird out of its cage.

“Oh Anakin..” Obi-Wan sighs, the tension loosening from his hold against his shoulder, rather than scolding, there’s the hints of the sadness his Master expresses each time Anakin feels alienated in this place. It is not his fault no one understands him, it is not his fault he is different than everyone. 

“Master.” Anakin chirps back, rolling his eyes. His Master has the oddest of tendencies to get hung up on the most particular of topics. Anakin not having enough friends, per his Master’s opinion, is one such topic. Nevermind the fact that Anakin had never seen his Master ever share a true conversation with a single person. Other than himself. Of course. His Master does talk to him.

His Master will get fixated on him instead of thinking about himself and nag him to half death. ‘Anakin get more friends’ and ‘Anakin don’t spread the droid parts all across the quarters’ and ‘Anakin I’m a grown man I can groom myself.’ And while some of those things might be true, obviously, the last one is not. “You look like a mess.” Anakin says it to his face, because he and his Master are real friends.

“Thank you Padawan.” His Master answer, no longer sounding sad, instead his voice is dripping with sarcasm. Anakin doesn’t like it, but he supposes it’s better than sadness. “I do not recall asking for your no doubt impeccable sense of— Ahnakin—!” his ranting stops mid warming up when Anakin uses the opening to dart forward and lick him again, from the lowest exposed spot of his neck, up the smooth skin, his rough tongue making a satisfying ‘shh’ sound as it catches at the hair of the beard and smooths it up with his lick. The flavor is… is… 

Obi-Wan had used some sort of balm… some sort of synthetic musk that makes Anakin’s brain swim funny and eyes to close and mouth to water even more. He has to swallow down the saliva lest he drool like a hungry Tooka. It’s hard not to, when his Master is so, so, so karkin yummy. He slams his shields up with a clumsy thud in the force, but maybe just a moment too late to cover up that last thought.

“Anakin!” his Master sounds properly scandalized, voice raising to a tone that always makes Anakin’s ears ring uncomfortably and the following lecturing tone is no better. “Cease this nonsense immediately, you must not—" 

Anakin licks again. The side of his neck and up to the point where skin meets ear. “Master.” He says there, voice dropping into a purr that morphs into a warning growl he didn’t even think of making, there’s no aggression, only the frustrated warning to not stop him in the middle of something so damn important. Grooming, is important. More than Katas or studies or meditations. Maybe even more than sparring. And Anakin loves sparring. 

All Anakin wants is for his Master to sit quietly and let him take care of him. The way he ought to, the way he was meant to do. It’s his job, after all, is it not? He is Obi-Wan’s Padawan, it’s only natural he would tend to his Master, that he would care for him, that he would help him. That just makes sense. That rings true in the force and that’s all Anakin needs to know.

"I will.” He declares, it is no longer a request nor a plea, it is a declaration of intentions. A declaration of intent. He presses his nose at the soft skin under his Master’s ear and inhales, deeply, the scent making him Master-stupid so he says what’s on his mind with no filters, with no thought. “Unless you hate me.” His voice drops softer, he can’t breath, having inhaled too much of the strongest drug known to him. “Then I won’t” he trembles, he waits, if his Master rejects him, if he does hate him for his care, he will, he

“Anakin, this is hardly related, I do not think that—”

The force between them sparks and Obi-Wan’s mouth snaps closed with an audible click of the jaw. There’s a tension and a heating of an eruption that is halted with the calming breeze of spring air, Obi-Wan’s Force Signature covering his own, soothing, embracing, calming. “Very well, Padawan.” Obi-Wan speaks with a voice of a man who’s been worn in battle, sighing out in exhaustion.b “Since you cannot resist your nature, I’ll allow it.“ He pauses, sounding not a little doubtful as he adds the obligatory “Just this once, Anakin.” A final form of giving in, one Anakin is familiar with. 

There’s an ‘You should be old enough to know better’ goes unsaid and so Anakin ignores it. It wouldn’t have mattered even if Obi-Wan did say it. He had before, many times, and it never mattered. Anakin somehow doubts it’ll matter even when he grows taller than Obi-Wan. And he will, he just knows it. He will grow tall and strong, and he will always take care of his Master, and Obi-Wan would not be able to argue with that. Because it’ll all make sense. It always does. Everything about them does. 

If only his Master understood him better, he’d know that one doesn’t just grow out of wishing to groom those he cares and…loves. This is something that is forever and always. That is something that only grows and deepens, something to be shared and relished. Something he will always give to his Master freely, even if his Master maybe doesn’t…. Really share it in the same way as him. Which is fine. He had decided a long time ago. It is fine. 

It is enough that he gets to care for his Master. So he smiles instead and purrs out a sweet “Thank you, Master.” In that respectful manner he knows his Master enjoys hearing. He giggles when he feels his Master’s breath hitching, giggles more when nuzzling against the neck tickles his nose. “This is so horrible.” He complains, wanting his Master to know how strongly he objects to this change, and yet he cannot stop giggling. “Master!” he doesn’t even try to hide his joy from his voice, nevermind from the Force.

His Force Signature is a slow pulse of contentment, securely tucked beneath Obi-Wan’s still. When he licks small licks under Obi-Wan’s ear, he can feel his Master’s breath catching, can feel the way he stops breathing entirely and the soft gasp when Anakin licks at his ear directly, once, twice, a few more times just to test how committed his Master is to this session. Very, it seems. His Master doesn’t object even when Anakin grows bold and nibbles at his earlobe, tugging ever so gently. His Master is always so sensitive around this area, always so jumpy if Anakin stays too long at this spot. It always makes Anakin want to lick there until Obi-Wan loses his composure entirely.

He never does. 

At least not too much.

He does want to groom Obi-Wan after all, not only bully him into squirming because he is so damn ticklish there. That is not to say that he is above wanting to see his pristine Master squirming a little. So he licks there again, and when his tongue dips only a little into the ear, his Master finally jumps and moves away, breathing harshly and looking redder than his hair.

“Anakin I do believe that my hair is not located in that particular spot and—” his hands close on Anakin’s shoulders when he makes it to the ear again, wanting to nibble just one more time, just one last time… “Anakin.” His Master’s firm voice snaps him back into focus, tells him gently through the force to not overdo it. Fine, fine. He will not overdo it. This time.

"Just relax, Mastah.” Anakin pouts, the word slurring in the way his Master always corrects. Always, but not now. Anakin reaches for his Master’s wide shoulders and waits a moment until his Master’s grip loosens enough for him to actually move. It’s easy enough to shift to his Master’s lap. One knee over and sitting down in one smooth motion that has a practiced finesse to it. You either get to Obi-Wan’s lap swiftly, or you don’t at all. There is no room for hesitation for his Master will do enough hesitating for the both of them. So he sits down and nudges closer, right away. Inhaling, inhaling deeper.

Oh how he wants their scent to become one. They’re already nearly inseparable, living as closely as they do, using the same soaps, eating the same foods. Anakin wants more. Anakin wishes that they could smell and feel like one. United. Clearly bonded. Even more than they are through the force. He wants it so much that his fangs itch, itch, itch to bite and bite and bite. But no. No he is here to groom, to care. Not to bite, not to… mark. His cheeks are warm with it, knowing that he has, and is, constantly considering this. Wondering about this, curious about this. About marking his Master in a way that will be known, in a way that will be understood. He thinks about it, always. Luckily his Master has no clue. Luckily, Obi-Wan does not know. Or he wouldn’t let him sit here so carelessly, surely, he wouldn’t. 

“It’s part of it, duh.” Anakin says without truly knowing what he speaks of. The grooming, the licking, the biting, the sitting on the lap? He doesn’t know. He only knows of the happy, loud purr that fills his lungs when Obi-Wan doesn’t stop him from leaning back in, back to his neck, nuzzling, smelling, licking up that rough, funny tasting beard and to his hair, spiky and significantly softer than the beard. He giggles again, and purrs. It’s an odd combination of sounds he does try to stop but doesn’t manage. He is too preoccupied for dignity, or decorum, or class. He’s too karking pleased. 

When he licks at his Master’s neck again, the man tilts his head up and away, exposing his throat for him. Good. Good. Good, great, awesome.

His Master couldn’t have displayed his trust more plainly than this. No words could have conveyed the same level of commitment, of confidence and belief. Exposing one’s throat, Anakin thinks, is a universal sign. Even if his Master is less inclined to instincts as Anakin is, it still counts, it still matters a whole lot that he does it for him. His Master does it because he knows it matters to him and that— that matters more than all else.

His own purring is deafening, drumming in his eardrums and filling his chest with sound, he used to try to hide this in the past when he realized that most Padawans did not purr at every one of their Master’s compliments or gestures of kindness. He no longer bothers. He pulls and licks and purrs some more. He takes his time, licking small, measured licks, taking care to put that awful messy beard into something much neater, dignified.

“Maste-rrr.” He draws the ‘R’, nuzzling again under the ear and grinning when his Master shudders but doesn’t pull away, he always gives him a chance to be good. So he will be good. He does not nibble, instead he wraps his lips carefully around the bit of skin where no hair touches. Oh he wants to suck, to mark, to taste. Oh he does, so much. But he doesn’t. He will be good, because his Master believes him to be good, and proper, and nice. So he will be. 

His cheeks are fire hot when he thinks about what else he would have liked to be doing instead of the promised grooming. That is not something he should be thinking of, nor something his Master would ever permit, but…

Thinking is not illegal and he is not good at not thinking. 

So he imagines it. Imagines how his Master’s hands would feel on his hips, imagines his Master yanking him down to sit properly on his lap, Imagines his Master wanting him to lick elsewhere and—

“Ahnakin—” Obi-Wan protests, so strongly it rings in the force with his words. He feels and looks scandalized, even more so than before. He looks like he is considering all his choices and decisions. He looks like he’s about to call quits. He looks like he’d push Anakin away, he— places his hands on Anakin’s hips and pulls him down, to sit properly. 

The whine that escapes Anakin’s lips is nothing short of mortifying. It’s a needy, surprised thing, he feels like a proper youngling, confused and shy. He seeks the refuge of his Master’s neck and hides there, nuzzling while whining again, complaining, scandalized too by his Master’s audacity to follow his dreams up like this. He can’t mean it, he simply can’t! It is a mere coincidence, his Master would never follow his fantasies, he didn’t even hear it, his shields are up and proper, he’s sure of it, he’s sure of it, he’s… 

“Sorry…” Anakin murmurs out, because if he’s honest, he is not sure if his shields are worth anything with how excited he had gotten. Maybe his Master did hear, maybe his Master did feel something. Maybe he did push a little too hard. He doesn’t want to push too hard, he knows that sometimes his Master gets nervous because of his thoughts. Not angry, never angry.

He doesn’t want to make his Master nervous, he can feel the tell-tales of it in the force. Despite his Master’s secure hold on him, despite his Master’s unmoving frame. He can feel the building up hesitation. He does not want his Master to feel that way with him. 

“I’ll stop.” He promises his Master, assures him. He’ll try to, anyway. For his Master he’d try to go against his nature, even if his nature does tell him to think and do all sorts of things. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night when he can’t sleep and he thinks of his Master and every word they had ever passed, he does wonder about this. Is this truly his nature, his instincts that drive him to act as he does, or is it simply how he is with his Master? He suspects he knows the answer to that, but it’s easier for the both of them to call it instincts and be over with it, so he never disputes it. “Really.”

There’s a charged silence and then, blessedly, his Master says the two words Anakin loves more than anything else in the world, the two words for which he, not jokingly, thinks he might be willing to die for. 

“Good boy.”

The Coruscanti accent is thick and rolling, he sounds almost distracted, he sounds… 

Anakin shuts his eyes and bites his tongue, fangs digging into the soft flesh. He must not think of exactly how he imagines his Master sounding. He should not think about how his hands feel warm and human on his hips. He should not think about the lingering flavor on his tongue nor how his lungs are full of Obi-Wan, of his Master. He should not, is not allowed to. Promised not to. Instead he wraps his arms around his Master’s neck and hugs him, pulling the larger man to himself, having his head against his chest for a few long moments in which he is sure Obi-Wan hears just how fast his heart goes. He surely can feel it through the bond, it’s going crazy, ba-dum, ba-dum. 

He can feel a distant echo of his own heartbeat, almost imperceptible to his senses, and yet there. An answer. Thoomp-thoomp.

When he leans back, he moves his hands to cup his Master’s cheeks and makes him tilt his head up, to face him. “You look good now,” His fangs stretch at his lips as he grins wide enough to hurt. “Master!” he adds, cheekily.

His Master’s eyes are a bright blue, the deepest, calmest pond. He rolls them shortly, then looks directly into Anakin’s own eyes and smiles at him, sarcasm dripping with fondness as he says “Thank you. Ah-nah-kin.” With the most accented tone Anakin had ever heard. There’s so much black in his Master’s eyes, a beautiful, wondrous thing that makes him itch all over and want to see more of that soft darkness no one else gets to see. 

No one else, but him. 

[its-rach-writes]

Like Father Like Son - Chapter One

Pairing: Harry Potter x Reader

Summary: In the midst of a brewing war, a Golden Retriever Gryffindor falls for a Black Cat Slytherin. Hadn't this all happened before?

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of character death,

A/N: Soooo, I'm back in work after having 10 days of annual leave :'( I will be posting every other day instead of every day! Hope you guys enjoy this and please let me know what you think! xxx

Chapter One

It wasn’t like you hated Harry Potter, because you really didn’t but you just didn’t get what all the fuss was about. Your dad had always taught you to be kind to people despite their blood status or Hogwarts house. When you arrived at Hogwarts, you tried to keep an open mind but Potter was simply infuriating.

He didn’t deserve to just be put on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in first year, after spending 5 minutes on a broom. And, you definitely wouldn’t admit that he was a pretty good player. Your infuriation only increased in second year when he emerged bloody and dirty from the Chamber of Secrets. If that had been anyone else, they would have been expelled, Potter didn’t even get points taken from him, in fact he was awarded a special service to the school!

In third year, you had to watch your Uncle love Potter more than he loved you, as they bonded over Potter’s mum and dad. The boy had stumbled his way through the Triwizard Tournament, getting favouritism at every turn, somehow beating students who were intellectually better than him. The tournament had come to a sticky end when he reappeared from the maze, clutching Cedric’s dead body and babbling about Voldemort being back.

In fifth year, oh in fifth year, for the first time in your life, you were grateful for Potter. Grateful that your Uncle wasn’t alone as he quietly slipped through the veil.

The woods were silent as you and your dad foraged in the clearing for potion ingredients. You were a perfectionist so you would be damned if you lost marks because your ingredients were old and shit. Besides, the silence seemed to work wonders for your dad.

“I’m worried for you, dad.”

He scoffed as he put some ingredients into your basket, “why in the world would you be worried for me?”

You bit your lip as the worry swirled in your stomach, “the Defence Against the Dark Arts position is cursed,” you tried not to think about what had befallen the previous Professors. Snape had left the school the year before and your dad had explained to you that the old potions master was coming back so he’d been asked to fill the role of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

“I don’t want what happened to Uncle Sirius happen to you.”

“Oh, my little star,” he pulled you into a hug, completely encasing you in his arms, “nothing is going to happen to me.”

“Love you, dad.”

“I love you too,” he kissed your forehead, “try to be nice to Harry Potter, this year yeah?”

You grumbled into his chest, “I’m not horrible to him or anything but he just infuriates me so much!”

Regulus snorted with a laugh, “yeah, I know the feeling.”

You cursed beneath your breath as the wheel of your suitcase got stuck. Again. It brought you to a grinding halt.

“Hey, Y/N!” you heard Potter before you saw him as he bent down to unstick the wheel. He was always so kind to you, despite your infuriation with him.

“Thanks Potter,” you went to turn away, but you saw how sad his eyes were, despite his smile, “I appreciate that Sirius wasn’t alone.”

Potter nodded as he pushed his glasses up his nose, “how are you doing with that by the way?”

You shrugged, “didn’t really know him.”

Potter scratched the back of his neck and it wasn’t hard to miss the guilt that spread across his face. You could see Granger and Weasley lingering behind him, “see you later, Potter,” you weren’t in the mood to bond over dead loved ones.

Draco waved at you as you pulled open the compartment door and sat between Blaise and Theo, “saw you talking to Potty,” he commented making you laugh.

“Don’t call him that. And, is this the part where you order me not to talk to him?”

Draco scowled at you, “I don’t care who you talk to, Y/N. Just leave me out of it.”

“Deal,” you grinned.

You spent the first hour sharing food with your friends, listening to Enzo’s stories about his summer in Italy. No one asked about your summer, to outsiders it might have looked like they were being rude but you knew they didn’t want to cause you unnecessary pain. You loved them for that.

Pansy looked up from where she was painting her nails, “isn’t your dad teaching Defence this year?” when you nodded, she smirked, “your dad’s hot.”

“What?!” you squawked.

“Come on! We’ve all seen the photograph of you and him that you put on your bedside. He’s sexy.”

“I agree,” Blaise spoke up, grinning at you, “Regulus Black is a dilf.”

You gagged dramatically, “both of you can keep your filthy mitts off my dad!”

The teasing continued until an eagle owl flew in through the open window looking bedraggled from the earlier rain. It landed on your lap and you took the note from its beak. Sparing a glance at the others, you broke the seal and read the letter, getting worried with every word.

“Mattheo’s not coming back this year,” you said as you passed the letter to Theo.

“Did you see him at yours over the summer?” Blaise asked. Voldemort had been taking up residence in the Malfoy Manor.

Draco shrugged, “when he wasn’t shut up in the guest room,” he glanced at you, “I’m surprised I didn’t see you over the summer.”

“My dad fell out of favour just before I was born,” ever since you were little you’d lived in a cute little house in a valley, by a lake.

But when Voldemort had returned a couple of years prior Regulus had moved you back to his mother’s house. It was unplottable on a map and had various enchantments to deter intruders though your dad still had to use Polyjuice Potion each time he left the house. Maybe Dumbledore has figured that he’d be safer at Hogwarts.

The rest of the journey was sobering as you all constructed a reply back to your friend, hoping he was alright. As the train reached the platform, Pansy outstretched her hand to Draco who stayed seated while the rest of you got up. He told the rest of you to go in ahead and he’d catch up.

You turned to Pansy as you got onto the platform, “you know, you can do a lot better than him right?” she’d had a crush on Draco for years.

“Trust me, I know that now. But, he really is the safest option right now.”

Draco quickly caught up to you while you were waiting to go into The Great Hall, he shoved his hands into his pockets as he followed you in. As you got to the Slytherin table, Pansy pouted as she looked up at the teacher’s table.

“I can’t see your gorgeous dad because Theodore is in the way!”

“I’m not encouraging your sick crush,” Theo laughed as he turned to wink at you.

“Thanks, Theo,” you giggled.

Soon enough, Dumbledore introduced the new Professors, Horace Slughorn and your dad, “there he is,” Pansy hissed in your ear over all the applause, you could hear the smirk in her voice.

Halfway through dinner, Potter walked in holding a bloody rag to his face as he sat down with his friends.

You turned to Draco, “what the fuck did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?”

“You’re the only person who would,” you scoffed as you watched the boy mop at his face with an already bloodied rag. You grabbed a wad of tissues from your bag and walked over, “Potter, here,” you all but pushed the tissues into his hands.

“Y/N, thanks!” he grinned, even though it split his lip open, blood immediately running down his chin.

“Don’t get it twisted, didn’t want to watch you make a scene,” you spun on your heel and walked back across the hall, missing the way that Potter watched you with a dazed expression.

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

Taglist: @hiireadstuff

[infiniteimaginings]

Hi!!! I was just wondering if you could do general dating hc with Andre or Robbie from Victorious! It's alright if you can't have a good rest of your day/night!:)<3

We look good together (Andre Harris x GN!Reader)

Summary: The students of Hollywood Arts talk about what it's like seeing you two together. Pronouns: You/Yours, They/Them Warnings: None Word Count: 2.3k A/N: I don't write head cannons! Sorry I'm just bad at them! I had an idea of how I was writing this in the beginning and then it turned into something completely different, lmao. Here's the friend group talking about how healthy the couple is lol! <33

André Harris was the guy everybody liked. He was handsome, he was kind, smart, musically talented, supportive, and one of the most laid back people at Hollywood Arts.

No one was surprised when André started dating you, it was going to happen at some point. They were mainly surprised with how the dynamics of your relationship worked.

The relationship everyone was used to, wasn’t the best example for relationships. Jade and Beck broke up multiple times and the entire school was still questioning how and why they were still together.

Regardless, everyone was rooting for you guys since your relationship seemed to be the opposite of theirs. In other words, you’re a couple that people actually enjoy inviting places.

The main group: Tori, Beck, Jade, Cat, and Robbie, (and Rex), all sat at their typical lunch table, waiting for you and Andr é.

Jade groaned, placing her hand in front of her eyes, “Why are we waiting?” She asked, face in it’s typical neutral fashion but, it was clear she disliked having to wait in order to get lunch. 

Tori scrunched her nose at Jades current discomfort, “We’re waiting for André and-” 

“Yeah, yeah, his obsession. What do they have to do with anything?”

Beck looked over to Jade and put his arm around her shoulder, “They’ve been dating for months.”

“Yeah, get over yourself.” Tori told her, moving her bag to grab her phone. She began typing out a message to André, asking when he would get there since Jade was already antsy.

Cat ran her hand through her vibrant red curls, adjusting her top. “I think it’s sweet, they look cute together.”

Jade tapped her fingers on the table, “You think everything is cute.”

The redhead simply laughed, showing her dimples as she shook her head, “You don’t think anything’s cute!” 

A voice from the end of the table spoke up, “You’re just mad that everyone likes their relationship more than yours!” 

The comment caused everyone to turn to that person and Robbie was looking down at…Rex. 

Jade smiled with closed eyes, “Shut your puppet up or I cut off all his little limbs and run his plastic head over.” She spoke, eyes widening slowly before narrowing into a nasty glare.

Robbie rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, “He’s not really wrong, it seems like you don’t like them coming together because they get invited to more things than you.” He mumbled, cowering under the dark haired girl's gaze.

“Why would I care that they get invited to places? I barely like anyone here.” She grumbled, leaning into Beck with a roll of her eyes. “Besides, I unfortunately hang out with the same seven people everyday.”

As she said that, a voice spoke from behind them, “They get invited because they bring the energy up instead of dragging it to the dark parts of our memories that we don’t want to touch.” The voice caused everyone but Jade to jump. 

When they all turned, they were met with the oddest friend they’ve ever made at the school, Sinjin Van Cleef. They had no idea whether that was against their will and he was just around a lot, or if they knew him by choice. They never questioned it. 

Beck shook his head at the typical antics of the boy, “What do you mean?” He asked.

Sinjin lit up and moved his way in between Beck and Tori, “I am so glad you asked.” He spoke, already beginning his story, “Just last week…”

It was tech week, preparing for the next show was a usual occurrence at Hollywood Arts. What wasn’t a normal occurrence was Sinjin being the only person to work everything for a few hours since his crewmates had a project during that period. He was the only person with a free period and had to work on the tech since it was currently a disaster.

As he was trying his hardest not to get frustrated and ultimately give up, you and André walked in, smiles on your faces as you talked about anything and everything. André left his phone during practice before the bell, so you guys decided to get it during your free period instead of interrupting class.

You had continued talking to André, looking around at the lights on stage until you looked up and noticed the curly haired boy tapping on his board for some portion of the tech. You tapped on André, bringing his attention to the seemingly irritated boy.

“Hey Sinjin!” He called, grabbing the boy's attention. Sinjin took off his headphones and gave a half wave to the two, “Hey guys.” 

You waved back but, both of you could tell something was wrong. 

André walked a little closer, Sinjin leaning over the rail to keep eye contact. “What’s up man?” André asked, concern lacing his voice since he could see Sinjin's face was blotched with red, as if he was about to cry.

Sinjin sighed, rubbing his eyes and explained the situation. “The rest of the tech crew can’t come in for this period because of some project.” He began, you and your boyfriend nodding along as he spoke. “We have checks tomorrow, so I have to get all this done before the period ends or we’ll have to delay the show.” 

You hummed, “What all are you guys getting checked?”

“Mics, lighting, and the electric steps.” Sinjin answered, reminding them of the scene where the two characters run up the moving stairs, singing with each other. “Without the crew it just takes longer to hear the feedback from mics, to test the steps and see if they really work, and if the lighting hits right.”

You and André looked at each other, almost having a silent conversation before shrugging and turning back to your friend.

André put his phone back on the chair and took your hand, leading you to the stage. 

Sinjin stood to look at you guys better, “Um, what are you guys doing?”

You shook out your nerves a bit and tilted your head, “What does it look like we’re doing?”

“We’re going to help you set up for checks tomorrow.” Your boyfriend answered, walking to the table on stage with the mics. He handed you one of the mics, strapping his own on, “Do all the mics need testing?” He asked, adjusting his hair so the mic would sit comfortably. 

Sinjin sighed with a smile, relief filling him when you guys said you would help and he shook his head. “Just mics 4, 7, 19, and 23.” He informed, to which the two of you nodded. 

You put your mic on, André making sure it was on right. “So, two runs with the mics, alone. Then we could do…” You trailed off, André finishing your aloud thoughts, “A couple runs with mics and lighting, then a few with the stairs.”

And that’s exactly what the two of you did. The two of you knew the choreography since you were in the performance.

You both helped Sinjin with everything he needed and even a bit more with your personal sights, even going as far to hear from outside the door just to check the feedback. All three of you spent the free period finishing up what Sinjin needed.

Once he reached the floor where you guys were packing up, he adjusted his glasses and thanked both of you profusely.

You waved your hand, “Don’t worry about it, anything to help!”

André shook his head, “You’re our friend Sinjin, if you’re ever in that situation again just text us.”

“He’s serious, and so am I. We’ll always be free.”

 Sinjin finished the memory with a sweet smile on his face, “I have never been helped like that.” He told the group, hands clasped together. 

“That’s because you’re a borderline stalker.” Jade replied, head bobbling as a thin smile painted her face at how Sinjin's expression fell.

Beck sighed, huffing out a breath, “Stop it.” He mumbled to her and she rolled her eyes and shook her head, placing her chin into her palm.

Tori hummed a bit, “I think they’re just helpful people on their own.” She shrugged, playing with the holes in the table. “As a couple they just have a different type of…energy.” She tried to explain, which everyone understood.

Cat nodded and smiled widely, “That’s why I think they’re so cute together! I mean have you seen them when they’re near each other?” She asked, remembering each time she’s seen the two of you together.

You were practicing choreography for a project you had with two other students, in one of the empty practice rooms. André was helping with the original music aspect, and he was the only other one there since Cat and the other person in their project hadn’t arrived yet.

When Cat finally did get there, you were near the end of the choreo, and she felt terrible. She entered the room quietly, trying not to interrupt.

When you did finish the choreography, André stopped playing and turned to you with a bright grin, his eyes shining as he looked at you. You walked over to him with a matching grin and stood in between his legs, hands on his shoulders.

“That was absolutely amazing choreography.” He whispered to you, rubbing your sides.

You were breathing a bit heavy but chuckled nonetheless, “Your fantastic original song is why it feels so put together.” You whispered back, your comment causing him to laugh a bit.

The two of you stayed in that position, whispering sweet nothings to one another as you both felt the warmth from each other's hands.

André pulled you in a little closer, lifting his head up to meet your gaze in that position and you lifted one of your hands to cup his face. You leaned down and placed a small kiss to his lips, humming against them when you pulled apart.

Cat couldn’t hear it well but she was sure she heard the two of you whisper,

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

Tori poked her bottom lip out as her eyes were wide in adoration, “That is so sweet.”

Cat pointed to her before clapping a bit, “I know! It was so cute!” She responded, smiling and shimmying her shoulders.

Robbie didn’t quite understand, and he tilted his head, “I don’t get it.” 

“Of course you don’t get it, you have no romance in your life…ever.” A ‘voice’ called from below him, belonging to Rex.

Robbie shook his head and ignored the puppet, “I mean I don’t get it, they’re supposed to like each other. So what if they do it in private?” He asked, his point getting across to all of them.

Tori tilted her own head, “It’s not just in private though. They show that kind of affection all the time and…” She paused, trying to find the right words.

Beck apparently knew the right ones as he swooped a hand through his hair, “Their affection towards one another extends to how they treat other people.” He explained with a nod of his head. “Therefore, making them an extremely likable couple.”

Jade pursed her lips, “Those are just two experiences, for all we know they probably don’t even…what is it..” She mumbled, “Communicate, or whatever.”

Tori raised her brow, pulling up her phone before showing Jade a few pictures. “They got André a custom guitar and a keyboard that his favorite artist used in concert.” She began, holding her finger up when Jade tried to speak, “And his grandma likes them.” She nodded along with her own words, dropping something everyone was surprised about.

“That doesn’t mean-”

This time, Beck actually cut in, “André pulled strings and got them as a backup dancer for their favorite singer's music video.” 

“But do they communicate? You don’t know.”

Cat pursed her lips to the side, “I’m sure they communicate if they’re still together.”

“I mean Beck and Jade are still together, so clearly communication doesn’t mean much.” A voice from Robbies direction spoke out.

This apparently brought Jade to silence as she clenched her jaw and her eye twitched. That was until she suddenly stopped and she blinked at the group with a weird look, “When did this become a share circle?”

“When did what become a share circle?” A voice asked from the side of the table.

You and André sat at the end of the table, it was a little cramped and once they all realized, the main group's eyes went straight to Sinjin. The curly haired boy stood with his mouth in a line, waving goodbye as he walked away.

André’s arm was around your waist and you were holding both of your phones. “Sorry we’re late, the teacher held us back for a minute.” You explained, André confirming with a nod of his head.

“What were you guys talking about?” André asked, raising a brow at everyone, minus Jade, smiling at them.

Tori stood up and shook her head, “Nothing.” She spoke suspiciously with a smile, everyone standing up after her, including you and André.

Jade rolled her eyes, “They were all talking about what a great couple the two of you were.” She spoke, her expression neutral.

The two of you looked at each other and then back at your friends, “What?” You asked simultaneously.

Beck walked with Jade, his arm around her shoulder still, “You two just look good together is all.” He spoke, walking past you. 

The rest of your friends agreed, beginning their walk to the restaurant you guys decided you were going to for lunch.

The two of you were a little shocked so you were stuck, hand and hand, standing in the lunch plaza of your school.

You looked at your boyfriend and shrugged, “I mean, they aren’t wrong.” 

André laughed and shook his head, “Nope, they’re not.” He hummed, walking with you to catch up with your friends. “We do look good together.”

[paper-daisy]

Like many of us I'm doing a TWD rewatch, looking for all those pre-relationship moments, and a great little one in 4x01 is after Michonne arrives back at the prison -- there's a moment where Daryl tells her "Glad to see you're in one piece." HOWEVER, when he says that he turns to look directly at Rick. Who in turn quickly looks away, almost bashful.

You can just imagine what Daryl had to put up with, with Rick in those early days. So I had to fic it.

Rick never said the words aloud. He never outright said, "I'm worried about Michonne. I hope she's okay. I hope she comes back." He was never that obvious. But to someone like Daryl, a man naturally of few words himself, it was clear as day that their fearless leader was never fully relaxed whenever that smartass/badass - who was more than capable of taking care of herself - wasn't safely tucked away behind their walls.

But what Rick would say when she was gone was - "There was a herd moving south, right?" Where Michonne had last gone hung unspoken between them. And when Daryl answered Yeah, Rick would just place his hands on his hips and nod, jaw tight, as he scanned the perimeter of the compound as if waiting for someone to magically appear.

He would say - "There's a lot more bandits out there, roaming in packs. Isn't that what you said?" A grunt and a shrug from Daryl, and Rick would nod like they'd just had a conversation and go back to his farming, digging the shovel into the dirt with a bit more force than necessary, making a point to not look at the fence. They hadn't heard from Michonne in two weeks.

He would say - "Nights are getting cold," while standing outside at the communal kitchen, plate in hand, his gaze always drawn to the barely visable fence line. Daryl had hummed in agreement, fighting the urge to tell him that Michonne should be fine as she had pilfered his poncho, something Rick already knew.

And on one strange occasion he said, "Do you think we should get some more ... art? In here?"

This had stopped Daryl in his tracks. "What?"

Rick shrugged, perhaps a little sheepishly, but continued. "We have a library, potted flowers, even some toys and things for the kids. This is our home now. Thought ... maybe it could use a bit of ... brightening?"

Daryl just starred blankly. "You want me to, what? Bring back pictures?"

For a moment it looked as if Rick was about to finally say what was actually on his mind, before he instead gave a rueful smile and waved his hand in the air as if to dispel the conversation. "Nah, nah, never mind. It was just a thought."

He walked away, leaving an utterly perplexed Daryl behind who simply shrugged and went on his own way. It was only later that day as he passed by Michonne's empty cell did his eyes fall upon that weird colourful cat thing, the one that looked like it was about to start a fight. It was such a stupid, useless thing but Daryl remembered how Michonne had presented it to him with an air of triumph, as if it was the most gorgeous thing in the world. He didn't get it.

Did Rick really think that if he made the place more art-filled, Michonne might want to hang around longer? he wondered, then immediately dismissed the idea. Well, clearly not because he gave up before he started. Like with other things.

Only once had Daryl said the unsaid thing.

Almost everyone was asleep. Well, Carl was hid under his blankets reading comics and there were low conversational sounds coming from some darkened cell, but for the most part things were quiet.

And they were kept quiet by an exhausted Rick, pacing back and forth with a fussy Judith, bouncing her non-stop so her cries wouldn't awaken the entire community. He'd nodded to Daryl, who in turn took a moment to ask if he needed help putting Judith to sleep tonight.

"No, thankyou" said Rick tiredly. "I think she's pretty much worn herself out by now. Should be sound asleep soon."

"You too."

Rick sighed. "Yeah. I just ..." He shifted Judith a little, "Even when I do get to bed, I can't seem to stop thinking. Thinking of plans for the future, for the people we have in here. The people we bring in. How to protect everyone inside these walls. Keep our people safe despite ... well, despite everything." Rick looked at Daryl as if he might have the answers to those questions he hadn't quite asked.

All he could do was shrug. "We just try. Trust that we all know what we're doing. Lookout for everyone here. Not much more we can do, is there? Future don't care about anyone's plans."

Rick didn't look totally reassured, but he still smiled slightly as Daryl's efforts. "Yeah. I just worry, is all."

"I know." And as Daryl passed by he gripped Rick's shoulder and muttered, "Shouldn't worry so much. Michonne'll be back, all in one piece. You'll see."

And the man had the audacity to look confused, stuttering out, "Yeah, I know that, but - but I wasn't talking about Michonne, specifically. I'm not worried about her. She can take care of herself, I know that, and she always comes back, it's just ... with everything ..."

As he trailed off Daryl eyed Rick critically for a moment. He really thinks he's selling it, he thought, before giving a soft grunt that was akin to laughter and wandering off to bed, leaving a somewhat disconcerted Rick behind, gently bouncing a sleeping Judith.

And the very next day who should come riding through the gates but one Michonne, smiling, baring gifts and all in one piece, as Daryl made sure to point out to Rick, who's ears suddenly went bright red as if Michonne might somehow be able to figure out that they'd been taking about her just that night before.

But she didn't notice. She was too caught up in her almost obsessive search for the Governor and already planning her next venture out, unaware of Rick's barely suppressed disappointment or of the sigh that Daryl kept clenched behind his teeth as he tried to subtly talk her out of another long run. It wasn't her who was stuck with Rick and his wordless pining.

Because it was pining, even if he never said nothing. If they were in school Daryl might've suggested he pass her a note.

When she had quickly offered to go back out again with the rest of the scavenging party - even though, as Carl had said wistfully, she'd just got back - and Daryl could do nothing more than give Rick a comforting pat, grimacing slightly as the man's expression said exactly the same thing his son had vocalised.

God, this was going to wear thin soon.

Ah well. Wasn't like they had TV anymore.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hi! Hope you’re doing well! 😊 I was wondering if I could request something fluffy? How about a story where reader moves in with Donna, bringing along her cat? At first, Donna might be scared of the cat or worried it will scratch and ruin her dolls. But over time, she starts to really like R's furry friend.

And btw, you’re my favorite author on this app! Love you!

Yesss!!!!! Thank you for your request and for you words of support :)))!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!!

A furry member of the family

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff,

Word count: 6,701

Summary: You think Donna doesn't like your friend...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“That's all, I guess,” you sighed after your last trip to the estate, one from which you would never return.

Those cracked walls, that humid and floral essence that made up the old mansion were not simply a place to visit. It was finally your home.

Of course, a mansion was much better than the humble cabin you had in the village.

You were always a happy, cheerful girl, one who saw the good side of things, the light in the middle of so much darkness. It might seem very daring to smile at the life that had been offered to you, but still, you did it.

The Cult, the Black Gods, Mother Miranda, the Lords... Everything that surrounded you seemed enough reason to bow your head and pray for, every night that you closed your eyes, you would still be able to open them again.

Fear, submission and faith were things you lived with, that you ignored as much as possible so your smile would never disappear. Neither the lycans, nor all the sermons, nor the rumors surrounding those divine authorities scared you.

In that village there was no bogeyman, no deceiving witch, no terrible wolf with an insatiable appetite. No, the fear with which mothers cradled their children didn’t come from legends, the danger was real. But… did you care? Not at all.

Living alone in that dark world seemed terrible, but actually, it wasn't.

But your days of solitude, your humble and quiet life in that old cabin would not last forever.

As if you were the pagan mockery of the Gods, you made your way through that dark corridor, into that blind spot that people refused to look at. The Lords seemed like monsters, but deep down, they were people.

That almost utopian thought with which your eyes turned to those dangerous figures could have cost your life, but it didn't.

Among all those mysterious beings, there was one in particular that had caught your attention: A woman who was said to be deformed, sick, dangerous, disturbed, the youngest of the Four Lords, the woman in mourning, covered with a black veil, Donna Beneviento.

It didn't matter how many times you had heard absurd things about that woman, about what she was capable of. Curiosity overcame the irrational fear of the unknown.

Convinced that things weren't so dire, that those rumors were an exaggeration, you decided to put your own optimism to the test, to put the joy of living you had to deal with every day to the test.

Meeting that lonely woman was a risky step, knowing that, indeed, the rumors were true but bordered on legend, was the best decision of your life. Selling your handmade clay works, you got a glimpse of the mystery surrounding that woman in black.

You weren't particularly good at making and painting vases, but to her, it seemed like art. Maybe it was just because the clay resembled the porcelain she worked with.

What seemed like an innocent first visit, led to many more, led to continuous commissions from the lady in black. It could be a boost to your humble business but... You never saw it that way, especially when, after a rainy afternoon, you stopped being a saleswoman to become a guest.

A quiet dinner, an unknown kindness… Donna was strange, yes, a few words woman, with a hoarse voice, a stoic pose. As time went by, the rain and the inclement weather stopped being excuses for you to spend time with her.

Like a story marinated over time, cooked slowly with patience and curiosity, you came to understand that the joy that characterized you only came to light when Lady Beneviento was near.

Sad in her solitude, happy in your company.

 It seemed like a difficult phrase to decipher until, after seeing the horror that the veil claimed to contain, you gave a name to your feelings. Yes, you loved her. She was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Nothing, not her scar, not her problems were reasons to come back home that night, the night in which your lips finally met.

It was an unexpected love, a welcome one, a love you would never regret, one you would enjoy day after day until, after her constant insistence, you decided to take that last step and move in with her.

Her little pleas, her fear of losing you, her crises… Everything would be much better with you always by her side. You couldn't say why it took you so long to accept that house, with that woman, even with that sinister and rude doll, was the place you wanted to be.

“Is that all?” the lady asked, nervously playing with her hands while you looked around at that pile of stuff you brought from your old cabin.

You looked at her and nodded with a smile, walking slowly to calm her nerves with a small kiss.

“Well, I was missing, but here I’m,” you whispered affectionately, losing yourself in the brightness of that beautiful eye, of those features that only you had the privilege of admiring.

“So... I won't have to wait to see you through the window anymore?” Donna asked, gently grabbing your waist while you shook your head.

“No,” you said amused, panting when, with a grip typical of romantic novels, the lady bent you over, held by her grip while she kissed you again, in a way that you could only see in her movies. “Hey... Donna...”

She laughed after kissing and again, and again. That woman with a hidden smile, who never laughed, who didn't feel, who had no heart according to her legend, seemed happier than ever.

“I'm so happy, tesoro...” she murmured, helping you to get up, playing with your hands affectionately. “I can't believe you're here…”

“Well, well,” you laughed, fighting those quick kisses with which your face was adored. “Anyway, it was like I lived here.”

“But you always left… You always left me…” she lamented, caressing your cheek.

The sparkle in her eye was erratic. She could transmit happiness, but also madness, sadness and fear at the same. Luckily, you had already gotten used to it.

You shook your head, sighing as you heard her verbalize her greatest fears again; the fear of you abandoning her, of being alone again.

Only your smile was enough to calm her nerves, just one look, one to which the two of you had become hopelessly addicted.

“Ahhhhhhh!” an irritating squeal took you out of that romantic moment.

It shouldn't have surprised you. Donna and you weren't the only inhabitants of that place. Always by Donna's side, always ready to remind you of your simple village status, there was Angie.

“Angie, per favore… Don't squeal…” the lady whispered, annoyed by the interruption.

You shook your head, downplaying it, pulling her chin so your lips would collide again.

“Donna, Donna!” the doll shouted, ignoring her owner, running towards you and pulling her dress hard. “Donna, you fool, stop mixing fluids with (Y/N) and listen to me!”

“Oh, Angie, che vuoi?” Donna said, with a look of disgust, causing the puppet to let her dress go.

“Mo-Mo-Mo-Mo monster…” the doll stammered, pointing towards your stuff. “Monster!”

“Monster?” you asked amused, looking where the puppet had pointed. Oh, yes, surely for Angie it would be a monster. “Oh, that's right…”

You separated painfully from your lover, walking slowly towards your luggage and taking the box the doll indicated.

“Don't bring it near here!” Angie protested, taking refuge behind her owner, who looked at you with curiosity. “Donna, a monster…”

“It's not a monster,” you said, with a firm voice, opening the small gate of the box and taking out its contents.

“Don't take it out of there, silly!” the puppet shrieked again, causing a sigh of annoyance from the doll maker, who seemed to look at you perplexed.

“Why?” you asked amused, cradling your pet in your arms. “It's such a cutie…”

Oh, that's right. You forgot to mention to the lady in black that you didn't live completely alone. On one of your days out, you found what would become your faithful companion, a cat, one with black fur and bright eyes.

“(Y/N)? What is that?” Donna asked with a frown, looking at the feline suspiciously.

You, with the animal still in your arms, smiled, moving his paw in greeting.

“A cat,” you said amused. Donna was confused, gently shaking her head. “My cat.”

“Your cat? Since when do you have a cat?” the lady asked, stepping back, with Angie cowardly taking refuge behind her dress.

“Oh, for a couple of years now,” you explained, extending the animal's paw towards her again. “Meet Bubbles.”

“Bubbles,” she repeated, with a confused sigh.

You nodded, proud of your cat, of its black fur, of the company it offered to your strange life.

“Yeah, I found him in the river. The poor thing was frozen to death. I rescued him and well...” you said, petting the animal, who purred peacefully in your arms.

“Get that furry thing out of my sight, silly!” Angie shouted, comically poking her head out.

You put on a haughty look, hugging the animal closer while shaking your head.

“Oh, come on, are you scared of a kitten?” you joked, putting it down on the floor.

“I'm not scared!” Angie shouted, following the curious animal with her gaze.

“Um, (Y/N)...” Donna said, in a low tone, approaching again but trying to surround the cat instead of interrupting its exploration. “You didn't tell me you had a cat.”

“Didn’t I? I think I really did,” you said, blinking in confusion. “Don't you listen to me when I talk to you, darling?” you joked.

Donna smiled shyly, not finding the right words.

“Yes, I... You're just so beautiful...” she sighed, biting her lip and running a soft hand over your neck. “Sometimes I get lost in your gaze.”

“Donna...” you murmured, laughing amused by the compliment, by her eternal flattery. “Hey, there's no problem, right?”

Donna moved away a little, glancing sideways at the cat, which also seemed attentive to the conversation.

“No, but...” she whispered, scratching the back of her neck. “(Y/N), I... I wasn't expecting a cat.”

“Relax, it's a good boy,” you said, with an innocent look.

The lady laughed nervously, shaking her head.

“Good? He’s a scratching and biting machine! He can’t stay here!” Angie protested, running away from the animal, which seemed to have caught a curious interest in the doll, who fled cowardly.

“You’re a biting and scratching machine too, and here you are,” you said in a cocky tone, crossing your arms.

“I’m the Great Angie, silly,” said the doll, comically running away from Bubbles. “I live here, not like that furry thing.”

“The Great Angie…” you muttered, rolling your eyes, seeing how Donna seemed to think the same as her doll, looking at your cat distrustfully. “Come on, it’s just a cat.”

“A cat…” Donna sighed, blinking erratically. “(Y/N) I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Why not? He keeps a lot of company,” you said, a little worried about the lady’s reaction.

“Yes, but…” Donna said, tilting her head towards the animal, which comically, like in a comedy movie, did the same. “What if he scratches the furniture?”

“He won't,” you answered immediately, starting to get nervous.

“Oh, okay but…” she murmured, stopping looking at the animal and getting closer to you. “My, my dolls, (Y/N), he might, might ruin them.”

“Yes, and that includes me!” Angie added, without taking her eyes off your furry companion.

“If you don't want him to live with us, say it clearly, Donna,” you said, with a cold look.

“It's not that, it's just…” she said, breathing heavily, walking towards you, putting her legs over the cat and grabbing your shoulders. “He could, he could stay on the grounds and then he'd have… Freedom to… Well, to do cat stuff.”

“No, I'm not leaving him,” you denied, with a more intense look. “He's my friend.”

“Your friend…” Donna snorted, turning her head back to the cat, which was walking elegantly around you. “Tesoro, I…”

“He was so alone…” you said, pouting. “You can't ask me to leave him…”

“I didn't say that,” the lady said, frowning.

Okay, plan B.

“Please, Donna…” you said in a sweet voice, bringing your hands together and making puppy dog ​​eyes as you leaned towards her. “Let him stay… Please…”

“Don't get fooled, Donna! She's a manipulator!” Angie squealed, eliciting a subtle growl from you, who never lost that innocent look.

“Please, please…” you insisted, gracefully moving your lower lip, your eyes shining.

“Oh, Io…” she stammered, looking at you and then at the cat repeatedly. “But, but…”

You tilted your head, emphasizing your pout.

“Va bene…” she finally sighed, causing you to throw yourself into her arms with a dazzling smile, covering her cheek with kisses.

“Mmm, thank you, thank you, thank you,” you said as you jumped for joy, picking up your pet from the floor. “Did you hear that, Bubbles? You can stay.”

“But, but…” Donna interrupted, putting a hand on your chest to get you to move away. “You’ll be the one to take care of him.”

“Sure,” you said, nodding, kissing the cat’s head, which purred pleased. “Say hello, Bubbles… Say hello, Donna… Come on, pet him.”

“Um, I…” the lady stammered, slowly bringing her hand closer to the animal, a trembling hand that passed through the cat's black fur. He meowed surprisingly, causing the lady to back away in fear.

“Oh, don't be scared,” you said amused. “He’s an adorable ball of fur, you'll see.”

“If, if you say so…” she murmured, playing with her hands, with a confused look.

“Donna, you silly…” Angie hissed, tugging at her dress again. “He's an evil beast. He's going to bring us a lot of trouble.”

“You are an evil beast,” you said, amused, placing some of your stuff away while owner and doll watched the movements of the cat, which sniffed around curiously. “Honey, help me with this.”

Donna approached cautiously, helping you move your delicate clay bowls. “Do you think there will be room for everything?”

“Yes,” she answered dryly, without losing sight of the animal, which climbed onto the small table where Donna sewed from time to time, looking with interest at one of the wool balls.

“Stop worrying...” you sighed, cupping her face in your hands. “He won't give you any trouble.”

“Hey, you furry burglar!” Angie shrieked, causing a loud scandal when Bubbles grabbed one of the balls in his jaws, fleeing in terror, leaving a trail of yellow thread around the house.

Donna looked at you with a frown while you blushed.

“Um, I'll buy you another one…” you said shyly, scratching your head.

“You mean I'll buy another one,” she said in a low voice, sighing annoyed.

You shrugged your shoulders with the best weapon you had, your innocent smile.

The lady in black reluctantly agreed to live with Bubbles, although she wasn’t able to hide her dissatisfaction. You were not going to get rid of your companion, that was clear. You would have to work very hard for Donna to adapt to this new member of the family.

The days passed calmly, well, relatively calmly. The doll maker was tense, she wasn’t comfortable with the intruder. She always watched him from afar. She didn’t approach him despite the fact that, since you rescued him, he didn’t stop following you everywhere, day and night.

“Donna, please…” you begged one night already tucked into bed, while the brunette was quietly reading, or rather, pretending to read.

“No,” she replied with a sigh, with a cold look.

“He misses me,” you repeated, using your best acting skills.

The days were simple. The house was big and it wasn't hard for the lady in black to avoid contact with the cat, but… The nights, oh, the nights were very different.

The agonizing meows of poor Bubbles echoed off the walls of the mansion despite being in the basement. You, like every night, begged your girlfriend to let you take him down with you.

“I said no,” Donna hissed, frowning every time the cat meowed desperately. “Oh, taci… Taci!”

“He meows because he wants to be here with us,” you explained, pointing at the ceiling. “He was used to sleeping with me.”

“Well, he'll have to get used to not doing that,” Donna murmured, turning a page of that book she wasn't reading.

“But Donna…” you said with a sad look. “I promise he won't bother us, just…”

“No,” she insisted, shaking her head. “He can meow all night long if he wants.”

“You're… Ugh,” you protested, waving your arms exaggeratedly. The lady in black didn't flinch at your gestures, blinking disinterestedly. “You're a grumpy witch.”

“What did you call me?” she hissed, with a dangerous look.

“Grumpy witch,” you repeated cockily, looking at your nails with disinterest. “Aren't you a powerful Lord? I can't believe you're scared of a cat…”

“I'm not scared of the cat,” Donna protested, putting the book on her lap, gritting her teeth.

“Please…” you said amused. “You haven't been near him in two weeks. He scares you, admit it.”

“Okay, yes, he scares me,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm scared because he'll destroy my dolls, and my house.”

“Our house,” you joked, with a raised finger. “And he doesn't do that, you've already know.”

“Mm, yes, I've seen how, mysteriously, all my wool balls have disappeared, and how curious, that thing always seems to be present at the crime scene,” the lady in black commented, with a proud look.

“Oh, you're such a great detective,” you mocked, running a hand over her shoulders and kissing her cheek. “It must be very stressful for him to be in a new place, you have to understand.”

“No, it's not stressful for him, it's stressful for me,” she said, gently pushing you away. “Shut up once and for all!”

“Shhh, don't yell,” you protested. “He would shut up if you let him down.”

“No,” she said again, with a dark look.

You shrugged and lay down on the bed.

“Fine, enjoy the concert then,” you said angrily, covering yourself with the sheets.

Donna sighed, getting a little closer to you and resting her head on your shoulder.

“I think we could do something to distract ourselves,” she purred in your ear, kissing your neck. You tried not to smile at that seductive display of affection, but you couldn't help it.

“Mm, what are you thinking?” you said, with a mischievous smile, letting the lady lay you down on your back while kissing you.

“I don't know...” she whispered with a mischievous smile.

“Meow”

“Ah!” Donna squealed, when a too close meow interrupted what seemed like a night of passion.

Bubbles appeared on the floor of the room, sitting, looking at you with curiosity.

“Bubbles!” you shouted, a bit scared too. “But what are you doing here?”

“I let him go down!” Angie said, entering the room too, with her hands on her hips. “He wouldn't stop meowing!”

“Angie…” Donna protested, moving away from you and looking at the cat with distrust.

“I can’t sleep with that evil beast next to me!” the doll protested.

“Were you sleeping?” you asked, stroking the cat, who had climbed onto the bed, satisfied, rubbing himself on your body. “Are you even aware of being sleepy?”

“You don't have a brain and you’re alive, so don't ask stupid questions,” Angie mocked, with a cocky pose.

“No, no, get down,” Donna said, pushing the animal, who, apparently, wanted to greet her too. “Down, down.”

“See? He just wants some company,” you said, watching how, despite Donna's rejection, the animal insisted, climbing onto the bed again and again.

“Angie…” she sighed when the puppet also climbed onto the bed, settling into her favorite spot, between you two. “Go away, and take that furry thing with you.”

“No! If he stays, so do I,” the doll said, pushing you. “Get away, silly.”

You laughed in amusement, shaking your head.

“Well, it looks like we have company tonight,” you commented, letting your pet lay down net to you.

Donna groaned and turned around.

“Just tonight, you hear me?” she hissed, turning off the light.

“Yes, yes…” you said amused, closing your eyes.

Of course, that warning didn’t come to pass.

The days passed and the nights stopped being little, solitary moments just for Donna and you, well, almost all of them.

It seemed that the lady in black was slowly adapting to the animal, but a show of affection on her part was still just a fantasy.

One afternoon, you and Donna were reading quietly. Your body on hers lovingly, her breathing calm, everything was perfect. The lady in black turned the pages while caressing your hair, giving you soft kisses from time to time, kisses followed by tender giggles, sincere smiles.

But, also from time to time, the lady looked up, observing Bubbles, who sat in front of you, looking at you with curiosity, almost without moving. Donna looked at him briefly and went back to her reading, moving uncomfortably.

That gesture was repeated several times, which made you have to hold back your laughter.

“Your cat won't stop looking at me,” Donna whispered, frowning, watching the animal over her book.

“He probably finds you curious,” you said, leaning a little closer to her. “Don't pay attention to him.”

“Curious?” she asked, turning the page while you shook your head.

“Hey, I wasn't finished yet,” you protested, returning the book to its previous page. “Are you actually reading?”

“It's hard for me to read with those eyes piercing through my soul,” she commented, with a serious voice, looking at the animal whenever she could.

“Donna...” you sighed, kissing her cheek, a gesture that finally managed to get a tender smile from the lady in black. “You know I love you, right?”

“Not as much as I do,” she whispered with a sweet voice, emphasized by her subtle accent, one that you adored. “Ti amo così tanto…”

“Mm,” you purred amused, rubbing your head on her shoulder with a tender smile, closing your eyes. “You have to teach me to speak Italian…”

“Mm?” she murmured, curious, running her free hand over your body, bringing you a little closer to her. “Do you want to learn?”

“Yes, I would really like to be able to say those beautiful words you say,” you whispered, sighing relaxedly. Donna looked at you and nodded, kissing you briefly on the lips.

“A language is neither pretty nor ugly, (Y/N). The important thing about words is the feelings with which you say them,” she commented, sighing too, without looking at you, with her eye fixed on the book.

“Oh, is that the first lesson?” you asked amused, biting your lip.

Donna nodded slowly, looking up, and startled.

“Hey, where did he go?” she asked in a different tone, sitting up.

“Who?” you asked, annoyed due to the lack of contact.

“Your, your cat, where is he? He was here just a moment ago,” the lady said, looking around.

“Leave him alone, he must have gotten bored of watching us read,” you said in a calm voice, burying yourself in her chest again.

“Mm,” she murmured, changing the calmness of her face to a tense one, with her one eye half-closed.

“Hey, get down from there!” Angie's screams interrupted that peaceful calm, that romantic moment.

The two of you looked at the source of them.

Apparently, Bubbles felt like doing some climbing, and had gone up onto one of the cupboards in the living room, walking dangerously among some of Donna's dolls.

“Cazzo…” the lady growled, closing the book and approaching the cupboard. “Come down from there!”

You stood up a bit worried. Bubbles was certainly not the most agile cat in the world.

“Bubbles,” you said, approaching slowly. “Come down, come on,” you ordered the animal, pointing to the floor.

The cat, as if he wanted to make fun of you, meowed, licking one of his paws and continuing on his way.

“Oh, no…” Donna said, running towards the furniture when that furry body dangerously passed by one of the dolls, causing it to fall.

The brunette picked it up before it crashed to the floor and, after that, many others fell.

With almost impossible juggling, the lady in black picked up each of those four dolls, having to throw herself to the floor to pick up the last one.

You and Angie looked at each other briefly at Donna's funny moves and nodded, starting to clap.

“Bravo, Donna,” you said amused, under the intense gaze of the brunette, who played with the dolls in her arms.

“That was spectacular, Don,” Angie joked, clapping at the same time as you, in a comical way.

The lady growled, but before she could protest and get up from the floor, a furry ball landed on her stomach, making her protest.

“Ow!”

Bubbles, proud of his actions, rubbed his body against the brunette's face before leaving her body.

“Gatto…” she hissed, rubbing the spot where your pet landed while you, holding back your laughter, extended a hand to help her up.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” you asked amused, helping her put her dolls away from the cat claws that surrounded them.

“I'll be fine when that… Thing…” she mumbled, alternating unpleasant murmurs with what were surely insults in Italian.

“Well, there are no victims,” you commented amused, placing a hat on one of the dolls while the lady shook her dress.

“Teach that creature some manners!” Angie protested, pointing at the cat, which was once again looking at you with curiosity. “He almost killed my friends.”

“How dramatic,” you mocked, helping the brunette regain her composure. “I'm sorry, Donna.”

“You're sorry…” she growled. “Angie is right. You should train your pet better.”

“It's a cat, I can't stop him from wanting to climb on things,” you said, glancing sideways at the animal that seemed to starting to harass Angie.

“Donna!” the doll squealed, fleeing from his timid claws. “I'm not a toy!”

“Bubbles…” you sighed, rubbing your eyes as the cat chased the doll. “Come on, be a good cat.”

Your words, which normally had no effect, seemed to stop the animal, who meowed playfully, moving away from you when the doll, tired of being chased, distracted it with one of the wool balls, his favorite toy.

“Donna, are you okay?” you asked, placing a hand on the brunette's shoulder, who seemed to be putting the clothes on those dolls. She nodded reluctantly as you pulled her towards you.

“That cat... He's going to give me a lot of trouble,” she whispered, letting herself be comforted by your caresses.

“He still has to adapt,” you defended him. “It's not easy for him.”

“You've spoiled him, that creature needs rules,” the lady snapped, moving away from you a little so your charms wouldn't dazzle her again.

“Oh, come on…” you sighed, rolling your eyes.

“My sister's cat had better manners,” she explained, crossing her arms.

“Did your sister have a cat?” you asked curiously.

Donna nodded with a frown.

“Yes,” the lady answered dryly.

You knew you couldn't insist, that her family was a dangerous subject, but you couldn't help it.

“I'm sure she spoiled it too, am I wrong?” you said with a haughty tone.

“It was on the grounds, we never let it to enter the house, my father didn't allow it,” Donna said, shaking her head. “It's where cats have to be.”

“What nonsense,” you said a bit annoyed.”-I'm sure your sister wanted it to be with her, didn't she?”

“That doesn't matter, the rules are the rules,” she said, with a tone that was darkening little by little.

“Yes, of course,” you sighed angrily, crossing your arms.

The lady didn't answer, as if she had suddenly remembered something, as if she had realized who she was talking about without meaning to. Her hand began to tremble and her eye opened as she blinked nervously.

“Oh, Donna... Donna...” you said in a different tone, observing the brunette's reaction, the trembling of her body and the erratic movements of her head. A condition that, unfortunately, you already knew. “Hey, Donna, my love...”

“Claudia!” she shrieked, furious, squeezing her head between her hands, shaking it effusively. “Claudia! È colpa mia!”

“No, no, no, no, darling, calm down...” you said nervously, putting a hand on her shoulders to reassure her, something that didn't work, as she pushed them away abruptly, kicking furiously.

“Claudia, perdonami, sorella!” Donna shrieked again, completely losing control, pulling at her hair as she growled angrily. “Claudia, tesoro!”

“Donna, no, no, hey, don't do that, stop, my love…” you said hastily, fighting against her grip. “It's okay, my love, I'm with you, it wasn't your fault.”

“Chiudi il becco!” she shouted, pushing you away furiously, with one eye shining with the madness of her soul. “È colpa mia! Mia!”

“No, darling, it's not true, it was an accident, remember?” you said in a soft voice, unable to handle that crisis.

“Look what you've done, stupid! Donna's nervous again!” Angie protested, helping you calm her owner's madness, something impossible.

“No, no, lasciami! Lasciami stare!” the lady shrieked, slowly lowering herself to the floor, crawling along it as if she was running away from something, from her own demons.

“Donna,” you said, also lowering to the floor and putting a hand on the wall so Donna wouldn't hit her head against it. “Shhh, darling, please come to your senses. Donna, my love… I'm here with you.”

“Sono una stupida… Stupida!” The mad lady kicked while the cat, apparently unaffected by the screams, approached her.

“Shit… Bubbles, not now…” you said fearfully watching how the animal approached the lady, looking at her curiously. “Go, please…”

The animal didn’t listen. He simply walked elegantly towards Donna, climbing up her body, purring strangely.

“Bubbles…”you said with a nervous look, watching as he settled on her chest with a soft meow, rubbing against her face.

Donna stood still, breathing heavily, but making no effort to push the animal away, in fact, her hand moved to the black fur, caressing it with a trembling hand.

Her breathing miraculously calmed as her hand ran along the animal’s back, which seemed not to want to leave her, rubbing affectionately against her, soothing her tormented soul.

“Wow…”you sighed, watching as Donna’s gaze stopped being erratic, as her eye returned to its usual shine.

The cat purred triumphantly, briefly licking the brunette’s face before climbing down from her body with a discreet meow.

“(Y/N)… What?” the doll maker stammered, blinking in confusion. “Gods…”

“Oh, Donna, my love… How are you feeling?” you asked, ignoring Bubbles and grabbing your girlfriend's face, looking for possible wounds or scratches.

“F-Fine, I think,” she murmured, blinking nervously and turning her head towards the cat who, with a graceful movement, climbed onto the couch to take a well-deserved nap.

“Okay, up,” you said, helping her up and running a hand over her forehead. “You're soaked, honey… I'll prepare a hot bath for you, would you like it?”

She nodded, her gaze fixed on the cat, who was licking himself disinterestedly.

Well, crisis over. You didn't expect Bubbles' help, of course, but apparently, it was one of the reasons that made the lady regain her sanity, something admirable, of course.

After the hot bath, it was time to make dinner. Donna hummed quietly in the kitchen while you, having nothing better to do, kept her company.

“You look fine,” you commented, leaning on the wooden counter. She smiled tenderly, stirring something in a small pot.

“Yes, I'm much better, thank you, (Y/N),” she whispered gratefully, focused on the kitchen, as always.

“What are you cooking?” you asked, hugging her around the waist.

Donna, after kissing you quickly, pointed with her head to a bowl with a salad.

“Do you fancy some?” she asked in a low voice. You nodded curiously, looking again at that small pot.

“Yes, of course,” you said, pointing to its contents. “Boiled chicken?”

“Yes,” Donna replied, turning off the gas.

“Well, I prefer grilled chicken for salads,” you commented, scratching the back of your neck.

Donna laughed, shaking her head.

“It's not for us, tesoro,” the lady said, picking up a clay bowl, one you already knew, one with a name engraved on it. “It's for Bubbles.”

“For Bubbles?” you asked suspiciously.

“Yes,” Donna said, nodding slightly.

“Oh...” you murmured. “Wow, it's the first time you call him by his name and not a furry thing, or a vermin, or a scratch-everything monster or...”

“I admit that I have to thank him, he's helped me a lot,” she said, sighing. “You know, before, when... I lost, I lost my temper.”

You nodded with a smile as she prepared that delicious reward lunch.

“Honestly, I didn't know he was good at it,” you commented, tilting your head.

“Me neither,” she whispered, winking at you. “But hey, I think he deserves a reward. Will you help me?”

You nodded a bit confused, but you obeyed.

“Kitty?” Donna asked with a radiant smile, looking for the feline around the house and showing the bowl with his food. “Look what I have for you.”

“Bubbles?” you called him, something that wasn't necessary, because, as soon as he heard Donna's voice, he walked quickly towards her.

“That's it... Good cat...” the lady said, bending down to run a hand over his head, something the animal thanked with a meow while purring, looking at the bowl curiously. “Do you like chicken, little one?”

“Oh, sure,” you said amused, putting your plates on the table. “He likes anything.”

The cat rubbed itself on your lover's legs while she, laughing shyly, approached you, closely followed by the hungry Bubbles, who licked his lips with pleasure.

“That's it... Good kitty, I hope you eat it all, huh?” Donna said affectionately.

You frowned and looked at Angie, who shrugged with a gesture of disgust.

“Damn manipulative beast...” the doll whispered. “Look at that…”

You obeyed, watching the affection your pet gave to the lady in black as she served him his reward, one that he gladly accepted, of course.

“Donna,” you said, drawing the attention of the brunette, who looked at the black cat with curiosity. “Are you coming to dinner or should I serve you another bowl?” you joked.

She stood up nodding, smiling at the cat and sitting in her chair.

“Is that chicken?” Angie asked, pointing at the feeder. Donna and you looked at each other and nodded. “How lucky, Your Majesty! Hey, Donna, Donna, you've never done anything like that to me!” the puppet protested, tugging at her owner's black dress.

“You don't have a stomach,” Donna murmured, elegantly serving you a glass of wine.

“No, well… But, but I've helped you more times than that furball,” the doll defended herself, looking up and down at the feline, who was licking his delicious food, looking at Angie with curiosity.

“Don't be jealous,” you joked, of course, causing an annoyed gasp from the puppet, who protested by kicking the floor.

“Jealous? Donna, I think we need to talk,” Angie said, crossing her arms while Bubbles sniffed her. “Hey, get away! Get away!”

The cat meowed curiously, licking Angie briefly, something that calmed her protests.

“Did you see that?” the doll asked. Donna smiled and looked at her, nodding. “It's adorable!”

“Wow, your mind changes quickly,” you teased, continuing with your dinner as the puppet cautiously ran a wooden hand over the cat, who rubbed himself against her, causing Angie to fall comically.

“Oh…” Angie moaned, getting up and wrapping her arms around the cat, something the animal didn't protest about, but instead meowed happily. “He loves me too.”

That was a turning point.

Miraculously, everything changed after that horrible crisis. You couldn't say why, whether it was because of Bubbles' loving altruism, or because Donna had already gotten used to his presence, but... Everything seemed different.

The lady in black seemed much less bothered by the black cat, in fact, she no longer protested every time he got on the couch, or every time he approached her to play.

You even started to get a little jealous. Yes, he was your cat, but mysteriously, he increasingly preferred the company of the lady in black, even Angie’s. It didn't bother you at all, although many times those hands that caressed you stopped doing so, moving on to your pet's black fur.

Well, of course your love continued to burn as always, only that, in addition to an irreverent doll, in your routine, there was always Bubbles, eager to receive Donna's displays of affection, as well as her delicious special meals.

You couldn't compete with a boiled chicken or desalted tuna, you just couldn't.

“Bubbles...” you said, one morning, spending your time with clay while Donna was working on her dolls in the basement.

Everything seemed normal but... There was something strange in the house, or rather, there wasn't something.

Bubbles, although dazzled by Donna, was still your faithful companion, one who stayed by your side while you worked. That day you couldn't find him and you started to worry.

“Where are you?” you asked, getting up from the lathe and looking under the chairs. Nothing, no sign of the cat. Your gaze went to the doll, which seemed distracted, wandering around the house like she always do. “Angie...”

You growled nervously.

Yes, the puppet had also gotten used to the cat, but it was a terribly jealous doll, she cared day after day to prove it to you, to remind you that you had "stolen her Donna."

She had no reason to hurt the animal, in fact you thought she had already gotten used to its presence but, deep down, you feared she had carelessly (or on purpose) let it out of the mansion.

“What do you want, silly?” the doll asked, annoyed by your interruption.

“Where is Bubbles?” you asked, crossing your arms and stamping your feet impatiently.

“Do I look like a zoo keeper? I don't know where he is,” Angie said, with the same cocky gesture as you.

“Ugh…” you protested, walking through the house. Nothing, no sign of the cat, again.

Scared that it had escaped, you started to get nervous, walking quickly towards the elevator.

“Donna, Donna,” you said hurriedly, opening the doors of the workshop.

The lady turned around a bit surprised, bringing a finger to her lips.

“Shh,” she hissed at you, making you roll your eyes.

“Hey, I know you don't like me disturbing you but…” you said in a calmer voice, walking towards her. “I can't find Bubbles. I don't know if that evil doll has something to do with it but…”

Your words faded away when the lady in black turned more, showing you a black lump that camouflaged itself with her dress. Bubbles, that traitor cat, slept peacefully on her lap, something he didn't do even with you.

“Oh, I don't believe it…” you sighed in disbelief, being reprimanded again by a brusque gesture from the lady.

“Hey, lower your voice, tesoro, you're going to wake him up…” she whispered, running her hand over the cat's head, who purred at the contact.

You blinked several times and shook your head.

“I can't believe it,” you murmured with a surprised expression. “I thought Bubbles was totally forbidden to come down here.”

“Well…” she whispered, smiling at the animal with a tender look. “He's insistent…”

“Yes, and a treacherous manipulator too,” you joked, petting him.

Donna laughed, shaking her head and showing you what she was working on.

“Look, tesoro, I'm making a little bed for him,” the lady said, proudly. “We can put it in the bedroom, what do you think?”

“What do I think?” you asked amused, bending down to kiss her cheek. “I think I love you, Donna.”

Well, at least Bubbles was now a member of the family, an important one for all of you.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 4

MASTERLIST

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Summary: You and Messmer come to some sort of agreement.

A/N: This is a shorter chapter, but I promise to provide something juicy for the next one!

A03 link

-

Chapter 4: An Accord

When you're dressed in a cleaner pair of knight's trousers, boots and shirt, you are directed back to the room you dreaded returning to. Messmer's throne room was just as dimly lit as when you first entered, with the Lord awaiting you like an emperor on his throne. 

He was regal and poised, wracking his sharp nails against the armrest as if awaiting your arrival. The other was curled around his spear, an intimidating sight to behold. Once you had been deposited in front of him, his fire knights bowed in respect, taking their spots positioned in areas around the room, eyes directed only on you.

"Tarnished," he announced, his voice booming through the empty hall with the exceptionalism of someone like him, "thou art not much of a beast after all."

He was discussing the matters of being cleaned up, both through your wounds and through being cleaned. Though, if being kept alive was not seen as a sign of mercy from him, there had to be some ulterior motives. 

"Yes, nothing screams relaxation than being drowned in a bath with nowhere to hide." You spoke comically, but Messmer found no amusement in your words. He hadn't since you arrived. You did wonder if he had made friendships in his years, through his soldiers, or did they find him to be some enigma.

You filled the silence with a question. "Now that you so kindly mended me and had me bathed, am I to be on my way?"

Messmer's eye squinted subtly, tapping his fingers impatiently like a cat would swish its tail. You were slowly ebbing your way through to irritating him more and more. "And wherefore doth thee think I wouldst?"

Nerves bubble to your throat, as you're ready to throw up or wish upon his flames to take you out now. "I told you of Miquella's plans. That would make me not your enemy nor your ally." You spoke incredulously. "I am not wanting any part of this, on either side. I am simply telling you the truth so I may leave."

"So thee may betray another?"

"So I may survive." You corrected. Messmer didn't seem convinced. "Do you know how exhausting it is to fight against your family? Your siblings betray and scheme, your mother is imprisoned by some greater will none could even open, and yet, I am in the midst of it all."

He doesn't speak, simply surveying you as do his serpents, all eyes that seem to read right through you, reading whether you speak the truth or not. Truth be told, you do not know if you know what of Marika's whereabouts, only that war after war has been fought, with no sight of a true victor. A Tarnished like yourself could never be loved, nor accepted, it was known. How they mocked you, but still, you endured.

"T'is a shame," Messmer spoke. "It seemeth one of thy friends already knoweth of thy whereabouts."

You held no allies that you knew of who held your trust, alive or dead. None came to your head. "Who?"

"There has't been sightings of one of Miquella's followers, the former follower of Radahn, Freyja." His fingers scratched lightly against the wood of the throne, irking you greatly. "I want thee to deal with her."

You scoff, crossing your arms, glowering back at him with as much fire as he does. So all those things he did rather than kill you were for something. "What would you have me do?"

"Simple," Messmer leans back on his throne, a small smirk on his face. "Kill her and bringeth the proof."

You could only wish he had been joking at this moment, for the urge to laugh washed over you. Indeed it would've been an awkward time to do so. "You wish for me to kill her? Shall I make it clear that she is not the only one? If they hear one of theirs are killed by my own hands, they will not stop until they have me dead. And they will hear of it, one way or another."

"It should not be an issue for you, Tarnished." Messmer holds no sympathy for you, rather he looks even more bored by you. You think if you don't answer him a simple yes or no, he will just catch you alight on the very spot you stand in, imprisoning you again and again.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "Where was she spotted?"

"Mine own soldiers sayeth the Moorth Ruins. It is a two-day ride."

Great. You could only wish you could fly out the highest window and end in a place far from the Keep, riding on Torrent out of here, away from strange cult-like followers and tyrants. "And if I don't do this?"

"Oh, I'm sure thee shall," Messmer rises, his chainmail rattling with each methodical step he takes towards you. "Not only wouldst thee be wanted by me and mine own men, but by them as well.  Wouldst thee rather has't the safety of these walls or the bitter cold world to swallow thee whole?"

Neither were good options, but despite your odds, you'd rather go against each of them individually than face Messmer alone as the full force.

A hundred cuts then to be burnt over and over again.

He has made his way down towards you now, standing in front of you in all his glory. Now that you're not fighting him, you realise up close that behind the scowl, there is a handsomeness to him. You have to admit that the kin of Marika were very comely.

"What doth thee sayeth?" Messmer's voice is a mere whisper, his voice reverberates out and through your chest, and you can't help but shudder at how he enunciates each word thoughtfully. 

Sorry Miquella. You think, signing away your life once again. "I accept."

For the first time, Messmer seems... relieved by your choice. You visibly see the way the lines in his forehead relax slightly, his golden snake-like eye lessens its intensity as if even he is surprised you would say yes.

Messmer gestures for you to follow him. "Cometh, mine own men shalt handeth thee thy weapons and armour."

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

Your amour feels heavy from how long you have not worn it. In those three days imprisoned, you feel the relief of the 'fresh' air hitting your skin, sighing deeply as you take it all in. Messmer stands slightly off to the side behind you, arms folded behind his back, but you're certain you can feel either his gaze or one of his snakes on you.

His soldiers hand you the necessary things, your bag full of your flasks and the map in case you need it to find the ruins, but you're sure you know where they are. 

There is a tense build-up in the air as you stand before Messmer, dressed and armed with his knights ready to wave you off. How you thought Messmer could trust you to do this, you weren't sure. You still thought this was all some trap, bringing the other into a false sense of security before the other could stab them in the back.

Messmer walked over to you, his red hair was even brighter in the cold outside world. "Shalt thee needeth a horse?"

"No need." You responded, pulling forth your whistle and blowing into it, the high-pitched screech bringing forth the long-awaited Torrent at last. Torrent materialises out of nowhere, startling Messmer's knights as if unsure what it was you had conjured. You greet him as he strides towards you, bonking his snout to you as you chuckle, bringing forth a sweet for him to savour. Messmer watched silently until you spoke to him. "This is Torrent. He has been by my side ever since."

Messmer seemed awkward with the small talk, simply nodding but as if he wished to say more. "Very well." He gave a nod, to which gave the thumbs up for the drawbridge to be lowered. The heavy gate groaned with life as it slowly fell, giving you time to hop onto Torrent, finalising everything you had.

When the bridge was finally opened, you gave a final look to Messmer, and his knights, as if you were waving off a dear friend, not the one who had you imprisoned for so long. It felt odd, to say the least, rather than relief to be going, it felt strange to be sent off only to come back to him when all was done.

Messmer was still towering over you when he tugged on your arm, startling you with how warm he felt even through the leather of your gloves. It could almost be unbearable if he held on much longer.

Now almost at eye level with him, you stared back at him, realising just how close he was to your face and-- since when did he have freckles? And when had he ever looked so calm when looking at you? It brought this unknown heat to rise to your face, thankful that your face was covered. 

It was only when the tension was eased that Messmer leant further, whispering something close to your ears that brought the ripples of a shudder to pass through you. In that very moment, you had wished you hadn't touched the withered arm and stepped forth to get to these lands:

"If thee dare betray me, I shall maketh sure thou art never blessed by mine own mother's grace again."

[mothiir]

eyes full of stars

the reader is a diplomat working with roboute guilliman to try and broker peace with the local craftworld, and she has a somewhat strange moment with one of her aeldari counterparts.

cw: finger sucking and lewd thoughts.

—

“Hush,” Taleath says, fingertips coming up to rest on your mouth, and you lapse into silence at once, completely thrown by the unexpected contact. “The actions of Cato Sicarius have no bearing on your life, nor on mine. His tumultuous emotions are his own storm to bear, and their rain will only chill you if you get too close — which, as you are uncommonly intelligent for your kind, you will not.”

He keeps his gauntleted fingers resting on your lips, the metal chilly against your skin, smoother than silk. You are very rarely lost for words — it is, after all, an integral part of your job as diplomat — but the physical contact has shaken you. Aeldari do not touch humans, unless at war, or under considerable duress; Taleath’s actions, to another Aeldari, would be obscene as a human bearing his genitalia at a conference table.

The corners of his smile curl up into a smile, and your cheeks burn: in your confusion, you momentarily forgot that your companion can read minds. And then, you recall that Aeldari are at great pains to state how they must shield themselves from the ‘brutish, ugly, loud wailing animal thoughts’ that humans emit almost constantly. And then you realise that if he read your thoughts, it was because he did so deliberately, and —

“It is far more complicated than that,” Taleath says mildly. “A mind is not a book to be opened at leisure and perused. And yet I understand your meaning — you cannot help the limitations of your language, after all.”

You are in one of the many libraries aboard the Macragge’s Honour: this is one of the smaller ones, designed to house books on cartography that are more works of art than useful tomes. It is rarely visited, because despite Roboute Guilliman’s best efforts to encourage a variety of interests in his sons, most Astartes prefer to study strategy or to read great historical epics, rather than study stylised images of long-vanished constellations. You, however, adore it here. It is a circular room, the shelves coveringthe walls, the ceiling painted deep rich navy blue, with stars picked out in shining gold. There is one window, circular and high, that shows the endless void of space beyond. It feels like a fairytale room, something plucked fresh from a different, gentler time, when space was full of promise, and the shadows held nothing more sinister than cobwebs.

“I appreciate that my language is limited to your ears but —“ You are normally very good at countering Taleath’s arrogant asides with a witty riposte. Sometimes, you wonder if he riles you up intentionally, simply because it amuses him to see you frustrated — certainly his teasing has led to some serious issues of your own, long nights practicing hiding your thoughts, wondering if that would even work. Your a celebrated diplomat, pride of the Ultramarines, reporting to the Primarch himself — and yet a pointy-faced smirking knife-ear has you thinking things. Heretical, shameful things.

Taleath lifts the gauntlet to his own face, and — tentatively, delicately, like a cat trying a new food it is unsure of — runs the tip of his tongue along the tips of his fingers.

He makes a strange, bird like chirrup. You’ve studied Aeldari vocalisations, but in that moment everything you have ever learned about them seems to have exited your head via your ears. With the same effortless, leisurely grace that he does everything, Taleath shucks his gauntlets off, setting them down on the desk beside him. Then, with a tremendous amount of care, he removes the silk gloves beneath, revealing a pair of pale, spidery hands.

Imperial propaganda describes all Aeldari as scrawny anaemic mutants, with limbs stretched to ridiculous disproportionate lengths. The decidedly heretical texts you studied as part of your diplomatic education waxed lyrical about their ethereal inhuman beauty and grace. The truth is somewhere in the middle. Some bits of Taleath are disconcerting to say the least: he moves too swiftly for your eyes to track, giving him the uncanny appearance of a glitching cartoon come to life. His expressions are almost-human-but-not-quite; something about his smile seems to suggest that he knows exactly when the world will end. His hands remind you of knives. And yet there is an uncanny beauty to him, like a glacier viewed under moonlight, or a distant star burning in the black flank of night.

“Come here please,” he says, and you — knowing better, knowing so much better — obey. It has been months of negotiation with Iyanden, in which you have built up a civil relationship with Taleath (not friendship; you have to remember that; it is what your training drilled into you. Aeldari are not to be trusted; they play games with human lives, and even the kindest knife-ear will gut you like a fish if it is to their advantage).

You are allies only because of the mutual peril you face, from a galaxy that would see you burn, from factions who care little for the petty squabbles of xenos and human — what is the point of humanity’s supremacy, or Aeldari arrogance, if Chaos eats you all?

And yet. And yet. You stop one pace from Taleath, heart thrumming like the wings of a held bird, and the Aeldari reaches for you. His palm presses against the small of your back, urging you forwards that last little bit, so his robes brush against your bare arms. He’s so much taller than you; you have to crane your neck to look him in the face, even as he bends over.

His thumb runs across your lower lip. You always thought Aeldari would be colder than humans, their skin as chilly and perfect as ceramic, but his flesh is fever-hot. He rubs the digit back and forth until you open your mouth, your eyes fixed on him the whole time. His breathing is still slow and calm, and part of you resents him for that — so you rebel in what small way you can. You part your lips, but you don’t chase after his thumb with your tongue like a dog begging for a treat. Instead, you wait — wait so long that it starts to feel vaguely ridiculous, that you are just starting there open-mouthed and panting — and then — oh —

He slips two fingers into your mouth, sliding them first along the blunt edges of your teeth, then onto your tongue. He’s curious, explorative, stroking over the slick muscle, before prodding delicately at the roof of your mouth, where textured skin gives way to your soft palette. You try very hard not to gag as he pushes deeper, rubbing at the velvety insides of your cheeks, bulging them outwards. He utters that bird like chirrup again, and you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. He looks utterly transfixed on you.

It’s just a trick, you tell yourself, it’s what they do, it’s what they do —

“Do not insult me,” he says, his voice lower. Rougher. “I would not need to resort to such — such base measures to trick you, if I wanted to, if —“

You hollow your cheeks and suck, drool starting to gather at the corner of your mouth. Taleath’s breath catches, and you feel an absurd swell of power.

“Don’t read my mind,” you say, the words coming out in a slurry of sound and drool around his fingers. “Jush — keep doing this —“

You start to move your head, keeping your hands loose at your sides despite the overwhelming desire to grab his wrist, to encourage him to keep going, to fuck your throat with his fingers, to prepare you to take —

Taleath chirrups again; this time the sound fades into a constant burbling coo. He pulls you closer, hand splayed on the small of your back, pulling his fingers out of your mouth — and this time you do chase after them, saliva strung between his fingers and your lips.

“I should not be doing this,” he says, half to himself, the words blurred and distorted by the constant vibrato coo. You lick at his knuckles, dopey with passion. All that time fighting down your absurd schoolgirl crush — all that time wasted. “You are human,” he continues, his voice strained. You kiss his palm.

“Yes. And you want me,” you sing-song — only for the world to blur as Taleath moves with a warrior’s swiftness, his hand sliding down to cup your thighs, lifting you up and pressing you into the wall. Bookshelves dig into your spine as he wrenches your head to the side, your hair pulled taut, your scalp singing pain. His teeth graze your jugular, his body presses between your eagerly spreading thighs and —

Then he’s gone. You collapse to the ground in a heap, panting for breath, reeling. Taleath stands on the other side of the library, clinging to his gauntlets like a safety blanket as he stares at you with open, flagrant hunger. Prey-animal fear sparks up your spine, even as your cunt slicks with arousal.

“Taleath —“

“No. Stay there.”

His mouth is red. Why is his mouth red? You suddenly become aware of an ache in your neck, of warmth on your collarbone. You reach up, and your fingers brush a deep bite mark. Taleath licks his lips clean as you probe the damage carefully.

“I — I hope this is not a diplomatic incident,” you say, attempting levity, and he offers you a thin smile. It sits oddly on his face; at odds with the ravenous look in his dark eyes.

“No. But it could be. My kind do not engage in carnal pleasures casually — “

“—and not with mon-keigh,” you say, wondering if this is when Taleath will treat you to yet another lecture on the shortcomings of your species.

“Not often. Not usually. I do not want you to be hurt,” he says.

“I’m fine. It barely stings — it will heal up soon enough,” you say, holding up your bloodied fingers. Taleath licks his lips.

“You do not understand. I do not want you to be hurt by anyone who is not me.”

You know you should retreat; every instinct screams at you too. But even if Taleath was not standing in the only exit, you wouldn’t attempt to flee.

”You…you want to hurt me?”

“Typical human — reducing complex feelings to such banal sentiments,” he says, like you weren’t just parroting his own words back. “I want to consume you. I want to own you. I want every cell in your body to remember my name.”

You — you should not find this attractive. You really should not. And yet all your life you have been told that you serve a greater purpose; that your duty is to others. You have never had anyone look at you with such naked desire and tell you that it is you they want — you alone.

Aeldari lie, you tell yourself. Aeldari lie.

“I would not lie to you, you stupid little prey-thing,” he snaps, and this time it isn’t just his voice; his accent changes, sliding from the polished vowels of an Aeldari into something more jagged, something that you don’t recognise. He visibly gathers himself, and when he speaks again it’s with the voice you are used to: “I mean — human. Girl-child.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You are more than five hundred years my junior — hush. I — I need to go. And meditate. And — and think on things. And meditate. And you need to go and stop bleeding before I do something that we both regret.”

With that, he vanishes, leaving nothing but the throb of arousal between your thighs, and his teeth marks carved into your throat.

[cherishmii]

STARBOUND !

INTRODUCING....!

𐙚 "Birds of a feather" Group chat members!

✩ ⋆ ynstar: Y/N is a quiet streamer who quickly rose to fame after her first stream, where she cleared all the FNAF games without losing once. Despite being a comfort streamer, many find her weird and freakish. She has never done a collab, even after months of streaming, leading to numerous theories and lore about her. However, she’s really just a shy, introverted girl—or is she?

✩ ⋆ yoifire: Yoimiya's love of fireworks, inherited from her father's business, led her to study Pyrotechnics Design and Safety and Entertainment Technology. She found Y/N cute for wearing glasses and learned she was studying Fine Arts. After graduation, Yoimiya and Hu Tao encouraged Y/N to start streaming. Yoimiya, who streams and vlogs events, is one of Y/N's best friends and one of the few who know her hidden truth.

✩ ⋆ luminetwin1: Lumine, a vlogger who loves traveling with her twin, was on a solo trip when her camera died. Deciding to wait for it to charge, she explored a haunted forest and met three girls. They soon became friends, and after experiencing many 'paranormal' activities, Lumine wasn't surprised to learn Y/N's truth, which drew her even closer to Y/N.

✩ ⋆ Hutao: Hu Tao has known Y/N since birth, and they studied Fine Arts together. Y/N still doesn't understand why Hu Tao ended up running a funeral parlor. Hu Tao is her closest friend and the first to know her secret. She is famous for her comedic talent and always winning arguments. Hu tao secretly has a Y/N fan acc where she defends her.

✩ ⋆ ittothegoat: Itto was the first male in the group chat, originally intended only for girls, after pretending to be a girl to join. They warmed up to him since his gender didn’t change anything. Itto is a comedian known for doing outrageous content, like visiting banned Airbnbs. The group even had to bail him out of jail once. Despite his antics, he acts as their bodyguard because he looks and is genuinely strong.

✩ ⋆ Thoma_: Thoma, the "mom" of the group despite being a man, was first hired to clean the house the group rented for a week. He scolded them for trashing a house they didn't own, which Y/N found funny, so she added him to the group chat. Thoma then started streaming and vlogging, and his business boomed after Y/N mentioned how he looked like her mom.

✩ ⋆ bestdetective: Heizou, a good detective and friend of Itto, helped Y/N when she lost her cat after Itto accidentally let it escape while babysitting. Y/N was devastated, and the group chat was worried. Itto remembered his old friend Heizou, who quickly found the cat. Grateful, Y/N added Heizou to the group chat. Since then, Heizou often streams with Itto and Thoma.

In the field of online streaming, an introverted indie streamer, known for her quiet nature, has never collaborated before. So why now? Fans wonder why she avoids collaborations — is she simply an odd one out? When she finally accepts an invite to a show, unknowingly the guest host is a popular but grumpy streamer who often collaborates due to his company, unexpected sparks fly as she discovers the guest host might just be her future boyfriend. Nevertheless, things changed as they found out what she truly is.

☆ BACK / NEXT

★ TAGLIST (,,>ヮ<,,)! : rq still open!

@vxcmx @quacking-simp @sketcheeee

☆

> STARBOUND

Scaramouche x Y/N

[ofginjxints]

closed starter for @ourcwnside, my beloved

Aziraphale had always had a soft spot for Italy, it was always such a hub for art and culture, the people were so lively, and the food! Oh, the food! He was sure he had tried all the pasta shapes he possibly could, but new ones were being created all the time - such clever and wonderful people.

It was the end of February and that meant one thing Carnevale di Venezia! The Italians did like an excuse to simply have fun and revel in one another's company and so did the angel. Opting for a half-faced mask stylised like a cat, ears and all, he had built his whole costume around it. It was brilliant gold and white, dramatic and striking - as was everybody around him.

The music was raucous upon the streets, there was dancing and plenty of wine that was already offered to him as he approached Piazza San Marco. He brought the glass to his lips and made his way around the square to take in all the sights. He was halfway through his glass when he was sure he felt the presence of...

He turned his head and ah, there she was.

[katealpha]

Art by Zenny’s Club

https://x.com/clubzenny?s=21&t=Y5k0MmFAcnmbYxSfSGgVFA

———————————-—

It was great to be out of Pam’s strangling vines, thought Catwoman as she dropped onto the edge of a building from a guardrail above. Behind her was another, larger building that cast a shadow over the famed cat burger. It was the place that Selena had just made her way out of. An old brick built structure that was covered in emerald tendrils that bore blood red flowers. Practically the signature colors of former doctor Pamela Isley. Of course, everyone knew her as Poison Ivy, the ecoterrorist widely considered one of the deadliest women alive. Selena liked to believe she was somewhere on that list. Being able to clear rooms full of men bigger than herself had to count for something. Plus, she had just survived another brush with death

Just moments earlier, Selena found herself hanging upside down at Ivy’s mercy. Only due to necessity. Selena knew of a pair of cases locked away in the Arkham City vault. The newly opened open air prison had a place where the valuables of select inmates were kept. A place she couldn’t just break into on her own. Some force was needed, and with Bane locked up in a toy factory somewhere, Mr Freeze occupied by his popsicle of a bride, and Croc probably eating someone someplace in the sewers, Selena went with the only choice she felt was right for this. Selena expected the redhead to be mad at her for that one time she forgot to water her flowers during some getaway that the burglar had long forgotten, but what she didn’t expect was for Ivy to leave her with something before agreeing to help and let Selena on her merry way. While she was still upside down and before Ivy agreed to drop her, one of the free plant tendrils forced its way into Selena’s mouth, and she felt something pump down her gullet.

Selena wondered what that was about, still having the sour taste of chlorophyll in her mouth and a tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach. Selena spat to the side to get that taste out and then without further adieu, she kicked off the corner of the building, and with her whip she swung over the ice cold waters of the flooded portion of the so-called amusement mile. She was eager to get that loot that Ivy agreed to help her get her claws on, but had no idea what was already set in stone, and that a sour feeling on her tongue and TYGER Guards were going to be the least of her concerns that night.

Five minutes later

The feeling of her heels bashing the skull of a TYGER guard in was more than satisfying for Cartman as she dispatched the last of them that were sent to investigate the sudden vine attack on the storage facility door. Her green eyes watched the man fall limb onto the asphalt, sunglasses broken by the force of her kick. Everyone one of these pricks had it coming, thought Selena. In this quiet moment as sne stood over the manhole cover that led to the underground entrance of her destination however, she began to feel a little off. There was a sudden low groan that audibly bubbled in her lower abdomen. It was an intense enough feeling that it caused her to stop in her stride towards the sewer entrance and hold her clawed hand over her belly. Selena felt bloated. Like she had eaten leftover fast food earlier and her body was reminding her that, hey, fast food is bad for your lifestyle. The bloated feeling didn’t go away seconds later.

“Ugh, either you drank spoiled milk earlier, or Ivy put something really nasty in me. Better hurry up and get that plant back…” Selena muttered to herself before heading down the manhole with quick succession.

Once inside the tunnel, Selena surveyed the damage that Ivy’s vines had done. There were shattered bricks and bits of concrete laying all over the place which she found herself stepping over. Ahead was a series of holes in the walls that had been punched into wide enough to create a hole wide enough for Selena to simply walk through until she arrived at the front door. The storage facility was right there, and as she walked into the empty security room, another churn rippled through her gut. The feeling was a bit more intense this time. Had someone been standing next to her, they’d have heard the noise. Selena once again rubbed her hand against her stomach as she approached the camera feed. The vault was guarded by two armed guards, as well as an extra detail that patrolled the surrounding area that seemed to be a maze of halls and shelves. She sighed with relief as she saw that she’d be able to open the vault from here, though she’d need to obtain three key cards from the guards. It would be easy enough, assuming her raunchy stomach didn’t start acting up on the fly.

For the next several minutes, the guards patrolling the room were completely unaware of the latex-clad woman lurking above them. Not noticing as a gloved and clawed hand slipped into their pants pockets, pulling out each key card until she had three in hand. Once back in the security room, Selena began to use the card, ignoring the growing feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t let this sudden bloat slow her down. She was so close. All she could do was rub around again to soothe the rising pressure she felt inside. The last thing she needed was to be flatulent in close proximity to one of these armed guards as she was taking them out, because that’s what she would half to do in order to get inside that Vault. Soon, Selena jumped back into the fray, now set on knocking out every guard in the area before moving into the vault. As she moved about the facility, crawling through the vents, dropping onto guards, choking each one out, Selena could swear that she could feel her stomach pressing into her suit more than it usually did. Was she really bloating up here? The rumblings of her belly ironically coincided with the ground shaking around the facility, Protocol 10 already underway outside.

With the last guard dealt with, the vault was all hers. Her stomach wasn’t feeling much better or worse, but there was a constant gurgling sensation that persisted. In the table at the other end of the room were a pear of metallic painted cases, and a single potted plant. In a moment of sly spite for the one who had put her through so much trouble to reach her just hours earlier, she approached the plant and chuckled, picking it up.

“Try and tie me up in your plants, like hell.” Selena purred. With a smirk, she dropped it onto the floor where the pot shattered. She then stamped the dry soil and leaves for good measure. A chuckle in her throat.

Catwoman then came to realize that doing that may have been a bad life choice. As she approached the table again for the loot cases sitting upon it, a much stronger reaction took place in Selena’s gut. A deep, ominous churn roared from within, and the feeling was enough to make the thief lean over with a grunt. The bloated feeling exploded, and Selena felt her stomach pushing out and straining against her already skintight suit. Her back curved inwards and Selena turned her body to lean against the table, finally watching with wide eyes as her belly visibly grew outwards under her suit and desperately pushing hand, a futile attempt to make it stop. During this moment, her voice came out as gasps and grunts, her words lost in her throat until the growing stopped. Selena was now panting and sweating in shock, staring down at her belly which now looked like she was about to give birth to twins. It heaved in and out with her breath, and Selena finally found the will to at least say something to herself.

“What the hell??¦I shouldn’t have done that just now….what is happening to me…am I pregnant?…” Her frightened eyes wandered the expanse of her midriff. Inside, there was that constant gurgling, as well as a gentle shifting sensation. It felt like a bad dream, but there was nobody here to pinch her. Whatever Ivy had pumped into her body, it was growing, and it was alive, and somehow, her suit hadn’t ripped open yet despite the size of her stomach.

Before Selena could compose herself, more TYGER guards stormed the room, ready to apprehend her. They faltered, seeing her current state. One of the guards held up their radio to their cloth covered mouth.

“Professor, Catwoman seems to have undergone some kind of accelerated pregnancy since she’s been here.”

Strange’s deep and posh voice replied over the radio. “Most fascinating. Be sure to take her alive then. Perhaps there’s something more I can learn from her.”

Selena groaned and pushed off the table, bracing herself to fight again, now expecting to be weighed down by her new, massively bloated belly. She’d worry about what was happening once she got some more alone time. Pregnant with a plant monster or not, she wasn’t going quietly.

“You don’t say…don’t expect me to go any easier on you boys.” With a deep breath and clenched teeth, she extended her claws and took hold of her whip as the guards began to come closer.

To be continued…

[factual-fantasy]

23 asks! Thank you!! :}} 🎀

what

Originally I added the bandages to mirror my real hands being covered in Band-Aids when I made my sona. :0 (It was due to cat scratches and dry skin don't worry-)

Now they represent my "artist hands".... and my still really dry skin XDD

Oh yeah absolutely. His crab arm is so heavy that if he falls into the water he'll sink 😬 he cant move it fast enough to help him swim to the surface.. good thing Blue Beauty is always nearby! <XD

It also takes a lot of energy to move and he deals with sore back/shoulder muscles a lot. The way the crab arm formed, its like all the muscles in his back are used to lift and operate it. When he walks around he kind'a uses it as a crutch or a third leg. His legs each take a step and then his crab arm lifts forward and clunks on the ground.

"tap tap.. CLUNK. tap tap.. CLUNK."

Despite all this though, Louis still really likes his new arm and isn't bothered much by all the hardships it brings :)

@neo-metalscottic

Thank you so much!!! :DD I'm hoping I get over this soon 🥺

As for Grim's eyes, I mention that coloring mistake in the tags of this post. It was simply a matter of me misremembering what Gengar looks like :// But I'm thinking I'll keep his white eyes anyways. He looks a lot more friendly that way :}}

THEY HAVE SPARKS?? THEY'RE INDIVIDUALS?? I thought they were just mindless clones! Man.. That makes things in the show even darker-- <XDD

And ohhh, yeah I can see it. I wonder why they decided to add him of all characters? He does have cool shades tho XDD

@holly-opal

Yeah, that's the idea. <:/ I have yet to plan out how she died tho-

@glitchhayden418

There she is!! :DD She looks great!! :}}

And thank you, I'm hoping I get well soon too 🙂💔

She never has to stop! I've decided that my characters can eat as much as they want, whenever they want, however they want, and suffer absolutely no consequences what so ever.

Cici just seems to be taking advantage of this ability more than the others <XDD

@artblock200322022

:DD Thank you!! I'm so glad you like my interpretation of the Octonauts! :}}

@possibly-astraeus

Oof. Always disappointing to hear people finding me through stolen artwork..

But yeah, you're at the source now! :} Just remember, if you find my artwork anywhere else other than here? Its stolen ://

@shallow-isles

I simply misremembered what Gengar looks like and colored his eyes wrong :/// (I talk about it in the tags of this post) But I think I'll keep them white. He just looks so friendly and soft with white eyes.. 🥺

As for Sylveon, I like to think that tying his ribbons around others like that is his way of giving them a hug :}} Since Grim is so r o u n d, there's not many places the ribbons can comfortably tie and not be in Grim's way. His ears are the perfect spot! :}

@tallchest13-blog

THANK YOU! :D WOULD YOU BE UPSET IF I GAVE THIS TEA TO CICI THO? SHE REALLY WANTS TO TRY IT :((

@aishutoon

Ohh! They look so round and cozy!! :333

@yourstrulylightstar283 (Referencing this post)

Thank you! :}}}

@circadiananomaly (24k post in question)

Thank you! I'm hoping this is all over soon as well. :'(((

@candyglumboy

Like, my Pokémon Violet team? :0 There will not be any new members no.. you can only have 6 Pokémon in your party at a time!

...Then again there's Patty.. the Hoppip that Anastasia replaced.. I miss her.. 🥺💔💔💔

I hope I feel good too.. 😔😔😔

@graminos

:DD Thank you! I'm glad you like them!! :}}}}

(Post in question)

Me reading this ask ksjnakjn 🥺🥺💞💞💞 that was all basically on point!! :DDD

@youlikwjazz004

I'm afraid I have absolutely no idea how to explain that :'(( 💔💔

The very best I can explain my art process is; "I just.. draw it. And if it doesn't feel right, I just draw it differently until it does feel right." Its all down to muscle memory and drawing what "feels" right. I don't think I'm able to explain that-- 😭😭😭 I'm very sorry! <:'(((

@askladyinwhiteandfam

Woah! What a critter! :00 ✨✨It looks great! :DD

@square-the-cyan-idiot542

WAAAHGG THANK YIU!!!- Oh crap you ok tho--

@littlelightfish (Post in question)

:DD Thank you! I'm so glad you like him!! :}}}

@beryl-shade

He'd be amazed! :00

[emmg]

share your wips

lol sure, here's something from that Emmrich yapping smutfic (it's literally titled Emmrich yapping in my livingwriter folder) I'm almost done with. It's honestly more like smut-crackfic but eh.

----------

But Emmrich? Oh, bless his thoroughly misguided soul—he’s taking a slow, respectful tour through this grand gallery of bullshit, inspecting each piece with a quiet reverence. He stops at her latest acquisition, a truly horrifying thing she pulled out of a ruin, and leans in, one arm behind his back, the other half-extended yet never coming into contact. 

“I must admit,” he begins in that scholarly tone that always makes her wonder if he's actually part Chantry priest, part baffled academic. “I’m not entirely sure what this is, but the etchings… well, they seem to represent some sort of ritual…” 

She just stares at him. Then at the thing. Then back at him, waiting for the punchline. There isn’t one. 

She looks again at the monstrosity, which, upon further inspection, features two elves engaged in… well, anatomical exploration of the highest order. Carnal, no-question-about-it, “we’re about to break every surface in this room” kind of exploration.

“They’re fucking, Emmrich,” she says, completely deadpan, pointing right at where one elf’s face is very comfortably nestled between the other's legs. “Look. This one’s sucking that one’s—” 

“We cannot know for certain,” Emmrich interrupts, still managing to maintain that scholarly facade like he’s discussing anything other than ancient elf smut. “There could be multiple interpretations of—”

“—and here,” she cuts him off again, gesturing to where the two figures are now enthusiastically going at it from behind. “They’re doing it from the back.” 

"—or they are simply exploring— "

"—each other's holes," she says, because apparently this needs to be spelled out. "With their fingers," she adds, jabbing her own at the leftmost doodle. "With their mouths," she circles the middle with a flourish. "And their dicks—oh wait, look at that, it's two men. Nice. Good for them."

"Ah, well, physical love is a common subject in art," Emmrich replies, clearly deciding this is the hill he’s not going to die on today. He even flashes her a little smile. And, to his credit, he doesn’t flinch, just shrugs it off with all the grace of someone who has seen way worse and is already turning to the next piece of trash.

Now she’s feeling a little cheeky herself, so she glides after him, practically stalking his tall, oblivious form like a cat with a mouse. “And what’s your personal opinion on it?” she purrs, even throwing in a dramatic eyebrow wiggle for good measure. 

Emmrich doesn’t even blink. "It could use some color." 

Well. That’s one way to dodge the question. 

She’s circled him more times than a vulture eyeing a fresh carcass—always shameless, always bold, and always armed with a tongue sharp enough to slice through steel. Her touch a little too accidentally-on-purpose. Subtle as a sledgehammer. She’s practically made a sport out of it, finding the most absurd excuses to invade his personal space. "Oh dear, this carriage is sooo cramped," as if the three feet of empty seat beside her have mysteriously evaporated and the only logical solution is to plaster herself against him like an overgrown barnacle.

She’s barged in on his private reading time more than once, settling in as if she’s been invited. Even exploited his love for teaching, feigning breathless fascination with any and all mundane, dry subject. "Oh, Emmrich, you must show me how you conduct an autopsy! I simply have to see it with my own eyes! And oh my, your hands look sooo fetching inside that cadaver’s chest cavity, teehee.”

[eightstarr]

hi zoe! after your last ellie post... i can't stop wondering about how your ellie and abby were like when they were in highschool. i fully believe ellie got side bangs bc she wanted to look like chloe price. (she looked like justin bieber)

anyways i love you (not in a gay way ofc.)

-penis cat anon

omg i had so much fun thinking about this!! i love you too but in a gay way because i'm gay. i'm sorry to have to tell you like this in front of all these people 😮‍💨

and no actually i think ellie wanted to look like justin bieber :) i can see her being a fan ngl. she looks like she has the weirdest gender envy and justin bieber would've been like her dream body to be in when she was 14

as for her as a student i think i've mentioned this before but i think ellie loveddd history so much! i can also see her being really good at math but not even realizing it. art class was okay but she likes to do art at her own pace and IF she feels like it so i think she would've hated assignments. like don't tell her what to do!! she's only picking up a pencil if she wants to!!! otherwise she's putting no effort in, so sorry about it

socially i think she was the kid that gets adopted by the nice pretty girls because she's funny!! they love her <3 i can see her not really having very close friends until she's older though! i feel like she was more closed off than she would like to admit for a really long time, but she's way better now. it's a work in progress!

abby as a student is like fascinating to me. i could think about it for hours. i think the obvious thing is that she was really incredibly, amazingly, annoyingly good at everything. but she's so cool!! how can you hate her? she has one best friend and speaks to literally no one else but if you drop your pen she'll pick it up for you, you know? that's abby

but she's so mysterious like i can't even tell you what her favorite subject was!! and i don't think she knows either like she's just naturally a good student and by the time she's high school age, she just views all of it as simply the steps that lead to the next thing (she's had a life plan since she was 7) (it's written in pink crayon) (her dad has it framed). but that doesn't mean that she hated school! she has lots of fun with her friend and grows a really lovely connection to sports and makes sooo many significant bonds with her teachers. she thinks about them sometimes and writes them really nice emails that could make grown men cry

and yeah there were like 85 people that had a serious crush on her but if you went to high school with her and bring it up she'll be like "???? what do you mean??" she's silly <3 i can talk about her forever and i think it shows, my bad :)

[wildflowerluver]

clementine

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

the hotchner family adopts a new pet

cw: established relationship, jack calls reader ‘mom’, aaron is a cat person, bau reader

wc: 1.8k

༺♡༻

jack first posed the question about getting a pet at family dinner.

you and aaron could both tell something was on his mind. he was picking at his mac and cheese, typically his favorite meal, and had a certain look on his face that usually meant he had something on his mind. 

the last time jack acted like this was when he wanted to ask if he could start to call you ‘mom.’

aaron was the first to take the bait. “not hungry, buddy?”

jack shrugged. his silence was more than telling.

you glanced towards aaron to see where he was going to go with this though before he could say anything, jack was finally speaking up.

“can we get a pet?” he asked. 

clearly the immediate silence wasn’t the answer jack was looking for.

“please, please!” jack begged.

you stayed quiet. as much as you would love to get a pet to fulfill jack’s wants, you know the ultimate decision is up to aaron.

“jack,” aaron started. “your mom and i are away too much for a pet. we wouldn’t be able to care for it. plus animals are a lot of work and they’re messy.”

“but i could help!” jack protested.

“i’m sorry buddy but it wouldn’t work out. maybe when you’re a little older.”

jack frowned at the rejection and sunk back into his seat. you reached across the table to squeeze his hand. 

the rest of the dinner went by with little disturbance. although jack was still upset, he eventually started to eat and talk about his day.

while aaron cleared the plates and began on the dishes once you were finished eating, you leaned towards the young boy.

“cat or dog?” you whispered to jack.

he thought about it for only a moment, his face mimicking the way he concentrates when doing a math problem.

“cat,” jack decided. 

you beamed. “i think that can be arranged.”

____

you and jack devised a plan to convince aaron behind his back. 

you gathered a few sheets of large paper and some art supplies and let him get started. the entire thing was jack’s work. you simply helped with the spelling when asked. there were a few things he wouldn’t let you see and you turned a blind eye. 

the next time a family pet gets brought up is a few weeks later.

you and aaron had a long case out west. 

a week without sufficient rest or seeing jack were all factors that made aaron easily convinced to give the team a long weekend. 

jack was ecstatic to have both of his parents home for a few days. you spent the first few hours simply resting and sleeping off the jet lag before jack had dragged you both into the living room.

“i need to show you guys something,” jack giggles. “i have to go get it. stay here!”

you curl into aaron’s side before jack is rushing back into the room. his arms are filled with an array of multi-colored paper and sporting the same grin that aaron had on some occasions. 

“i really really want a cat,” jack starts. “so i worked really hard on a few reasons why.”

jack sorts through the paper to find his first point while aaron turns to you.

“did you know about this?” aaron murmurs.

you meet his gaze, biting your lip to hide your smile.

“no idea,” you answer. he doesn’t push it after you kiss his cheek.

jack presents each reason with growing emotion. he’s drawn visuals too. your heart melts when you see the stick figure version of the three of you. even on paper you and aaron are holding hands.

he ends it by handing his dad a letter.

“what’s this?” aaron raises an eyebrow.

“aunty penny said she would watch the cat whenever you are working,” jack explained. “she even signed it!”

aaron skims the note and you resist the urge to laugh at jack’s creativity. no wonder he had a few things you couldn’t be a part of. 

“what do you think?”

the question was turned to you. “i think that an animal would keep jack company while we work. plus cats aren’t as much work as dogs. and if penelope said she would watch it then i’m in.”

aaron’s face shifts into the serious one you only see during work hours. for a moment, you think he’s gonna shoot the whole idea down. he instead squeezes your leg.

“we can go to the shelter tomorrow.”

____

jack was bouncing in his seat the entire drive to the shelter.

you had to admit, you were pretty excited too. moving in with aaron was a massive milestone in your relationship, but adopting an animal together feels like a whole new realm. 

on the way over, the three of you discussed what kind of cat you would want. there wasn’t much bias besides age; the idea of jack growing up with a kitten seemed like the obvious choice. 

you called ahead to the shelter to let them know about your interest in adopting. a vet took you around to the various cages/rooms to show you what animals were available for adoption. 

you stopped in front of one of the rooms that had a few different cats in it. aaron hoisted jack up to rest on his hip so he could see. 

a little orange tabby kitten who was sleeping in one of the beds caught your eye.

she was only a few months old and was just dropped off at the shelter that morning. she hadn’t even been listed on the ‘new animals’ section of the website. 

one look from jack to you and aaron confirmed that you would be leaving the shelter with her. 

“this the one you want, buddy?” aaron asked. you squeezed his hand.

jack nodded his head quickly. he shot forward, doing his best to wrap both of his short arms around you and aaron. “thank you! thank you! thank you!” he repeated.

you and aaron had a long series of papers you needed to fill out though in comparison to work files, it didn’t feel like much. it was standard things: who lived in the house, any other pets, and a few other general things about the adoption itself.

it’s not long before a vet guides you, aaron, and jack to a private room where the kitten is.

aaron keeps a firm hand on jack’s shoulder as you walk in. “remember buddy, she’s a lot smaller than you are. she might be nervous too. be gentle, okay?”

the kitten takes her time to investigate the three of you in the room. to help aid her comfort, you sit down on the floor and pat the spot next to you for jack to sit. she sniffs you and jack first before she hops into your lap.

you pet the kitten in your arms. “look aaron, we’re parents of two now.”

aaron leaned down to kiss the crown of your head.

the tabby, still nameless, pushed herself out of your arms and trotted over to where aaron stood behind you. she sniffed him for only a moment before rubbing against his pant leg.

“i think someone likes you,” you grinned as you peered up to him.

“i’m just glad she likes me on the day i wear jeans.”

his grumble is ignored as the kitten looks up towards his stoic face and lets out one of the quietest meows you’ve ever heard. she raised one paw as if to ask for attention. 

jack shifted to sit in your lap as aaron knelt down.

his hand is enormous in comparison to the small animal. it doesn’t take a profiler to see the smile tugging at aaron’s lips. he pets her gently. the tabby’s purring starts almost immediately.

“i think she needs a name,” aaron suggests.

you turn to jack. it was his idea after all.

“she’s orange,” jack points out. “how about clem-cleme-”

the full word is still a bit of a challenge for him to say.

“clementine,” aaron finishes for his son.

“yeah!” 

aaron finally scoops her up to hold her.

“welcome to the family clementine.”

____

though aaron was initially hesitant to adopt an animal, clementine fits right into the family.

true to his word, jack helps out with caring for her. penelope takes care of clem too when you and aaron are away. she and sergio have become good friends. 

it’s not all easy, there’s definitely struggles. clementine sheds a lot. aaron has had to purchase more lint rollers than ever before, especially after clementine has developed a habit of sleeping on his suit jackets. 

the joy of companionship outweighs the minimal time it takes aaron to lint roll his suit.

clementine is great for jack with you and aaron working. even when you’re home and aaron is stuck at the office, she provides a source of comfort when you’re missing him. like tonight, when aaron was swarmed with extra files from the previous case. you offered to help, of course, but he refused. it was already late and he knew you needed sleep.

aaron unlocks the door and steps in quietly. he knows jack is asleep upstairs and doesn’t want to wake him. he cracks open his son’s door to check on him before entering your shared bedroom.

the lights are off and aaron can infer that you’re asleep. however, you aren’t alone in bed. 

“hi clem,” aaron greets the kitten who was curled up beside you. “taking my spot?”

clementine chirps and rolls her head against his hand. 

“aaron?” your voice is gravely as you peel your eyes open.

even in the dark you can still make out his silhouette. 

“hi honey,” aaron whispers. he leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth, just ghosting your lips. when you whine, he finally kisses you properly. “sorry for waking you up though i see clementine has been keeping you company?”

the kitten chirps from her spot on the blanket.

“oh,” you start, a bit more awake now. “she’s been here all night. i think she’s happy to see you.”

“i don’t doubt that.”

aaron gets ready for bed as quiet as possible. after slipping into pajamas and brushing his teeth, he’s crawling into bed beside you. just as you move to curl into his chest, clementine is padding up the blanket before promptly sitting on aaron’s chest.

your giggle is quiet. aaron huffs, clearly expecting to be cuddling with you and not a kitten.

you kiss him gently and maneuver yourself to still be close to him.

“goodnight aaron.”

“goodnight honey.”

when you wake up the next morning, aaron and clementine are still snuggled together.