#but im going to guess they'll fuck it up

[deeisace]

..

[andtosaturn]

why is the design coming off of the lorde hoodie i payed $150 for. hello

[cescalr]

the brainrot is continuing. im making sims now. nobody would like to seem them though i’ll probably showcase them at some point anyway. when i like them. when they pass the vibe check 

[britneyshakespeare]

why does scheduling my work days give me so much stress and anxiety

[featherymainffins]

Binge-reading Dungeon Meshi because it's the only thing standing between me and suicide ngl.

[corvid-on-the-rock]

I did say AFAB and AMAB, because that's what I meant. I could say "people raised as boys" (and I did) and i would get called a TERF all the same. But I don't understand how this post is aggression!! how is it aggressive to notice that a lot of the transfems ive met are literally sexist! and dont want to unlearn that! and dont examine their personal biases and call me a terf when called out on it!! gender roles are real and enforced in children!! why is this damaging to point out?? why do i and everybody else have to keep saying "yes it's EVERYONE'S responsibility.." (like in my reblog) just to make people feel better? why do i have to indict myself to make my criticisms valid? i know im not perfect, i know im angry, i know i have biases but that doesn't make my criticism here any less valid. For reference I am a transmasc, that's why im so mad about sexism.

I addressed this in better language in my 1st reblog, but this is exactly the shit im angry about and why i dont care if i hurt y'alls fucking feelings anymore. there's no way to say this without making people upset and people will continue to entirely discard a very valid point because "male socialisation is a myth" and "OP sounds like a TERF." I made a post about transfems specifically because I see it. A Lot.

image of reblog for posterity's sake. .

and like, "this isnt for people who are going to take it wrong" may seem like a cop-out, but im not trying to interact with TERFs on this post. I am speaking to and for and from the trans community. if I do notice TERFs coopting this post I will delete their reblogs, but this isn't for them, they don't have the framework to even begin to engage with this post in good faith. Again, if anyone does see this floating in TERF spaces lemme know.

also also please read the whole posts. idk how you missed that i said AMAB but you need to read the whole posts to get what im saying.

look im sorry but im sick to fucking death of people who were raised & socialised as boys and men never taking a fucking second to analyize the lens they view the world through like. half of the younger amabs, and yes i mean that, ive met never learned how to stop seeing afabs, and yes I mean that, as little girls who need to shut up. you just havent taken the time to unlearn that. it's fucking infuriating. im tired of not saying it. transitioning into womanhood doesn't baptise you of the patriarchy you've been taught to perpetuate your whole life, especially if you're white, or the behaviors you learned to do that. you have to actually look that in the eyes and deal with it and stop treating the LGBTQ+ community as a whole like it's our job to deal with the "complexities" of intersectionality while you just get to focus on yeah pretty much JUST white transmisogyny. Y'all are still fucking sexist deep down.

[skrunksthatwunk]

ohhhhh no. fuck my stupid baka life fuck my stupid baka life fuck my stupid baka life fuck my stupid baka life. this shit isn't funny anymore guys!!!!!! it's pretty fucking unfunny and you're still laughing!!!!!!!! god. dammit. literally just run me over with a car what the fuck

[skythealmighty]

can you imagine if like. object show characters were active on tumblr . i mean fans on here but his account is dead so. i mean itd be fun

#rocket talk #roc save #Fan come Back we miss you

(0 notes)

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

OH MY GOD NEW TPOT EPIWODHWND IM GONNA GO INSANE ONE!!! TELL ME YOUR SECRETS ONE!!!!!!

1️⃣ theoneandonly Follow

:)

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

HELLO??

#oh my god HI . THIS IS LIKE IF A CELEBRITY CAME UP TO ME IN PUBLIC. #ARE THE OTHER ALGEBRALIENS ON TUMBLR??? #/WHAT/

(3 notes)

🧪 test-tubular Follow

My best friend is pacing around my lab. I think a new episode's come out on one of his shows...

#I love him (/p) but he's going to become an unskippable cutscene very quickly

(0 notes)

⛔ nowaynuhuh Follow

i love shrimpy but it feels like he rlly doesnt ... get what i mean you know 😔 at least hes trying to cheer me up? i just wish i had someone to really talk to when it comes to these weird things i keep seeing

💼 emotional-baggage Follow

hey, i completely understand how you feel! im going to be busy the next few days with a finale, but ive sent you a dm if you need someone to talk to ^-^

⛔ nowaynuhuh Follow

thanks, ill take you up on that later!

⛔ nowayhuhuh Follow

...suitcase?

#i dont think shes been online since that last post #i hope shes alright...

(5 notes)

💰 goforthegold Follow

Reblogging this every time I miss my co-hosts!

💰 goforthegold Follow

:(

💰 goforthegold Follow

:(

💰 goforthegold Follow

:(

💰 goforthegold Follow

:(

🎮 iamnotmrkrabs Follow

Are you Okay

💰 goforthegold Follow

Take a wild guess.

(512 notes)

🥈 5centwonder Follow

why do people keep messaging me about hotel things?? i barely even go in two's hotel!

🥈 5centwonder Follow

yowie, you all need a hug :(!!

#especially you baseball guy!!! #im giving everyone in the comments a nice warm soft cookie

(19 notes)

🆚️ wordswithfriends Follow

Reblog if you think Flower winning BFB was a good choice, you like cheesecake, you hate Steve Cobs, you think Platinum is annoying, you're a fan of Dr. Fizz, you watch Jasonville TV, you think Glowstick's elimination was deserved, or you're gay

#they'll never know which one #i'm gay

(3,724 notes)

🔌 electricalmusical Follow

WHY IS THERE INTERNET IN RJE AFTERLIFE HELLO

👑 kingofeverything Follow

OMG NO WAY

🎡 not-tally-hall Follow

GET OFF OF TUMBLR.

🔌 electricalmusical Follow

YOU HAVE??? A TUMBRL???????

🎡 not-tally-hall Follow

...no.

👑 kingofeverything Follow

reblog if u dont have a tumblr

🎡 not-tally-hall Follow

This is stupid.

(10,734 notes)

🍿 stevecobseviltwin Follow

imagine needing to be Consistent to be popular

🖍 magic-crayons Follow

You know it girl!!!

🍿 stevecobseviltwin Follow

AYYYEEEE

#idk who u are but we should hang out Now

(3 notes)

🟢 greenyguy Follow

🅱️alls

(42,853 notes)

🎒 liam-plecak Follow

Oh my god I finally got this thing to connect to the internet. Okay.

Hello, Tumblr, my name is Liam Plecak. I'm sorry for the tag spam, but this is an urgent enough matter that I think warrants it.

For the past year and a half, I've been trapped in another universe with little-to-no communication to anyone else. I've been reading a few posts here and there, and I think some of you might be able to help with freeing me and my friends (I think some of you have powers?). Below is an in-depth description of where I am, what happened, and who did this to me. Please, if you can help, send me an ask.

Keep reading

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

oh my god? liam from hfjone is fucking real????

🎒 liam-plecak Follow

I'm sorry what

[intothecometverse]

"because i said so"

aight so yesterday i was at my college cafeteria, pretty fucking close to closing time. i went to the soup area to get clam chowder, only to see that they had run out. and i was thinking like maybe they'll refill it, but wait, why would they refill the clam chowder bowl this close to closing time? and then i was like actually they WILL refill it, because i said so, and then i set the intention for the clam chowder pot to be refilled.

and guess what, i just finished my burger and was abt to leave, when i saw one of the waiters come out with a fresh pot of CLAM CHOWDAAAAA.

so yeah wake up city boys new manifestation method just dropped 🗣️🗣️🗣️. i call it the "because i said so" method.

so basically what ur gonna do is let urself acknowledge ur doubts for a second. that's like the first step. for example, i might go "why would my sp ever like me?" BUT then im gonna COUNTER that doubt by going "because i said so," which reasserts ur position as the god of ur reality.

here are some other examples:

"why would i be cashapped 2 million dollars today for nothing? because i said so"

"why would my hw magically finish itself when magic doesn't exist? magic does exist in our world, and i have the ability to make my hw magically finish itself because i said so."

"why would my sp want to be friends with me when we've hardly talked in the past? because they like me and want to reach out to me, because i said so."

"why would i successfully shift tonight when I've had so many failed attempts in the past 3 years? because i said so."

hope this helps !!

-cy <3

[ch3rriiii-bunn]

Little game

Paring: Hantengu's clones x Fem!reader

Synopsis: Karaku to you, "Let's play a little game i made," and now you're blind folded, on the couch trying to guess who's eating you out.

Content: Sub reader, Dom clones, blind fold, Bondage, oral sex (reader receiving), Orgasm denial, slight monster fucking? (Their able to grow their tounges long), manhanding, feedbag position (click the link to know what I'm talking about)

Word count: 2.6k

A/n: hi guys!🥹 sorry I was MIA but I'm back!

Saw this idea on Twitter by the user TimieTate and I just HAD to write that idea with the clones😍

"Who's tounge do you think it is pretty girl?" Said a familiar voice that was heard across from you. It was Urogi. You were sat down on the couch, leaning back with your lower half to the edge with your legs open, feeling one of their tounges lapping at your clit. Urogi sat next to you and his claw on your thigh. You felt his large claw grip your thigh, making your legs close on the clone between your legs.

"Get back here! You're going to distract hee from giving an answer. You know how dumb she gets at just our touch alone," Sekido said, thumping his staff on the floor. "Oh, she'll answer. You know it's not me, so hurry up and give your answer. I'm dying to hear your answer," Urogi said in such a dark giggle.

Sekido grunts and shifts his eyes away from Urogi and onto you. "This game is ridiculous. Hurry up and guess who's tounge it is," Sekido said with annoyance in his tone. You bit your bottom lip, moaning softly with a few whines. You never would've thought Karaku wanted to play a game like this and practically put you to the test to tell their difference between their head game.

Although you're blindfolded to guess, you felt all their eyes glued onto you. The clone that was between your thighs was eager. His lips were sucking on your pretty clit while his tounge slide between your folds. You had to make a decision quickly. It clearly wasn't Urogi, Sekido spoke to argue with Urogi across from you so that only left two options.

Aizetsu or Karaku. Although they always get pussu drunk from eating you but one thing you can tell differently is that Aizetsu and karaku never hold back. They'll always start slow and work their way up, and right now, you felt your time running out since you felt your orgasm coming. Sekido reached his staff towards you and poked your side. "You know the rules. Don't fucking cum until you give an answer, or I'll shock you." He firmly said

You whimper softly, knowing you're not allowed to cum but you also didn't want Sekido shocking you like how he would with a spank on your ass when you disobeyed rules. "It's karaku!" You quickly say, your legs flexing a bit, but as soon as you answered, the clone pulled himself away. You shiver, feeling your orgasm wash away but your pussy still leaking with your juices.

Your heavy breathing fills the room as it becomes silent. It was an awkward silence before you felt a hand tightly gripping your thigh and nails dragging down your skin. You groan from the slight pain and then hear a deep scoff from Sekido. Karaku and Urogi laughed uncomfortably like a duo of Hyenas at your answer.

For the moment, you didn't understand until it sunk in a bit after. Before you could say something, Aizetsu spoke. "It wasn't him. It's me." Aizetsu said, with such a soft tone, yet his actions were harsh. "I-im sorry I didn't -" Aizetsu wasn't hearing it and spanked your ass. "When we get our alone time, I'm going to make you tell the difference between me and him," Aizetsu said and got up.

From his tone, you definitely hurt his feelings, but at the same time, you knew a punishment was yet to come. "Aw, you think about me when you're with Aizetsu? I must be that good, huh?" said Karaku, shooting a smirk at Aizetsu. You could feel that tension in the air. You couldn't do much but lay their, hoping Aizetsu will have some mercy on you afterwards, but you doubt it.

You calmed down, and the room went back to silence as the next clone took his turn. He grabbed your inner thigh and held them apart to ensure you don't try and hold his head between your thighs. You moan once you felt a tounge back on your clit, this time your clit being more sensitive from before. You think for a moment through the pleasure but then felt a hand placed on your lower stomach. Four large fingers on your stomach and the thumb pulling the skin back on your clit to he exact.

Your clit throbbed on his tounge and grip your hands onto the couch cushions. The clone then uses his hand to press down on your lower stomach a bit, making you moan out loudly as if you felt your orgasm coming back in seconds. His motivation seemed to get you as close as possible, so you had to answer quickly. "Uro- n-no hah~ Sekido!" Once you answered again, the clone needed to pull back, ruining another orgasm.

"Was that my name at first?" Urogi teased, knowing you were about to say his name bit instantly corrected yourself. Sekido growled. "You're lucky you called the right name," Sekido said and went back to his spot across from you on the couch. You whine softly, "Karaku. You said if I guessed right I'll be allowed to cum" you pout softly.

"I did, didn't I?" Karaku laughed. "But I only said that. Who said to say they'd also listen?" He smirked. You can feel his smug smirk. You should've known better. They all love to tease you until you break. "My turn now," Urogi said, sitting down on the floor and pulling your body closer by your legs and throwing them over his broad shoulders.

"Urogi. Now she knows it's you." Aizetsu sighed in disappointment at Urogi's carelessness. "She'd find out either way. I am the one clone with claws." Urogi chuckled, inches away from your pussy. "Fuck.." you quietly said, just eager to be back on your high and cum. "Ready for me?" Urogi said as his tounge stuck out, giving your puffy pussy soft kitten licks.

You nod. "Then come here" Urogi said as his mouth opens more as you shift your hips further into his face, moaning as his lips make contact with your pussy. Your hand grips onto his hair as you move your hips up and down on his tongue. Urogi will always let you do this to his face. He just can't get enough, and he knows how wet you get from doing that.

Urogi digged his talons in your thighs as he sucks on your clit. It wasn't hard enough to draw blood, but it was definitely enough to leave a trail of scratch marks. Urogi chuckled as he felt your clit throb on his tounge and pulled away for a moment. "Yeah. You love pain mixed in with your pleasure, dont you? How delightful. C'mon baby, keeping going crazy on my tongue," Urogi said, still supporting your lower half.

"Urogi~" You gasped, moaning his name as you bring your hand to your mouth, covering it with the back of your hand and moans into it as your other hand grips onto Urogi's hair as you roll your hips up to grind on his tounge. "Don't cover your damn mouth," Sekido said, wanting to hear your desperate moans to cum.

"I'll handle it when Urogi is done. I'm the one who came up with the game, after all." Karaku grinned. You were getting close. Your breathing quickening, your hand gripping tighter on Urogi's hair and your inside tightening around nothing. Your mouth hung open, even with some droll running down your chin as you were so close but like the others, Urogi stopped just as you were about to cum and pulled away.

"N-no, please-" you begged, not wanting Urogi to stop, but he just laughed at your state. You whimpered softly and even dampened the blind fold with your tears of pleasure. Urogi's claw grabs his chin, "drolling already? Don't waste it. You'll need more of it when you're drooling on my cock later" Urogi said, giving you a kiss, making you taste yourself for a moment and then stepping away.

You felt a bit embarrassed. 3 orgasms were denied and especially in front of four clones. Your breaths hitched. The feeling of your orgasm felt blocked. You could feel it. You knew it was there but slowly fading with each passing second, making you grow sexually frustrated. "Wasn't that fun? Come on, tell me. "Now said Karaku, plopping himself right next to you on the couch as he put his arm around you.

You turned your head and whispered. "Please. Just make me cum" you begged as you rub your thighs together. "Pathetic." Said Aizetsu from across the room, not satisfied with your begs. "I can't hear you y/n. You'll have to speak up!" Urogi spoke loudly, making fun of your soft and shakey tone. "Beg better than that. You're just asking for us to leave you here and not let your finish" said Sekido.

Karaku pouted. Of course, you couldn't see it, but he did. "Oh no, looks like I can't make you cum if you're begging like that, but I can't just leave you here with a pussy that needs to cum can I?" Karaku said, showing fake sympathy for you before laughing and licking your cheek just to get a reaction.

They were so mean, but you couldn't wait any longer. "Please, please Karaku please" you say over and over. "I need to cum. I need you to make me cum" you begged harder to the point of more tears, dampening the blindfold. Karaku could see your desperation and then kissed you for a moment and then, pulling his lips away.

The clones shoot themselves a look, and then, Karaku spoke. "Turn around," Karaku said, and you did, slowly as you moan softly from your thighs, closing a bit just to turn. Your clit has become so sensitive to the point where any touch on it is enough to make you cum. Karaku removed the clothing from his shoulders and then used it to tie your hands behind your back.

"There. Now you won't hide those moans we love so much. Especially Sekido." Karaku chuckled and saw how Sekido turned his face away. Your hands weren't getting out of this. "Lay on your back, beautiful. Don't keep my waiting for my turn," Karaku said, growing eager for his turn after patiently waiting. Karaku didn't hesitate to grab your thighs and push them to your chest.

"Damn. They did a number on you didn't they? Your clit is sticking out so much~" Karaku moaned softly as the sight, smiling at your needy pussy. Karaku stuck his tongue out flat and licks your pussy and between your folds. "And you're so wet. And tasting so good for me. Let me hear how good it feels~" Karaku said though his tounge out as he licks and his lips kissing and sucking on your clit.

There's no way you could try and hide your voice, especially with Karaku keeping his word and eating you out so good and also your hands being bounded by his clothing. Your back arches and karaku only grips onto your shaking thighs tighter as he begins to eat your pussy out roughly.

"How noisy." Aizetsu commented with his usual frown. However, him, as well as his fellow clones, couldn't take their eyes off the site in front of them. If only you didn't have the blind fold on, you could easily see just how hard they've gotten and practically palming their throbbing cocks through their pants. "She'll be more noisy once she's jumping on my cock after this. Right, y/n?" Urogi laughed.

Sekido grunts. He was growing inpatient. He tried to keep his hands away from his crotch, not trying to edge himself through his clothing like Aizetsu and Urogi. Watching you whimper and moan, how your back arches from your hands being tied back and your thighs shaking in Karaku's grip was sending him over the edge already and made him want you even more.

"Hurry up and make her cum already." Sekido said in angered yet almost desperate tone just wanting to be inside you. "Wow look at that. You've managed to get all four demons in heat just from eating you out. Do you think you can handle all of us at once?" Karaku said, sucking on your clit and folds, then stops, making a pop sound. "Or would you have us pass you around like the good whore you are?" Karaku chuckled and gives your thobbing clit a kiss.

Before you could even come up with some kind of answer, you felt something a bit off. Karaku has always put his tongue on your entrance, but you feel his tongue slide between your folds and inside you a bit too easily, almost like his tongue grew. Karaku pulled back for a moment, letting out a sensual huff. He wasn't tired at all, his tounge was still going to work but even he too wanted you cum and taste it all.

Karaku pulled your body by your thighs towards him and then put you in a feedbag position. You gasped, bracing yourself with your arms behind your back. You felt Karaku's breathing against your clit and his hands on your ass as he uses his thumbs to spread you open, watching your wet folds open up with a slick line of your wetness and then disappearing.

"Oh... there's an ability that demons can do," Aizetsu spoke, as if he felt sorry for you. Before you could understand Aizetsu's words, your body shivers as you feel Karaku's tongue again. This time, his tongue licks your thighs and then eventually moves its way inside you. "O-ooh my god~!" Your breaths quickly as you felt his long tongue inside, already beginning to tounge fuck you like it had a mind of its own.

"Demons are able to make our tounges longer." Aizetsu said as he watches you're reaction. "Wh-why haven't any of you done this - aah!~" you say though moans and cries. "I would've done it. If you guessed the right name," Aizetsu said with some petty. "I'm sorryyy~" you whine as your walls clench down on Karaku's tongue, making him moan in response.

"At least she has something to clench on. Your pussy was just acking to be filling wasn't it?" Urogi asked and watches your mouth hangs open with loud moans. "Y-yes! Yes, yes~" you answered through moans as karaku continues to tounge fuck you, watching you with his emerald green eyes.

Aizetsu sighed. "You're so cute when you apologize," Aizetsu said, stepping towards you. "Aizetsu! Wait, your damn turn," Sekido said, but Aizetsu ignored him. "It is fun to watch. Look at how she reacts to her tits being touched." Urogi grinned and bites his lip watching you.

Aizetsu sat down near your head and leaned down, using his hand to grope your tit while using his finger and rub your sensitive nipple. "Gonna cum?" He asked and watching you nod your head quickly. "Yes, yes yes!~" you said, feeling the orgasm coming as you moans get Louder. Your voice was swallowed by Aizetsu, kissing you deeply and even lengthing his tounge to go down your throat.

You choke slightly from the feeling, making out with Aizetsu until your thighs slam shut around Karaku's head as you moan with a soft groan, cumming on Karaku's tounge. Karaku felt your insides throb, holding his tounge in pace until you relax from your orgasm. Karaku pulled his lips away and slides his tounge out of you, reverting it to normal size.

"That felt so fucking good" Karaku said and slaps your ass before putting your body down. Aizetsu soon too pulled his lips away from the kiss and reverted his tongue back to normal and then, pulling the blind fold over your head and watched your eyes flutter.

It took you a moment for your eyes to ajust to the lighting. You blink a few times and sighed in relief to see again, but soon enough, you saw the room shift as you were quickly picked up. You gasped. It was Urogi. His claw held you by the thighs as he held you over his shoulder. "You can't take all of us on the couch. Let's go to the bed, yeah?" He asks for your approval and looks back at you with a smirk.

"Okay~" you respond as Urogi takes you to the bedroom with the others quickly following behind.

The night was still younge, and you had many more hours to spare to entertain them a little more.

Part two? With the foursome?👀

[vyzz-undercover]

someone left my cage open quick

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(8,800ish words) (holy fucking kill me mate)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•not dubcon? [omg they've grown guys]

•hints of size kink

•vaginal fingering [on herself]

•(so i guess) masturbation

•oral [m receiving]

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions on contraception

•discussions on pregnancy

•mild possessive behaviour

•hint of slapping (he deserves it)

•mild horror themes [warp ptsd]

•tumblr's cancerous fucking formatting as always

———————————————————————————————————

hi guys :3 guess what i got you all good im not dead,,, the gods have let me live another fateful fortnight (fortnite) also i love you all so so so much pls enjoy!!!! @moodymisty, @lemon-russ, @bispecsual, @the-raven-lady, @egrets-not-regrets, @pluvio-tea, @kit-williams, @thevoidscreams, @mothiir, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sinistermojo, @beckyninja, @passionofthesith, @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond, @allergymoose, @scriberye, @yestheantichrist, @ma1dmer, @cucunot!!! if anyone wants off or on taglist lmk!!! im more than happy to adjust this in post OK BYE ILY ALL AGAINNNN!!!

———————————————————————————————————

There should be higher security in this wing, Cato notes.

But compared to the rest of the vessel, it's safe—as in, there's senior Admech's leaving their doors open while they buff out the scratches in their mechadendrites sort of safe. He bets seeing a mouse around here would cause a stir. Honestly, he can fully render the pict in his mind of some haughty Seneschal turning their nose up to his Primarch because of that.

Cato can imagine the exact following happening, 'eugh, why doesn't Lord Guilliman virus bomb the pipes? That's what I had done on my pissy little rowboat of a void ship!' in that nasally, all too predictable tone that every single bloody one of them seems to have bar maybe a few.

Cato grits his teeth at the thought alone.

But it is safe. You're safe, here. He trusts his Primarch to ensure that for you. Being so cozy to Guilliman as a baseline certainly has its benefits. This place is good for you, unlike the bowels of the ship—where even Cato avoids going.

Not for any risk to his persons, of course. But simply because of the tightness of the hallways. And the stink of baseline sweat and oil that practically sticks to his senses for days afterward.

It's most certainly not because the low lumen count sends his mind wandering. And the flickering—damn those flickering lights—they make him uneasy. The impossible chance they'll flicker out and reveal a reality awash with fleshed decking is completely unrealistic. But still, down in those depths, he feels like he's stuck in a dying vessel, cracked at the bottom like a broken vase, leaking. Adrift, on a storm laden sea with the blackness pouring in—where within that black there is a barely perceptible colour in infinite abundance, like the phosphenes behind closed eyes—and there are eyes in that ocean—so, so many eyes, fixed with the glowing, molten hues of the warp itself; their shades a melted tapestry, a solvent thing, ever-changing.

Eyes and screaming. It sometimes returns to Cato like a bad case of tinnitus, ringing and shrill—but the mind crafts horror that pale reality in comparison, and in that wretched plane of existence those mental horrors bore real talons, and real hooves and real thought—and the caterwauling of its victims—his brothers—ever came from maws heaving and frothing in agony.

Cato hears himself stumble and slam a palm into the side wall to steady himself, but doesn't feel it. He feels like he's in free-fall, as if the ground has opened up and swallowed him hale and whole.

All time in that abominable realm was rendered simply nonexistent, without matter nor meaning to behold to any living creature. Naught but the notion of being practically alone and how chilling it was spiralling down the depthless lake of energy remained. No resistance of air lent to the sensation of plummeting, but he was sure he was for reason beyond any form of tongue. The distance was irrelevant and utterly unmeasurable. But the warp had no edge, no limit; and as it lacked a limit, the depth of him sinking was surely unbounded—just as it was eerily silent. A merciless wall of mute, dark unknown which swallowed all whole under it's cresting wave of solitude. Mute except the wailing, like song—song of sheer coincidence, where so many voices in unison chances harmony by mathematics beyond comprehension.

The sour taste on his tongue drags him loose of the claws about his mind.

He blinks, and sees and feels steel.

Cold, unforgiving steel walling like a soothing downpour on his nerves.

Cato groans as he rights himself, shaking his head, and then rolls his tongue around his mouth; gagging a little at the bitter, acrid aftertaste of his Betcher's gland acting on instinct.

He'd thought himself largely past this now. It had been so long since it happened, and Cato tries, he tries so painfully hard not to imagine the same thing happening here, because he's okay, you're okay—nothing would try to take this ship.

The vile taste on his tongue annoys him, because he'd scrubbed his teeth raw in an effort to seem as polished as he could; and now his tongue probably stinks like an empty las cartridge.

He spits on the floor and straightens up, it's fine—at least that's what he tells himself. You're close, and you're safe and that's all the encouragement he needs to fall back into step.

Cato takes a few strides down the corridor towards your quarters before realising something rather important.

He reaches into the folds of his rest attire and practically yanks out a sheathed knife.

It'd be closer to a dagger to you, and he doubts you know how to use it, but—but—

He wants to give it to you.

It's what he'd like to receive, at least. After all, it is what he was given, once.

The smith on Talassar is long dead, from age or sickness, but it matters little. All that matters is that Cato had received it ages ago when he'd yet to make anything of himself and he wants your hands to know its weight. You never carry weapons to diplomatic ventures in the past, and you've told him as much, but he gathers it's because there's never been place for you to put them on your persons in those stupid outfits of yours.

It's a little bit brutish of a gift, yes, he's well aware. But there's no possibility of bringing any sort of cliche boon to your door, like flowers, or something of the sort. Or whatever those waifs of yore would demand as a courting gift.

He doesn't even realise he's continued walking until he's stopped and standing outside your chamber like a kicked hound.

Cato stuffs the dagger back against his breast.

He's not sure if he should knock.

Maybe barging in is a more logical approach.

He knows the universal override to all the input pads, but there's something seemingly rooting him to the spot.

The nervousness hesitation he feels regarding seeing you is a lingering problem—the longer he stays beyond the confides of your room only adds to the chances of being caught. And he's not about to wait for hours outside for a hint you're actually in there. He has right to suspect you are, but the possibility of a serf being there instead of you is unrealistic but present. Actually no, he's sure that a cleaning serf would not lock the door.

So, finally, he raps a knuckle against the door and sets his footing to a martial stance.

The door clicks, then slides open a minute later.

There's a clear surprise that paints across your face as he stares down at you, before it dissolves into a small, flustered smile.

His hands twitch where they hang by his sides, itching to reach for the dagger he wants to give you. He had planned how he'd do this on the way here. Thought it through and prepared, rolling it over and over in his head. And yet, actually having you before him throws any precedent out the nearest air-lock.

You're not in any sort of prim and proper way—you're in bedding clothes, more than anything: pants and a top.

The trousers are a light shade of cyan, loose around your calves but more form fitting around your thighs. Your hips seeming to be the only thing holding the pants up from showing the warm, smooth skin beneath; that, and a small thread tied in a crude bow. Your tunic is more of a inched stola, low necked enough that he can sort of see the top of your breasts.

"I didn't.. uh," you mumble. "I didn't expect you so soon."

He knows he's earlier than he promised, but he grunts in answer and looks over your shoulder.

You blink, "What?"

"Am I to wait out here all cycle, then?"

A small 'oh, right—sorry' from you is all he receives before you take a step back to allow him entrance.

When the door slides shut and locks behind him, Cato notes the lack on downlight activated. Everything is hazed in a moody, misty (hi) sort of warm, amber glow from the candles you've left burning. He thankfully wrestles down the urge to stand there scenting the air with his lip curled up like a beast. Trying not to linger on the abundant stink of you, you, you on everything, pervading every sense he has. Promising himself he won't smother into your pillows and start humping them like a rabid dog.

He distracts himself by cataloguing his surroundings. Cato has consistently focused on utilitarianism over all else, and it shows in his room. His room is accessorised in the style befitting of his many years and achievements; with walls lined with trophies and weaponry made by the best of the Imperium. It contains just the basic necessities required: a work area, a seat, a couple of lights, an agreeably Astartes-sized cot at the middle, and close to it, a dependable incense holder.

Your room is much smaller—but the ensuite appears the same, though. Which Cato doesn't know how to feel about. He surmises it was likely a converted Captain's quarters. It's not standard issue, and neither are the copious amounts of, for lack of a better word, trinkets. But he supposes being the Primarch's favourite little diplomat-bookkeeper-pet-thing is a title full of unseemly rewards. His Father has a strange, uncouth way of interacting with baselines, and he doesn't dare linger on the hypocrisy behind that thought coming from him standing in your private quarters.

Be as that may, he still feels enormous standing there in the cramped space between you, the bed, and the desk behind you, unimpressed at the amount of clothing bundled near his feet.

You stand in your own mess without any hint of shame. A silent Ambassador is typically a welcomed novelty, but a silent you makes Cato jumpy.

You near and try to urge him to lean down, clearly trying to coax a kiss from him.

"Water," he says abruptly.

You don't seem to be listening, just looking at him with a distracted sort of fascination—then the request clicks, and you stumble into the bathroom and run the tap.

He hears the glass he's to be drinking from clink with the hardware before it fills, and them you step out and close to him to hand it over.

He takes a big gulp and swishes it around his mouth before swallowing, and gladly the wretched sourness of lingering acid is gone.

With the threat of burning your little nagging trap gone—and you none the wiser to the fact he's an Ultramarine who can, in-fact, spit acid—he rears down and gives you what you'd sought.

A slow kiss, nice and sweet and gentle; and he closes his eyes this time, in preparation.

You grin against his mouth and pull back after, and he smiles a tiny bit at the way your lips are a little redder.

Cato huffs in satisfaction and straightens back up, going in for another draught of water.

"I am surprised you live in squalor, despite all the benefits of your station," he murmurs offhandedly, looking aside the rim at the room once more between sculling down the rest of the cup.

You frown, and glance about the room, "It's not that bad."

"It looks like a drop zone," Cato grumbles, holding out the empty glass—and you take it, while he's fixed on staring disapprovingly at the messy stacks of data-slates stacked and leaning like two great spires. "Have you no discipline? No self-respect?"

"Clearly not," you mumble and glare at him, eyeing him up, then down, then up again with a judgmental leer. Suddenly, something about the situation is amusing to you—and you snort.

Cato scowls, crossing his dense arms over his chest, "And what's that suppose to mean?"

"Nothing," you huff.

He glares back at you in silence as you turn and set the glass upon the desk—what little free space there is, in that shitstorm bundle of random work.

"I just think it's funny that you say that," you start again abruptly, rounding about to look at him. "Given the circumstances."

The scoff that leaves him is nigh a bark, "Exceptional circumstances."

You snort amusedly, "So where's your discipline and self-respect?"

"Somewhere between your thighs," he says, and prides in the begrudgingly fought-back smile he earns out of you with it.

He sits himself down on the side of the bed and continues priding to himself at the wit of the remark he made.

Cato relishes in the moment, simple as it is—you're oblivious to his own troubles and there's a sweet, lulling sense of comfort in that.

"You're a real class act," You pout, manoeuvring your rear up onto the desk inelegantly. Something tumbles to the floor to accommodate, but you're evidently unbothered. Your pants ride down at the change just enough that it put the part where your hip met leg on display. Just the temptation has him fiending off an insidious amount of lust.

He wonders if it'll hold up against an Astartes fucking you on it. But it's not bolted down, so he doubts that.

The bed will hold, though. And even if it doesn't, he'll still manage—he's sure he'll take every bit of you he can, on every surface he can manage. It's just a matter of time before he goes down the checklist, really.

Cato, understandably, groans long and low at the thought.

"Something the matter, Commander?" You intone with an annoyingly obvious faux-stupidity, crossing your legs and tilting your head a little.

"No," he rasps, and tears his gaze from your hip.

You eye him, "You look a little stiff."

He grumbles, and reaches into the breast of his robes.

The sheathed dagger looks flimsy in his muscle and callous laced palm, and when he holds it out to you, you look bemused.

Your brow arches up and you scowl a little, "What's that for?"

"You," he harrumphs, and turns away. Then Cato cannot, for the life of him, look back at your eyes—so he fixes his stare at your sandals set by one another at the door frame.

A little giddy huff leaves you as he watches you scoot off the desk top and reach for the weapon in his peripheral vision.

"You didn't have to," you coo, wrapping your small fingers around the hilt and freeing the blade from its casing. A little kiss hits his cheek and then he hears the gleam of it being loosed—he'd polished the time-dulled filigree to a mirror finish in preparation for gifting you, and even sharpened it back to a killing edge.

Your sweet hum of fascination as he sees the reflected candlelight dancing off the steel has him finally look back at you.

There's a big smile on your face, and your cheeks are a little red—and it's exactly the reaction he was after.

Cato tips his chin up, noble in his smugness, and smiles back.

"It's lovely, but—" you say, "I remember having told you before I can't wear weapons."

He pouts, and then he's sour again, "There's a belt loop on this one so that you can."

"I don't wear them for a reason," you digress.

"What reason?"

"Because it looks bad for a diplomat to do so."

Cato huffs petulantly, "That's not good enough."

"Yes, it is," you huff back.

"It's just one knife," He grunts, and gestures at you vaguely. "Why not put it on the inside of your thigh?"

And for some reason a few neurones misfire in his head at the thought of his dagger being so, so close to your—

"Do me a favour, Sicarius," you simper abruptly, as if there's a hidden punchline to the entire conversation he's yet to discover, "Look under the bed."

Cato scowls, but ultimately allows the request, putting one big palm on the duvet to leer down.

Oh, that's—that's a small fortune of ceremonial weaponry.

"Throne, woman," he starts, still looking and a bit stunned. "Why? Do you just collect all these? You don't hang them up, or anything?"

"I don't collect them willingly," you mumble, "They're just... handed to me, most of the time. Sometimes by dignitaries, a few by other Astartes. I don't understand it much, either."

Cato arches lower and reaches his free hand out to the gilded sheath of a curved sword, blue and gold and embossed with jewels. It's crusade-era levels of ancient—and Cato swears he'd seen it upon the lobby wall before the broad doors of Guilliman's chambers. That, and the hundreds of other favoured tools of war his Primarch so loved to display. Some hadn't been touched since the heresy, but still. Their nostalgic sentiments held strong. He supposes age does that to someone. Even for someone as noble and mindful as his Father.

Cato purses his lips as he lays a hand on the sword and tugs it free from the pile with ease.

He holds it up as he rights himself back on the bed and scowls, "This is—"

"I know," you sigh, and your hand braces against the side of your neck as you tut, "He insisted."

"He insisted?"

"He insisted," you grumble, and Cato tries hard not to find the embarrassed colour on your cheeks painfully endearing. "I said I wouldn't wear it, but he said it'd be a good thing to keep 'incase of emergencies', or something."

"Guilliman is right," Cato says sourly, placing the sword back on the ground and using his heel to shuck it backwards back under the bed. "You're easily assailable."

"You're the fifth Astartes to say that to me," Your face scrunches up, "I feel like it's an insult at this point."

"It's a valid observation," he shoots back. "You may as well be held together with silk and ribbons—like some spoilt little princess. You should expect the fanfare with that behaviour."

You leave his dagger on the desk behind you and take a few bold steps closer to him, crossing your arms over your chest; scowling as you say, "Oh, so you're the knight in shining armour here, then?"

Cato scoffs, "I always have been."

"And that is so terribly hard?"

He raises a brow and straightens up a bit, "Yes—yes, it is."

He likes the haughty attitude you get when you're subtly seething, he likes the little scowl you wear, and the tiny crease that forms on your nose. It gets his blood up, and warp damn him if he doesn't thrill at the slightest chance to have you gratifying his antics.

"Well, you got a pretty good reward for your troubles."

He frowns sourly, "What did I get?"

"Laid," you snark.

Cato huffs, "You were desperate for it."

Your brow quirks sourly, and you cross your arms over your chest.

"Groxshit," you grumble.

Ah, so it's time for lying now. You weren't desperate, no—you haven't ever raised your ass to let him mount you, you haven't groped his cock—you most certainly haven't ridden him like an unruly beast, taking your pleasure—letting him fuck your tight cunt full, time and time again.

He ought to remind you, he ought to get you flushed with the words—because he knows you'll squirm, dithering, bright red in the face and aching between the thighs.

Instead, he snorts loudly, "Shut up and come here."

"I don't think so," you laugh.

Cato growls and rolls his eyes, "Suit yourself."

Still sitting, he lifts the folds of his robes aside and works his arms out of the sleeves, baring himself aside from the underclothes hanging on his hips.

With another huff, Cato shuffles himself back up against the headboard, settling into the pillows. He locks his fingers together, raising them above his head, stretching tall and taut; huge chest bulging as a strained groan slips free from his throat, earning a chain of muted cracks from his back in reward of his efforts.

Your eyes trace his torso where you stand aside the bed. Studying the ports and ancient scars that draw up from his hips in mirrored pathways, linear and geometrically precise—utterly surgical. Their routes turned up the sides of his ribs, stopping high on his serratus anterior, dodging his pectorals and wrapping around to his deltoids; where your gaze stayed—eyeing the tattoo of an inverted omega he had gotten so very, very long ago. It's faded a little, but the upside down Ω is still well defined.

He's got your attention now.

You shuffle forward, half on the edge of the bed; and lean close, flickering your eyes up to his—as if seeking some sort of allowance.

"Disgustingly predictable," He scoffs, cocking his head and relaxing a bit.

Seeing an Astartes out of their armour always was something to behold for baselines. Ever eye-catching even to those who'd seen it a thousand times over. It garnered awe and fear; but that was the reason the Emperor made them so large in the first place. Aside from the practical benefits of throwing their weight around, their presence alone was intended to be physically intimidating as a means to dissuade the uncooperative from resisting and to scare off contest.

To you though, his bared form is a source of lust. The stink of it in the air has him toey and eager.

But it is, afterall, the first time you've had a good, close look at him in his entirety.

Cato preens at the flush he earns when he smirks at you.

"I won't stop you, you know."

"I hope not," You muse and lay a hand on his sternum, kneeling onto the bed and scooting close as your fingers graze over the dark spread of hair dusting across his chest.

You scan from the tops of his broad shoulders down the definition of muscle to the interfaces on his fused ribs; your eyes trailing for a brief second to his dense abdomen where the hair went even lower. Arrowing down his under-cloth. His entire body was marked with brutal scars of every kind. Some raised and old, others raw and sunken.

He'd indulge a question or two about their origins if asked—or well, if asked nicely.

Oh, that meagre cicatrix below his left pectoral? That was a Carnifex he had fought. It was five of them all at once single handedly, actually—and he only had his great Talassarian Tempest blade. It was a lucky mark from the beast. It died seconds later. He's just that good—he's Cato Sicarius, afterall. You made the right choice letting him have you, please tell him that he's the right choice.

Instead, you sink down against him and lie against his side, tracing the ports on his chest.

Arguably, this is just as satisfying to Cato as gloating waxing on and on about his many successes. Your warm little body tucked against his like a perfect fit, and the feel of your fingers around the thinner skin rimming his interfacing ports isn't bad, either. It feels strange, yes, but it's a different sort of sensation. It's acutely sensitive. He almost feels like he's about to shiver at it.

But then your attention shifts to raking against the grain of the hair on his chest.

"I usually have it burned away," he says abruptly, because he's somewhat bemused by your fascination. Still, he puffs his chest out a little. "To allow greater synergy with my body-glove."

"Really?" You laugh, and it's a prettier sound than carillon bells to Cato's ears—all the while pawing at a thick hunk of his pectoral, "They toast you?"

"Only a single passing," Cato admits, "It doesn't hurt—stinks though. And then it's all hosed off."

You hum in acknowledgement and let your hand wander down his middle, following the trail of fluffy, coarse hair.

"Interesting," you hum, fingers tracing the path, stopping only when you're grazing just shy of the top wrap of his undercloth. "You feel a bit like a fur rug here."

Cato breathes in slowly, "Don't test your luck."

"It's an entirely valid statement, how am I testing my luck?" You grumble, glowering at him as you pull away.

"You ought to be reprimanded for insubordination," He says with a steely, disciplinary intonation, but the threat's hollow and you're seemingly well aware of that. He leans in and pulls you close again as his touch sweeps down your legs. His nose buries into your hair, big hands appraising groping.

You set about kissing his cheek, smothering yourself against him.

The airy gasp that leaves you when he squeezes your ass makes you bold, apparently, because the next words you choose to say are; "Do you accept bribes?"

Cato's immediate theoretical response is a snarky 'No,' but then the heel of your palm is sliding up the side of his cock through the wrapped linen.

So, pointedly, he eagerly groans out, "Yes."

You simper up at him, before fussing with the fabric. Exposing the dense plain of his hip, tugging and un-pleating a little more until he's bared from the navel down.

His cock's so hard it nearly bats you across the cheek as it springs free. To which Cato snorts, not even trying to hide his amusement.

You flinch a little in surprise, a hint flustered, and eye the hard length of him as if it's personally affronted you.

He sits a little more upright, thighs spreading, presenting himself. Offering his big, sturdy quads as a cushion to lean on as you slowly pump him in a steady motion.

"Well?" Cato snarks, "Get on with the bribery then."

You pout at him, glancing back—and huff, "You smell like an apothecarium."

Cato grumbles to himself, slow to gather his words as he watches you ogle him, "If I had... known that you wanted to get that damn snout of yours so close, I wouldn't've used such harsh soaps."

You raise an eyebrow and pout, "Wonder if they're toxic to ingest."

"I doubt it," he starts, "But I guess there's only one way to find out."

Your fingers glide over his big thighs, dodging his ports and smoothing upwards to trace the old paths of his surgeries.

And even with all his stoic, anally neurotic merit, Cato can't stifle the small subvocal hum that escapes him as you flatten your tongue, licking a warm stripe up the side of his cock.

The feeling of it is staggeringly new, and he's absolutely elated at the view. It's half the appeal, even if there's no way you're getting anywhere near as much cock in you as your cunt allows.

You wrap your lips around the fat tip, keeping it in your mouth as you stroke the thick base of him with a grip that can't even meet around the width; balancing yourself better on your knees by putting the other hand on his thigh—the sleeve of your top slipping down your arm.

"This may be a better use for your mouth than diplomacy," He says as he lets out a low sigh, hips jerking forward with shallow movements in time to the bobbing of your mouth.

When you pull off to swipe away the glaze of spit and pre-cum accumulating on your chin, you lap your bottom lip and huff, "You are a prick, you know that?"

Despite being enamoured by the sight of you disheveled, he grumbles petulantly and says, "And you had to take your tongue off mine to say that."

You frown at him, then acquiesce with a petulant little grunt.

Then your mouth descends on him once more, rocking back and forth, letting gravity angle him in. All Cato can do is relish in the sensation, finding no room in his brain for anything else. Just the feeling of the wet heat of your mouth swallowing around him, and the swirling counterpoint of your tongue—eagerness in your gaze as it flicks up to find his again—Throne, that makes him groan straight away.

You hum around his length in response, the vibrations ricocheting through his nerves and up his spine blindingly. His other palm is suddenly against his forehead, a bit stunned from the bombardment of new pleasure.

Your little fingers dig fruitlessly into his thigh, making him hyperaware, sending him grinding forward a bit only to be rewarded with another lurching buzz of ecstasy. The hand pumping the base of him shifts away, and then small nails rake across his navel, then his hip, tracing a port; and he buries his face into the crook of his elbow to stifle a heavy moan. They're only meagre claws, yet the pressure is strangely comforting as you lap at the blood flushed underside of his glans.

Cato's aware his voice catches as he keens aloud, pulling his arm away from his face to rest his forearm on his hairline. He's simply just enjoying the soft, hot drag your mouth around his tip again.

But a reedy little whine snags his attention, catching him unaware that he had even closed his eyes in the first place.

When he finally opens them, he swoons. Hard. Your cheeks are a stunning maroon, and your previously focused gaze now looks hazy and desperate, utterly lost in the act. He hadn't been cognisant he'd put his hand on your head, either. But watching you sink down around him again and again is intoxicating. How your pink tongue peeks out to lathe over a raised vein when you pull off for air has him dizzy. Your other hand's drifted down your pants and between your thighs at some point when he'd been lost in his own pleasure, fingers curling inside yourself. A deep inhale makes it clear you're absolutely soaking. And he's well aware that it is a meagre substitute—still, the eagerness of you is adorable lurid.

Distantly, he wonders just how many times you've had that hand there in this bed. It's the scene of the crime, really. You'd already admitted to it—and he ought to make sure you're full of his fingers to keep yours where there should be. That is, if he could move. He can't find the will to even sit up higher, let alone move the hand he's been using to keep your head steady. But, he does have the mind to comb his fingers through your tresses, at least.

You seem to realise he's realised what you're doing and you whine again, forcing yourself to take his cock further.

Cato lets out an approving moan and hisses out a feckless string of curses, thighs tensing sharply as his senses stagger at the heat that suffuses his belly.

The sick temptation to spend himself in your sweet vile maw is nigh all consuming, but it's nothing compared to the fact he's far more convinced on dumping it in your womb. Anywhere else feels like an injustice to the fact he's able to fill you—because just like some fang-toothed warp-spawn abomination, you've opened the door and invited him in, so he can make as much of a wreck of you as he likes, or as much as you like.

He yanks you off him by the reigns he's made of your hair and you choke a little.

The small groan at the messy handling of the situation is a testament to how badly you're after his end, "Wh-why...?" you rasp, the efforts having made your voice a little rough; the mix of your drool and his precum giving your chin and lips a wet, glossy sheen.

"Because—" he starts, and he's surprised by how ragged he sounds to his own ears. "Because, there's better holes to empty it in."

The little disappointed sigh that escapes you as you lick your slick bottom lip makes him immediately change his mind.

"Have it your way then," he heaves, and shoves your head back down—instinctively chasing the rising tide and rocking forward into your quickly opening mouth.

His hand is tight in your hair now, fist tangling the strands in his grip as you let him thrust freely. Your own hand grabs the side of his hip as his tempo stutters. By the Emperor, his father would kill him if he could see this. But, damn—the sight of you like this is sin. He's so much bigger than you it looks obscene with you servicing him like this. You're a mess, gagging and tearing up, but making no attempt to pull away. It's depraved, but if you're so desperate for a load down your throat, who's Cato to say no? He's more than happy to give you exactly that—and just on time, he feels his balls tighten up—static rising out up his spine as a groan tears from his throat. Caught daft not a millisecond later by a bodily shudder blinding him in a hot rush.

Cato pants as the shivers subside in heavy throbs, filling your mouth. He pets your head as you swallow, at first—and then the pockets of your cheeks puff out. And suddenly you're cringing and scrambling off of him and into the ensuite. The tap starts up, then you do, and all he hears spitting and sputtering.

You stumble out looking like you'd eaten something sour, swiping your hand across your lips before saying, "That tasted horrible."

"You wanted it," Cato growls.

A bright, wry smile plasters itself on your features, "And?"

"And, if you want more," he begins, eyeing you. "You'll have to lose the rags, woman."

You straighten, eager—and promptly start to wrestle your top over your head, just to throw it at his face.

Cato grumbles at the rudeness periodically, before he starts sniffing the article. Vomeronasal organ having a momentary frenzy. It smells of warm you, and a little bit of sleep. Like an embrace, and—fuck, his spent cock twitches back to life. He really shouldn't behave like this. It makes him assume he looks savage. Even he feels strange. So he wretches your top off himself and tosses it somewhere to the left.

Watching you suddenly appear on the bed, fighting your way out of your pants is much more entertaining.

He likes the way you shimmy onto your back and fuss yourself free; and the way you practically lunge back close to him when you're finally bare.

You lean over him and grin, and Cato appreciatively drags a hand down your back, palming your ass.

Promptly, he rolls himself and drags you along. He groans theatrically as if you're fifty times the effort to move than you are, simply because he can. And the shifting of his bulk makes the bed shake enough that the stack of slates on the table across the room falter, and tumble to the floor in a loud clatter of sound.

On your back under him, he preens at the flushed surprise on your face.

"That was too loud—you're too loud," you heave.

"I'm too loud?" He grumbles, pinning your far smaller shape down. "Says you."

That stirs a groan out of you, at least, squirming while Cato drags his tongue up the side of your neck.

"Someone can still pass by and hear," you whine, "We shouldn't make that much—"

"I doubt it," he grunts, cutting you off as he slides off the mattress and drags you to the lip of it. "We have a bed all to ourselves. Your bed—in your quarters, with six inches of steel in the way, might I add. They'd have to stand at the door to listen."

He flips you over, pressing you front down—slumping against you on his knees to grant a rough grind or two to make sure you're hyperaware of his thick erection plastered against your ass. Your legs kick out and you wriggle, a series of ragged gasps leaving you as you endure the onslaught. A small lick here, a small lick there—huffing and panting to stir an empathic response. Winding you up to writhe and flush as he groans next to your ear, only to start chuffing out mean spirited laughter when you moan back.

"See, you don't really care about anyone hearing, do you?" He rasps out against your throat before sucking the skin over a thudding little artery. "You're not sworn to chastity. They might just think, 'oh, the Ambassador's found another poor soul to suck the semen out of, shame,' or the likes."

"I don't know how you do it," You scoff, breathing hard into the covers as he pulls away and grabs you by the hips to hoist your rear up into that perfect taunting arch he remembers so well from the cabin. Aptly presenting yourself on your knees at mounting-height while he stands.

"Do what?"

You laugh, "Manage to find the worst possible thing to say every time."

Cato sneers haughtily, "Decades of practice."

Taking himself in hand, he angles the tip of his cock to kiss the soft rim of your entrance. And Throne, Cato's ecstatic. He finally gets to fill in the gaps of what he should've seen back in the cabin the first time. The theatrics you'd hidden under rags and your own embarrassment.

He hears the cartilage in your gullet click when you swallow dryly and grumble, "Fine then, but don't say I didn't—"

You're rudely interrupted by your own shuddering moan when he starts sliding into you, and Cato's never been happier to shut you up.

He bottoms out in you in one smooth thrust, and the sound you make next is a stellar thing. An eager, warbling 'Sicarius–' as his cockhead jars right up against your cervix. Warm, fluttering muscles around his length and the mewling of a whorish little Ambassador are ever a perfect combination.

But he wants to be closer—so, so much closer; he wants you pressed to his front, so he can absolutely smother himself against you. He wants to burn the feeling of you and him into his edict memory, so nothing can untangle it from him.

Cato has to bend himself at an awkward angle to manage it, but he's well aware of the fact he can manage a free hand to draw lethargic circles on your belly.

"And if they can hear, it's not like anyone will believe them," he pants, a little chuff of laughter chasing his words, looking down at your face buried in the sheets. "They'll think you're a busted piston, or maybe a whining pipe."

"You're such a—" you start as his hand slides slowly down your navel, and your voice tapers off, "You're a-ah..." he dips his fingers between your thighs, and you moan, "Thro—oh—ne..."

His pointer and ring finger spread the hooded peak of your folds, then the middle moves in and rolls over your clit again and again and again. Your smaller, folded body strains back from the new attention. Mewling at the stretch, and the hot, heavy press of trans-human dick inside you. It's just how he likes it. He's got you all to himself, his bulky hips flush to your ass, and his pleased rumbling beside your head. He's genuinely content, if not for the constant paranoia—but content is a feeling he never really appreciated before the warp everything went to shit. But that paranoia is inconsequential compared to the sheer amount of joy he feels with you near and receptive to his affections marauding.

"That's it," he rasps, and he has to swallow down how much he's raring to just blindly rut into you like a savage. "Now, be a good little whore—and say 'Cato, harder please,' for me."

The request falls on deaf... or rather, cock-drunk ears. You simply moan in answer and squeeze, over-eager for him to keep practically putting a dent your womb. It catches Cato by surprise when you climax all too suddenly, high-strung, and fuck, everything in that moment is absolutely perfect—Cato would gladly suffer for an eternity to stay, just like this, for as long as the accursed galaxy will allow. Your body reduced to a juddering wreck, arching forwards and suffering even more touch to your abused clit; your insides twitching in time around him with each passing graze of his finger over that sensitive nerve.

Rearing back isn't a safe choice either, because you end up getting even more of him in your cunt—unable to escape his efforts to hound you over the edge as soon as possible again.

"I c-can't, I-I—" you whine, and in response, like any reasonable Astartes, he keeps pounding until you're compliant.

"Say it," he pants.

"Ca—ah–Cato, h-harder, please—" you start crying as you shake underneath him.

His ears practically perk up at you finally using his first name; it was only quick and garbled, but he's so glad to hear it—he's already addicted to it, impropriety damned, because fuck does it sound good. It's always been Commander, and only recently had it been Sicarius—but now you're finally giving him the validation of crying out for Cato—for him, just him.

You can be louder, and clearer than smothered against the covers. So Cato acts on the brilliant idea to hoist you upright on your knees while he slams into you.

You're struggling erratically against the big hands holding you up, making the sound of a dying animal, now.

He fucks you right through your struggles, one hand keeping your head up under your jaw so he can arch down to tuck his chin on your shoulder. The mixed sound of your little rear making contact with his hips is a rushed, degenerate beat—Throne, the poor headboard of your cot against the wall too, it's almost like sabatons on steel, a rhythmic clank clank clank. And oh, then you make the sweetest little overstuffed sob, isn't that cute. Aren't you adorable.

He's only just started again and he's already liable to empty himself in you.

Suddenly, there's a scream of his name—and a quick, warm-wet splash from you that drips down his balls. Then you've apparently been struck daft and limp in his hold, sniffling out a wrecked little cry as you slacken. It's an entirely new phenomenon. It seems to be a good thing, seeing as you're squeezing on him like it's another orgasm—so he takes it at face value.

He keeps you upright and lets you cinch down around him, staying still—riding out the aftershocks of your finish and keeping his cock nice and warm and snug.

Cato is honestly surprised when you regain enough sense to weakly buck backwards and fuck yourself on him.

"Please... p-please," you slur, and it seems like all you needed was the incitement to be reduced to begging now; "Cato, in me, i-in me..."

Cato's completely enthralled, and he's never been more willing to follow an order faster. He'd walk right into an orbital barrage if you asked, right now.

He shifts his weight into the next thrust and meets your meagre attempts to get him to rut into you.

The loud, wet plap of him bucking forward is almost deafening.

His eyes roll back at the searing burr of pleasure that chases up his spine, panting through a clenched jaw, "So eager to be f-full of Astartes cum, huh?"

"Please, C-Cato—" You can barely even get the sentence around the pace of him practically rearranging your uterus into your stomach.

Fuck, he knows he's so beyond defective it's not even arguable, because he's practically feral for any hint of validation you'll give. And if you want to have your insides painted so badly, why should he deny you?

"I know," he pants, "I-I know."

You whine, well beyond words.

He's about as robbed of verbal sense as you are now, and he groans, your cries becoming hiccups.

He swears he almost blacks out for a moment when he actually finishes. His arrhythmic, choppy sighs chase each thrust. So suddenly seized by his end he slumps forward, pushing you with him, feeling half-dead and gritting his teeth as shudder after shudder wracks him. Persisting, his hips still keep pumping without a hint of respite, pinning you with his bulk while emptying himself inside you, just how you wanted. The subsequent leaking of his spend from you turns the pace of him still rutting into an even stickier cacophony of lewd wet sound. Hand splayed out beside your head supporting his weight, huffing and puffing to himself like a pissed-off bull as he works himself into overstimulation.

He stops at last with a long, trying sigh and pulls his slick and spent-wet fingers out from between your legs; dragging them across the sheets somewhere to the right before letting his palm splay on your hip, dry.

You're bent ass up under him, with your cunt still full of his cock, plus a thick load; moaning so lowly and continuously it's almost a purr.

Cato groans tiredly, rocking his hips a little for good measure despite the ache of it. "Does having me finish inside you feel that good to your little animal brain?"

Your voice is a fucked-out mumble as you say, "Well... 's not like... y'going to get me pregnant or anything."

Cato stays quiet, considering.

And that quiet seemingly sends you asking, "Are—are A-Astartes... sterile?"

"I'm actually not too sure," Cato huffs, and finally grows the spine to pull himself out.

Your gasp at his exit and subsequent little exhuasted 'hmm' is curiously without any hint of fear-smell.

He scowls, "And you're not at all concerned by that?"

A soft groan from you answers, "Got an i-implant... after the first t-time, just incase."

He doesn't have the balls energy to even begin to comment on the fact you'd correctly anticipated him trying after you again. Is he that predictable?

Cato rears back and makes an affirmative sound, groping at your ass, big thumb pulling one of your labia aside to ogle the fat pearls of cum dripping from you. You'd take another load, too. And if you ask him nicely enough, he might do just that right now—or have your mouth again. But he likes spending himself in your warm cunt far more. The way you squirm and squeeze on him when he's in you is intoxicating. Maybe later, given your exhaustion. You both have all cycle—or at least, whatever remains of his rest hours. Regardless, it's a genuine wonder the device hasn't succumbed to the stress of stonewalling an Astartes' draining his balls in you so many times these last few months.

He makes a soft tutting sound as his big palm smooths down your sides; his warm breath dancing across your inner thighs.

No better than some slavering beast, Cato gives into the urge sent by his hindbrain and licks a wide band from clit to taint in one smooth motion, and pulls away, seemingly briefly appeased.

Your squeal is priceless, but—eugh, his cum does taste foul. Nutrient gruel be damned, he needs to fix that somehow.

Sputtering as quietly as he can to avoid dignifying your similar reaction earlier, he grumbles to himself—still pawing and groping at your ass.

"You've ruined m-my sheets," you manage to say.

Cato grunts, "You're the one who decided to piss on them."

He says that, but knows it wasn't. It didn't smell like it—it smelt like satisfaction, and slick, and 'harder, please—please, Cato, harder.'

The sudden shiver that runs up his spine thinking about it surely isn't born of a vaguely possessive thrill.

Abruptly you roll onto your back and sit up, grimacing at him.

"That's n-not what that was," you hiss, flustered enough that you're stammering. "T-That was..."

Cato raises an eyebrow, "What was it, hm?"

Hook, line, sinker—

You dither, red in the face as you mumble, "It–it was nothing."

—and ta-da, he reels in an Ambassador.

"Oh, that's right," he grins and leans over you, "It was you finishing so hard you screamed my name."

Something bold rears it's head in you then, eyeing him petulantly; because you start swatting at him—and Cato's never had you actively physically retaliate for any jabs—so he just freezes, bemused.

They're barely even pats to his sturdy form, and it amuses him to no end that you're so small but still trying to annoy him.

So, he acquiesces; and starts using his own strength on you. He keeps it in check, of course; because you're still a twig of a baseline, even as grating as you are. He's practically tossing you around on the bed with minimal actual effort. Big hands stroking and kneading, rolling you around, pinning you beneath him and trying to annoy you back.

The efforts yield an entirely different result. You're laughing, hyperventilating, and every rough grope earns him a shrill little keen of excitement.

"Throne, you're a degenerate," Cato hums, giving you a wry look before reeling you back under him. "Getting off on being tossed around, are you?"

And with a yelp, you're made to watch him maraud his way up your body again.

You start grinning then, and it's not the typical sweet, coy smile of you luring him in; rather, it's one of a mad thing, feral and giddy.

You snigger sharply, a little breathless from struggling. "You say that like t-there's any downsides."

Cato scoffs, and rolls onto his back, pouting. "So anything that can rough you up will do, then?"

"I, unfortunately, have a very singular preference," you chuff, and snuggle up against him; tucking your chin against his neck, humming softly to yourself.

"Is that so?" He grunts, "And what would that be?"

The kiss to his jaw is heartachingly soft, and you snort a little when he turns to look down at you and your cheek is grated by his stubble.

Your big eyes are locked on his, half-lidded and lazy, and there's that familiar, honeyed look in them again. The soft, heady fixation of focused affection.

Cato feels like he's about to start weeping out of sheer joy. You're all his, your time, your gaze, your adoration—everything.

He's practically vibrating from elation.

"Despite your profession, you are terrible at hiding your emotions," he snarls, despite himself.

"Look at the time—aren't you expected somewhere, Commander Sicarius?" You ask sourly, but the warmth in your eyes stays the same.

Cato wonders if his expression betrays any of that sort of softness. If there's any residual capacity to show affection left in his face after all he's been through. He's sure there's something going on there that's got you looking at him with that sweet gaze. Or maybe you've gotten a good read on what's going on in his head now. He certainly feels as if he's been figured out. As if you've got him pried and nailed open like a xenos corpse in some creaking admech's lair. The prospect isn't anywhere near as daunting as it should be.

Still, he plays along.

"Probably, but you don't seem to really be complaining, Lady Ambassador," Cato quips low in his throat as he leans in close, only to pull away and sneer. Your lips part slightly as you swallow your words instead of speaking, clearly captivated. That said, he is also still a little breathless from teasing you so it was no surprise you seem dazed at his own attempt.

"No, I am—you've just more muscle than brain," you bite out with a flash of snark a second late, taunting him further by sticking your tongue out.

Retaliating immediately, he snares your mouth against his own; sliding his own tongue with yours and drinking in the soft moan that slips free. You nip his bottom lip vengefully, making him stifle a growl and lean away as he hisses, "Don't tempt me for a third."

It's no lie, because fuck, he probably could go for one more. Especially with the treatment he's receiving now.

"Why not?" you say in a tone that's so sweet one of his hearts aches.

"You want more already?" He drawls as he licks your jaw, your throat, everywhere and anywhere his mouth can reach. Tasting the salt of your sweat, and practically suffocating himself in the smell of you. Basking in his victory—Cato makes a sound like a great big feline, somewhere between a chuff and a growl against your neck; lazily entertaining himself by mouthing a bevy of bruises there. You almost immediately let him do as he pleases, your mouth hanging open, eyes half lidded and face flushed. Cato tries—and fails—to restrain the sudden amusement edging his tone at how easily you fall to your lusts. "You're going to overload that implant and end up gravid, woman."

"Throne, yes—" You slur, wriggling against him as he lathes his tongue across the top of one of your tits.

"What?" Cato barks.

Your face reddens, "What?"

Cato glares at you, and raises a brow. You're pretending you hadn't said anything and he's stunned you think he's stupid enough to miss it, "Baseline ducal protocol likely dictates... I would have to carry you off to be wed if that happened," he says, rushed. "Or... something of the likes, I suppose."

"R-Right," You fake a cough and avert your eyes, and you're breathing a little heavy.

"Within the context, of..." Cato backpedals, suddenly hyperaware of himself. "Of... that theoretical scenario."

You harrumph meekly, and then mumble, "Oh, of course... I agree, in that hypothetical situation."

He blinks, flabbergasted, "...really?"

You clear your throat and nod stuffily, only to tuck closer against him.

There's an entire subsector's worth of unpacking those statements need; you agree, but is that you saying it's a distant assurance? That you'd let him, one day, or is it merely conjecture? The primitive satisfaction of that base biological imperative is a heady one. Dangerous, too. If there is a chance of knocking you up, it would require significant subterfuge to keep hidden. Astartes can smell that sort of thing—and fuck, a Primarch could probably tell who's it was when given a source sample. He's got no litmus test for how easy you both would be caught. Maybe if you're suddenly on leave, for say, nine-months? That's one solution.

But where would you go—oh, Throne, he's thinking about Talassar again, and you in a pretty little slip, or in his rest robes, lying next to him notating; maybe resting against his chest in the crook of his arm—the fantasy is mundane, and domestic, and anathema to his status as High Suzerain of Ultramar, but still his cock throbs and his cheeks heat at the idea of calling you Lady Sicarius.

Your hands card through his hair abruptly, combing and petting him, and hm... that's nice, why are you looking at him like that—

"What do you think you've doing?" He growls, ever the hypocrite—his face doesn't feel hot at all, shut up.

You harrumph, "Stop pretending you don't like it."

"Whatever," Cato scoffs, and leans into your touch—not before mumbling; "Cunt."

Self-admittedly, he entirely deserves the feisty little smack he cops to the snout the very next second.

"Don't call me that," you pout.

The laugh it earns from him is just as genuine.

He's having you a third time just because of that, for sure.

[austinsastrology8991]

Uranus and why your life is a ShiT ShoW > URANUS IN Yer HOUSe <

Uranus in the FIrst - You are the most unpredictable little fuck-head that everyone loves. They always change > there clothes, there direction in life > their hair colour. they thrive in change unless you try to change them, they are the ones changing and dont you dare change them, thats all they have left ;( Uranus in the Second. - Crazy self esteem issues. these people think they are the greatest then the worst person, also same applies to their income because they dont think they are worth much, until they invest into bitcoin and think they will be the next warren buffet. honestly the only thing stable about you is the perception of your value changing. But they love change, something to look forward to i guess Uranus in the Third your brain and communication skills are kinda fucky you know that dont you. you always know how to say something shocking, and extremely good at changing the subject of a conversation, like you dont have to say much, but what you do say just made everyone go huh what the fuck you say? its amusing tho we appreciate you Uranus in the F4urth - Emotionally avoidant, dependent, and attached personalities. They cant make their mind up on how they feel, so they experiemnt with every feeling to see if they vibe with that. mum was probably very unpredictable, and they wanna be like her. they just trying their best to forgive her <3 Uranus in the Fifth - Okay this one is the genius. This one people actually think your onto something when your showing off because you break free of every social convention, and archetype, but in the most perfect way. everyone believes your special, and you can change the vibe of a room like dat Uranus in the Sixth - what a fkn mess your life is. I had this one friend who would have 10 different drinks in his room and he would drink each one sparingly (they were all warm too). he had some serious health issues, and lets not get into his mental health okay. but yall have crazy lives and you make it that way Uranus in the Seventh - Im not a player i just fuck a lot. they choose their partners based off how interesting they are, if you can satiate their curiosity you got em. but if your boring or not worth figuring out yeah g-bye. also they just come off strange so everyone is extremely curious. they get projected on a lot but they dont mind its a good way to find out something interesting lol Uranus in the Eighth - Freaks who will do anything.... and im not just talking about sex, if they want something they'll find any way to get it. masters of attainment, even if its probably not healthy for them, they don't care if they want it they get it. then the object of their fixation changes as soon as they do get it. they are like obsessed with 'progress' but its hard to call it that sometimes Uranus in the Ninth - Clever minds who are always skipping segments of a speech, or a video to find the juicy parts. They have very quick minds that are so easily bored, but if you talk to them, they'll never not have something interesting to talk about. also when change does occur its a LOt Uranus in the Tenth - why are yalll like this. just baffling people like they know how to make an entrance and when everyone starts loooking at them, they decide to make fun of everyone by doing something a lil bit too shocking, almosst making fun of you for looking at them. gets off on shocking ya Uranus in the Eleventh - They wanna change the world, but not in a way that is practical. until it is. They have a million friends because they have a knack for understanding people, but when you ask what they want or what scares them. it just makes you rethink why your even friends with them in the first place. 12 - your crazy. and its endearing but everyone is this close to calling the cops on you or locking you up in a psyche ward. maybe tone down your retardation. we all got something going on but you take it to a whole new level.

[the-flaneur]

hello my very helpful assistant 😄 flan's busy cooking up something in her dru- sorry, very ethical laboratory. anyways, here's how you can help her today:

ENTER ONLY ONE OF THE FOLLOWING LABS

LAB ONE

☆ write a brief description of what you want the request to feature (can include smut, kinks, dialogue and more) as well as the driver

LAB TWO

☆ from below - pick a flask, choose a label, select up to four chemical compounds, choose up to three catalysts and call out who the other assistant is (driver: im down to do anyone or the grid or "recently" retired)

☆ NOTE: the final item is very important, so please never forget it, otherwise flan won't be able to start the reaction

SOME REQUESTS WILL BE 18+ and ALL REQUESTS will available under the tag (see below) #chemical attraction ♥︎

all of your concoctions/requests can be made to my asks or inbox (here), and i'll get to producing it as soon as possible.

EXAMPLE REQUESTS

hi flan! with lewis hamilton and a boiling flask labeled with a sticker i am looking to mix together, fluorine, calcium, arsenic with nail polish.

thank you <3

flask

conical: fluff

boiling: smut

round-bottom: hurt/comfort

label

sticker: fic

marker: drabble

washi tape: smau

ribbon: texts

hairtie: combination (please specify)

chemical compounds

hydrogen: "oh, shut up." "you shut up." "make me." "okay, but you might moan a little."

helium: "i'm not the jealous type, but what's mine is mine. end of story."

lithium: "don't kink shame me"

beryllium: "we shouldn’t do this" "you’re absolutely right. we should not do this"

boron: "you're so cute when you pout like this"

carbon: "move my arm is falling asleep"

nitrogen: "the problem is, if i kissed you, i don't think i'd be able to stop."

oxygen: "you've ruined that song now, thanks."

fluorine: "don't talk with your mouth full"

neon: "if you can’t take it, why did you talk back"

sodium: "fucking is a reward, but you haven’t been good.”

magnesium: "is it really that hard to love me?"

aluminium: "why aren't you dating him?" "because i'd destroy him" "he seems like he'd be into that"

silicon: "i know they're just stuffed animals, but it feels like they're watching us"

phosphorus: "you know, i could always get you off here right now"

sulfur: "you deserve so much better than me" "stop lying"

chlorine: "give me a little show"

argon: "why are you being like this?"

potassium: "watch you mouth before i decide to spank your ass"

calcium: "it's going to sound controversial, but i think that went well"

scandium: "oh my god are you actually reading the terms of service?"

titanium: "the next time you pull something like this, i'm telling your mother what we did in vegas that one time"

vanadium: "if you don't like being called a whore, then stop acting like one."

chromium: "everything you own, everything you wear i paid for. so i guess that means i own you."

manganese: "i might have slept with your shirt while you were gone"

iron: "i'm not moving, your lap is comfortable"

cobalt: "please..." "you need to learn to be better with your words, don't you think? tell me what you really want,"

nickel: “are you my cum dump?”

copper: "you're not allowed to touch my pussy"

zinc: "you could've just told me"

gallium: "are you trying to flirt with me?" "is it working?"

germanium: "if i buy it, will you stop pouting?"

arsenic: "you're just mad that that my cock fits perfectly in you now. must be a blow to the ego that we're a perfect match."

selenium: "how long have you been covering/covering up this?"

bromine: "you're like my arm rest'

krypton: "i know i'm warm, but we really have to get up now"

rubidium: "you’re starting another cult. you bitch."

strontium: "it’s broad daylight, if someone looks up they'll see you pressed against the window."

yttrium: "you're not alone i promise"

zirconium: "im sorry but i'm done waiting"

niobium: "i promised to give you something, but i didn't promise it would be an orgasm."

molybdenum: "i'm bad at texting, so i always hope that you're the first one"

technetium: "let me take care of it. let me take care of everything"

ruthenium: "is it a bad time to tell you i have [your phobia]"

rhodium: "im so horrible to you" "no you're not"

palladium: "why is there rope next to the bed"

silver: "i don’t want to be able to walk tomorrow.”

cadmium: "you dumbass, don't ever do that again"

indium: "would you like to explain..." "no, but maybe there is something I could do to make you forget about it?"

tin: "i know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.”

antimony: "after all this time and you still can't look me in the eye"

tellurium: "i can't remember the last time i did something so fun with someone"

iodine: "i was expecting a written apology, but this is so much better"

xenon: "i have a headache and it looks just like you.”

cesium: "stop throwing things at me"

barium: "do you really think you can get away from me?"

lanthanum: "do you trust me" "no" "smart"

cerium: "i like the way your hand fits mine"

praseodymium: "because i care about you"

neodymium: "i trusted you...with everything"

promethium: "if you stay, you'll get hurt too"

samarium: "would you have believed me if i did?"

europium: "don't make promises i know you can't keep"

gadolinium: "can you please just hold me?"

terbium: "can i bother you for a sec?" "you always bother me, but go ahead"

dysprosium: "you cancelled plans for me?"

holmium: "my clothes look better on you that they do on me"

erbium: "i dont like it" "you don't like anything" "well i like you and [you specify]"

thulium: "no tickling, or no kisses"

ytterbium: "did i mean anything to you?"

luteium: "does your daddy know you call me daddy too?"

actinium: "n-no, don't cry. i hate it when you cry"

thorium: "but you have me now"

protactinium: "please don't go"

uranium: "i’m literally naked on your bed and you’re talking about work?”

neptunium: "you're hurt, let me take care of you"

plutonium: "you're staring" "i like seeing you happy"

americium: "stay...please"

curium: "i...i just needed to know you were ok"

berkelium: "you'll back off if you know what's good for you"

californium: "didn't you say we were friends"

einsteinium: "this is why we can't have nice things"

fermium: "not out here please"

catalyst

flan: au [request a specific one]

red pill: sub!character

blue pill: sub!reader

glue: dom!reader

lip balm: dom!character

lemon juice: driver!reader

sand: idiots in love/denial

salt water: crack fic

bath water: size kink

soap: exes to...

bubbles: fix it fic/sickfic

nail polish: daddy kink

shampoo: overstimulation

lotion: possessive/jealous sex

slime: accidentally launching relationship

copper coin: cnc/dubcon

flowers: leaving the window open/door unlocked

silver jewellery: age gap

gold jewellery: miscommunication

rock: neighbours

paper: love triangle

plastic bag: enemies to...

tissue: rivals to...

ink: 100% platonic friendship

foam: found family

water babies: secret admirer

ceramic: forced proximity

yarn: roommates

water: childhood friends to...

fruit: married couple/established relationship

beads: fake relationship

heat: brother's best friend

ice: best friend's brother

bark: body swap

grass: reverse tropes [specify]

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[bloggingboutburgers]

this past week my qpp of almost two years broke up with me. and i know for you, you said you wouldn't necessarily feel heartbroken if your qpr came to an end, but for me, it felt more heartbreaking than some of my past romantic breakups. this whole thing made me wonder if maybe im not queerplatonic or aro enough to be in a qpr, or if id ever want to be in a qpr again. but seeing you post about your qpr gives me hope that queerplatonic love is something that i can experience fully. so thank you for always sharing your story, because that's what's helping me heal right now <3

Aah, to be perfectly honest, as much as I sorta "downplay" it compared to what it must feel for people who experience romantic attraction... I've had a time where I almost felt like I couldn't go on with my QPP as well and the sheer thought of it was really hard to bear too, so my words here aren't necessarily being very fair to the reality of things.

It was during the travel ban of March 2020 to November 2021 where citizens of my country and others weren't allowed to enter the US unless we spent 15 days in a country that wasn't banned. It made it much harder than usual to visit my partner and as it was nearing 2 years with nobody aware it was going on anymore and US people more concerned about whether they'd be able to have turkey for Thanksgiving, my hope was running really thin. So for a few days in mid-October, as I was at rock bottom, I was starting to write in passing to my partner about how maybe going on wasn't worth it because the separation was too hard on us, it wasn't showing signs of stopping, and the whole thing maybe wasn't worth the pain if they could live their life happily and not have to worry about me who couldn't visit.

And then we videocalled at some point, and when they tearfully told me that even if it did end then and there, they wanted me to keep the promise ring they'd recently given me, I suddenly felt a quiet rage in me going like "No. Fuck this. Look at them. I love them. And I love this too much to allow some cruel governmental decision to end it. If it ever ends, it'll be because WE want it to end. Not because of shit like this."

...I'm making it sound super dramatic but yeah long story short this is also a big reason why we're planning to get married. So that when the US government decides to put a ban on countries including mine again, they can't stop us from vibing together this time.

I guess... I still don't wanna 100% assume we'll be together forever because I don't wanna trap them in a situation they may no longer feel happy in. We're doing great now, but I still have it in the back of my mind that maybe someday they'll get sick of me (they say they never will and that'd be dope if they never did, but never say never and all), or we'll both just want other things, and if it ends like that, then... Yeah, that'd be alright. Much more alright than the way it almost ended.

(...Oh, and for the record, if a friendship of mine ended abruptly, or if my brothers stopped being on good terms with me, I'm pretty sure I'd be just as heartbroken, to be fair. And it'd feel like my reality was collapsing a little. I guess anything ending, any human connection ending, has that effect to a degree, if it's important enough, after all.)

Though describing things like that does make it a bit harder to define what makes it "queerplatonic" as opposed to "romantic", I still... Just have that feeling in my gut that it isn't romance, y'know? It's kinda... A mix between being close friends and being an old married couple without ever having gone through the grandiose passion-honeymoon phase. Maybe that phase IS what defines romance per se. I don't know. Maybe someday I'll find more answers, but it's kinda hard to find answers when you have no idea how romance works to begin with I guess 🙈

In any case... Sorry if I caused any confusion or if I made you question your validity. The thing is pretty simple to be honest: if you feel you're aro, you're veeeeeery likely to BE aro. Because nobody can make that call but you and nobody can name the relationships you have but you. And if amongst everything you even FOUND the words "aro" or "queerplatonic" in a world where those identities and types of relationships are so aggressively hidden or erased, then it's gotta stand for something.

...I guess at the very least THIS I can be certain of TwT Sorry I'm a bit messy about all of this myself, I'm still also going on about it trying to figure it out day by day, but I owed it to you and everyone to be honest. These things are hard to define and I hope to keep finding better and better words to do so someday. TwT

[hansslut]

valentine's day with the yjs ୧ 💌 ୨

cw: pretty much just fluff !!! may have swear words included tho ??

a/n: made this for me and everyone else who's single on valentine's day too :l hope this make you all feel a lil better and ily mwah mwah, happy ( early ) valentine's day babes <3

NATALIE SCATORCCIO

- pretends she hates valentines day and everything that has to do it but deep down she adores it

- will stand awkwardly looking at the different kind of chocolates and sweets and being like "uhmmmm.....reeses are never a bad option i guess?" ALSO I FEEL LIKE she'd ask other people buying stuff for their partners what they're gonna get them cuz she's so confused 😭

- we all know she's a sucker for kisses, cuddles, holding hands, AAAANYTHING that has to do with physical touch but hates showing it so i think she'd use valentine's day as an excuse to be publicly affectionate a bit

- ok that's all i might add more later on

JACKIE TAYLOR

- she's OBSESSED with holidays and celebrations, whether it's valentine's day, christmas, anything

- waking you up at like 7am and being like "hi hi valentine hey you're my valentine it's time to wake up my valentine" while shaking you and smooching you all over

- she's never letting go of you on vday. always clinging by your side, holding your other hand while you're brushing your teeth, talking to you from outside of the door while you're on the toilet, hugging you by the waist when you're cooking

- wearing ridiculous matching outfits with her in PUBLIC. i feel like she'd have those shirts that say "their queen" AND YOU "her king/queen/monarch(☠️)" OR GETTING YOU THOSE SILLY LIL HEADBANDS THINGIES WITH THE JIGGLY HEARTS..

- knows exactly what to buy you and she's already gotten everything prepared���� it's adorable cause she'll give you a gift of something you forgot you wanted and you're just sitting there standing like :O

SHAUNA SHIPMAN

- ditches you for jackie. end.

- JK. i think she'd just treat it like a regular day honestly

- gets you a chocolate and calls it a day but not in a bad way??? LIKE she already loves you and does a lot of things to show it so she doesn't really think valentine's day is necessary

LOTTIE MATTHEWS

- she's suuuuuuuuch a softie for showing you off and getting to shower you with gifts :(

- she wouldn't wanna go out too much, she'd probably have everything set out already. your gifts hiding in the closet, your sweets hidden in the fridge, everything prepared and on point

- i feel like since some of the yjs were mean to her and telling her to just stop talking and stuff, she'd be kinda closed off at the start and she'd be scared to show you how much she loves and adores you, but then when she sees that you accept and give her the same love back and even more she's SOOOO hyper

- writes you cheesy letters that you keep in your drawer forever and probably even little drawings of your favourite things or you and her 😭

VAN PALMER

- THE SILLY!!!!!MAI SILLY!!!DE SILLY!!!:DD

- arcade dates w them on valentine's day or going like on an amusement park☝️☝️

- they'd go print out some silly t-shirts for y'all... like "i love my van" with a picture of a van LMAOO and they'd make you wear it all the time

- if you want to do smth on that day, you BET you will. they'll never let you down i SWEAR they're the sweetest pookiest babiest to ever exist :(((((((((

TAISSA TURNER

- hates valentine's day more than anything... "what the fuck im NOT wearing that" when you ask her to match outfits with you but does it anyway

- she's miserable doing anything on valentine's day cause she thinks it's cringe but warms up to it when she sees how happy it makes you

- she's the girl that said "happy wife happy life" btw so she'll do anything u ask her to no matter how much she despises it which is.. a lot probably

- gets you a chocolate and takes 2 hours to decide if she should write you a corny letter with it and she scribbles down some ideas but then just puts :)

LAURA LEE

- as a christian we shouldn't be celebrating vday but im not really that religious so????

- but laura lee is so anyways she would be all like "im not going to sin, i don't want to disappoint my lord" 😭😭😭

- she'd still go on a date w you, well more like flower picking and stuff and she'd probably pull out the the bible and start reading to you but you love her too much to say no so you just listen

- ok yeah that's it end of post mwah mwah

[evilfrogcereal29]

Mmmm so high, don't smoke kids the bong tells you awful things....

Can't stop tginking about aware!cod character aus. Where cod is just a video game and ur just a super fan, but for some reason in ur copy of the game, all (or only some you can decide) of them are aware, and like, deeply begging for you to pick them. They crave your attention.

Bonus points if it becomes a yandere/obsessed situation (i guess the term yandere has become outdated and offensive but im not sure? Idk i had someone ask me not to use it once cause they said it has bad orgins....but i still see stuff labeled 'yandere![character here]' stories everywhere, so idk if its still appropriate to use but idk any other way to put it except obessed but i think that still doesnt get the point across well... I'm weed rambling, someone lmk if its still ok to use yandere... If not mb, I'll use a different term, back to sin)

They start making their way out of the game into your entire pc/console. Waking up to find your screen turned on, with cod loaded up, despite you definitely being sure that you 1- turned the tv off, and 2- didn't even play cod today.

Oooohhh god the days you don't play cod are HELL for them. Please please please play everyday :( they get so lonely without you. Its so cold and lonely inside here. Please (y/n).

But since cod is kinda... Shit... Nowadays... Just being a bit honest its gotten cash-grabby....you play less and less, and they know its not their fault, but it makes them ache. They need to get out of here. Before you forget about them forever. PLEASE. don't forget about them. If they get into your phone somehow (you had your phone charger plugged into the same outlet your pc/console was plugged into, they just took a short jump and hop across into your device :] no biggie) it makes them so happy when they see you liking posts about them on Tumblr ^\\^!!!! Especially when the posts are... Rather naughty...

Always listening in on your, watching you from your pc webcam or phone camera.

Imagine if they leave the game their model dissapears too... So the dissapointment you might feel if you load uo the game again, and think your game is glitched when, seemingly no matter how many times you relaunch, uninstall and reinstall, and reset the game entirely, the character(s) won't show up :(( what the fuck man?

If you buy another copy there won't be any issues actually :) these ones arent alive!! Although... I can't promise your safety much longer, as doing this is a surefire way to piss the hell out of whatever character is on you, probably spending most of their time at this point in your phone, or if you have an apple or techy watch, that, since its close to your skin and they love that! But playing with an unaware version of them is so... Jealously inducing. You were dumbfounded when your entire screen turned off, and every light around you started flickering wildly... What is going on? Maybe you shouls call an electrician? (He won't be able to remove them, nothing will)

They'll find a way out one day♥️ its just a matter of time sweetheart, or maybe they'll pull you into their world, being digital ain't so bad darling... let them show you... Get closer to the screen.

It does not help my bf got me a bundle with nikto, his normal skin, AND his powercell skin... So im brainrotmaxxing currently.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk☺️ love u guys /p (you may think the /p stands for platonic but NO, its standing for Passing out...goodnite)