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eternal-evergreens · 6 months ago

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｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧JJK Men as Yanderes ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post Format: Headcanons

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Mahito, Choso Kamo

Word count: Each piece is roughly 750 words

Warnings: implied sabotage (Gojo, Toji, Choso), invasion of privacy (Gojo), kidnapping (Gojo, Sukuna), murder (Geto), kidnapping mention (Nanami, Toji), suicidal ideation (Nanami), light gore (Gojo, Sukuna, Mahito), reader injury (Sukuna), threats of bodily harm/mutilation (Mahito), sexual assault (Mahito), implied murder (Choso)

Satoru Gojo

You're nothing special. Not compared to him, at least. With no long line of sorcery or blue blood running through your veins, your family is just about as average as it gets.

You're nothing special---not to Jujutsu society, anyway. But who gives a shit about that? To Satoru, you're more than special.

You're everything.

He's always been the strongest, and yet, when he's with you, he just feels so weak.

Like a schoolgirl fawning over her latest crush, Satoru often finds himself checking his phone while away on missions, hoping to see your name appear on his screen. It doesn't have to be anything special—even a picture of some ugly animal with the caption "That's u, lol." is enough to get him going. Just knowing you were thinking of him at all, even in an unflattering light, makes him feel lightheaded in a way not even battle can emulate.

It's weird. It's embarrassing.

But he can't get enough.

Satoru wants you more than he's ever wanted anything, and he wants you to feel the same way. He'd do anything if it meant winning your heart.

If you asked him to kneel, he'd kneel. If you asked him to beg, he'd beg. If you asked him to rip out a man's heart and present it to you, he'd ask if he should do so on a silver or gold platter.

If you asked him to let you go, however...

You sigh and fall back onto the couch. It'd been a week since your landlord mysteriously kicked you out, and Satoru took you in with a frankly suspicious eagerness. To say that he was an overbearing roommate was to put it lightly.

He'd follow you around the flat from room to room, enter your bedroom without knocking, and once, you even caught him sifting through your laundry. He wasn't even embarrassed about getting caught, let alone the fact that he had done it in the first place.

You decided to start searching for a new roommate after that.

"Y'know," Satoru says, slinging his arms around your shoulders---you hadn't even heard him approach. You quickly close your computer, which happens to have very clearly been showcasing cheap apartments in the area. "I could have just taken ya'. Snatched you up off the street like some kidnapper."

"What...?"

"---But I decided to play nice instead. I thought we could forge a real relationship that way. But you've just been pushing me away. I'm starting to think I've been too lenient with ya'. Like maybe I should have just locked you up instead."

"That isn't funny, Satoru."

"Who said I was joking?" You open your mouth to respond, but Satoru cuts you off before you get the chance. "You want dinner? I can order us takeout. Anywhere you'd like."

Drop it, his eyes say. You do.

That very night, you pack a bag and head to the nearest hotel. In the morning, you'll ask your job if they can transfer you to another city. For tonight, you'd like to just get a good night's rest without the lingering fear of waking up to his figure looming over you.

You wake up to familiar surroundings. It doesn't register as strange until you remember checking into a hotel the night prior. You shoot up to get a better look around. Sure enough, you're in your own bedroom, not the hotel's.

But how...?

You're sure you left last night. Did you dream it? You go to check your phone, but it's not there.

Just then, the door opens. "Oh, you're up," your roommate says.

"Satoru, what's---"

"I called you in sick for work today," he says casually, "and tomorrow. Actually, starting today, you're unemployed."

"What?!"

"Don't worry. I can take care of us. I've got more than enough money."

Satoru wants you more than he's ever wanted anything, and he wants you to feel the same way. He'd do anything if it meant winning your heart.

If you asked him to kneel...If you asked him to beg...

If you asked him to let you go, however...

"C'mon, baby, you know I can't do that," he'd say, arms around your waist and head in your lap. "Ask me for something else, anything. Just not that. Do you want a pony? We can get a pony."

"No---"

"What about a cat? Or maybe you prefer dogs? I could get a purebred if you wanted one. I know it gets lonely being in the house all by yourself."

"I want to go outside, Satoru."

"We could get a fish tank, I guess. Though I doubt they'd make good company."

"Listen to me---"

"Actually, maybe that's for the best. Wouldn't want to compete for my lover's attention in my very own home, you know?"

Suguru Geto

When he was at his lowest, Suguru thought of you. It kept him going. It kept him sane.

So, of course, you were the first person he asked to join him in the creation of the new world. His world.

"Our world," he said, the look on his face desperate, pleading.

You declined, of course. His ideals went against everything you stood for as a Jujutsu sorcerer. As a person.

He took it well---or seemed to, at least. He flashed you a plastered-on smile and released your hands from his, leaving you with no further fuss.

For a while, that seemed to be the end of it.

Life went on. Though you would occasionally catch wind of his nefarious deeds, dealing with such things never fell within your purview. In fact, it almost seemed as if the higher-ups were purposefully keeping you from any cases that involved him.

You had all but forgotten about that fateful evening when a call from the higher-ups had you booking a flight to Okayama.

Apparently, there had been a sudden influx of cursed spirits in the region. And as the lead researcher in cursed phenomena, you were called to the scene.

You had already been given a file outlining the happenings, but out of courtesy, Yumi, the assistant supervisor assigned to the case alongside you, filled you in regardless.

"It's not that there's a higher rate of cursed spirits being born in this area," she said. "They're migrating here."

"Hmm," you look over the map on your tablet again; colour-coded dots mark the locations and grades of each (presumed) non-native sighting. The spacings are far from natural. They seem to have been made with intent, almost as if forming a pattern of some kind.

"We've set up a barrier to track the arrival of new cursed spirits. Nearly every curse from fourth to semi-first grade in the neighbouring towns has been coming here. Some of our windows have even spotted them moving together in groups."

"Was there anything strange about their behaviour? Like moving in single-file lines, with strange movements, or perhaps even speaking?" Yumi lights up.

"Yes, actually! They were all---"

Your screen flashes, suddenly restarting the tablet without your input.

"Huh...?"

"[Last]-San..." Your supervisor almost whispers. You tear your eyes from your screen to hers as she weakly holds up her tablet to you.

Over four hundred cursed spirits have been spotted crossing the Okayama border within the past fifteen minutes.

Your tablet finishes restarting, and you scramble to view the map again, hoping what you just saw was nothing more than a glitch.

The loading screen seems to take ages to complete, but when it does, the map shows exactly what you feared.

Oh. You get it now.

The pattern it was trying to spell out. It's "愛"

---"Love".

You hear a scream.

"Ah, it's good to see you again. How long has it been now?" A voice---one you're all too familiar with---says. "Two, no, maybe three years?" Suguru is wiping blood off of his hands. You don't want to look down. You can't look down.

Yumi is dead.

You looked down.

"I'm not sure why I phrased that like a question I didn't know the answer to," he says, smiling in a way that makes your heart ache. "I've been keeping track down to the days, you see."

"Were you...behind this?" You've never been one for combat. You can't use reverse cursed technique to save Yumi. You can't fight to save the others. There's nothing you can do.

You've never felt so helpless.

"I did," he admits casually. "I recently got my hands on a new curse. First-grade 'Pied Piper', its technique creates a sort of call-and-response between itself and other curses of a lower grade through a musical frequency only other curses can perceive. With that technique, I can manipulate the movements of curses I haven't yet acquired without leaving my residuals behind."

"But if it's coming from the technique of a curse you possess, your residuals would still be left behind," you counter.

"Ah, as quick on the uptake as always, [First]," he praises. "You're right, or you would be if this curse were under the control of my curse spirit manipulation. No, this curse was tamed, not subjugated."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He's going to kill you once he's finished explaining.

"I've always appreciated an inquisitive mind," he says. "especially when it's your inquisitive mind." Your mouth forms a vague 'O' shape as the realisation dawns on you.

"愛"

"Love"

...You're never getting away.

Kento Nanami

Nanami is someone who has never really been all that content with life.

Sorcery sucks. Corporate sucks. Japan sucks.

Sometimes, on his darkest days, Nanami thinks about what would have happened if he had joined Haibara—or better yet, if he had never even been born in the first place. If the world is this awful, wouldn't it be better to have never experienced it at all?

But then he met you, and suddenly, the world didn't seem all that bad.

Don't get him wrong, it's not like your presence suddenly made all the wrongs in the world right, but it did make him feel like they all mattered just a little bit less. Like maybe all this suffering was worth it, if it also meant he could see you smile.

So, of course, he'd do anything to keep you safe. To protect that smile.

The easiest way to ensure that, of course, would be to clip your wings. To lock you away somewhere where only he could reach you. A songbird that only sings for him, a dove in a birdcage.

He'd treat you like royalty, of course. His job pays well, but he's a somewhat frugal person by nature, so he has plenty of savings lying around. Whatever you wanted, he'd get you.

As long as you stayed safe, he couldn't ask for anything more. Even if you didn't love him, as long as your smile could be protected, that would be enough.

He's in the middle of researching what kind of restraints would cause the least damage and irritation to your skin when he realises what a grave mistake he was about to make.

'If the world is this awful, wouldn't it be better to have never experienced it at all?'

What if...

What if you started feeling that way, too?

What if, in trying to protect your smile, he ends up being the one to take it away?

He could offer you all the material things in the world, but if it comes at the price of your freedom, it might still not make you happy. After all, it was the same for him.

If money didn't make him happy, why would you be different?

Sorcery sucks. Corporate sucks. Japan sucks.

Nanami is worse.

He doesn't deserve you. It's with this thought in mind that he begins to avoid you. He refuses to meet your gaze, leaves the room when you enter, and declines all missions that involve your presence.

He feels like he's going crazy. Separation has made him sloppy and reckless. He comes home with more injuries, and a part of him thinks he deserves it.

Bags begin to form under his eyes as two weeks go by without the haven of your presence. He sees you everywhere now. The girl across the street is dressed in a substyle you like. The model in that magazine has your eyes. The cafe down the block is having a special on your coffee order.

"Nanamin, why're you avoiding [Last] all of a sudden? They do something to you?" Nanami scoffs at the remark but doesn't answer. He turns to leave but stops when Gojo continues. "Y'know, they actually came cryin' to me about it. Said they had no idea why you suddenly started treatin' 'em like they've got the plague." Nanami turns to look at Gojo, who's fiddling with his blindfold. "You should make up with them soon. Can't leave our cute little assistant supervisor feeling so down, you know?"

Nanami hates to admit it, but Gojo might be right.

'What if, in trying to protect your smile, he ends up being the one to take it away?'

Fuck. He can't do anything right.

He really doesn't deserve you, but what can he do? If he leaves, you won't smile anymore, but if he stays, you'll be smiling at a monster.

But what can he do? He'd do anything to protect that smile.

Even if it means hiding his fangs.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji is a man who takes what he wants and doesn't care if he has to get his hands dirty in order to take it.

Naturally, this applies to you as well.

It's strange, he's never wanted someone as badly as he wants you. Not his past flings, not even his late wife.

Toji is no stranger to romance. He was married, after all. He knows love. It's a familiar feeling.

That's why he's inclined to believe that what he feels for you isn't love. No, what he feels for you is far too primal to be love. It's rough and all-consuming. It's nothing like the soothing feeling he had around his wife.

Love wraps around one's heart like a warm blanket. This wraps around his heart like a python.

But if it's not love, what is it?

Actually, scratch that. It doesn't matter.

Whatever it is, it's some form of desire. And if he desires something, then all he has to do is take it.

Yes, it's better to keep these kinds of things simple rather than getting tied up in technicalities.

There is a problem, however. He'd like nothing more than to just lock you up and keep you for himself, but with his somewhat unstable income and his habit of bouncing around from place to place, that isn't exactly feasible.

Ah, what to do...?

He could settle down or stop spending his money as soon as he earns it, but where's the fun in that?

No, rather than try to adapt to your lifestyle, he'd much rather force you to adapt to his. Still, he supposes some sacrifices will be necessary, as his lifestyle is currently only fit for one.

You'll have to quit your job since you'll be moving around from place to place alongside him, but he'll just take on some more jobs to cover the extra cost; it's no big deal.

He proposes the idea to you so matter-of-factly that it's almost as if he believes you to have already agreed to the plan beforehand. In reality, this is your first time hearing of such a thing, and you're so stunned that you momentarily lose your voice.

You've known this man for two, no, maybe three weeks, and yet he's asking you to drop everything and come overseas with him? You're not even friends! He's just a regular at the cafe you're employed with.

It dawns on you that he must be joking, so you chuckle awkwardly and avert your gaze. Perhaps you simply haven't known him long enough to gauge his sense of humour. You feel a little embarrassed for nearly having taken him so seriously.

Then, he shows you the plane tickets.

Bewildered, you end up being more blunt than you perhaps meant to: "I'm not going," you say, pushing his tickets back to him.

"Sweetheart," he says dryly. "I'm not asking." You shoot him a strained, confused smile, which quickly morphs into a more genuine one as the door chimes.

To think you'd ever be happy to serve a customer. It's a foreign sentiment, but if it means an end to this strange interaction, you'd happily serve a hundred---no, maybe even a thousand customers.

You take their order and get to making their drink, shooting quick glances at the man---Toji, you think---from behind the bar.

He hasn't taken his eyes off of you.

It's days like this that you wish the company wasn't so stingy about hiring more than one person for shifts. You're about to clock out, and if that man is going to stay until closing, you'd really like to have a coworker walk you back to your car.

It's twenty minutes until closing when Toji finally leaves. You let out an unconscious sigh of relief, feeling your shoulders relax. That was weird, but you shouldn't have to see him again, right? He's going overseas tomorrow, after all.

Yeah, you won't see him again. Thank goodness.

It's with that thought in mind that you flip the "We're open!" sign to its side and lock the doors. It's only 6 PM, but the fall season means it's already dark. You shiver from a cool breeze as you make your way towards your car at last.

Huh. Flat tire.

Ryomen Sukuna

Those who know of Sukuna will inevitably feel sorry for anyone who happens to catch his gaze. Sorcerer or not, none will ever possess even a fraction of the strength he carries, and for someone like Sukuna, that means you're no better than a bug to be trampled on.

What a poor, pitiful thing you are. You must be treated more like a pet than a person. A plaything for him to toy with, to discard once you've ceased to entertain.

However, this interpretation couldn't be more wrong.

What others fail to realise is that Sukuna would never waste his time on someone he doesn't consider his equal. Weak as you may be, there's something about you that seems different in his eyes.

Like a precious gem left unpolished, there's a certain allure to you that only a trained eye could see, and he'll be damned if he lets anyone else stake a claim on you first.

No, he'll be the one to bring out your true potential.

Sukuna has never met someone worthy of being his companion. This has never bothered him, however. Loneliness was not something he was familiar with. There are those who have tried, of course, to prove their worth, to stand by his side, but none have ever moved him.

None until you, that is.

The funny thing is that you don't even try to win his attention. You never once asked for his gaze to land upon you. And yet, he can't bring himself to look away.

Sukuna doesn't know what to do with you. You make him feel things he's never felt before.

Is this weakness? Is it love?

Is there a difference between the two at all?

Should he kill you? Should he keep you?

What can he do to make these feelings go away? What can he do to ensure they never go away?

In exchange for not pillaging your homeland, the townspeople offer you up as a sacrifice. It was Uraume's idea.

At midnight, you're dragged out of the comfort of your home and tied to a stake, where you stay for hours. By dawn, you've worn yourself out with struggle, dried blood sticking to your hands and the ropes around your wrists, when a white-haired stranger comes to collect you.

The stranger undoes your bindings, but only the ones keeping you bound to the pole. You're dragged along like a dog on a leash for countless hours until you eventually arrive at the largest estate you've ever seen in your life. It's midday when you're untied and allowed to bathe. The warm water releases all the tension from your aching muscles, and as you bathe, the white-haired fellow replaces the garments you arrived in with robes made of fine silk.

The stranger's name is Uraume, they tell you. They'll be taking care of you until their master is ready to meet with you.

"What happens after that?" you ask tentatively.

Uruame flashes you a smile that refuses to answer.

Before you know it, a full week has passed you by. You're still yet to see this so-called master, but Uraume tells you not to worry. After all, the master has already seen you lots of times, they say.

The thought of being watched in secret sends a shiver down your spine.

Though the prison is large, you're confined to only one wing of the estate, and after a week of having nothing to do but wander, you have the entire layout memorized. Bored and unattended, you decide to venture out into the unknown past the garden's gates. There, you come face-to-face with the largest man you've ever laid eyes upon.

A hulking figure with four arms and fiery pink hair turns to you, and in an instant, you fall to the ground, only vaguely aware of the blood pooling around you and the pain across your chest.

In truth, Sukuna had tried to kill you, but his technique missed your vitals. It takes him a moment of watching your blood ooze out of the open wound to realize he did it on purpose. Before he even realizes it, he's picked you up in his lower arms and applied reverse cursed technique to your injury. You've lost consciousness, and your pulse is weak, but you aren't dead. Relief floods through Sukuna's veins as he listens to your soft breathing.

From that day on, you're never to leave his side unless absolutely necessary. From that day on, Sukuna has someone worthy of standing by his side, not as a servant, nor a pet, but as a companion. From that day on, Sukuna has a lover.

Whether you like it or not.

Mahito

As a curse born from the hatred and fear humans feel towards their own kind, Mahito relishes humanity's anguish and despair. He kills without a second thought, not caring who he hurts or who gets swept up into his path of mass destruction.

So why is it that this particular human sways him so? Why is it that he thinks your soul looks pretty, just the way it is? Why does he want to touch you but not to warp you beyond repair?

Why does he want you to look at him? Why does he want to scoop your eyes out of your sockets so that you can never look away?

To be a curse is to always follow your own desires, no matter how contradictory or inconsistent---that's the motto that Mahito lives by.

So, of course, this philosophy applies to you as well.

It doesn't make sense, and he doesn't understand it. But that doesn't matter to him. Why would it? He's a curse, and curses take what they want. What he wants is you, so, of course, he has to take you, too.

Mahito doesn't spend long watching you before he makes his move. First, he has to check if you can even see curses to begin with. If you can, that'll make things easier. But if you can't...well, that'll be fun too.

He bumps into you at the train station around 2 AM. It was a late night at work, and you're now dead on your feet. There's no one around, so it's the perfect time for him to test you. He taps your shoulder with a smile.

If you don't react, he starts feeling you up, talking aloud about how much he wants you as his hands roam your body.

"Mm, you're so weak," he says, palm on your stomach. "Look at you, all unguarded. If I wanted to, I could take your soul and just—" he squeezes the flesh on your abdomen. "—until you go splat! Hmm, but I don't really want to do that. I wonder why?" His hand trails down to your hips, brushing past—but not quite landing on—your private areas.

"It's weird, isn't it? You can't even see me. You don't even know I exist. But I know you exist." He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers together. "Humans usually wear rings when they're married, right? I wonder why you don't have one? You're such a catch," he giggles. "Ah, well, I guess it's better for me. Less work, y'know?Though, I would have liked to see the look on your face, coming home to dear, sweet hubby, all mangled up in your living room. I wouldn't even bother transfiguring him. No, I'd want you to see his face clearly, all contorted in pain with his guts splayed out all over the floor."

He follows you home. You still can't see him, but you at least seem a little aware of his presence, with the way you keep glancing over your shoulder, randomly picking up the pace and taking more turns than necessary.

How fascinating! You can't see him, and yet you can sense him? He's swooning already.

"Don't worry, [First]," he says, arms around your shoulders as you fumble with your keys. "You'll be able to see me soon. And after that, you're never getting rid of me."

If you do react, however, he holds himself back, opting to strike up a lighthearted conversation with you instead.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?" He asks. "Don't you know the subway is dangerous at night?" You visibly bristle, clearly on guard. He grins.

"Do you need something?" You ask, clutching your bag to your chest and stepping back. His grin widens, easily closing the distance you've just created.

"You're lonely, aren't you? All you do is work; you don't even have any friends! It's kind of pathetic, really. That's okay, though, I like you anyway. I might be the only one."

"What do you---"

"I could help you, you know. Ease your loneliness, maybe?" He's touching you now. Nothing outright inappropriate, but you could smell his intentions from a mile away.

"No thanks," you say. The train stops, and you hurry off the platform. Fortunately, the stranger doesn't get off with you. He waves at you as the doors close, and you run all the way home.

Finally feeling safe, you don't bother to do anything more than kick off your shoes before collapsing on your bed. It creaks under your weight, then creaks again. You freeze, your eyes shooting open.

"Heya," the stranger says. "Fancy seeing you again."

Choso Kamo

If you were to describe him in one word, 'inexperienced' may be your best bet.

Though it's true that he has 'lived' for over one hundred and fifty years, he spent most of that time as a cursed womb, unable to truly experience the outside world for himself. Even after being incarnated and absorbing the memories of his host, Choso finds himself unable to relate to any of his body's experiences. He knows what love is and what lovers do, but only from a technical standpoint. To actually experience it is something he's never even dreamed of doing.

So, of course, when he starts feeling these things for you, he's unable to properly put a label on them. At first, he thinks he's sick, which isn't unreasonable, considering his rather long list of symptoms (fever, shakes, sweats, heart palpitations, and clouded mind, he notes dutifully).

However, that idea is quickly shut down. Being a cursed womb death painting, it's highly unlikely that he even can get sick; plus, his symptoms only seem to surface when you're around (or when he's thinking of you, which, admittedly, is often).

Did you curse him? No, you don't have a technique like that.

Then, what...?

It takes him a somewhat embarrassingly long time for him to realise the truth behind his feelings. It isn't until after he catches himself staring at your lips and thinking about how soft they'd feel against his that he concludes he likes you.

So, he's figured it out. Now what...?

Choso searches through his host's memories in an attempt to figure out how to woo you. Unfortunately for him, his host was a frat boy with commitment issues who knew more about one-night stands than how to build the foundations for an actual relationship.

So, Choso consults Yuki Tsukimo, who he, with his very limited circle of friends, considers to be an expert.

As expected, Yuki is ecstatic at the news that Choso has found his type. Immediately, she's giving an impromptu lecture on the ways of the heart.

"First, you have to figure out their type," she says, wagging a finger. "If it's a match, you're all good. If not, you either need to give up or double down."

Through Yuki's mentoring, Choso learned the general rules for signalling romantic interest. Flowers, chocolates, walks in the park, walks on the beach—a lot of walking in general, actually—candlelit dinner, pick-up lines—he's got it all memorized.

The problem is that his throat gets dry, and his knees lock up when he so much as thinks about talking to you.

So he takes to following you with his eyes instead.

"It's just until I gather the courage to talk to them," he tells himself. "I'll stop once I figure out their type."

Right, if he can't ask you about your interests, he'll just have to observe them instead.

So, he watches you. All the time. Eventually, he all but forgets about his previous plan of it being a temporary habit.

It's just so...addicting. Watching you go about your day like normal. Completely unaware of his presence in the shadows.

He learns about your hobbies, your interests, what kind of shows you like, your favourite foods, whether you still keep stuffed animals in your room, and more. He has a mental folder of all your likes and dislikes. And while there are some things he’s not able to learn, some places he’s not able to follow, it’s enough. Just knowing this much is perfect.

He doesn't do anything. He doesn't plan to, either. He’s content with just watching. It's comfortable like this. He doesn't want anything to change. So, he forgets about stopping, and instead sinks even deeper into his newfound obsession.

If he had it his way, things would stay like this forever. Him, never confessing, and you, never knowing. But, unfortunately, fate had other plans in mind.

It was 10:15 AM, and you were at a local coffee shop by yourself when the barista handed you their number with your receipt. You shyly accepted, and just a day later, the two of you had plans for a date the next week.

Unfortunately, your 'date' canceled last minute and blocked you with no explanation.

It's a good thing, then, that your good friend Choso just so happened to bump into you, lending you his shoulder to cry on.

Well, there's no reason to waste a good dinner reservation, right?

You never do go back to that cafe, but if you did, you'd find the barista missing from the register.

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radiance1 · 1 year ago

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@puppetmaster13u You called Danny a space whale in the tags of one of this post.

Now what if that was literal?

Hear me out, Danny outlives his friends, parents, sister. Danny becomes a literal whale.

Well, not a literal one because he's a ghost, but he takes the shape one of at the very least. He's just a giant, glowing white whale that looks pretty divine not going to lie.

Danny leaves earth. It wasn't safe for him anymore, what with the GIW and all that as even the ghosts found it not even worth anymore to visit the mortal world.

Except for Desiree and Spectra, but that's besides the point.

But Danny doesn't retreat to the zone, he's always longed for space, but because of his new half humanness he doesn't get believe he could've ever gone because, well. Yea.

But Danny goes fuck it and goes anyway. His form shifts from human to that of a giant whale, and he swims out into the vastness of space.

Years pass, and Danny does start getting bigger as he aged. He explored the vastness of space, marveling at many things, the different planets, the stars, the formations of rock and other things.

Then he encounters someone he never though he would've.

Vlad.

Well, he knew Vlad was left behind in space by his father but he didn't think he would find him again and Vlad seemed... different, from what he remembered.

For one thing, he didn't even know where Vlad began and space ended. He got only see those red eyes that even hinted at it being the man. His body was void black and filled with stars upon stars, all glittering from his body and Vlad barely even seemed to notice him, or if he did, he didn't seem to care at all.

So, Danny took him.

He was both curious and felt a bit bad about what happened to Vlad, even if he didn't know exactly what happened, and he couldn't just leave him there either.

So on his back Vlad went, and his travels continued.

It seemed to be the correct decision, really, because slowly overtime Vlad seemed to be regaining his awareness. Then slowly, tentatively, started to speak with him through ghost speak.

Vlad only seemed to vaguely remember what he was before space. He remembered hating a man, loving a woman, wanting a son, loneliness and a boy with white hair and toxic green eyes.

Even though Vlad was his former enemy, his nemesis, and someone who took the world hostage.

He couldn't help but feel pity for him.

Then their travels continued.

Years pass unnoticed, when in space, with Danny slowly getting bigger and bigger as the two travel throughout. They've come into contact with various civilizations, some hostile, some peaceful, some neutral.

The hostile ones never lasted long, even if Danny never lifted a flipper to do anything most of the time, Vlad made sure of it.

They came at went as they pleased, and Danny believes that they've gained a bit of a reputations over their adventures, but neither he nor Vlad knew exactly what they said. It did prove useful in some cases, however.

A few more years, and Danny feels that this system is vaguely familiar. Which happens sometimes, considering he's been travelling for so long. He then finds out why it was so familiar.

He came across Earth and, oh. When was the Earth so small?

Well, not small really, but when was he just only a bit smaller than it?

Did it shrink when he was away? Or did he just grow?

That doesn't matter though. What does, is the fact that currently seemed to be an invasion going on, on his home planet thank you very much. He did not like the fact that there was a massive fleet parked right outside his home.

So he spoke to Vlad, expressed his displeasure, Vlad responded back knowingly and went off to make the source of his displeasure disappear. That doesn't Danny was idle either, the fleet was big and, well.

It's been a while since he's stretched himself in a fight.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover #Space whale Danny #Void touched Vlad #Yes this does take place after Phantom Planet #Vlad was left in space how can you not expect me to use that?#Danny is BIIIG #Vlad vaguely remembers what he once was #Danny decided to take him along with him #Vlad can use the void itself because he's been touched by it for far too long #Unfortunately for him #Would Danny and Vlad be viewed as gods by the various civilizations they've encountered?#Danny certainly has the divine look because he glows white in the vastness of space #Vlad I think kinda has that because he's just unnatural to look at because of his void touchedness #I mean they don't have to be but its just a thought.#Right also he isn't the ghost king or prince #But he's a giant ass whale the size of a planet and slightly smaller than earth

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chahnniesroom · 6 months ago

Text

some loves

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: some loves are too hard to bear. years after being trainees together, chan still thinks of you all the time. he has no idea that a collaboration would lead him back to you.

word count: 6.9k

tags/warnings: reader is an independent singer/songwriter, hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of past injuries, a little bit of jealousy, i am still in denial that chan doesn't do lives anymore, hongjoong from ateez is in this fic

read it on ao3 | masterlist

a/n: once again, sorry for the long time between posts. disclaimer that i do not know much about how the music/idol industry works and i did not really do much research. also i'm not an atiny so sorry if my portrayal of hongjoong is not realistic at all. also also i did a lot of the writing on a new tablet doing handwriting with a stylus to text so please forgive any typos or weird formatting! i didn't have a chance to edit much so i may have missed some things.

Chan’s in his studio when he gets the call. At first, he doesn’t even realise his phone is ringing. It’s 2am on a weekday and he’s been working away for a few hours so the rest of the world has just about faded into the background.

He’s both surprised and intrigued when he looks at the caller ID and sees Hongjoong’s name. Chan would consider Hongjoong to be a friend, but they’re not particularly close and he can’t think of a reason that would warrant this late night call.

“Hey hyung,” Hongjoong greets him briefly before getting straight to the point. “What’s your schedule like in the next few months?”

“It’s actually not too bad,” Chan replies after a moment of thought. “We’re just finalising all the music for the next album so it’ll be a bit of time before we get busy with recording and filming for the comeback. What’s up?”

“You don’t have the answer now and I don’t want you to feel any pressure at all, but would you be interested in doing a collab together?”

“A collab?” Chan repeats. “Like, ATEEZ and Stray Kids?”

“We could,” Hongjoong says reluctantly. “But actually, if you’re up for it then I was thinking more like just you and me. I have a couple tracks that we could work off of and I’ve roped in someone to help me with recording, engineering, and production.”

“Who?” Chan asks, interest piqued.

“Not sure if you’ve heard of them, they go by the name HALLA.”

Chan recognises the name instantly. When Chan had first stumbled upon HALLA one late night scrolling and listening to different independent artists, they seemed relatively unknown. However, a little research revealed that they had KOMCA credits on a number of songs for idol groups, some of which had become widely popular. Their personal work was a variety of genres and a majority of the tracks didn’t have vocals, but the ones that did had clever or thoughtful lyrics. There were a couple of different voices featured in the original songs, both of which were smooth and melodic. HALLA has a style that Chan thinks would complement Stray Kids and he’s considered reaching out to them a few times, but was always held back by something.

There was little about HALLA posted on the internet and while Chan definitely appreciates their privacy, he’s curious to meet the person behind all the songs that he enjoyed. There’s just something familiar about all their music that he can’t quite place, something that he wants more of.

“I’m in,” Chan agrees.

“You can take some time to think about it, talk to JYPE to see what their thoughts are too.”

“No need, I’m interested and I know I can convince management to support this.”

“Well that was easy,” Hongjoong says and Chan can basically hear him grinning through the phone. “And for my own pride, I’m going to pretend that you said yes the second I suggested the collab instead of when I mentioned HALLA-ssi.” Chan instantly flushes and is glad that Hongjoong can’t see him over the phone.

“It wasn’t-” Chan begins to protest.

“It’s okay,” Hongjoong interrupts. “I’m also pretty thrilled to get to work with them, so I understand. Didn’t realise you were familiar with their work, but I guess a hidden gem like them can’t stay hidden for long. I’ll send some files over to you and we can organise a time to work.”

—

Chan finds it easy to work with Hongjoong and they make quick progress on the song, writing lyrics and creating a guide within a couple of weeks. Before he knows it, they’ve scheduled a time for Chan to visit KQ Entertainment to record vocals. Hongjoong knows that Chan is keen to be involved in the production and arrangement of the song too, so they also have a couple sessions booked for that, although Hongjoong teases him relentlessly about just wanting to work with HALLA. The worst part is that Chan can’t even deny it.

Hongjoong meets him at the entrance of KQ Entertainment and quickly takes him through security.

“HALLA-ssi is already in the studio,” Hongjoong explains as they wait for the elevator to arrive. “I was getting input on a track that’s been killing me for the past few days.”

“Did they help?” Chan asks, a little surprised that HALLA is involved in more than just this collaboration. He still hasn't had a chance to connect with them other than quick introductions through text a couple of days ago and he's just as excited to meet them as initially.

“Yeah!” Hongjoong grins, eyes curving into little crescents. “HALLA-ssi is amazing. She only had listen to it a couple times before she came up with suggestions on a few different ways to fix the part that I hated. I left her to finish cleaning the song up and then it’s basically ready for review.”

“How did you start working with HALLA-ssi? I’ve been meaning to try to connect with her.”

“It was actually a friend that suggested working with her. For someone who isn’t signed with a label- which I don’t know how nobody has signed her yet- she’s surprisingly well connected within the industry. I’m sure that KQ would be more than happy to have her work with us, but when I hinted at that, she didn’t seem interested.”

“Really?” Although KQ Entertainment is still one of the smaller companies in the industry, most unsigned artists would still jump at the chance to work there since they have a good reputation, especially due to ATEEZ’s popularity.

“I haven’t poked too much, it’s not really my business. I thought I might as well try. I just know that she’s amazing at her job and I’m grateful that I get to work with her at all.”

They turn the corner to the hallway that leads to the recording studio. The door is ajar and Hongjoong opens it, waving his arm forward to allow Chan to walk through first, before following closely behind.

HALLA’s sitting at the desk and the second Chan sees her face, he stops in his tracks.

“Y/n,” Chan breathes.

You look up, startled, and your eyes connect for a split second before Hongjoong crashes into Chan, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

“Hyung,” Hongjoong complains, unaware of Chan’s inner turmoil. “Why’d you stop?”

Chan lets out an apologetic wheeze from where he’s now trapped under Hongjoong, before resting his forehead against the ground. He needs a second to recover.

It feels like a punch to the gut to see you in front of the recording studio’s computer, fiddling with a track. You look different, but somehow it feels like Chan has been transported right back to his trainee days and all that time that the two of you had spent side by side.

It has been years since Chan last saw you. He had found out that you had left JYPE just months after Stray Kids officially debuted, but all efforts to track you down had been futile. You had changed your number and broken contact with all the other trainees. He had asked around a little bit, but everyone he talked to had been unusually cagey about the subject.

Suddenly, everything makes more sense, especially the little that he knows about HALLA.

As trainees, Chan’s favourite moments had been when you had regaled him with stories of growing up on Jeju Island. The two of you had connected early on through your shared love of the ocean. You had promised him that if he ever went to visit in his free time, you would take him on the best trails up to the Hallasan, the shield volcano, and show him incredible views from the highest point on the island. Occasionally, your parents would send you care packages and the two of you would open them hidden away in one of the vocal practice rooms, the sweet citrus of hallabong exploding in your mouths.

You had always spoken about Jeju Island so fondly, of course you would find a way to indirectly pay homage through the stage name that you chose.

“Oppa,” your voice rings out in the silence of the room. Now, Chan knows why the female voice on some of HALLA’s songs had always seemed hauntingly familiar. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” both Chan and Hongjoong say at the same time, then make eye contact with identical confused expressions.

“Hongjoong-ssi, you didn’t mention that the person you wanted to feature on the track was Channie-oppa,” you say, making it clear who you were addressing your concern to earlier.

“It was supposed to be a surprise!” Hongjoong gets up slowly, dusting off his clothes and scratching at the back of his head, still looking bewildered. “I had no idea that you two knew each other, hyung mentioned he hadn’t worked with you before.”

Chan stays quiet, not sure how much you’re willing to share. Hongjoong must not know about your time with JYPE if he can’t piece together how the two of you could have met.

“Oh- I used to- We trained together back in the day,” you explain sheepishly. “I was with JYPE for a little while and all the trainees knew who Channie-oppa was. That was a long time ago though, I didn’t use the name HALLA back then.”

The five years that you trained at JYPE are more than a little while, but Chan forces himself to bite his tongue at your deliberate understatement. You don’t elaborate further and while it’s obvious that Hongjoong isn’t satisfied with your answer, he’s willing to drop the topic for now. You look relieved when he switches the subject to the song.

The three of you finish recording quickly. It shouldn’t be a surprise, the work so far with Hongjoong has been smooth so adding you to the mix has just made things easier, but Chan knows he’s a perfectionist and it often takes him an almost embarrassing number of takes before he’s satisfied. The only delay comes when Hongjoong decides he wants you to sing some of the backing vocals and resorts to actually getting on his knees and begging. Chan doesn’t go so far, but he can’t help but agree that your voice blends with the song perfectly. Of course, he also just wants to hear you sing.

You relent when Chan quietly voices his agreement and it really shouldn't make Chan feel as smug as it does.

It’s not even early enough for dinner when things are wrapped up. Chan is usually eager to finish a schedule early, but he’s reluctant to leave, taking his time packing up his belongings.

Finally, he doesn’t have a reason to stay any longer so he musters up the courage to ask.

“Do you guys want to go grab some coffee or something to eat?”

You and Hongjoong make eye contact before turning to look at Chan guiltily. His stomach churns for some reason.

“I’m sorry,” you wince. “I actually promised to help Hongjoong-ssi with an ATEEZ song and we need to go over the edits that I made before his meeting with the company later today.”

“Oh,” Chan replies, feeling a little relieved. “Right, no yeah I get it. Hongjoong actually mentioned that earlier, but I forgot. My bad.”

You offer an apologetic smile before turning to the computer, opening up a file.

“I’ll see you guys next time, then,” Chan says, starting to back out of the room.

“Of course! Thank you for your hard work and good job today!” you say brightly. Looking distracted, Hongjoong mumbles an agreement and waves goodbye. Unlike you, he’s not staring at the computer monitor though. Instead, his focus is solely on you. Even from his side profile, Chan can tell that he’s enamoured.

Honestly, Chan can’t really blame him, you look comfortable and confident, swallowed up in an oversized hoodie as you start explaining the alterations that you made to the track. Your voice is calm, but warm and you’re careful to start off by complimenting the work that Hongjoong had done previously.

Chan leaves, resolutely ignoring the twisted feeling that’s back with a vengeance and any thoughts of what the cause might be.

—

Chan can’t sleep. His thoughts are all about you, what you’ve been doing the past few years, what happened to you at JYPE that made you leave, and mostly trying to remember how and why your relationship with him slowly fell apart.

That’s the hardest part. In the darkest time of his life, when Chan had been discouraged and disheartened, you had joined JYPE with a brightness and enthusiasm that gave Chan the motivation to continue being a trainee. He had adored you. He still does.

In those last few months before the survival show had been filmed, Chan’s relationship with you had gone from being everything to nothing. It happened in the blink of an eye, and Chan had never understood what caused you to withdraw so quickly and thoroughly. The two of you had gone from spending almost all of your free time together to you avoiding him at the company, pretending not to hear when he called out your name or tried to get your attention.

The regret of letting you slip away has always eaten away at him, but now more than ever.

Of course, at the time it hadn’t felt so simple. The survival show was Chan’s first serious chance to debut, and not just that, but the weight of having eight other people’s careers depending on his leadership took a toll on all his other relationships. Your absence in his life still hurt, but Chan had lots of practice losing people. He had coped in the way that worked best in the past, throwing himself headlong into producing, training, anything to keep himself from wallowing in his feelings.

Chan doesn’t have any schedules for today, but he still heads to the company. He knows this isn’t the healthiest way to deal with things, but he doesn’t know anything else.

When he arrives, Chan just barely manages to catch a glimpse of a few familiar faces. He calls out before he can think better of it, jogging slightly to catch up. Sana, Momo, and Mina watch curiously as he approaches. He knows that Twice also aren’t in a busy period of the year, so he doesn’t feel guilty delaying them.

“Sorry to bother you all. Sana-noona, I was just wondering if we could chat?”

Sana makes brief eye contact with the rest of the girls before agreeing and waving them to go ahead of her. She follows behind Chan as he leads them into his studio, clearly interested in determining the reason behind this atypical meet up.

“What’s up, Channie?” she asks once the door is closed behind them.

Chan tries to think of the best way to start, not wanting to just outright ask, but not knowing how to subtly steer the conversation into the right direction. Finally, he abandons trying to be casual and just blurts out, “Do you remember Y/n?”

“Of course I do,” Sana says, sounding amused at the sudden mention of you. “You both had reputations for being veteran trainees. I mean, other than Jihyo.”

“I was always surprised that she never debuted,” Chan admits. “I just thought it would happen eventually and I was so shocked to find out that she had left. I didn’t- I don’t understand why she gave up on something she wanted so badly.”

“Give up?” Sana asks, sounding like she’s offended on your behalf. “Why would you say it like that?”

“What do you mean? It was like she was there one day and gone the next, I just assumed that she had enough and quit. Nobody seemed to know anything about it. I never found out why and it’s been kind of killing me.”

“You didn’t hear what happened?”

“What- something happened? To her?” Chan swallows hard, suddenly feeling unwell.

“It- I thought that you of all people would know-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, but- you never talked to her about it? You knew her better than any of us.”

“Noona, I didn’t know that she was gone until months later. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it to me, I never reached out at first. When I finally did, her number had been changed. What was I supposed to do?”

“I- It’s better if you were to hear it from her. I don’t know the full story and you know how things can be distorted through gossip. And you especially must know how dangerous that can be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You really have no clue? The two of you were inseparable…”

“Please,” Chan pleads.

“You know how it is in the industry, you were so close, of course there were rumours…”

It suddenly clicks.

“But we were just friends! And the dating ban-”

“Chan, you know nobody actually sticks to those, right?”

“But really, we were never-”

“I believe you,” Sana says, carefully. “But you know that to management that it doesn’t really matter whether or not anything was actually going on. To them it’s all about the optics. A perceived relationship is just as dangerous as an actual one.”

“Management…” Chan repeats, his mind racing. “They never mentioned anything to me though.”

“You never found it suspicious? You two are extremely close and out of the blue she suddenly stops talking to you, then right after the two of you stop hanging out, you’re chosen for the survival show? Someone must have talked to her at some point. Maybe not management, but for sure someone.”

“You think that’s why it took so long for me to debut?” Chan asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“It was a liability,” Sana explains. “To have a dating scandal so early on? Neither of your careers would survive. It’s painful and a terrible part of the industry but it’s true.”

“And.. Why she left, you know about that too?” Chan pleads.

“I think I’ve said too much already. I know that it’s hard, but some things are really personal.” She pauses for a moment. “What brought this on, anyway? You haven’t mentioned Y/nnie in years.”

“I can’t say much, but I- I saw her today, got to talk to her, found out what she’s been up to.” Sana gasps. Chan continues. “It was so weird to see her after so long. In the back of my mind, I had always wondered, but…”

“I’m glad that you two got to reconnect,” Sana says gently. “The two of you cared about each other a lot, that much was obvious. Talk to her, I think at the very least you’ll be able to find peace about what happened.”

“Noona-” Chan reaches out and pulls Sana into a tight hug. “Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it.”

“Of course. I’m sorry that it took so long for you to find out.”

—

A few days later, Hongjoong schedules another session to work on the song. Leading up to it, Chan is both looking forward to it and nervous, not sure what to expect. Although he still really wants to know what happened to you all those years ago, he’s scared about what he might learn and any part he might have had in it.

After a sleepless night, he ends up arriving almost 15 minutes early. This time, Hongjoong isn’t waiting at the building’s entrance. Instead he had let him know a few days before that Chan could just sign himself in and had sent him the name and location of the studio that was booked. When Chan reaches it, he can make out conversation from inside.

“HALLA,” Hongjoong can be heard through the studio doors, which aren’t fully shut. His tone is petulant and much more casual than it was previously. Chan wonders how much time the two of you have spent together between then and now and he almost misses the next thing that Hongjoong says. “You never told me that you were a trainee before.”

That stops Chan in his tracks, interested in how you’ll respond.

“It was a long time ago.” Your voice is faint. You’re still nice, but Chan can tell that your voice is stiffer than usual. “It doesn’t really matter now.”

This time, Hongjoong doesn’t let it go.

“What happened?” he prods.

“Just drop it,” you warn him. “It’s the past, forget I told you in the first place. Nothing ever came of it anyway.”

“Y/n-” Hongjoong changes tactics, the nagging tone replaced with a quieter, more serious one. You sigh.

“It didn’t work out. Obviously. I’m just not idol material.”

“Oh come on, I don’t believe that for a second. Your producing is good enough that I know for sure you’ve been getting offers to work with more companies than just KQ. When you direct during recording, you can hit every note without any warm up or practice. And I’ve heard your original songs, you must have been considered for both the position of lead rapper and lead singer as a trainee because there’s no way that anybody would let your talent go to waste.” Hongjoong is breathing hard by the end of his rant and Chan can see that this is something that has been bothering him for a while.

“It’s okay, Hongjoong-oppa.” Your voice is gentle, like you’re trying to comfort him. “I’m happy with what I have right now. Really. I’m grateful for all the freedom I have. Getting to work on any project I want and experiment with my music without having to deal with the bureaucracy and politics of the industry? Having that independence is precious to me. I wanted to be an idol for a long long time. But even though that specific plan I had didn’t work out, it doesn’t mean I’m not happy with what I’m doing.”

Hongjoong stays quiet for a while.

“Do you think that if you had the opportunity to debut as an idol now, you would?” he finally asks.

“Oppa, it’s not possible. I can’t dance, I’m too old-” you protest.

“No no, just hypothetically. Like if someone walked into the room and handed you a contract and said that if you signed it in an hour then you’d be able to debut.”

“I- I don’t know.”

“What’s your gut feeling?”

“I think I left that dream behind, I don’t know if I want to go down that path again. I don’t think I have it in me.”

“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong says after another pause. “I shouldn’t have questioned you so much, you shouldn’t have to justify your decisions to me.”

“No, it’s fine. It seems strange, right? For me to be an artist in Seoul and not want to get signed, it's only natural for you to be curious. But I learned a lot when I was a trainee and I learned even more after that and I can say with certainty that this is what I want.”

Chan takes that opportunity to knock on the studio door and push it open.

“Hey, hope I’m not interrupting,” he says, as if he wasn’t just eavesdropping on their conversation and purposely chose when to cut in. “Sorry, I’m a little bit late.”

“Hey, no problem man,” Hongjoong says. “We haven’t had a chance to do anything yet, so you’re right on time.”

“Good to see you,” you chime in. “I think this should be pretty quick so let’s get started!”

As you predicted, it doesn’t take long before a majority of the song is finished. Normally, Chan would be keen to stay involved until the very last detail is finalised, but he trusts you and at the end of this day, it’s Hongjoong’s song so he’s happy to give him the final say.

At the end of the session, Chan once again uses the opportunity to try to catch you alone. The two of you are side by side, packing your bags and Chan asks if you have any plans for the rest of the day. You confirm that you're available and Chan is about to suggest that the two of you take the time to catch up when Hongjoong interrupts.

“Oh, Y/n-ah,” he says. “I was actually hoping to get your input on something and I didn’t have a chance to ask you earlier. Can you please stick around for a bit? Sorry, hyung.”

Hongjoong sounds so sincere that Chan almost doesn’t feel annoyed that he’s stealing all of your time and attention. Almost, because at the end of the day, Chan’s only human. Even though he knows he has no right to feel possessive over you, he can’t stop the petty jealousy that bubbles up inside of him. At this point, there’s no denying the emotion.

Just like the previous session, he leaves alone, heading directly to the studio. Hours later, his breath catches when he checks his phone and sees that you’ve texted him.

[Received - 8:04pm]

Channie-oppa~

[Received - 8:04pm]

This is Y/nnie

[Received - 8:05pm]

Sorry about earlier, I have a contract with KQ Entertainment and work comes first :/

[Received - 8:09pm]

But I’m free now! You still interested in catching up?

Chan stares at the messages until it feels like they’re burned into his retinas. Logically, he knew that you had his number, the two of you were in a group chat that Hongjoong had set up, but this was your first time messaging him privately. The first time you had reached out in years. A precious opportunity that he never thought that he would have. He doesn’t want to mess this up.

He’s also shocked to see you texting so casually. Although the two of you have been comfortable in person, he wasn’t sure that it would translate to one-on-one conversation.

[Sent - 8:10pm]

Hey Y/n!

[Sent - 8:11pm]

No worries at all, I understand. I’m the same way too

[Sent - 8:13pm]

I still wanna meet up… but I’m all the way back in Gangdong-gu 😅 It’d be a bit of a trek for you if you're still at KQ

[Received - 8:13pm]

Gangdong-gu?

[Received - 8:14pm]

Ohh JYPE

[Received - 8:14pm]

My bad, forgot that you guys moved

[Sent - 8:15pm]

Yeahhh

[Sent - 8:15pm]

Headed straight back to the company after we were done, sorry

[Received - 8:18pm]

Well… If you’re willing to wait then I don’t mind. KQ is close to a metro station anyway

[Sent - 8:18pm]

Wait, really?

[Sent - 8:18pm]

No no no, don’t take the subway

[Sent - 8:18pm]

I’ll send a driver. They’re gonna pick you up in 20 min

[Received - 8:19pm]

Wowow

[Received - 8:19pm]

Private driver?

[Received - 8:20pm]

You’re a real superstar now haha

[Sent - 8:21pm]

alsfjshkafs noooooooo

[Sent - 8:21pm]

It’s just faster

[Sent - 8:21pm]

and safer

[Received - 8:22pm]

I’m not complaining

[Received - 8:22pm]

but I’m going to get your autograph when I see you

[Received - 8:23pm]

If I sell it then I can probably afford my own private driver 🤭

[Sent - 8:24pm]

Knew it

[Sent - 8:25pm]

You’re just using me for my fame

[Received - 8:26pm]

Ah you got me this time

[Received - 8:26pm]

*Your fame, your talent, and your good looks

[Received - 8:27pm]

Even tho you were the one that said you wanted to meet up

[Received - 8:27pm]

Hmmm maybe you’re the one using me?

Chan listens to his phone as it continues to vibrate from where it’s lodged in between two of the couch cushions after he threw it across to the opposite side of the room. His face is buried in his hands and flaming red. He feels both giddy and terribly embarrassed.

Chan’s no stranger to flirting, he’s experienced his fair share being on either side through interactions with the members and with Stay, but he forgot how flustered he was being on the receiving end of your teasing. The part he never understood is that your playful tone always gave way to sincerity. Even when the two of you would joke around, he could always tell that you meant every comment that you made about Chan being talented or attractive and that flattered him almost as much as it baffled him.

[Received - 8:32pm]

?? Speechless that I caught on?

[Received - 8:36pm]

I think your driver has arrived… Otherwise I’m being kidnapped

[Received - 8:40pm]

Don’t think I would survive a horror film… I got into the car with no questions asked

[Received - 8:42pm]

It was nice knowing you I guess

When he realises how much time has passed, Chan grabs his phone and runs down to the back entrance of the company. Luckily you haven’t arrived yet and he takes the time to reply to your messages.

[Sent - 8:53pm]

Sorry, lost track of time

[Sent - 8:53pm]

They’ll drop you off at the back door, I’ll meet you there so you don’t have to get signed in or anything

[Received - 8:54pm]

Don’t think you’re getting away with ignoring my other texts

[Received - 8:55pm]

But thanks

[Received - 8:55pm]

Is this back door, the famous one that only allows in authorised people?

[Received - 8:55pm]

I’m honoured

Chan rolls his eyes at your cheesy reference and is in the middle of typing up a response when he sees the car pull up. You step out cautiously, then brighten when you see where Chan’s propping up the door.

“Hey,” Chan greets you. “Glad that you made it safely.”

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, looking around curiously as Chan leads you to an elevator that takes you to the rest of the building. “So this is the new and improved JYP Entertainment. I’d say that it looks the same as before, but I never got the chance to come in.”

“Yeah,” Chan says, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck as he walks. “I mean it’s pretty nice, but at the end of the day a practice room is a practice room and that’s where we spend most of our time.”

“Hmm I think we might have to agree to disagree on that one. You have your own studio don’t you?”

“Ah, kind of. It’s technically a shared one, but practically I’m the only one that uses it unless we’re out of the country for a long time,” Chan confirms.

“Seems a lot better than what we used to have! Do you remember when we used to cram ourselves into that tiny room that barely even fit two chairs and a table?”

“I almost forgot about that, it was so terrible! In the summer it would get so hot that we’d keep the door open-”

“And then someone would come yell at us because we’d be playing music too loud-”

“I remember begging management to install a portable air conditioner on multiple occasions, but they always refused.”

“Of course! Even if they weren’t so stingy, there weren’t any windows leading outside in there, how could they install it?”

“Is that why? I always thought they just wanted us to suffer.”

“That too,” you giggle for a moment, before your smile fades. “But they weren’t totally unreasonable. Management has a different perspective than us, sometimes they know better than us because of their understanding of the industry. They can see things that we don’t.”

It’s clear that you’re no longer talking about air conditioning anymore. A lump seems to have formed in Chan’s throat when he recalls his conversation with Sana. Luckily, the two of you have just arrived and Chan forces himself to smile.

“We’re here,” he says, opening the door and motioning for you to enter ahead of him. “Welcome to Channie’s Room!”

“It’s cute!” you say as you step in. “Very… neat. It’s actually more spacious than it looks.”

“Oh,” Chan says, faltering in his steps for a second. “You- you’ve seen my studio?”

“In case you didn’t realise, you go live every week from said studio. I think at this point everyone in the K-pop industry and every K-pop fan has seen it,” you tease.

“Right, yeah. I didn’t- I wasn’t sure how much you kept up with that kind of stuff,” Chan stammers.

“K-pop or do you mean specifically Stray Kids?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

“Either I guess," Chan shrugs.

"I will admit that it took me a while to get back into it," you say slowly. "I wasn't... in the best mindset after I left." Chan stays quiet, sensing that you're not quite finished. "I know that I disappeared and I am sorry for not reaching out. I wanted to, but I also didn't know how. I know that I hurt you. That it was cruel to avoid you, not reply to your messages, ignore your calls. I had my reasons why, but it doesn't excuse the pain that I caused, and I'm sorry for that too."

“I think,” Chan swallows hard. “I think that the most difficult part was that for the longest time, I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what I did wrong. I asked Sana about it finally, after I saw you again. And I just felt so stupid to realise that it was obvious to everyone except me."

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I wanted to tell you, of course I wanted to. But I also knew you. If I had told you that us being together was preventing your debut-”

“I wouldn’t have cared,” Chan finishes your sentence for you, starting to understand. “I would have done anything to keep you by my side.”

"Even if it meant throwing away your career," you say softly. "I couldn't let you do that to yourself. You worked so hard, how could I live with being the reason that you were stuck in the training rooms? You belong on stage, making music.”

"The part that I still don’t get though is why you left? You should have been able to debut as well, I know it."

“Ah,” you say wistfully. You look around and grab onto the pillow that’s on the couch beside you, fidgeting with it as you figure out what to say next. “You know, I actually was supposed to debut.”

“What? How come I never heard about it?” Chan feels a pang in his chest. All these years ago, the two of you had promised that the other would be the first person that they would tell if they ever found out that they had the chance to debut. It seemed that neither of them had kept their promise.

“It was supposed to be a secret project. JYP wanted to see how successful a surprise debut announcement would be. You should have seen the NDAs that they made us sign.” You shake your head, letting out a huff of air. “It turned out to be a good decision because it meant they could cancel it without anyone knowing that we existed in the first place.”

"Who was in the group?" Chan asks.

"There were five of us. I think you know all of them, Sumin, Ryujin, Sojin, and Hyowon," you list. You're right, Chan is either familiar with or has heard of all the girls that you mention. It doesn't make sense though, the group was filled with talented individuals and Chan can't think of any reason strong enough to lead to disbandment. Even more baffling is that of the five of you, only Ryujin ended up staying at the company long enough to join the lineup for another group.

"And they just cancelled it out of nowhere?"

“No... It was- I know that for any idol, preparing for debut is tough, but I think that in some ways, it’s especially brutal for the girl groups," you say instead. Chan doesn't question you further, knowing that you must have a point that you're trying to make.

“How so?” Chan has an idea, he’s seen what the female trainees went through, the differences in how they were evaluated and criticised. But he wants to hear it from you, wants to understand what you’ve been through.

“The visual aspect feels like it’s more heavily emphasised than our talent or skills. We were measured for our music video outfits the second they finalised the concept. It was really early on, but at the time I thought it was so exciting and fun that I didn’t question it. I think that all of us were so thrilled by the thought of debuting that we didn't think anything of it. We did our final fittings for it a few weeks before filming and they had made them all a size too small, everything was just a little bit too tight. They didn’t outright say it, but it was implied that they weren’t going to alter them. It was a choice to lose weight or our chance to debut was gone. We were devastated and angry and eventually just resigned. If that's what it took then I would do it. We dieted like crazy for the time leading up to filming,” you laugh, but it's in disbelief, the sound is hollow.

Paired with what you’re saying, it makes Chan want to burn the whole world down. He doesn't say anything, not sure if he can even open his mouth without letting his rage escape, something that you don't deserve.

“We were practising, like always," you continue. "There was a tricky step that needed to be fixed by the next day when we’d be recording, a flip that we hadn't quite mastered. I was the smallest one on the team, so I was the one being flipped. It must have been like 3 or 4 in the morning, we were all tired, hungry, and nervous about filming. Honestly, I don't quite remember what happened, it was all a blur. There was just this feeling that something went wrong and then pain."

You roll up the pants on your left leg and show off the skin there. Chan has to hold back a gasp at the sight. Even though it’s long healed, the scarring is extensive and obvious. Chan can't imagine how much it must have hurt.

“I broke my ankle in two places and sprained my wrist. I couldn't believe it, five years of my life just gone in an instant. It took months before I could walk and even longer before I could dance again. Even now, I can't dance anywhere close to the way that I used to," you say with a watery smile. “Sojinnie had a concussion from the fall and Suminnie dislocated her shoulder, I must have knocked into them or fallen onto them or something. What could we do? Three out of the five of us were out of commission, there was no time and no budget for a group that hadn’t even debuted to find replacements or re-record and re-film everything. I woke up after surgery and they told me that they were sorry, but my contract with the company was over. That someone had helped me pack up all my things in the dorm. I went back to Jeju-do as soon as I was released from the hospital.”

"I- I'm sorry that I didn't know," Chan says, clearing his throat roughly when his voice breaks partway through the sentence. " I wish that I could have been there, to help or comfort you. I should have-"

"Oppa," you respond gently. "It's okay. I didn't tell anybody what happened and the company also kept things quiet. I'm glad you didn't find out at the time. You had other, more important things to focus on, I didn't want to distract you from that."

"You're not a distraction," Chan says incredulously. "You're important to me, I would have dropped everything to be with you in such a difficult time."

"And that's exactly why I couldn't tell you. You've always been too good to me, Channie-oppa," you sniffle. "Look at you now! I'm so always proud when I think of how far you've come."

Chan lifts a trembling hand and carefully cups your face, using his thumb to wipe away a tear that has started making its way down your cheek. He hears your breathing hitch, but you don't object to his touch. If anything, you melt into it.

Chan takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, bringing you close. The gesture breaks the dam of tears that you must have been holding back. Chan rocks the two of you back and forth gently, just letting you cry and trying to surreptitiously wipe away his own tears. It takes a few minutes before you calm, taking huge shuddering breaths that break Chan's heart almost as much as your sobs had.

"I'm sorry," you say with a voice thick with emotion.

"Hey, no," Chan reassures you. "There's no need to apologise. Are you feeling better now?"

You nod slowly, head still pressed against Chan's chest.

"I think- I think I just missed you. I always thought it would get easier, not having you in my life, but it never did."

At your words, Chan can't help his arms from tightening, squeezing you close.

"I finally found you again," he says. "And this time, I promise that I won't ever let you go."

read it on ao3 | masterlist

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justblades · 7 months ago

Text

๋⚝ being messy! boothill, gallagher, sunday

MINORS DNI, gender neutral! reader, drabble formatting. oral sex, penetrative sex, light bondage, praising. in honor of boothill's banner tmrw <3

GALLAGHER

it was upon mutual understanding that this will only be a one time thing. yet, the way he crashes his lips onto yours with fervor, his bulky arms wrapping around your torso tightly to bring more proximity, to ease the warmth and lust brewing in your bodies - makes you yearn for more. gallagher relishes the aftertaste of aperitivo and absinthe twirling on your taste buds, reveling at the lingering flavor of the cocktail you downed in one go earlier.

gallagher's breathing is far from stable at this point in time, he cums inside you once more, letting his satisfaction paint your insides white. amidst reaching his orgasm for the third time this long night, he continues to pump in and out, letting out a hoarse groan as he feels his cock erect again. "it doesn't stop." he says, breaking the kiss for a moment to glance at his dick. he draws a heavy sigh, feeling himself become more sexually driven.

"well, no matter. gotta make the most out of this one time occurrence, yeah?" the brunette asks rhetorically, leaning in for another passionate kiss. furthermore, he skillfully slips his tongue inside your mouth, this time, familiarity binds the two of you - he could taste himself in you and vice versa, making a perfect concoction to relish in full bliss. wasting no time, he rams inside deeper this time, filling you up as your legs begin to go numb from the overwhelming sensation.

he shows no signs of halting at every service he's offering, a perfect open mouthed kiss as you're buried in the solace of being towered and wrapped by his large figure, and an endless stream of libido coursing through his veins. he proceeds to pick up the pace of his thrusts, earning him more absent-minded, lewd noises gush out of your saliva slicked lips.

his girthy cock becomes coated by his own white juices, several drops trickling out of your hole the more frequently he hits your sweet spot. "feels good. . ." you manage to utter in between his impactful thrusts while he manages to let out a deep chuckle, emerging victorious as the intercourse felt more like who'll endure longer. a bizarre idea suddenly lit up his mind, evident as soon as the magenta dyed tie adorning his collar come undone from his own gloved hands - he snakes it around your neck instead in a blink.

confused, he does a swift knot and wraps the end of the fabric around his wrist. casting a focused gaze, he pulls the tie towards him, making your body jolt awake from the abrupt movement. gallagher inches forward, his golden copper eyes anchor from the neck tie up to your face, watching your melting expressions as if he were etching every second in his memory. "the view just got even more beguiling—" he pauses, out of breath as he continues thrusting into your walls. "—stay for a little longer like this."

SUNDAY

the situation he's in just got a little more taxing. he looks at the stack of paperwork laid before him, fingers massaging his temples in a desperate attempt to process everything. golden eyes drift from one document to another, his vision starting to get lost among the sea of words tangling together, a stairway to mental fatigue.

as an assistant, you come rushing to his aid and offer him two beverages of his preference, accompanied by a sweet snack to lift his spirits up, at least, his physical system. "mr. sunday, perhaps you can take a break." you query and set the tray on his desk table, bowing slightly as a greeting, although suddenly.

"i need to clear my head." with one simple sentence, you understood from the get go what he really wanted. this has always been a little secret, a guilty pleasure the two of you had in agreement, you grant him access to your body at anytime he wants, while you submit to his requests willingly. embarrassment wallows you whole, but sunday feels himself slowly drift into relaxation, proceeding to let his dick spring free from the stress, letting everything unfold naturally.

as the head of the oak family is a perfectionist and employ rules to abide by - his taste in oral sex can sometimes become a dichotomy to the mentioned quirks of his personality. betwixt the belief of instilling strict order and the bliss of being free in anything, he gets off on the idea of you being messed up, looking disoriented as cum overlays your features, yet another preferred stress reliever of him.

as you take all of him in with your mouth wide agape, your wet cavern wraps itself around his shape. his mouth tightly shut, stifling the threatening hums of pleasure to slip out his hushed lips. however, your eyes remain locked passionately with his, an aspect he deems tantalizing - among your usual attentive look, whenever these instances happen, he indulges in the fact that your eyes now cast a lascivious one, an obvious longing displayed for the highly esteemed individual. "that pacing is good . . ." he states, long lower lashes bat slowly as you continue to suck him.

lewd noises continue to reverberate inside his private vicinity, the sounds then die down as an authoritative voice arises. "wrap your tongue around it." another knack sunday has in encounters like this is that he enjoys submission - having the power to be in control, to dominate. you stick your tongue out and twirl it around the head of his cock in gradual motions, ensuring he feels every second of the sensation. slowly but surely, he feels the build up of his release, evident from how his hips buck along your rhythm.

the feud ends as soon as he cums, letting the white strings sprawl all over your features down to the clothing you don, marking darker patches from the sticky liquids. huffing for a brief moment to catch his breath, he then carefully shuffles his pocket and fetches a handkerchief, folding it into a tidy square as he wipes your cum stained face with the soft fabric. he displays a reassuring smile this time, one different from previously - the present feeling more sincere and intimate. "well done."

BOOTHILL

boothill believes in the art of giving - he has your legs rested on his broad shoulders as he stimulates your sensitive parts. a smug smirk carved on his lips, augmented teeth peeking with a boastful look painted on his features. "like it when i do that?" he queries, slate gray eyes focusing on your body language.

too overwhelmed to be capable of verbalizing any word you intend to deliver, he doesn't wait for an answer as he digs himself in you again, sucking the flesh to where you'd mewl the most in. sharp, static, what felt like needles struck your lower limbs, a familiar numbness gush through your body. "wait— not there!"

tears well up in your eyes, lips quivering. the cowboy revels in this, enjoyment prominent the way his cold iron hands grip the plush of your thighs. "ya taste too good baby!" he proclaims, one hand then proceeding to glide to your inner thighs. with his fingers, he ghosts a caress on the other parts of your sex as well as flicking the tip of his wet tongue over your hole. arousal continues to drip down, a cloudy color spilling the longer the oral sex dragged on.

a pungent scent of cum mixed with sweat wafts inside the place - you feel lost and at cloud nine at the same time. it felt ecstatic, but unreal as to how your head buzzes with euphoria. you couldn't get enough of the galaxy ranger pleasuring your parts in more ways than one, his tongue and hand makes a perfect combination to douse the flames of your lustful temptations. your eyes roll back the slower boothill goes with licking your part . . . drool slowly escaping past the margins of your lips.

he halts for a moment, tilting his head to the side as he watches you become disheveled from the overwhelming stimulation. desire sears inside him, a strong carnal urge to make you feel good even more. suddenly, he flips you around, your naked back facing him and your only support being his leaden, metal arms. he was cold to the touch, a surprising chill rides on your sweaty skin.

"i'll keep ya still darling." the male proudly states and leaves a chaste kiss on your nape. as the cyborg was left with no more mortal parts other than his heart and mind, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, reveling in the warmth and intimacy of being skin to skin. "however, i can't say fa' sure if i do this." a distinct accent laces his tone as he thrusts his fingers inside your hole, the glacial surface of his digits makes a polar opposite of your velvet walls.

endless strings of ejaculation spring out - it appears that all you needed was a tad bit of penetration for you to reach your climax. you heavily pant to desperately catch your breath, eyelids weighing heavy. "well? how was it?" he asks, curiosity dancing in his two monochrome hues.

#gallagher x reader #sunday x reader #boothill x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader smut #honkai star rail x reader smut #honkai star rail gallagher #honkai star rail sunday #honkai star rail boothill

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vyzz-undercover · 2 months ago

Text

RAAAGHHG QUICK HOLD THIS!!!

[cato/f!ambassador]

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

(11,000ish words) (MAXED OUT SPACE LMFAO)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•no dubcon (growth!!!)

•hints of size kink

•references to masturbation

•oral [f receiving]

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions on contraception

•discussions on pregnancy

•breeding kink (finally someone admits it)

•mild violence [on reader]

•degrading language

•tumblr's horseshit concept of copy paste formating

———————————————————————————————————

WHATS UP???? IM ALIVE ENJOY THE FUCKING SHITSTORM OF CATO FINALLY ADMITTING HES A WIFE GUY BASICALLY!!!!! oh and here's the taglist ily all mwah mwah!!! @mothiir, @moodymisty, @bispecsual, @the-raven-lady, @thevoidscreams, @pluvio-tea, @lemon-russ, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @historitor-bookshelf, @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond, @ma1dmer, @scriberye, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @undeaddream, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist, @sinistermojo, @vivacious-hyena, @grimdark-racoon!!!! if anyone wants on or off taglist lmk no pressure!!! enjoooooyyyy i love u alllllll :3

———————————————————————————————————

For all intents and purposes, everything is going swimmingly.

Cato is happier these days—and so are you, apparently.

So when he is called to the Command deck by his Primarch, he is somewhat unsure of what to make of the matter. Paranoia rises in his gullet like bile, but ever since the slip up in front of Guilliman, you've both been spotless.

Cato strides up the parapet and demagnetises the locking pins keeping his helm secure, tugging it off his head and letting it nest in the crook of his arm.

Slicking his hair into some semblance of order with a free hand, he sighs.

Ugh, he needs a haircut—it's starting to get in his eyes if he doesn't swipe it back. But he can't—because you seem to approve, and stubborn as he is, if keeping it this length means he receives dainty Ambassador fingers as a comb sometimes, then so be it.

It still pisses him off, though.

Regardless, Cato carries on his way—and the first face he sees upon entering the discussion area is the Chapter Master's, and two of his subordinate Victrix Guard hovering behind.

The Primarch's lesser-used vessel Dawn of Fire has been given to Calgar, and has been trailing behind the Macragge's Honour for a month and a half now; meaning the situation has granted a fair few more audiences than normal amongst them.

Nemus bows his head in unison with Lethro, the gesture familiar and practiced, while Calgar simply tips his chin down at him.

Cato reciprocates with a curt, martial bob and takes his place nearby his Primarch at the central control booth.

A few menials are fiddling with the specifications of the lithocast display before it flickers into life, the green-tinged projection juddering for a second before stabilising to a clear motion pict link.

Lo and behold, Severus Agemman's shiny bald head and pinched face.

The mere sight is enough to make Cato disinterested; and when he hears the First Captain speak his greetings to the Primarch, Cato abruptly considers himself deaf.

He turns away, looking aside, and finds you.

You're leaning on the railing of the raised observation deck while his Primarch gives feedback Cato doesn't heed.

You've dressed a little different than your usual ship-attire—clad in that same old blue robe but armed with a big navy shawl, and he suspects you've done so expecting the chill of the upper deck.

Cato's dark brow quirks as he gazes towards the high, arching, star-flecked windows. Throne, he feels like he's being hypnotised by the white shifting whorls—there is a humility to gazing up, every so often. A reminder of perspective. Cato has seen some objectively beautiful sights in the galaxy; stars and asteroids and planets untouched by Humanity, and Xenos, and Chaos alike; but none really compare to watching you stare up at the wide glass panels, absentmindedly connecting the dots between distant gas giants.

For a moment it feels like everything is unimportant.

He wants to stand beside you. Lean down and rest on the railing, and bask in the smile you'd shoot up at him.

He wants to ask which cluster of far off planets you think prettiest, perhaps if you recognise any—or if you'd like to see how the stars look glittering off the mighty oceans of his home-world—but it is not appropriate to behave that way with the current company, despite how it aches to deny himself the sentiment.

"No," Guilliman sharply answers a response Cato hadn't been listening to.

And only then does Cato realise himself, gaze and focus tearing back to reality and sticking to Guilliman's big, tired blue eyes, as he digresses, "No, no—the moment the Drukhari know we are onto them, they will butcher through the populace for sport—and the elites will cripple the dwarf planet to spite them. Farrim is a major port world, the set back of going off course, even temporarily, is worth the delay."

There are several billion inconsequential people on that rock. And all they have to thank for not being sentenced to slavery and death is the benefit of being close by.

The locale would surely not be high priority if not for the chance it is practically adjacent to Agemman, and he can simply scare off the assault with an extremely minor detour—and then obliterate the fleeing Xenos like chaff before the wind.

The only real problem is orchestrating how to go about it.

Bombard them into their base particles before they even get their hand in the jar? Or let them begin, and then close the trap to watch them squirm and suffer in it like salted leeches?

Cato knows he would chose the latter, but he's not about to dignify Severus with any sort of advice on such meagre matters.

Cato exists beyond the normal chain of discipline, as Commander of the Victrix Guard—which means felating Agemman is Sevastus Acheran's problem as Captain of the Second Company, now.

The planetary governance's reaction must be considered also—he knows of Farrim, vaguely. There are a series of vast docks in geosynchronous orbit, and that means they are host to all sorts of satellite criminal activities. It is surely a rat's nest rife with Rogue Traders returning from deep dives into hell; and that means heretical practices, like engaging in interspecies dealings; of tack, of weregild—of flesh.

Cato knows well the horrible desperation of the weak for some form of certitude in a galaxy run mad, even if the only certitude possible was that of complete degeneration. A greedy baseline would sell their kin to Xenos to eat another day. That is the reason for law. It is one of the reasons for Astartes. It is a basic truth. Because a cornered beast would sooner kill itself in the struggle of fleeing than face its pursuer—and humanity in masses are oft worse than if they were caged in a cramped pen with a starving Termagant.

But he hopes, beyond reason, that the moronic rulers that allowed the Drukhari so close would suffer far more than just the panic of the chase before succumbing to their vermin fear in such a way. Punishment would be harshly imposed, because treating with Xenos ever yielded foul results. Simply writhing in their own terror was not enough justice for their enactures, and Cato will gladly watch the meting out of greater judgement upon them soon.

Consequently, Cato had come to find almost all Aeldari are cunning, vapid, spineless rabid dogs. Naught but misery-merchants, worthless and parasitic enough to be slaughtered en masse without hesitation.

The Lord Primarch did not wholly agree with this, of course. But he had his own reasons for such beliefs, after having met with them himself. He said there are, allegedly, good and bad ones amongst the lot—then he went on to say one should ever be considerate of their fey, mercurial motives.

Cato knows a knife-eared witch had implored much of Guilliman, and his father is nothing if not a good listener.

But Guilliman is also a master tactician, and is more human than most of the Imperium is led to believe.

At times, he behaves more human than his gene-sons—but his Father was reared well, so he says. And maybe that's why he insists on assessing the uncouth. Like hearing out dribbling Xenos hierophants, or keeping you as a pupil pet.

Cato believes the Primarch favours you, truly.

He has projected his meagre hope of a kinder future on your success, against all the impossible odds.

Guilliman is a brilliant leader, and an even better teacher.

He is just, and personable—but stern.

Cato is the opposite.

He bites, and he always has.

Martinet to his core, Cato is ever succinct; almost to a sociopathic degree at times. He's never truly understood how to speak with his Father's finesse. But he can mimic it. He knows the gist of what to say, and when to say it. Largely by predicting the next words. As an Astartes, he is not inherently made to be a statesman, even if he is the Grand Duke of Talassar.

Nevermind the fact a vast majority of political dissidents opponents would sooner grant themselves the Emperor's mercy than try argue policy with him, an Ultramarine. He knows he is sullen and bad-tempered and easily aggravated in casual conversation, even amongst his Brothers—but he's not about to admit things like that out loud; and where he once sought out discourse—he's become despondent reclusive compared to his previous confidence.

He swallows down the harsh reality that he knows the exact tipping point.

He tries to forget that Damnos was the first pebble before the rockslide; the agonising strike of a Necron lord's war-scythe in his side, not to mention the sting of Severus Agemman's proverbial sabaton up his ass.

And, most importantly, he ignores the hint of tinnitus in his ears. The echoing across the decks of the Emperor's Will that sound like screa—

You yawn, and look over your shoulder to Guilliman with a weary curiosity.

You are everything Cato isn't, and he knows that now.

Perhaps that is the real allure of you, in the end; beyond the aspects of his lust, and your own affections.

Sweet, endearing—trusting to a fault, and... small.

He almost snorts to himself at that because, Throne, you really do look tiny amongst so many ceramite clad trans-humans.

The Primarch flashes you a soft glance and directs his gaze back to the lithocast.

You approach Guilliman with a preppy, yet cautious sort of diligence; standing beside him not a moment later as he listens to Agemman prattle on, and on—and on.

Agemman doesn't acknowledge your entrance in the slightest, hell, he doesn't even blink. He doesn't know you by face—but Cato knows you know him; because in Guilliman's quest to have you absorb as much information as possible, you've interacted by writing many times. But the First Captain clearly wrongly assumes the woman in his holo-field of view is a lowly attendant, not the Ambassador he's had several dissertation-long discussions with by note.

You're looking up at Agemman with a soft smile, like one would reserve for a friend—and he does not return it.

Seemingly aware of the fact your gesture is for naut, your expression withers to a sad little frown.

At that, Cato's eyebrows furrows harshly, embittered by seeing you suffer the rejection.

He ought to—

But then a bundle of data-slates are lifted off the hexagonal interface surrounding the projection system, held out to you in far, far larger gauntlets than Cato's own; and you take them into the cradle of your arms.

It's too many for you to comfortably hold, and Cato can tell solely because there's that familiar, tiny crease between your brows that only ever appears when you're unsure of something.

"I will be back en-route with the First as soon as the threat is cleared, and—" Agemman's raving wavers periodically, hologram gaze tilting down.

Cato winces a bit when the topmost slate slips out of your bundled arms and clatters to the deck loudly.

In response, the First Captain's hologram rakes you with a nigh appalled sneer that has Cato puffing up at the hackles like an angry carnodon.

"A-Apologies, my lords..." You shrink back, seeking an exit, in that frightened-mouse way of yours that Cato would've once delighted in long ago. But it's a grating, bastardised comparison when he knows Agemman's disgust is entirely, baselessly genuine unlike Cato's had been.

Another slate falls in your timid outburst, and Agemman snorts angrily at you.

More than willing to take the heat, Cato immediately steps forward into the threshold of the holo-cast's vision breadth and snorts back.

It's a standoffish moment where the First Captain becomes aware of him and turns his head.

"Cato," Agemman says sharply in that typical, dismissive tone; but his expression betrays a brooding aggravation.

He scowls, lips curling much like his fingers into a fist, "Severus."

He can play this game, because unlike prior altercations—he's not being held to a rapport of failure.

Cato answers to Calgar and Guilliman now, and yes, he's to heed Agemman—but he's not to abide orders like he'd had to during his Captaincy of the Second.

And neither Calgar nor Guilliman have stopped him as of yet for this outburst.

In fact, Calgar is apparently more interested in trying to rub away a speck of grime on his power-fist.

While the Primarch... well, the Primarch has currently shut his eyes, grimacing softly.

It appears Cato's simply keeping the peace.

And on the surface, to onlookers, it's not at all indicative of any ulterior reason aside from petty distaste for Agemman—even if Cato's real motive is possessive defensive, and solely intent on taking the attention off you.

"Enough," The Primarch grumbles at last, and opens his eyes as he leans down—his great height folding—dutifully collecting the two, small fallen objects with mild hassle. Guilliman sighs at you remorsefully as he sets the data-slates in a better position, unperturbed by your clumsiness. "The Ambassador has done me no insult, she was merely over encumbered. The galaxy as we know it has not imploded, as of yet."

Agemman blinks, "...Ambassador?" he mumbles—with the revelation, in a fraction of a second he's entirely placid and defanged, reigning himself back in and cringing slightly—unlike Cato, who returns to glaring murderously at him.

"That means you, too," Guilliman starts aloud, and he apparently knows he needn't clarify more.

Cato grinds his teeth and tears his gaze away, letting it fall aside as he unclenches his fists.

You take a step back, a pitiful sigh leaving you as you set about trying to balance with the data-slates. The Primarch finally realises that it's too much for you, just like Cato had to begin with.

"Sicarius," Guilliman says flatly, "Give her a hand."

A hand?

Oh, he's given you more than hand.

He feels himself bristle with want, an abrupt , mad rush of eager heat besieging his body as he sets his shoulders stubbornly.

In or out of armour, he's done it—and Cato is caught daft at the sudden eidetic memory of having you straining against his big forebrace shoved hard under you to keep you in place. Squirming frantically against as many fingers as he would deign allow you, drooling on his armour as you suffer a cleverly turned thumb; so wanton and pretty as you finally, finally give him his prize and cry out for—no—no, no—shut up, shut up.

At that, he tersely inhales; and remembers he's surrounded by other Astartes.

Nobody's noticed, thank fuck.

"Cato!" Guilliman snaps.

Cato blinks, "What—uh, pardon me, my lord?"

"You are utterly impossible," he half-chastises, half-laments, with little more than a sigh. "Help. Her."

Cato nods stiffly, silently panicking, and approaches you.

"Stop snivelling like a useless dog, and pull it together, woman, you're embarrassing yourself," he accosts loudly, overcompensating for his own screw-up, and it's cruel—he knows it is because you flinch a little, and one of the gathered high-ranking brothers behind you huffs in surprise at just how brutish he's acting—but he cannot show the comfort you wish of him under the circumstances.

You regard him with a profound sadness in your eyes, and he can't bear to meet your gaze; so he casts it aside.

And immediately meets the Primarch's eyes.

A strange, angered confusion has graced his Father's features. A sort of stunned disappointment—and Cato supposes that tracks, given the fact Guilliman though he'd gotten over his gripe with you.

"Check your anger, Commander Sicarius." Guilliman says with a cold discontent, and Cato immediately drops the act.

Cato holds out his helm, turned plume-down, the inside proffered up as a bucket.

The task of shovelling the data-slates in is tedious at best, but it's easy when he joins in.

When all's done, Cato practically dumps his helmet in your arms.

"It's alright, don't fret," Guilliman chuffs, smiling at you tiredly, trying to seem supportive. "Just be on your way, Ambassador."

You look back at the Primarch, stunned for a moment—who smiles at you again, and tips his chin to the exit hallway.

Nodding, you shakily curtsy at the gaggle of Astartes and stumble away with the heavy weight of Cato's helmet and it's new contents in your grasp.

Cato frowns at the entire display, and Guilliman seems to notice that too, because he immediately grits out, "Commander Sicarius, if the safety of your helmet worries you so, go make sure she doesn't drop anything else."

"Of course... yes, my Lord Primarch," He straightens up, surprised at the dismissal but certainly not about to argue.

in his mind, Guilliman is sending him to cool off. That much Cato is sure of, which works to his favour.

Promptly, he knocks his breastplate in respectful farewell and trails after you; now a little ways down the grand and lofty adjoining chamber hall.

Cato strides with his chin held high, but promptly drops it when he rounds the corner and is out of view of the Primarch a few moments after you.

You say nothing to him when Cato catches up and matches your slow march to your quarters.

Cato's practically drags his boots across the regal carpeting as he walks.

And when the carpet runs out, he scrapes his heels on steel like a petulant child.

He knows he's taken the charade too far.

Head hung low much like his, you don't look at him—and it eats away at what meagre actual backbone he's got left around you.

It continues for a while; you pass servitors, serfs, staff, and Astartes alike; not acknowledging anyone.

They acknowledge Cato of course, but he ignores any nods or salutes like he's got blinders on.

He knows the path you're taking well—it's a shortcut, but a tedious one with the load you're carrying. And when the passersby thin out to nothing eventually, you're still trudging along like a lobotomite.

You look appear much like a sullen little arming serf carrying his helmet as you are. The coarse broom-spread of his helm's Suzerain mane brushes the fabric atop your thighs—and Cato can tell it's annoying you, because you slow a little when it itches; trying to shimmy it up higher in your grasp to no avail.

Your breathing is heavy with strain, now a few paces behind him; and Cato groans when you both round a corner and he sees a flight of stairs ahead.

He pauses, and rounds about-face.

"Give it to me," he snaps.

You immediately sigh, "Why?"

"Because it's mine," Cato grumbles. "Now give it to me."

You pout, "I don't need help."

He scowls harshly, "I wasn't asking."

A gasp leaves you as you're suddenly being advanced on by an Astartes, stomping you down—and he catches the data-slate filled rim of his helmet with a gauntlet.

He's honestly surprised you hold on while he pulls it away from you.

"Let go," he hisses.

"No," you hiss back.

"Let go, now." Cato shakes the helmet around, trying to dislodge you; going so far as to lift it until you're dangling off the side.

"No," is all he receives again.

Tiny, stubborn, cunt of a waif.

He cannot sustain subtlety when he is rebutted on something. Not without pause. He's aggravated now, and it shows when he snarls, "Why are you acting like this?"

"No," you bark.

A very real temper is flaring as he says, "No, what? That's not an answer—"

"Fuck off, Cato!"

He's never heard that tone out of you directly. It stuns him for a second, because he's never actually made you genuinely angry. He can't explain why it makes him suddenly decide to play disciplinarian like you're an unruly Scout, but it does. And you're going to explain exactly why you thought to voice that opinion, Emperor help you.

"Enough of this groxshit," He tugs the helmet high, and you up with it, scooping a vambrace under your midsection to carry you like a keg under his arm; prying you and the helm apart.

"Put m-me down!" You kick out wildly behind him, snarling insults and slamming your fists back against his plate on his core, to no avail.

It's a good thing you're actually close to your quarters, because the scene you're making is more than enough to be flagged for gross insubordination if anyone saw. Striking an Astartes is of no meagre consequence. It'd be death, for anyone but you.

It takes him a try more than usual to input his locking override code, given your squirming—and him only being able to manage a pointer free on the hand holding his helm.

Your door slides open nonetheless, and Cato ducks in with you still secured, despite your tantrum; and in his seething, he fully calculates the effort it'd take to hog-tie you with your own robes.

You're hissing and carrying on as if you're a pissy little neophyte hopped up on stims for the first time, and Cato ignores you periodically to lock your door behind you both.

He empties his helm of the data-slates on the nearest pile of clothes, magnetises the bucket on his hip; and practically tosses you onto your bed.

You yelp at the rough handling and scramble to reach your nightstand.

Instead of scampering off like he honestly expects, you grab a book; and when he leans over the bed and reaches for you, you start to bat his armoured hand away with the hardcover front.

"Do you honestly think that will work?" Cato snarls, but despite himself, he recoils and starts eyeing you. "Are you that fucking dense, woman?"

You grumble sourly and hold the novel up, like it's an actual weapon.

"Fine, be that way," he rolls his eyes, and with trans-human speed, catches you by the ankle and reels you in.

You bleat out a warbling cry at being yanked, and manage to toss the book at his head in a lucky shot.

He cops the hit to the brow harmlessly, then it lands on the covers below him beside where he's dragged you under.

You freeze for a second as he brackets your arms upward above your head in one large gauntlet.

"Stop," he bites out, "Just stop struggling."

You start fighting him again regardless, legs kicking out—knocking the book sidelong into the headboard with a thud.

Cato glances at source of sound, and then he's suddenly fixated on the wall above it.

His dagger's been hung up.

It's a little crooked, but that's expected when the hooks the sheathe and blade are lodged against aren't actually drilled in place. It's done with adhesive—it's your doing.

Cato can't exactly name the feeling that washes over him as he stays staring at it, but it feels thick, and viscous in his chest. Like pain, almost—like he's hurt himself. His tongue feels leaden in his mouth. Every ounce of retaliatory anger at your earlier antics dissipates into nothingness.

The shackles his large mitt's made on your wrists falls away.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it," He mumbles, before taking a deep breath—and his armour creaks at the gesture; servos humming as he settles into a crouch at your bedside, half strewn over the duvet—staring at you pinned under him.

The bed protests, because of course it does to that amount of bulk, but it still holds regardless.

You huff sourly, and suck your bottom lip into your mouth as you avert your gaze.

With a tired sigh, Cato leans close to you and frowns—straining to tuck his nose against your neck and scoop a vambrace under you to hold you close.

"I may have," he starts slowly as he smothers himself against you. "Overreacted."

A scoff escapes you, but you rest your cheek to his temple regardless.

You take a big breath in; and the politician in you jumps out—even if the politician is currently a little bit shaky.

"I-I am aware that... it's tedious to have me around given my bearing, amongst your kind," you stammer, gaze flittering to and fro from his eyes to his pauldron to the desk behind him. "I can take a snort and a scoff, but you made it worse, at the end—" your voice trails off, and you sit up; scrubbing your cheek with your palm, fussing. "It's easy to hear criticism from a stranger, but not—not from you. Not after... all of this, in a situation like that."

There was a time when Cato would've flat out turned his nose up at the prospect of apologising. He has done so to maybe ten baselines in his entire life, and he's including his parents in that number purely by an assumption—and Vedeah.

"Even in the moment," he says carefully, and tries not to think too hard about the wider implications of doing so, "I realised it was a cruelty, and I am sorry for it."

You simply hold onto him for a moment, and Cato buries his face closer; your hand combing across the side of his head.

"It's alright," you tut softly, "Seeing y-you... you getting all huffy about the First Captain for me was funny though... Throne, I feel so stupid sending him all those letters now."

"You weren't to know Agemman's a prick," he sniffs, laying a gauntlet on your thigh. "I've been on the receiving end of his sour judgment just as you, earlier."

"Were..." you start, voice hesitant. "Were you like that, when you were Captain of the Second?"

The question catches him off guard, which makes him harrumph.

Cato sets his jaw and leans back to look at you, frowning softly, "You would not have liked me in the slightest."

You look a little taken aback at his admission, and Cato feels the need to clarify before your habit of asking too many questions seizes you.

"I was..." Cato begins abruptly, cringing, "...reckless, and a lot more vain; always seeking victories at any cost despite the odds," he says, begrudgingly explaining himself and feeling a lot like his own Primarch was simply speaking through him, "I probably would have petitioned to have you tried for the simple crime of... being, despite my actual... ahem—predilection."

You eye him for a moment, and there's a familiar warmth in your gaze despite the fact he just admitted, out loud, he'd have you put to death for the crime of stirring his cock in another set of circumstances.

"Why do you think that?" You ask, curious.

Cato raises a brow, "I would have painted you a Slaaneshi temptress, like I had thought originally."

"You thought that? Really? I hadn't even—" You scoff, looking at him with a quizzical little grimace.

The deadpan expression on his own face answers you before you can even get it all out.

"Okay," you groan. "Okay, I get it."

He gives your leg a squeeze, and pulls back.

"Good," he hums and moves to stand.

"Wait, Cato—stay," you mumble, "Please."

At full height in your cramped room, he furrows his brows, "I cannot remain here, not tonight, not in this."

You sit yourself on the edge of the bed and look up at him, and Cato's forced to peer over his gorget to catch the full extent of the pleading, doe-eyes you're putting into action.

Cato has to fight back a dopey smile at the insistent, honeyed look you grace him with as you stare up at him.

So pretty, even when you're playing at guilt-tripping him.

It's risky, and quite frankly his dumbest, most thinking-with-his-cock moment; but he still offers it.

"You could accompany me, instead?" He dithers, and eventually acquiesces.

Your head cocks to the side excitedly, "...to where?"

"My quarters," Cato says matter-of-factly.

You're suddenly up and scrambling off the bed to stand beside him, and he hands you his helmet off his hip. You take it without complaint nor reason, even though Cato'd been prepared to give you an excuse.

Oh, it's an alibi, oh, it's this—it's that—it's the simple fact you looked irresistible amusing carrying his helm.

He unlocks your door, and shuffles out—with you tailing him eagerly.

Laterally, it's not too far from his quarters, but it is tedious given the levels between; and it has to be done quickly—if not for the fact if others see they will gossip, he'd throw you over his shoulder like a dead-weight and break into a run. So you need to keep up with his rush, given you wanted to follow.

He hastens down the corridor, and up a flight, and you keep pace, surprisingly.

Your breathing is a little heavy, but Cato attributes that to you having just scaled a fair amount of stairs, for a baseline.

He lingers at the top, in the elevator bay; and you bumble up to him and take the spot behind him.

Cato activates the lift and sighs as it begins to grind it's ascent into existence.

He's stunned to have not heard a peep out of you yet, and honestly that—hold on—there's a hand on his rear, and small fingers depressing the bodysuit over his left glute.

"Get off of there," he snaps, "We are in public."

"I'm just leaning to catch my breath," You huff, squeezing him a little.

Fifteen minutes ago you were sulking and seething, and now you're straight back to bothering him for entertainment.

"Don't start," he sighs, and takes a step aside from you—desperate to not dignify the heat crawling up his neck.

"What will you do?" You scoff, and he all but whips around at your snarky tone, "Snort and sneer me to death? I just fought you off with a book."

Cato rolls his eyes.

"I can and will use things against you," he says, a slight hint of a growl trailing his words.

You raise an eyebrow.

"Such as?"

"I know how easy it is to render you docile and silent, as you ought to be," Cato scowls harshly, putting some finesse into appearing menacing.

It does not work.

"You think I'm some animal to be scruffed?" Your laugh is painfully endearing, but—but he's firm in his rapport. At least, he's trying to be firm. One part of him certainly is firm and hard... and straining against his inners—stop.

"Much the same, seeing as you would preoccupy a single hand at most," he grits out flatly, but his temper wavers when he realises his own statement's double meaning—his cheeks feel a little warm, and it aggravates him that he reacts so easily.

You raise an eyebrow, staring at him, "Just your hand?"

He fights the urge to pout at the sheer cheek of you, and the lurid smugness you're letting show so brazenly.

It's a common situation now: you say something erring on insult, smile a tad, and then the brain in his cock takes the reigns from the one in his head. He thought he was past swooning starting at your antics by now; or at least he hoped to have become a lot more immune to it.

But no—despite being the belligerent, bitter bastard he is, you still manage to ferret out a weak spot for yourself in his hearts.

"I ought to take you over my knee," he says so softly it's practically an oath to himself.

Nonetheless, you apparently catch it—and blink dumbly up at him for a few seconds; a slow, creeping flush steadily finding it's place on your cheeks as you swallow so hard he hears the cartilage in your throat click.

The lift comes to a halt, and he all but harries you off it.

Thankfully, it is standard rest hours for the Victrix; that is to say those who aren't bedded down are likely on jaunts elsewhere in the ship.

It's the perfect opportunity to sneak you inside, in short.

The grand, carpeted corridor is empty, and you ogle it; and it's likely your first time having been near higher standard Astartes accomodation.

"I'll be back—" He opens the door in a quick input of numerals and ushers you in swiftly before huffing; "Don't open for anyone, not even Guilliman."

You nod and step inside, looking back at him a little sheepishly with his helm held to your chest; as the sliding mechanism activates, clicks shut, and promptly dead-locks behind you—while he quickly thumbs in his security code.

He breaks into a sprint to the nearest armour chamber, which is thankfully on this level; if not an eight minute jog at Astartes speed.

At first, Cato asks the mechanicum disarming staff to show some haste in doffing him from his panoply of ceramite—but he quickly loses patience and growls at the serfs who try to drag out the whole ordeal with longwinded rights and sermons while the adepts' machines hex-key open his vambraces. Part of the ordeal ends, war-gear shed, and Cato practically hisses at the gathered attendants when he starts to wrestle out of his body-glove and they try to smear him with unguents. He does, however, allow them to administer local numbing agents and analgesics for the more tedious, biological matters of unlinking from his interfacing.

They hose him down instead of scrubbing him at least, and Cato's glad that someone in that Void-damned room is listening to him.

He hurriedly lathers his arms and legs, dipping a cupped palm back into the presented urn of warm, fragranced oil to cover his neck and underarms—and bending, creasing points, as is typical.

He feels a little wobbly as he puts his sandals on at the hasty loss of the armour's weight—and in that aforementioned hurry, he trips a little while he tugs his tunic over his head and knocks over the servitor, who then knocks over one of the serfs, who then knocks over the tech adept.

It's not Cato's finest moment, surely, but he's in about as much of a rush to get moving as an Astartes can be in a non-combat environment.

He doesn't stop, because he has better things to do—more specifically, he has you to do.

He makes his way down the long winding halls, sprinting between the gaps in onlookers eyelines, stop-starting, like a fool. But damn, if he isn't on a mission with the thought of you waiting on him hanging over his head.

"Sicarius," the Chapter Master's voice abruptly greets curtly.

Cato swallows a scream and takes a step backwards, immediately entering grappling stance.

The aging Primaris seems to realise he's genuinely surprised him and raises a grey brow.

Cato rights himself with a forced cough and stumbles a little, "Lord Calgar?"

A huge power fist comes to rest on his tunic'd shoulder to steady him, "I did not intend to shock, but there is something you must hear of," Calgar says, manoeuvring to allow space for him to walk beside.

Cato matches the broader strides of the Chapter Master, although with him being a Primaris and Cato out of his war-gear—it's a tad more effort than normally required given the size disparity.

Marneus Calgar is typically a man of few words when he's not seized by his passion for monologuing... but he certainly has plenty words when he has gossip.

"I have a suspicion," Calgar huffs.

Cato swallows the lump in his throat, playing along, "And I assume you're not at all responsible for that suspicion travelling to other ears."

"Of course," The Chapter Master shoots him a downward, sidelong glance with his good eye. And if Cato didn't know any better, he'd have been amiss to the glimmer of amusement there.

Abruptly, Calgar pauses in step and quietly remarks, "One of our brothers is aberrant."

The metaphorical leaden brick that hits Cato in the temple works in his favour, because it makes it seem like he's in disbelief rather than panic.

"Corruption?" He hisses, eyes narrowing.

Calgar's grey brows furrow as he shakes his head, "Aberrant, Cato—not chaos-tainted, insofar as I am aware."

"How?" Cato snaps, and again, his bemusement that Calgar didn't equate the two for some reason surely works in his favour, making it look like a sincerely shocked reaction—but the problem remains that he, personally, would equate them. Throne, there—there must be a reason he's acted on his urges, there must be something he can blame.

Calgar purses his thin lips and sighs, "I have on good reason to believe there is a sort of... fraternisation is occurring."

"Really?" Cato huffs, he's simultaneously stunned and horrified that this conversation is even happening. Because if Marneus doesn't think it's the work of the Warp's wiles, then it can't surely have just been his own love partiality for you—that damnable, incessant yearning to have you close, and warm, and tucked against his side.

"And by that," Calgar starts, "I mean that one of them is engaging in baser ventures."

He tries very hard not to laugh out of sheer mortification, and the mental pict of Calgar clutching a string of pearls like a senile ecclesiarch.

"Are you certain?" Cato says, despite the looming dread.

The Chapter Master nods stoically, "I chanced upon an area reeking of Astartes sweat and... intercourse."

When every word may damn you, it is better to say nothing at all. And Throne, he can't bring himself to speak regardless of the fact; because his balls are in his throat. Even if it sounds as though Calgar's largely oblivious to the truth that the Astartes is him—Cato Sicarius—and although he is partially thankful he's in the clear; if Calgar's got your room identified as the source, you're in the hot seat. Every facet of your little existence would be so over for you it's almost unfathomable. Even if you escape the judgement of the Legionnes, you would be hunted down by the Assassinorum, in and beyond any Imperial system; fuck, he's going to have to smuggle you—

"I was sequestered elsewhere urgently, and I did not chance where it was coming from," Calgar continues, "But I know it occurred somewhere in the northeastern apartments."

Cato fights for his life not to sputter out a relieved sigh and buckle at the knees, boneless on the floor.

The ventilation systems must have dispersed the smell, which would have thrown off Calgar's vomeronasal organ.

He rejects most aspects regarding godhood placed upon the Master of Mankind ever since his agonising jaunt in the Warp, and from his conversations with Guilliman—but surely the Emperor must have leaned over on His throne and pelted a holy, righteous wrench at Calgar's big nose that morning.

The Emperor protects, albeit when He comedically feels like it.

"I will keep an eye out for... un-sanctioned behaviours."

"Report them to me, or Guilliman, should you find anything—no chaplains," Calgar says at last, and comes to a halt in a fork in the hallway. "Nonetheless, keep your wits about you—I must get going."

Cato blinks as Calgar rounds on his big heel, "Another vox-haling?"

"No," he sighs. "A meeting, for the next six hours."

"With the planetary governor?"

"No," Calgar says again, face completely dead-pan like a corpse, "With my cot—and if anyone needs me, tell them to piss off unless Guilliman's dying. Again."

Then he shoots him that wry, amused side-eye once more and stomps off down the adjacent passage.

Cato stands stunned in the hall for a brief time, genuinely flabbergasted.

Then he's a trans-human on a mission, thundering down the corridor—his mind immediately concocting several protocols to prevent the previous situation occurring again.

Firstly, the instant he gets to his quarters, he's going to stuff his incense burner into the ventilator grate.

Sound won't be an issue, he knows his chambers are proofed—surely not because he's woken screaming in that room without anyone saying anything. But that's besides the point, because the only screaming that's to be happening is his final plan of action; namely that, lastly, he's going to slide into you and have you crying his name—

Cato doesn't even consciously remember arriving at his door, nor coding in his numerals and doing the same behind him; but he's certainly in the present when he sees you.

Something in his chest lurches to a halt at the sight of you tucked in his sheets, the thundering of his twin heartbeats slowing and easing to a lulled calm.

There's less candles in his room than yours, but what little of your hair that peaks from beneath the blanket is bathed in flickering, warm light when he approaches.

His helm's lying against you atop the thin cover, and you're snoring softly.

Cato nears, and—with nobody to judge him, including you, simply stares.

Throne, he could live this scene out every day of his life and never tire of it—but matters need attending before he can bask in the domesticity.

Dutifully, he grabs his incense holder and follows through with his plan of action.

He doesn't intend it, but he wakes you at some point while jamming the vent back into place; and you groan softly, rubbing your eyes as you stretch and sit up.

The sheets over you slip away as you do, and he daftly fixes his haze at the drowsy, stark-naked Ambassador in his bed.

"...Cato?"

He swallow the proverbial bolt round lodged in his throat and grunts.

"When..." you pause to yawn, "When did you get in?"

It takes him a second to register the question with how intensely he's focused on ogling your tits, but eventually "...a few minutes," leaves him as an answer.

You blink lazily and harrumph, then slump back—and he's sure it's intentional, because the way your body curves with the motion is almost like you're presenting yourself. The sheets are low on your hips—not low enough that he can really take an eyeful, but the temptation of it raw and syrupy in his mind. What he can see is the warm, soft skin of your navel and stomach offered up to his roving gaze like a hunk of meat. It's bait, and it's obvious, and he's a slavering, starved dog in that instant.

He sits himself on the edge of the thin mattress, kicking off his sandals—and leans over you, breathing controlled but fast.

He splays a palm on your side, dragging it up, tracing.

You fuss a little, wanting.

He manoeuvres himself atop you, and you pout, as your elbow digs into the mattress.

He can tell in some fey way you're about to comment on the state of his bed—or rather, the lack of a real bed. Well, maybe not fey, it's mere prediction given your habit of complaining. You've probably been stewing on making a remark about it the entire time you've been dicking around in here. There's no headboard, no duvet. It's closer to a big, thin cushion on a fold out, bolted to a hinge on the wall at the top end.

You grumble, "This is the worst bed I've ever actually lain on," and there it is—the nagging, the backtalk.

"My mattress on Talassar is far nicer," he hums, nosing into the crook of your neck and sighing contently.

Your voice is barely a mumble as you say, "Well, we're not on Talassar—that's for sure."

"We could be," Cato mouths against your skin as he ventures lower.

"What?" You sit up a little and displace him enough that you can meet his gaze, and your eyes lock onto his in a hasty, focused manner—then Cato feels translucent again. As if you can see him for everything he is: prideful and doltish, disgustingly predictable—you've got him eating out of your hand.

"We... we could go to Talassar," he blurts out, one of your breasts against his chin. Then he ducks lower—planting a kiss just above your bellybutton. His voice comes out muffled against your skin, swallowing thickly, cotton-mouthed. "I'm sure I could... find an excuse, logistically."

The look you're giving him is just as flushed as his own face feels.

Cato Sicarius, High Suzerain of Ultramar, babbling—once again. Reduced to an illiterate, juddering wreck. His Astartesian dignity, honour and status petering to nothing. You have him swooning, on the back foot. Earnest and vulnerable—Throne, it makes him hot under the proverbial collar.

Cato stalls for a second, pursing his lips before digressing, "I could... I could petition an excursion to Glaudor to Guilliman, and then... arrange docking at Perusia."

Why does he feel so heated talking about this? Why is he, a several hundred year old, trans-human killing machine, flustering saying these things out loud?

"I don't actually know much about Talassar, aside from—well, aside from Guilliman's assigned readings on the Void Tridents, really."

Cato huffs, "I am distantly related to their Lord Commodore, Theodro Vethrus."

"Really? Huh..." you squint, trying to parse out his expression, "So do you... like him?"

Cato nods, "He's competent."

"High praise from you," you laugh softly, and wriggle yourself down—closer to eye level with him. "So what w-would we do? On Talassar, I mean..."

He breaks eye contact and stares at your lips instead, rearing up from you a little, "Well, there's a large hinterland that's quite nice in spring when it's not raining... and my Ancestral seat, on the coast. People sometimes swim and such, there—"

"I've never actually swam at a beach, before."

Cato harrumphs, "Really?"

"Never," you pout.

He smiles softly, "That can be remedied."

From the higher rooms of his duchy's fortress, you can get a good look at the long isthmus that sometimes peaks out from afore the sea walls when the waves calm down bi-yearly.

It's nicer on the other side where it's too small of a cove to support vessels, where the submerged canyon redirects the immense tidal forces sidelong.

You can swim in the carved rock lap pool, like he used to.

Because he's not about to run into the waves with his Tempest Blade should one of Talassar's less hospitable locals swim under the marine nets.

That, and to hell with picking the sealant-putty out of his interfacing ports. The annoyance of that is almost as bad as to be without it, and chock full of sand at exposed nerve points. With that mental deliberation settled, he lays both palms flat to the mattress supporting him either side of your shoulders, and raises a brow when your hand touches his chest.

Absentmindedly, he weighs the pros and cons or giving you the leeway to continue groping; it feels nice—but there's an aspect of mischief to your eyes he finds suspicious.

You start squeezing at his pectoral, fingers bearing down; watching the dense muscle contort and bulge.

"You really ought to bind these," you hum abruptly.

He scowls down at you, "I am not binding my chest."

"Why not?" You retort.

Cato sniffs derisively, "They are not breasts."

"Riiiight..." You drawl, dragging out the word still pawing at his left pectoral. "In my professional opinion, they seem pretty breast-like to me."

"They are not. Fucking. Breasts," Cato snarls, enunciating himself sharply while puffing up.

"No need to get defensive," you trail off, eyebrow quirking up slyly; laying the faux-pas down heavily, purposefully trying to irritate him by nipping at his metaphorical heels. "It's just that—well, even though they're hairier, they do feel simi—"

"That's enough talking out of you," he says, and promptly seizes you by the chin with his mitt, closing your mouth with his hand and effectively silencing you.

But stifling you had not wiped the smug, leering smile off your face. Yes, he can fucking feel it, you little bitch.

"You aren't funny," he hisses.

You grunt at him, huffing and puffing through your nose as you attempt speech even though your maw is held shut.

"Don't say something stupid," Cato frowns, and loosens his hold enough for you to get a few words out.

"I'd wager you could lactate w-wuh—with—" you race to say, thrashing as he quickly manages to shut you back up with his palm.

Cato tries not to grumble at the fact you're wheezing hysterically through your nose.

"Every time I think you are above something, you find a way to sink lower."

In response, you start thrashing, writhing enough in his grip to get four single words out from between his big fingers, "Sink—i-into your–cl—uh–eavage—" you manage to sputter, laughing behind his hand.

"I'll sink into you in a moment, if you do not stop," Cato growls openly.

You go still almost immediately, and whine against his palm.

"Really," he sneers, flabbergasted as he pulls his hand away and raises a brow, "Are you getting off on this, you degenerate?"

The comment clearly also stirs something in you, because then you're swatting at his face—missing, yes—but the effort still infuriates Cato to no end.

He rears back in avoidance, still keeping you nice and muzzled by his palm, but you manage to clap a hand around his mouth.

You push at him and squirm, fussing.

Then he inhales.

It's a little surprising his nose finds your fingers smell of molasses, and that means slick—the lingering hormonal melody of 'please?' is so blatant it's almost pathetic.

Cato raises an eyebrow and moves his hand from your face to ensnare the one you have on his, keeping it close.

"Is that why you're being such a scathing bitch? You're just impatient?" He scoffs, purposefully trying to taunt as he sniffs them again, just to be sure—and then licks across the underside of your pointer and middle, "Were these not big enough to entertain you while I was gone?"

You whine, flushed red with embarrassment, and try to wretch your hand away pointlessly.

A belated snort escapes him and he gives you a long, judgemental glare, letting you boil in your own shame.

"Don't start," you huff, petulant.

Cato huffs darkly, "I didn't say anything."

You frown knowingly—and his head descends, lower and lower.

You're all too willing to let him arrange you near his face.

Sure, you wriggle and flush and grumble at him as he makes sure to make a dramatic gesture of the act, but you're eager—and he knows it.

With an Ambassador's plump cunt to his mouth, Cato can't complain. But you certainly try to, despite the juddering thighs squeezing fruitlessly against the sides of his head. It's hopeless to try to fend off an Astartes, especially like this.

"C-Cato, just—"

He rolls his tongue over your clit again and again, delighting in the blissful hormone feedback lighting up his brain and the sounds you're making adding to it.

Some part of him'd be content lapping at your swollen nerve for hours, until you're a boneless mewling wreck. Tormenting you, letting you beg for him while he just roils in the simple goal of getting you to your end a dozen or so times.

"Please, just f-fuck—" you sob, squirming as he laughs against your sex at how toothless your frustration is. "Fuck m-me, Cato, stop being a-a—"

He drags over your clit again and feels your hamstrings tense, a fresh surge of slick wetting his chin.

"I'm—I c-can't," a shuddering whine leaves you, desperate.

The air practically vents out of your lungs like you're winded as he sucks; until you're so terribly close, all he'll need to do is bottom out in you to make you cum.

And that's exactly what he does.

He organises your legs off his shoulders and about his mid section as quickly as he can manage and then—

"F-f—fuh—uck," You writhe, head thrown back while you squirm at the heavy press of him rocking inside you, making your breathing stutter for a second. It's the familiar, obscene view of watching the massive slab of cock press into a cunt that's almost too small for him. But given the fact you take it so well, who's Cato to deny you? You love it, and that's the real thrill. A surge of pleasure sends you bucking; legs moving mindlessly where they're hooked over his hips, but he keeps still, simply letting you suffer your end on the thick length of him—all the while enjoying the feeling of being stuffed in you the whole ordeal.

It's only a quick orgasm, but damn if it isn't a hell of a show.

You're panting deliriously, trembling on his cock; and Cato's about to start drooling at the tightness he's being treated to.

When you stop trembling around him, you fight to steady your breathing—huffing out; "I—I ought-t-ah... squeeze you o-out."

"You'd need a dozen Dreadnauts to drag me loose right about now," he snorts and tips his head close, nudging his temple to yours a second later before smirking proudly.

The heavy swell of his balls sit flush against your ass, and you arch up, scrambling to pull him down into an embrace.

The small hands on his back are a nice counterpoint, and he moans when your fingers glide up to his shoulder; trailing the side of his neck before cupping his cheek. You pet him against the slightly grown out grain of his stubble with a skrrch skrrch, and he hums contently—and when that little hand rises to his pet his hair, it's sublime.

Your touch shifts away and he grumbles.

"I didn't tell you... to stop, damn it."

"So you are enjoying y-yourself, hm?" You smile, cupping his jaw and petting slowly.

"I don't... don't know what you're talking about, woman," he lies, nigh beside himself; pressing his bulk against you while pawing and groping at whatever he can.

He'd try for one of your tits in his mouth if the angle he's currently reaming you out at didn't make it impossible.

You work kisses across the high point of his cheek and down the heated column of his throat; seemingly emboldened by the dulcet, appreciative hums and rumbles that escape from Cato the entire time.

Doused in affection like this, he struggles to form sentences, damn it all.

He lets his head rest close, assailed with honest desperation.

"But, I..." he starts quickly, feeling a weight in his chest. His brain wants him to finish with a whole other word he refuses to even think of; because even if he's itching to say that he—he loves adores you—he's too stubborn to say it without sufficient prodding; but there's an arrow of longing lodged in his gullet and thankfully it doesn't dare to leave his mouth. "But, I do enjoy... you."

The prettiest whine escapes you in answer, and the flutter your tight cunt around him proves that for once, he's somehow said the right thing.

You swallow thickly and dither for a second, genuinely flustered but still able to get the words out, "I-I enjoy you, too."

A heady rush of heat fans across his face as he tries to properly process the information. The road travels both ways, and everything is serene, he's happy—you're happy, and that's all he ever needs. The duty and the honour, and the courage, seem inconsequential to it all in that moment.

He turns and kisses you swiftly, before leering away.

You rear up trying to close the distance again, but then Cato finally thrusts—and your eyes swim in their sockets, thighs shaking, mouth open with the heady gasp that leaves you.

So he nears, and gives you the other kiss you were eager for.

It's far messier than the former; his big tongue sticking in, dragging across yours and stifling you, saliva smearing down your chin as Cato practically laps the moans out of your mouth.

When he arches back at last, you're flushed and red at the lips, fluttering your lashes at him; eyes falling half-lidded under his gaze.

"C-Cato, move," You whine, imploring, and there's another eager clench around him when he obligingly ruts forward.

Cato can see the lurid glee on your face as your focus shifts suddenly to the point you both meet. Folded under him, it's given you a perfect vantage of the slab-of-meat that is his cock absolutely jammed down to the base in your guts.

You shimmy a bit and moan, "M-More?"

The scoff that leaves him is disbelieving, but he's well aware you're goading him to really set about fucking you insensible.

"If I fucked you as hard as you liked, you'd be getting augmetic hips tomorrow," he snarks, punctuating his point my pushing forward a little, so he's jammed riiiight against the soft ring of your cervix.

A soft gasp is all the receives for a second before you're suddenly grinning, "You're n-not that big."

It's so blatantly a lie he doesn't even dignify it with an answer. Instead, he shifts back a hint so only a third of himself stays inside you, letting you grow irate at the denial.

"I w–uh-was joking, Cato... please, don't s-stop," You whimper mournfully, raising yourself a little in attempt to coax him to slam in... and suddenly, there's a small hand on his flank.

Cato ignores it, focused on getting some much needed humility out of your darling mouth; then the hand claws at his rump.

"Needy bitc—" His would-be snarky sentence cuts short as he jumps a little, surprised, and clenches his rear; causing him to buck forward, sinking down to the hilt in you.

The thrilled gasp you make is priceless, and the shivering heat around his cock is sublime—but damn you for using that instinctive muscle reaction on him—you clever little bitch.

"Stop grabbing my ass," he grumbles, scowling down at you.

A crooked smile graces your lust-dumb features before it contorts into a flushed keen—surely not because Cato grinds deep to wipe the smirk off your face.

"This ought to keep your hands busy," He chides, rearing back and reaching sidelong for his discarded helmet on the far side of his cot.

You eagerly take it into your embrace, and Cato's impulse control violently derails seeing your tits sandwiched to the side panel; the white and red plume brushing your cheek—and you looking up at him with wanton lust.

Oh, Throne of Terra—that looks...

Cato swallows the saliva that suddenly over-accumulates in his mouth.

It's lecherous, and a glaring hypocrisy to everything the Legiones Astartes stands for—but there's something painfully enthralling about the visual that riles him up to strain at the bit like a warhorse.

Throne, he wishes he could fuck you in full-plate; just to see you drip and squirm, the adamantine of his thigh plating against your tender rear—the gooseflesh cold ceramite earns out of you to contrast the big hot slide of him into you. If only there was a way to keep the comfort of familiar war-gear upon him and the bliss of your soft skin on his simultaneously.

But he's got more than one round in him, and you've signed the warrant to be fucked to hysterics with all your insufferable antics earlier, no matter how cute you're acting now.

He's not going to last long.

Not like this.

Not with you so painfully eager, and pretty, and warm, and sweet.

He can't help acting on the urge to absolutely plough into you like his life depends on spilling inside.

"Ca–ah—to, Cato, C-Cato—" you drool, eyes shut tightly, fingers white with the exertion of keeping a grip on his helm's respirator. Each time you cry out his name it's followed by the sticky plap-plap-plap of his balls against your rear, and it's enthralling feeling you twitch and cramp on his length in rhythm with each stroke.

"Aren't you such a good little fucktoy," Cato pants, grinning when you nod on instinct. "Holding an Astartes' helm for him... while taking his cock."

A strangled 'y-yes' escapes you, breath fogging condensation against the cold steel of his helm.

"Perfect," he grunts, "My perfect... little whore," gritting his teeth, "You'll let me fill you, won't you?"

Another gorgeous few bleated notes of 'yes, y-yes, yes' meet him in answer.

"You want it here?" Cato hisses, breathlessly punctuating himself with a grind, "That's it... that's what you want?"

And that comment apparently does you in at last.

The pathetic little sob that pairs along with your frantic nodding makes him salivate like a rabid dog.

Your thighs judder as he pulls back to slam in, fruitlessly trying to lock at the ankles around the wide span of his hips; vainly attempting to keep him still—squeezing tighter and tighter as he keeps driving home into you—and the feeling is ecstasy, much like the view. You're so red across the cheeks it's almost the same colour as his plume, and you're hugging his helmet close, making the sweetest hiccuped sobs of pleasure against it.

He grits his teeth at the tightness that rewards him for pushing you to finish, helpless to it doing the same. Rutting into you, filling the eager hole he's sheathed in.

Cato slumps forward, shivering; careful to not squish you and his helm beneath his bulk despite the daze of him emptying a load in you—keeping pace even when the stimuli becomes unbearably tender and your heels dig into his flanks.

Heaving, he halts at last after the pleasure begins to really hurt, and meets your hazy gaze with a long, content sigh.

"C-Cato," you start softly, and nose against his cheek.

"Yes?" He begins in an airy tone, looming close to your ear and letting his exhale taper off into a long, curious hum.

"Your helm's d-digging into my ribs..." you cringe, and he immediately lifts himself away with a strong hand and pulls his helmet away and to the side.

Redness in the vague outline of the ceramite is imprinted on the soft skin of your side and he tuts, hand tracing the minor injury.

Kneading the area a little, you start to squirm, and Cato's suddenly hyperaware he's still inside you; and looks down.

He's fucked your combined fluids into a frothing mess.

With an air of unimpressed amusement, you snort at the show he makes of pulling out—he grabs you with a mitt on the underside of each thigh, functionally spreading you as inch after thick inch drags free so slowly it's almost jarring just how much of him you fit. The flushed head of his cock pops out, dripping a final fat rope of cum across your vulva; and then your overfilled insides start leaking more.

"Still got the implant?" Cato queries, using his thumb to pull your labia aside and eye just how deep he's emptied into you.

"Yes," you snicker weakly, "Y-Yes, I do—why?"

"It's a simple question," he tuts.

"I know w-what you're really asking, Cato."

He raises an eyebrow, "It's got nothing to do with the fact you're hard to avoid finishing inside."

A laugh leaves you like a bark, "You've never tried to a-avoid it."

"You'd throw a fit," he shoots back, and shuffles over to lie beside you on his back.

With a disgruntled huff you retort, "H-How would you know?"

"I remember your opinion on a certain... 'theoretical hypothetical scenario' quite well," Cato says slowly, and prides at the flustered smile you fight to hide in his peripheral vision.

"I... I stand by that statement," you sigh, still half-smirking.

He pouts, "You do, do you?"

"Yes," you huff, "Because now there's the t-temptation of leave to a seaside paradise on the proviso of being gravid," you say pointedly, and roll onto your side to face him—worming closer until your cheek rests on his pectoral. "Which becomes more tempting by the minute."

"You lazy little shit, I never said you had to be pregnant to get there," he scoffs, grinning, sitting up and resting his back to the wall. "Besides, I can assure you Guilliman's homework will find you even on a barren death world."

"I'm sure I can come up with something," you say, glaring at him with a conspiratorial smile. "And what was that about me not having to be knocked up to get this vacation?"

"The stipulation is I'd have you squirming on my lap daily," Cato rumbles, eyeing you arranging yourself to settle atop him. "Hourly, even; and the side effect of that may very well be a procreational one—"

"Such an egalitarian bargain," You snicker softly, saddling yourself on his hips instead of remaining prone—lifting your legs, straining to splay yourself wide enough to let him slot between them. "You're a better statesman than I thought, Commander Sicarius."

He rumbles a smooth subvocal sound of assent, and the big palms on your hips slide to cup the flesh atop your thighs.

The simple feeling of your warm skin pressed to him, and he is panting softly through his nose already. You kiss him then, with a tender sigh—more a sweet thing than a desperate scramble.

Cato stares when you pull away, keen eyes lingering on your own as you look up at him.

Something about that look plays havoc with his mind, and your next words double down on the heat in his blood, "Does the Grand Duke want for heirs so badly?"

"Fuck, yes—well, no—but... should one of your gene-stock occur by chance, who am I to object," he jumbles his words a tad when you reach down to hold his cock straight.

Throne, he wants it; he really does. Even if it's more likely considered a luxury well beyond anything he deserves, he wants you beside him in whatever way, shape, or form you'll allow.

"So," you snort, and the thick head of his length catches at the rim of your still-dripping cunt, "I'm to be an infant factorum?"

"Duchess," he groans, bristling at your soft lips against his cheek in unison with you sinking down, down, down to the hilt on him. "You're to be... a Grand Duchess, moron."

The languid sigh you make when he's buried in you is so content he's genuinely giddy as you ask, "I-Is that so, Cato?"

"You're going to adore every second of it," Cato rumbles softly, palming your ass. "Spoiled little heifer, that you are."

You make a strangled sound at the harsh grope of your rear and smile against his jaw, "...what's a heifer?"

"A female bovine that's never calved," he expects a slap for that—and yet it never comes.

You lean away, looking deeply unimpressed, and he sulks a little because it's not the reaction he was after. But it's a reaction nonetheless.

"Why do you, as an A-Astartes, even know that?"

"When Guilliman's mood ebbs to a trough, he lectures me on farming techniques," he says offhandedly, "He does so for hours."

Cato feels strange talking of his Father, the Lord Primarch, when his balls are currently smooshed against your perineum and his cock is playing whack-a-mole with your cervix.

"Would t-that make you a male bovine, then?"

Cato considers for a second before arching close to drag his tongue across your throat, grinning.

"So this i-is a breeding attempt b-by you?" You laugh with a daft, pleasured sort of delight and lift yourself a little, fucking yourself on him at your leisure.

"Yes," Cato pants, and rolls his hips upward—meeting you in the middle.

The contact makes a lewd plap along with a mixed combination of his moan and yours.

"W-Well," you sigh, "You're really trying—ah—aren't y-you, Cato?"

"For once," he rasps, mouthing a nice big bruise onto the soft skin on the side of your neck, "Keep talking."

"S-So, how m-many do—" you start meekly, stuttering a little with hesitation; your mouth to his ear. "How many do y-you want?"

The question makes Cato's head spin.

A sound that he can only assume is a braying moan escapes his gullet, because all his focus is cross-haired on the implication you've just given him on a platter.

"You're... you're going to get that implant removed next cycle," Cato pants, raring. "And," he bites out as he struggles not to just give in to the moan trapped in his throat and forsake words altogether. "You'll let me... let me breed this eager cunt of yours, won't you?"

The shaky gasp that leaves you in answer is divine, and Throne, aren't you the perfect little wife whore.

Then you nod, and that fucked-out smile is the most gorgeous thing Cato's ever seen.

It's conjecture, it's fantasy. Because Guilliman's going to skin him if anything like that ever gains actuality—and he may still very well be chemically sterile, after all of this; but it feels right to indulge in that impossible want at this instant. He'd take you as a bride, by the sea—in the high courtyards that look down at the great harbour. He'd have his pretty little wife, maybe a dozen bairns as stubborn as himself and as insufferable as you—and everything'd be perfect. He doubts you'd allow that many, but it's a discussion point. He'll barter—hell, who's he kidding. He'll take anything, even if it's just the two of you.

Whatever you'd ask he'd give; because in the end, he'd enjoy nothing more than to have you with him—and whatever boon might come from that conjunction—something made out of love, that he's not supposed to have.

He takes a firm hold of your hips on either side and bounces you, managing to steal a kiss on the up-lift and ripping a moan out of you on the down-pull—again and again; until you're squirming, slumping forward, squeezing on his cock as you're forced into a racketing orgasm.

Overwhelmed, you all but squeal, scrambling at the wide expanse of his shoulders in an effort to lock him closer, clawing at his deltoids.

It's the last push he needs.

Cato empties his balls right where you want it, groaning and heaving in desperate gulps of air as he slumps back against the wall; dragging you with him.

Your head rests limply against his shoulder and you wriggle, overstuffed—taking every drop.

He grits his teeth as each shudder milks him dry, arcs of pleasure lighting up his nerves.

It leaves him huffing and puffing into your nape, grumbling to himself.

"Perfect," he whispers, nuzzling against your neck. He can feel the sticky heat of his cum dripping out of you and onto his thighs and balls.

Cato supposes if this is what de-facto baseline marriage is like, it's not half bad.

#cato sicarius x reader #space marine x reader #reader insert #cato sicarius #warhammer 40k #ultramarines #warhammer 40k x reader #warhammer fanfic #writing #calgar omg hiii #oughgh theyre happy and cute and im going to hit cato with a steel chair after this #my little scrunkly #cato sicarius my favourite cringefail husband #giant asshole wife guy #if the breeding thing wasn't obvious enough by the fact he oogles his load EVERYTIME im EVERY CHAP LMFAOO #HES FINALLY ADMITTED ITTTTT #ambassador please do not let him he will make your kids duel endlessly

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autisticlalna · 7 months ago

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how to watch Skyblock Kingdoms!

because i'm dragging all of you down with me.

what is Skyblock Kingdoms?:

Skyblock Kingdoms, or SBK, is a Skyblock survival server made by VikingPilot where 18 20 players are split into groups of 2 and have their own island to take care of. each island has a unique wood type, and have a monopoly over that wood type! trade between kingdoms is allowed and encouraged, but any saplings belong solely to their original island-- with the exception of oak, which is a freebie anyone can have.

the teams are theoretically a mix of seasoned skyblockers and people not as familiar with it, but in practice there's more novices than experts so comedy has quickly ensued.

what's the story?:

in most cases, SBK is more of a casual improv vibe. think Hermitcraft rather than Empires. what this means is that there's no overarching story everyone is following, but some players have bits they've decided to commit to that, in typical MCYT fashion, are spiraling. some perspectives stay away from the action, some are playing along with whatever bit is tossed their way, some have their stories to tell, and Avid is the reason i'm having to rewrite this paragraph.

we've got capitalists! we've got OSHA! we've got witches feeding the void to try and appease it so it stops eating their bridges! we've got signs of the timeline falling apart! we've got a fortune-telling wizard! we've got something trapped deep down in limbo! we've got somebody cursed to be a monkey by british sun tzu! we've got selling your soul for a weekly lootbox! we've got a kingdom being overtaken by snow and sculk! we've got an airline with a 75% mortality rate! we've got a lawyer?

as of this version of the post (Avid's episode 17, Marma1ade's episode 15, Viking's episode 13, Vintage's episode 13), the first major story arc has wrapped up and things are going in a very interesting direction.

what's the format?:

there are edited videos being released regularly on Youtube by most of the creators, but a couple of POVs are stream-only so far. however, you can easily keep up with the server shenanigans without watching any streams-- there's some stuff that doesn't make it into videos, but not anything that would leave you locked out of the loop.

you can find all of the episodes out so far in release order in this one massive playlist by Doovid! thank you Doovid <3

on top of videos and streams, SBK has songs written and performed by Avid for his episodes! please listen to Through the Void, it's really good. there's also an animation for it that's used as his intro, which is also really good. if you want to listen to cool tunes made for SBK by one of the creators, you should watch Avid.

who to watch?:

depends on what you're looking for!

if you want a focus on building, then Fixxitt and KingElffe are both working on large-scale projects that are downright stunning to see in Skyblock. if you're interested in the Void storyline, then your best bets are Avid, Marmalade, and Trog-- and if you want lore in general, you can add Rubyco, Vintage, Milkman, and Anathra (and potentially Viking) to the list. if you want something chill, then Doovid, M1G, Kale, Anathra, and Leon are pretty laid-back. if you enjoy cinematic editing, then you should check out Avid, Trog, Doovid, Leon, and Viking. if you're here for comedy, then you'll want to check out Viking, Doovid, Milkman, Leon, CodeNeon, and Kittrix, but honestly everybody gets in on that one as they mess with each other constantly. and that's still not covering everybody!

i recommend watching everyone's episode 1 to get a feel for their style and go from there. Anathra, Artemis, Neon, and Leon's perspectives start around the Ender Dragon fight, and Fool and Tea are stream-only.

who's on the server?:

as mentioned, some of these POVs are stream-only!

Dark Oak (VikingPilot + Fixxitt 412) - industry on a massive scale Cherry (Rubyco + vintage_applesauce) - friends with everyone Jungle (AvidMC + Doovid) - the universe has it out for them. Birch (TheFoolsFam + SadMilkman) - the villain is always capitalism Bamboo (M1G + KaleHameron) - space samurai shenanigans Mangrove (Marma1ade + Teaish7) - witches with a void problem Acacia (Dr. Trog + Kittrix) - triangle-loving chaos-causers Spruce (AcornBandit + Anathra) - very chill (both definitions.) End (CodeNeon + LeonSBU) - have been here the whole time! Mushroom (KingElffe + Artemis8bit) -

tl;dr Watch Skyblock Kingdoms.

#leo.txt #skyblock kingdoms #sbk #mcyt #THROWING THIS OUT INTO THE WIRLD. BE FREE #will update with links to artemis's content when its available

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ashthemadwriter-archived · 2 years ago

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Me & my hubby!

—When you accidentally introduce your boyfriend as your husband

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairings: Dazai, Chuuya, Fyodor, Ranpo, Akutagawa, Jouno X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor

Format: Drabble

Warnings: Suggestive content in Dazai's

Word Count: 1.6K

A/n: This is very rushed so sorry if its not well written

↳Osamu Dazai

As the door of the fitting room opened, your boyfriend came into sight. The white tuxedo hugged his slim frame perfectly, making his tall figure stand out even more. The color had given him an elegant look, which nearly made you wonder if he was the playful guy you were dating.

Dazai smirked as he picked up on your stun and flashed you a cheeky smirk. "Like what you see, Bella? You're staring a little too hard you know~"

Suddenly the fitting room seemed like the perfect place to show him how much you actually liked his new look. It didn't matter if you made a mess out of the tux, since you were about to buy it anyway.

"Oh Osamu... You should wear white more often"

"Everything alright here?"

The salesclerk was checking up on you with a warm smile.

"Ah yes! We would like to buy this one. It looks gorgeous on my husband"

You didn't exactly pay attention to your words, but seeing Dazai's eyebrows jump in surprise made you question your statement, and...

Oh.

Anxiety washed over you as you weren't exactly unfamiliar with your partner's commitment issues, but much to your surprise, Dazai wasn't upset nor terrified; his huge ass grin was showing off his joy and flatter.

"I'm her husband!"

For god's sake.

The salesclerk on the other hand was looking at you oddly, probably questioning her life choices.

"Ah, ok. Well then would you mind taking the tuxedo off? I'll wrap it up for you"

A snicker left your boyfriend's lips as he pulled you close by your waist. "Sure, but I might need my wife's help to take my clothes off. Will you be kind enough to help me out, Anata?"

"Oh shut up already!"

↳Chuuya Nakahara

One of the benefits of working at the same organization was that when your boyfriend had a mission overseas, you could go with him.

You had just arrived to your hotel after a five hour flight, which made you tired as hell since you couldn't sleep on the airplane. Although that wasn't enough to lessen your excitement for going on what could be some kind of a trip after you finish the job.

"Have you made a reservation beforehand ma'am?"

"No, it was kind of rushed. Would that be a problem?"

The receptionist shook his head to the side. "Not at all. Lucky for you, we still have some rooms available"

The door of the hotel opened and Chuuya came in, approaching you with your luggage in his hand. You looked back at the receptionist. "Great! Then I'd like a room for two people. We're going to be here for a while since my husband needs to take care of some stuff from work; right, honey?"

Chuuya froze in the spot and a light shade of crimson appeared on his cheeks. This was definitely unexpected. It made him feel butterflies in his stomach in a good way and somehow questioned all the logic that made him avoid thinking about the future of your relationship.

"Well your husband doesn't seem to be sure" The receptionist commented in a humorous way. "Alright then, here's your key"

On the way to your room there was a silence that couldn't exactly be marked as "uncomfortable". Chuuya was wearing a warm smile yet so drowned in his thoughts that you refused to take him out of his zone. However, when you reached the door, he suddenly lifted you up, making you suddenly gasp and gaze at him with astonishment.

"What are you doing?"

"What a good husband is supposed to do"

The familiar beam was back on his face.

"I'm carrying my wife to our shared hotel room"

↳Ranpo Edogawa

"Ranpo! You can't eat this whole cake!"

Going to the bakery had become some sort of tradition since you and your boyfriend started dating. You went there every afternoon, tasted the new pastries, you lectured him to not get carried away and he stopped you by shoving a cookie in your mouth. That was pretty much repetitive, except that something extra was coming along today.

"I can and I will. That's why it's called sample y/n" He munched on his cheesecake, delighted by the sweet taste lingering in his mouth.

"Well Mr. detective, It's a sample so you should just take one bite and then move on! If you like it then just buy one!"

The baker chuckled and walked toward you. She knew you since you were regulars there, and she had enough respect for the president to not throw a tantrum over a few pieces of cake. "It's alright Miss y/n. Let the man eat his sweets"

"You don't understand ma'am! My husband eats way too much sweets and that's not healthy at all! What if he comes down with diabetes or something?!"

Ranpo stopped chewing for a brief second and looked at you from the corner of his eye. The lady on the other hand, was more excited than shocked. "You got married? Oh! Congratulations! It's nice to know that Mr. Ranpo has finally settled down!"

You didn't know if you should correct yourself or hide your red cheeks. "I— I meant that— " "Please have some more cake! They're on the house. Consider them a gift from me"

As she left you alone, you finally turned to your boyfriend to see his reaction, which was exactly the way you expected it to be; smug and playful. "Ah, I went into this marriage with so much hope"

"Oh grow up!"

↳Fyodor Dostoevsky

"How's your steak honey?" You asked, looking at your boyfriend with curiosity. He had been taking bites reluctantly, swallowing without actually tasting the meat.

"It's burnt to a crisp, even though I ordered it medium rare" He gently wiped his mouth with the napkin, placing the cutlery on the table. You gave the dish a once over and flagged the waiter down. After a while he approached your table. "Is there a problem, ma'am?"

"Yes. My husband ordered his steak medium rare and as you can see, this is not what he asked for"

My... Husband?

"Eh, so... He'd like his steak... Medium rare... Please?" Awkwardness was hitting you and you really didn't want to be alone with Fyodor right now, but unfortunately, you were on a date and there were no way to escape from it.

The waiter excused himself after apologizing and taking the plate back to the kitchen. He did find your sudden change of expression odd, but he didn't say anything since he wasn't asking for less tip. However, Fyodor was completely ready to bring it up. You could tell that based on his grin, but you were doing your best not to face him at that moment.

Not that it was enough to stop him.

"How's your pasta Mrs. Dostoevsky?" "Fedya! Stop!"

↳Ryuunosuke Akutagawa

Getting sick on valentine's day was not originally your plan, but at least you got to visit the doctor together. You were now waiting for the secretary to call your names.

"How long should we wait?"

Covering your mouth with a tissue, you lightly coughed. "Anytime now. All the people ahead of us went inside"

Akutagawa glanced at the door of the doctor's office and nodded. He had made a reservation at your favorite restaurant today and was planning to take you to some place nice afterwards, get on one knee and ask you to spend the rest of your life with him, but you suddenly got sick. It's not like he could be mad at you. It was not your fault, but... It seemed like the perfect opportunity. The perfect day for a memorable gesture...

"Mrs. Akutagawa! You're up"

Akutagawa.

She was referring to you, with his last name.

You had introduced yourself as Akutagawa. He was sure you did it accidentally since your face was redder than a tomato now, but still, he never thought hearing it would feel so... special.

The raven-haired man held your hand and leaded you to the doctors office, a ghost of a smile spread on his face. He might've lost the chance to propose now, but it's not the end of the world. You're stuck with him and not going anywhere, so he would try to make the perfect plan for a perfect proposal, for the perfect girl.

↳Saigiku Jouno

"Are you sure this is the store?" Your boyfriend crossed his arms.

"For the thousandth time! Yes!" "Well, you were also sure that you knew my size but it turns out you were wrong" "Ugh! Let's just get inside!"

Thanks to his job, Jouno was always on endless missions and barely had time to rest, let alone go shopping. You this T-shirt when you were walking by and you just couldn't help but to imagine your boyfriend in it. It might've cheered him up if it was his size.

The clerk recognized you the second you set foot in the store. "Oh hi ma'am! Welcome back!"

"Hi Amaya. Thank you. So, remember how I was not sure if the T-shirt was my boyfriend's size?"

She only nodded with a forced smile, because how could she forgot? You spent fifteen minutes staring at the T-shirt, wondering if it would fit him.

"Well, it wasn't" Jouno's smile got wider and you sighed. "Yeah yeah, I admit it. I don't know what size is suitable for my husband. I'm the worst partner ever. Can we please change this one and leave?"

"I don't understand ma'am"

For real? You just can't take a break.

"I'm saying that the T-shirt was too big for him!" "Yeah I got that, but I thought he was your boyfriend?" "What do you mean you— oh!"

No.

No no no no no no no no.

Jouno's smirk was still on, and now with a little smugness. He was clearly enjoying himself.

"If this is your way of proposing, it's really lame" "Oh shut up you big jerk!"

Tag List:

@pussydrunkfyodor @silverbladexyz @h8kolya @gettinshiggywithit @exhausted-doll @echo28 @rosasensibles @nekokinax @paperllama @the-foreigner @arsonklee @fayenfim @circinuus @c4xcocoa @asqmi @blueberry-writer @ryokuryuu @ayladove @sinfullysophiastrange @sugarcherryemo @whossuzy @sigmazcasino @linn-a-a @uottani @spiritis-rambles @glitch-karma @ilovechuuyaa

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crustyfloor · 3 months ago

Text

My night was going so wonderfully.

The headshot of this cover is just PAINFUL. They're actually acknowledging each other, they're the only ones on a cover to do that. And it's the prominent detail that Mizi looks horrified staring at Sua, even though they're clutching each other so... like they can't let go, while Sua looks reverent in the lane of that gaze, even blushing, slightly, savoring the moment. This also looks like their kiss scene...

To me, she looks just the same as the day she died because I think this cover is Sua's haunting of Mizi, because Sua's singing is just that, haunting and distant the longer she sings, she's fading out, but so gently despite its gruesomeness. And Mizi is grieving.

She's as angelic as she is in Mizi's memories..

But there's a cruelty to this because Mizi will never forget what she saw in round 1, that's why seeing Sua over and over and over again terrifies her, hence why the tone of this song is SO dark, especially in the second half when they're coming to a close, they get desperate to keep each other close, and there is a certain, but familiar ignorance to Sua's presence as if she can't see Mizi's pain even though Mizi is crying right in front of her--childish egos, Sua becomes a more honest character after her death, and in more expressive formats like this, and I like how she takes on that position in this song, the taker. (Like Till, he wanted a security blanket out of Mizi; Sua is similar in that sense.) as she takes and wants from Mizi for her own sanity.

And this newest illustration, oh my god. EXPRESSES THIS IDEA PERFECTLY, Sua looks so utterly distant, ghostly, dead.

In contrast to Ivan and Till's cure, Mizi and Sua's cure is more of a duet, and they switch places often. Mizi starts the song, she ends the song (just like in my clematis), and Sua supports it. Whereas Ivan and Till take turns leading and harmonizing, Mizi and Sua both participate.

And I believe they're interacting? Ivan and Till's cure wasn't a message to each other, something a lot more complicated than that--but Mizi and Sua transition frequently and it feels like they're singing to each other, It's more intimate.

Mizi - Allow me, to the tips of your finger

Allow me, to the ends of your feet

Dissolve me in your gaze

I don't want to let you go.

Sua - Please, leave me scars

Please, hurt me so that not a singly drop of me remains

Let me drown in you.

(The backing vocals mean so much to me, it's like a choir(?))

Mizi - Until these falling stars

Are buried in the blur of time

On your icy lips

Read my soul, yes, my soul

It wasn't spontaneous for the sake of it either, because this is a call-and-response

Sua - Even if your cold words

Carve scars beneath my eyes

May they linger on your tongue

You can break me apart

Mizi - Notice my pain

And mend me right now

To quiet my fears

I'll drown in you

Mizi is directly asking Sua, or the version of her she can't forget, to stay with her, calm her like she used to, as she wishes to have remained in the dark, to drown in her, or to have just not been left alone and, because even now Sua's death is not something she can accept, the portrayal of her feelings as she expresses her pain and desire to keep Sua close, even the false presence of her "On your icy lips" and "notice my pain and mend me right now" even though It's terrifying her, she doesn't want to let go.

Sua acknowledges Mizi's pain, and their shared pains after she died for her, the blame and the betrayal. Interestingly, Sua takes on the metaphorically self-destructive lyrics, Sua lives in fear, anxiety, and utter gloominess, she didn't want to be hurt by Mizi in the literal sense, but she would've rather been warmed in Mizi's soft light, her false hope and optimism, to be destroyed and to destroy Mizi's hope, even dying as the penalty of their love was far better.

Then Sua goes on to sing through the perspective of Mizi and her loneliness and grief after losing her with perfect clarity, it takes me back to the comic where Ivan scolded Sua about her plan, saying that she'd be nothing more than a trauma to Mizi after everything is said and done, she got upset at Ivan because she knew that, was devastated by the fact that she would be a burden just as she always feared, but then, what's a life without Mizi by her side, her only safety net? Her every reason for living?

This song displays their deep love and devotion, they sound melancholic but even in these horrific circumstances, Mizi's pain and hesitance, they don't drown each other out, they move together in perfect harmony just like they always do, in this way, it also feels like an apology of sorts from both sides before the bitter end, and a final goodbye.

AND THEN AT THE END WITH THE PERFECT SYNCHRONIZING OF THEIR VOICES ARGHH

And a new Sua illustration for the occasion 😭💔 (I'm gonna catch you soon Vivinos just wait.)

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xthejazzdalorianx · 4 months ago

Text

Forbidden Heat (One-Shot)

pairing(s): dbf!oldman!logan x f!reader

warning(s): explicit, minors do not interact! plot with porn, SMUT, yearning, angst, fluff, p in v sex, oral sex, sexual tension, oblivious father, logan being a flirt as always. let me know if i am missing anything because i am still learning.

author’s notes: hi y’all! i feel like it has been awhile since i have written something. this one made me giggle too much as i was writing it. i am working on a charles xavier one, but it still in the works. also, i forgot to mention that i am still working on my own signature format for this. anyways…. please let me know if y’all have any advice for me!

word count: 4.5K

- - - - - - -

summary: In this story, the reader returns home after four years away, eager to reconnect with her father and meet his friend Logan. The excitement of reunion quickly turns into a tense attraction between her and Logan, leading to a passionate encounter.

- - - - - - -

The clock reads 5pm as you arrive at the airport in upstate New York. It's a bustling day, especially compared to your days at school in Texas. The air was thick with the excitement of reunion, a palpable energy that hummed beneath the ticking of the clock and the bustling crowds. Your heart raced with anticipation, knowing that in just a few moments, you would be in your father's embrace once again.

As you enter the gates and head towards the baggage claim, you can't help but imagine your dad waiting for you with open arms. It's been a whole four years since you last returned home. You're excited to reconnect with your dad and catch up on all that has happened since he retired from teaching. He mentioned over the phone that he and his best friend Logan have been busy tinkering with motorcycles and cars, so you're eager to hear all about it in person.

Lost in your thoughts, you were caught off guard when your dad's waving finally registered. He had already picked up your luggage and was waiting with a beaming smile. You quickly take off your headphones and run into his open arms, giving him a warm hug.

"Dad! I can't believe I'm finally back," you say, flashing a bright smile. He gives you a reassuring pat on the back as you let go of the embrace. "Hey kiddo, it's great to have you home again. And this time, for good?" he asks with a quizzical look.

You say confidently, "I'm here to stay, whether you like it or not." Your dad laughs and gives you a knowing look. As you both walk out of the baggage claim area, you suggest, "Maybe I can get a a part-time job as a barista at Bonnie’s Coffee Grounds." Your dad nods in agreement. Outside, the noise and constant jostling of people make it hard to hear each other. Despite the chaos, your dad's smile remains as he guides you towards a waiting truck.

You slowly realize that the truck blocking your view is not your dad's familiar Chevy, but a Ford. Maybe a Ford F250? You can't be sure; you've spent enough time around trucks to know the difference at least. As you and your dad approach the vehicle, the windows roll down to reveal your dad's good friend, Logan.

Logan sits behind the wheel, wearing his trademark sunglasses, a tank top peeking out from under a black and red flannel, jeans, and his trusty boots. In one hand, he holds a cigar while the other rests casually on the steering wheel.

"Welcome back, darlin'," he greets you with a voice as smooth as honey. Your cheeks flush at his words and you try to play it off with a smile. "Feels good to be back," you reply through gritted teeth.

A soft chuckle escapes Logan's lips as he notices your flushed cheeks. Thankfully, your dad doesn't seem to catch on as he helps you into the truck and tosses your bags in the back. He takes his seat next to you and we set off towards our homes in the suburban outskirts of the city. Returning home feels strange with all the bright city lights and towering skyscrapers dominating the landscape.

You spend the remainder of the car ride plugged into your music, listening to your favorite songs. Logan occasionally glances at you through the rearview mirror before readjusting it and returning his focus to the road. It takes an hour to reach your hometown. The charming single-story houses in the neighborhood are just as you remembered them, complete with their white picket fences.

- - - - - - -

As Logan pulls his truck into your father's driveway and turns off the engine, he sets his sunglasses down in the cupholder. You feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness as you quickly put your phone and earphones back into the pockets of your jean shorts. Your dad and Logan are the first to get out of the truck, with Logan kindly holding open the door for you and closing it once you're outside.

Your father takes the lead, directing the group as he grabs your bags. Logan places a reassuring hand on your lower back, sending a jolt of electricity through you that intensifies the warmth between your legs and creates a throbbing sensation. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you notice Logan's playful smirk and you let out a soft gasp as he winks at you before guiding you towards the house.

Your dad struggles with your luggage while trying to open the door. "Logan, could you lend a hand?" he asks, and Logan breaks away from touching your back to help. The sensation lingers, sending tingles over your body as they finally manage to open the door with a gentle push.

As you drift off in thought again, Logan snaps you out of it when they cross the threshold of the front door. Your dad sets your luggage near the living room couch while Logan heads to the kitchen to get them both beers. You make your way to your old room which hasn't changed since you left for college and is slightly messy.

The walls are still painted a soft shade of lilac with delicate flowers and leaves arranged with care. Your bed is still covered in plush purple velvet sheets and pillowcases. Now that you think about it, this might not be the most age-appropriate room for you, but you shrug it off.

You set your luggage down on the bed and start organizing your things. Your dad can be heard in the distance, letting Logan know that he will be in the garage before ordering pizza for dinner later on. Logan responds with his usual grunt before you hear the garage door close. As you clean and organize your room, you hum to yourself. You are completely unaware when Logan leans against the frame of your bedroom door. Startled, you nearly jump out of your skin when you see him there.

You scold him with a frown, "Don't startle me like that! It's so rude." He just smirks in response. "Your dad wanted me to let you know he'll be ordering pizza." You nod at Logan's words, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment for being caught off guard. You wish you could disappear into the comfort of your bed and dream about anything else. Unfortunately, the outside world is more complex than that. His eyes seem fixated on you, taking in every inch of your form, sending shivers down your spine. You clear your throat and turn back to organizing your suitcase.

- - - - - - -

Watching Logan's retreating form, a hint of sadness creeps into your heart. However, you quickly push those emotions away and concentrate on the growing tension in your body. You set down your luggage and close the door quietly. Quickly, you strip off your clothes and let them tumble into a heap on the floor. Then, you hop onto your bed and retrieve your go-to item from inside your nightstand: a dark pink vibrator that never fails to get the job done.

You lie back on your bed, your heart racing as you turn on the vibrator and press it against your clit. You let out a soft moan as the vibrations travel through your body. You close your eyes and imagine Logan's hands on your body, his lips on yours. The mere thought of him whispering in your ear and commanding you to beg for more makes you whimper.

You slide the vibrator lower, teasing your entrance before slowly pushing it inside. You gasp at the sensation, your body quivering with pleasure. You move the vibrator in and out, increasing the speed as you get closer to orgasm. You bite your lip to keep from making too much noise, not wanting anyone to hear you.

You imagine Logan's hands gripping your hips, his body on top of yours. You imagine him thrusting into you, his cock hitting just the right spot. You feel yourself getting closer and closer, your entire body tense with anticipation.

With one final thrust, you let out a muffled cry as you orgasm, your body shaking with pleasure. You lie there for a moment, catching your breath, before turning off the vibrator and setting it aside. You feel a sense of relief and satisfaction wash over you, knowing that you can always rely on your trusty toy when you need it.

- - - - - - -

You jump out of bed and quickly change into a tight tank top and sleep shorts. Feeling a bit shaky, you clean your vibrator and put it back in your nightstand drawer. As the guilt washes over you, you think about what happened earlier. It's your first day back and you couldn't control yourself.

You push away those thoughts and finish tidying up your room, putting away your luggage in an organized manner. With everything in place, you decide to pass the time by reading a book. After approximately thirty minutes, there is a knock on your door. "Hey, it's Logan. The pizza has arrived," he announces before heading to the kitchen. He runs his hand through his hair, trying to distract himself. Has he always been so fascinated by you? Trying to maintain his composure, he leans against the kitchen counter and crosses his strong arms over his chest.

He attempts not to think about the scent of your perfume because it was highly alluring to him. He gazes up at the ceiling and closes his eyes as he lets out a sigh. When he returned from hanging out with your father in the garage, he was on his way to the bathroom when he heard moaning and whimpering coming from your room. As he crept closer to the door, he could hear you and it made him incredibly aroused. He couldn't shake the image from his mind when he heard you; it drove him wild. He longed to open the door, throw you onto your bed, and ravish you right then and there.

But he knows he can’t do that with your dad around, and he isn't sure if you would even be interested in him. He lets out an even bigger sigh. When he lowers his head to look ahead of him, he sees you standing there. You are looking at him curiously. His cock twitches at the sight of you in that tight tank top and sleep shorts. He wants to rip them off of you and...he mentally scolds himself for having such thoughts.

- - - - - - -

As you approach Logan, a heavy tension fills the air between you two. His heart hammers against his chest, his breath coming in short gasps as he feels your intense gaze upon him. The heat radiating from your body is suffocating, making him break into a cold sweat.

You lean in closer, your intoxicating scent enveloping him and sending shivers down his spine. The mere sound of your voice is enough to send electricity coursing through his veins.

Logan's mouth goes dry as he watches your lips form the words "Logan, could you also grab me a beer, please?" Every fiber of his being screams for him to put some distance between you, but he can't resist the pull that draws him to you. His mind races with forbidden thoughts of what it would be like to taste those luscious lips.

With trembling hands, he makes his way to the fridge. His arousal is evident as he struggles to maintain control over his body's physical response to you. As he hands you the beer, their fingers brush lightly and a jolt of desire shoots through him like lightning.

Your simple thank-you sends a shockwave through his body as he watches you bring the bottle to your lips, taking a slow and tantalizing sip. The sight of your tongue caressing the bottle's edge sets his imagination on fire, envisioning it sliding along his cock that is screaming to be free from his jeans.

He knows he shouldn't be having such impure thoughts about you, but he can't help it. You ignite something primal within him that he can't ignore.

Trying to regain some semblance of composure, Logan takes a step back. But the visual feast before him proves too much to handle. Your hardened nipples pressing against the thin fabric of your tank top has him struggling not to give into temptation.

Feeling overwhelmed with lust and confusion, he tries to hide his inner turmoil behind a forced smile. "Do you need anything else?" he asks, his voice strained.

Your eyes hold a hint of curiosity and something else that Logan can't quite decipher. He wonders if you can sense how much he desires you in this moment. But when you break eye contact to focus on the pizza, he lets out a sigh of relief, grateful for the small reprieve.

As Logan watches you eat, a tense silence hangs in the air between you. Finally, unable to contain the swirling emotions inside him any longer, he speaks up.

"You know, I heard some noises earlier... coming from your room," Logan stutters, his voice betraying the turmoil within him.

You look up from your pizza, a hint of surprise flashing across your face before you quickly compose yourself. "Oh, um... yeah, sorry about that. It was nothing, I just… put on a movie," you respond casually, though a faint blush creeps up your cheeks.

Logan's eyes widen slightly at your explanation, his mind racing. "Right… Yeah, totally understandable," he mumbles, trying to shake off the images that still lingered in his mind.

- - - - - - -

The tension between you two thickens as you both struggle to find the right words to break the awkwardness that now fills the room.

After a moment of silence, Logan clears his throat and tries to steer the conversation in a different direction. "So… how was your day back? Did you… uhm… miss being here?" he asks tentatively, his gaze flickering nervously between you and his half-eaten pizza.

You sense Logan's unease and decide to lighten the mood. "Yeah, it's been good so far. And well, let's just say it's definitely nice to be back," you reply with a playful smirk, hoping to ease the tension that still lingers between you two.

Logan chuckles softly at your response, grateful for the brief moment of normalcy amidst the charged atmosphere. "Glad to hear that," he says with a small smile, his eyes meeting yours briefly before darting away. Your dad comes in from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag.

He heads towards the kitchen to wash his hands. "How's the pizza, champ?" he glances back and sees you happily munching on a slice. After you swallow, you answer, "It's great, thanks Dad." You give him a smile. He nods and finishes drying his hands with a paper towel.

"Hey man, have you given it a try yet?" Logan shakes his head, but walks over to the dining table and grabs a slice for himself. He takes a bite and grins. Your dad also cuts himself a slice and joins in on the tasting. Once everyone has had their fair share of two or more slices, your dad declares he's heading to bed. It's just you and Logan left in the living room, watching some TV."

- - - - - - -

Sitting on opposite ends of the couch, you and Logan exchange a quick glance. His gaze is already fixed on you, and he gives you a playful smirk as your cheeks flush with a light pink hue. He pats his thigh and teasingly says, "Why don't you come sit closer to me, sweetheart? I won't bite...unless that's what you're into." You give him a shy smile before standing up and making your way over to him, feeling the couch sink beneath your weight as you settle in next to him. His thigh brushes against yours, sending electric sparks through your body.

You try to focus on the movie playing on the television in front of you, but it's hard to concentrate with Logan's leg pressed against yours. You take a deep breath and try to steady yourself as you watch him out of the corner of your eye. When you lean forward to grab your beer, his eyes follow the movement of your throat as you swallow. The cool liquid helps soothe some of the heat building between your legs.

Logan watches you drink, his fingers itching to touch you. He can feel his own arousal growing as he imagines running his hands all over your body. The background noise from the television fades into the background as he focuses solely on you.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, Logan turns towards you and whispers in your ear, "Do you need any help with that vibrator from earlier?" His voice is low and husky, causing a rush of excitement through your body. You gulp nervously and look around the room, hoping that your dad is not lurking nearby.

With a subtle nod from her, the intense sexual tension between you and Logan ignites like a tightly coiled wire snapping. You quickly finish your beer and place it on the coffee table, then straddle him eagerly. Your thighs press against his hips as you lean in for a passionate kiss. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies fit together seamlessly. You can feel the hardness of his erection pressing against his jeans, teasing the warmth between your own legs.

Logan's lips trail down to your jawline, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin there. "Fuck, princess, I've been craving to taste you all night," he growls in a low, rough voice filled with desire. You moan in response, grinding your body against his as his fingers slip under your tank top to tease your nipple.

You lose yourself in the heat of the moment as his lips find yours again. Your hands roam across his chest, tracing the hard muscles beneath his layered tank top and flannel shirt. He groans into your mouth.

In one swift motion, Logan pulls away from the kiss and lifts you up into his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you down the hallway to your bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him. He gently lays you down on the bed, his body pressing against yours as he starts to undress you.

His lips trail a path of hot kisses down your neck, stopping at the base of your throat before moving to your breasts. He takes each one in his hands, teasing your nipples until they are hard and sensitive. You arch your back, moaning with pleasure as he sucks on one of them.

His fingers slide down your stomach and hook onto the waistband of your shorts. He pulls them down along with your panties, leaving you bare before him. He gazes down at you, his eyes full of desire. "You're so fucking beautiful, darlin," he whispers hoarsely.

He continues his descent down your body, leaving a trail of hot, eager kisses behind. When he reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, taking a moment to appreciate the sight before him. Your pussy is glistening with anticipation, and he can't help but groan at the sight. Without hesitation, he buries his face between your legs, inhaling deeply.

His mouth finds your clit, swollen and sensitive, and he wastes no time in lavishing it with attention. His tongue flicks and teases, tracing circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves before darting inside to taste your wetness. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily as he works his magic.

He adds his middle finger to join in, sliding easily inside your slick folds. He curls them upward, finding your g-spot with practiced ease. You cry out quietly, your body trembling as he rubs and teases the sensitive spot. His tongue continues to work your clit, alternating between fast flicks and slow, lingering licks.

He adds a second finger, stretching you deliciously as he pumps them in and out. Your moans fill the room, your body writhing beneath him as he brings you to the edge of release. He can feel your muscles clenching around his fingers, your body begging for release.

With one final, teasing flick of his tongue, you cry out quietly, "Oh god, Logan!" Your orgasm washes over you, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through you. He continues to kiss and nibble at your sensitive flesh, drawing out your orgasm until you're left panting and spent.

Logan looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, and murmurs, "You taste so fucking good." Your eyes are hazy with pleasure.

- - - - - - -

He starts to kiss his way up your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire on your skin. As he reaches your breasts, he pauses to circle each nipple with his tongue before taking it into his mouth and sucking gently. You arch your back, pushing yourself further into his touch as he teases and plays with your sensitive flesh.

"Logan, please," you beg, "I need you inside me." He chuckles softly before moving to position himself between your thighs. He leans in to whisper in your ear, "Patience, my love. We have all night."

He starts to slowly enter you, his cock pressing against your slick entrance teasingly before inching its way inside. Each delicious inch fills you completely, stretching you wider and making you gasp with pleasure. Your walls clench around him as he begins to move, thrusting deep inside you with every stroke. His pace is tantalizingly slow, drawing out each sensation until you're writhing beneath him, desperate for more.

He reaches down to cup your ass, pulling you closer and driving himself even deeper. But that's not all - his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles as he continues to thrust. You cry out in surprise and pleasure, your hips bucking to meet his as he expertly works your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he groans, his voice low and husky. You respond by tightening your grip on him, pulling him even closer and matching his movements thrust for thrust. His fingers continue to work your clit, building the tension inside you until you're on the brink of release.

But Logan isn't done yet. He increases his pace, driving into you with a fierce intensity that takes your breath away. Each stroke is deeper and harder than the last, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You moan and gasp, your body trembling with pleasure as he continues to rub your clit and thrust into you.

It's not long before you feel yourself building towards another orgasm. But Logan shows no signs of slowing down. He keeps up his relentless pace, his stamina seemingly boundless as he drives you higher and higher. You cry out as you come, your body shaking and trembling with the force of your release.

Logan follows shortly after, his own orgasm shuddering through him as he collapses on top of you. But even as he catches his breath, his fingers continue to work your clit, drawing out your orgasm until you're boneless and spent. You lie there, panting and satisfied, wrapped in each other's arms and basking in the afterglow of passion. Logan finally lifts himself up slightly to meet your gaze. His eyes are soft now, filled with a tender affection that makes your heart flutter.

- - - - - - -

"I crave more of you," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I can't get enough."

You smirk up at him, feeling the weight of his words pool low in your belly. "Is that so?" you tease, tracing your fingers along the sharp angles of his jaw.

"I mean it," he insists, his tone sincere. "I've never felt anything like this before."

You feel a warmth blooming in your chest at his words, realizing just how deeply connected you are in this moment. "Me neither," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan's hand moves to caress your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "I want to make you feel good," he murmurs, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt.

You meet his gaze head-on, determination shining through. "I trust you," you say firmly, the conviction in your voice unwavering.

With a tender smile, Logan leans down to capture your lips in a slow, passionate kiss. His touch is gentle yet confident as he guides you both towards another round of shared ecstasy. And as the night unfolds before you, filled with whispers of longing and gasps of pleasure, you know that this connection between you and Logan is something truly special.

- - - - - - -

The following morning, you get dressed and brush your teeth before making your way to the kitchen. Upon entering, you are taken aback to see Logan sitting at the table with your father. You feel a bit embarrassed for oversleeping and assume that Logan must have left before anyone else woke up. Clearing your throat and putting on a smile, you join them at the table.

"Good morning, Dad," you mumble, trying to ignore the teasing glint in his eyes. "Sorry about that, I must have slept really hard."

Logan briefly looks up from his coffee and then quickly averts his gaze, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "No worries," he says casually, taking another sip. "I made breakfast for us."

You take a seat next to him, grateful but also feeling awkward at his gesture. The tension is palpable as you try to act normal, while your mind continues to process what happened between you two last night.

Your dad breaks the silence with a soft chuckle. "Logan was just telling me about some of his adventures," he comments with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Logan gives your dad a small smile before turning back to you. "Your dad has some pretty interesting stories too," he says nonchalantly, attempting to lighten the mood.

You nod and laugh, thankful for the distraction. "Yeah, my dad always has some wild tales," you say with a smirk.

As breakfast continues, the atmosphere becomes more relaxed and comfortable. You find yourself trading playful banter with Logan and your dad, the earlier awkwardness fading away with each passing moment.

After finishing their meal, Logan stands up and stretches before giving you a warm smile. "Thanks for breakfast," he says sincerely. "I should probably head out now."

Your heart sinks a little at the thought of him leaving so soon, but you understand. "Yeah, thanks for everything," you reply softly.

Logan gathers his things and your dad gives him a friendly pat on the back. "Take care, buddy. You're always welcome here," he says warmly.

As Logan walks towards the door, you watch him leave with a mix of longing and hope for what the future may hold between the two of you.

- - - - - - -

#angst #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #tumblr milestone #hugh jackman #huge jackman #logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfiction #deadpool and wolverine #x men wolverine #x men 97 #x men movies #smut

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keerysfreckles · 1 year ago

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hey hey hey, yo

It's 2am and I was thinking of a simple Luke story (in whatever format you want) with an Aphrodite! reader who simply leaves him mesmerized every time, and at one point Percy simply exposes him and it all ends in a confession and reader just being completely beautiful lol lol lol (no description needed, we are all beautiful!!!)

teenage dream — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader (no specific pronouns used)

warnings: none! just a cute little luke drabble 🤗

a/n: im a sucker for aphrodite!reader x luke omg SMTH ABT IT IS JUST SO UGH-

masterlist !

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

if you said luke staring at you almost all day every day was shocking to you, you'd be lying. you didn't tell luke you noticed, but oh, you noticed.

in archery today, while you were helping a few of the newer campers how to aim, you sensed someone staring at you with nothing but heart eyes. that someone was luke.

while you were walking with one of your sisters after lunch, you made eye contact with luke as you passed his cabin. the boy blushed, and turned in embarrassment. you thought it was adorable.

and on the way to the infirmary with another camper, who hurt his arm during sword fighting lessons, you saw luke staring at you from afar. you sent him a simple wave and a smile. you were surprised he waved back, considering most of the time he would've just looked away with flushed cheeks.

those were only three of the hundreds of times the hermes boy has stared at you with adoration. you couldn't help yourself when you stared at him the same way. (what he doesn't know won't kill him).

you were on your way to dinner with your cabin. mr d. barrelled into your cabin telling you all to get to the mess hall. he mentioned something about chiron waiting on your cabin so he can get along with tonight's announcements.

just as you were about to sit down, you felt a tug on the back of your camp half-blood shirt.

"oh, what's up percy?"

you'd seen the boy around camp plenty of times. you two became close once you helped him get seaweed out of his hair one time. (don't ask, he had a long day).

"hey, so you see that guy over there?" he was quick to the point, as he turned and gestured to luke sitting at the hermes table.

you nod, "i'd say im familiar with him, why?"

"now luke doesn't really want me to tell you this, so you didn't hear it from me." you nod, making him continue. "he has the biggest crush on you, and i mean biggest. even when i was in his cabin he wouldn't shut up about you."

your eyebrows raise in amusement, "oh! is that so?" you look over towards luke, who seems too busy to be talking with his temporary siblings to see your stare.

percy nods, "i'm telling you, he's obsessed."

you giggle, and look at luke again. he's now looking at you and percy. you almost sense that he's nervous.

you thank percy for the not so newfound information, before walking towards luke's table. his eyes never leave you. "hi luke," you smile, placing your hand on his shoulder. "so uh, a little birdie may have told me you have a crush on me."

a few ooh's left the lips of luke's siblings. both of you chose to ignore it.

he shakes his head, "i don't know what you're talking about."

you lean down to his ear, so only he can hear, "meet me outside my cabin after dinner," you offer sweetly. you simply kiss his right temple before going back to your own table, leaving a very stunned and blushing luke behind.

#shelbi writes #keerysfreckles #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x gn!reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #pjo #pjo books #pjo show #pjo tv #pjo tv show #pjo series #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians show #percy jackson and the olympians books #percy jackson and the olympians

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gyuzgrl · 2 months ago

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ace//bsk//

summary- you've liked Seungkwan from the very first day he joined the team. what you don't expect, however, is that he feels the exact same way. constantly aroused by the way he looks at you, the way he moves, you're desperate for release and he's more than happy to provide it.

There's just something about him. Maybe it's the way his lips twist into a smirk as he stares down his opponent, maybe it's the way he cocks his brow up after scoring a point, or maybe it's the way his hands are large enough to grasp the ball effortlessly- you don't know exactly what it is, but Seungkwan has this way of getting you all riled up without even lifting a finger.

Like now, for instance-

You're standing by the side of the court with the other cheerleaders, getting ready for your next formation, and instead of focusing on where to wave your stupid pom-poms, you're too busy ogling at Seungkwan's ridiculously sturdy thighs.

As he lunges to side, effortlessly dodging two players, his shorts stretch to accommodate for the heavy mass of muscle he's got hiding under them. His thigh virtually doubles in size for a moment, tensing deliciously, before he springs up and tosses the ball straight into the hoop.

"nice shot,"

"sexy play Kwan-ah"

"easy easy~~"

The rest of the team cheers for him, slapping his shoulder as he jogs back towards your side of the court. For a second, his gaze flits to you, eyes bearing into yours as a slight smirk plays at his lips. You feel your cheeks grow hot and you look away, distracting yourself with formations and steps.

Damn him. Damn those eyes.

This is how it usually goes. For the past- god knows how long- you've shared moments like these with him. Ever since he joined the team, there's been this undeniable tension between you- a magnetic pull between your bodies that neither of you can resist.

You've convinced yourself, however, that it's all in your head. A couple of glances and a smile every now and then doesn't mean he likes you or anything, right?

This is probably just your head playing tricks on you to satiate the craving you feel for him.

The match resumes and you find yourself at the center of your formation, waving your pompoms around. If Seungkwan's team manages to score, it's your turn to lead the cheer.

Praying that they do, you swallow nervously as the ball skims the rim of the hoop almost making it in. When it falls to the ground instead, you hear a deep, frustrated groan.

Seungkwan.

You look at him, sucking in a sharp breath when you see the rage painted all over his handsome features. God, he looks so good when he's upset.

He puffs out his cheeks, brows set in a deep furrow, and the whistle blows. Within a matter of seconds, he's managed to steal the ball back, and a couple of swift dribbles and dodges later, you see the ball easing its way into the net.

Time to cheer.

Swaying your hips in that criminally short mini-skirt, you do a twirl while the rest of the girls follow, and lift one leg into an elegant split with your hands perched high. Then, when you're certain he's already looking at you, you trail one glittery pompom down your body as you look at him, head tilted slightly.

It's subtle but he sees it. His eyes darken when your gazes connect, and he swallows thickly seeing the shiny material slip past your chest. You move with such ease, it's hypnotic. Everything you do just looks so fucking sexy to him, he can't help it.

A teasing smile twists at your lips and you flash him a knowing look. One that says- 'I know you're looking~'

And boy is he-

The whistle sounds once again, and Seungkwan's eyes linger on yours for a second too long. A familiar voice calls out to him, looking to pass, and before you know it, there's a basketball whizzing at top speed towards his face.

You're certain he's about to pass out any second and you squeeze your eyes shut when you hear a dull 'thunk'.

You've done it now.

What if he gets brain damage?

What if he gets dumber?

Oh god oh god oh god oh g-

"easy, Chan-"

You open your eyes to see him gripping the ball in front of his face before tossing it forcefully towards the younger man. Chan staggers back, unable to brace himself when Seungkwan's throw pushes him behind a couple of steps.

"sor- oh shit- sorry Hyung" he stutters, trying to regain his balance.

Ever the slut for a display of strength, you find yourself unnecessarily aroused. God, he's just so strong. He may not look it, but Seungkwan's easily one of the strongest members of the team.

Your mind clouds with thoughts of him towering over you, holding you down, tossing you around, and before you know it, you're wet. You can't even complain anymore. You've done this to yourself.

Luckily, the break whistle blows. Coach has decided to show everyone a bit of mercy.

Rushing to anywhere but here, you shove your pompoms into the first bag you find- a temporary fix- and head outside the court.

The heat between your legs is undeniable. You need to relieve yourself somehow, and as much as you'd like for a certain someone to come and fix their mess, you know it isn't happening anytime soon.

Plus, you're sure Seungkwan doesn't even know what he's done.

Except, he does.

Seungkwan knows exactly what he's doing, and he loves watching you squirm. Today, however, you seem more uneasy than usual. You've even run away.

How exciting.

From the very first moment your eyes met, Seungkwan knew there was chemistry. He's always been good at reading people, but come on... You made it so obvious.

The slight hitch in your breath when coach introduced him to the team, the way your eyes widened when they took in his features, how they widened still when he met your shameless stare- oh, he saw it all.

And ever since, you've been an absolute pleasure to watch. Not a day went by uneventfully. Not a single one.

You were just so damn easy to tease.

Now if he could just find where you'd run off to-

The bathroom? No, that's too predictable- maybe the terrace, to get some air? Nah, you're definitely someplace private.

Oh.

Smirking to himself as he settles on the perfect place, Seungkwan heads towards the locker rooms. It's break time, so the rest of the players will be too busy raiding the vending machine or flirting with the other cheerleaders.

You'll definitely be there, and Seungkwan's more than excited to see what state he'll find you in. Sweating as you replay his actions over and over in your head? Hunched over the sink, splashing your face with water to calm the maddening red hue on your skin? Or maybe... If he's particularly lucky today, he'll catch you doing something naughty.

It seems, that lady luck is on his side.

With your fingers shoved deep inside your cunt, you're splayed out and dripping right behind Seungkwan's locker. Thankfully, it's the last one, closest to the back wall, so you're barely seen. In your compromised state, the last thing you want is for someone to walk in and get a free biology lesson.

You lean against his locker, shivering when the cool metal hits your bare legs. There's an undeniable thrill to doing this here, so exposed, so vulnerable. Your fingers thrust in and out, trying desperately to satisfy the craving that is him, but there's only so much they can do.

Aching, your cunt squeezes down around your digits. The wet squelch of your hole echoes through the empty room, and you feel yourself on the verge of an orgasm.

With each eager thrust, you chase your high, getting lost in the pleasure, and your ears fail to pick up the familiar click of the main door. They fail to register the crescendo of footsteps too, that seem to be headed exactly where you are.

Before you know what's happening, you feel a rough hand clasp your mouth and your eyes go wide.

You twist your gaze to the person emerging beside you, and to your dismay, it's him.

"oh my, would you look at that-"

Seungwan stands before you in all his glory, a cocky grin painted on his face as he closes in. His eyes are dark, pupils completely blown, and his lips part.

"so fuckin' naughty," he rasps, gulping thickly as he gives you a once-over.

You watch the way his adam's apple bobs, and you feel your knees weaken. Wait- focus- he's just caught you fucking yourself next to his locker.

The hand splayed over your mouth slips to the locker behind you, and he leans in

"Seungkwan! it's not what it loo-"

"looks like?" he muses. The heat from his breath fans across your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"I think this is exactly what it looks like."

Your gaze falters for a moment, eyes darting to his lips, watching hungrily how his tongue moves. It's just for a second, barely a full one, but Seungkwan catches it.

A sly smirk makes its way to his mouth and you just know you're fucked. Cowering under his heated stare, you feel your knees buckle, snapping under you like a sinking ship.

Down, down, down you go-

Until you stop.

A firm hand comes to your aid, taking hold of your waist as Seungkwan steadies you.

"you fell for me once already y'know," he grins, lowering his lips to ghost over the shell of your ear. "twice seems a bit... excessive,"

Your face burns hot. The nerve of this man-

"but-" he adds, "it's cute."

With that, he places a gentle kiss to the tip of your ear, and you let out a surprised gasp, practically jumping at the contact.

He pulls back.

"s-sorry" you blush.

The warmth of his hand against your waist has your head spinning, the heat of his breath against your ear has you painfully wet, and now this- the worst of it all- his fucking eyes.

That gaze could pierce through titanium.

He was just so fucking hot. It sounds crass and vulgar and a tad whoreish, but it's true.

Boo Seungkwan is dangerously hot.

Slipping his hand down to your skirt, he sneaks his way under, letting his fingers twist your panties to the side-

"aw you're dripping," he pouts condescendingly as he thrusts a finger suddenly into your aching hole. "poor baby,"

You can't help the way your back arches off of the locker, can't help how your jaw falls slack. Seungkwan's fingers were long enough to reach that mushy spot just out of your reach a few moments ago, and you clamp down around him.

"w-wait not there-" you stutter helplessly, feeling a pathetic moan crawl up your throat, "Seungkwa- oh my g-"

Already slightly worked up from having just touched yourself, your cunt chases the high that was stolen from you. Seungkwan had barely even moved inside you and you could feel yourself on the brink of an orgasm.

"love when you say my name like that,"

He pistons his fingers into you, only spurred on by the sounds you make, and within moments, you release all over his hand. Dripping down his fingers right to his wrist, you're absolutely mortified at the mess you've made.

"I'm so sor-"

Your voice catches almost instantly in your throat when Seungkwan lifts his hand up to his face, licking a long, slow stripe up his fingers. His eyes flutter closed, lips glossy with your arousal, and you swear you hear him moan.

"didn't know you'd taste this fucking good," His voice is a whisper. Almost as if he didn't mean for you to hear what he's just said. "no, I mean seriously. you should see for yourself."

And with that, you find his lips on yours. In a steady swoop, Seungkwan hoists you up by your thighs, ensuring your legs are settled around his waist, and deepens the kiss.

Your brain is dead silent. Not a single thought or word escapes you. Nothing save for Seungkwan and the way you feel him on your skin. His hands splayed on your ass and thighs, his tongue bullying its way into your mouth, his cock prodding at your entrance through too many layers of fabric.

You feel him everywhere.

As he sweeps his tongue across the valley of your mouth, in search of all the places he's never been before, you find yourself choking back whimpers. He's so good at this, even the way he kisses you leaves you shivering.

The firm yet gentle swirl of his tongue against yours, the way his plump lips envelop you, how his teeth nip occasionally at your bottom lip almost as if to say- 'really? is this all it takes?'

Panting, you pull back.

"get back here" he snarls, one hand sliding up to the nape of your neck as he pulls you closer.

"w-"

His lips cut you off once again, only this time, it feels rougher. The wet muscle of his tongue thrusts into your mouth, almost engulfing you whole, and his lips press firmly against yours.

All you can do is thread your hands through his hair and moan, unable to even close your mouth and quieten yourself a bit.

"that's it, pretty" he breathes between sloppy kisses, "god I could do this all day-"

Oh.

That reminds you.

"Kwannie?" you bat your eyelashes at him, pursing your lips as you stare deep into his eyes, "we don't have a lot of time, do we?"

His eyes widen at the nickname, but he plays it off.

"no. no we do not."

There's a brief pause before you feel his hands begin to lower you back down, and you shake your head vigorously- much to his confusion.

"hm?"

"can't you just-" you pause, staring awkwardly to the side, "y'know?"

"can't I just what?"

"...you know what I mean"

A sly smile makes its way to his face and he urges further. Like he wants to hear you beg for him.

"please- it hurts," you stutter, glancing down at your ruined panties peeking out from under your skirt.

"does it?" he coos, "tell me how to make it better baby, I promise I'll do whatever you say,"

Now you know what he's doing. You know he's well aware of what you want. In any other circumstance you'd have probably been more embarrassed than needy to actually say anything to him, but the ache between your legs is unbearable.

And, you're on a bit of a time crunch.

"Kwannie please,"

"please what, beautiful?"

"god- I need you inside me"

He grins.

"I just gave you my fingers, baby, are you really that greedy?"

You give him a nod, the sight dizzying. God, you were just so damn perfect.

"need your cock Kwannie," Your whimper is his last straw- the last string of restraint snapping in two under the weight of your words.

"you need it?" he hisses, brows pinched together as his brain short circuits. "need mine?"

"please,"

Seungkwan's decided he's had enough fun for today. As delicious as you look when you're desperate, he isn't doing much better. The rock hard bulge in his shorts has only doubled in size, straining to be let out, angry and red.

Hoisting you up in his arms, he steadies your body so that your core rests right above his. He shifts your weight onto one arm, hastily shoving his shorts and boxers down, giving way to the prettiest cock you've ever seen.

You've never understood why some people talk about pretty dicks, but now? Now you get it. Now you understand.

Pink and swollen, Seungkwan's length has you salivating. He's long and girthy and somehow, pretty. This, you're certain, is the most beautiful dick you've seen.

"so pretty," you breathe, lips parted in awe, eyes fixed on his tip.

Seungkwan huffs out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head slightly before he scoots you closer.

"wish I could've prepped you," he sighs.

You look at him confused. Prep? For what? You aren't a virgin or anything-

"oh fuck-" Your thoughts are rudely derailed by Seungkwan's cock burying its way into your cunt. The girth of it stretches you out to your limits, splitting you open as he bottoms out.

Your cunt struggles to accommodate his size. He's pressed up so tight, you can feel his veins dragging against your walls.

"god you're so damn tight" he grits, squeezing the flesh of your ass to stabilize himself. "gonna move- fuck need to move-"

Drawing his hips back for a moment, Seungkwan slams back into you, and your jolt in his arms as though you've been stunned.

He grins.

Seungkwan begins to thrust into you, his pace coming to an unbearable crescendo, with each motion more forceful than the last. You can't take it. The sheer size of him is overwhelming. You can't even process whether this is pain or pleasure.

"hah 's too big-" you cry, throwing your head back. "t-too much Kwannie I can't-"

"c'mon pretty, take it for me, hm?"

The sound of skin on skin echoes through the room and he places a kiss to your throat, sucking gentle bruises along your skin. With the rough, unforgiving nature of his hips, the way he kisses your skin has you reeling. Is he soft or hard? Kind or merciless?

You just can't seem to figure him out.

He pushes you back against the locker, leaning your weight against it as his eyes flick to the clock on the wall up ahead.

You have 5 minutes tops.

Speeding up, Seungkwan ploughs into you like a raging fire- fierce and hard. All you can do is moan and yelp and cry, writhing under his touch.

"Kwannie m'gonna-" you whimper. Your cunt clenches down around him, milking him for all his worth, and he hisses, burying his face in your neck.

"cum for me, baby"

His hand creeps up your thigh, thumb pressing harshly into your clit, and you come undone with a pathetic sob. Your body spasms as Seungkwan continues to thrust into your poor hole, and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Kwa-nnie- too much- 's too much" your voice trembles from the force of his thrusts.

"I know, I know," he shushes, "hold on for me, pretty"

Your body goes limp, weight now completely on him as he uses you like his little fucktoy. You were so cute all fucked out like this. He only made you cum twice and here you are, barely able to form a coherent sentence.

"fuckk," he groans, pulling out of you.

His seed spills all over your thighs, coating the plush flesh in his sticky white fluids.

"made a mess," you gasp, reaching down to steal a few drops.

Bringing your fingers to your lips, you taste him, and Seungkwan swears he's about to come again just from the sight alone.

"dirty, dirty fucking girl,"

You giggle, letting him ease you onto a bench nearby before he grabs a towel form his locker and cleans you off.

The room goes silent while he wipes up the remnants of your combined juices. His brows are furrowed, deep in concentration, and your mind is running at a thousand miles per hour.

Is this it? Was this just sex? Are things going to get awkward now?

It seems Seungkwan can hear your thoughts, luckily.

"hey," he calls, looking up at you. "I wish we didn't start off like this, but uh... I really like you and I was kinda hoping you felt the same?"

You gasp.

"you- you like me?"

"yeah?"

He chucks the towel out of view, rising to his feet with his hand outstretched. You take it gladly, and cringe when you wobble to your feet.

"have fun at cheer practice baby" he smirks, hand sliding to the small of your back.

Facing each other, you wrap your arms around his neck.

"I like you too," you smile. "I have for a while-"

"I know, sweetheart, everybody knew"

Before you can protest, Seungkwan leans in, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. You feel his mouth twist into a smile, teeth slightly bared as he tried to suppress it, and you can't help the way your lips mirror his.

Finally, you've scored yourself an ace.

#seventeen #smut #boo seungkwan #seungkwan x reader #seungkwan #seungkwan smut #boo seungkwan smut #seungkwan x reader smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen seungkwan

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chaos-in-deepspace · 3 months ago

Text

LADS: Different Face, Same Heart | SFW

This started off as a simple post and then I decided to format it. This isn't my normal drabble for the boys, it's just something off the top of my head.

Consider, and I'm sure someone has already mentioned it before at some point, but in ever reincarnation of MC it's more of a soul thing, not a physical thing. So MC's appearance changes in every lifetime.

The guys have to start going off vibes alone to figure out who MC is.

(Look at me and listen to this. With Zayne we're unsure about how much he remembers about his past with MC. We know he knows about Dawnbreaker, but the other lifetimes it's not confirmed. With Sylus, we only have a single Myth for him and it gave us limited details with the man. If we're going off all the other LI's, we can kind of assume he did know MC in a past reincarnation. With that being said, Zayne and Sylus won't be accurate for this. Consider it an an extra au for them, okay? This was just quickly jotted down at my brain worked overtime.)

Xavier

Imagining Xavier who sees you as just another coworker. He doesn't give you much attention. Sure you were friendly enough with him, but he had other things to be concerned about. Then one day he finds himself battling alongside. You block an attack from him and say something that he recognizes. There's a certain fight in your eyes that has his breath stopping as he realizes who it is.

He found you.

He didn't think he ever would. While you looked different, and you didn't have that royal aura about you anymore, there's still that familiar fire behind your eyes that he had grown to love. When he brings you to Philo and you meet Jeremiah, the florist takes a few moments talking to you.

When you leave he turns to Xavier and just says that you look as breathtaking as ever. Xavier is only a little pouty Jeremiah found out right away, but he also guesses he didn't originally give you the time of day when you first met. He's sure if he had actually gotten to know you, he could've figured it out sooner...probably.

Zayne

Imagining Zayne who sees you as just a childhood friend that he moved away from. He has a few fond memories of you two together, and after finding out about your heart condition it made him want to study cardiology. He wasn't actively trying to save you or anything like that, but he knew he'd be going down the medical route with his parents influence, so why not go with something he's interested in?

Then one day you're at an appointment you notice just how tired he looks. You cross the boundaries of a patient with their doctor. Cupping his cheek and holding him so gently, telling him he needs to take care of himself. That gentle, caring look in your eyes...he remembered them.

He doesn't recall how he remembers, but he just knows it's you he's been searching for. His normally unexpressive face just looks at you in awe for a moment because you've literally taken his breath away. He's almost shaking and for a moment you think his evol is harming him.

He needs to take a moment to steel himself, promising you there is nothing wrong. Perhaps he did need some rest, but he also needed to get a proper meal in him. He isn't surprised when you immediately asked if he would be okay with getting dinner with you. Normally he accept only if he had time, but now he'd have to find ways to make more time for you. After all, you were the part of him he didn't even realize he was searching so hard to find.

Rafayel

Imagining Rafayel who initially sees you as useful. You're unassuming, but strong. So why not have you be his bodyguard since Thomas is always telling him he needs one? Plus you're always working so if doesn't want an escort he can just tell Thomas you were working that day.

Then one night, on Ebb Day, you dropped in to help him. He was already feeling terrible, his entire body was hot and he swore it was the only reason you looked so divine that evening. Then you began being concerned, didn't freak out about him being a Lemurian.

Then he tried dragging you to his lap, wanting physical touch, to feel you moving on his body, and he didn't know why because he only ever had eyes on his beloved bride/groom.

Then you tell him to stop. And he felt it. He didn't have a choice. The subtle feeling of the bond was almost overtaking him. When he was in his right state of mind later, he was able to realize who you were, and he'd do anything to keep you by his side, as long as you'd let him. He couldn't bring himself to hate you, he never could.

Maybe this time, he could have a happy ending with you, and with his people.

Sylus

Imagining Sylus who initially sees you as someone with an Aether core in your heart, and had a powerful skill that he could use. You both had a reason to use one another, so why not take advantage of it?

You were adorable in his eyes, although a bit annoying with your insistence for some things. You painted him as the worst person in the world, and while he was in his eyes a horrible person, you were accusing him of things he didn't do, which was where the annoyance came along.

Then suddenly the link happened. You were tied to him for an entire day. Going to bed that night had been a struggle for you, not wanting to sleep with him. He assured you he would stay on his side, but come morning you were curled into his side with his arm around you. He didn't even know how that happened. The strangest part was he had slept, something he didn't often do easily.

This felt familiar. All too familiar. Then you nuzzled into his side, murmuring something as he tried waking you up. The link was gone physically, but he just knew. How could he have been so damn blind? It was you. Different look, but still as breathtaking as the first time he saw you so long ago.

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captainsharkyy · 2 months ago

Text

Drops this off and goes back into hibernation

Puppy Princess (Hot Freaks)

ShrimpoxReader fluff!!!

Tags/warnings: bullying, violence, gore, blood, mentions of swearing, injuries, fluff, kissing, cuddling.

Toon!Reader!

This took me more than a week and it's not even that long!? Also I'm working on a new format hope you like it. I seriously love Shrimpo like this is no joke gulps😣

You stood still in shock, shivering in place while listening to the laughter of the toons who had done this to you: Glisten and Tisha.

You never were able to figure out what went wrong between you and Glisten. For whatever reason, he just never liked you. Soon enough, he had roped Tisha into his sick little games with you too. That brings you to where you are now, your walk back to your room from Brightney's book club having been interrupted by Glisten, an empty bucket, and a sick joke.

"Sorry," he sneered at you, "You looked like you could've used a shower. I thought you liked cold water," Tisha laughed along side him.

You didn't exactly have the best day today. All you had for breakfast today were cold eggs and a single piece of burnt toast, Sprout had snapped at you for accidentally getting Cosmo cut by grabbing his attention while he was using scizzors, you had fallen off a ladder while putting some books back in the library and hit your head too hard for your liking, and now having been splashed with freezing cold water. Frustrated with the events of today, you could feel your emotions coming up, up, up, until you felt your eyes sting and hot tears poured down your face, your shoulders bouncing with your hiccups.

Glisten and Tisha's mouths formed into wide grins, "Awe, are you crying? Don't be so dramatic," Mocked Glisten.

"God, just-" you sniffled, "leave me alone!" Running to your room, you slipped and nearly fell if only you hadn't grabbed your doorknob to pull yourself up and locked your door tight once inside. You slid down against the door until you were sitting and hugged your knees close to your chest and cried for a bit, still shivering. Just a few seconds later you finally registered that you were freezing. You sloppily wiped away your tears and the water, the majority of your face still soaked however, and got a fluffy towel out of a drawer and stripped out of your soaked clothes to scrub yourself dry and then changed into some comfy clothes. You hugged yourself with a small smile, already feeling a bit better.

You violently jumped in place when incredibly loud, violent banging came from your door. You turned to the noise with a pout,

"Go away, Glisten!" Came your sullen voice. "I already told you to leave me alone." All you wanted to do was curl up under the covers of your bed and sleep until tomorrow came.

You heard a growl of frustration from behind the door before a familiar voice spoke, "Glisten doesn't bang on doors, idiot!" You blinked one, twice, at the door in surprise. What would Shrimpo want with you at this time? Internally, you dreaded the idea that Glisten had gotten him to pick on you with himself and Tisha and that did not want to make you open the door. But, you figured you might as well see what he wants, maybe that would make him go away faster. With a defeated sigh you unlocked your door and cracked it open so you could poke your head out.

Behind your doorway stood Shrimpo with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at you with a sharp glare. Your relationship with Shrimpo had been a bit of an enigma for a long while now, he always said he hated you and whatever you did, just like he did with all the other toons, but after a while he seemed to get the slightest bit less bothered by your existence. Sure you were nice to him, always wishing him a goodmorning or a good day or a goodnight with a warm smile, and you never really saw him in any bad light despite his short temper and frequent dendencies to be both narcisisstic and a bully, but that was just the good samaratin within you. However, deep down you wanted someone to truly call a friend. Every toon in Gardenview had someone to call a friend, however nobody seemed to deem you worthy of that title.

You did know that the same could be said for Shrimpo, however for more obvious reasons. Truly, you hoped that one day the two of you could be friends. Although, as of recently, you would be lying if you said you didn't like him more than as a potential friend. More than once you had caught yourself thinking of how cute he was.

"What is wrong with you?!" Shrimpo shouted, and you whinced a little. "I hate hearing you cry!"

You blinked, "oh," your voice was small, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, Shrimpo." Shrimpo's room was next to yours, you wondered if he could hear you cry at night whenever your feelings overwhelmed you. "It's- It's nothing, really." While slinking back inside, an orange hand forced your door back open.

"I hate secrets! Tell me what happened, now!" He demanded.

You swallowed a lump in your throat, "I... Glisten, uh, threw some water on me. But, I'm fine now!" You smiled, yet you knew he could see through your thinly veiled façade, "really..." You could hear Shrimpo's throat rasp in a growl. "Have a good night, Shrimpo."

Your back pressed against the door with a yawn, and you heard Shrimpo stomp off. You let out a tired hum and dove under the soft covers of your bed and snuggled against a pillow before closing your eyes. Only a few minutes later you awoke to the sound of glass shattering and muffled yelling and cussing and other chatter. You got up, rubbing your eyes, and left the comfort of your room to investigate the noise.

You stopped only a few steps into the hallway leading to the kitchen. Surrounded by half of the other toons was Shrimpo beating up Glisten, and you could see Tisha to the side was targeted as well. Was he doing this because of what Glisten had done to you earlier? The thought made your heart thump a little faster and your face flush with a soothing warmth no blanket or jacket could ever offer.

"Shrimpo!" However, you couldn't just let this happen. "Shrimpo, stop!" Glisten was bleeding, blood stained the wooden flooring, the liquid coated his attacker's fists. Glisten was terrified, and Shrimpo was not relenting at all. "Please, that's enough, Shrimpo!" He could have killed him.

You had to physically drag the crustacean away from Glisten, and as soon as you did the others flocked around the flashy toon concerned and loud. As you looked at Shrimpo's face, you could see that he wasn't unscathed from this encounter, as he had cuts and some bruising around his face and arms. You also noticed how his seething expression in the fight softened to a more tame angry one once you got him away from it.

"Come on," you spoke, your arms wrapped around one of his, "I can take care of your wounds." You would much rather deal with light scratches and bruising rather than deep gashes that bled profusely. Your heart was pounding from having taken in such a gruesome sight, yet also because the one who caused it was allowing you to touch him and bring him to your room.

Closing your door and flicking the light switch on, you prompted Shrimpo to sit at the edge of your bed while you got a spare med-kit from a drawer in your bathroom. You quickly returned to your main room and sat next to Shrimpo, who looked at the floor with a softer expression that seemed more annoyed than angry. You coated a cotton ball in antibacterial alcohol and turned to the crustacean,

"Can you look at me, please? I'd like to clean your wounds," you said. He complied after a moment more of staring down your floorboards and turned his head to look at you. With a gentle hand you cupped the side of his face, "this will hurt a bit," and you softly dabbed the wet cotton ball at an open cut, earning a hiss of pain from the toon. "Shh, shh, shh, it's okay. It's okay." You couldn't help but comfort him despite the little damage he had taken. "You're gonna be okay." He had earned it, you think.

Finishing up on his face, you moved down to dab the alcohol over the cuts and bruises on his arms. With this, you failed to notice how red in the face Shrimpo was.

"Shrimpo," your voice was soft, "why did you... beat up Glisten?" You discarded the cotton ball and reapplied the alcohol onto another and dabbed the cool liquid over a mean bruise.

"Because I hate him!" You expected that answer. "I hate his face! He's always so mean to you and you never stick up for yourself! I really hate that about you!"

The cotton ball dabbing against his knuckles came to a hault, and you moved your head to look at him,

"You were... sticking up for me?" You asked, genuinely surprised.

Shrimpo's eyes widened after landing on your face and he looked away at your floorboards, his face looking reminescent of a tomato, "W-Well, of course I was!" His voice lost its personally unique angry and loud tone as he further went on, "of course I would- do- uh, I mean- I would-!!!" He promplty shut himself up.

You smiled at him, awfully flattered and sharply aware of your increased heartbeat. "How sweet of you, Shrimpo." You leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss on his cheek. The toon stilled in response while you moved to return to cleaning his knuckles, you were pretty sure he stopped breathing for a bit too. You hummed while putting away your supplies back in the med-kit, going to your bathroom to return the med-kit and discard of the dirty cotton balls.

Your feet padded against the floor before stopping by the end of your bed next to Shrimpo who sat stiff as a board and still studied every atom of your floorboards, "It's very late, so I don't want to keep you," you informed, yet the other toon made no effort to move. "Oh, wait!" A lightbulb came into your mind, "Astro's hosting a sleepover tonight!" Your voice turned somber, "but, he forgot to invite us, again..." Being sleepy all the time could lead to forgetfulness, you knew. But you weren't stupid, you knew that he hadn't forgotten to invite you and Shrimpo.

A smile crept onto your features and your eyes locked onto the toon beside you, "hey, Shrimpo, why don't we have our own sleepover?"

Said toon shot his head up to you, burning with anger, "I hate that you want to do something with me!" He exclaimed. You tilted your head as he went on, "and I hate that I really really want to, as well!"

Instantaneously, your face lit up with a bright smile. "Really? I'm so glad!" You slept better having someone beside you and knowing you weren't alone, anyway. You flicked the light switch off and opened the covers of your bed after sliding to one side, patting the open space beside you. Shrimpo plopped himself down beside you with a small huff and got comfortable on his side, closing his eyes. He even slept with an angry face. Too cute!

"I'm still awake!!!" Had you said that out loud? That totally wouldn't haunt you till your final moments. Swiftly you got comfortable on your side, facing away from Shrimpo.

"Um, goodnight, Shrimpo." You heard him mutter angry nothings to himself before quieting down again. Just as you were beggining to feel sleep take you for the night, arms wrapped firmly around your middle and a face pressed against your back. You sluggishly moved a hand over one of his with a sleepy smile. You should have sleepovers more often.

If you notice any mistakes, feel free to let me know. Hope you enjoyed!

#roblox #dandys world #dandys world x reader #x reader #dandys world shrimpo #dw shrimpo #shrimpo x reader

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ouiouimochi · 4 months ago

Text

Touch-move! Game for two

pairing: gen narumi x reader

genre: slice of life, romance(?), teen narumi

wc: 3k+

warning/s: profanities, manga spoilers for non-readers, no beta we die like (redacted), wonky format yey

note/s: takes place before narumi got recruited into the JAKDF. no mention of kaiju in this part. inspired by something I apparently experienced that I was unaware of until my friend hilariously told me (a better ending ig?)

⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⊹

Gen Narumi was left on his own once more as his highschool peers chattered amongst themselves in their own groups. He paid them no mind, walking through the bustling hallways and up the stairs leading to the rooftop while absorbed into his handheld console. The male reached for the door handle and turned it, slightly wincing at the amount of light that greeted his face upon opening the entrance to the top of the school.

He strides over to his usual spot only to find it was occupied by a girl that he figured was his senior as indicated by the colored stripe on her uwabaki. She was staring intently at the familiar checkered playing board and its signature pieces

You didn't hear the rooftop door opening, nor did you notice someone walk up to your spot. Very immersed in the game of chess you were playing…

with yourself

Gen was curious as to why this senior of his was playing a game meant for two on her own. He would've thought you were quite the sad sight but he spectated you silently, watching as you moved the chessmen of both sides in turn. He eventually gets engaged as well, impressed at how you move the pieces as if you were placing two chess experts against each other— without having a bias as to which side to win either.

You thought hard about the next move, in a predicament. It was taking you quite a while to decide until a hand smoothly took a piece and carried the ivory knight to a specific coordinate.

You processed the whole setup, in agreement that the action was the best one at the moment. You were delighted, only noticing the person that joined you on the rooftop had crouched on the ground to impose themself in your game.

You allowed your eyes to trail from the unknown person's green-striped uwabaki before settling on the person’s face. He doesn't seem familiar to you, heck you think you'd never be familiar with anyone even in your year level. However, you can't help but think he was pleasant to look at.

“Make your move,” his voice rumbled, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You blink a few times before placing your attention back to the chessboard. You scanned the pieces before making a bold move of threatening the ivory queen. The unnamed boy comfortably settled himself on the side where the white pieces were positioned.

You look up at him as his red eyes surveyed the board. It was intriguing for you to see how focused he seemed to be in the spontaneous game. You may as well be delighted that another person has joined you in your lonely session, he seemed to be good at it too.

Clack.

You snap your attention back to the board before using the ebony bishop to take his pawn. The male raises an eyebrow at the move, making you unknowingly grin.

He scoffs and confidently moves his rook, challenging to take your knight. You lick your lips, excited to have a thrilling chess game with an actual opponent. You moved a pawn, confusing the other player immensely. You two continued to play the game silently, not even a word of introduction to each other.

Narumi stares blankly at the chessboard, gobsmacked at the turn of events. He had realized a few turns in that your actions all had a purpose— the unsuspecting pawn from earlier had upgraded itself into replacing the ebony queen he took from you. The gears in his head going into overdrive, he realizes that no matter what he moves, you'd be able to counter and corner him closer and closer to checkmate. His pride didn't allow him to lose, no it wasn't in his dictionary to lose.

You surprisedly blinked at his decision to move his remaining bishop. You furrowed your eyebrows, staring intensely at the board as if with intent to bore a hole into it.

The boy became impatient, “Move,” he had crossed his arms to tap on his bicep.

“I can't,” your soft-spoken voice echoed, making him realize this was the first time you talked. “It's gonna end in a stalemate no matter which piece I'd touch.”

Narumi gazed at your delicate face before evaluating the game, figuring out that you were right. A dulcet laugh pierced through the silence, sounding like the pleasant tinkling of bells to his ears.

The two-toned haired boy stared at the hand outstretched to him. You introduced yourself.

“Gen Narumi,” he huffed out, tone having no hint of respect meant for someone older than him. You cracked a small smile, not liking the stiff dynamics of this school hierarchy anyways.

The bell rings, signaling the end of your lunch break. You were slightly disappointed, wanting to play an actual match against Narumi. You started neatly fixing up the chessboard.

“Rematch tomorrow, got that?” you gaped at the male’s suggestion, secretly ecstatic that you found yourself a player to go against without judgment or underestimation. He helped you pick up the other pieces to place inside the board.

You nod.

⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹

“No fucking way, I lost again!” Narumi cursed, not believing that someone as great as himself was capable of experiencing losses back-to-back. Although he won a few rounds and got a lot more of stalemates, his pride didn't allow him to have such a bad W/L ratio.

You giggled and sat up proudly, finding it amusing to defeat your…

‘Can we be considered as friends?’

You shook your head at the thought. Poking your tongue out when he accuses you of cheating. You ruffled his already messy two-toned hair, making him glare at you like an angry cat.

“A million years too early to beat me,” you hummed.

“We're the same age, you just skipped a grade,” he argued back, not liking how you were treating him like a kid.

“Fuck this game, I challenge you to a different one!” he exclaimed, tired of losing. He wanted to rub in your face that chess would be the only thing you can have over his head.

He takes out his Nimtemdo Sweetch, positioning the screen to be propped up on a stand. He gave you the blue controller, taking the red for himself. You tilted your head curiously, although video games were not a foreign concept to you, you were not well acquainted with them.

“Don't fucking tell me you've never played any other games,” he raised an eyebrow.

You look at him, a bit offended, “I have, actually! Go, Scrabble, Game of the Generals, and so much more.” You crossed your arms and harrumphed.

“All of which you play alone,” he rebuked, making you blow a raspberry.

“Hey! I play with people sometimes, like the nice elderly at the park…and…” you trail off, unable to keep up the confidence when he continues to stare at you expectantly. You scrunch your eyebrows and pout.

Narumi rolls his red eyes, “Not video games then, fine I'll teach you. It's not satisfying to win against someone who knows little of the game,” he flippantly said. Despite his brash comments, you knew he meant no harm at all. If anything, you found it cute that he was willing to patiently teach you how to play.

⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹

“OI, Why aren't you doing the combo I taught you?? It'd defeat the boss so easily too!” Narumi continued to smash his controller’s buttons as he angrily barked out orders to you. You get irked, focusing on the boss you two decided to fight in co-op.

The male cursed as his character died due to being unable to dodge the monster’s specialized attack, leaving everything up to you.

“Go, go, go! Use your items for fuck’s sake!” he commented, scooching himself close into your space.

“Can you please stop backseating?” you exasperatedly responded, still focused on surviving and ending the fight.

“I wouldn't have to if you had stuck to the plan!”

“Oh my god, my skills were on cooldown to do the combo! The boss was also transitioning to its next phase, stop hounding me!”

Silent falls over as the screen showcases the ending cutscene, indicating a successful boss raid. You smugly look over at him, making him irritated.

“If you just stop being a metaslave, you would've responded easier to unexpected situations.” You tutted at him as though he wasn't the expert in video games among you two.

He growls(I can't AHSHDH I CAN IMAGINE HIM AS A GROWLING CAT), but otherwise stays quiet since you made a point. You made it clear to him during the gaming sessions that you were quite quick on the uptake, soaking in game mechanics like a sponge.

He feels miffed, as your mentor, when he can't help but notice how you were better in certain aspects of gaming than him. Another jab at his pride. However, he couldn't ignore how he's enjoying your presence and skills in different gaming mediums.

“Congrats on winning the judo tournament, by the way,” you caught his attention as he raised his eyebrow in question. You then dangled a small keychain, a trophy with the ‘#1’ engraved on it, in front of his face, urging him to accept it.

Narumi does not know how to react, he had already grown accustomed to not receiving praise or even acknowledgements for his feats. This was quite new, you even gave him a token of congratulations.

His ears burn pink as he accepts the gift. He does not allow himself to be caught lacking so instead of straight out thanking you, he hits you with a

“It's only expected for me to win the tournament,” he smugly huffed out, raising his chin arrogantly while straightening his back to look taller.

You jokingly rolled your eyes, “Confident? Play chess against me, then.” You challenged him.

⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹

You were pleasantly surprised when Gen progressively improved in playing against you, slowly and surely bridging the skill gap between the two of you. He steadily gained more wins over losses recently too.

You furrowed your eyebrows, admittedly having a bit of a hard time. You zoned out for a while but noticed Gen’s lips moving from your peripherals.

Your eyes then lit up, before taking your bishop to check his king. You looked up at the two-toned haired male for his reaction only to be greeted with an intent stare from his carmine orbs. Confused, you tilted your head to one side as he pushed a hand on his forehead to mess up his locks. He muttered something too incomprehensible to reach your ears.

You didn’t dwell too much on it and took a bite out of the school cafeteria’s lunch sandwich he bought for you. It was quite delicious, actually — you could've sworn you've seen the limited promotion for this specific menu item. You shook your head and focused back on the board as he made his move. You smiled, a sign of guaranteed victory.

“Checkmate.”

⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹

It was too cold to chill at your usual spot on the rooftop. You two didn't want to go anywhere filled with busybodies either, so you and your friend agreed to stay at the stairs before the entrance to the roof.

Despite being indoors, you still shivered, covering your arms for a little morsel of warmth. You closed your eyes before you felt a cozy weight drape itself across your back and shoulders. When you opened your eyes, Gen was already settling himself back to his spot. He didn't have his outer coat on anymore, finding that it was what he placed on you.

“Won't you be cold, then?” you asked, concerned for him.

“The cold’s nothing, you're just overreacting.” he rolled his eyes as he leaned backwards, his arms supporting him.

You can't help but smile, wanting to rebuke but decided against it.

“Thank you,” you gratefully said instead, knowing the male doesn't like to outwardly express his true emotions and intentions.

He wasn't making eye contact, instead bringing out the familiar gaming device and setting it up for you to play together.

You remember something and turn to your bag, rummaging through it, pulling out a small but well decorated package. You then extended it towards the two-toned haired male for him to take as he looked at you a bit weirdly.

“And what the fuck’s this for?” he suspiciously asked, eyeing the bag cautiously like a cat.

You rolled your eyes, “Just take it!” you urged. Excitedly anticipating his reaction.

He opens the bag to take out its contents as his eyes widen in surprise before turning to you in disbelief.

“Happy early holidays! Consider it as an early birthday gift as well,” you gave a thumbs up, but he shifted his body away to hide his facial expression.

It might just be from the cold but you can't help but notice how his ears were tinged a little red.

⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹

Spring has arrived with the cherry blossoms blooming and scattering its petals into the wind. The front of the school was filled with a solemn atmosphere of tearful goodbyes among friends and the good memories made on campus. There were also students hounding other students to confess their dearest adoration for their crush and ask for their uniform button. You could've seen people confessing under the romantic blossoms if you squinted.

You sighed at your spot on the rooftop overlooking the front yard on your lonesome. Yet again, you didn’t notice someone sneaking up on you until they plopped themself beside you on the railings. You immediately recognized the messy black and gray mop of hair belonging to your only friend in this school.

“Shouldn't you be down there?” His question pierced the silence.

“I don't want to, to be honest.” you hummed out as he turned his head to look up at you, still resting on his crossed arms on top of the railings. You continued to watch the other students below hugging each other.

You heard a deep sigh before some rustling of clothes as Gen shifted his position to stand. He gets something from his pocket, catching your attention.

“Your hand,” he commanded as you placed your hand palm side up, awaiting what he'd give you. He unceremoniously drops a little accessory on it.

You inspected it, bringing it closer to your eyes. It was a very pretty keychain of an ivory queen chess piece made out of a crystalline material. It glinted beautifully in the sun as some refracted stray lights managed to hit the surface of your face. Gen might as well have had his breath stolen away right there and then, but refused to surrender.

You looked at him and gave him a smile wider than any he'd seen from you. You were quite giddy, more than happy that there was at least one person who was there to make memories with— to make your last year in this school more enjoyable than the previous years.

“Gen,” you called out his name so softly, the boy might have as well allowed his knees to give up on him.

“Thank you so much.”

“Why'd you need to thank me for a small, shitty gift?”

You shook your head.

“No… I mean to thank you for all the memorable lunch breaks of playing chess, of teaching me new games— of just hanging out with my lonely ass…” You spoke, perhaps his vocabulary may have rubbed off on you at some point.

Gen ran his hand through his hair, pushing it upwards as he looked away. He failed to muster up the words he wanted to respond with, being really bad with people for a long time. He didn't want to speak like he usually did, lest you'd burst into tears at his harsh tone even when you spoke with such sincerity.

Your phone rang, interrupting the moment. After picking the device up to your ear, Gen noticed how displeased you were getting each second that passed even if the call only had lasted for around 30 seconds at best. You clicked your tongue in distaste after the call got dropped.

“That's my signal to go,” you turned to your only friend, a bit hesitant. “See you around, I hope?”

He nods his head, waving goodbye when you start to leave. His carmine eyes can only watch as you disappear through the rooftop door.

You arrive at the front where the crowd has significantly dwindled already, only a few stragglers left behind. The sleek black car awaited you beyond the gates of the highschool. You continued making your way towards the vehicle but got stopped when you heard your name being called from behind you.

You rotated to be met with Gen standing tall with his hand on his chest. “Your hand.”

You follow as he placed the small item in your hand, it was a button— more specifically a button from his uniform dress shirt. You look up at him to ask but get interrupted by a beeping horn, reminding you to get in already.

You hesitate again, but end up having to go and leave the two-toned haired male. You get in the car, the vehicle immediately driving off as the damned highschool grew farther and farther from your visuals.

You open your palm and inspect the button. More questions forming rather than answers. It was more of a common tradition for the graduating students to give away their shirt buttons to either friends and admirers in order to symbolize leaving a piece of themselves with these people. However, you cannot forget the crucial detail you noticed when Gen removed his hand from his chest.

The second button, symbolizing the piece closest to the heart, was absent from its spot on his uniform— and it was right there sitting in your hands.

⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⁠⊹⚆⁠•⁠⊰⊹

i was supposed to be working on something else lmao-

will post part 2 someday when brain juice comes back

#gen narumi x reader #narumi gen x reader #kaiju no.8 x reader #narumi gen #narumi gen x you #kn8 x reader #gen narumi #kaiju no. 8 narumi #kaiju no.8 #kaiju no 8 #kn8 #kaiju number 8 #kaiju number 8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 #kaiju no. 8 x reader

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