#the 1 star to 5 star LMFAO

[tomcriuse]

cant stop thinking about these back to back reviews my roommate did of mi2 and 3

[rewrite-canon]

me when sad media piece about romantic relationship: light work no reaction

me when sad media piece about sibling dynamic: oh. okay. its got a little kick.

me when sad media piece about child-parental figure dynamic: LET ME GET UP LET ME GET UP LET ME GET UP ELT MEGET UP ELT ME GET UP ELTMR FJETY UP LEGBR LE FEOT UP

[euclydya]

this is so funny okay so like we've been doing online therapy at [PLACE] since the start of the summer ok. and our first therapist was great but she only lasted like less than a month before quitting which we expected, this place has therapists quit Often. and then our next therapist fucking sucked and wanted us to do multiple sessions a week and it was hell and SHE didn't even last the full month she had scheduled out right. anyways so she quit and she was like... so unprofessional. she was annoying and stressful to work with and all we did was watch like meditation videos anyway it sucked. SO ANYWAYS she quit and she was like "you should hear back from [PLACE] soon abt your new therapist byeeee!"

it's been 2 months of radio silence. lol. lmao.

[vordenburg]

The Terran Romulan. The Green-Bellied Turncoat. The Pointy-Eared Pretender. 

These were the names people called her by now, among other worse things, although those particular slurs were restricted to being slung by the other last few remaining Romulans that didn’t die en masse with the rest of their brethren upon their humiliating defeat at the second Battle of Cheron lead and won by Khan Noonien-Singh during the second Federation-Romulan war. Their arrival to the battlefield too late. The senate’s decision after the decimation of their military forces and Remus’ destruction upon Khan’s forced entry into the Neutral Zone to enact his most brazen assault yet on that of Romulus itself being the universal agreement to commit mass suicide, to die with honor instead of disagrace, to spit in the face of the Khan Imperator’s offer to be subjugated under his regime being orders that hadn’t quite reached Sera and her fellow temporal operatives, who at the time had been a secret subdivision of the Tal Shiar tasked with slowing down Human progress and making advantageous changes to the timeline in the pursuit of Romulan superiority. 

No one trusted her. Not really.

It felt silly to think it. Was laughable, really. Trust being something that, for a Romulan, was either non-existent or the most sacred of bonds. There was no in-between in her culture of deceit and concealment.

No, that’s not true. Someone did trust her. Manu Noonien-Singh trusted her and Sera had loved him for it, so much so that she had given him not just a heart filled with intensity, passion, and every other strong emotion she carried around with her, but her true name as well. Their exchanges of truths and revelation of secrets the ultimate commitment to someone like her. And then he died — the way James T. Kirk had died in a different timeline: coldly, impersonally, cruelly.  The brilliant light fading from his kind eyes as she cradled him to her chest in her arms, bright red blood soaking through her shirt. And like before there was La’an, flooded with grief, trembling with anger, blinking back tears, applying pressure to the wound torn into his chest by the Gorn with the palms of her hands, telling him to look at her and that it was going to be okay, even though it obviously wasn’t. 

And then he was gone. 

“No…” 

“La’an, I—”

She expected La’an to blame her, to explode like the supernova that, in yet another timeline, destroyed her homeworld, but instead all she did was press her forehead to Sera’s, gripping her tightly by the shoulders, like she was afraid that if she let her go she would lose her, too.

“Don’t,” La’an ordered, her voice firm but gentle. “It’s not your fault. I’ve been there. It’s not your fault. Do you hear me?”

It was a long way from where they’d started, Sera thought, all of it fraught with regret over what she’d done and the suffering her actions had caused to the woman who now called her “family”. 

The only family she has left. 

Khan didn’t count. They shared a name, and his Augmented ichor, albeit diluted to the point where La’an did not possess any of his enhanced genetic abilities, coursed through her veins, but Khan was not her family. La’an had told him as much when she finally revealed herself to be a leader of the Resistance, a coalition movement of several species, including Sera of Romulus and Spock of Vulcan, who had been opposed to his reign of tyranny from the start.

He was a killer who felt no remorse, unlike Sera, who had found herself overcome with it upon allowing herself to feel it rather than compartmentalize it, along with every other pesky emotion that interfered with the mission back when the mission was to wipe out humanity, whereas now… now it was to save them — the people who looked upon her with fear and loathing and suspicion, unable to see what La’an and Manu saw. 

Of course, the only other exception, along with the Noonien-Singh siblings, was Spock. S’chn T’Gai Spock, to be specific. A name, much to her amusement and La’an’s annoyance, only she could pronounce, the Vulcan dialect not so different from her own native Romulan tongue and its variations, some of which, they surmised one evening in the science lab, were an offshoot of the ancient ancestors who bore them both. 

With Spock’s offer to make himself available to her, Sera had learned that it was okay to walk in two worlds but to belong in neither. That she didn’t have to commit to being Terran or Romulan. She could simply just exist. It was harder for him, Spock truly being two halves of a whole with a (dead) Vulcan father and a (safe) Human mother, but on his own personal journey of growth, he had found that he was more than the sum of his parts, that self-acceptable enabling the hybrid to evolve into someone that Sera often sought out when she was struggling to strike a balance between who she had become and the strict Romulan moral code she was raised on regarding who is a friend and who is an enemy, that clarity of what is right and what is wrong no longer applying to a world that had become grey instead of black and white . The understanding he offered invaluable to her. 

In exchange, though he had insisted one wasn’t required, Sera had shared her species’ technique of balancing logic and emotion. Showed him sterility could hinder as much as help. It was something that Spock had largely forgone, leaning into his Vulcan side as per societal expectations, and to control his own anger over everything that had happened, including the complicated loss of his father, whose head Khan had struck from his shoulders on the steps of the Vulcan Science Academy in front of a crowd that contained his wife and son, Amanda and Spock. The act separating the Humans (and Human Augments) of Earth, renamed Terra Nova, and the Vulcans of Vulcan, replacing mutual peace and prosperity with an oath of fealty as the pacifistic, scientifically-minded race of astoundingly intelligent and sensitive beings were subjugated (“united,” Khan had called it) under the rule of the Khanate of Earth and the Imperial Starfleet, whose totalitarian mission was to conquer the galaxy under his iron fist..

Sera, who had found solace on Vulcan at the time by posing as one, saw right through his transparent speech. He wanted to enslave the stars, not save them. He was Death, destroyer of worlds, and anyone who dared oppose him would feel the full force of his wrath. 

That wasn’t how or where she and Spock had found each other, though. Her confession that she had been there that day and bore witness to Khan’s unending brutality came later, a lot later, after La’an had offered her a place aboard the ISS Puget Sound as her Chief of Security, the position she once held on the USS Enterprise before moving on and up (in terms of rank, anyway) to the USS Farragut to serve as first officer to James Tiberius Kirk. 

The real James Kirk. 

James Insane-Middle-Last-Name Kirk who Sera had shot dead in another life, only to gloat about it, bragging over the achievement that she had been the one to kill (a version of) Starfleet’s most famous captain. (A captain that, in this universe, had been stripped of rank and moved from prison planet to penal colony to prison ship for his opposition to Khan’s rule.) Just thinking about it makes her feel sick, her cheeks turning green as a wave of nausea flips around in her belly. That was then. This is now. With her mantra — Manu’s mantra — coming to mind, Sera forces herself to swallow the bile in her throat, grimacing as she chokes on the taste, her face abruptly turning to the side as she splutters and sobs with unimaginable grief before sagging against Manu’s chest just beneath his chin. 

“Mr. Scott, beam us out. Beam us out now!” were the last words she heard before everything went dark.

When her eyes reopen, she’s greeted by the overhead fluorescent lighting of sickbay, blindingly white, with Doctor McCoy, better known as Bones, peering over her as he applies a hypospray into the shell of her right ear. She’s about to ask what happened, but before her mouth can even form the words all of it comes back to her in violent flashes of red, yellow, and shades of green.

They had been fleeing from Khan. Trying to regroup. The Puget Sound needed time for Montgomery Christopher Jorgensen What-A-Mouthful Scott, more affectionately known by the crew simply as “Scotty”, to repair her engines and other starship necessities like weapons and shields. His attack leaving them stranded in space — Gorn space. Not that they knew it. Gorn territory was ever-expanding and though Manu, being the self-proclaimed expert on the bipedal reptilian species, had mapped out as much of their hunting grounds as he could, not even the elder Noonien-Singh could have predicted, much less warned of, the arrival of a Gorn raider ship before it was too late. 

Beaming aboard the ship was a suicide mission. Sera had told him as much, but Manu being Manu had only smiled and kissed her before stepping up onto the transporter pads, his trusty Gorn-dispatching sword strapped to his back. 

“I have to do this,” Manu had said, willing her to understand. “I’m the only one who can.” His experience outlasting them for six cycles as a boy coupled with his personal crusade against them throughout his adult life inspiring confidence in his capabilities, but Sera could see the fear behind his eyes. That never went away and after the ordeal he endured, Sera had to admire his courage to face such a terrifying enemy again and again. And it was never once about revenge. No, it was always, always, always about helping people, sparing them from sharing his fate. His unconditional compassion the very reason Sera was still alive today.

“You’re not the only one,” Sera insisted, taking her place beside him. “Where you go, I go. Remember?” Unholstering her Romulan phaser, Sera powered it up in preparation, its sole setting that of a killshot. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I’m coming, too,” La’an said, appearing before them in her own tactical uniform, and wearing a look that brooked no argument, which Manu knew better than to protest against. After all, La’an was just as protective of him as he was of her, maybe even more so, considering she had spent over half of her life convinced she’d lost him when they’d lost their parents. A team of three other security officers followed behind her. “Mr. Kyle, if you please.”

“Aye, Captain. Beaming you down in three… two…”

The memories get murkier from there, but Sera wades on through. Sees herself blasting holes through lizardlike bodies, painting the ship’s walls yellow with their blood. Manu striking off a Gorn head and having to use all his might to do it, the physical exertion leaving him breathing hard. La’an unused to the stifling atmosphere aboard the starship, wiping blood and sweat and grime from her brow as they ventured deeper into the bowels of the ship, fighting their way to command central. Sera’s ears pricking up to the sound of strangled wails and terrified cries. All three of them investigating, only to discover a cell full of captives — men, women, and children. La’an contacting the Puget Sound for immediate evacuation. The Gorn surrounding them, hissing and clicking and spewing their infectious venom. A skirmish like no other. Primal. Instinctive. Unrelenting. It’s predators versus prey and neither the Gorn or the trio of crew from the ISS Puget Sound know who is which until Manu takes a wound that was meant for Sera, and all she can do is watch as his guts are yanked out of him.

“Judging from that look on your face, I’m guessin’ you don’t need me to tell you what happened,” Bones commented as he waved a dermal regenerator over her skin, absent of his customary cranky attitude as he did so.

“Where’s La’an?” Sera asked him, sitting up and swinging down off the biobed, uncaring that she’s missing half of her left ear or that her shoulder is dislocated or that her cheek is cut wide open, a trickle of bright green pouring out of it. 

“In her quarters,” Bones supplied, his eyes narrowing as he watches her. “Goddammit, Sera! Would you sit back down?” he grumbled, his tolerance for impatient patients next to none.

“I have to see her,” Sera explained as she made her exit, half-expecting Bones to chase after her, medical instruments in hand, nagging her about his duty of care as a physician, no matter how big a pain in the ass Romulans, like Vulcans, can be. But instead all he did was sigh in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“You get back here the second you’re done, got it? Don’t make me come and find you.”

Upon arriving outside La’an’s assigned quarters, Sera stiffened. The sound of agonized screaming and the breaking of furniture letting her know exactly what she’s in for as she overrides the lock on her door and slips inside, sealing it shut again behind her. The oriental vases that once decorated the shelves are shattered completely, just like the glass coffee table they used to play Mahjong together while drinking kali-fal. Plants have been upended. Lamps broken. Trinkets wrecked. And in the center of the chaos is La’an pacing back and forth like a lion in a cage, looking for something else to unleash herself upon, but all that’s left is Sera.

“I have to go back.”

“What are you talking about?” La’an asked, not understanding. Her rage morphing into confusion and concern.  “Go back where?” 

“In time.” Something that she hasn’t been able to do since Romulus found a new ruler in Joachim, Khan’s right hand man, who gifted him the planet after the Augments sacked it, stealing their technology, including their plasma weapons. “The Department of Temporal Alterations on Romulus has the device I require to do it, but…”

“Romulus is a no-go zone.”

Sera gave a shrug. “You can’t turn back the clock. But you can wind it up again.” It was one of the first lessons she learned as a time traveling assassin. “Commander Charvanek and Sub-Commander Tal can take me there. No one knows their way around the former Neutral Zone like them. We just need a big enough to distraction to draw Joachim's attention away from the drop zone. And since Krinn still owes me a favor or two... I figure he and I can work something out. Khan doesn't know about the technology and even if he did he'd never be able to access it. The security system wouldn't allow it.”

“Imperial Starfleet knows your tricks. You’ll be shot out of the stars before you can get boots on the ground, you know that,” La’an informed her, walking through the wreckage. “I’m not sanctioning this.”

“Well then,” Sera started with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not asking for your permission.”

“Sera.”

“What are we even doing?”

“Surviving.”

“And what about living? Sure, we’ve had moments of it, but this war with Khan is unwinnable, and even if it wasn’t by the time it’s over there won’t be a world to live in. Not like there was before. That is what we’re fighting for, isn’t it? The way things used to be before Admiral Pike made the wrong call, not just with the Romulans but with the Botony Bay.” 

“It was a grievous error in judgment,” La’an stated terseley, her tone indicating the words she does not say: It was stupid. He should have known better. It got him killed. “One that he paid for with his life,” she reminded Sera, referring to the reactor explosion that had killed a number of others as well, people that Pike had tried (and failed) to save while she struck a deal with Khan, agreeing to join him in exchange for him saving the lives of those who were still left to save onboard, including Spock and Samuel Kirk, both of whom now served with her on her own ship: a gift from Khan that she’d christened the Puget Sound II in honor of her fallen family, the starship Imperial Starfleet’s finest after her flagship the ISS Khan’s Wrath. But where Khan had intended for her to use it to do harm, La’an had used it to help, the vessel an essential resource to the Alien Underground and the Resistance. 

“I never thought I would say this,” Sera began, hefting out a sigh and settling her hands on her hips, “but… the galactic universe needs the Federation. It needs—”

“—hope,” La’an finished for her, fresh tears stinging at her eyes.

Sera nodded. “I used to hate Starfleet for its shining optimism. On Romulus, I was raised to believe that it made you weak and foolish, but I realize now how wrong we were. It was never a weakness. It was strength.”

The Federation sought knowledge and understanding. Khan sought power and domination. The Federation charted the unknown to explore strange new worlds. Khan charted the unknown to conquer new territory. The Federation embraced new civilisations. Khan made them bend the knee. The Federation taught that if you could find a way to empathize with an enemy then they could one day become a friend. Khan taught that if you tested him then you would feel his unbridled fury.

“If you change the timeline, you and I will be enemies again,” La’an whispered, averting her eyes at the crack in her voice. It wasn’t a reason for Sera not to go through with her plan, but it warranted pointing out all the same. “You’ll remember all of this, but I won’t.”

“Which is why I’ll use what I know to make sure it never happens again,” Sera promised. She then closed the remaining distance between them, extending the arm that she still had complete use of, and out La’an reached with her own, the two women clasping each other by the forearm, a Roman handshake. “As for you and me, I won you over once — twice, if you consider the time you thought I was just a sad conspiracy theorist believing in little green men from Mars,” Sera laughed. “I have every confidence that I’ll be able to do it again someday. Time is my speciality, after all.”

Grudgingly, La’an gave a snort. It wasn’t Sera’s finest hour, no, but it was where it had all began. And until Sera could make good on her irritatingly charming promise, it would be where it ended, at least as far as La’an was concerned. Her fakery of her death at the Noonien-Singh Institute of Cultural Advancement to cover her tracks the last time La’an would see her until years later when rumors of an all too familiar Romulan brought the ISS Puget Sound to Freecloud to chase down a lead that would eventually bring her to Sera.

Sera who had pretended not to know her. Sera who had her convinced that she was the prime universe counterpart of the Sera she had met in 21st century Toronto. Sera who had joined La’an because it was the only chance she would ever have of saving her people and her homeworld, if not in this life then another. Sera who had initially only gone along with her to finally get her shot at Khan. Sera who had agreed to help because she knew what La’an was capable of. Sera who pissed her off. Sera who made her smile. Sera who had come through for her and for her crew time and time again. Sera who had changed so much. Sera who had gone from being a rationalization (the enemy of my enemy is my friend) to a true ally who was loyal to her. Sera who loved her brother and became her family, too. Sera who was willing to sacrifice herself for the hope of a better tomorrow. 

“We have our work to do.”

[oflgtfol]

like it sucks so badly genuinely i think ive only had two upper level astronomy professors who i actually enjoyed because all my other professors both suck at teaching AND are so fucking MEAN i just. i cannot understate how condescending and rude they are. like sir i think if the class average is a fucking TWENTY THREE PERCENT (23%!!!!) then something is WRONG !!! but oh no we just suck ass. i mean the questions were so simple maybe we're just stupid. or if you ask a question clarifying something they'll make fun of you for it and then even continue bringing up your stupid question in later classes to keep adding insult to injury. and then on top of all this the university registrar just hates our asses and refuses to schedule these upper level classes at any other time than at 8 in the fucking morning every single semester every single year. just genuinely sucks the soul out of astronomy for me i cant enjoy it the same way anymore

[vyzz-undercover]

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.

[walks-the-ages]

[ID: a screenshot from the Firefox Extension Shinigami Eyes, showing a 5-star review that says: ""transmascs" gotta be one of the most fembrained and sensitive individuals lmfao" End ID]

Once again, radical feminists are purely reactionary and showing their true colors lol.

Anyways, if you haven't heard yet, Shinigami Eyes has been under new management for awhile, and the moderators and developers are trans-inclusive radical feminists who believe in Gender Essentialism instead of Biological Essentialism, which is to say, the exact same thing, except they'll say that every single trans man is inherently an evil, privileged oppressor from birth "because they are a man" -- even if they did not come out of the closet for years, or even realize they were trans until later in life, or didn't medically transition, etc.

The moderators are also falsely-flagging Intersex activists and bloggers as "transphobic" purely for the crime of talking about intersex issues and not hating trans men.

If you get an ask that you're "marked red in shinigami eyes" its a spam message going around trying to demoralize trans men and intersex folk, if you get the message, and you're someone who's trans and inclusive of all trans people, you're probably considered "transmisogynystic" by the new moderators because they consider anyone who doesn't *exclusively* platform and worship trans women to be "inherently transmisogynyst" 🤦

you can help by leaving a 1-star review here, or if you left a 5-star review in the past, you can edit it into a 1-star review!

[haruka-norikoyo]

Monoma x reader who is Mirio’s younger sibling

Okay, ya’ll know how Mirio out-of-pocketly told Eri that Monoma is the bad part of UA? Like bro was being insane but damn— Eri was scared of him for a while cause of that 😭

So like, what if he kept that energy up cause reader, his younger sibling, is dating Monoma? He would be hilarious as a passive aggressively protective older brother. Poor Neito, LMFAO

Part 1/?

Other parts:

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It’s bedtime for the students of class 1-B. Most of the students in the dorm are sound asleep, or at least, in their rooms getting ready for bed. But for Monoma, this hour is his only opportunity to sneak into the common room window now that everyone lives in dorms to meet with his significant other. Why the secrecy? Well, you so happened to have been put into 1-A after you both graduated middle school.

“I might not be able to bring you back until the dorms, but I could at least walk you halfway, you know?” Monoma says was he rests his arm out the window, his fingers threading against your up-stretched hand. “I wouldn’t want you walking on your own.” “Well, you could always be the one to visit me,” you tease, knowing he would never be caught dead within the premises of your class’ dorm. He scoffs, squeezing your hand as he looks away. “I would if your stupid classmates didn’t have godforsaken sleep schedules…”

Unlike his classmates at 1-B, Ashido, Kaminari, Kirishima, Hagakure and Sero wake up in the most random hours, or stay in the common room and play uno until the devil’s hour. Tokoyami is basically nocturnal. Aoyama sometimes goes out of his room for a midnight cheese. Koda has a pet rabbit, so he sometimes wakes up to get food in the kitchen for it. Bakugo sleeps at 8:00pm on the dot, but he, Iida, Midoriya, and YaoMomo are early risers, which too, throws a wrench in your star crossed lovers charade. Technically there is a curfew, but Aizawa himself cherishes his few of hours of sleep, so he doesn’t bother badgering them to go to sleep. If they end up coming to class sleepy, well…

Your only solace is the 1-B dorm, where everyone goes to bed at a reasonable time, with the nigh nocturnal students like Kuroiro at least staying at their rooms. “I guess that’s true…” you smile wryly. “But you know, we could always make our relationship… known..?” You look up at him a little hopefully. The two of you got together near the end of middle school, so you never got the chance to announce it to anyone, especially here at UA with the class rivalry going on. Monoma rests his chin on his hand. “…you know I’d look like the biggest idiot if after all I’ve said, I turned out to be dating someone from 1-A.”

“Yeah, but you’re my idiot,” you smile sweetly, standing on your tiptoes to lean in and peck his cheek. “Mwah.”

“Gee thanks,” He rolls his eyes, pink dusting his cheeks. He pauses a second, moving your hand up to plant a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “…I’ll think about it.”

You smile. “Thank you, Neito.” As you withdrew your hand, his fingers follow yours for another second of your fleeting touch. You squeeze his hand one more time, and let go, using it to wave. “See you again tomorrow.”

Monoma sighs, and smiles. “See you again.” He waves. You retreat back to your dorm, and his hand which was holding yours remained reaching longingly. Maybe the humiliation he imagines would be worthwhile if he gets to spend another moment with you. But, he’ll think about that another time.

He yawns, heading back to his room. The lights are all off, but he manages with the flashlight on his phone. The dorm hallway is nothing eerie. At least, as long as he doesn’t notice the pair of eyes watching him. Monoma reaches his room. He’d already brushed his teeth and changed to his sleepwear previous to meeting with you, so all that’s left to do is go to bed. He reaches for the covers.

“Hello.”

“Wh— eahhh!!!” Monoma screams, tripping on his own feet as he drew back from the face within his pillows. Wait a second, where is the body?!

He calms down, taking deep breaths as he stared at the face peeking out. The face stares back. He stays staring.

“What’re your intentions with my younger sibling?”

“Huh?” Monoma blinks. Bitch who the fuck? He doesn’t know anyone in particular who’s a younger sibling that he might’ve wronged. He doesn’t think a villain would get into UA— is this just 1-A messing with him? “Who even are you?”

“My name is Togata Mirio, nice to finally meet you,” he responds, still with only his face peeking out of the pillows. “Togata..? You don’t happen to be… (y/n)’s… older brother..?”

“Ah jeez, you’re already in first name basis?”

Monoma stares at the face poking out of his pillows. (Y/n) did mention having an older brother who’s in the hero course… but they look nothing alike!

“I bet you’re thinking that we don’t look anything alike, huh?”

Can he read my mind?! Monoma shakes his head. This is his first time meeting his partner’s family, he’s gotta pull himself together. Standing up, he dusts himself off. “I assume that you’re here to see if I’m worthy of (y/n).”

Mirio stays silent, his unreadable smile remaining on his face

Monoma takes a deep breath. “I intend to cherish (y/n), and treat them with all the respect they deserve. I’ll continue striving to be a hero by their side so that I may be the one to protect them when they’re too focused of protecting others. I intend to spend the rest of my life with (y/n).” He sweats. Mirio’s expression did not change at all in the time he’d said all that. “I see. Those are very big claims,” Mirio says. “I don’t doubt (y/n)’s judgement. They’re a capable kid. However…”

Monoma gulps.

“To be frank, I do not like you, or anyone with the chance of breaking my little sibling’s heart for that matter. If you ever hurt (y/n), I’ll pummel you till your mama don’t know ya.”

Huh? “Hold on a second, that phrase…” He smiles wryly, his formalities going out the window at this revalation. It’s the phrase he’d been teaching the abroad student, Tsunotori, while Kendo wasn’t looking.

“Yep, that’s right Monoma Neito. I’m in your walls. Haha, literally.”

With one eye twitching as he smiles, he asks, “That’s a breech of privacy, is it not, Onii-san? Why would you tell me this as an aspiring hero?”

“Because no one,” he could see the evil intent in those round blue eyes. “will ever believe you.”

“You evil bastard—”

“Monoma!” yells Awase, who’s in the room beside his. “The walls are thin! Stop talking to yourself! It’s 12:00 am, go to bed!”

He turns. “I’m not talking to myself I— wait…” Monoma turns back to his pillows, and the face is gone. He snaps his head around his room. “Holy crap he’s in my walls…”

“Are you going insane?” Monoma shakes his head after looking around one more time. He shuts off the lights and tucks himself under his bedsheets. He stares at the ceiling, half expectingly to see Mirio’s face appear to stare down at him, but it seems like he’s left. Or did he?

He may never know.

[macknshift]

THE ONE WHERE . . . I INTRODUCE Y'ALL TO LEO!

SOOOO…i have mentioned leo in like, 90 different posts atp and never actually made a "leo intro" (mainly bc i have weird feelings ab sharing him heavily to the rest of the world lol) but! i figured now would be the best time to get into explaining him to y'all.

LEO , commonly given the last name SCOTT (depends on the dr!) is actually originally the main character's love interest in a hockey romance book i've been in the process of writing. after getting #sickandtired of annoying ass book men i gave up and began drafting one of my own. the main character is literally me (i mean, for christ's sake her name is sloane mackintosh,) and eventually, i began thinking of him in other "au"s (i used to do this a lot on wattpad - i mean DRs but the term AU is usually more digestible to ppl that may not be aware of reality shifting. Anyways.) and began kind of placing him in everything. a list of the drs he is my love interest in is follows;

BETTER CR : (fc silasj2004*) the hockey romance book pretty much as a dr. small changes occur but basically he's the exact same as leo in the book lol

PARENT DR : (fc jack schlossberg. yes. i am one of those girlies. i am not ashamed! at least he has morals + a backbone y'all this could be much worse) the "backstory" is my better cr dr. i'm now a mother of 3 (amelia or mimi, aged 5, giselle or gigi, aged 4 and i'm pregnant with vincenzo, our final kid,) and it follows our life after what would be the events of the book. i sort-of made it also as like a WAG dr in a sense bc leo is a professional hockey player! (but he retires 2 years before this point in time so idk where my thought process is w this lol)

FORMULA 1 DRIVER DR : (fc pato o'ward MY!!!! mclaren man ln4 U ARE NOTHINGGGGGGG) leonardo dempsey, son of actor patrick dempsey (my forever celebrity crush ugh he's so fine) and driver for aston martin aramco f1 team under #99. i essentially took l*nce str*ll's daddy's boy backstory and gave it to leo bc he is indeed a daddy's boy. the only dr leo and i are enemies to lovers bc i'm too obsessed w him otherwise LMFAO

MARVEL DR : (fc marcello hernandez (MY MAAANNNN)) leo scott, secretly the speedster superhero 'comet'. hired by my dad as essentially a bodyguard (leo's not intimidating AT ALL idek how the hell this is supposed to work LMFAO) as comet and knows me out of costume as his sister's roommate (mj is also in every dr ever and actually is here in this cr. i can never leave her out i love her DOWN) basically marichat vibes (god i miss marichat)

POP STAR DR : (fc marcello hernandez, again) leo sinatra, nepo baby great-grandson of frank sinatra (there's a whole, incredibly large bit of lore ab this LMFAO + he's also a great-grandson in my better cr dr too bc i need my man RICH!) and Saturday Night Live cast member. basically i go on snl and immediately fall in love. i've stolen the 'unlikely couple' weekend update sketch for us & he does domingo, which is my song lol we're funny for it idk

THE FCS, in color photos:

i'm missing like, 18 other drs that i can think of but some important info about him;

he's half oaxacan mexican. i've tried my damnedness to find a way to make it obvious but when i was 'designing' him (aka drawing him out) i used jack, silas (*NOTE: he is leo's typical fc if i don't have an designated one for him) and marcello as references to make him look the most like him as i can. the fcs are kind of loose for him but i need a way to like fully visualize him. so. yeah. his 'color palette' (weird way to put it but idk how else) makes him tanner than all three of them i fear. all of the fcs i use (other than jack schlossberg but like. idk his main celebrity lookalike in the better cr is him so i kind of had to) are latino, but i feel like it never ever properly translates when i talk about him bc his name is fucking leopold scott. like. huh.

he's also tall AS FUCK lol and built like a tank lowkey (think tom welling clark kent GOOD GOOGLY MOOGLY) but it's mainly bc he's a hockey player. in every vers he's like. 6'3. shortest he is is w marcello as his fc and even then he's 5'11. (note in pop star dr he gets a lot of comparisons to jacob elordi for some reason??? idk my fans are weird)

he's got big brown baby cow eyes. every. single. time. like that is this man's defining trait and you know what? i would not change that for the world lol

his position in hockey is a goalie! he uses the number #29 and plays for our college and later for the new jersey devils before being traded to the anaheim ducks. after he retires he becomes a firefighter!!!! (which is sooo hot btw)

[aemondapologistfrfr]

The Family Disappointments - Pt 6

modern!aegon x fem!reader 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: After having settled for the first month you both go out to celebrate the success. Aegon gets things in order so you can finally say yes to his consistent question. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, drinking, handjob, oral(f), p in v, unprotected, a courthouse wedding lmfao 

Authors Note: i wanna be chill abt this man so bad but i can’t 😪 

Word Count: 4.3k

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

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I rest my head on the back of my friend’s couch as we sit out under the stars. She’s been gone the past couple of months and we’ve been dying to catch up. She looks at me as if I’m another person when I tell her that I’ve moved in with Aegon. 

“I didn’t expect to come back to this.” she shakes her head finishing her glass of wine. 

“I didn’t expect it either, but Gods,” I sigh finishing mine. “He’s just so handsome and sweet and he’s the absolute best fuck I’ve had.” I giggle as she shakes her head smiling getting us more wine. “I love him so much.” I sigh with a smile plastered on my cheeks.

“I have to see him.” she raises her eyebrows expectantly as she fills my glass. I pull up some pictures of him and she smirks at me when a text comes through from him. 

“Go on.” she nods her head smiling to me as she goes to sit back down. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Aegon: i miss you pretty girl 😔 

Y/n: i miss you too

Y/n: i was just talking about how much i love you and how sweet you are 

Y/n: and handsome 

Aegon: i love you too 🥹 

Y/n: yk you’re the best fuck i’ve had right?

Aegon: 🫣👀

Aegon: tell me

Y/n: later we opened more wine 😘

Y/n: come get me i need you to fuck me 🧎🏼‍♀️

Aegon: omw 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Hi.” I giggle as I see him waiting outside of his car. I pull him against me and press my lips to his. He indulges me and holds me tightly pushing his tongue into my mouth. I grind against him and he pulls back chuckling. 

“Let’s go home.” he opens the door and helps me in before he’s starts our drive home. 

“How are you, sweet boy?” I hum playing with his fingers on my thigh. 

“Happy we’re almost home.” he squeezes my leg and I slightly open them looking to him. 

“I need you,” I whine and he groans. “Aegon, please,” he trails his hand up my thighs and dips below my waistband. 

“All this from just thinking about me, pretty girl?” he trails his fingers over my soaked panties. I whine as he pulls his hand out. “We’re home.” he hums parking the car. 

“Please,” I press myself against him once we’re in the elevator. 

“You’re so needy tonight.” he murmurs against my lips. 

“Why are we in the lobby,” I pout as he pulls me out. 

“I wanted some wine too.” he chuckles pulling me up to the bar with him. He pulls me behind the bar and back into the dark kitchens. He starts down an aisle of different bottles and I whine trailing after him. 

“Aegon,” I tug on his hand sighing. “Do you want me to beg you?” he turns to me with an amused smile. 

“I wouldn’t say no.” he chuckles. “Gods,” he groans as I slide to my knees before him. 

“Please Aegon, I need you. I just wanna come around you.” I push out my lip and wrap my hands around his thighs. He brings his hand to my cheek and I lean into his touch. 

“Look at you so desperate, pretty girl.” his words low. 

“Please,” I whimper bringing my hands to the waistband of his sweats. “Lemme just-“

“Let’s go upstairs.” he pulls me up and is tugging me towards the elevator. 

“What about the wine?” my question is forgotten the second his lips touch mine in the elevator. His hand pushes into my pants and I moan into his mouth. My hips chase his fingers as he circles around my throbbing bud. “Aegon,” I pant into his mouth. 

“Shh,” he pulls me out of the elevator and is tugging me up the stairs to our room. Once we enter I’m on him. I pull my clothes off as quickly as I can and he chuckles helping my fumbling hands. 

“Please Aegon, please,” I whisper trailing my hands under his shirt. He pulls it off and I kiss across his chest trying to get him closer. We fall back onto the bed and he stays pressed against me. 

“What got you so worked up?” his fingers glide through my wetness. 

“You,” I pant into his mouth. “I had some wine and I wanted you so badly.” I sigh as his fingers push into me. 

“What’d you want me to do?” he whispers against my lips. 

“Make me come, fuck me,” I press my lips against his. “All night, I just need you in me.” I hold him against me and he groans. “Please,” I beg as he starts to pump his fingers faster. 

“Gods Y/n,” he grunts. He circles against my bud and I come around his fingers. He pulls his fingers out and is spreading my wetness around his length. He pushes into me and my toes curl. 

“I’m yours,” I squeeze around him and his forehead rests against mine. “Fuck, I love you so much.” I pant between us. He snaps his hips into me and I writhe beneath him. 

“I love you.” he presses his lips against mine. His strokes are hard and deep. My breath catches with every pump. I hold him against me as my hips push into his. “You feel so good, pretty girl.” he rasps as his hips start push into me faster. 

“Gods you fuck me so good.” my words slurred with pleasure. “So full of you.” I whine as his thrusts become harder. His fingers find my bud and my high washes through me. His hips slow as he starts to fill me. He rests his head in my neck staying deep within me. When he goes to pull out I wrap my legs around him keeping him against me. 

“Fuck,” his voice wrecked. 

“Just stay.” I hum bringing my hands to his hair. We slowly push against each other whining and whispering words of adoration. As we continue to grind against each other he hardens in me. 

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Today we have a meeting with the building manager to see how the first month has gone. Aegon has been on edge all morning thinking the worst and that we’ll get terrible news. I take the time to sit him down and settle him. I  reassure him as he looks to me with his glassy eyes and a frown. 

“What if he yells at me?” he looks up at me as I cup his cheeks. 

“Then I’ll yell at him.” I shake my head. “You’re doing such a good job, sweet boy.” I hum pressing a kiss against his forehead. 

“I love you so much.” his fingers grip my waist tighter as he pulls me closer. 

“I love you too.” I pull him up with me and we make our way down to the restaurant for our meeting.

“We’ve had a great first month.” the building manager sits down with us. “The transition has been smooth and there’s been no complaints, only praise.” he nods looking at his computer screen. 

“So they like us?” Aegon looks hopeful as he picks at his nails. I reach over and grab his hand offering him a comforting smile. 

“They do. Very much. They’ve enjoyed the changes, no matter how subtle.” he nods smiling to both of us. He goes over a couple more details of what the rest of the building staff and tenants are saying. 

“That’s amazing to hear.” I pat Aegons hand. 

“I will let you know if there’s anything I should need from you both. If not, I will see you next month for the meeting.” he stands and walks us to the door. 

“Thank you again.” Aegon shakes his hand and we start down the hall. 

“I’m proud of you.” his cheeks redden as he turns to me. 

“I never could’ve done any of this without you.” he pulls me into a tight hug once we get in the elevator. 

“Should we go out and celebrate tonight?” I pepper him with kisses as he laughs. 

“What do you have in mind?” his hands wrap around my waist. 

“Dancing, drinking, anything.” I kiss his lips. “Let’s pretend we’re not responsible for the night.” I mumble against his lips. 

“Just for the night.” he smiles against me as we mold to each other. 

“I’ll call a car to come get us in a couple of hours.” I tug him out of the elevator and our cats greet us at the door. 

“Mommy and daddy are going out later. You’ll have to be good boys while we’re gone.” Aegon preens as he scoops up both of them. 

“Look at all of my sweet boys.” I scratch their heads before pinching Aegons cheeks. “Mommy loves you all so much.” I coo pressing kisses on all three of them. We pepper our cats with attention before I pull apart and walk upstairs to begin getting ready. 

“Come give me attention.” Aegon pouts from the bed. 

“I’m getting in the shower.” I hum from the bathroom and I hear his feet hit the ground before he stumbles into the bathroom pulling his shirt off. “That wasn’t necessarily an invitation.” I chuckle raising an eyebrow as he starts to push down his pants. 

“I need to shower too. Let’s save water.” he smirks pushing past me and turning on the water. The bathroom starts to steam and I roll my eyes starting to peel off my clothes. I step into the shower and Aegons wet hands pull me against him. 

“Let me take care of you.” he pulls me under the water and I sigh as the hot water trickles down me. He starts to wash my hair and I moan as his fingers scrape against my scalp. He lets the conditioner sit while he washes my body worshipping as he goes. 

“Thank you, sweet boy.” I hum as he lets the water wash out the rest of the soap while running his hands through my hair. “Let me take care of you now.” I bring him under the water to wet his hair. He steps closer to me smiling as my hands bring soap to his hair. He groans as my nails lather the suds in. 

“Your hands always feel so amazing.” he sighs wrapping his arms around my waist as I start to wash the soap out. I wash his body and he squirms in my arms when I refuse to get side tracked. 

“Do they?” my voice soft as I trail them down his chest.

“Please,” he whines and I lose all of my resolve. My hand slides around his hardened length and he rests his forehead against mine as he softly whimpers. I speed up my hand and I bring my other to his back and press him closer against me. “Please, I’ll be a good boy.”his voice breaks and I start to kiss down his neck. He trembles in my arms as I squeeze around his tip while he starts to jerk his hips into my hand. 

“You’re always such a good boy for me.” I whisper as I nibble on his neck. He whines digging his fingers into my hips. “Are you gunna come for me?” I lick across his neck and he nods his head. 

“Yeah, I’m gunna- I’m,” his voice cracks as he gasps. He bursts in my hand and I continue to stroke him through it until he’s panting. 

“You did so good.” I murmur as I kiss up his jaw to his mouth. His mouth melts into mine as he moans. I turn off the water and pull us out. He looks to me with low lids as I wrap him in a towel before grabbing my own. 

“Go take a nap so I can get ready.” I kiss him once more before sending him back out into the bedroom. 

I use my time to pamper myself before slipping into a revealing dress. As I begin to place my finishing touches I walk out into our room to see him sprawled out on the bed asleep. I crawl into bed beside him and slowly start to brush back his hair. He rolls over and hugs me pulling me to him. 

“It’s time to get ready.” I hum wiggling out of his arms and rising from the bed. He sits up and wipes his eyes looking to me. 

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Aegon rasps. 

“You don’t like it?” I bite my lip looking down. 

“I want to take it off of you.” his eyes darken as he starts to get out of bed. 

“No, we're going out.” I pout. “The car will be here in 30 minutes.” I let my eyes trail down his nude body. 

“That’s more than enough time.” he stalks over to me unabashed. 

“Aegon.” I look to him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Hm?” he stops in front of me and I drag my eyes up to his. 

“Go get dressed like a good boy.” I keep my words soft and his cheeks flush. I smile to myself as he walks past me to our closet and starts to pull on his clothes. He comes out fully dressed with a small blush still on his face. He walks over to me and places a soft kiss on my lips. 

“Am I still your good boy?” he murmurs against my lips and a smile spreads across my face. 

“Yes, Aegon. You’re still my good boy.” he presses his lips against mine feverishly and I chuckle pulling back. “Let’s go.” I twine our fingers and tug him down the stairs with me. We leave out the main doors and slip into the black car. The car ride is quick while I bat Aegons hands away until we stop in front of the club. 

We walk through the front door passing the line and he’s pulling us to a private table in an instant. A waitress comes by with drinks and we sit back on the couch watching the depravity on the dance floor. My heart beats with the thrum of the music as the drinks start to flow. After we finish a second drink I pull Aegon up with me and we squeeze through the bodies. 

“My pretty girl.” Aegon whispers into my ear as he pulls me close. My hands travel up his chest as we move with the music. One of his hands travel to my hair and encases me into a bruising kiss. His other hand travels down to my ass and squeezes it roughly. 

“Aegon,” I whine into his mouth as I press my body into his. He pulls me flush against him and grinds himself into me. Our tongues clash as we try to get closer. My hands push under his shirt just wanting to touch him. My hands cling onto his back as I press my chest into him. 

“Wanna fuck you.” he pants into my ear and I shake my head. 

“We’re dancing.” I shout over the music and feel his hand slip between us. My feet falter as I feel his hand trail between my thighs. He holds me against him as he pushes my panties to the side. “Aegon,” I plead as his fingers brush against my bud. 

“Yes, pretty girl?” he hums capturing my lips and trailing his fingers through me. My breathing shudders as he brings wetness from my core to swirl around my bud. 

“Aeg-“ my hips chase his fingers. “We should go-“ I whine into his neck as he slips his fingers in. 

“No one will know.” he whispers into my ear before bringing his lips to my neck. “Do you want me to stop?” he slips his fingers back out and looks down to me with blown pupils. I capture his lips as we continue to press into one another. 

“Let’s get another drink.” I pull him to the main bar. He watches me with a smile as I down my drink and disappear back into the crowd. I slip through the bodies feeling the music flow through me. The drinks have warmed me and I have a smile plastered on my face as I dance alone. I feel hands skim against my waist and I turn quickly and see Aegon. I keep my back to him and continue with my movements. 

“Why are you dancing alone?” he purrs in my ear as I push back into him. 

“Because my boyfriend doesn’t wanna make me feel good so I came to find someone else who could.” Aegons hands grip me and turn me to face him. 

“Let me bring you home tonight.” he looks to me with dark eyes. 

“We’ll see.” I grin up to him. He grabs my wrist tightly and begins to pull me through the crowd. He starts towards our table and we collapse onto the couch together.

“I’m ordering a car to bring us home.” he looks at me as I drape myself across him while he pulls out his phone.

“Why?” I lick across his neck as his fingers swipe across the screen. He groans as I nip at him playfully. He shoves his phone back in his pocket. 

“So I can fuck you.” he pulls me onto his lap and smashes his lips into mine. “The car will be here in fifteen minutes.” he mumbles against my lips. We stay wrapped up in one another for a couple more minutes before we detach. He brings us out front and the car pulls up shortly after. Once we’re back home he’s pushing me against the elevator walls and dipping his fingers into me. 

“Fuck,” I cling against him. I’m squeezing around his fingers when the elevator stops on our floor. I whine as his fingers slip out and he pulls us up to our bed. He tears off my dress and pushes me back onto the bed. I fall back with a giggle as he starts to crawl over me. I gasp as he slips my hands into the restraints. 

“Watch yourself come for me.” he purrs before licking across my neck. His fingers slip back into me and I cry out as he bites down on my neck. His fingers start a brutal pace and arch my chest up into him. I watch as my legs shake on either side of him while he pulls pleasure from me. He kisses down my chest and takes his time before circling his tongue around my throbbing bud. 

“Please, Aegon,” I cry pushing my hips up. His fingers curl as they slam into me and moans pour from my mouth. He laps against me and my pleasure washes through me. “Fuck me,” I pant. “I need you in me.” my hips jolt as he starts swirling around my bud once more. His fingers continue to slam into me as he pulls up to look at me. 

“In a bit.” he hums before dipping back down. I grind against him as he stays between my thighs. Tears spill over the edge as he continues to pull pleasure from me. I’m shaking beneath him as he stays firmly settled. 

“Aegon,” I sob as my body goes taught and he finally pulls back with a wet face. “Untie me,” I sigh as he releases me and I start to pull off his shirt. He chuckles as I try to push his pants down and he sits up to kick them the rest of the way off. He crawls back over me and captures my lips. I pull him closer as he slides in. 

“Fuck my perfect girl.” he groans into my mouth as he rocks into me. I wrap my legs around his waist holding him closer as we move with one another. The kiss we share is blinding as we move together. I find my release again as he spills his pleasure in me. 

“I love you so much my good boy.” I keep him pressed against me as he pants above me. 

“Marry me then.” he rests his forehead against mine. 

“Aegon,” I let out a breathy chuckle. 

“I’m serious. Let’s go to the courthouse in the morning.” he rolls us to the side and searches my eyes. 

“Ask me again in the morning.” I hum pressing my lips against his before we drift off. 

                                       ᓚᘏᗢ

I bring my hand up to bat whatever is tickling my neck away until I realize it’s Aegon. I hum and bury my fingers in his hair. He rolls the rest of the way on top of me and I hold him closer as he peppers kisses across my neck and my chest. He sucks a nipple into his mouth and I gasp pushing myself up into his mouth. His teeth sink into my flesh and I whine above him tugging his hair. He continues his journey down my navel and trails his tongue along my hips before pressing a kiss to my bud. 

“Aegon,” I shutter above him. His tongue languidly trails through me as I squirm beneath him. Small gasps and whimpers fall from my mouth as my hips grind against his face. He takes his time coaxing pleasure out of me before my high spreads across his mouth. He starts to kiss back up my body and I writhe under his touch. 

“Marry me.” he murmurs over and over as he makes his way back up to my lips. 

“Aegon,” I chuckle holding him closer. 

“You said to ask you in the morning.” he presses his lips against mine before pulling up and searching my eyes.

“Ask me again in a week.” he groans at my words. 

“Why?” he whines burying his head into the crook of my neck. 

“So when I say yes you’ll have flights and hotels booked so we can leave after the courthouse.” he snaps his head up and looks down to me. 

“So you’re saying yes?” he pulls me up with a grin. 

“I’m saying get everything together and show me and then we’ll see.” I smile at him and he’s untangling from the bed. 

“No you said ‘when I say yes’ so..” he trails off digging around our room for his phone. 

“You still have to ask me again in a week and get me a ring and book-“ 

“We have to get the ring. I’ll plan everything else but your ring is for you.” I smile at his words as he pulls me out of the bed. 

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“Marry me.” Aegon has asked me this every morning for the past five days and I always answer the same. 

“Do you have everything ready for us?” I smile across the table at him. 

“I do.” he nods looking at me expectantly. My heart swells that it’s finally time. “Marry me, please.” his words soft as he gets up and walks around the table and grabs my hands. 

“Of course I’ll marry you, Aegon.” he pulls me to my feet and smashes his lips to mine. “When?” I mumble against his lips. 

“Now.” he pulls back and starts hauling me to the elevator. 

“Let me get dressed.” I giggle pulling him back up the stairs with me. I pull on a dress and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed fidgeting watching me slowly walk around. “Do you have our bags packed or are we coming back?” I glance at him in the mirror. 

“Our bags are in the car.” he stands hovering behind me. “Are you done?” he looks down at me. 

“Who’s taking care of the cats?” I hum fixing my eyebrows. 

“I’m texting our mothers when we get on the plane.” he sits on the bench next to me exhaling loudly. 

“Why are you so nervous, sweet boy?” I turn to him. 

“I don’t want you to change your mind.” he chews on his lip. 

“I won’t.” I place a kiss on his cheek before finishing up. “Let's go say goodbye to our children.” I smile extending my hand to him. We walk into the cat’s room and shower them with love. I see that he has everything placed out for our mothers to use while we’re away. 

“The next time we come home we’ll be married.” Aegon smiles pulling me against him in the elevator. The ride to the courthouse is quick and he turns to me once we park. “You’re sure?” he searches my eyes. 

“Yes.” I nod my head quickly. “Are you sure?” I tilt my head. 

“I’m the most sure.” he smiles and gets out of the car and soon we’re making it up the steps. We’re brought into a small office and look across the desk at the tired man. He explains the paperwork to us and shows us where to sign. He’s completely lackluster about the situation but we couldn’t care less. Our legs are pressed to each other and we hold hands completely giddy. We sign the paperwork and turn to one another once the man deems it official. Our lips press to one another for a little too long until the man is clearing his throat. 

“Let’s go.” Aegon smiles against my lips and grabs the paperwork before tugging us back outside to the car. “My beautiful, amazing wife.” he presses his lips against mine again before opening my door for me so I can get in. 

“Thank you, husband.” I look up to him before he shuts the door. He drives us to their airport and refuses to tell me any details no matter how much I plead. Right before we board the plane he sends out a text to our mothers and we turn our phones off. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌 

i literally have no timeline for this fic and ive just been going with the flow so we’ll just see where this goes 🫣

Part 7

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @hueanhdang @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme

[partycatty]

i need more dark star johnny IF U CAN 🙏🙏

or! therapy <3

dark star!johnny cage > nobody else

expanding on this post, specifically when i mention how unfair he is regarding attention from others

warnings: again, abusive relationship. johnny being annoying. smut w degradation and sadism (not explicitly consented to)

notes: guys i'm starting to think we can't fix him...

masterlist &lt;3

part 1*/ part 3* / part 4* / part 5* / part 6*

•dark star!johnny cage, as previously mentioned, loves having you hang off of his arm like a pretty handbag. you're his accessory on the red carpet and he prefers to keep it that way. he'll strut and pose while you stand behind him and look pretty.

•you guys are getting ready for the red carpet event that leads into a cast interview for ninja mime 3.

•"i can't have you looking too good, sugar. you'll take all the attention." he says as you twirl around in your fancy dress, one that's sure to match his outfit. when you guys are in public, you need to match. it's like his only requirement. it's not a hard task either, since this man's wardrobe is DIVERSE. he's got that stupid coat in all colors

•god that coat is so stupid and dumb and oversized he's such a cornball but GOD DO YOU LOVE FUCKING HIM WHILE HE KEEPS IT ON LMFAO SORRY ANYWAY

•johnny's hand rests confidently on the small of your back, though he's doing it to guide you rather than comfort you. he discreetly uses it to move you along, but stops in his tracks at a young girl holding an MTV labeled microphone. she looks to be about nineteen, maybe twenty. she smiles, batting her lashes at your boyfriend and pays minimal attention to you.

•i should say, you have your chunk of fame, but it's from being johnny's girlfriend. only his real fans know your name. it's always been "johnny and his latest fling," "cage's match," "johnny and that one girl." this was fine with you. your boyfriend would prefer it that way.

•back to the girl, though. she stands, a little nervously on the carpet waiting to catch actors, and ended up scoring the lead star. she introduces herself and opens by saying she won an MTV raffle to interview celebrities on the red carpet. she's awkward, but her smile is bright and her body is defined under her little dress.

•johnny makes an obvious effort at showing his interest in her, lowering his sunglasses down his nose and drinking in her view top to bottom and back again. you can't argue back. you won't argue back. not in public. smiling a sweet smile, your fingernails dig into your palms.

•"aren't you the cutest little thing?" johnny says, grabbing her face and leaning in close. "could just eat you up." and the girl almost collapses at his advance, knees buckling as she anxiously reads through the bland interview questions. johnny smirks that classic smirk and answers in his typical fashion, referring to himself as "sexy face" and "the boom" as he rambles on and on about how much work it takes to be as perfect as he is.

•as he's enamored with this complete stranger, you feel a hand on your bare shoulder. you spin around and see one of johnny's co-stars! he greets you with a grin and says you look great, putting a hand on your arm to show his sincerity. it feels warm, it feels genuine. for a moment, it feels better than the love that johnny gives you, if you could even call it that.

•the thoughts are abruptly ejected from your mind when johnny reaches across from you and grabs a fistful of the co-star's dress shirt, holding him in place. honestly, this man probably looks like a peacock rn, showing off his feathers by standing tall and wearing that dumb blue coat. sillies aside, the co-star immediately tenses up and puts his arms up in a surrender pose. johnny pauses and looks around, people are horrified at the sight and what could've come of it. his eyes lead to you, and he groans to himself, releasing the other man and grabbing your wrist, not hard enough to raise eyebrows but enough to tell you he was fuming. his giant sunglasses conceal his furrowed brows and glaring eyes. if there's one thing he'd save, it'd be his reputation. the last thing he wants is an assault charge on a co-star, so who better to take it out on than his girlfriend?

•johnny pulls you away from the cameras and ogling eyes, slamming the door to the women's bathroom and locking it. almost immediately, he's towering over you, holding you by your shoulder against the door and pointing in your face with the other.

•"you're a fucking whore," he says with a nasty tone. "you enjoy getting men's attention, don't you? you just love pissing me off." he grabs your face, squishing your cheeks but it's nowhere near a cute gesture. "who do you belong to?"

•"you—" you muffle out, afraid to look at him when he gets like this. the sunglasses make it easier. that is, until he tucks them into the collar of his shirt to get a better look at you. his eyes are animalistic, wildly infuriated that you even bothered to give another man a smithereen of attention. "i belong to—"

•SMACK. johnny backhands you, the ring sending a nasty red streak across your face. you whimper, legs weakening. it's just a damn shame you're a masochist, huh?

•"speak up," he commands, now caressing that part of your face. "i'm only asking one more time. who do you belong to?"

•like some kind of sick and twisted game, johnny's hand lifts one of your legs, holding it up by your thigh. before you'd get the chance to use your voice properly, his hand expertly lifts up your skirt enough to swipe two fingers across your shamefully wet panties. you yelp out and grab hold of his sleeves to stabilize yourself. he chuckles breathily, momentarily forgetting to be angry.

•he watches your face contort as he applies pressure with two rough fingers on your pulsating clit. it's like he's trying to make responding difficult. you put a hand over your mouth to muffle your noises of protest, but johnny removes your hand and pins it above your head. he uses his legs to divide yours, the closeness now intoxicating with his expensive cologne. you can feel his hot, hard cock on your thigh, but we'll get to that later.

•"not... not here–" you try to protest, but end up involuntarily moving your hips to relieve the pressure he's putting on your clit. johnny, still mad but now also amused, leans into your ear.

•"you wanna be a whore? i'm gonna make you one, whether you like it or not."

•johnny removes his hand from your panties and admires the shine on the pads of his fingers. he chuckles and forces them into your mouth, which you lick reluctantly, looking downward.

•"eyes on the prize," he purrs, making you look up at him through your lashes.

•"i'm sorry," you mumble out, a trail of saliva from his fingers dribbling down your lips when he pulls them away. "i belong to you, sir."

•"fuckin' prove it then," he replies in a deep grumble, one his other hand to push you to your knees by your neck and the other fumbling with his stupidly large belt. his cock springs free, and you swear that thing is never not hard. homeboy's probably gettin ED at 39.

•both good and bad johnny strike me as a 7.5 incher, cut with a pink tip and a slight curve. and yes, he waxes. of course he waxes, have you looked at the fucker?

•should also mention, when it comes to sex, he is entirely focused on himself. very rarely will he eat you out or rub your clit as he fucks you, unless he's trying to prove a point that he can treat you better than any other man. tragically, he's treating this instance as a need for a punishment, where you need to serve him.

•he holds your pretty hair together like a ponytail and pushes you forward, pressing his flushed tip against your pillowy lips. he doesn't even need to say "open," you do so willingly and hold your tongue out the way he likes.

•"you gonna take me like the slut you are?" johnny asks with a little groan as his tip smacks against your tongue. all you can do is nod before he thrusts, his shaft being caressed by the fleshy insides of your mouth. you curse yourself mentally for not fixing that gag reflex he hates so much as you do indeed gag on his dick while it hits the back of your throat. you silently wish he got into the habit of easing himself in rather than shoving full force.

•even though dark star!johnny is more dominant, he still whimpers, even if he hates to admit it. when the tip kisses the back of your throat, he lurches forward a tad, letting out a sweet whimper before composing himself again.

•also i'm so glad the mk fandom just all agrees he whimpers isn't that so funny

•"you gonna start sucking, or am i fucking that pretty face myself?" he asks through gritted teeth, thrusting a little deeper to warn you. you gag again and try your hardest to shake your head.

•"good girl, for once," johnny mumbles. "sit still."

•johnny removes his throbbing cock from your throat, only for a moment. still holding your hair back, he gently thrusts his tip repeatedly against your lips, shuddering when he feels the groove of the head pop in and out as it catches on your lips. his salty precum coats your tongue, which you kitten lick up straight from the slit. his lips part to let sweet moans drip out, eyeing you down and pleased with his actions.

•he pulls out fully for a moment, fumbling in his front pocket to grab his phone and hitting record with the camera aimed down at you. he smiles wickedly, biting his lower lip.

•"you better suck me off nice and good, doll, or the whole world is gonna see what a little slut you are," he growls, reaching down to grab your chin and angle you upward. you make eye contact with the camera and open your mouth, letting your tongue loll out. johnny places a thumb on your tongue and presses down, admiring the view. his hand moves back down to his cock, stroking it a couple times before smacking it on your cheek.

•"what if someone hears us?" you whisper out, eyelids fluttering. johnny scoffs and rubs himself against your warm tongue again.

•"then they'll know i own you," he replies with a smile. "open." and so you open your mouth even more, and johnny thrusts himself into you again, this time at a less than sweet pace.

•since it's not the first time, you're sure to look up at the camera as he uses your mouth relentlessly. johnny's hand pushes down hard on the back of your head, forcing you to take his full dick down your throat for a couple of seconds. you gag again despite your best attempts to hold your breath, and his head leans back as he lets out a long, breathy moan.

•"you're fuckin' killin' me here," he moans out, head still thrown back. "ohh, you know i hate doin' this to you, but you gotta know not to toy with me. gotta learn your lesson, yeah? yeah?"

•as he asks you, he places a crisp, firm smack on your cheek again with his dick still inside, making you yelp again. the vibration of your voice rattles his shaft and it makes him twitch, his thighs buckling inward. you have to hold onto his hips so you don't topple over.

•after some time of ruthlessly throatfucking you, you feel his thigh muscles tense up and his thrusts grow increasingly more staggered. his cock doesn't reach the back of your throat as rhythmically as it did and he was starting to lean over you, pushing his hands on the sides of your neck to keep him upright. his delicious moans and groans start turning into breathy whimpers as he desperately chases his release. you feel yourself getting lightheaded from the lack of breathing, only able to get gasps of air in between his cock stuffing your mouth. you look straight ahead for a moment and stifle a laugh at a ring of your lipstick painting the base of his dick.

•pocketing his phone momentarily, johnny uses a hand to pull the bottom of his shirt up to his teeth, biting down on it and revealing his gorgeous, glowing torso. his eyes clench shut as he leans forward again with the bundle of cloth in his mouth.

•"— ngh — 'm not having you ruin th' shirt, was expensive — oh, fuck —"

•all you can do is let out pathetic gurgling noises and gasps as you're used like a fleshlight. johnny starts to struggle holding the phone upright, so he hands it to you with shaking hands.

•"hah... you record," he commands breathily, shoving the phone into your palm. at this point too cock-drunk to protest, you flip the camera and angle it toward yourself like a high-angle selfie. you bat your damp lashes as prettily as you possibly can given the circumstances. johnny wipes your dripping mascara with his thumb.

•on a home stretch, johnny picks up the now brutal pace and you try hard to not scrape your teeth along his shaft but it gets increasingly difficult to angle your mouth properly. he bites down hard on the shirt, face scrunching up as he reaches his orgasm.

•leaning over your body, johnny lazily thrusts into your mouth and you feel his hot, sticky semen coat the walls of your throat. he lets out a little gasp at each pulse of his cock, and you take his moment of vulnerability to suck him dry, feeling him throb hungrily. when he's fully emptied, you remove yourself and swallow, confirming the action by opening your mouth and showing the camera. johnny's tip leaks even after pulling out, twitching upward as he rides the final waves of his high.

•johnny lets out a long sigh, running a clean hand through his hair and fixing what strands were stuck to his forehead. his cheeks are flushed and his mouth is agape as he catches his breath. when he feels okay to speak again, he doesn't even look down at you.

•"if... i catch you like that again," he lazily threatens, head tilted back and eyes on the ceiling. "i won't be so nice. are we clear?"

•you swallow the last bit of saliva mixed with his fluid and nod before replying with a clear "yes, sir." johnny looks back down at you, pleased by your once beautifully done hair now ruined from his doing. your mascara ran down your cheeks and your lipstick was barely clinging onto your lips.

•"brought your makeup?" he asks, stuffing his half-hard dick back into his pants. you nod and pull out the makeup you needed to touch up. "good girl. get yourself fixed up, we've been gone a while."

•you lean forward in the bathroom mirror without a word of protest, wiping your face with your fingers and reapplying your makeup to not raise suspicion.

•johnny towers behind you, smoothing down your hair with two hands as he admires you in the reflection. his hands wander a bit, squeezing your breasts from behind as he presses his hips into your ass. he was always uncharacteristically touchy and sweet after intimacy, as if it was a shitty apology for his roughness. he kisses your shoulder, trailing up to your neck and then your cheek.

•"you know i love you, right?" he asks into the soft flesh of your cheek. "nobody else can have you like this. i'll kill anyone that tries. you're mine, sweet thing."

•he wraps his arms around your waist and rocks you gently as you touch up your makeup. he seems pleased that you got your lesson of the night, even though johnny's co-stars were now scouring the red carpet to relocate him. you two just hoped that your flushed cheeks and damp skin disappears before someone started knocking.

•"if you ever try to pull anything with another man, i'm posting that video," he whispers with a sickeningly sweet tone, kissing your cheek and parting from your body. "now come on. i have an interview."

[acetheta]

top five favorite pjo characters?

okay you have definitely opened a tomb here LMFAOOO

1) no surprise to literally anyone. my boy jason grace 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 he has my heart and i will forever be ranting abt him especially to @sacrifical-lamb-core !!1!1! honestly there is so much about him that i never picked up on as a child. to me i headcannon him as gay for starters right? growing up i always DID love him. but i also feel like i kind of adopted him 😭 i remember the internet hating him so much jt was like FUCK YOU I HAD LITERALLY NO OPINION ABT HIM BUT SINCE U ALL DESPISE HIM HE IS NOW MY SON. im a big believer hes gay for a lot of reasons but i feel like i need to make a separate post about that 😭,. he is so traumatized 🫶 valgrace 5eva

2) ok basic ik…. nico di angelo ! besides loving nico’s character sm i saw myself in him a lot growing up. im a lesbian but was very closeted reading pjo 😭!!!! i could really relate to how he felt especially this idea of having to grow up too fast and not wanting to be gay but then like. HE found his place. if he could then maybe i could too. also im pagan but SPECIFICALLY a medium so uh !! that in common too 😭 also his character is so interesting i luv him so sososo much :3

3) okay like i know i already mentioned valgrace but i also love leo im sorry 😞….. i also see leo as gay!!! honestly i HATED leo growing up 😭 i think it is because liek. i did not understand the concept of headcannons growing up 🙁 ,. so i was like ok why tf is he like this and being a closeted lesbian im likr i do NOT get the hype!!!! but then i got really into valgrace and the lost trio and i luv them!!! (piper gets an honorable mention but i didnt want to do EVERYONE in thr lost trio LMFAO)

4) okay we getting controversial here 🤗 this past year ive gotten so fixated on beryl grace and i am such a beryl defender,. yes ofc how she treated jason and thalia wasnt okay!!! on the other hand, she is literally an abuse survivor. zeus (from pjo!!!) i didnt have phone access for awhile and i had a lot of timr to think about things 😭!!! how i see it is like. imagine if a GOD told u he loved u. someone who can literally kill / hurt life with a snap of their fingers. someone who is so much more than human. a fucking god tells u he loves u. imagine what that would do to someone? she literally went crazy. how she was written is like “she was a famous hollywood star and she was never a good person and just wanted to fuck zeus!!!” uhm no. ❤️. god . i just wanna know her backstory sooo badddd. like what made her want to go to hollywood? my personal headcannon is she had such a shit home life growing up she just wanted someone to notice her and so hey!! hence she wanted lots of attention cause she never got any growing up. then here comes A GOD who gives her exactly that!! she loved him. imagine a god tells u he loves u and bsfr its (pjo) zeus he probably made up some bs about how she was the only one he wanted and all that shit. he tells u he wants u then once u have a child, he leaves. u go mad. u just wanted one person to notice u. love YOU. and the one person (who was THE KING OF THE GODS ) ups and leaves u with a newborn child. it would drive anyone to insanity.

5) i have a lot of honorable mentions but vv similar to nico: will solace also meant sosoos much to me growing up. i saw myself in him. this happy go lucky guy who is literally the epitome of sunshine and though i didn’t understand it as much as i do now, how dark his life really is. i would DEFINITELY be a child of apollo :3!!!! i could get really into it but as a child him (and nico) were my saviors. they will always mean sm to me 🫶

[prettyboykatsuki]

how many pulls does it usually take u to get the 5 star cards?? r they singles or 10 in one go? cuz it took me like 100 pulls to get a 5 star in the last event 😭😭😭

the gacha is pretty punishing for LADS lmfao. like at least from my understanding the hard pity is 70 pulls for any 5 star and 140 to guarantee a desired card. so if you want to be completely f2p you’ll have to be super picky about where u spend your pulls

i think to combat this though the game is 1. generous with the in game currency to pull 2. has increased likelihood to pull any 5 star.

EDIT: apparently the hard pity is 70!!!!!! i was not aware thank you ru and another anon !!!! corrected for misinformation

[tepkunset]

Rating all* the Hellfire Gala 2023 Outfits in my Correct Opinion

*At least, all that I can find, because Marvel decided fuck making that easy in a little book or a single post like last year.

(Long post alert!)

Iceman, I love most of this look. The accented orange is perfect for the mostly blue look, and I love that he has a matching earring for his cuff-links. Such a nice touch! But those rubber boots, man... those rubber boots ruin it for me. 8/10

Fisk is giving off some Doctor Doom vibes with this outfit. I love the regalness of it, especially the golden leaves behind the ear. 9/10

??? I'm not sure who this is, but their outfit looks like they're going to a Halloween party rather than a gala. 3/10

Emma, oh my god, YES. Almost always delivering, and this is definitely one of those cases! 10/10

Xavier... I hate to say it, but I genuinely love this look. He's bringing major space man vibes, and it's super elegant at the same time. 9/10

Bishop doesn't even get points for effort. He got a red suit then slapped some belts on it. Boring as fuck. 1/10

I was about to write another "???" because I had no idea who this was, until it occurred to me that I think this is supposed to be Scarlet Witch? Except she is super duper whitewashed, so I did not even recognize her. Auto-failure regardless of the look. 0/10

Proteus looks moderately snazzy, but out of the Five is the least interesting in my opinion. 3/10

Egg has a cool coat, but those balls around his neck are way too big and awkward. 4/10

Hope looks a little like a fairy princess here, and I like that! 7/10

Tempus looks like she's going to a prom more than a gala, and I don't know what's going on with that giant shoulder piece. Did Cable lend it to her or something? 4/10

Elixir, my golden boy, is embracing the shiny and I love it! 9/10

Exodus seems to be trying out a new costume rather than a gala look, but in terms of style, it's fine. 5/10

Vision's outfit is as boring as he is. 1/10

Miles, holy shit. Miles should be giving lessons to everyone else on how to actually make a suit look unique! Bishop, take notes. 9/10

Old Laura looks like she's dressed for a gothic funeral more than a gala, but at least that's to her style rather than some crazy OOC look. So, points for that. 5/10

T'Challa... I. Am. Swooning. I know he's not a king right now but damn does he ever look like it in this outfit. The beautiful patterns and complimentary colours, holy shit. 10/10

Synch has certainly done way better in the past. It's just a plain black suit without a shirt, for fuck sake. 2/10

Captain Marvel looks like she's a marching bad, lol. The stars in the hair are a nice touch, though. 3/10

Jean's look is, I know, divisive. I've seen some people say they adore this design, and some people say they hate it. I'm personally on the fence. I think it would be better without the stupid helmet, that's for sure. And I think it looks a little too much like an Emma Frost design, if you were to just colour it white. 5/10

Fantomex? Where the fuck have you been? Anyway, he literally just looks like he always looks but with some sunglasses lmfao. 0/10

Dylan looks like a moody teen as ever, lol. I do like the black and white though. 6/10

Black Cat... Like I said, I like black and white together, but this is giving me too much Cruella de Vil vibes. 4/10

Mary Jane just picked up an evening gown off the rack I guess. 2/10

Firestar, I think? Not actually positive if it's her. Anyway, the sleeves are a bit too much for me, but I love the fiery frills on the cape. 5/10

Thor looks so ugly here lmfao I'm sorry but I hate this look. It's way too clunky. 0/10

At first I thought this was Kwannon, but then I remembered seeing panels and I believe it's Kitty/Kate. Anyway, I like the lace-up boots and I like the frills. 7/10

Hellcat looks like she's took some inspiration from a wrestler's pre-fight look, and I like that. It's simplistic but just enough stylish to pass. 6/10

Nova, going with a tits out look as well I see. I like the feathered shoulder pads, and I like the skirt. 6/10

Moon Knight, oh my god, I have a strong feeling it was Steven who pulled the strings to get a gala look, because there's no fucking way Marc or Jake would be caught dead there. Anyway, this is exactly the type of vibe I would expect from MK, maybe even a bit more playful than that with the mesh part of the top. And I really like it up until the strange boots. He and Iceman must've compared notes or something. Still, 8/10

Psylocke - now THIS is Kwannon for sure! I like the classical ninja meets evening gown look, and I like that she's sexy but not to the point of being objectified, which is a refreshing change for how artists often treat her. 8/10

Destiny and Mystique I will rate together because the score is the same: A what the fuck level of 0/10.

Forge looks fucking awesome, especially compared to last year. I love the fringe and the scarf and the jewellery and the cane... it's a complete look that gives me great vibes. 8/10

Cyclops, come on, man. You can do better than this, can't you? He looks like Mister Sinister dressed him or something. 1/10

Cuckoos look like they stepped off the set of Tron: Legacy. Or a Daft Punk concert. Not complaining to be clear, this look fucks. 10/10

[stormblessed95]

Had a great start to the reading year with 2 five star reads, 11 books total and a lot of amazing fics!

1,392,211 words read total!

1,055,476 words from 11 books

336, 735 words from various fics

Now if only I could WRITE some words too. Lmfao I've been in a writing slump for over a year. I think I might just go back to writing various prompts for a bit. Just to get back into the flow maybe.

Anyway! The rest of my reading stats...

My two 5 out of 5 star reads from the month of January were Blood over Bright Haven by M.L. Wang and The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang. Absolutely incredible books. Perfection and emotional devastation!

I bought 9 books in January and read 8 of them off my TBR, so not a great month for my TBR actually since I still added 1 total... But oh well 😅

Read one ARC this month

Mostly 4 star reads which is typical for me!

My favorite fics I read in January, I basically only read MDZS fics this month lol

Crimson Promise by Ice Queen

🔒Three Kinds by aparhyinreverie

Accidental Confessions by Dixielis

Overall, a great start to the reading year! Especially with 2 books that are going to stick with me forever!

[basslinegrave]

sonic 3 spoilers (longer - very long thoughts)

just thoughts about something that i would add to the movie

1) i fully expected sonic to take the photo of shadow and maria and later give it to him, since he destroyed everything else and it would be nice like "hey i held onto this for you, might be important" i think it would be a nice way to connect them in an even stronger way. it felt like the rivals to friends was rushed, though shadow seemed to be depicted as more youthful here, i still feel like he would need something more to get through him (but then he def felt something already when he hit tom so it wasnt like a sudden switch or anything)

2) maybe i wasnt paying full attention but robotniks last words came kinda out of nowhere, i really expected them to show at least a little bit of the times stone cared for him. like have him go through the realization and let him feel it on screen a bit longer. maybe he had a moment of thought but i dont remember that. (also it was good but kinda silly in retrospect he really broadcasted it to the whole world 0 shame 😭 just imagining bot from the first movie seeing his future self say that. hed explode)

i would add like 10-20 mins to the movie for this. just let the characters stop for a moment and feel. but then, its a sonic movie. the audience is 5 year olds. it doesnt matter. but i still felt like a lot has been cut or missing? - then again, i need to rewatch it/watch the original to see the original pacing and wording of things. perhaps some things got lost in translation or whatever. i also couldnt concentrate cause someone kept fucking talking over the movie. but what wasnt shown just wasnt shown. also for shadow idk i thought they would go for some brooding scene in the vibe of spiderverse introductions but it went all action but ig they made up for it later i loved the scenes with maria and the stargazing (back when i was into sonadow stargazing was my fave trope for them. stars in general. so this was beautiful. shadow as a falling/fallen star too and in this case it applied to both him and sonic)

3) more music. again this might be just the case of the dubbed version but i felt a severe lack of music? and to me personally the live and learn part felt extremely weak, the orchestral version or whatever it was is nice but here it wasnt hype enough for me. idk, again, maybe the og will feel different but you know. if more of the scenes were treated music wise like the dance ones id be more hyped, i dont like when they use a song but only like 4 seconds of it and stuff. to compare it with an example of what i loved it would definitely be deadpool - the opening fucking slayed and also the like a prayer part. that shit went hard as hell and i didnt even like dp3 that much.

but overall i feel like the pacing was so much better in this one than the second movie and it felt like they actually gave more screentime to the nonhuman characters this time

- this is more critical but there were also parts that i loved and like overall the movie was good, i liked the story, i liked what they did with shadow (i wish they stretched out the tokyo part longer though, that was dope), loved what they did with him and maria, the movie felt balanced enough (but i felt that way about 2 and then on rewatch it was noticeable how many useless human scenes there were so that might change), the gun agents were walking the thin line of being too annoying but it was doable, i loved what they did with walters! also i like wade as a character but this was just enough (people were Groaning when he got on screen lmfao) same applies to the others but i was surprised that was it. so silly

however i still enjoyed 2 more. but this might just be the case of "im super tired, quite depressed, i dont care about anything rn, some ppl fucked me over today and i dont feel good, the vibe is off, i cant hear half of the movie, im too hot and got low bp and keep hearing my heartbeat louder than anything else, and i didnt get a happy ending" rather than "movie bad"

when they revealed shadow in 2 i was jumping off of my seat and gripping the one in front of me. this post creds reveal here was like "oh! okay nice" (<- expected this so 0 surprise or anything)

also for 2 i went in with low expectations and got peak. for 3 i expected better than 2. so i failed myself there

i wish i could say i enjoyed this even more than the 2nd movie. i wish i got back from the cinema just typing out jumbled words and screams on social media like after the 2nd. i got out of this one like "i have to pretend i loved this greatly like i had to do with the fnaf movie" but this was at least better than the fnaf movie to me lmao

fucking sonic prime got more reactions out of me than this movie and i wanted to enjoy it so bad. anyway i need meds or something i ran out of D3 its also that speaking thru me