#too many plates balancing honestly

[3koboldsinahoodie]

chapter 26 is coming in the next few days i swear

on my last week of work before christmas break so im hoping to get some good writing time in then

part of the delay is my brain deciding it needs to get other ideas out on paper so ummmm

hopefully you'll forgive the delay after i drop a lil side project ive been working on (god i hope at least some of you are multishippers hehehe)

[chanranghaeys]

🚬 "got a light?"

While having dinner with his hyungs, Dino decides to step out for some air. Then he sees you, minding your own business as you burn out your cigarette after a long day. He thinks to himself, “Maybe you can see me, too.”

pairing: idol!dino x gn!restaurant worker!reader word count: 2.6k tags: slice of life, angst with comfort, open ending 💔, idol!dino is very, very tired :( warnings: anxiety and overwhelm, self-doubt, impostor syndrome, use of cigarettes and vapes, money?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

You enter a secluded room in the corner of the izakaya and boisterous laughter fills your ears. Good thing those inside the room were able to control their movements lest their clapping and shoving come into contact with you and make you drop the tray balanced on your hand, full as it already was.

This isn’t the first time, though. You’ve served this bunch of guys loads of times—they’re as regular to this izakaya as you are. And of course, you know who they are—Seventeen, one of the biggest names in K-pop nowadays.

You didn’t even know much about them at first, but this quickly changed when you realized how frequently they visited. Honestly, they aren’t even the only idols who frequent this Japanese restaurant, but you come to realize that this one is Seventeen’s particular favorite.

Everyone knows when they come to the izakaya. After the shift, the whole staff receives a large sum of extra cash whenever these boys visit. It’s obviously a huge tip to make sure none of you leak their location when they’re there—your boss made that especially clear after the first time.

Today though, it was just four of the members—Joshua, Jeonghan, Dokyeom, and Dino—and their manager. In fact, you almost didn’t recognize them as they’ve all changed their hair cuts and colors again.

But their polite demeanor never fails to make you genuinely smile whenever they are there. That, and their crazy jokes and antics, no matter how many members were eating at the same time.

You expertly weave your way around the table and set down the contents of your tray. The boys look in anticipation at the plates of sushi, sashimi, and maki. As soon as they said their thank you’s and you were out of the frame, Dokyeom instantly whipped out his phone.

*chalkak*

You laughed in your head. It was always Dokyeom who took the first pictures. The other members followed suit, but Dino was the first to pick up his chopsticks after. Dokyeom wasn’t done, shifting his phone’s focus from the sushi to his dongsaeng, who immediately picked up on what his hyung was doing.

“Oh, Dino-ya, always camera-ready nowadays!” Exclaimed Joshua. Jeonghan chuckled and followed his dongsaeng’s cue to start eating because he knew how hungry and tired they were. You overheard them talking about a shoot they just finished as you entered and how the others went straight home and crashed on their beds.

Dino gave a final serious look towards his hyung’s phone with a final *chalkak*. “Ah, thank you, thank you. Always gotta have a smile on your face. Isn’t that the life of an idol?” Dino laughed lightly, but you noticed a heavy sigh as he said that.

‘Huh,’ you thought.

While standing at the door of the room waiting for any additional requests, your smartwatch vibrated lightly, signaling your shift break. You slipped out of the room quietly to more noise from the izakaya’s other tables outside.

You weren’t quiet enough though, because while the others were talking about the next story, Dino heard the shift of the sliding door to see you go out of their room. He was silently grateful that you were the one serving them today.

He’s always noticed how particularly careful and respectful you were with them, as outlandish and chaotic as they all were whenever they were together. He couldn’t forget that one drunken night with his 12 hyungs in this izakaya a few months ago.

Dino was surprisingly not drunk—but his Seungkwan hyung was. Dino naturally assumed the caretaker role and quickly realized he was not the best at it when he realized Seungkwan was gone. His other hyungs didn’t notice it right away either. He went out and straight to the comfort room to see the door wide open.

Seungkwan was standing over the sink, his head hung low. And you were beside Seungkwan, rubbing his back and holding a glass of water ready for him to drink. You’ve had enough experience in this department—personal and professional—to know what to do.

“Hyung!” You and Seungkwan turned to see Dino walking towards the open comfort room door.

“Dino-yaaaaa,” Seungkwan dragged out the last syllable as he reached out for his dongsaeng and hugged him.

“Ah, uri hyung, extra clingy whenever he’s drunk.” He laughed and you belatedly registered that he was talking to you.

You gave an awkward laugh and extended your hand with the glass of water. “Oh! I’m so sorry for the trouble, you really didn’t have to!” Dino said as he took the glass from your hand.

“It’s nothing, we’re used to it really. He isn’t the first idol we’ve seen like this here.”

Dino rubbed the back of his neck out of secondhand embarrassment. “Really? Well…thank you for taking care of him. We’ll be heading back then.” He bowed slightly—as much as he could while supporting his hyung—and walked back to the room.

You followed them from a distance just in case. When they were back in their room, you headed straight back into the kitchens.

That night, your manager pulled you aside after distributing the day’s tips and handed over a separate envelope once most of the staff were out of sight. “Seems you did well today. Their manager asked to give this one to you personally.” You looked down at the envelope and read the hastily written note.

Thank you for caring. – 이찬

Lee Chan? You search the name online and see Dino’s face on your phone. You had a hunch Dino was just a stage name, but seeing his real name piqued your interest. Only a single letter? And why did he sign this off with his real name? You opened the envelope to see a stack of bills twice the amount you received in tips tonight.

This generous gift allowed you to buy a new phone and smartwatch, the same one you’re wearing now to keep track of your health with the long shifts and extended work hours. You can’t complain much though, you chose to be in the food service industry, among others.

You signal your co-worker for a quick substitution. He checks his watch and nods, walking toward your abandoned post. You put on a hoodie and grab your small crossbody bag, exit through the kitchens, and out the back entrance. The clamor of the izakaya turned into muted urban sounds as you closed the door behind you.

You take in the cool night breeze as you bury into your hoodie. From your bag, you take out a cigarette and light it, savoring the lightheaded feeling it gives you before blowing out the smoke.

“Got a light?”

You whip your head towards the familiar yet disconnected voice coming from a guy with dark jeans and a black hoodie—luxury-branded, of course. That’s how you recognize him.

“Dino-ssi.”

“Please, call me Chan.” He holds up his right hand, an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

This surprises you. This guy is an idol, he'd never dare be seen in public with a cigarette in his hand, much less lit and resting inbetween his lips.

You look him up and down and say, "Maybe you should put that hood up over your baby pink hair before you ask me questions like that."

Belatedly, he realized this and did as you said. He hoped no one saw that. “Thanks,” he says while taking a step closer toward you and raising the cigarette in his hand again. “So?”

You close the distance between you two and offer him your lighter. Instead, he places the cigarette between his lips and leans toward your hand. ‘Okay then,’ you think, taking this cue to ignite the lighter in your hand as he leans in closer to light the tip of the cigarette.

“Seventeen’s Dino smokes, huh?” You say in a hushed voice out of respect. He lowers the hood over his eyes.

“Socially…occasionally. I just forgot my vape at home.”

“Oh, so Seventeen’s Dino smokes and vapes. Do you just happen to have a stash of cigarettes in your pocket handy, then?”

He smirks. “You think I’m the only one in the group who smokes? And please, call me Chan.” He says this and drops all modes of formality. So you do the same.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to hear that name right now. At least, just for tonight.”

You nod. “Okay. Chan.” You both continue taking drags, smoke rising from the shadows of the dark alley. And you decide to break the silence.

“Why’d you give me the money?”

“I wanted someone to see me.”

“With money? Thousands of your fans around the country—around the world—already see you. And mind you, they already pay a lot of money to do so.”

“They see Dino. They hear Dino. They watch Dino. Maybe this time, someone could see me as Chan.”

“So you think you could do that with money?”

“Well…it worked, didn’t it?”

You laugh. “Not sure if this is how you really wanted it to work. But money talks.”

He takes another drag from his cigarette. “So what did you think of it?”

You raise your wrist. “Technically you gave me this watch.” Then you raise your other hand. “And this phone. And…I really needed them when I did. So thank you, it was a huge help.”

A small smile spreads across his face. “I’m glad to hear that I helped.” It was a simple expression but one you couldn’t read, especially in the dark.

“But I’m sure you hear that hundreds of times over as well, how you’ve helped people. Doesn’t that feel good?”

“Right now, I don’t think it does.”

“Why?”

“You ask that question a lot, huh?” Chan says with a side-eye.

You shrug. “There’s nothing else to ask.”

As you flick the ash off your cigarette, you notice how short yours is compared to his. It seems like he’s biding his time with the single stick…for a reason. You look at your watch, not much time has passed. You take his cue again and light another stick, deciding to take your time with it as well. If he notices, he doesn’t let on.

“Say it.”

This breaks Chan’s reverie. “Huh?”

“You want to say something. Isn’t that why you’re out here instead of in there? You usually have a hell of a time with your members. So why are you here?”

And just like that, you open a floodgate.

“I’m tired. I’m so goddamn tired. I can’t see it anymore—the spark. I look at myself in the mirror and see emptiness. I look at myself dancing in the rehearsal room and give my whole, but when I finally stop and look at myself…I see nothing. I see no spark. I see a husk of someone else. I see Dino. I can’t find Chan anymore. I can’t find him.”

You’re frozen, the fire burning your cigarette, heavy with ash.

“When the lights are on and my face is made up, when I wear the outfits and the red lights of the cameras blink, I smile. I laugh. I become Dino, the Dino they want to see. They don’t see the bruises on my body, the blinding flashes when I close my eyes, the fatigue that weighs me down on my bed every night…the voices that fill my head with dark, dark thoughts. I'm done. I want it done. I want to stop. I want to just—”

“Chan.” He stops and looks at the hand on his shoulder. You know he can’t keep talking like this. It was good to let it out, but you can’t let him spiral.

You both don’t know what to do, but suddenly you find each other in an embrace—and no one breaks it. You hear him taking in deep, heaving breaths in a desperate effort to hold back his tears from a stranger.

Through this, you don’t let go, rubbing his back in an effort to comfort this person who—like any other—has a world on his shoulders that no one can truly understand.

Your mind flashes back to a similar scene, in the park near your best friend’s place, as both of you clutch each other desperately in an attempt to keep holding on to life, but it was you holding back the tears and taking in the deep, heaving breaths.

And sometimes, the best thing you can do for someone like this is to be there and hold them until they can grab a hold of their life again.

So that’s what you do for a good ten minutes, until you notice his breaths getting slower and more even, until he slowly breaks away and brings back the distance and the cool night air between your warmth.

He wipes away fallen and unshed tears from his face, smudging some eyeliner in the process. You reach up and wipe the stain, but he quickly holds on to your hand and keeps it on his cheek, leaning into the warmth it gives. He closes his eyes briefly and when he opens them, he looks straight into you. You offer him a smile.

“Can I see you again? Later? Tonight?”

‘What…?’ Your smile drops and you pull your hand away. “Chan, it doesn’t work that way.”

“It’s not like that. I know my ways. I can find a way.”

“No, I—” A soft notification ping comes from your pocket, signaling five minutes until the end of your break. Your phone screen lights up and flashes a photo of your best friend, who set it as your lock screen from the last time you met. Chan’s eyes glance at it.

“Oh. Okay.” A dejected sound…but one you don’t deny. Your mind whirlwinds with the happenings of the past half hour.

“Life doesn’t always work this way, Chan-ah.”

He starts at how you said his name with a sense of familiarity. “I know.”

“You have three brothers waiting for you inside. I’m sure they’ll understand you.”

“I know they will. But you just have to physically get yourself away from it all sometimes, so thank you. Thank you.” He says the last remark with a courteous bow. “I’ll see you later.” With finality, he heads back into the restaurant, hood still up, through the same door he exited out of a while ago.

You two didn’t have to say it, but you both knew what to do. He went in first, you followed a few minutes later after the second notification ping signaled the end of your break—going as far as adding a minute or two more just to give yourself some space to breathe as well.

“You’re late,” says the guy who took over for you during your break time.

You roll your eyes. “Two minutes, man. I’ll give you two minutes during your break too, okay?”

He laughs. “Not sure I saw it right, but was that Dino-ssi who entered this door? He was gone the whole time I was stationed at their room.”

“I wouldn’t know, I was too busy minding my own business and catching up on sleep.”

“Outside?”

“You think I have a choice? You’d do the same during your break anyway,” you say as you jokingly shove your co-worker aside and return to your post outside Seventeen’s room.

You see Chan—Dino—walking toward your direction. He looks freshened up. Your eyes meet and you both give polite smiles with slight bows. He slides open the door and is greeted by his hyungs.

“Dino-ya! Where have you been? Did you get enough air from outside or maybe you brought some with you back here?”

“Chan-ah.” You hear Jeonghan’s voice. “Are you okay?”

Dino answers with a smile in his voice. “Yes! Yes, I’m okay. I’m feeling better now. Better the air outside actually than the air in here, you guys didn’t even shower after the shoot.” And you hear his recognizable laugh fade out as he closes the door.

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a/n: originally posted this on my stan twt account, thought it would have a better home in a long format post on tumblr! it's also the first ever svt fic i rly wrote and i'm pretty proud of it too <3

if you want to be included in the taglist, shoot me a message or reply here!

[vyzz-undercover]

im insane have a few kilos of:

[cato/f!ambassador]

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

(6,600ish words) (please fucking sedate me)

{i dont usually write in whatever perspective having a 'you' in this sort of context is, so forgive any oopsies besties!!!}

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink

•intercourse [M/F]

•degrading language

•mild possessive behaviour

•pisspoor cliche of 'oh no you're freezing haha body warmth eh?' trope

•mr. sicarius' insufferable ego

•tumblr's dogshit formatting from phone notes to the app

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super special thanks to all the writers im too much of a spineless coward to actually @ because i only ever lurked on anon asks on old main for, like: moodymisty, mothiir, lemon-russ, the-raven-lady, scriberye and many others. you're all the unknowing reasons why i made an alt to post this, cheers for your amazing works and ideas!!! :3

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It was doomed from the start, honestly.

Not to say he had any hope that an assignment would ever actually go easily for once.

It's supposed to be an apparently simple diplomatic procedure. Namely, you get to stand around, run your ambassadorial trap and bat your lashes and trollop about in front of pompous baseline fools. While he, Cato Sicarius, stands at attention in pissy formal wear; pretending like he's not a hair-breadth from an aneurysm watching it all take place.

Oh, and not to forget the brother who's a head taller than him, in full plate, and isn't being held to a standard of mock-humility.

He realises belatedly he's forgotten the Primaris' name. That shouldn't happen. He never used to forget things. Eidetic memory shouldn't let him. He shouldn't be able to—or, well—maybe his subconscious deigned it unimportant and emptied it out the proverbial airlock of his mind. It was admittedly largely inconsequential. He'd been told, surely. He remembers he was a Sergeant of some sort from his markings. He also remembers being gawked at by the Primaris, borderline felated by eyes alone. He's Cato Sicarius, afterall. Grand Duke of Talassar and High Suzerain of Ultramar—of course he'd been inspiring awe. But for some warp-damned reason, alongside all those great titles, his Father'd decided to add Master Babysitter of His Ambassador to the list. But Cato does doesn't let it bother him. He's always got better things to occupy his time. Like furiously glaring at you across the thunder-hawk, even if you'd been dead-set on counting the rivets in the floor plating.

You'd looked absolutely idiotic in an Astartes troop seat. Like a toddler in an adult-sized wheelchair, draped in furs that seemed a size too big; hiding a dress that looked a size too small.

Simply put, the entire assignment was to be an event in circle-jerking—until shit hit the fan with all the painful similarity of a Nurgling thrown headlong into a thruster engine.

To begin with, it was a trap—a trap where he's separated from brother-Sergeant 'whatever-the-fuck-riel' in the commotion and responding bolter fire. That'd left Cato pointedly responsible for evacuating you, the useless little chatterbox, by the scruff of your fuzzy coat through side halls.

On another note, of all the accursed biomes, he hates tundras the most.

Pointedly, it's exactly what seventy percent of this backwater, shit-hole planet is this time of year; whereas the other thirty percent is glacial mush.

He discovers firsthand just how much sloshy ice-water there is to be found as he kicks in a shutter door and gets doused for the first time of many to follow; only to vault from the eastern rampart. Sliding down a long, raised and sleet covered run-off canal that passed over the keep's lesser residential rooftops with you in his grasp.

Melt water soaks you both as he scrambles fights to a halt on the steep decline before the drop off. Wobbling balancing on the edge for a second before he manages to scud back up and down a side chute, worming through the raucous hellscape of filthy baselines and too-tight alleys into the scrappy frozen wilds.

There was little time to hesitate when he decides breaking into a dead-sprint with a soggy ambassador thrown over his shoulder's the modus operandi of the situation.

He didn't stop until he was at least fifteen clicks away, or rather—he only stops when he's able to recognise a spot to hide and await for emergency evacuation.

A half-standing shack. Probably some peasant's hunting hovel. Clearly in poor condition, and honestly, a cave would've been preferable—but he isn't about to pass up the opportunity.

The door doesn't even swing open when he nudges it with his elbow. No, it falls inward, because of course it does, and he grumbles belatedly when it thuds.

The inside of the structure is a damnable mess, but, at the very least, it's dry.

He moves to tug you off his shoulder and toss you onto a pile of rags in the far corner, but he hesitates periodically. Even through his own wet outer attire, he can tell very little body heat is coming off you. His hearing catches on the way your breathing labours below the incessant chatter of your teeth.

Some wretched part of him implores he let you down carefully next to the nested mess of dirty cloth; and for once, he acquiesces to granting mercy.

You curl up into a ball on the floorboards almost immediately.

In his eyes, you're the pict of some drowned rat. The fur coat you'd been wearing over your dress is just as soaked through as everything else. Your hair is full of small, frozen rivulets at the ends, mixed in with powder snow and ice; and all the while, you're whining softly and trying to coil tighter into a fetal position.

He's trying very hard not to just stand there and dumbly listen to your little noises of weakness like a salivating dog.

Instead, Cato turns and lifts the door back into place against the frame; then he activates the honing beacon on his belt.

No latency pings, no close contact.

He grumbles again, eyeing your shivering form over his shoulder begrudgingly.

He hates you.

He hates that he's the one who's responsible for you.

The fact he is also currently out of his power-armour because of this charade only makes him even more irate, impossibly.

Sure, he has his combat bodyglove on under the tacky regalia, but it's no real consolation. He'd feel a lot better if there was a couple extra hundred kilos of plasteel and ceramite on him.

He could've had his armour on, had someone else been the one to babysit you.

He would have preferred anything but sole custody of your wretched, annoying existence falling on him. But because he's the only competent Astartes around ninety percent of the time, and you're the root of all problems—it means he's the only one who's capable of handling your stupidity. He can't even imagine letting anyone else do it. You'd probably deafen Trajan with your yapping if he was in his stead. Or Prabian. And if Titus had watch of you, you two'd probably be—ugh, he won't even dignify the thought. He can't believe the man'd been Captain of Second Company, or how or why Agemman gave the captaincy to him. He understands why Titus'd been struck from most records aside from high clearance. To say nothing of the fact that one would think being a Blackshield for a century would humble someone. But no, it seems crossing the Rubicon Primaris gave him his balls back.

Cato had almost flown into a blind rage when he'd heard him jokingly warning about rough weather to you on the embarkation deck the last time you'd been in each others general vicinity—because oh, of course Lieutenant Titus is suddenly a subsector-renowned fucking comedian as soon as you're there. Cato ought to subpoena the dribbling Inquisition like that little snake Leandros did. See how Titus'd like a real stage to perform on again. Maybe they'll have a new rendition of the cunted Rubicon Primaris to piece his sorry fat-arse back together once more by then. But he won't. He won't because Marneus would sulk, and Cato would feel bad. Plus, Cato's infinitely more likely to kill an Inquisitor than help one. But you—you little skank—you find Titus so funny. Hiding a giggle behind your hand, pretending to look demure and professional despite your wretched nature.

Why don't you smile at him like that?

You would be the death of him.

It was always all because of you. Every single time. Because you're so useless in any situation that can't be rambled out of. Which is all of them when you're involved, in Cato's opinion. His Father should leave the talking to professionals who wouldn't break a hip from a smack on the rear.

But now you are going to die of hypothermia, like a typical, pathetic little baseline—well, unless you start following his orders.

Cato tries not to think of how you were acting when rounds started going off earlier. Of course, like a spooked animal, you'd been all ears to his commands then. Hiding against him with your hands pawing at the side of his dress uniform as bullets careened across the dining hall, looking up at him with those big, terrified, caught-in-the-crosshair eyes—and, Throne, it had been so easy to pick you up. You were so soft flimsy, he could fling you around like a rag-doll if he really wanted. Manhandling you would be a singlehanded venture. He's liable to just hoist you up whenever you think yourself bold enough to bother him next. Grab you by your uniform's scruff and just pin you against a bulkhead, you'd be bent at the perfect height to—no—no, no.

Abruptly trying to distract himself, Cato draws his blade from it's ceremonial sheath and activates the disruption core, trying to stoke some sort of heated spark as he drove it into the fireplace.

He brutishly nudges it amidst the old wood and long dim coals. It isn't his finest moment of critical thinking, but it seems to be working; seeing as a few weak embers sputter to life.

Gratingly, he's aware that even a servitor would've known starting a fire in hostile territory was a fool's surest way at getting caught—but he has no other choice. Either he acts the moron and plays his poor hand, or you die from the shock of your chill; and if that happens, he'll have to face his Father's wrath.

And Guilliman would have his left testicle as a paperweight if you died under his watch.

In conclusion, if Cato is to choose between stupidity and complete failure, he's opting for stupidity. Which aggravatingly felt like an ongoing occurrence, ever since you started existing anywhere near him.

He reaches for your soggy swaddled form, and tugs.

Even practically hypothermic, you've still got enough of a two-faced-bitch's spirit hidden away in you to hiss and swat at him blindly. So much for his Father's claims you were of 'sweet, kind temperament.'

For a moment, he genuinely wants to throttle you for the outburst; but he swallows down the urge.

"You need to get out of those," he snaps, glowering down at you. "Or you are going to die."

Your response is a poignant little groan as you glance dizzily around the room.

Cato huffs, "There are blankets beside you, fool."

He holds up a dingy plaid throw, half fraying and stinking of stale mould. It was an assault on his vomeronasal organ, but he wasn't about to let you act the typical spoiled cunt routine of an Imperial ambassador. He would have you wrapped in it sooner rather than later, wether you liked it or not. You dying reflects poorly on him, afterall.

"T-T-Turn, p-p-please—" you say, but your stammering mangles the words into a juddering mess.

He growls, almost tempted to snarl something about 'the fucking audacity in thinking you can tell him what to do—' but acquiesces out of sheer force of will and pivots on his heel, settling into a martial line stance.

Cato can hear you struggling to wriggle free of your clothes. The whines of effort and heavy breathing, to say nothing of the almost comedic slop sound one miscellaneous article makes as it hits the rotted wooden floorboards.

Even if he's taking it to his grave, he's admittedly itching to look over his shoulder.

It's a completely degenerate urge.

But he's—he's wanted this. He's wanted this exact opportunity.

He's got it, now.

You're alone with him.

Nothing and nobody to distract or detract from your attention finally being all on him.

You make a fey little groan, and he takes that as a signal you're finished.

He rounds about-face, and, for lack of a better word, ogles the shape of your covered form.

You've dragged that pile of rags closer to the meagre fireplace, lying on it with the plaid blanket strewn over the top of you.

Even completely hidden beneath, he can see you are still shaking under the ratty thing. Even moreso than before, in all actuality. He supposes that's a good sign. It proves your feeble body is still well and keen on living.

But the suffocating concept you're bare weak, soft useless and needing pathetic underneath that scrap of fabric worms its way into his brain like a cancer.

He grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.

Tearing his gaze away, he finds the embers his blade coaxed are a small flame eating away at the old timber now.

Looking back, your shivering's subsiding, but your rapid breathing is increasing; which is surely not good.

He has an idea, which definitely isn't influenced by depravity at all—shut up.

Cato tries for a moment to actually unbutton his attire. His fingers are too large, unsurprisingly. And with the body-suit, he's got no leverage of a nail or two to do away with the dainty fasteners. So, ultimately, he tears the regalia down the front, sending buttons flying—and continues to pry and rend the sopping garments off his arms and legs until they're a pile at his feet.

Then he sets about a more strenuous matter. He releases the locking mechanism at his clavicle, and promptly undoes the thick claps over his pectorals so he can pop free the catches beneath, peeling the layered material back and shucking his arms and hands loose of their constraints.

The top of his bodyglove hangs around his hips now, and he sighs. The chill is of no real annoyance to him. He's built to endure most conditions. Sure, it's cold—but Astartes run hot. And right now, he's boiling for so very many accursed reasons.

He settles on his side next to you and scuds himself to bracket the pile of fabric.

"Move closer," he bites out.

He tries not to groan when you actually do, and surprises himself when he manages to stifle the sound. Even through the blanket, he imagines his warmth is a welcome change to freezing.

"T-Thank you," you say softly, soaking in his body heat like a banal reptile under a sun's rays.

He likes hearing timidity on your lips.

He supposes it stems from his habit of humbling you. The opportunities are unsurprisingly plentiful. He often finds enjoyment hearing you back-pedal when he would cut you down for so much as genially inquiring on Astartesian discussions. Putting himself in the middle and shutting you out, even if you were welcomed in them prior to his arrival.

If you want to ask something of his Brothers, it'll be his answers.

All it ever took was a growl and a curt reminder to know your place. Then you'd fumble and take two steps back. Snipped down to size as you ought to be. Forced to suffer an ounce of the shame he feels. Oh, and then your big doe-eyes'd cast down at Cato's ceramite boots, fussing; trying to apologise to him.

In truth, it's adorable pathetic to watch.

You look so hurt.

It's an act, he's sure of it.

You play at being difficult to anger, and that makes you just that bit more grating. You've unknowingly caught him with an unfair advantage. One that his prowess as a statesman and a warrior cannot seem to scratch. He's always left feeling robbed in your presence. In a way that furiously giving in to the alien urge of palming himself afterwards doesn't ever fix. He's toey and irked to be excluded when you talk to other Astartes, but simultaneously darkly glad that you shy from such antics with him.

It's paradoxical, yes. But no, he's not a hypocrite. Though some part of him is scolding him for being one. No, he's aching to sink his proverbial claws into you—though he won't ever say it to a soul. He won't because he knows he's not supposed to have tastes such as this. A pit in his gut taunts that the stint he'd suffered in the Warp is to blame. But he's the commander of Roboute Guilliman's Victrix Guard. He is not aberrant. The sidelong, fraction-of-a-second glances Cato receives from his Primarch when you enter his office to give briefings surely mean nothing.

It's clear why you have his Father's favour, but he'll never admit that either. Aside from Guilliman's desperation to find baseline company for some strange reason. You're surely just a pet to him. Like a small rodent he pries off a little wheel and sets out in a clear sphere to roll about on the bridge, or something.

To say nothing of his brothers' behaviours.

They won't show it in a group, but he knows the Astartes beneath him preen at your every query.

It's complete lunacy.

It's heresy.

You must have somehow beguiled them all, just like you've done him.

But you're still right there—right where he wants you.

And damn it all, does he want you.

He wants—he wants you on your front, squirming underneath him. No, wait, he wants to see you—but then you'd need to be on top. He can watch, like that. Then afterwards he'll have you on your back, perhaps. Why not sideways? You're already like that, now. Or—or... who's he kidding, he'd take anything, and everything.

Throne, he's so hard he swears he is going to have a brain haemorrhage. He feels like he's already had one, honestly, for all his thoughts are hazing. It's a million leagues worse than the time you'd accidentally called him 'Lord Sicarius' by accident instead of your usual choice of 'Commander' and Throne, he'd rubbed himself raw after that.

Maybe if you weren't such a whorish little wretch, his fantasies wouldn't be running so rabid right now.

You wriggle and your half-covered back slides up against his front.

Cato's never held himself stiller in his life.

Your skin feels like fine silk to his spiralling mind; and even worse, your damnable wriggling doesn't stop. You start making little movements with your feet to try to get circulation back in them—and again, there's a fey similarity to your behaviours and some soaked rodent he recognises.

Decidedly, you've realised it's not enough and promptly jut your feet backwards between his quads. Still continuing the motions, but more furiously.

The touch is dangerously close to the cradle of his inner thighs.

He swears he actually feels the blood drain from his face in mortification. The touch is meagre, but it's real. It's more warming than any he's ever known. And of course, to add insult to injury, that blood drains straight to were he's already painfully hard—which is currently pushed against his navel, halfway jutting out of his bodyglove's zipper.

Thankfully, you withdraw yourself from between his legs and sigh again, snug.

Then, you shuffle closer.

Your rear scuds right up to the swell of his confined cock.

Cato's immediately beside himself in an instant, flying into a rainbow of emotion. First, he's disgusted. Then he's seething at the audacity—which makes him furious—and finally, he's... he's ecstatic.

He groans, raring like some rutting animal; but the sound ultimately leaves him as an angry, subvocal snarl of transhuman harmonics.

You flinch, and wriggle away sharply, and he repeats the sound again at the loss of contact. You're only a hair away from being there still, he can feel how close you are—but you remain just beyond him again.

"My—my apologies, Commander... I-I—" you blurt out, voice still a little chill stuttered, "I didn't... I didn't mean to overstep."

He inhales steadily. He notes you're doused in human stress hormones; but he's acutely aware of a honeyed smell just below the surface. It's so suffocatingly sugary it's actually hurting his nose to scent the air. It's addling his thoughts, turning his focus to mist.

He can smell you failing to juggle all the reactions and thankfully rottenly settling for the one that makes you reek of mollasses.

"Come back, shut up," he hisses. "And stay still."

Sweet-stink radiates again before you swallow sharply.

There's an eternal breath of time in which he's about to go mad with anticipation, and the instant you're slotted against him again.

Some base urgency sends him frotting forward, and the thick, leaking head of him that peaks out the top of his zip brushes against a warm cunt; all thanks to that blanket of yours having slipped loose slightly, and lo, the blessed horrid consequence.

He'd live off the way your surprised gasp makes his nerves thrill.

"Is—" you wheeze, "Is that...?"

He grimaces, unsurprised you're ever stupider than you look. Recklessly, instead of lying—instead of saying 'no, it's a combat knife,' his mouth decides he's to act the most pathologically honest town crier alive.

"It," he intones sharply, before the words "...is your fault," leave him as a rushed hiss.

A belated pause wins out for a moment, and he's mortified as he realises what he's just confessed. There's a leaden feeling at the back of his throat. One option to recover the situation is that he could just hit you on the head. What'd be a shiner of a punch to a brother would be a terminal concussion to a baseline. Then, he'd tell the Primarch, oh yes, you died. Very sad. How? To shreds. To shreds you say? Truthfully, he can't really bring any actual conviction to the plan. He wouldn't. The notion is merely a hypothetical, in a perfect world where violence solved everything. Because if you die, Guilliman will send him to an Agri-world to be some peasant's plough-puller or someshit for a few centuries—and Cato's going to kill himself before he has to suffer that indignity. Uriel would never let him live it down. He's bound to suffer the same consequences, ultimately. Even if he's got no idea what an Astartes with a sex drive would be liable to be punished for. Oh, right. Corruption. So now, there's a credible witness to his flaw and one that his Father'll believe, worst of all, and... abruptly, you reply instead of scream in revulsion, your voice a mumbled little squeak as you say, "I didn't know—I mean, I didn't think—"

"Believe me, I am well aware you lack the capacity to think," Cato cuts in, and swallows down a snort at his own mean spirited joke. He's fucked, and for some reason he's suddenly further struck by the hilarity of the bastard, warp-spawn wiles of fate and chance. May as well be hung for the sheep as for a lamb, he decides.

Your breathing gains a shallow edge, and he feels you make as if to inch away again.

"I said not to move," He growls, and keeps you flush against him—holding you there by way of folding an arm across you.

"I just... uh," you reply, "I'm just..."

Your ass grinds back against him.

There's contact, your skin against the flushed, drooling head of him that feels painfully tender—and then you ruin it by speaking again.

"Curious, I suppose...? I was of the belief the Adeptus Astartes didn't..." your voice is soft, at least; slow and distracted, "Have an appetite for... this sort of thing?"

Cato momentarily stays fixated on the breathiness of your tone, and has to remind himself he's supposed to be angry at being robbed of silence—so he grumbles, "I told you to shut your trap," and promptly smothers a palm over your mouth.

You make a noise that sounds vaguely like a mumbled curse and settle, breathing hard through your nose to compensate.

Still, your rear presses back against him.

Cato takes the gesture at face value and fusses, roughly wrenching his bodyglove down to his thighs with his free hand.

Unconfined, his cock slaps the small of your back, and he manhandles you to readjust so it glides between your thighs instead.

Everything in place, he skews his hips forward, and his eyes roll back at the smooth, sublime drag of skin against skin. It's genuine perfection, wet and soft and molten.

The little hitched breaths you steal through your nose with each roll of his hips make him grind faster. Pressing closer with each, until the abhorrent, sticky sound of him steadily fucking against you is nigh deafening.

"I go in or I stay out," he says, and he can feel his molars grate against each other as he adds, "...or I can stop."

You shake your head furiously, or at least as much as the huge mitt on your chin, maw and jaw allows.

"Then decide," he snaps. "In?"

Cato hears the cartilage in your gullet move as you swallow dryly and nod.

Chuffed with your allowance compliance, he hums—and then it's his turn to hesitate.

When he draws his hand from your mouth, he curtly says, "Stay silent," and starts as if to tell you to arrange one way, then decides against it; dithering uncharacteristically. Then, rarer yet, Cato stumbles his words as he adds, "Move on to y-your front, then."

He doesn't know why he asked for the least preferred option when he'd been deliberating over the hypothetical for so long previously but nonetheless you, miraculously, comply without complaint. And despite himself he frustrates as you roll, his cock slipping away from between your thighs.

Draped in covers, he can't see much of you aside from the shape of you slowly arranging onto your hands and knees; before your chest sinks, and your ass stays up.

Like a rabid dog, he scrambles onto his haunches and scuds over behind you.

He's not entirely sure what to do first, and harrumphs.

In answer, your back arches even further in a dangerously luring bow, a display of willingness whorishness that turns Cato's thoughts to mush. Ass up and still in the pile, covered in blankets and rags, it's painfully easy to tug you from them just enough so that a decent portion of your raised lower half is exposed to him.

All he's able to comprehend the very next instant in some hind-brain, primitive way is a shapely ass, and a pretty pink cunt.

He grabs your hip, and the size comparison is so stark his head swims. With the span of one hand, he could palm a whole globe of your rear.

He does just that, and spreads you to take a nice long look.

You've a glossy sheen of clear slick that's starting to string down where it's collecting between your labia, and Throne—it's that. That's the sweet smell. And it's all for him—you're everything he's wanted.

Inspecting, he finds the hole leaking lubricant and a much, much smaller one below it—the vagina and then the urethra, he reasons by way of thinking back on a baseline biologis graphics; and, eyeing lower to a hooded fold, he finds a swollen little nub.

Pointedly, he's got a suspicion of what it is and turns his curiosity to it.

It's an easy target for his large thumb, even as slippery as your lust has made you, and—

A shaky little keen, then your knees pull together; body curling.

"Keep your damn legs apart," he grunts, wrenching them wide, and splaying a big palm on your ass to lift you into an arch again.

He's tempted to just bask in the glory of it all, grope, smack, lick—make you beg for it until he's sure you know he's in charge. Until you're as high strung for him as he's ever been for you. But he's frenzied, and well beyond being able to linger on those broader wants; not when he's got an Ambassador to fill.

He's aware of what your clit's really for now, and keeps rolling the pad of his thumb over it until you're squirming. It doesn't take long until your hole is visibly twitching. Nothing but a sloppy, wet mess of your own whorish excitement for him, as you ought to be. Cato bites back a longing sigh as he gets the delight of watching a fresh rivulet of slick string down your thigh.

And when he works up the gall, he jams that same thumb to the hilt in your cunt.

Your insides squeeze around it, and you start shaking, then. But it's not from the cold. No, anything but that. You're warm now, and he's deliriously happy to find you're as soft inside as the rest of you looks and feels. Warp damn him, he's no better than some slavering genestealer wretch fiending for its pound of flesh.

Your smaller baseline frame makes every part of him look huge in comparison. Even his thumb is big. And you're so much less—and the fact the disparity is so glaringly obvious plays havoc with his brain; but he's got an idea. An idea that he refuses to acknowledge sounding painfully like a boarding action to him.

With little tact, he sidles up and positions himself so his tip slots right against you, while stretching your opening with his thumb.

Lining himself up with his other hand, he nudges your entrance, smearing precum in with your wetness while inching forward; sliding his thumb out in tandem with pushing his cock in—and his efforts succeed.

Cato's transfixed watching the head of himself fill the gap, sliding in—and you let out a muffled yelp, still half-buried in the blankets like some stuck animal; your thighs juddering as you suck in air.

Honestly, he's glad you've smothered yourself like that, because he can't imagine keeping it together if you were actively watching him. He thinks the stark reality of it would have him run right out of the shack. Even the idea of having your pretty damning eyes on him makes him swoon sick.

With an over-eager roll of his hips, a shiver races up his spine. But he earns a cry from you.

He takes a deep breath.

There's a twinge of pain-smell and the vaguest hint of blood in the air, but it's impermanent compared to the amount of lust.

He pushes a little more, and you ripple internally around him; making a racketing, breathless noise—twitching before slacking, and then twitching again. A few perfect little moans escaping you at last.

Abruptly, all he's able to give a fuck about is the sensation of wet and hot, and how you're finally all his—it's a strangling fit, but it's satisfying a craving bone-deep. Infinitely better than his war calloused hands.

You feel sublime, and it's pure bliss finally getting what he's wanted for so very long.

All those rest cycles wasted furiously humping into his own clenched hand, all those hours of torment seething about your latest unintended slight against him.

He's so dazed by the new sensation he's massaging small circles with his fingers on your flank, humming lowly. Who would have known all he really needed was to hilt in a warm, velvety, absolutely sopping wet cunt to come around to you? Maybe you're not so bad afterall. That is, for an insufferable little cock-sleeve; but it's nothing Cato can't grin and bare. He can almost imagine tolerating further babysitting assignments, if it means he can use you as a hole to ram his frustrations into like this.

He continues petting you, absentmindedly.

But the involuntary mercy didn't stop you from jackknifing when he bucks in more—each little motion seating him deeper and deeper. He's stunned he fits. You're so... small, and Throne, he feels monstrous even fixating upon the disparity; nevermind the shiver that races up his spine at the thought.

He yanks you backward and you stop squirming for a moment.

When your wriggling starts up again, he holds you still with the sheer willpower only a neurotic control-freak could muster. He stops your motion, yes—but your insides also stop shivering around his cock and he's resentful of that.

Nonetheless, you make to move again then, keening and bothering him; but you're seemingly struck daft when he bottoms out at last, hitting your cervix. Your internal muscles tense on the intrusion, practically cramping around him, blinding him with ecstasy for a heartbeat as you clench down hard; and a squeak of surprise escapes you. Your legs lock stiff for a moment, air venting out your lungs in shock.

You garble out a sweet, hoarse curse that sounds more like a sob than anything.

Cato supposes the theatrics are what an orgasm on something his size does to a woman. And he finds he's appallingly keen to see and hear you do it again. Keen to feel it, too. He adjusts himself and grinds, making sure you're getting every bit he's got to give. It's no small feat of restraint from Cato to not simply drive into you with all his might like a hydraulic press.

Maybe that'll make your tight little hole cinch up again? He thinks you'd like that. No—no, you should be begging for him to keep fucking you. You should be thanking him while you're at it too, really. Thanking him for deigning to take you to begin with.

Your arch falls away to a prone slump with a whine, thighs trembling, leaving him straining forward to stay in you.

He is irate at your antics, now; and his retaliation betrays it.

Cato seizes your hips and yanks you back up his cock, shimmying you a little so he's nice and sheathed and stuffing you full, nigh folded under him. Warm cunt stretched taut around the base of his thick cock, like a perfect scabbard.

He's suddenly absorbed in watching your covered form consciously trying to counter the overwhelming forward mass of him starting to drive into you like he was part battering-ram.

"Better than all those limp-dicked, bastard lordlings you've let empty in you to even chance a cushion near my Primarch's table, hm?" His tone is little more than a scathing drawl, pulling almost entirely out of you just to dip the head of himself in.

You moan into the fabric smothering you, and he holds you with a controlled desperation.

"Answer me, you little shit."

He watches you nodding desperately beneath the cover a second later, failing to get an actual reply out around your huffing and puffing.

Cato groans, "Far keener for Astartes cock, aren't you?"

You nod again, needy.

"Throne, you're pathetic," he chides harshly, delighting in the soft whine of protest you make when pulls out to the tip one last time. "All that haughty bullshit, just to turn out to be so—so easy," then he's sliding back to the hilt and starting his rutting anew, grinding into that perfect spot that has your insides shiver around him again and again. "Isn't that right? This is all you're really good for?"

Beneath him, you're too much of an insensible mess to even think about answering; and somewhere in that depraved miasma of sound, he swears you're trying to say his name.

So, understandably, he inches forward on his knees and boxes you under him. Pinning you under the span of his bulk, two big hands firmly planted either side of your blanketed head.

He can see a few strands of your hair sticking out from beneath it and he can see the fog of your breath and the tip of your nose through a tented section, and only one of your hands—clawing out at the scraps of fabric.

"Prick-dumb animal," he sneers, flagrantly showboating; trying to sound as if he's not feigning lucidity and completely at the mercy of his lust.

He drops from his hands to rest on his elbows, manoeuvring a forearm under your head to prop your chin up. He's so bent over you that your ass is practically glued to his massive pelvis.

You can't stifle yourself now.

The sounds you make when he starts ploughing into you again are unrestrained and absolutely debauched. Practically music to his ears. He can feel your saliva smearing across his arm, and he's absolutely stupefied at the mantra of 'Sicarius, S-Sicarius, Sica-ah—rius—' you start panting. To say nothing of the keening whimpers that escape when you're not crying out for him. Louder with each thrust, and warp damn it all—his perfect memory is never going to let those gorgeous sounds go. He's going to fiend off you mewling his surname like a full dose of battle-chems until he fucking dies.

Cato groans and delights in the involuntary squeeze you make around his cock again; your hips skewing up into his own, meeting him.

He just wants one more thing—he wants—no, needs—he needs to hear you scream his name in that reedy voice. Telling him that you like him playing guard for you, and you're all his and you love hi—

Rather abruptly however, you're cinching down on his cock as you come again. Throne, your cunt may as well be Marneus' clenched powerfist the way you're wringing him for everything he's got. Crying out like you're inconsolable, and so painfully eager and—oh, fuck. He tries to hold off, but it's of little use. The dam cracks, and it's all too much for him far too quickly.

"You rotten w-whore—" the words leave him in between ragged, staggered pants, gritting his teeth even though it's achieving absolutely nothing. "Stop s-squeezing, I-I—"

He's finishing in you the next second and letting out a rough, unbecoming moan instead of the rest of his sentence; despite trying to muffle himself against your shoulder and save face. Emptying all his pent up spend as deep as he can inside you and rutting himself deliriously into oversensitivity. The simple feeling of it is a more profound experience than he can even begin to explain—and he's rendered daft. Fighting just to stay awake against the warm, coddling bliss running rife in his nerves as his muscles twitch.

Still trying to recuperate, he's drunk with afterglow for a few seconds. Head beside yours, sharing the same air and hurried breaths.

In his stupor, he notes that your hair smells nice even after everything. And he tuts softly, resting his eyes. Lulled by the soft sound of your hyperventilating evening out and the continuous, weak fluttering of your cunt around him, hot and tight, and still a perfect fit.

He almost understands why mortal men so frequently fought over baseline women, now.

Almost.

Because then you start squirming again.

Pointedly, he opens his eyes and begrudgingly lifts himself away, slipping free and leaving a big sloppy smear of combined fluids across your ass and thighs as he settles into a kneel.

You're still presenting yourself as Cato scrubs a palm across his face, and blinks slowly.

He glances down for a moment and swallows.

He's hard—still.

Just as ready to rut as he was to start with, despite the fact he's only just finished.

And, much like a beast in season, he genuinely contemplates another round—what would be the harm, anyways? He could be sliding himself back into you, right then, and he doubted you'd do anything but buck up to meet him. So much for some diplomatic prodigy. You're little more than a mewling wreck. And what better way to prove it than another wet layer of your mixed fluids on his cock?

A soft sound escapes you abruptly and he looks back to the place he's itching to slam back inside of.

A few fat rivulets of his cum drip out your abused entrance, but you're too well-screwed to even care, it seems.

He thumbs one of your folds aside and smiles smugly at the mess.

You poor thing, it must be so humbling to be put in your place. He hopes it felt good. Having your better's cum leaking out of you like a banner on a conquered fortress.

He's tempted to stuff his spend back into you and give you another load to drip. Let it leak down your thighs as you pad past his men on the flagship, that'd make them well aware of who you really admire—

At that brilliant jarring thought, blazing post-clarity arrived; an abrupt and unsettling feeling. The fact he'd even—even dignified your almost Slaneeshi-tier temptation—the fact he's raring to go again—he must already reek of your lust, and you of his—and Emperor have mercy, one quick scenting betrays everything, his men would tell their Father, and—you—you groan and worm yourself back under the blanket, likely truly feeling the chill now without his body to warm you.

The urge to say something becomes almost suffocating all at once, and Cato opens his mouth—just to be interrupted by a beep.

Hesitation seizes him, and he eyes his pile of half-frozen attire in the far corner.

Eighteen and a half seconds pass and it beeps again, indicating a second for every minute of arrival estimation.

The tracker beacon has finally done it's job.

But the matter of hastily cleaning up what insanity just happened becomes the real concern now.

Suddenly stuffed to the brim with adrenaline, Cato gets to his feet with Astartesian speed. He tries to take a step but sways, almost toppling. Looking down, he realises himself; and gingerly stoically waddles marches away from you, his bodysuit stuck around his knees. There's a cupboard in the other corner, covered in a frosted cobweb that looks a little like gossamer. Rifling through it provides him little. Most of it's contents are iced through, but a bottle of what stinks like absinthe is good enough, and he doesn't think it matters what he cleans up with. He definitely does doesn't look like a servitor on broken wheels as he scuds on his heels back beside your pile. And if he suffers any more injuries to his ego, they definitely don't include him bungling a kneel and being forced to wobble down on to his haunches. It's not his fault he's mentally accommodating for power armour that, currently, isn't there.

Pausing, he pokes the mound of scraps you're under, trying to rouse you.

When your answer to his 'kinder' effort results in you whining and curling up tighter, he settles for tossing any mercy out the window with a petulant grunt; and identifies the shape of one of your legs and tugs you half-free by your ankle like a speared fish, earning a yelp as the cold assaults you.

Grabbing one of the loose rags in your pile, he saturates it with spirit and scoops you up under the hips, before starting to wipe away the evidence.

You begin thrashing almost immediately when the rag makes contact. Then you're practically yowling, "It hurts, it h-hurts—wait, wait—" and okay—yes, maybe using high proof alcohol to clean the smell and slime of his cum off your freshly fucked hole wasn't his best idea. In his defence, you're one of the most stubborn baselines he's ever met, and you should learn to handle a little pain. Secondly, booze is the only thing that stays liquid at freezing.

"Enough with the bloody caterwauling, woman," he barks, effortlessly holding you steady despite your struggling. "It's not that bad, toughen the fuck up."

When he's done with you, he's actually remorseful of the situation. Certainly not his finest choice. Because now you're sniffling weakly, fussing about the residual stinging; and then you promptly scramble back under the blanket.

"There was nothing else I could use, okay?" He says sourly, scowling at the bundle of fabric you disappear into; before tossing the soiled rag he'd used to clean you into the fireplace to ignite.

He grabs another from the pile and douses it, wiping himself off—and at last, he's finally able to start to pull his bodyglove up over his hips. Wiggling and straining to fit the thick, skin-tight material over his still very much erect cock.

From the edge of his vision he can see you've peaked your head out to watch as he fixes the sternum latch in place.

He gives you a cursory glance, but nothing more.

He ultimately expects you to look away like the mouse you are—but no, what actually happens is worse. You just keep silently raking him with an expression that makes him feel like he's made of glass and every secret he's ever had or ever known is laid bare.

He can't stand it.

It makes Cato want to sneer at you fiercely in the hopes it would scare you off, remind you he's an exemplar of the Adeptus Astartes and shouldn't be stared at—something, anything except that look.

"Get up," he turns sharply and snorts.

The beeping is once every two and a half seconds, now.

Two and a half minutes, then.

"You let me fuck you," he bites out.

You're sitting now. Covered in one of the larger articles of rags. A tartan, fraying thing crumpled atop you, frowning and looking dejected. Then you open your mouth to speak but promptly stop. He can tell you're trying to form a diplomatic reply, and he grumbles, fuming.

"Tell anyone of this—" Cato's well aware he's being cruel as he adds, "—and I'll wring your little neck, Father's favourite pet or not."

You finally look away.

And he finds he can't stand that either.

So, to souse his bruised ego, Cato decides he's going to burn the shack down as soon as the transport lands and you're onboard.

He also decides he's going to burn that tacky formal tunic of his too, simply because he can.

[awearywritersworld]

stay as long as you need

fushiguro toji x reader summary: toji can't stop hanging around his new neighbor, even though she has a boyfriend. oh well, he knows he's better for her anyway. w/c: 1.2k tags/warnings: hurt/comfort. angst to fluff. domestic violence perpetrated by reader's boyfriend, but nothing terribly graphic; the incident is discussed after the fact, not depicted. implied age gap. protective!toji. toji actually being nice. cliche "who did this to you" moment. fem!reader a/n: WHY IS HE SO HOT??????? I JUST WANT HIM TO TAKE CARE OF MEEEEEEEEE (OR CRUSH ME WITH HIS THIGHS, IM NOT PICKY) on a less unhinged note, thanks for reading!! masterlist

"need some help?"

you nearly jump upon hearing the words, having been lost in your own little world. when you turn around, you're met with a dark haired, well built man and just the sight of him makes your cheeks feel hot.

"oh, i- um," you glance between him and the heavy box in your hands.

he's already taking it from you though, effortlessly balancing it in one hand before opening the door for you with the other.

"thanks," you squeak out, stepping inside your new apartment building.

he smirks down at you, eyes raking over your body. toji isn't exactly the good samaritan type, but for a pretty little thing like you, he can certainly make an exception.

the elevator button lights up when he presses it. "just moving in?"

"yup! third floor. getting everything up there has been quite the ordeal, so i appreciate your help," you explain sweetly.

when the metal doors slide open, he lets you step inside first.

"hm, all by yourself? no boyfriend in the picture?" well, the sorcerer killer has never been one for subtly.

"yeah, actually," you return sheepishly. "he's just out with his friends at the moment."

"that so?" you don't see the look of judgement that crosses his face, though it isn't at all directed toward you.

once you emerge on your floor, toji follows along just a step behind you. he can't help his amusement when you stop at your door. "would you look at that. i guess we're neighbors now."

his head nods toward his own apartment, just two doors down from yours. "oh good! i'm glad this wasn't too far out of your way."

"don't worry about it, wouldn't have been any trouble either way."

you offer him a bashful smile before your door clicks open, revealing quite a few boxes just inside. "you can just put that anywhere, don't mind the mess.. i'm (y/n), by the way."

"toji." he places it on top of one of the other boxes, honestly impressed that you managed to get so many upstairs by yourself. "can i have your car keys?"

he thinks the look of confusion that crosses your features is just too cute. "what for?"

he chuckles because it should be obvious, but clearly you aren't used to being taken care of. "to get the rest of your boxes, princess."

~~~

the next afternoon, toji answers a knock at his door and finds you on the other side. you've got a plate of fresh cookies in your hand, which you shyly offer to the tall man. "these are for you. thank you so much for all your help yesterday! i couldn't have done it without you."

"thanks, you didn't have to," he tells you, although he's happy you did. when he pulls them from your grasp, his hands brush yours. he invites you in, insisting he can't enjoy them alone, but really he just wants to get to know you.

and he does. over the next few weeks, you spend a surprising amount of time in one another's company. whenever he bumps into you in the hall, he'll chat with you for a while, even (or, especially) when he's running late to a job.

one day you mention that a shelf you ordered came disassembled, so he offers to come over and put it together for you. of course you show up at his door the next day with a new plate of cookies.

another morning, toji groans when he discovers that he's out of tea, but quickly realizes it's the perfect excuse to knock on your door. when it swings open, he swallows thickly, taking in your tiny shorts and thin tank top. it was obvious you'd just woken up.

you're no better than he is with the way your eyes trail over his fitted tshirt, then down to the sweatpants that hang loosely around his waist. you're both too preoccupied staring to notice the other doing the same.

"mornin', sleepy beauty," he says with a lopsided grin.

"good morning, toji." you return his smile, your greeting a saccharine melody to his ears. oh, the things he'd do to have you all to himself.

he explains his predicament and you're more than happy to invite him inside. you both sit at your kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea and chatting about your day. the domesticity off it all leaves a pleasant taste in his mouth, which is bizarre seeing as up until a few weeks ago, he'd have found the thought down right repulsive.

but he just can't get you out of his head. you're too sweet for your own good, too young to know what you deserve in a man, and he's more than willing to show you.

he knows you're not available, but makes no attempt to stifle his growing fondness toward you. after all, he'd only ever seen your boyfriend once.

you were returning from a rare afternoon out just as he was leaving to pick up something for lunch. you looked so good in your cute little dress that he hardly even noticed your boyfriend at first.

"hey, (y/n)," toji greeted you. "who's this?"

he didn't give you a chance to speak, just pulled you into his side. "her boyfriend."

"ah," he leered, his nose crinkled. "i wasn't sure since i never see you around."

your eyes flickered between the two men somewhat nervously. toji towered over your boyfriend, a feat he took great satisfaction in.

a humorless laugh came from your left. "prefer to have her over at my place."

toji didn't respond right away, just looked down at you, taking note of your quietness. he briefly recalled the time you mentioned how much it bothered you that your boyfriend never came to visit, that you always had to make the effort.

"right.. well, you're a lucky man." he looked much more smug by then, his head falling to the side. "your girl has the best cookies around."

toji moves past both of you without waiting for a reply, roughly clapping your boyfriend on the shoulder. "see you around, (y/n)."

~~~

nearly two weeks later, toji's leaving his apartment late in the evening, as his current job can really only be taken care of during the nighttime hours. he doesn't expect to see many people in the halls, so he's surprised to find you at your apartment door.

the hood of your sweatshirt is pulled over your head, obscuring your face from his view. "(y/n)?"

you don't respond, so he takes a step toward you. it's only then he notices the way your hands are trembling, struggling with the lock. he reaches out, but when his fingers brush your arm, you jump back as if you'd been completely oblivious to his presence.

"hey-" he begins to say, but stops once he sees your face. his eyes darken and his jaw tenses, the veins in his neck becoming more prominent as a result.

your cheekbone is bright red, a small cut stretching across the center of the mark. your eyes watch him, wide and fearful, and you're all but frozen in place.

"who did this to you?"

he's struggling to keep his composure, the sight of your bruised face enough to have his heart hammering away angrily in his chest. you look away, tears forming in your eyes, and you can't bring yourself to respond.

"was it him?" he presses.

you nod, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to keep from crying. "i-it's okay, though. he didn't mean it, really, and-"

"look me in the face and try that again."

you meet his gaze, somewhat unwillingly, and whimper. "i.. i can't."

he sighs quietly, his job already forgotten for the night, and moves toward you. he remembers how you flinched away from him just moments ago. "..can i touch you?"

you nod once more and he hesitantly pulls you against his chest. it's getting harder and harder to keep your emotions in check, especially with the slow circles his hand is drawing on your back.

"i was so scared, toji," you finally admit, voice barely above a whisper.

"i know, but you're safe now. won't let 'im touch you ever again," he promises, fully intent on keeping it.

his words push you over the edge and you grab at his shirt as you begin to weep, your knees buckling beneath you. he supports your weight, rocking you back and forth. "you're okay. it's going to be okay."

after a minute or two, he finally hears you take a shaky breath and relief fills his chest at the sound. "see? just like that, baby. in and out."

you do as he says and after a few more breaths, he pulls away from you and takes your hand. "c'mon. let's get you cleaned up."

leading you into his apartment, he goes straight to the bathroom. you gasp when he grabs you by the hips and hoists you up onto the counter before searching for his first aid kit. when he pulls it down from the cabinet, he moves to stand between your legs.

grabbing you by the chin, he tilts your head to get a better look your injury. the redness is already transitioning to a darker hue and he knows it'll look even worse tomorrow.

"gonna clean the cut, okay? it might sting."

"okay," you sniffle.

he rips open an alcohol wipe, dabbing it gently against your cheekbone. when you wince in pain, he offers a quiet apology, but he's finished before long, having applied a bit of ointment as well.

"thank you," you murmur.

both of his hands find your thighs, resting on the area just above your knees. "don't thank me. not for this."

there's an edge to his voice, but you know it's not directed toward you. your hands settle on top of his own, quelling his anger for the time being.

"you know," he grunts, his gaze lingering on your cheek before it shifts toward your eyes. "i could never lay a hand on you."

his expression is much softer now than it was in the hallway and he savors the small smile that tugs at your lips. "i know, toji."

as he looks down at you, he knows he's done for. hell, he's known it for a while now. you deserve to be adored. taken care of. made to feel good... and toji is more than confident in his ability to do so.

for a fleeting moment, he considers the fact it wouldn't be hard to find out where your boyfriend lives, to make sure he never raises a hand to you again, but your gentle voice pulls him from his thoughts.

"can i stay with you tonight?" you ask meekly.

"yeah, 'course.. you can stay as long as you need."

jjk taglist: @torusmochi

[amoristt]

This is so self indulgent but Kang dae-ho headcanons about him having a girlfriend that's muscular please! Like, stronger than him type muscular（＾ω＾）

dont ever be scared to be self-indulgent!!!!!!!!!! i LOVE this request bc i am currently in my Muscle(TM) era so this had me like 👉🏽👈🏽 im kinda relating it to real life bc my partner and his friends cant keep up with my leg day LOL

kang dae-ho with a muscular girlfriend

oh my god. this man would be crazy for a woman able to bench him. don't get him wrong- Dae-hoe loves to be the tough guy. the pride he feels from being a marine at his young age, and his passion to keep those around him safe ring true at all angles. he loves to be the protector, and he's got all these self-indulgent daydreams about being That Guy.

but. something about seeing you, with your pretty smile and even prettier laugh, start lifting weights he tops out at for a warm up? it does something to him. it really, really does. he kind of wants you to toss him over your shoulder and squat him.

some guys would be put off knowing their woman could give them as ass whooping, but not Dae-ho, because man does he love when you show it off. arm wrestles, pushup contests, anything. especially if it humbles some jackass. it makes him beam with joy watching his girlfriend kick ass. he's the cheerleader and you're the star quarterback.

he thinks that you're soooo freaking hot. like sometimes he looks at you and can't believe you give him the time of day, let alone let him hang around.

loves your gym outfits. specifically the baggy hoodie, shorts combo. when you send him pics and outfits of the day he eats it UP. thats his mf woman

knowing you're stronger than him doesn't ever stop him from playing tough guy, though. it's in his very DNA. he'd defend john cena if he could. some guy wont leave you alone? he's there ready to throw hands. someone's talking shit about his girl? hell no. meet him outside.

"don't fuck with me, my girlfriend will kick your ass"

you two meet at the gym, naturally. Dae-ho goes pretty regularly on his own but he's the 'head down, heaphones up' kind of gym rat so he never really gave mind to anyone else nearby him. honestly didn't even know you went to his gym until one fateful, fateful day. he's one part of a trio of buddies that day, spending more time chatting and goofing off than actually doing his sets. he's showboating, overloading his plates and damn near throwing his back out more than once. he loads a barbell up with 345lbs onto his shoulders and cranks out a single squat. then two. once he drops down for the third, he locks up. it's then he realizes how many leg days he's skipped. he can't bring himself up right. his friends aren't paying attention and he was an idiot who didn't have a spotter. his options are fall forward, and risk the bar hitting him in the head, or fall backwards and feel the embarrassment of a hundred eyes all on him at once. he's struggling to balance it, every muscle in his body tensing, when suddenly the bar is lifting. he lifts to his feet and there's a set of hands off to his left helping him set the barbell back onto the rack. expecting his friend, he turns and goes to chastise them for not paying attention and helping sooner, but then he see's... you. before he can apologize for talking to you like that, you're already smiling at him and teasing right back. maybe you shouldn't have loaded too much, huh? he's flushing bright red, stammering out a laugh and rubbing the back of his head. you're cute- and your voice is like honey to his ears. his friends are snickering from other machine, watching the entire ordeal, and he feels that flaming blush race down to his neck and chest. he doesn't know it quite yet, but he's smitten. he goes to start peeling the plates off the racked barbell but you stop him. and then, slack jawed and wide eyed, he watches you crank out an entire set. you heave the bar back onto the rack and then, he gets to watch you add MORE weight. he's not even trying to act like he isn't staring, completely gobsmacked. his friends are still horsing around elsewhere and he's stunned into place. you take a sip of water in-between sets and before you can put your headphones back on he can't stop himself from talking to you. he literally isn't even thinking when he catches your attention, feeling shy, but he can't help it. he has to talk to you- that was the coolest shit he's ever seen. its humbled him. changed him. he just watched you squat two of him over your shoulders like it was nothing. he can't even feel his pride take a hit either, he's entranced by you. you both have a great conversation and man, he knew you were cool before, but every time you open you're mouth it just gets better and better. he can't believe he's never noticed you until now. from that point on, he starts to notice whether you're there or not. and he goes crazy out of his way to talk to you- finding little reasons to chat. eventually you start seeking him out too. you ask him to be your spotter one day and he's pretty much head over heels after that. eventually you get each others numbers, then, he pulls the ultimate move. he invites you out to drinking with his friends and you show up but hey, check that out, looks like no one showed up but us! that totally wasn't planned at all, or anything. oh well! you two have a lovely evening together <3

[angellayercake]

Banchetto: Insalata

Papa Emeritus III x Reader

AO3 | Contorno | Masterpost

A caprese salad consists of so few ingredients but as long as they are fresh and ripe they bring the perfect balance. For variety you pick an assortment of tomatoes, blood red heirlooms, green beefsteak and orange roma. The visual appeal of the assorted colours, shapes and texture more than make up for the non traditional choices. Freshly made mozzarella as well, all evenly sliced and then already the preparation is almost complete.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

You are reading. Well, you are trying to read but unfortunately the man sitting across from you is proving far too much of a distraction. It was mid morning, breakfast long since eaten and cleared away. You had joined him as you did so often now and it was barely creeping towards time to begin thinking about lunch. Copia had returned your notes and you were still in the process of working through them, adding sticky notes with your amendments into the recipes to help you when time came to make them. That’s what you should be doing at least.

Instead every few seconds you find your gaze pulled back to him. He is also reading, the glasses he only just admitted to needing perched on the end of his nose. They slip further down every time he scrunches his face at whatever it is he is reading and you have lost count of how many times he has paused to push them up carelessly. Every now and then he notices the smudges left by his fingers and removes them completely to wipe them on his handkerchief as he shoots you a smile. He had let his hair air dry this morning so it falls in soft waves over his forehead. The muted sunlight catches in his silver roots every time he pushes his hair out of his eyes. You think to tell him how good he looks at this moment but you don’t want to break the comfortable silence. 

It’s sickeningly domestic but you can honestly say you have never been happier. The shift was subtle at first as you had spent a great deal of time in his rooms anyway but in a matter of days that time grew longer and longer until you rarely left on more than an errand from morning to evening. He would ask you to sit with him as he worked, join him for meals, linger in the kitchen as you prepared and even once attempting to help you clean the dishes. That is until he ended up dropping a plate in his inattention, the resounding crash making your heart skip a beat in a much less pleasant way then it usually did around him. You couldn’t even begin to be annoyed with him though, his apologetic puppy eyes forcing you to let him off with only a banishment to the kitchen table and a kiss to the tip of his nose.

Affection was easier now, not always so underlined with that awkward tension you had almost become used to. He liked to touch you. To lace your fingers together across the table when you ate, rest his hand on your waist when you stood together, play with a lock of your hair as you spoke, press a chaste kiss to hand or your cheek in passing. You had been hesitant at first to return his affection so boldly but the way he would glow when you reached for him first, his wide smile emphasising your favourite creases at the corners of his eyes, was enough to override your self consciousness.

There was still tension there, hot little frissons if you look into his eyes a bit too long or his body rests a little too close. Part of you wants to chase it but you no longer felt the need to rush. Although unspoken it seems you both chose to relish in this period of getting to know each other better, talking about your likes, dislikes, views and opinions or just existing in each other's company. It is comfortable in a way you never imagined you could be with him but you are more sure now than ever that ‘Papa Emeritus III’ who had led the Ghost project and the church was only a very superficial part of who he was.

There’s a childlike glee in him every time he tells you stories of his life peppered with ridiculous puns and dorky jokes that feels so far removed from the persona you had thought you had known previously. And yet you can see how he thrived as a performer and took to that role so naturally. He puts his whole self into recreating the tale he is telling with animated hands, exaggerated expressions and often silly voices whether he is talking about his misspent youth, rising through the clergy ranks or his touring adventures. You would start to feel very uninteresting in comparison until he would start to tease stories from you. Your worst cooking disasters that have him crying with laughter and disbelief that you could ever make a potato explode. But when he asks you of your family and your childhood you see a sad wistfulness in his expression that makes your heart hurt and you hope that one day he might open up about some of the harder parts of his life as well.

The tolling of the 11 o’clock bell brings an end to your romantic reverie. It is time to return to reality and begin thinking about lunch. You uncurl yourself from the armchair, your movements capturing his attention. He beckons you towards him with a curled finger as he places his book down on the settee beside him. You should go straight to the kitchen but as he has distracted you all morning anyway what is the harm in a few more minutes. You are sure your eagerness is obvious as before you know it you are sitting in his lap with his arms around you. 

‘Where are you off to cara mia,’ he says once you are settled. You slide his glasses up and into his hair, pulling the long fringe out of his face and you can’t resist letting your fingers run through the length until you can play with the strands at the nape of his neck. ‘I have been enjoying you watching me so attentively.’

‘And I was enjoying the view,’ you tease. His deep chuckle rumbles through his chest pleasantly where you are pressed against him. He leans up for a kiss, unable to keep the pleased smile from his face. Your lips ghost over his, barely indulging him but leaning down to continue talking in his ear. ‘I am about to start working on your lunch.’

‘How about an amuse bouche first mia cuocoina?’ He is irresistible when he is like this so you indulge him. You press kisses along a teasing path, his temple, his sharp cheekbone and the tip of his nose before finally reaching his lips. He closes the remaining distance between you impatiently and just as you are about to deepen the kiss a loud knocking rings out through the room. He drops his head against the back of the settee with a huff of annoyance and you have to forcibly remove his hands from your hips for you to be able to get up. You open the door to find a ghoul waiting for you on the other side holding a basket and a note.

‘From Papa Primo, for you Sister.’ They hand it to you before abruptly turning to leave and you see Terzo’s head shoot up in interest as you close the door and turn around.

‘What is he writing to you about?’ He glares over the back of the chair, watching you put the basket down on his desk. 

‘Let me open it and I will tell you,’ you retorted. The basket is heavy and you have no doubt that this is yet another offering from Primo’s greenhouses. He hauls himself up from the settee with an exaggerated groan as you unfold the thick paper and read. 

Sorella it is about time my brother gets out of his rooms and I suspect you will have more success convincing him then I. If I could prevail on you to make us a light lunch and bring it along with him to the rose garden I would be very appreciative. Secondo and Copia will also be joining us as well as yourself if you would do us the honour. 

I will expect you both at noon. 

Primo

Terzo. It will be good to see you. Please do not give the sorella any trouble and do as you are bid. 

Handing the note to him you dig into the basket. Underneath the fragrant bunches of fresh herbs you find it’s filled to the brim with ripe tomatoes in a variety of sizes and colours, probably hand picked from the vine that very morning. 

‘Why do you get a longer note than me?’ He grumbles, squinting at his brother's cursive scrawl, clearly forgetting to drop his glasses back down onto his nose. Circling around him you knock them gently out of his hair so he can at least see even if they land a little crookedly. 

‘Lunch is going to be alfresco today,’ you call over your shoulder as you head into the kitchen to get started, not giving him any chance to argue. With less than an hour to prepare this is not going to be your most elaborate creation but you have some freshly made mozzarella and along with Primo’s offering you have an idea that should be perfect. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The dressing for this salad could be as simple as a drizzle of balsamic vinegar but you do prefer to add a little more flavour. To an old jam jar you add olive oil, honey, freshly pressed garlic and of course the main ingredient, balsamic vinegar. Why a jam jar you may ask? Well the trick with a vinaigrette is understanding that the separate ingredients don’t really want to mix together. You can stir it, whisk it, even blend it but unless you are serving it straight away the mixture will begin to separate. You prefer to give it a good shake to mix everything and your trusty jam jar allows you to do that right before the dish is served.  

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Prepping a quick salad with what Primo had sent you takes around half an hour but you are done with time still to spare. Terzo had disappeared to his bedroom after grumbling to himself about his ‘fratello esigente’ and was yet to return so you took the time to grab some leftovers to make this lunch a little more substantial. There was half a loaf of bread that you sliced up, some stuffed peppers and olives, cuts of ham and cheese and even some pepper taralli that had become a constant request since you had first made them all those weeks ago. 

With everything that would fit packed away in the little basket you go to find Terzo who had yet to reappear. Even with the amount of time you were in each other's company you still hadn’t spent more than a few minutes in his bedroom. You understood, you supposed. It was his one sanctuary away from everything but you hoped one day soon he might invite you even there. The door is open when you round the corner and you see him standing before his mirror, a pile of shirts sitting on the bed next to him. 

‘I’m ready to go Terzo,’ you say after knocking on the door frame. He turns to you with a frown on his face but your attention is drawn to his open shirt. His dark chest hair and olive skin contrast beautifully with the stark white of the shirt he is trying on. He starts to button it from his mid chest leaving an enticing glimpse but you can see his frustration build as he gets further and further down. His once flat stomach now protrudes slightly from his waistband, not enough to have the buttons pull but the shape of his body is visible. He looks incredible.

‘I can not go out like this cara mia,’ he says, turning back to his reflection to scrutinise his outfit. 

‘Why not?’ you ask. You cross the room coming to a stop behind him so you are looking at the same thing he is in the mirror. 

‘Look at me,’ he gestures up and down the length of his body before settling his hands where he seems to be most self conscious. You can’t have him thinking he looks anything less than irresistible for even a moment.You wrap your hands around his waist sliding them under his own,where he is holding his belly. You caress the soft swell back and forth while you try and catch his gaze in the reflection. 

‘I am and I see a happy healthy man who has enjoyed delicious food made for him by someone who lo .. cares about him very much.’ His eyes flash in surprise before he looks over himself again from your perspective, a smug smile growing on his lips. You hope he is just about to accept your compliment and didn’t catch your little slip but you end that train of thought there. 

‘Oh is that so?’ His spark has returned, your compliments feeding his usual confidence in his attractiveness. But there is something else in his expression like he has just figured something out. ‘You like me like this, eh?’

‘I like you. Full stop.’ He preens but you sense that he wants to push you further. Hopefully the time limit you are on will stall him for now. You aren’t sure that you are quite ready to admit how much you have enjoyed feeding him up.  

‘Mmm ok,’ he responds thoughtfully, turning in your arms and pulling you flush against his soft body. He kisses you soundly, chasing your lips every time you try to pull back. Before long though his playful mood shifts as he steps back. He takes your hands in his but otherwise maintains some space between you. ‘There is something we need to talk about though before we go.’

‘What is it?’ There is a hint of worry in his voice but you try not to let yourself speculate. You needed to just listen to what he had to say. 

‘Please don’t misunderstand me when I say this.’ He pauses for but a moment to press a kiss to your knuckles trying to reassure you of his sincerity. ‘Until very recently I have never truly felt my life was my own. I had a set path that I was to walk down and very big shoes to fill as leader and well, you have seen my brothers.’ He is torn between a fondness and frustration that you can understand. ‘No matter what I do I am their fratellino.’ He locks his eyes on yours willing you to understand. ‘This, I mean what we have, I don’t want their input not yet.’ 

‘I understand Terzo.’ It is a relief to know this was all he was concerned about. You had seen for yourself how they had treated him during the intervention you had been witness to. Even though you wholeheartedly agreed with them at that time. You can understand why he would want to keep what you have private, especially so early in whatever it was that was happening. Not to mention you had your own reasons for not wanting them to know.

‘You do?’ You can’t help but smile at the relief on his face. 

‘Of course. I think you are right.’ You had long since stopped worrying about the distinction between your work for him and your relationship but you are well aware of how it might look to others. How unprofessional you were being. ‘Your brothers asked me to do a job and they might not be happy to know that I have taken on additional duties.’ You say with a wink, trying to lighten his mood further. You’re rewarded with his deep rumbling laugh as he pulls you close again. 

‘Si, si. We should review these additional duties. I think I have some additions.’ He leers at you and you can feel your cheeks heat up in response.

‘Stop that we will be late.’ You swat at his chest and get to hear him laugh yet again but it really is time to get going. ‘And I am going to need your help carrying all this food.’

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Now for your favourite part, making it all look pretty. You lay out your slices of mozzarella first, randomly placing them across the large tray you are using for this dish. The slices of beefsteak and heirloom tomatoes next trying to keep the colours balanced. You use the bright orange roma tomatoes to fill in the remaining gaps and then all that is left is fresh basil leaves tucked between the slices. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘Sorella you spoil us!’ Primo says helping you unpack the basket onto the table that had been set up. You had never paid much mind to this shady corner of the rose garden but it does seem like the perfect place for an alfresco lunch. The wrought iron dining set is well kept with only specs of rust appearing on some of the joints between the ornate decorations. Five chairs are positioned around half of the oval table giving everyone a view of the garden. The table had already been set with a plain table cloth thrown over, shining silver cutlery, pretty floral plates and a bottle of red wine, already been decanted, a lace cap sitting over the opening to discourage any tempted bugs. 

‘Oh it was nothing at all Papa. Most of this I had already prepared and the salad was simple enough.’ He smiles at you warmly, his light paints emphasising the creases of his expression. He had taken the centre seat and he gestures you into the seat to his right, patting your shoulder gently. You aren’t entirely sure why you have been invited to this family gathering but it would be rude to question his invitation. 

Secondo is sitting to his left already sipping on a glass of wine but he offers you a smile, a subtle lift of the corner of his mouth before his attention is drawn to Terzo. You glance to your right where he is sitting looking uncomfortable, even hidden behind his dark glasses. He seems to be staring into the nearest bush trying to ignore the presence of his brothers. As you take a seat you try to subtly rest your hand on his knee and give him a gentle squeeze, about the only reassurance you can, given your agreement not to give away the nature of your relationship to his family quite yet. He glances at you offering you a weak smile but he rests his hand over yours before clearing his throat.  

‘Is Copia too busy to join us now?’ He asks, sounding oddly formal but finally looking in Primo’s direction. 

‘He said he would be here,’ he replies calmly as he pours everyone a glass of wine, topping up Secondo’s last. After accepting his Terzo slumps back into his seat nursing his glass. Primo tuts at him. ‘Vieni adesso, Renzo, non vorrai essere scontroso con il nostro ospite, vero?’ He sits up abruptly lifting his glasses so he can glare at Primo. 

‘Quindi è per questo che l'hai invitata? Quindi mi comporterei bene?’ Secondo tries to conceal a laugh at his Italian outburst which only earns him a share of Terzo’s glare. 

‘I have my reasons fratelino, but let’s not argue today.’ He looks at him sternly. ‘Por favore.’

‘Nessun tipo di compagnia potrebbe farlo comportare da adulto,’ Secondo mutters but whatever he says seems to upset both Primo and Terzo. ‘Ey!’ He shouts, rubbing the back of his head where Primo had just administered a quick slap. 

‘None more of that! From either of you, capisce?’ He points at the two brothers waiting for them both to nod in agreement before sitting back down. The four of you sit in silence just waiting for Copia’s arrival but just when it begins to get unbearable you hear a commotion heading towards you.  

‘Sorry I am late,’ Copia calls out breathlessly as he rushes around the corner in a blur of red. ‘Meeting with Sister Imperator ran over,’ he pants collapsing into the chair next to Secondo. He had forgone his cassock today but was still buttoned up in one of his formal suits in spite of the seasonal weather. Clearly one of the perks of being a retired Papa was being able to dress more casually. You are not sure if you had ever seen them dressed this casually during any of their reigns. 

‘Everything has gotten so behind with the Ghost project since, well…’ He trails off glancing at Terzo. He clears his throat, deciding not to continue with that line of conversation. ‘Terzo, Papa, you are looking well.’ 

‘Thank you Cardinal, you look like you could do with a good night's sleep.’ He smiles but it is sharp, Copia’s misstep digging at his still sore pride. 

‘Well, shall I tell you all what is on the menu?’ You interrupt not wanting the awkwardness to linger any longer. 

‘Yes please do, Sorella,’ Primo says, relieved at your quick thinking.

‘What you sent over was absolutely perfect for a caprese salad because just yesterday I had made some fresh mozzarella so that is the main attraction of today’s lunch but I also brought some leftovers we had to make sure no one left hungry.’ You may be waffling slightly but they all listen politely as you point out all the separate dishes. 

‘Yes I see my fratello has not been going hungry of late.’ At least Secondo waited until after you finished but you watch nervously for Terzo’s response but he just relaxes back in his chair smirking at his brother. 

‘You are not wrong I have been kept most satisfied by Sorella.’ His double entendre makes you wince slightly but you just hope they mark it down to Terzo being Terzo. 

‘No need to tell us that we can see quite well, ' he says, patting his own distinctly flatter stomach. ‘Primo you were right to call us here today. We need to help Terzo by eating all of this food so he doesn’t have to.’ 

‘Ah ha,’ Terzo laughs. ‘So this is another intervention then no?’ Primo shakes his head but doesn’t intervene this time, deciding that this back and forth was mostly good natured.

‘Si, an intervention for your growing waistline fratello,’ On the surface it is harsh but you can tell this is familiar ground for them, teasing and competing to one up each other. You imagine there were many similar conversations had when Secondo lost his hair. 

‘I do not mind so much,’ he shrugs, resting his arm on the back of your chair and letting his fingertips graze your shoulder. ‘I think there are plenty of people who enjoy a well fed man.’ You feel your cheeks heat as he says it remembering back to your conversation and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face, gaging your reaction. If you look at him now you are sure your cover will be blown.  Instead you hide your embarrassment by serving out salad between your plates but you miss the pointed looks shared between Secondo and Copia.  

There is a period of peace across the table as they all enjoy their food, the only conversation a series of compliments as they work their way through everything you brought. You are glad you decided to bring all the leftovers as you watched Primo using the last slices of bread to dip into the dressing, the only remains of the caprese salad and Copia groaning and rubbing at his stomach as he polishes off the last of the stuffed olives. 

‘I can see how you got so well fed Papa,’ he smiles in your direction. ‘I feel as if I could burst but I still don’t want to stop eating.’ You smile at his praise but you are pleased to see them all nodding in agreement.

‘Luckily for you Cardinal, all that is left is some taralli.’ You offer them each one, finishing off the last of your supply. 

‘You are lucky I didn’t know she had packed up this,’ Terzo grumbles. ‘Giving my favourite to these idioti.’ 

‘I will make you some more Papa, don’t worry,’ you reassure him. ‘I think I have the recipe down perfectly now if I do say so myself.’

‘Where did you get the recipe, Sorella?’ Secondo asks. He looks down at the taralli in his hand. ‘I can’t say I am an expert like Terzo here, but these taste exactly like the ones I remember. The ones your Madre used to send us, before.’ Before what you wonder? You glance between Terzo and Secondo but this time it seems they are sharing a fond memory instead of making digs at each other. 

‘I just found it online after Papa mentioned he would like them.’ You glance at Terzo but he doesn’t try to stop your white lie. 

‘It’s a shame you don’t have any of her recipes Terzo,’ He thinks aloud while eating his last bite. ‘I’m sure she had made the best food I had ever eaten.’ 

‘It is a shame, yes,’ Terzo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. ‘You know we weren’t allowed to keep anything from before.’ You look at Primo but he is staring down at his plate in defeat.

‘For what it is worth I am sorry ragazzi,’ He squeezes Secondos forearm and offers Terzo a sad smile. You feel like an intruder in this moment and as your eyes meet Copia’s you think he might feel the same. That is until you notice him tilting his head and looking at you deep in thought. You suspect piecing together the translations you asked him to look at with the conversation he had just heard. He takes in a breath looking like he is about to speak but you shake your head as subtly as you can until he clicks his mouth closed. That is a conversation for later.

‘Sorella, thank you for allowing us to share in your exquisite food,’ Primo says, drawing a line under the conversation that had just ended.

‘It is no problem at all Papa.’ You start to gather up the dishes, wishing you had brought another tray so you could give Primo back his basket. 

‘No no, leave the tidying to us please,’ he fusses, taking the pile of plates from your hands and handing them to a disgruntled Secondo. ‘Seeing how you convinced Terzo to actually come outside, why don’t you two go for a walk.’ There is a twinkle in his eye you are sure you have seen before. If the two of you hadn’t been so careful you might think he knew there was something between you. 

‘What do you say Papa?’ You feel like you finally have permission to properly look at him, and he looks breathtakingly handsome in the warm sun. ‘Shall we go for a walk?’

‘If it gets us out of doing dishes then I am in,’ he says, almost jumping up from his chair. 

‘It was good to see you Terzo,’ Primo says to him so softly it could have been missed.

‘It was good to see you all too,’ he matches Primo’s tone looking at all three of the men still sitting at the table for a moment more before turning to you with a dazzling smile. ‘Come now Sorella lets escape while we still can.’

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The dressing you add last right at the point of serving. The jar has one last good shake before you remove the lid and pour it evenly over the whole salad. For some extra flair you start pouring at the centre and swirl until all the dressing is used. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘So that went well right?’ You are some way away from the patio so you risk moving closer, brushing your shoulders together but he doesn’t hesitate taking your hand in his.

‘Ah I suppose those nosey stronzos,’ he grumbles but there is no real bite to it, a reluctant smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

‘You know what I think?’ He only hums absentmindedly in reply, eyes following a butterfly as it dances amongst the flowers. ‘I think they missed you.’ He tips his head towards you giving you what you suspect is supposed to be an intimidating side eye but it misses its mark entirely when all you can see is the soft affection in his eyes and the sun shining off the silver grey strands running through his hair.  ‘And I think you missed them too.’

‘Bah,’ he gestures with his free hand picking up his pace as if to storm off but keeping his grip firm on you so you are forced to come with him. ‘Think you know me so well eh cara?’ It is a challenge but a playful one. There was a moment that you worried that the teasing and prodding of his brothers might have made him withdraw again but it seems that was not the case. ‘Let us see, where in this garden do you think is my favourite place?’ He stops in the middle of the path reeling you back towards him but he drops your hand to fold his arms over his chest. He thinks he has stumped you, you can tell by the smug look he is failing to conceal but you are certain you know the answer.

‘Do I get any clues?’ You ask. He thinks for a moment, tapping at the dimple of his chin.

‘It is the reason I insisted on the rooms I have.’ Maybe he thinks he is being cryptic but now you know for sure, but you don’t want to let on quite yet.

‘Ok so it is near your quarters.’ You affect a look of exaggerated deep thought and he grins at you, glad that you are playing along. Wandering slightly away from him you look about you as if looking for more clues all the while ignoring his suppressed chuckles. When the two of you spend time in his little kitchen, especially now, you spend most of your time stealing looks at one another. So often he has caught him watching you over the rim of his coffee mug except from when his attention is caught just outside his window.  Which not only gave you the chance to admire him as you so enjoy doing, but it also gave you a very good idea about his favourite part of the garden. Just in view of his window was a sculptural fountain depicting the Temptation of Eve.

‘Mmmm you are getting warm,’ he teases as you start to lead him back towards that part of the Abbey.

‘Anything else?’ You are just about to enter the walled garden when he catches up to you. He slides his arm around your waist and pulls you back against him and then lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back. 

‘It’s almost as lovely to look at as you,’ he whispers in your ear. You have to try to suppress the shivers that work your way down your spine but he is pressed so close you are sure he can feel it.  

‘Charmer,’ you chide, stepping away towards the centre of the square. ‘Stop trying to distract me.’ He reels you back in until he can rest his chin on your shoulder.  The fountain dominates the space, the nude figure intertwined with the vicious looking serpent while holding a perfect apple, poised to take a bite. 

‘You can see the fountain from the kitchen,’ you state matter of fact. You can see the very window from where you are standing visible amongst the trailing plants that climb the Abbey walls.  

‘Si and from my bedroom.’ He points towards the larger window at the end of the building as you try to orient the layout in your mind.  

‘Oh it’s like that is it,’ you tease.  

‘Hush I am trying to be sincere,’ he chides but there is no bite to it, not when he skims a kiss against your cheek. 

‘My apologies Papa.’ He clears his throat, the sound jarring in your otherwise soft conversation. ‘Terzo,’ you correct yourself. Happy now he nudges you forward until you are both standing at the edge of the splash pool and you watch for a moment, the ripples overlapping the reflection of the two of you in the water. 

‘Tell me cara mia, what brought you to this life?’ He leads you towards a bench carved into the wall surrounding this part of the garden, helping you to sit comfortably before taking a seat himself. 

‘To the Church of Satan you mean?’ It has been a long time since you thought of your life before the Ministry. 

‘Mmm,’ he hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

‘I was raised in the Christian Church,’ you begin. ‘For the first say fifteen years of my life that is all I knew. As I got older though I found myself questioning. Everything I wanted went against what I was taught and I just couldn’t understand why all these arbitrary rules were put in place to stop people being themselves.’ He nods along giving you his full attention. 

‘The arguments I had with my parents when I told them I wanted to go to culinary school, well it’s laughable now but I felt like my life was ending before it had even started. They were talking about me getting married and starting a family when all I wanted to do was learn and travel and live.’ Remembering that time fills you with that same frustration. They never were able to give you an answer other than it was God’s will and that was not enough for your questioning mind.  

‘So I left. I did everything I wanted to do and then one day I was working at a festival.’ He snorts, interrupting you for the first time. 

‘I can’t imagine you in a burger van,’ he sniggers to himself. You knock his shoulder with yours but that only makes him laugh harder.  

‘I was cooking for the VIP guests, thank you very much!’ You reply haughtily. In all honesty there was nothing wrong with working in a burger van, good food is good food, but you dread to think what mental image he has conjured up of you. ‘And that's where I saw Ghost for the first time and spoke to Papa Primo.’

‘Primo recruited you?’ He looks shocked and you are surprised he didn’t already know. 

‘Well I think it was more like I volunteered and he accepted,’ you explain. ‘He had requested some wacky off menu dish and I somehow managed to make something passable and he came to thank me. I joked about his costume and how I might consider joining if I ever found a real Church of Satan.’ 

‘And he told you about this place.’ he says thoughtfully. 

‘He did! I didn’t believe him at first but I came to visit first for a week or two, but it was like as soon as I walked in the doors it felt like I had found my place.’ You had felt at home for the first time in a long long time.  

‘What about your parents?’ He asks. ‘What do they think about you coming here?’

‘It took them a long long time to accept me straying from the life they wanted for me, even though they still don’t like it.’ They had only really accepted it when you had found success which always seemed ironic to you. ‘My being here? We just don’t speak of it. I’m sure they told all their church friends that I decided to join an obscure convent.’ It was a game you liked to play every now and then, wondering what they said when people at their church asked after you.

‘Ha! But here you are getting seduced by Satanic Popes,’ he lifts his eyebrows, clearly proud of his success in corrupting you from your fictional convent. 

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ You roll your eyes at him but you are relieved that he joined you in finding humour in your strained relationship with your family. But it was his turn to share. ‘Now tell me why this is your favourite place.’

‘I used to come here when I felt lost.’ He looks down at his feet kicking at some lose stones. ‘When you have lost your way there is no one better than the Mother of Sin to help you remember what is important.’ It is a lot for him to admit given his leading role in the church. Many wouldn’t ever believe a man in his position could have ever had doubts. 

‘The bible says she was tricked into eating the apple, that her weak feminine mind was so easily warped by the serpent. But I think she made a choice. Perhaps she realised that if you are threatened and scared into ignorance you will never be free and that people deserve to choose for themselves what to do and what to believe.’ You sense his beliefs are as personal as they are philosophical. ‘Especially when so many things that bring people joy are supposed sins.’ 

You are reminded of sitting in the chapel and listening to him preach every word reaffirming your faith. He was an incredible leader and it makes your heart ache for him that he was removed from that position in such a humiliating way. You don’t voice this though. You have no doubt that these very same thoughts plague him but he is doing so much better now then when you had first properly met.  

‘Enough preaching for one day though I think,’ he laughs trailing off when he realises how long he has been talking and as much as you would happily listen to him talk for hours you let him leave the topic aside. ‘Where is your favourite place in the garden cara mia?’

‘Well that is easy.’ You don’t need to think for even a moment. ‘It’s the moon garden.’ He tilts his head in surprise. ‘I didn’t appreciate it at first, having all white flowers made no sense to me. One of the most beautiful things about flowers is the vivid rainbow of colours. But then one night I was leaving your quarters and I was on the verge of going to Primo and telling him I couldn’t do it.’ You remember that time well even though so much has changed since. Having to fight the urge to quit every time he rejected another meal. ‘You hadn’t eaten a thing and I was so upset with myself.

‘I owe you an apology, I think for being so difficult.’ He mumbles but the last thing you want to do is make him feel bad. 

‘No I mean you had your reasons,’ you say trying to reassure him.  

‘Maybe I did, I felt that I had nothing to live for I suppose.’ It hurts to hear but it isn’t a surprise that that is how he had felt. ‘But I could only stomach so much self pity before I got hungry.’ He winks at you and even this serious conversation doesn’t stop your instinctive blush spreading across your cheeks. 'Thank you for being patient with me.’ He follows the bloom of colour across your face with the tip of his fingers, his sincerity only making it worse.  

‘It was worth it,’ you admit, lowering your voice to match his soft tone. ‘Something told me I should walk through the gardens that night so I did and then it was like I had walked into another world. Every single white flower was glowing in the moonlight and I had to just sit and eventually I knew that everything was going to be alright.’  

‘And was it?’ His hand cups your face and even such an innocent touch has your heart racing as you work up the courage to say what you wish to.

‘The next day was the day you left me the recipe book.’ The moment feels fragile as he looks into your eyes searchingly. It feels good to have cleared the air of so many of your unspoken things. It’s probably inadvisable to allow him this close outside of his quarters but he looks as vulnerable as you feel right now and there is only one thing you can think to do. This kiss reminds you of the first time in the kitchen. The simple action of pressing your lips to his feels so intimate and for you at least, saying things you are far from ready to speak out loud. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Hi hello yes it is me actually updating. Please no one die of shock. I had about 1000 words of this sitting here for the last six months and then suddenly I managed to write it all in the last three days. I want to promise there won't be another six months until the next chapter but who knows what will happen to my brain. Thank you to @ghostchems and @da-rulah for letting me talk about this endlessly and @writingjourney for cheering me on even when I wouldn't tell her any spoilers haha

I hope you all enjoyed and I will be starting a tag list over again because I have no idea who might even want to read this fic anymore so please just let me know if you want to be tagged in the future chapters 💜💜💜

[abbysimsfun]

24 25 Favourite Screenshots of 2024 (Part One)

Only two parts, nothing major, but I got as far as New Year's Day in game, counted 50 total, and decided to do two posts. Part 2 will post on New Year's Eve, but thank you for the tags @hashimasims, @itmeansiris, @rosienthe, @finchfin, @lostinsixam, @matchalovertrait (your post was different but I'm counting it!), @changingplumbob, and @simscici!

All in chronological order, and all from Sims In Bloom since I have no other gameplay!

Above, (1) young Heather meets Sophie the Snail in her Henford hometown without her front tooth, and (2) Heather was the photographer for this adorable shot of her parents, expecting her sister Hazel and cuddling at the Finchwick Fair.

(3) The save's first tragic death was Eliza Pancakes, mother of three and wife of Bob, and I love this picture of them for the starry sky alone, honestly.

(4) Master botanist Daisy with one of many oversized crops she grew in her garden over the years.

(5) Loved this shot of Daisy taking off in a rocket at GeekCon so much I used it to represent her changing careers to full-time astrobotanist with the Sims Aeronautical Space Agency (SpaceY).

(6) Golden hour in Henford in springtime.

(7) Uptown San Myshuno and the San Myshuno Bridge.

(8) Winter in Henford-on-Bagley, with pink sunsets in the sky and wild fox Pawbin Hood in his Sherwood Forest getup in the foreground.

(9) Mortimer Goth married his soulmate, Karl Nesbitt, at their penthouse in San Myshuno. Their guests arrived and had to comply with a new ordinance declaring 'We Wear Bags!' much to my disdain.

But I look back now and consider it one of the more iconic screenshots of the series so far.

(10) Heather checks out the view from Malcolm Landgraab's penthouse in San Myshuno while balancing a plate of midnight French Toast.

(11) The ferry dock from Cavalier Cove to Deadgrass Isle on an overcast day in Brindleton Bay.

(12) A pink sunset backdrop added perfection to this shot of romantic Holly Nesbitt dropping her new hubby, Kris Bell, for a passionate first kiss (totally autonomously).

(13) A wild love interest and his perfect dog appear from the Gallery and enter the game, and everyone rejoices. Especially Heather!

(14) Malcolm Landgraab finally steps up and takes an interest in his son while tired working mom Heather naps in her living room.

It's hard to remember this house before I added the stairs and the second floor, but there it is!

(15) Even with the clipping and the shabby apartment decor, I love this pose. Just feels like they're truly hungering for each other and that was my goal!

(16) I think the lighting is great, but something about seeing Everett so content and proud inside a Gallery build made me love this one even more!

(17) This one's the banner on my tumblr page. It's Heather's house with the second story addition from across Sable Square and the fall colours really do it.

(18) Conrad takes Gord to work with the magic of MCCC and the brilliance of deardiaryts4 💖

(19) Conrad comforting a guilt-stricken Heather after Ash's near-death accident/mod vs update glitch. I just love them.

(20) Alexander Goth nonchalantly walks in on Heather channeling spirits on his mother Bella's seance table, while Conrad worries like mad about his soulmate.

(21) Toddler Ash cuddling one of Queen Cupcake's kittens (who were soon rehomed because five cats was so many. I couldn't keep it up!) Also, King Tut's ghost makes an appearance by the patio door.

(22) Teenage Conrad posing with his parents near the midway in Copperdale - the last trip the Gordons took before his mother's death.

(23) Gord smells the Grim Reaper before Heather and Conrad, who called him on a Grimophone borrowed from Bella Goth, realize he's there.

I've always loved watching him wander up to people unprompted because he's a friendly dog, but sensing the Reaper was a whole new level of amazing.

(24) This Spooky Day photo of Ash with his dad, Malcolm, and stepmom, Miko, was too cute not to include.

Bonus (25) Heather learned she was expecting again after a miscarriage and I love the ultrasound machine cc.

Tomorrow we find out whether Marcus' lead will pan out for Conrad (please, he is tired!), and the second half of my favourite screenshots go up Tuesday!

Part 2 ->

Hope you're having a great end to 2024, and I'm trying to think of whose Top 24/favourite screenies I haven't seen yet for the tag... @matchalovertrait I know you've been tagged a lot but if you want to do this one, too! @dreamyyesenia with your gorgeous screenies, and @purplesimmer455, too!

And anyone else who hasn't done it and wants to, tag you're it. I really enjoyed strolling down memory lane with this one!

[wave2tyun]

eyes locked, hands locked | ☆

pairing: prince!soobin x reader

genre: royal!au, fluff<3

prompts: - “was that your first kiss?”

- “stop looking at me like that”

warnings: none!

word count: 1.3k

a/n: i apologise for the long wait my lovely anon!!😔😔💞 have fun reading hehe!! :DD<3💞💓💖💘💞 honestly, going through this one again really makes me want to have another go at royal aus, perhaps something longer?? but at the same time i have too many wips going on and AHHHHHHHH i wish the fics would write themselves as fast as my thoughts go through my brain<//3

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

there was nothing more besides the cheery, tiny crickets in the grass that kept you company in the coldness of the night.

while everybody else was busy running around the castle, setting food down on the tables or balancing the champagne-filled glasses on silver trays, your one and only job was to watch over the garden’s flower section, careful so as not to let any curious kids wander off around the perimeter and trample all over them in the darkness.

that was how you were supposed to spend your evening: pacing around the cobblestone pathway, watching the moon and stars, feeling your heart ache as the grand classical music pierced the silence at midnight, wondering if soobin had found himself a partner to dance with, to hold close, to court.

you could tell that the chore had been specially tailored for you by the queen: it kept you away from the ballroom, the guests, and most importantly, from her son. she wasn’t exactly fond of the way the relationship between the two of you had been evolving- your presence left a bitter taste in her mouth, she couldn’t risk having you, a maid, impede the royal family from continuing their pure, blue blood heritage.

you were way too absorbed by the dancing silhouettes you could see from the windows -wishing that you, too, could slip inside- that you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

soobin was right behind your back, out of breath, hands slightly sweating while he looked at your figure. he wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you in tightly as he tenderly embraced you “i missed you” you heard him whisper, his breath tickling the back of your neck.

you couldn’t fight back the smile taking over your face, feeling relief that he was alongside you, and not with some stranger, holding them close to his chest, swaying them across the dance floor “how did you sneak out?”

“beomgyu helped me- he made a mess at the dining table while attempting to pull a magic trick” soobin chuckled, remembering the way all the plates and glasses flew in the air as his friend pulled at the table cloth “needless to say, my parents were too astounded to keep their eyes on me”

you laughed at his explanation, knowing beomgyu, the incident must have been much more ridiculous than anything you could ever imagine. he sacrificed himself just so that the two of you could meet. however, the royal family adored him too much to ever throw him out, not matter how chaotic his endeavours were.

“i missed this” soobin placed a kiss on your right shoulder “-and this” he sweetly pecked your cheek, then spun your body around so that you could fully face him. the dim light shining from the lamp poles illuminated your features, giving them a gentle, mellow glow, and, perhaps without even realising it, soobin was leaning closer towards your lips. your breath hitched in your throat as you noticed how short the distance between you was getting, and yet, you allowed him to do it- to close the remaining gap.

you were stiff, anxious, forgetting to close your eyes or at least kiss him back, your mind could only focus on the softness of his lips and how his hand began to trail further down your waist. soobin separated himself from you hesitantly, not too much, only to the point where you could still feel his breath fanning on your face “i apologise, did i go too far-“

“no- that’s not the case” you cut him off. there was a tremble in your voice and it was impossible for him to tell whether it was from anger, sadness, or perhaps nervousness. you tapped your lips with your fingers, struggling the words that wouldn’t make this more embarrassing for you than it already was.

soobin’s head tilted to the side, expecting you to go on further. he couldn’t quite understand why you just stood there when he kissed you, like a statue devoid of emotion. you had always been cold on the surface, mostly unaccepting of any external forces. that didn’t stop soobin from delving deeper inside your heart, he knew that, in reality, behind all your pretending, you were warm, a certain kind of warmth that he’d crave more and more as time went on.

which is why, despite all the distance you had desperately tried to place between the two of you over the years, he still found himself calling out for you. it was inevitable- you were pulling him in like a magnet.

the flowers seemed to pick at his interest only when he walked around the garden with you. maybe because he was all too immersed by your gaze, wanting to find out which plant had your wholehearted attention. maybe it was because he wanted you to look at him that way too- or, maybe he just dreamed of gifting you a bouquet of all your favorite flowers, all handpicked by him from the garden.

the pastries tasted better whenever you were the one who made them, not mr. hughes, the main chef, or any of the other maids. so, each time he spotted a fresh batch made by you in the castle’s kitchen, he’d place one in his mouth stuffing his pockets with at least four more pieces. the butter from the sweets turned the fabric into a dirty, buttery mess, which the maids on cleaning duty loved to complain about. they couldn’t get how, at some point during the week, the pants in his laundry basket managed to reach this state.

he couldn’t deny it, he was completely, thoroughly infatuated by you.

“it’s all new to me” you attempted to reveal the truth, unaware of how vague your statement must have sounded.

soobin continued to look at you with a purely clueless look “what is?” the tone of his voice was a mixture of confusion and concern.

“this” your thumb reached out to graze his lower lip, eyes following the motion. soobin took your hand, holding it against his cheek while smiling.

“was that your first kiss?” his voice quivered as he asked, hiding a laugh. the situation, albeit embarrassing for you, was foolishly endearing for him.

“stop looking at me like that” you dodged his question, returning to your usual, rash behaviour, but soobin knew that you were only doing it out of nervousness.

“why? am i making your heart thump faster?” he whispered, placing a kiss on the inside of your palm “or-“ he leaned down, continuing to speak in a low tone as he reached your ear “perhaps you already want more?”

you gave his shoulder a slight push. where was the flustered boy from a few seconds ago, the one whose eyes widened at the thought of having stolen your first kiss?

“i think you’re getting way too ahead of yourself-”

“i’m not, you’re just afraid” he provoked you, now that it was clear in his mind that you did want the kiss, you just didn’t know how to return it. knowing your ego and short temper, how else could he ensure himself another taste, if not by teasing you?

“afraid of what?” you scoffed.

“of being a bad kisser”

“i’m not-“ your tone sharpened as you looked at him.

“well, how would you know?” he snickered “wasn’t this your first kiss, or am i mistaken?”

by the way he spoke, you could tell that he was enjoying this more and more by the second. catching on to the trap he was leading you to, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt, a tangled mixture of his collar and necklace in your hand as you pulled him closer, pressing your lips to his. you didn’t know exactly what to do, you only puckered your lips, hoping that it was enough to make a difference from your earlier kiss. soobin pulled away with a chuckle, tilting your chin up with one finger “i believe you need more practice, sweetheart”

taglist: @huekalover3000

[campbenji]

so i turn 18 today! feeling sappy so words under the cut in case y'all don't want to read all that

honestly i'm having a really hard time believing so much time has one by. it's been four years since i joined tumblr, and i was fourteen when i really fell in love with jwcc. it sounds like an exaggeration, but this show saved my life. it gave me something to look forward to at a time when everything seemed pointless, a community when i felt extremely lonely. i'm not sure where i would be right now if i hadn't found it.

this year is going to be quite challenging; i've already been struggling balancing high school with other responsibilities, and i can only imagine it'll be more complicated when i start college. recently i've been worrying that i won't be able to keep this blog going much longer if i end up with too much on my plate. i really hope that's not the case. this blog and this fandom have been such a huge part of my life for a long time, it's become my safe space in a way. it gave me a place where i felt comfortable to be myself, i made some friends, and it helped me discover a passion i had long since buried. this is and has always been my favorite fandom to be in, i love talking to everyone about this silly show, you're all really amazing and talented people.

i've made some very dear memories here, and i hope i still get to make many more <3

anyways that's it. sorry for oversharing i'm having a lot of feelings rn

[littlemissmanga]

Good Morning! I’m making some rounds asking for some of this beautiful fluff with a touch of giggle in this prompt list.

So if you would give this prompt a go- "well i guess that answers my question." With Rex saying it?

Have a wonderful day!

Hello dearie!! Oh, I will always put forth an effort for our dear captain! I am making my way slowly through these but thrilled to say I have finally finished this one.

I hope you enjoy!

A Little Something Sweet for Breakfast

Pairing: Rex x short!Reader

Warnings: None, pure fluff

W/C: 1,218

Dividers by @saradika

It was quiet in the mess hall and Rex considered that nothing short of a miracle. The 501st was on shore leave and it seemed the boys had their fill of fun the night before considering it was already 0700 and not one of them so much as stirred from the barracks.

Rex strode across the room, datapad in hand and ready to use this rare peace to finally have a quiet, relaxing meal. But as he made his way to grab a ration pack, a shuffle in the next room caught his attention.

The boys rarely went into the kitchens on base. There was never a need. So, as the shuffle grew into a clattering, Rex prepared himself for the inevitable chaos and made his way over. Opening the door, he took in a breath, ready to use his “Captain” voice to startle whichever shiny was making the ruckus … only to choke on his tongue.

“Oh, Captain! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was awake.”

You were … well, he honestly wasn’t sure what you were trying to accomplish with one knee on the counter, pulling your body higher so your other leg dangled beneath you, arms out to hold onto the sides of the cabinet. Metal cutlery and plates littered the counter and floor around you.

“I .. you …” It was far too early for these shenanigans, and Rex was thoroughly at a loss to find you at the center of it this time. As a civilian non-combat operative, you weren’t as disciplined as his boys on the field, but you were generally respectful and kept yourself out of trouble … despite the efforts of some of his vode to corral you into their latest shenanigans.

Certainly a respectable feat, at least in Rex’s book. And that’s all he would attribute the swoop in his stomach to anytime he’d see you. Respect.

If that swoop were accompanied by a heat in his cheeks at the sight of your smile — particularly if directed at him — or the racing of his heart at the sound of your laughter — even faster if he caused it — Rex never let himself do more than acknowledge it.

He was your superior officer, after all. Anything else would be unbecoming of his station.

“What are you doing?” he tried again, trying not to sound as confused as he was.

“Making breakfast.” You turned, bringing up your other leg so your entire body was balanced on the narrow ledge as you dug further.

“Huh.” Stepping closer, Rex slid his datapad onto the counter next to your leg and stood just behind you. Unsure arms kept rising to shadow your back before returning to his side as he grew ever more uneasy by the precarious balance you’d achieved. “Didn’t realize cooking required gymnastics.”

Impressively, much of your torso disappeared into the void of the cabinet when you replied, your voice echoing slightly in the confined space. “It does when everything on this ship is built for giants. Here-”

Rex’s reflexes kicked in, catching the item before he could even register that what you had tossed over your shoulder was a half-finished bread roll. But before he could form his next question — and honestly, he had so many he really didn’t even know where to start — you slipped smoothly down from your perch. Unfortunately, for him, Rex misjudged his own spacing, standing too close to give you enough room. As you moved to the floor, the curve of your rear brushed tantalizingly lightly against his stomach before finally gaining a more respectable distance.

The rush of blood pounding in his ears blocked out most of your own next question. Actually, he couldn’t hear you at all. The movement of your lips as you turned to face him was the only clue he could decipher indicating you’d said anything at all.

“Huh?”

Your lips curled. Maker, he really did like it when you smiled. It wasn’t just with your lips, though their plush, gentle curve was sweet. No, your smile radiated from your eyes, and he knew if he looked too long, he’d be lost.

“I asked if you wanted some, too. I don’t mind making a second helping for you.”

Rex wasn’t a stupid man. He could hear the tease of your tone. The light-hearted nature of your banter along with the sweet offer was a flirtation even he could pick up on. He would never abuse his station and hit on a subordinate. And like a divine solution, here you were, offering him a way forward.

But in that moment, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to get himself to reply with even an ounce of charm he regularly sees his brothers wield.

Never one without a plan of action, Rex was stuck in limbo, struggling to respond with an ounce of the charm he routinely saw his brothers deploy … when he felt his stomach gurgle, the sound radiating out from him to fill the room.

Heat immediately flooded his face, but before he could apologize, your choked laughter rang out.

“I guess that answers my question.”

Stepping into his space again, you took the bread roll from him. But instead of stepping past him, you stayed.

You’d never been that close to him before. So close he could count the lines and imperfections on your face. And he did. He wanted to memorize everything about you.

He was so focused on those details, he missed entirely that you had been closing the distance, standing on your toes to press closer, until your lips pressed lightly against his cheek.

They were cold and chapped and so karking perfect on him. Your warm breath against his skin flooded any remaining rational thought away.

When you pulled back, your eyes didn’t meet his despite Rex being sure you could feel the intensity of his stare. Instead, you looked past him as you fell back onto your heels, a hand coming to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you repositioned to move away.

“Right, well, breakfast will be ready in just a —”

He didn’t let you finish. Before you could step away, Rex’s hand slid to gently hold the curve of your jaw, keeping you in place as he tilted your face up to his. You blinked owlishly up at him.

“You missed,” he said, finally getting his brain back online. “I think you should try that again.”

To Rex’ delight, your smile returned as you leaned back in. Only this time, he met you halfway, biting back a satisfied moan at the press of your lips against his. Taking a half step forward, he invaded your space as you had his, encircling you in his arms as he lost himself in the moment.

After what was probably too long, Rex finally let you go. Your eyes stayed closed for a heartbeat more, even as you moved back, shifting your weight to rest more against his hold on you, and Rex greedily took the chance to appreciate everything about your contented expression in the moment, satisfaction coiling inside him knowing he put that look on your face.

When you did open your eyes, there was a twinkle of mischief in them you usually kept well hidden. “Better?” you asked.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “Much.”

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[vampyresovereign]

Hi hi hi!! <3 <3 <3 I love your account and your music hcs for the characters especially Savanaclaw thinking about Jack listening to Ice Cube and Eazy-E is so funny to me to imagine. KDot too oh yes <3 If requests are still open could I ask for a GN!Reader as his gym partner. Kinda like he thinks MC is so weak with bones like jelly so he tries to motivate us to work out with him... Even if we suck at it haha!~!

YES QUEEN/KING OF COURSE ILL WRITE THIS FOR YOU!! I honestly was kind of scared cause I thought i put TOO much unnecessary thought into what everyone's music taste might be (like you could tell i was geekin out over music ngl) so I'm really glad you liked the headcanons. mb this took so long, here's your request<3333 -isa<3

Pairing: Jack Howl x GN!Reader Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Quick Synopsis: You accompany Jack on a little trip to the gym, inspired by a snarky comment from coach Vargas. Tags: Use of Y/N, reader is not Yuu, no specific physical description of reader, reader is embarrassing as hell but it's okay cause Jack is patient with them, might be inaccurate/i've never been to a gym

-

“Alright everyone! Class is over, get out of my face!” 

Coach Vargas practically screamed from the middle of the field. You watched, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the freshly cut grass as your fellow classmates grabbed their brooms, walking and talking in groups on their way towards the locker rooms.

Maybe it was because the weather forecast advised sunscreen since it was over 80 degrees, or maybe you were just stressed out from other classes, but something made phys ed today much harder than usual. 

You were startled when the coach suddenly appeared behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

��Your endurance is getting stronger, L/N,” He started. “But you still have a long way to go.”

“What do you mean, coach?”

“Well, for starters..” He removed his hand from you, taking a second to lift his arm and flex the bicep in front of you, as you raised an eyebrow.

“..You know, something many don’t know about broom riding is that most of your energy actually concentrates in the arms. You need to be able to balance yourself and hold onto the stick, y’know? And to be honest with you, kid..”

He pointed towards your arms.

“That’s something we need to work on, don’t we? Hit the showers.”

You shouldn't have taken that comment so seriously, coach was known for being pretty vain and shallow when it came to physical appearance. But unfortunately, he had a point.

You constantly skipped leg day and couldn't lift a dumbbell with more than 3 plates.

Though you were dwelling on it, you decided to try and put those negative thoughts away. Your next period was lunch, and you had even more stressful classes to deal with after that.

Lack of muscle was the least of your problems at the moment.

As you walked towards the cafeteria, lagging behind another random group of people, you spotted a familiar pair of fuzzy white ears in the crowd, walking the opposite direction.

You felt your eyes spark in recognition, immediately calling his name out.

"Jack!"

Jack's eyes widened, ears pointing up for a few seconds in surprise. He walked towards you, scratching his head. "Hey Y/N, what's up?"

"You know the cafeteria is that way, right?"

It was then you noticed the giant duffel bag slung across his right shoulder.

"I know. I'm not goin' to lunch."

"Why not?" You inquired.

"Decided to hit the gym at around this time from now on 'cause it gets way too crowded after classes are over," He said.

"So.. You're just not gonna eat anything?"

"Of course not," He scoffed. "I got a few protein bars and shakes in my bag. I'll be fine."

You hummed in response, you had totally forgot that working out was Jack's whole thing. As he adjusted his bag, an idea suddenly popped into your mind.

"Hey, can I join you? I kind of wanna try exercising for a little bit."

He looked at you, slightly shocked. "For real? You never seemed interested before."

"Well, I guess I wanna try something new today. How about it?"

He placed a finger on his chin in thought, before placing his hands on his hips.

"..Sure, I guess."

-

Before the two of you headed to the gym together, you each went back to your respective dorms to grab comfortable clothing.

You didn't know what exactly to wear, so you settled on an old tracksuit you hadn't worn in the seven knows how long.

When you walked in, there were obviously some people there, but you had strolled past them and followed Jack into the section where the bench presses and mats were, suddenly feeling nervous.

Jack very quickly got to work, setting his bag down next to a random bundle of equipment, and adding about 5 plates to the light dumbbell.

You stood next to him awkwardly as he leaned his back down on the bench, wondering if this came off as creepy.

He glanced at you as he sat the dumbbell to rest, raising an eyebrow. "You know, there's a set right behind you, right?"

"..Oh. Sorry, this is my first time here, I'm just kind of trying to figure out what to do through you," You blurted out, a wave of embarrassment washing over you.

You moved to the set he had just mentioned, which also happened to be directly across from his, grabbing pretty much the same amount of plates on the way there.

You held back a grunt as you held all of them in the palm of your hands, wondering what the hell Jack was eating to be able to carry this amount effortlessly.

You leaned back on the bench, trying to replicate the same position you saw Jack in as you curled your hands around the base of the dumbbell. Taking a deep breath and lifting it up, you were good for about 4.5 seconds.

"Fuck!"

The realization of how heavy the equipment was immediately crushed down on you, literally. You dropped the dumbbell on your stomach, curling up and holding onto your belly for dear life when the instrument fell on the floor.

You heard Jack get up from behind you to assess the incident.

"The hell happened?" He asked, placing his hands on his hips.

"I don't know how you do it, man."

He grabbed the dumbbell from off of the floor, sighing. "Y/N, beginners don't start with this amount. It's kind of common sense."

"It looked simple when you did it.."

"Yeah, because I've been honing these skills for years." Jack removed about 2 plates from each side of the dumbbell, handing it back to you on the bench. "Here, try to lift it now."

You nodded, proceeding to do as he said.

"..Still heavy, but do-able."

Jack smirked.

-

You spent the rest of your time at the gym attempting to try a little bit of everything with Jack at your side, teaching you what to do. You felt a little bit bad that he used up all his training time essentially babysitting you, but he assured you it was no big deal.

The only problem was that when your time to train together was up, every single part of your body felt sore. Even your eyes.

Jack let out a laugh, a rare thing, and slapped you on your back.

"This was a great sesh, wasn't it?"

You stumbled a few paces forward from the impact of his hand. "..I would say yes, but I still gotta go to my afternoon classes after this."

"Hah. You better get used to the grind, we're doing this tomorrow. And the rest of the semester, actually. Breaks are on weekends."

You stared at Jack like he had three heads.

"Don't look at me like that. We're partners now. No turnin' back," He grinned.

You awkwardly laughed in response, excited to hang out more with Jack and expand your muscles, but not too excited about the process anymore.

i don't even like jack like that but this was very fun to write. apologies again for the wait gang. -isa<3

[lunar-wandering]

snakes. why did it have to be snakes.

(Season 5 Lego Set Spoilers!! bewareeeee)

Macaque has been freezing up, or bailing out, of their most recent fights against the latest villain threatening the world.

Word Count: 2k

Read on Ao3

Wukong wasn’t really paying much attention, at first.

He was leading the charge, the others walking behind him, Macaque trailing along at the very back of the group, as he seemed to like to do. Whether that was him keeping his distance from Wukong in general, because he didn’t want to be in a leading position, or because of some other innane reason, Wukong didn’t know, and didn’t particularly care. It didn’t matter to him.

Mei was ranting about their newest villain of the week. At the same time, Macaque had started snarkingly chiming in from his position at the back- saying something cocky for sure. …Probably. Wukong had honestly stopped paying attention the second he had heard the tone of voice the other was using, he’d heard it directed at himself often enough to know that nothing that was about to leave the other’s mouth was something of value. Despite Macaque’s interjection, Mei was continuing on, seemingly also ignoring him as she proceeded in her angry rant;

“-and his stupid snake hair too! Who does he think he is, Medusa?? The next time I see him I swear I’m gonna-”

Mei’s next threat was lost on Wukong’s ears, because he suddenly realized that Macaque had stopped talking. Old instincts of ‘If someone suddenly goes quiet, it is because they Have Been Kidnapped’ reactivating in his brain, Wukong took a quick glance backwards, just to ensure that there wasn’t a new problem being plopped onto his plate. And then he quickly did a double take, looking back again.

The others hadn’t noticed (outside from MK, who had raised an eye brow at Wukong’s actions and had also turned around to see what his mentor was looking at), but Macaque had seemingly frozen in place.

He was posed in a sassy way- the usual way he looked when he was speaking the same sort of cocky nonsense that he had been talking about earlier, but his mouth wasn’t moving, instead stuck in a slightly tense smirk. One of his eyes was closed, and the other very adamantly avoided eye contact as soon as Wukong initiated it. His left foot was lifted up midstep. Wukong couldn’t help but think that it must be fairly hard to keep himself balanced like that.

Wukong stopped walking. The others stopped too, looking at him in confusion, before following MK’s lead in glancing back at what the Monkey King was staring at.

“Uh.” Wukong said, “You alright?”

Macaque didn’t answer. MK walked over and poked him.

…And then poked him again.

Macaque unfroze, his step finally following through, his position readjusting to something that was probably supposed to be casual but instead ended up coming off as extremely forced.

“I’m fine,” He said, “Just… heard something.”

“Care to share with the rest of us?” Pigsy crossed his arms over his chest, looking unimpressed. Macaque gave a noncommittal shrug in response.

“Wasn’t that interesting.” He mumbled, “Look, can we just keep moving? We don’t have all day, y'know.”

With a hum, Wukong turned back around and started walking again. After a moment, he heard the others start moving as well. Still though, even as he chose to drop it for now, Wukong couldn’t help but silently note the incident in the back of his mind.

~

MK dodged under another swing intended to knock him straight into next Tuesday, trying his best to tune out the aggravating villainous laughter from his opponent. Seriously, this was getting insanely annoying. How many more times was he gonna have to fight this guy? Five more times? A dozen?

As the mere idea of fighting this guy even more times sunk into him, MK could sense his whole body glitch, his monkey tail briefly thrashing. MK winced, leaping back out of range to give himself a moment to breathe, settling himself down, before using the brief moment of reprieve to hit the side of the comm device on his ear.

“Hey, Macaque? Could really use a shadow portal out of here right now!”

There was no response. Actually, now that MK thought about it, he hadn’t seen Macaque since the moment this battle started.

As he did a backflip to avoid a hit to the face, he scanned the battlefield. Last he remembered, Macaque had been-

Oh you had to be fucking kidding.

In the last place where he had seen the Six Eared Macaque, there stood a shittily drawn cardboard cutout of that very shadow monkey in his place. How long had that been there?

…How hadn’t he noticed it?

Distracted by the sheer absurdity of what he was seeing, MK, unfortunately, forgot to pay attention to the person right in front of him, getting whacked in the chest and propelled into the side of the nearby rocky cliff-face. MK let out a wheezing breath as the wind got knocked out of him-

And suddenly he was falling backwards through solid rock, brief panic overtaking him before the purple tinge in his vision clued him in. Here was the shadow portal he had asked for, even if it was a little bit late.

He landed smack on his back in the inside of the truck, staring up at the ceiling.

After a second, MK rolled over, pushing himself up with a groan.

“Didn’t go well, I take it?”

MK looked up at the sound of Macaque’s voice, finding the shadow monkey sitting there in the passenger seat, his body slightly turned to look back at him. MK frowned at him, making it incredibly clear how displeased he was.

“Why did you bail out?” MK asked, “We could’ve used your help back there.”

“Eh, it seemed like you guys had it handled.” Macaque said, before wincing, one hand going up to his ear, where his comm rested. “Ugh, you guys sure do like to yell into these things…”

Before MK could even voice another protest, Macaque snapped his fingers- and suddenly MK was buried underneath the weight of his friends.

~

“Okay.” Wukong said, staring pointedly at the monkey sitting across from him at the campfire. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious that this is developing into a much more serious problem.”

He hadn’t realized it during that first incident, spaced out enough that he hadn’t truly noticed what had triggered Macaque’s reaction. But after MK’s recount, and after the five other times Macaque had suddenly froze up or bailed out on them, the issue had become rather obvious.

Macaque, for his part, seemed rather unbothered, sitting in the same relaxed position he’d been in before. Well, that is, except for his quick glance towards the rest of the group, who were huddled together in their sleeping bags. Macaque’s ear twitched, checking if they were all asleep, most likely. They were, of course. Wukong had ensured that, before he had begun this conversation.

After a moment, Macaque let out a long sigh.

“What problem?” He said, “I haven’t noticed any problem, other than your poor leadership skills.”

“One, ouch. I’m working on that.” Wukong held up a finger, and then held up another one, “Two. Speaking of working on things, you remember Spider Queen right?”

“Yeah. Kinda hard to forget that whole New Year’s. It was far louder than usual.”

Of course that’s what he remembered about it.

“Well,” Wukong continued, “MK… was scared of spiders. Still is, I think. Anyways, he worked through that, and he managed to fight her off just fine.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with me.” Oh, he absolutely knew exactly what it had to do with him, if the way he was sinking down in his foldable chair was any indication. If this wasn’t such a serious issue, Wukong would probably be smirking devilishly at him.

“I’m talking about your fear of snakes.” Ah, there was the more nervous reaction Wukong had been waiting on, Macaque’s fur bristling as he glanced over at the others again, before proceeding to stubbornly avoid eye contact with Wukong, who rolled his eyes. “It’s seriously starting to become a problem, man. MK was right, I don’t want to admit it, but we maybe could’ve used some of your help in that last battle.”

“You’re Sun Wukong, I’m sure you had things handled.”

“Aw, is that praise for me I hear? That’s rare coming from you.”

“Wh- no!” Macaque hissed, “Just- I could easily beat that guy, so clearly you- you probably handled yourself just fine.”

“Hm.” Wukong leaned forwards, resting his head on his hands. “And if you think you could ‘easily’ beat that dude, then why haven’t you?”

“Because I know you guys had it handled.”

“You can’t just keep using the same excuse over and over again.”

“Yes I can.” Stubborn, as usual, Macaque wasn’t the same guy who easily gave in to Wukong anymore. Wukong let out a breath, willing himself not to snap in frustration. That wouldn’t get either of them anywhere.

…That’s what Sandy had said at least.

“Look.” Wukong said, “I’m not going to bring it up to the others. But-”

“Are you about to blackmail me-”

“-if you keep bailing out on us-”

“-holy shit, you really are blackmailing me.”

“-I will stage an intervention. With everyone this time.” Wukong crossed his arms, “Trust me. They’re very effective.”

Macaque didn’t respond, other than a look of disbelief. Wukong at least expected him to respond with some comment about how Wukong must’ve experienced an intervention himself in order to know that, but instead the other monkey remained silent. After several moments passed, Wukong slowly raised an eyebrow.

“…Macaque?”

“The Monkey King is blackmailing me.”

Wukong let out a tired sigh worthy of his over a millenia of life.

~

“Alright, that’s it.”

MK looked up from where he had been watching Pigsy work on bandaging his arm just in time to see Wukong tackle Macaque to the ground. Macaque let out a screech as he went down, drawing the attention of the rest of the group as well.

“I tried to do this the nice way!” Wukong yelled, as he struggled to keep Macaque still, a feat made slightly difficult by how the other kept trying to turn into shadows. “But nooooo!! You just have to make things difficult! So guess what!”

“No!”

“That’s right, it’s intervention time!” Wukong seemed to finally get a good grip on Macaque, even though the other was clearly still struggling, he wasn’t getting anywhere anytime soon. “So, folks, I’m sure you’ve all been wondering-”

“Wukong, don’t-”

“-why has our little shadowy friend been bailing out of every fight?” Wukong ignored Macaque’s protests, instead turning to his audience. “Does anyone have any guesses?”

Truthfully, no. MK hadn’t even really given it that much thought. Bailing out on a fight purely for his own amusement had seemed like a Macaque move at the time… but the more Macaque struggled trying to get out of Wukong’s grip, and the more MK thought about the few times him and Macaque had actually been on the same side in a fight, the more that started to seem… inaccurate. Huh.

“No guesses? Huh. I thought at least one of you would’ve at least come up with something.” Wukong muttered, before continuing, “Well, the answer just happens to be that-”

“I cannot believe you’ve actually stooped to blackmail-”

“-Macaque here, is afraid of snakes.”

Dead silence. Macaque stopped struggling, instead pressing his face into the floor and remaining completely still. After a few seconds, Wukong got off of him, wrapping his tail around him as Macaque started to sink into the shadows of the floor, and lifted him up. Macaque stubbornly avoided eye contact with everybody.

“So.” Wukong said, gesturing at Macaque with his hands, “Any suggestions?”

Mei raised her hand, before seemingly remembering that she didn’t need to, and instead blurted out one simple statement;

“Blindfold.”

Wukong snapped his finger and pointed at her like she was a genius… for about a second, before he shook his head.

“We tried that way back when, but the noise they make creeps him out, so…” Wukong shrugged in a ‘what can ya do’ kind of way. Macaque used the fact that his legs were somewhat free to kick Wukong in the shin. Wukong himself didn’t even acknowledge it, though his eye twitched in a way that indicated he was ever so slightly annoyed. “Any other suggestions?”

Silence. Again.

…Something suddenly struck in the back of MK’s mind.

“…This might be crazy, but-” MK said, “Is it possible to put glamours on other people?”

~

Wukong watched with true sight as Macaque landed a solid kick into the Nine Headed Demon’s face, before letting out a sigh.

“…Could someone explain to me again why we chose to glamour him to look like me?”

MK skidded into place beside him, taking a brief break from battle.

“Something about wanting to punch your face overpowering his knowledge that underneath it is snakes.” He said. Wukong hummed.

“Remind me later when all of this is over to swap out his shampoo with blonde hair dye.”

“Will do.”

[holographic-mars]

This is kind of a silly question but can you explain what you think Cosmos and Soundwave's dynamic is? For those of us who struggle with understanding characters,, cough cough me

Not a silly question at all! Not a silly question at all!!

I want to do a quick disclaimer I’m not the ceo of coswave (or am I 🤨) so everything I say is how I interpret coswave. I pull a lot from canon as well as my own hcs and stuff so it’s up to you whether you like how I interpret them!!

Soundwave and Cosmos’s dynamic from the beginning has always been about constantly learning and growing. These are two mechs who have very little experience with normal and healthy relationships (soundwave having significantly less experience than cosmos) so they end up building off of what they learn together.

They’re both very firm with their beliefs. Cosmos will never be a decepticon just like how Soundwave will never be an autobot. They compliment eachother very nicely with how they act and react to things, so where one mech struggles the other can be a pillar to lean on (for example soundwave struggles greatly with interpersonal relationships, so cosmos helps him with proper and polite interaction as well as trust building. Cosmos struggles with standing up for himself and putting his own comfort and safety first, so Soundwave helps him figure out how to say no when someone wants him to do something out of his comfort zone).

Soundwave’s idea of love stems from his understanding of loyalty which is incredibly unbalanced and unhealthy (ie complete devotion and submission). Cosmos’ idea of love is much more balanced but he tends to see love as something that is conditional (ie love that will only be given if you do something for them first). A massive part of their relationship is getting past these preestablished ideas of what love is meant to be and understanding how to treat their partner as an equal and treat love as unconditional.

Cosmos is not intimidated by soundwave one bit. He’s respectful of the fact that it’s Soundwave’s station that he’s on, but if he needs to challenge something soundwave says or does, he absolutely will. Cosmos may be nervous and has trouble standing up for himself, he is not shy about standing up for his morals or for other people. Soundwave is still a decepticon—he has selfish tendencies and nasty habits , but he won’t ever get too far in his malicious scheming if Cosmos has anything to say about that. Cosmos is always challenging Soundwave’s views and behaviors, and Soundwave honestly finds it exciting. Not many people can do that with the confidence and spunk that Cosmos can (and get away with it the way Cosmos can).

Soundwave has a whole decepticon space station to run and is notorious for Not Taking Care of Himself so fueling tends to be in the hands of Cosmos and TRUST Cosmos takes it very seriously. Due to energon shortages that effected the decepticons so bad during the war, Soundwave didn’t really fuel as much as he needed to (oftentimes giving his rations to his cassettes) so Cosmos was quick to rectify that and get him up to a healthy size. Cosmos keeps soundwave (and the cassettes) fueled and healthy.

Soundwave tends to express his love for his partner physically. He likes to have a hand on Cosmos’ plating whenever he is within reach, even if just for a second. He’s not good with his words (the irony of the communications officer who sucks at communicating) so he likes to show that he loves and trusts cosmos by touching him and letting him touch in return (this one is very important. Soundwave likes when Cosmos returns his physical affections the same way you say “I love you” back when a loved one says it to you). Cosmos, on the other hand, likes to express his love verbally. He doesn’t mind physical affection (he loves it) but he likes hearing it out loud. He praises soundwave and expresses how much he loves him on a regular basis, and though Soundwave struggles to return the affection verbally, he makes sure he holds cosmos extra tight or presses his mask against Cosmos’ own a little longer when Cosmos says I love you.

OUHH THATS ALL I GOT FOR NOW!!! GOD I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE AND ANSWERS YOUR QUESTION BC I GOT A LITTLE LOST AFTER A WHILE. THANK YOU FOR THE ASK!!!!!!!! IM AO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER!!!!!❤️❤️❤️🛸🛸

[macawritesupdates]

Fic Writing Updates 11/10

Been super duper busy of late as I have a second job in the evening cutting into writing time and also having to get some art done for zines. Just been a balancing act ; w ;

However! Working on fics to get them updated so don't worry, the updates are coming I swear! <3

The goal this month is to get a lot of these long fics wrapped up so I have less stories to update on my plate which should equal faster updates!

JUJUTSU KAISEN LONGFIC UPDATES

The Yuuji Files: About 9k words into this chapter and just about to reach the halfway point so...it is a very large chapter, but feels short writing it honestly given how the action is flowing! Hopefully readers will enjoy!

Broken in the Ways No One Sees: Last chapter should come out today! That's the plan at least! I want to get this chapter out so the story can be brought to its conclusion <3 Spouse Wanted: Hoping to write and post an update today for this one if I can. Chapter is almost done, just have to write the final scene

Can't Help a Cuddle: Sorting out the notes and starting to work on it! A lot of suggestions to organize and work into a chapter so it has been slow going, but hopefully will satisfy readers <3 Lessons in Accidental Seduction: New chapter is in the works, slowly but surely!

Malevolence of Love: Taking a small break to sort out notes for the next chapter as the angst is heading for a conclusion now...

Who's A Good Boy: Once Broken is done, going to speed run the chapters of this story to get it completed. Think it is an easier one to clear out then some of these!

Careful What you Joke About: Working on next chapter slowly but surely, just making sure it flows how I like, but still on the docket for an update soon When You Have Two Grandsons: This is a comfort fic so it gets updated when I get inspired and needing something to write/relax from other fics. No new chapter just yet....

Mirrored Lives: Plan is to get this one finished out in terms of the rewrite to the outline and then push it out to get it concluded so it stops hanging over me :C

MY HERO ACADAMIA FIC UPDATES

Jealousy is Not a Good Friend: My other comfort fic. Especially as the readers are calling for us to be mean to Kirishima and break his feelings into tiny pieces...and you KNOW I'm here for angst.

Unsung Heroes: Working on it when I can, just really want to update it > . < but also want to take my time with it >.<

ONE -SHOTS

KiriOchaToga Oneshot: Because I want to write it and you can't stop me.

Once Upon a Blob: Because I want some Blobkuna....

FICS TO COME

Changing this fics that I'm actively working on writing as...too many ideas rattling around that I want to write >.< So these are fics that are on the docket to come and going to actually write. COLLAB FIC: Still working on this fic and excited to eventually share it with readers <3

Culturally Inappropriate: The first chapter is being prepared and I'm going to launch it once I finish some of the other long fics so can devote a lot more time to it! I want to do some art for it...but will make a poll of readers want to see that!

[klairewritesthings]

Whumptober Day 2: Role Reveral

This is set in the wonderful @lumosinlove 's sweater weather universe. Go check out their incredible works!

If Sirius was being completely honest, he had completely lost track of how many times Remus had told him he was a horrible patient. And honestly? Sirius had always been inclined to agree.

Even before they were together, when he was still rehabbing his ankle, Remus hadn’t hesitated to call Sirius out on his bullshit. About the way he would gripe and complain about the pain, only to skip his nightly ice and elevation. Push himself too far, too fast. 

Then, when Fenrir broke his ribs, it had become clear just how horrible of a patient he really was. The pain had made him irritable, quick to push and snap and break. Remus had been a saint through it all, a steady presence in the storm of Sirius’ ever changing emotions. So yes, Sirius had agreed that he might just be the worst patient. But now, he was realizing how wrong he had been, because that award went to Remus. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me”. Remus’ head snapped around so fast Sirius was surprised it didn’t just keep on spinning. 

“Sirius! Hey!” Sirius narrowed his eyes at Remus’ fake grin. His fiancé was currently teetering dangerously on his crutches, attempting to carry a plate of saran wrapped leftovers without falling on his ass. “You hungry?” 

“No, but if you were, you should have called me.” Remus shrugged, which only further unbalanced him. 

“You were busy.”

“I really wasn’t”. Sirius actually had been pretty busy, spending most of the day running around trying to keep Remus from further injuring his dislocated knee. Except, Remus had said he was going to lay down for a bit, and Sirius thought it was safe to sneak into the home gym and get a quick workout in. Evidently not. 

“It’s just lunch, I’m completely capable of making lunch.” Sirius scoffed. 

“You’re not even capable of walking right now.”  The glare Remus turned on him was so harsh Sirius raised his hands in defeat.

“Okay, okay, désolé, you’re right. I know you can make lunch.” Remus narrowed his eyes, as if he was trying to suss out whether Sirius was mocking him. Then, he slowly began moving towards the counter. When Sirius didn’t stop him he continued, unwrapping the leftover thanksgiving Turkey. 

When Remus reached up to open the microwave that hung above the stove Sirius held his breath, watching closely for any wobbles in balance. The last thing Remus needed was to fall. However, he managed to successfully place the plate in the microwave and turn it on without incident. 

Remus turned, a gloating grin on his face. “See, told you I could make-” For a second Sirius didn’t understand what had happened.

One second Remus was basking in his small victory, the next he was all but collapsing onto the tiled floor. A loud squeak startled him out of his silence, a red rubber dog ball rolling innocently away from where Remus was now crumpled. 

Continue reading on ao3

[quinloki]

Hiii! I wanted to ask about Thatch, Sanji, and Killer with Nyotaimori, body painting, and service kink? Thank you so much! I love all of these fun combinations of characters and kinks

Oh I have been looking forward to this once since I first saw it in my notices <3

And yes! Yes - I am enjoying all these combinations as well ^_^ It has been educating, entertaining, and Fun! (and everyone's been good too, so no one's wandered in harshed someone's mellow.)

Alright, for those - like me - who didn't recognize the term - Nyotaimori is the act of eating sushi off someone's naked body. I remember seeing it once in a movie some many years ago (probably when I was too young to be watching said movie, honestly XD ) and today I learned what it was called \o/

Alright, let's get cooking with some cooks from the Grandline and see how much or how little, they like to play with food (and with their food) in the "bedroom" <3

Thatch:

Nyotaimori - FUCK Yes - This man spends months perfecting making sushi once you suggest this activity. It wasn't a specialty of his before hand, but it's about to be by the time all is said and done. The main event is hardly even the actual main event. The time spent before hand kind of steals the spotlight. Thatch insists on matching the subtle and gentle flavors of the sushi assortment to your taste, this smooth bastard. If he's not in the kitchen, or on duty and dealing with work, he's kissing, licking, and eating you out, and he's always talking about flavor combinations.

the day of the main event he's picked out specific soap and shampoo for you and arranges everything on you just so. It's not overly artistic in appearance, but the taste and scent combination is almost perfect. Of course he shares, but about halfway through there's garnish and sushi on the floor and you're in his bed.

Body Painting - Yes - Just a little less enthused for this than the Nyotaimori. Edible body painting is fairly restrictive - bright colors often come with strong flavors, and finding harmony and balance is a little difficult. Thatch isn't much of an artist either, his cooking is almost completely functional - nutritional and efficient. I mean, neither Pops nor his boys are concerned about a dressed plate - they're barely concerned about dressing themselves the open-shirt heathens.

But the evening turns into more of a matter of the two of you, uh, finger painting one another, and it doesn't take long for it to turn into a messy romp of moans and pleasure. Culminating in giggles and laughter as you're trying to figure out how to make it to the bath in your body-paint slathered state.

Service Kink - Sure - Thatch is more than happy to serve you. He'll ham it up and put on a terrible french accent, and talk all fancy pants about the sauces and ingredients in the dishes he brings you. He'll rub your shoulders, and your feet and grin like a dork the entire time.

The blush on his face is worth everything when you serve him a few days later. You wax poetically (and probably incorrectly) about the dishes you did your best to make, and rub his shoulders while whispering praises into his very red ears.

Sanji:

Nyotaimori - FUCK Yes - You almost laugh. Almost. But walking into the private room set aside for your date night, you see Sanji covered in well-prepared sushi, and completely naked - save for a tie. You should've seen it coming, Sanji feeds people, he doesn't often get fed. You happily let him walk you through the process, eating in the order he suggestion. His voice cracks the first time you lean down and eat straight from his body, instead of using chopsticks to pick up the item first. That adorable red face continues to walk you through the meal.

We'll say that he certainly, uh, rises to the occasion and by the end of your meal he obliges your request that he fill the role of dessert.

Body Painting - Sure - It's not the most efficient use of food, and the waste associated with it does dampen some of Sanji's usual energy. An artist in a few different ways, painting wasn't ever a really strong suit for him (plate service, dancing, and instruments like piano and guitar are his creative outlets in my head canons). He quickly catches on that the quality of the artwork is hardly the concern, and his favorite part of the whole thing were the arrows and instructions you painted on yourself.

Service Kink - Oh god you totally saw this coming - SANJI?! With a Service Kink? None of us - okay, okay, we all saw it coming. He excels at it, and he really enjoys lavishing you with service and attention without having to worry or consider anyone else.

When you flip the tables on him (heh), he actually needs a few minutes. So completely overwhelmed by the gesture you nearly end up scraping the session. Sanji doesn't receive service, he gives it, and it took a good twenty minutes to get the emotional tangle sorted out. You're just glad he's open with you enough that he didn't try to play off being overwhelmed.

In the end he rated you 13/10 - would recommend to everyone except Zoro. The marimo simply wouldn't appreciate your amazing-ness.

Killer:

Nyotaimori - Yes - Killer has a little bit of a panic moment with this - he's not a sushi chef. He's barely a chef chef. He's a hobby chef with a focus on pasta and years of experimenting to make him a decent ship's cook that's efficient and effective enough to keep a bunch of rough necks fed and free of scurvy. He makes DELICIOUS food, don't get me wrong, but there's no formal training anywhere in his past.

In the end, everything turns out fine. There's an extra layer added, since you requested to be blindfolded for it. There was just something embarrassing about laying there without moving, but the blindfold might have been a bad idea, because Killer is hard to detect when you're looking right at him. The light touches as he enjoyed his meal turned into the final touches before he enjoyed his dessert >.>

Body Painting - FUCK Yes - Surprisingly artistic, Killer rarely has a chance to create artistically - he's just too busy. Painting flowers on you, licking his "mistakes" away, (edible paints, of course), accidentally smearing places to fix them over and over, teasing you with the softest flicks of the brushes, you both revel in the quiet intimacy of it.

I sense this morphing into like, suspension shibari + painting, at some point. Decorative knots enhanced by scenes painted on your skin. (whew).

Service Kink - You could imagine the look on Killer's face at this suggestion without even having to see his face. But, there's no letting the overworked and underappreciated second in command even consider serving you. The whole night was about serving Killer. You coordinated the crew for the day, had others take care of the meals, and moved the blonde hunk from one venue to the next to relax. A long hot bath, shoulder and neck rubs several times throughout the day, brushed out his hair a few times. Fed him snacks and pampered him. He fell asleep a couple times and you just made sure he didn't stay in an uncomfortable position for long when that happened.

Oh god he didn't even know.

Kinky One Piece Head Canon