#MY FUCKING GOD THIS SHIP BARELY HAS CONTENT

[limoncats]

YES THANK YOU YES YES YES YES

[prettealolilol]

i like to think about the duality of the kids about people shipping Bruce with anyone, because the guy has been elected as the most handsome man in the country for years, has this whole playboy Brucie persona and is often seen with someone at his arms (men and women)

on one side, they'll be like "ew god no, i do not want to imagine dad like-" and "oh my god some people actually ship Bantman and Joker wtf ??" and they'll do their best to filter every social media to avoid any thirsty or shipping content about Bruce

when the press ask them about it, they be like:

Tim : "Would you like it if I asked about your thoughts on your dad cheating on your mom with his secretary ? No ? Then mind your own business." when the dad was in fact cheating with his secretary and now everybody knew because Tim was live when he answered

Jason, pulling out a gun : "i swear to god i'll shoot the next person who asks me this and then i'll shoot myself. Ugh, do i look like i fucking care about the old man's sex life ?"

Dick, smiling uncomfortably : "i don't really live at the manor anymore and i barely see him with my job so you know..." when it has been in fact a week he's been sleeping at the manor after patrolling with Batman

Damian, frowning as usual, looking at the guy who asked him as if he did not have a brain : "Father is careful in not mixing his carnal activities with the family life so i do not have any hindsight on his sex life. i do not wish to know regardless." the journalist is taken aback by the explicit answer of this ten year old, while his brothers are trying not to laugh behind him (Jason was not hiding his snickering)

on the other side, you cannot tell me those guys are not the biggest shippers in the world

like Jason would want Batman to date Wonder Woman just so she could be his step mom. i strongly believe the guy has a ao3 and tumblr account and is very much active on both. he definitely reads batman x green lantern fics just to annoy Bruce (even though his dad has no idea, but still gets shivers when Jason is reading one)

Dick and Duke both ship SuperBat although for different reasons. for Dick, that's his uncle there, he was there when they met and saw them as they slowly became best friends. he strongly believes they are made for each other. Duke just think it would be super cool (no pun intended) if the Superman and the Batman were dating.

Stephanie just likes to roll with it, some days she feels like shipping superbat, others she'll be more into batcat, or batlantern. she's pretty volatile and doesn't really have a favourite, but when she gets into one she's all in. she'll be arguing and insulting people online who disagrees, sharing crazy theories...

Cass doesn't really care, she'll listen to any of her siblings ranting about their thoughts (especially Steph) and juts find it adorable (and funny how much they care)

Tim probably ships superbat because they are completely opposed, and he finds the parallels really interesting. he definitely writes fics (Jay reads his fics and they exchange about it without knowing it's each other)

Damian doesn't really see the point. but he has drawn of few fanart (Jason tried to bribe him with money once and Damian had to remind him of his inheritance) when Bruce benched Tim and him and he ended up drawing some batlantern that Tim printed and plastered all over the manor. Bruce had to restrain the access to the printer (Tim hacked into it the next day)

Barbara, although she doesn't really ship, is the one you go to if you search some content, she'll find you the most heart wrenching, 200 thousand words, slow brun, angst/comfort fics you'll ever read (the type of fic that changes you deep into your soul). she still likes debating with the batkid

Regardless, if there's one things they all agree on, it is Bruceman (love those fics were the batkids just go along with it). like it's hilarious but the fans make some pretty good points and they are in fact impressed. it's also the safest ship as it would not happen in any situations so they don't have to worry about their dad being stolen

[leeny-leens]

Scary Dog privilege

Ship: Barty Crouch x gn!Reader

Summary: Barty gives you free scary dog privileges

Warnings: mentions of liquor, clubbing/partying, mentions of killing and selling organs but it's light hearted

Content: no gender markers used for Reader, no named friends, Barty looking like a creepy stalker, a bit of suggestive allusion towards the end

WC: 1.6

AN: this post by @aza-writes inspired this but I low-key hate how it turned out, esp the end but wtv live goes on y'all

Tags: @glowingatdawn

You and your friends stumble out of the club, laughter ringing in your circle like a sweater well loved and worn. It engulfes you in the sort of warmth that makes you feel invincible against the bite of the cold night air, one that makes the shivers that run down your spine from the whiplash of the temperature change so very worth it.

”I can’t believe she did that,” one of your friends snorts, almost falling over her very own foot as she tries to navigate her exit into the street without help. It fails—horrifically so—when she faceplants into the pavement with a cry that sends another round of laughter through your group.

“Oh- Oh my god you look so funny right now,” another friend wheezes, steadying herself against the wall of the building. Somewhere in your warm haze, you remember to take a few steps and help your friend on the ground up, biting back bouts of giggles as you inspect her face to make sure she didn’t sustain any notable injuries, aside from some red rashes that run across her cheeks. But then again, it might just be the bite of the air, you figure, or the remnants of the booze in her body. You did have quite a few drinks, you recall. Not enough for you to be blackout drunk, but enough for any vehemence against loudly giggling at the sight of unsteady steps and random objects to vanish into thin air.

You pull your jacket—which doesn't belong to you, but that doesn't really matter— tighter around you, a smile spreading across your face as you and your friends begin to make your way down the street into a denser populated region, the neon signs of clubs and bars almost succeeding in luring you in for a second round. Somehow, the lot of you resist the temptation, fuelled by the knowledge that a second round of dancing and partying will procure the worst hangover known to mankind come tomorrow.

So instead, you waddle down the street like a heroic gang of baby gazelles trying to learn how to walk, clutching onto each other for much needed support as you keep recalling funny memories and jokes from your time together, laughing until your throats are raw and frayed.

You begin to sober up two blocks into your little walk, and by the time you and your friends wait at the curb of the third block, you note that they’re all standing much straighter with barely any help, their faces no longer flushed from the liquor, merely from the cold. You’re standing together, phones out as everyone tries to navigate the trials of getting home. Who’s getting a ride? Who’s getting picked up? What route shall be taken and when is everyone getting home? Questions that are important and probably should've been discussed before you spent four hours dancing your souls out, but spontaneity has always accompanied your friend group on your outings like a loyal companion.

”We just got an Uber, we can drop you off on the way,” one of your friends suddenly says, but you shake your head to decline, a small smile on your face. “It’s okay,” you placate her immediate pout, “I’ll walk, my place isn’t too far from here.” An uproar immediately ensues, with protests and threats of clinging to your legs like koalas should you dare to have enough audacity to actually walk by yourself rising amongst the masses.

”It’s like, way too late!” someone yells.

”And too fucking dark,” another complains with a huff and an eye roll that you can only mirror. A hum of agreement rouses though your friends, each of their gazes trained on you with a fiery protectiveness you’re deeply thankful for, yet severely amused by. “Yeah, what if some creep snatches you up? Like that guy across the street who’s been watching us the whole damn time!”

You look up to the figure they point out, a tall man leaning against a lone street light, clad from head to toe in black. He’s wearing a black cap, a black sweater with a pair of black ripped jeans that are much too baggy on his frame and a black mask that has safety pins which match the ones on his pants and sweater. He’s holding a phone in his hand, the screen illuminating his masked face, but his attention is clearly stuck on your group, despite his face being barely visible. Your friends push you behind them as soon as the man kicks himself off the lamp pole and heads in your direction, but you can only giggle at their antics.

“Scary ass fuckhead,” the person closest to you mutters, his eyes never once straying from the man approaching you, “dressed like a criminal and watching people like a fucking stalker.”

”So true,” you agree once the man is within earshot, pushing away your friends to walk to him, “Scariest man I’ve ever seen.” You ignore their confusion and protests, colliding straight into the man who wastes no time in pulling down his mask and capturing your lips into a passionate kiss.

”Missed you, Precious,” Barty murmurs into your cheek, peppering your entire face with warm and sloppy kisses that momentarily make you forget you’re still in company. By the time someone clears their throat, your face is warm for reasons other than the cold nipping on your skin. Instinctively, you tuck yourself into Barty’s side, his warmth seeping through the layers of his clothing into your own. He smells faintly of smoke and cologne, like he’d hastily put out his cigarette before coming to meet you here in a hurry, lest he let you wait too long.

His mask stays down now, revealing his sharp features, bushy eyebrows and various facial piercings that decorate his handsome face. Acid green streaks peak out from beneath his cap, and really, it does nothing to dispel the scary image your friends had branded him with.

“Guys, this is my boyfriend Barty,” you introduce, a smile etched into your face as you take in their reactions. It seems like they can’t really wrap their minds around this man being your boyfriend, the gentle and devoted lover you occasionally speak about. Clearly there must be some sort of mistake, because this guy? He looks like he’s ready to stab someone in the back alley and sell their organs on the black market.

”Nice to meet you,” someone in the group finally stammers when the awkward silence stretches for a beat too long, and Barty revels in the shock, a wide grin stretching across his face. His eyes turn into crescents, dimples on full display as he tips his head in acknowledgment of the greeting. “Pleasure to meet you all,” he replies smoothly, eyes glinting with mischief and chaos. You lean into him, much too used to the antics and hum with satisfaction now that he’s by your side. “In any case, he’s walking me home so I’ll be okay,” you tell your friends, soothing their earlier worries about your safety.

“Oh yeah you’re safe with that one,” a friend of yours snorts —the one who pointed Barty out in the first place. “Right?” You agree, beaming as you look at him, “he’s like my walking scary dog privilege! Perks of having a scary boyfriend.”

Anyone looking at Barty right now might’ve thought you just proposed to him with the way his entire face lights up and breaks into a blinding grin, his whole body suddenly vibrating with excitement at your statement. His hold around your waist tightens, pulling you impossibly closer into him, like he might want to melt into you and never let go again.

“Damn right,” he brags, placing a kiss atop the crown of your head. His lips drop, ghosting over the shell of your ears as he lowers his voice into a whisper meant only for your ears. “I fuckin’ love when you call me scary,” he confesses, voice holding not an ounce of shame at the sentiment. You feel the blood rushing to your head, his voice in combination to his smell and proximity driving you to the edge of madness.

”Alright folks,” you announce suddenly, pushing him away from your face and addressing your friends with a tight lipped smile. “We’re off then, text in the group chat when you get home!”

You exchange your goodbyes, rushed and quick before darting off, Barty’s hand tightly clasped into yours as his voice keeps replaying in your head like your favorite song. When you glance at him over your shoulder, you see him glowering and glaring at anyone who stares at you, his expression effective in driving people’s attention away. The small crowd parts in front of you, letting the both of you pass without much trouble in the face of his terrifying demeanour.

In the blink of an eye, you find yourself stumbling up the stairs to your apartment, your hands immediately tangling in his hair as soon as you close the door behind you and rip his cap off. He lets you do as you want, pushing you against the wall to welcome the hungry kiss with which you attack him. He's clearly pleased with himself and the success of getting you home safe yet again, humming with satisfaction when you bite his lip, hard enough to draw blood the both of you taste.

“Love when you say I’m scary,” he murmurs in between each hungry kiss he returns, a gasp falling off his lips when you pull at his locks. “Makes me so fuckin’ proud of myself,” he adds, head dipping into the juncture of your neck to nibble and bite at the skin.

Barty might be scary to others, but to you? He’s never been safer.

[cookies-after-dark]

S Anon reporting for duty 🫡 rambling to you with something MUCH sweeter as a black sapphire enthusiast !!!!

Okay but like imagine if he caught feelings for us, my god he'd probably be even more frustrated, he'd HATE it but he didn't exactly "HATE" the feeling if you catch my drift, suddenly the hate fucking occasionally get softer- the slut shaming almost toned down but his grip is hard as he's plowing us down but he's muttering things we can barely catch but it sounded so soft and said in a loving tone.

He catches himself before he goes too far and strangles us again though and back to shaming he goes 🫡 maybe he stays awake while we're curled up by his side fast asleep after everything, wondering how the hell this happened (catching feelings)

(additional tags: explicit content,

(ships: black sapphire cookie x reader, hints of shadow milk cookie x reader)

Honestly, I've been writing Black Sapphire Cookie to be so aggressive and jealous on this blog so far, but after rewatching his scenes in episode 8, I feel like that purple dude is a pretty good caretaker and is more than capable of caring for other cookies! Not that I thought he had no feelings before, but I really paid attention to how much he cares for Shadow Milk Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie. His pleasantness is not just for show around those two.

That, coupled with the fact that he genuinely just enjoys entertaining you, I can see him getting used to you quickly enough if Shadow Milk Cookie truly established you as part of the "family".

Don't get me wrong, Black Sapphire Cookie still greatly enjoys being in control. He loves to be the 'host' out of the two of you. It just feels rightnto have himself cater to you in a way in which he takes care of you, not the other way around. He likes being in charge. He likes knowing the script and having you play along.

But Black Sapphire Cookie's dominant nature slowly transitions from "pushing around the lowest member of the hierarchy to teach a lesson" to "caring and providing for the newest addition to the family and giving them lots of entertainment to laugh at". Black Sapphire Cookie finds himself bringing you things he'd think you'd enjoy more, telling you more funny jokes and swapping more stories of his times out in Earthbread.

He goes from "Candy Apple Cookie...! ...Oh, it's you." to "Oh, it's you!" and having the realization that something has changed gives Black Sapphire a very hysterical "Oh shit." moment.

It's not that hard to notice that Black Sapphire Cookie actively seeks you out more, instead of just leering at you from afar. The way he rubs himself up against you and roams his bands over your body is less possessive and more affectionate now. Even the way he fucks you so thoroughly is more intimate than ever before, with more thought and care put into it rather than just using your body as a toy.

Candy Apple Cookie and Shadow Milk Cookie both think it's just so hilarious. Shadow Milk Cookie even gives helpful tips and tricks on sensual lovemaking unprompted, pushing the two of you together and saying, "You kids be safe, now! Remember to practice safe sex!" (despite the fact that he shares you).

If you ask, Black Sapphire Cookie will just smile sweetly for you and deflect to something else. "What, you think I'm hiding something from you? Perhaps we could make a game out of it, if you're willing."

That's okay. You know the truth, and so does he. Neither of you have to say it out loud to know that you've gained another loyal companion.

[asce-of-hearts]

Hi, can you do Shanks 🍼 I should have been there, I should have protected you. I would have shot anyone who even tried to touch you. with 🥫 Take out your frustrations on me! I can handle it. And ♥️ I am ready to give you all of my blood. with a S/O who got hurt during a battle, and he is begging for S/O forgiveness

Forgiveness

Contents: Yandere!Shanks with prompts: 🍼🥫♥️ (Fem!Reader)

more Shanks content here

TAG LIST

PROMPT LIST

WARNINGS: YANDERE, BAR FIGHT, DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE.

Shanks usually is okay with bar fights.

Sure, they are nobodies favorite thing, but he can... tolerate them. He never participates, because its not worth his time and because its humiliating to put yourself on display as a brute like that.

But the second he looks away, he goes to wash his face, when he comes back to your side, wrapping an arm around your waist, he feels it. He feels the damp, warm sensation of blood over your clothes. And it's like time has froze, nothing is happening other than you bleeding, and... and... and you bleeding.

His haki takes everyone out, aside from his crew, who is already rushing to your side. Shanks carries you to the ship, in an instant on board and leaving. You try and not loose consciousness, and he tries to help you not succumb to the little flashing lights that tell you to fall asleep.

"Fuck- Fuck!" He screams, clinging to you as they try and extract the bullet. "I was so careless, ___. I shouldn't have left, I should've stayed there. I- I can't believe this. I can't believe I wasn't there, I should have been there, I should have protected you. I would have shot anyone who even tried to touch you." You can barely answer him, just squeezing his hand weakly.

"I know, Shanks," You whisper, whimpering when the bullet comes out of your body. "Don't we have... painkillers? I could really use one." You gasp, trying to lift your body. Shanks stop you, not wanting you to move an inch.

"No, no. We- We ran out of them. Squeeze my hand, alright? Or hit me, or whatever. I deserve it," He squeezes your hand with force, keeping you grounded to reality. "I'm really sorry, ___. I swear to god I will do anything for you to forgive me. Hit me if it hurts too much, alright? Take out your frustrations on me! I can handle it."

You chuckle dryly, then throw your head back as the medic starts sewing your wound. You can catch a glimpse at all the blood you've lost, over the table, over Shank's clothes and the medic's hands.

"That's... that's a lot of blood." You murmur, breathing heavily.

"Don't worry about that, alright? I am ready to give you all of my blood if necessary. Just stay with me, ___. Stay with me." He pleads, trying his hardest not to cry.

The surgery is simple enough to finish in half an hour. And you remain catatonic over the table, staring at the ceiling lights. You can feel the ship stopping, and you turn to look at Shanks.

"On an island so quickly?" You ask, and he shakes his head,

"We arrived back to where we were, love," He stands up, a visceral rage in his eyes. "I have unfinished business here that needs to be settled."

hope you enjoyed this!!!!!!!

have a great day/night

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@mrstraffy

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[toxycodone]

Chilchuck probably loves huge tits and has a juvenile fantasy of fucking a larger race’s boobies

ship. chilchuck tims x reader

content. nsfw + titfucking + both parties implied to be tipsy an. reader is referred 2 w feminine pronouns for once (shocker I know, trying something new).

“Holy shit…”

Chilchuck clicks his tongue and represses a whistle when you lower your brassiere, freeing your breasts from the fabric. You can’t help but feel shy due to his obvious interest. He eyes sparkle with interest, before narrowing with lust.

“They’re massive…” His small hands can barely hold your chest. The flesh spills out from between his fingers as he plays with them. You’d think it juvenile if it weren’t for the obvious tact the man before you has. You shudder when he teasingly drags his thumbs over your nipples, his warm breath teases the sensitive skin as he smirks at you.

“I’m not passing up this chance.” He quickly unbuckles his pants. As he shuffles to get his underwear off, you’re reminded of his drunken confession—the one about always wanting to fuck another races tits. How he’d considered it embarrassing and just a perverted fantasy from when he was younger. And in retrospect, you’re embarrassed at yourself for offering your body to him so quickly.

But it doesn’t matter now. Not when you’re on you’re knees, Chilchuck’s cock seated in front of your face.

“Here.” He rubs some oil in his hands and leans over, massaging it into your tits. “This is gonna be so good…” He’s speaking mostly to himself, and his cock twitches as if in response. It’s flattering how hard it is from just seeing your bare chest. Even the head of his cock is flushed a deep pink.

“You ready?” He starts to lube himself up with a mix of oil and the precum that already starts to leak from him. You nod, and he smiles.

“Good girl.”

Chilchuck lines himself up with you, before sliding his cock in between your mounds. There’s no resistance as he does so, and when his hips press against your breasts, the head of his cock doesn’t even poke from the flesh. This doesn’t seem to bother the man at all, in fact, he seems enthralled. He moans, grunts, and curses between thrusts—roughly fucking your chest as if you were a sex toy.

“Just like that…” He pants out, voice hoarse. “Fuck yeah…”

Shame no longer exists between the two as you as he continues to go at it. You keep your chest pushed together as you watch his cock slide in and out. The angry red head of it splits open the fat of your chest with each harsh thrust. You can feel the intimate makeup of it when it drags against your flesh. It makes wetness start to pool between your thighs. If only he were fucking something else right now…

You’re not aware of the drool that leaks onto from your mouth until it’s too late. It drips onto Chilchuck’s length, and he chuckles.

“You liking this too?” Chilchuck slows down just enough to make constant eye contact with you. “If you let me cum on your face, maybe I’ll make you feel good too. Let you ride my face…or maybe I can fuck your thighs next, you like that?”

His filthy words, along with the effects of the alcohol, make you hornier. Your thighs press together. Gods, all of those sound good. The size difference between you two makes it even better. You could choke Chilchuck out with your thighs and grind against his face while deepthroating his cock. Or maybe you could let him hump between your legs and fuck your clit…both of those sound nice.

You enthusiastically agree, now feeling warm yourself. You need this man to make you cum until your thighs shake.

“Then I’ll return the favor.” He grins at you, but there’s malice behind it. Chilchuck’s brows furrow, then he hisses through grit teeth.

“O-Open your mouth.”

The way his thrusts start to disregulate, his hips now sputtering, is proof enough to you his coming to his end. You eagerly open your mouth, leaning forward to try and catch whatever you can.

A few more thrusts, then Chil is cumming onto your face and chest with a wanton groan. He huffs with each rope of cum that spurts from his length, decorating your face in white streaks.

When he’s spent, Chilchuck falls back and tries to catch his breath. You take a moment to taste his cum. It’s not the best flavor, but thankfully it’s still easy to swallow.

Back to a cognizant mindset, Chilchuck snickers as he watches you eat his cum. It’s a little embarrassing, but considering he just came all over your face…there’s no reason for you to dwell on it. Especially when he’s so cute in front of you now, his cheeks flushed and chest heaving.

“You look hot like this.” He remarks, gesturing to the cum that streaks your face. You huff, using your thumb to wipe it off before it gets too sticky.

“Don’t be like that.” Chilchuck teases as he lies back, smug grin still on his face, then pats gestures for you to climb on top of him.

“C’mon. I said I’d return the favor, yeah?”

[eggrollforyou]

Wait for Me

Zoro x F!reader x Law

Summary: you, a fellow Straw Hat, and the crew are separated at Sabaody. Saved by Law, you have to decide if you’ll accept his help or cut your losses and handle things on your own until your crew reunites.

CW: MDNI, NSFW, Angst, Canon divergent, smut, p in v, established relationship, AFAB reader, use of Y/N, hidden baby trope (kinda? lol), descriptions of violence, blood, and vomit, pregnant reader

A/N: Hi again everyone! I had this story pop up into my head and decided I wanted to see where it goes. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed writing it! Once again, I don’t know what I’m doing. This is barely proofread. Reader’s thoughts are in italics

series masterlist : Next chapter

Chapter 2

The room is quiet, the sun just about to crest over the horizon. All you hear are the waves of the ship crashing along the bow as it continues sailing, running from the morning sun. You feel a heavy arm reach around over you and suddenly you’re pulled close into a warm body behind you. Calloused hands gripping you in tight and flush against a hard chest that slowly rub soft circles on your skin. You hum in contentment putting your hand over his. Those warm hands begin to wander and your breath hitches when they gently knead your breasts, grabbing slightly harder when you feel something hard press into your backside. 

“Mmmm, good morning,” you whisper, closing your eyes as you revel in Zoro’s touch.

”Mornin’,” he rasps, voice ragged from sleep. He exhales sharply into the crook of your neck as you adjust to grind on his erection. Your favorite alarm clock. Zoro's hands snake down to slip under his your shirt, as he continues kneading your breasts with increased fervor, grinding his length harder into you with each passing second. He sighs as you reach behind your back. Rubbing your hand on his length over his briefs, grunting when your hand makes its way under them, palming his pulsing cock.

One of his hands snakes down and presses firmly on your clit over your underwear eliciting a groan as you bite your lip at the sensation. He begins rubbing messy circles on your clothed clit, nibbling your neck as you whimper, crumbling under his touch. “Mmnnm-fuck, Z-zoro,” you whisper as he growls in need.

He presses his fingertips more urgently as he helps you chase your high, you hand gripping his length all but faltering in its rhythm. “C’mon, pretty, let me hear you,” his gravelly voice breathes hot in your ear. He nibbles and sucks on your neck, overwhelming your senses as he gropes and paws at your soft skin pushing you over the edge. You bite your lip trying to ride the line between stifling your cries of pleasure and being loud enough to satisfy Zoro. 

“Fuck, there it is,” he chuckles in your ear as his hand slows down bringing you back to reality. He grabs the hem of your underwear and in one swift RIP, he throws them to the side. In your daze, you gasp, “Hey! You can't keep ripping those ya know. I don't have any more money than you do to replace them,” you furrow your brow, faking anger. He chuckles, “I say just avoid them altogether, they only get in the way,” as he shifts behind you, both of you lying on your side still.

Before you can fire back, he steals your breath as he presses his thick cock into you, molding you to the shape of him all at once. “F-fucking perfect,” he grunts as his arm under your neck pulls forward across your chest. He pulls your upper body to his collarbone as his other hand grips your hip, forcing an arch in your back as he begins rocking his hips into you. 

“Oh, god, Z-zoro,” you cry out, unable to keep quiet as he tries to rip more of his favorite sounds from you. Bullying his length into you over and over hitting that spot that has you falling apart in his arms. The room is filled with your mingled ragged breaths and the sound of his hips snapping into you. His thrusts bring you closer to the edge and he can feel it, your walls clenching tighter, your hands gripping his arm leaving crescent shaped indents from your nails on his forearm. 

He inhales a deep breath by your ear, losing himself in you, eyes snapped shut and furrowed brow. He leans his head down, pulling your earlobe between his teeth. “Nnngh!” is all you can manage. “I love you,” he whispers in your ear and his words help you tumble over the edge. Your orgasm is white hot, you feel warmth spread from your abdomen to your fingertips. Your toes curl and you cry out your praises as Zoro cums with you. Your pulsing and fluttering cunt milking him for everything he's got like it wasn't yours already. 

He groans in your ear, “Fucking take it all, baby. Every bit of me is yours.” You turn your head back to kiss him passionately, not caring about anything else in the world except the two of you, right here and now. “I love you too, Zo,” you whisper into his mouth. 

You jolt awake sitting up quickly, breathing heavily, your heart pounding, and an undeniable ache in between your legs. “Ugh,” you groan as you throw yourself back onto the bed, throwing your arm over your eyes. “FUCK,” you hissed. Taking a deep breath, “I miss you, Zo. I hope you're okay,” you sigh. 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK 

You sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed in your tiny room on the Polar Tang, Fuuuck, I miss my room on the Merry.  As you approach your door, the knocking continues, “I'm coming! I'm coming.” Ready to yell at whomever was on the other side, you reach for the handle. Opening the door and crossing your arms your scowl is quickly dissipating when you see it's only Bepo, but he looks nervous. 

“Uh-uh- good morning Y/N,” he fidgets with his fingers, ears pressed down as he saw the daggers in your eyes when you opened the door. You immediately shift, smiling at the Mink, “N-no, no! It's okay, Bepo. I'm glad it was you, otherwise I'd have to hit someone for disturbing the rest of a pregnant woman,” you wink. “There's always an exception for you.” He blushes for a moment, “Be ready for anything, Captain said we're heading to Marineford. A-and things could get hairy.”

“Marineford, huh? What the hell is at Marineford other than the entire fleet of Marines that want our heads on spikes?” Your choice of words elicits images that Bepo has to nervously shake out of his mind. “He said you don't have to worry about anything…considering your condition…but uh, we may be needed there, so we're heading out now. I've already laid out the course.” 

“Ay-ay, Bepo! You stand at attention and salute him, trying to hold in your giggles as your actions make him uncomfortable and nervous. I really should be nicer to this adorable fuzzball. After all, I owe him my life according to the jackass who said he would have left me for dead. You try to laugh to get him to not be so nervous. You reach out and touch his arm in an attempt to calm him. “Okay, Bepo. I'll be alert and won't put myself into any danger, okay?” He sighs, “Thank you!” And he disappears down the hall back to his post.

It's been almost a month since you've seen your crew. Your ribs were still sore but getting better every day. Nausea was coming in waves. You kept to your room if you weren't trying to pull your weight around the ship. You and Law would bicker about how you were pushing yourself too hard and you could only counter that he didn't know your limits like you did. Seeing that you wouldn't back down, he finally relented and let you do light tasks around the ship. 

Most of your interactions with Law were medical appointments. Checking your rib fractures, removing stitches, and another scan to make sure your pregnancy was ok after everything. “You're actually not as far along as I initially thought. When we found you, you were probably about five weeks, so at this point, you're probably around eight.”

You nodded your head in acknowledgement. numb to the feeling that you're doing this alone right now. Law turned around to see you tuned out. Clearing his throat breaks your trance and you look at him. “H-how has your morning sickness been? Do you need anything to help with the nausea?” 

“Oh, I don't know. It's about as good as you'd expect considering I have no one right now, I'm trapped with another pirate crew in a god forsaken submarine and have no idea what's going on in the outside world. Could the nausea from that be morning sickness or just circumstantial?” you quip sardonically. This elicits a chuckle that you weren't expecting. You snap your head up for actual proof that Law is actually human. 

“I'm not holding you hostage, but you're my patient for now. As soon as your ribs heal, we can discuss what to do from there. You're at least helping around the ship, despite your stubbornness, so you're not a total waste of space and resources….Y’know, if you just listened and followed my bed rest orders, you might've gotten to leave this ‘god forsaken submarine’ sooner,” he quips as he mocks you, gesturing air quotes. 

“FINE! Fine, it'll take it easy, but I have to keep busy or I'm going to go crazy. I don't know how you've suckered your crew into this kind of life.” You get off the exam table and make your way to the door. Turning around you see him leaning against the countertop, arms crossed, with what you've learned is the signature Law scowl as you wave a two finger salute, “Thanks for the check-up, doc,” you call out as you head back to your room.

Most of the Heart Pirate crew kept their distance. They weren't rude, but they absolutely didn't have the trust in you that they had in each other. You certainly couldn't blame them. You kept everyone at arm's length. You learned when you were younger that you couldn't get hurt if you didn't get involved. Your heart was already broken enough. 

Doing work kept your mind busy. It left little opportunity to be reminded that you were stuck with a rival crew and unsure of the state of your found family. Oh, and don't forget…pregnant. For all I know I might be a single mom now. You push the thought away, unwilling to accept it. If Zoro is anything, it's a stubborn ass. I just gotta get back to Sabaody and I'll find him. 

On the way back to your room a sudden wave of nausea hits you. Covering your mouth you run to the bathroom, praying you'll make it in time. You swear you saw someone in your periphery but finding a trash can or a toilet was a higher priority. After having vomited for the umpteenth time today, you rinse your mouth out and splash cold water on your face. Trying to will the nausea away as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Arms braced on the countertop, your eyes have dark circles under them. You look tired. After a deep sigh, you do your best to compose yourself and continue back to your room. 

As soon as you open your door, you see a glass of water and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on your bedside table. It's about the only thing you can kind of keep down these days, and someone clearly has noticed. Before you contemplate it any longer, you sit down to take a small bite.

Suddenly the ship is jolting and you feel it lurching forward. Whatever was going on at Marineford, apparently Law intended to get there as soon as possible.

A couple days later, you believe you have officially reached the stage of pregnancy where your blood has turned to sand. You feel SO sluggish and tired. All you want to do is sleep. It's not depression, right? Totally the whole task of making a baby, right? You're lying down, your hands instinctively resting on your stomach. “Chill out, little one,” you whisper, “everything is gonna be ok as long as you let me eat, damn it.”

You perk up as you hear the crew yelling orders, relaying information, and running up and down the ship's cramped corridors. Standing up, the shouting gets louder as you approach the door. You open it, careful to poke your head out of the room to see what the commotion is. Penguin runs by and as he passes, he sees your quizzical look. “We're surfacing! Be ready! We're saving Straw Hat!” 

Your heart begins to pound out of your chest adrenaline coursing through you to prepare you for whatever is happening. Grabbing Luffy?! What's going on? You grab your boots and hurried put them on as you run toward the top of the ship, following everyone. “Hurry! Get those two in here!” you hear Law shouting, as you're clamoring to get sight of SOMETHING. “Dive!”

You pause, horrified at what you’ll see when you hear Bepo’s meek voice, “He’s so weak. Is he alive?”

“I need to get out there! Please! I need to help Luffy! Let me see him!” you scream, seemingly into the ether as some of the crew bars you from going up on the deck. As they push you to the side, you see everyone piling in as they prepare to close the heavy steel door and prepare to dive. Your face turns ghostly white when you see him. Luffy’s lifeless body, battered, beaten, and bloody as Bepo rushes through. Followed by Jean Bart carrying a large Fishman whom you think you recognize as Jinbei, a War Lord. What the hell is going on?!

You feel your heart clench and nausea overtaking you again as they rush the pair off to the med bay. Law running closely behind. He turns back to look at you, his face deathly serious, but solemn. “I’ll do what I can,” he grumbles. You feel helpless standing there. Your body heavy with the thought of whether Luffy was even alive or not. All you can muster is a curt nod as a stray tear rolls down your cheek that you hurriedly wipe away. Your fate, once again, in Law’s hands.

WHOAAAAA look at me posting an update so soon! I knew posting that first chapter would make the rest of the words flow! The next update may not be so soon though, unfortunately. Hopefully this is enough to tide you all over for now. I hope to have an update up within a week. Thanks for sticking around! ❤❤

Did you like this? I'm flattered! Wanna read more? Here's my Masterlist!

Tags: @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99, @guridoodles @ibuch7

MDNI divider by @cafekitsune

Heart dividers by @saradika-graphics

[vyzz-undercover]

someone left my cage open quick

[cato/f!ambassador]

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

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

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•not dubcon? [omg they've grown guys]

•hints of size kink

•vaginal fingering [on herself]

•(so i guess) masturbation

•oral [m receiving]

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions on contraception

•discussions on pregnancy

•mild possessive behaviour

•hint of slapping (he deserves it)

•mild horror themes [warp ptsd]

•tumblr's cancerous fucking formatting as always

———————————————————————————————————

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

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

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

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

Cato grits his teeth at the thought alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinks, and sees and feels steel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to give it to you.

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

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

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

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

Cato stuffs the dagger back against his breast.

He's not sure if he should knock.

Maybe barging in is a more logical approach.

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

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

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

The door clicks, then slides open a minute later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Water," he says abruptly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nothing," you huff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What reason?"

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

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

"Yes, it is," you huff back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He insisted?"

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

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

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

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

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

Cato scoffs, "I always have been."

"And that is so terribly hard?"

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

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

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

He frowns sourly, "What did I get?"

"Laid," you snark.

Cato huffs, "You were desperate for it."

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

"Groxshit," you grumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's got your attention now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You wanted it," Cato growls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do what?"

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

Cato sneers haughtily, "Decades of practice."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Say it," he pants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whine, well beyond words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cato stays quiet, considering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hook, line, sinker—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's practically vibrating from elation.

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

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

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

Still, he plays along.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" Cato barks.

Your face reddens, "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The laugh it earns from him is just as genuine.

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

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

A Long, *Hard* Night with Eijiro Kirishima

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Kirishima x Fem Reader!!!!

Note: Ok my first Smut post - this is explicit so A18+ ONLY!!

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Dating

cw: MDNI!, fem reader, adult Pro-heros, all characters are A20+, blowjob, finger fucking, dirty talk, explicit content, romance

My Master List!

The first time you give Kirishima a blowjob, he asks you to use a condom.

It all starts out hot, heavy and hazy. A late night out with your joint friend group at the bar lead to a few close brushes and stolen glances. You both had been flirting shamelessly with each other for weeks.

You’re chatting with Mina and watching the cute bar tender pour espresso martinis when you feel your phone buzz. You pull the device out of your pocket and see a message from Kirishima flash across the screen – You wanna get out of here?

Instantly your eyes lock across the crowded bar and he hits you with a mischievous grin. There’s a question in his eyes as he nods towards the door. You smile back wickedly, and it’s the only answer he needs.

A half hour later you’re in his bed, running your hands under his shirt and across his toned stomach. Kirishima kisses down your neck and you moan as his hands creep under the hem of your shirt. Before long, you’re both in your underwear and breathing heavy.

You climb off of the pro hero and slide off the bed. He pouts at the loss of contact.

You stand back and drink him in – he’s absolutely gorgeous. His hair has fallen out of its usually spiked-up style and lies flat, dropping almost to his shoulders. The past few years of hero work show in his toned muscle and in the light scars that crisscross his upper chest and arms. His boxers stretch tightly across his toned thighs and you can see his arousal clearly through the thin black fabric. You almost lick your lips as you imagine what he looks like naked. Kirishima is so turned on right now that he can barely stand it. Yet there he lies - sweet faced and smiling at you. He’s eager to please, and very much enjoying the attention your eyes are giving his body. He likes the hungry look in your eyes as you appraise him.

“Come here.” You motion for him to slide to the edge of the bed. He obliges, drawn to you like a moth to flame. As he moves to the end of his bed, you slowly kneel before him. “I’m about to give you the best head of your life.”

You can tell that he loves hearing that – it’s so hot, the way you’re using your commanding pro hero tone on him. You see his dick twitch through the thin fabric of his boxers at the promise of your lips around him.

You grin, running a fingertip down his chest, across the expanse of his muscled stomach, and right to the elastic of his boxers. He shivers at the delicate contact. You move to slip your hand beneath the waistband of his underwear when he lightly grabs your hand to stop you.

“Hey – can we slow down for a minute?” He says sheepishly, looking down at you with soft eyes. You blink, the tension between you suddenly broken.

“Of course.” You say, worrying that you did something to make the unbreakable hero uncomfortable. He holds out a hand and pulls you to your feet, inviting you to sit next to him on the bed so that you’re on even ground.

“What’s up? Do you want to stop?” You ask, concern lacing your voice. You and Kirishima have known each other for a few years as casual friends, but you don’t know much about his dating history. The two of you have never discussed past hookups and now you wonder if he has some sexual trauma that you have unwittingly triggered.

“Oh my God – no! I absolutely want to keep going.” He says sincerely, reaching out to put a large, warm hand on your bare thigh. The contact turns you on so fast you need to squeeze your legs together to keep your libido at bay. Kirishima smirks, and you know your reaction didn’t go unnoticed. “I’ve pictured this night with you for weeks – months, even. I’ve wanted you so bad since you wore that crazy dress at the agency’s winter gala last year.”

You smile, thinking back to the strappy blue number you wore to the party of the year. The glittery high heels. The long, elegant slit up your left leg. You had been an absolute bombshell. But still - it’s shocking to think that Kirishima has burned for you for this long.

“Then did I do something that you didn’t like? Talk to me Eijiro.” The use of his given name takes him a bit by surprise. He can’t quite meet your eyes as he struggles to string an answer together.

“Well – shit this is awkward – I want a blowjob. Of course I want a blowjob from you – you’re the hottest girl I’ve ever met!” His hand, still on your thigh, squeezes pointedly as he says this. “But since it’s our first time together and we really haven’t discussed where we stand on exclusivity and STI tests…I’d really appreciate it if you let me wear a condom while you do it. If you still want to do it, that is.”

You look at him, perplexed. You think that never, in the history of all mankind, has a man so desperate to get his dick sucked asked to wear a condom during the act.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that – I think it’s the most responsible way to move forward until we have time to properly sit down and talk through what this is.” He gestures at the two of you with his free hand. And then it hits you – this is some classic chivalry shit. Kirishima is trying to set a boundary that respects the sexual and physical health of everyone involved. You grin.

“I’ve never done it that way before, but if you help me along I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

Kirishima’s body seems to sag with relief. “I know it’s a little weird…but it’s really important to me. I’ve had some challenges with partners in the past and I-”

You silence him with a kiss. “Eijiro, it’s totally fine. You don’t need to explain. Unless there’s any other boundaries or trauma triggers you want to talk through before we go any further?”

His smile is wide. “I knew you were cool the moment I met you. Nah, that’s it for now. I just ask that you let me know if you’re not into something. We can stop anytime you want.” He gets up and walks across the room to his dresser, popping open the second drawer and reaching inside to produce a bright orange box of flavored condoms.

“The chivalrous hero is always prepared.” You say sarcastically, smiling as he blushes a deep red.

“I’ve got a great handle on my brand – even in the bedroom.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and the two of you laugh. He cracks open the box and pulls out a string of bright foil condoms, the packaging glints in the low light. “What flavor would you prefer? We’ve got strawberry, banana, grape…oh, shit! I forgot they come in different colors, too.”

“What colors we talking?” You look over curiously.

“Let’s see…” He holds up the packages so he can read in the semi-darkness. “We’ve got red, yellow, purple, and green. It’s your pick!”

“Omg let’s do green…” You cover your mouth as you cackle out “so you can have a…cucumber dick!! Ha!” Kirishima laughs along with you and tears off the green condom package, haphazardly abandoning the rest of the box in his half-opened dresser drawer.

He walks back over to the bed and sits down, handing the shiny package to you. “You’re in control of this next part.” He says softly, and you can see he’s getting hard again underneath his boxers. You feel a spark in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh yeah? Number 12 Pro-Hero Red Riot likes to be taken care of?” You slide off the bed and get back into kneeling position beneath him, your small hands sliding up his muscular thighs and squeezing. He groans as you run your right hand slowly up his clothed length, dragging your finger along the sensitive tip of his cock.

“You’re being so good for me…” You whisper, dipping your fingertips underneath the waistband of his boxers to feel soft skin. You tease him, running your hand along the sensitive “V” of his waist, avoiding his dick. His eyes close and his head drops back. Oh – it seems that Kirishima has a praise kink. You smile at this delicious development, and decide to see how far you can push him.

“You’re getting so hard for me, baby.” You pull your hand out from under his boxers and reach up to slide them smoothly down his toned legs. He whimpers and lifts his ass to help you take off his underwear. His rock hard cock springs out of the garment and comes to rest flush against his taught abs. Unsurprisingly, he’s huge – you absentmindedly lick your lips as you take in his perfect length. He is just as beautiful as you imagined – and his tip is absolutely dripping with anticipation.

You toss his boxers over your shoulder and reach for the flavored condom. You examine the thin square and see a small watermelon emoji printed on the smooth silver packaging. You smirk and look up to see Kirishima staring at you from up on the bed, pupils blown wide with arousal. His left hand is twitching towards his dick, seemingly waiting for permission. You meet his gaze as you bring the package to your mouth and slowly tear the perforated strip back using your bright teeth. “Touch yourself for me, baby.” And he does, grasping his member lightly as he begins to pleasure himself with gentle, languid strokes. He watches you pull out the condom, features taught with anticipation.

“Good boy.” You whisper, and he groans in response. “I’m gonna make you feel sooo good with my mouth, Eijiro.”

He picks up his pace. His cock is so hard you can see it spasm in his hand. “My rock hard hero.” He smiles at the endearment.

After a few moments, you put your hand to his wrist and motion for him to stop. He releases his dick and it springs back to attention against his rippling abdomen. You lean forward and place the bright green condom on his length, taking your time to slowly roll it down all the way to the base of his member. He shudders at the intimate touch, and his eyes widen as you cleanly spit into the palm of your hand. You reach to stroke his dick a few times to make sure the condom’s in place, and realize that the green latex comes pre-lubricated. Your saliva mixes with a thin sheen of liquid, causing your hand to move smoothly across Kirishima’s hard dick.

“You seem to know exactly what you’re doing.” He pants, grinning as you continue to pump his length.

“Well what can I say? I’m a Pro at everything I do.” You mutter before leaning forward to pull his cock into your mouth. He hisses at the unexpected contact as you circle his tip with the edge of your tongue.

“Baby…” He whines out, as you move to drag your tongue up the underside of his dick.

“Wow you’re big.” You whisper, re-tracing up his length again. You look up at him through your lashes. “An impressive dick for an impressive goddamn hero.”

He absolutely loves that, and suddenly he’s scrambling to pull you up into his lap so that you’re straddling him. He kisses you fiercely, eyes closed, one hand twisted in your hair. And you’re kissing him back with just as much fervor – gasping as you feel his hard length press against your wet panties.

“I think we should take these off.” He says between kisses, reaching blindly to push your underwear down. You stand up shakily and stumble as you try to hop out of your practical cotton panties. You strip them off and toss them into a pile with Kirishima’s boxers.

You don’t even have a second to breathe before he pulls you back into his lap and starts sloppily making out with you again. You both groan as his condomed dick slips against your wet pussy. You reach down and reposition his length it so that he’s right against your clit. He grinds slowly against you, making you both see stars.

Kirishima kisses down your jawline and up to your ear to whisper: “I’m not ready to have penetrative sex just yet – is it ok if we just keep going like this?” You nod breathlessly as you roll your hips against his hard dick, already close to orgasm. It’s slippery and hot and he knows exactly what he’s doing as he licks his fingers and reaches between you to massage your swollen clit.

“You’re so gorgeous.” He pants, moving his fingers deftly against you. “I’ve always wanted to see you like this – absolutely undone and naked on top of me.”

“Eijiro…” You whimper as he rolls against you again. The lube of the condom allows his cock to slip comfortably along your folds. “I’m…I’m gonna cum! Is it okay if I cum?” Your face starts to heat up as you feel an orgasm welling up in the pit of your stomach.

“Yes! Yes, please – cum for me baby.” His voice is rough as you feel your body start to shudder and explode. You’re dimly aware of him whispering, “Oh my God, this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You ride out your orgasm slowly, gasping at the way his fingers continue to draw out your pleasure. He’s smiling as his fingers and cock slip against you, a wave of heat between the two of you. You laugh as he slows his pace, then removes his hand when you become too sensitive. He envelops you in an embrace, bringing his fingertips up to trace along your back softly. You shiver as you come down from your high, your head swimming with an image of his sharp red eyes clouded over with lust.

“That was...” You turn your head so that your foreheads touch. You kiss him soundly. “That was just…wow. I knew you had to be good with your hands…but that. That was a whole other level of Pro Hero work.” You both laugh, his face is glowing with the praise.

“Hey, anytime.” Kirishima leans forward to kiss you back. “And I mean anytime.”

Your heart leaps at the implication, and your brain jumps through a few hot situations where you’d like to ask Kirishima to drop what he’s doing to pleasure you. One particular fantasy comes to mind, in which you’re locking your office door while Eijiro sits on your desk unbuckling his belt. You shake your head to clear away an image of him fucking you in your office. One hookup at a time, girl! You refocus.

 “If it’s alright with you…I’d like to suck your dick properly now.” You plant a wet kiss on his left cheek. You can tell that Eijiro is trying not to seem overeager, but the impatient cock throbbing against your pussy is a dead giveaway.

“I’d really love that, cutie.” He leans forward to catch your mouth in another of his searing kisses. A moment later, you swing your legs off of him and your feet hit the ground shakily. You didn’t realize how much the orgasm had taken out of you as you duck-walk over to his dresser. Wordlessly, you open a drawer and fish out the brightly colored box of condoms.

“Let’s do red this time…for Red Riot.” You find a strawberry flavored condom and quickly tear the foil packaging. You turn to see Eijiro sitting on the bed practically quaking with anticipation. You smirk, legs like jelly as you return to the bed with the fresh condom.

You bend over him and swap out the slippery, stretched green condom for the fresh red one. When you’re done, you give his rock hard member an approving pat. “There – good as new!”

He laughs with you as he sinks back into the bed, ready for you to work your magic. It’s nice to be this comfortable with someone – to be able to joke in between the sex.  To be shamelessly naked in another person’s presence. You can’t remember the last time you’ve slept with someone like this – the last time it was this easy.

You spread his legs out and push him the rest of the way into the mattress before kneeling on the ground between muscular thighs.

“Hold on a sec – here, take this.” He reaches behind his head to grab a pillow, which he lobs your way. You smile appreciatively as you tuck the pillow beneath your knees.

“You’re such a gentleman.” You praise, before running your tongue up his length. “Now let’s reward you for being so manly and chivalrous.” It’s almost funny how those words are almost enough to push Eijiro over the edge. His face flushes and you see his hands grip the sheets above you.

“You like it when I praise you, huh? Want me to keep telling you what a good little hero you are?” You lick underneath the tip of his cock, teasing. Eijiro lets out a needy moan. “Such a manly, strong hero. You deserve to be taken care of after working so hard to keep everyone safe.”

And with that, you take his entire length into your mouth. You put on a good show – sloppily bringing your lips down to the base of his cock and running your fingertips along the underside of his balls. You squeeze them experimentally and he groans at the sensation. You begin to bob up and down on his firm member, hollowing out your cheeks with intent to suck the life out of him. He brings a heavy hand up to rest in your hair as you work, smoothing your bangs out of your face as he does so.

You slurp up his dick and can see that he’s getting close. You use your left hand and continue to massage his balls and the base of his cock lightly. You hum softly, and the vibrations of your mouth and throat send absolute shivers up his body. His cock is twitching in your mouth and his balls are all but pulsing in anticipation of his release.

Time for the grand finale - you start to suck on the head of his dick, taking care to stimulate him with some impressive suction before releasing him with a loud “pop” of your lips. He groans at the loss of contact, running his free hand messily through his hair with sexual frustration.

You prop yourself up on your elbows as you take a quick breather. You look at the absolute wreckage of a man laying on the bed before you. His pupils are wide and blissed out and his body is tense as he takes quick and shallow breaths.

You look him straight in the eyes as you let your tongue dart across your wet mouth. You stare him down, a dare mounting in your eyes. You want to drive him completely over the edge, and he knows it. He looks at you hungrily, desperately. “You know…Red Riot has got to be my favorite Pro Hero.”

And with that – he’s gone. Eijiro grabs either side of your face and practically stuffs his dick back into your mouth. You eagerly accept him in, moving your tongue to accommodate his size. Within moments, he’s face fucking you – hands gripping and pulling your hair as he starts to cum in your sweet little mouth.

“Oh my God.” He stutters out, his hips pistoning into you as he rides out his orgasm. His purposeful thrusts draw an unintentional whine of pleasure out of you. The noise makes him smile, and as he finishes his pace begins to slow. Finally, blissed-out and boneless, he slowly pulls his softening dick out of your mouth.

It takes a moment for you to realize that there’s an unexpected advantage of giving a blowjob using a condom – easy cleanup. Eijiro carefully rolls the spent condom off of his member before tying it off and tossing it in a wastepaper basket across the room. He flops blissfully backward onto his bed, butt naked and handsome. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat and looks like he’s absolutely glowing.

He holds his arms out to you expectantly and you climb into them, giggling as he wraps himself around you and rolls you both to the side so he can spoon you. You feel his exhausted cock feebly twitch as it makes contact with your bare ass. You smile to yourself as you wonder how long he will need to recover before he’s hard again.

His arms encircle you with warmth; a big hand comes down to lay flat across the plush skin of your tummy as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“That was…” He’s trying to find the words to describe the passionate exchange you just shared but comes up flat.

“…the best head you’ve ever had?” You supply helpfully, a sly smile playing at your lips. This earns you a belly laugh as he plants a kiss on the side of your head.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what it was.” He pauses, taking a moment to compose himself. “I swear this isn’t just the afterglow talkin’ – but would you like to go out sometime? I’d like to take you on a real date.”

You open your mouth to respond but he forages on ahead before you have a chance to form words.

“I want to date you. Fully. Exclusively. I want take you to dinner, the movies – even to that stupid hero gala at the end of the year. The works.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I want you to wear that strappy sexy dress to the next work party and I want everyone there to see you and know that I’m your date. I want us to hangout at the bar with our friends and be able to just hold hands and be silly and couple-y. I want to have sex with you like this…all the damn time.”

He sounds so sure of himself as he says this next part – “I’ve felt this way for a while – and I’m hoping that you maybe feel the same?”

You can practically feel his heart jumping in his chest behind you.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend Eijiro?”

“Well – we don’t need to put a label on it just yet if you’re not comfortable. We can take some time to feel things out and just-”

“Yes.”

“Huh?” He’s frozen around you, thinking your answer is too good to be true.

“Absolutely. Yes. I want to be your girlfriend.” The tumble of words comes out of your mouth before you even register what’s happening. “Let’s do it all – dates, team-ups, galas, sex. There’s really no one else I’d want to share all of that with. And yeah – I’ve felt this way for a while, too.”

Behind you, Eijiro grins so widely he practically radiates sunshine. “Sounds like we’ve got a full blown relationship on our hands here, sweetheart.”

You feel your face blush at the term of endearment. “Usually I wouldn’t go rushing into something so quickly…but this. Us. I don’t know…it just feels right.” You muse, as he kisses your bare shoulder softly. “I guess we have been shamelessly flirting for months on end though.”

“Gotta love a slow burn.” Kirishima supplies, kissing the side of your head and then shifting away from you as he moves to get off the bed.

“Where are you going, hot stuff?” You gently swat his bare ass as he stands up, delighting in chuckle you elicit from the hardening hero.

He walks around the bed to kneel before you, settling between your legs. He grabs your thighs and pulls you roughly towards him, bringing your butt to the edge of the bed.

“So now that things are all official…I think I’d better return the favor.  Any interest in receiving the best head of your life?” He starts kissing up our leg and you shiver with excitement. Oh, hell yes.

“Hold on – if I had to use a condom to blow you, that means that if you’re gonna go down on me you need to use…” You search the deep recesses of your mind and try to recall what you learned in high school sex ed. “…a dental dam? Is that a thing?”

Kirishima pulls away from where he’s licking up your thigh to give you one of his trademarked-shark-toothed grins. “Go check the dresser drawer, there’s a box of them to the right. A good Pro Hero is always prepared.”

You smile back at him – it’s going to be a long, hard night.

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

Thanks for reading!! 💕 You can check out more ~spicy~ fics on My Master List!

[vazaez]

It has come to my attention that someone has been shittalking me and twisting up My words to make me seem like a creep, so i'm here to defend myself.

Here's what they said:

Good job making me look like a piece of shit over a fic i read out of curiosity because people kept mentioning it under my art, here's the conversation in question we had on Instagram, because You didnt give three shits before sharing bits and pieces of out of context messages no one else saw, making up your own version, i don't feel bad not giving a shit about showing the whole thing because i got nothing to hide.

And since you were too much of a coward to be straight with me i'll respect your wishes and keep you anonymous too.

I will translate the conversation, word for word, and i want everyone to judge if it actually correlates to what the initial post says, get your own conclusions, i don't need to fight to defend my point.

-about the possible fanfic they're mentionin on tumblr was possibly by a usar named izosso, but that guy is a proshipper and all the other fics in the tag are really weird💀

Telling you here because my tumblr account doesnt let me comment

•i saw them lol and i blocked izosso, but theres another fic by someone else [literally the only one of the ship that wasnt posted by izosso] who isnt a proshitter [as far as i know] and the fic is relatively good

-send me the link

•some things didnt really sit right with me but over all it's pretty good, they describe the dynamic almost the same as i imagined it skhd

It has a lot of smut, i just let you know because maybe that content is not your cup of tea

-going into the wild kratts Tag in AO3 is like playing the Russian roulette

Just send it to me to see what it's about

•yeah 😭 that's why i found it so weird so many people talking about the same fic

(I send the link) Here it is

-ahh yeah i found this one but i found the food sex tag weird

(Replying to my prev message) Me too

• ah yes, but it's not that much, it was put there more like a caution but no one stuck any food down any holes fortunately 🙏(clearly joking btw)

Well, besides the mouth

-thank god lol

Lmao hey out of curiosity, can i know what about it was it that you didnt like? I found it weird to see Chris as a bottom because i can't imagine him like that

•oh yeah no i do see it, he's too much of a diva 💔 (also clearly a joke?? Are we serious??) what i dislike the most is that Zach acts super weird

And the fact that there is smut at all, because it's a topic that causes me a lot of debate because he's a self insert and all

So i don't know how to feel about it, but it is well written at the very least lol

-same, it's like a 50/50 , in any case i think the fandom is gonna to form a dispute because there's a Lot of artists who font like that and when that happens i'm gonna be like Italy during WW2 lol

And yeah that thing with Zach was really weird *proceeds to call the police*

•LMAO yeah, i just try to not touch that topic much because it could always cause problems

Now where did i ever mention that i consume that content because i like it? Where did i ever sound like "an average Fujoshi"? When i very clearly said that what threw me off about the fic was the fact that there was smut at all

If what made you nauseous enough to try to ruin me was that i jokingly said he was a diva then i don't even fucking know what to tell you ??

The same curiosity you had to come and ask me for the link was the one that caused me to give the fic a try in the first place, so am i really more to be judged than you when we did the exact same thing??

Im an adult, i don't appreciate you going around saying "she still has some years for her brain to develop so i'll have faith!!" Like i'm some sort of idiot, you're barely a year older than me so be serious.

And i don't need you to go to some rando's asks to shit talk me and confess you had plans to talk crap about me to my friends because you had your own conclusions from a very specific conversation, and act like i was the one who still needs to get her shit together

Like what even is your point-?

Check yourself

And to call me a hypocrite on top of it all,,, just unbelievable

Who really is the hypocrite?

[kpopsexstories]

QUICK FIX #28: NCT Taeyong fucks you in his sailor uniform

Member: NCT Taeyong

Content: Standing, Hiding on a military ship

Type: MEDIUM

Word Count: 1,060

This story is part of my Quick Fix Dirty Kpop Imagines series. Check it out for more smut and other members and groups 😊

It’s visitor’s day for Taeyong and his sailor mates, a day you’ve been longing a long time for. So has Taeyong who hasn’t touched you in months.

“Come on,” he says half way through the tour of his ship. He smirks and takes your hand, then quickly looks left and right through the passageway. “In here.”

You step over a high metal threshold. Taeyong ushers you inside then closes the heavy door behind you. Within seconds your hands and lips are all over each other.

“Mm, Taeyong,” you moan when he squeezes your waist and kisses your neck. “Mm, take it off.”

Taeyong chuckles. “I thought you said you liked my uniform.”

“I do,” you say while he nibbles on your ear and his hand reaches your breasts. “On second thought, keep it on.”

Taeyong suddenly takes a step away from you. He has a naughty, lustful smirk on his face. You reach down to unzip and pull down your jeans, while he does the same to his airy white pants.

You’re in haste. Not just because you might get caught, but because you’re both so horny. When your pants and underwear are down to your ankles you reach out and grab Taeyong’s hard bulge. You look him in the eyes and smile, before he attacks you with his lips and come in close.

He pushes you hard against the wall. You spread your legs and stick your hands down the back of his boxers. You pull them down and free his dick, which quickly finds its way to your vagina.

You’re wet. He’s hard as bone. He hasn’t been inside you in so long and you want his cock to fill you up so badly.

The shaft becomes slippery and his foreskin is pushed back. The pulsing organ stretches your folds as it goes in. You wrap your leg around his thigh and moan.

You lift Taeyong’s white shirt and feel his lower back. His hand slips inside your blouse and eagerly squeeze your bare skin. His lips are firmly planted on yours while he twitches, and the funny hat you’ve joked so much about is sliding down the side of his head.

It falls to the ground when your hand touches his neck. You’ve got your arm so far inside his shirt that it comes out at the top, and his chest and stomach is revealed. You feel his short black hair at the back of his neck, and his naked skin as it presses against yours while he fucks you passionately.

“Ahh, babe I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers.

His dick inside you feels so good. “Mm, me too. God I've missed this.”

Taeyong rests his head on your shoulder while his hips and cute ass rock violently back and forth. His hard dick fills you and goes in and out at a high tempo.

“Mm, mmm!” he moans by your ear. His lips wet your neck and you can feel the tense muscles in his face as he presses his nose and forehead against it. "Mm, mmm."

“Yeah, baby!” you moan loudly.

“Shhh,” he hushes you but chuckles. This is so hot and thrilling.

“S-sorry,” you say while he pushes hard and deep inside you, slamming your body repeatedly against the wall. “I’ve just missed your cock so much.”

Taeyong chuckles again. “That’s what you’ve been missing?” he asks to tease you.

“Well, it’s not all. But fuck I almost forgot how good we are together.”

Taeyong likes hearing those words. And you like how he hits you in just the right spot. He’s always been able to satisfy you and he’s glad that you haven’t lost the spark.

He suddenly goes quiet. He holds his breath while your wet pussy licks his shaft, pleasuring him and igniting his senses.

Your hand around his back rests on his shoulder. You squeeze it hard and pull him closer. He begins to pant, puffing warm air on your cheek and against the wall behind you as he fucks you faster against it.

You can feel a sweat building up at the back of his head. His sailor’s pants and underwear have fallen to the floor by now. You squeeze him tighter with your leg around his thigh and bare ass, to push him deeper still inside you.

The months of longing are over. The slippery dick rubbing your warm clit has come ashore. You’ve missed your boyfriend so intensely, and what you now feel is a wonderful and long overdue release.

“Uhhn, mmm,” Taeyong suddenly moans. You know what that means.

“Ahh, yes, I love you baby,” you say and squirm.

“Mm, mm, Ahh, Ahh!” he pants by your ear, too hot and focused to respond to your words.

“Fuck, you’re so hot my sailor. Yes, fuck me, yes, yes, YES!”

“Ahh, Ahh, AHHHH!”

“Yes, Taeyong, YES, YES, TAEYOOONG!”

Your boyfriend jolts and lets out several fast and deep sighs. He pushes hard and long inside you, while squeezing your side and breast. His open mouth presses against your skin and his damp back and neck breaks into a full sweat.

“Ahhh, fuuck!” he groans while pushing a few more times into your hole.

“Mmm, babe,” you say lovingly and hold him tight.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he finally says and bursts out in an enormous but exhausted grin.

“Ahh, mmm, I love you too,” you say slowly and relax your leg.

Taeyong collapses in your arms. You giggle and hold him and kiss his forehead. He looks up at you and smiles, struggling to catch his breath. He looks weak and exhausted when you kiss, long and lovingly.

“Fuck,” he repeats in a low voice. “I’ve really missed you.”

“Me too,” you say and push him away. “We better get dressed though.”

Taeyong straightens his uniform which you have wrinkled and quickly bends down to pull up his pants. You find yours on the floor and you smile at each other while you put your clothes back on.

“How do I look?” he asks when you’re both done and he adjusts the adorable hat.

“So handsome,” you say and give him a kiss on the lips. “Ready?”

“Ready,” he confirms. He takes your hand and opens the door. Soon you’re walking down the passageway again, happier than ever that he's finally returned from sea.

Find more stories like this one on Story Finder, an external website where you can browse the archives of this blog.

[takeonmesumino]

My Takumi Ships (+ my opinion on Nozomi x Takumi)

Takumi x Tsubasa (Killing Game Route Spoilers)

THEY ARE SO CUTE!!! SO SO CUTE!!!! Killing Game Route was the first route I played and is one of my favorites as well. A huge reason for it is the relationship between Takumi and Tsubasa! I really liked how naturally it developed, sure it moved very fast but like...they are teenagers, teens tend to do that. They are so supportive of each other and help each other out when the other is struggling and and-

God they are so cute and the only reason I haven't talked about them yet is because I barely see any fan content of them (also Tsubasa stabbing Eito was so fucking based holy shit, yes girl protect your man!!!!)

Also Darumi and Takumi beefing because Darumi was Tsubasa's first kiss is such an underrated moment LMAO

Takumi x Hiruko (minor S.F Route Spoilers)

I've already made two posts about them (one of them is my most recent one too) but god I love these two as well. First things first their dynamic is hilarious. Comedy gold. Girlboss and her loser boyfriend jump into parallel universes, why? I don't know really, the route is kind of confusing.

You know what isn't confusing though? Their ability to fuck shit up because they do that...a lot. Does timeloopers suffer brain damage? Because they are both incredibly stupid (and I say this with nothing but affection for them).

Also learning the context behind that one scene in the Slasher Route was just so peak. Toxic but like...in a gentle way? Oh right...speaking of toxic-

Takumi x Eito (Multiple Eitos Route Spoilers)

I'm assuming if you've read this far you have probably played route 0. I shipped them already before completing that but...hooo boy was I in for a wild ride with them. I came for fluffy feel good boyfriends and left with the most nuclear toxic yaoi I've seen in ages.

The way Eito has felt isolated by his hate for so long. The way he yearns to be understood but also loathe people to the point of letting no one in. He has only ever felt understood after Takumi went back in time exposing him and his true nature. Having someone know everything you've been keeping secret is...intimate. Something he's never felt before. This of course manifests a deep obsession with Takumi, that plays out in many ways across different routes.

I don't think there's any ending that shows this better than the Eternal Hate ending. It shows how Eito loves through hate because hate is all he's ever known. Him and Takumi becoming one and the same in mind, body and spirit...allowing Eito to truly feel seen (although whether or not he is actually understood is kind of debatable lol)

Why I dislike Takumi x Nozomi but still believe it to be the single most important relationship in the game (Truth Route/Second Scenario Spoilers)

I don't like this ship. I don't like it at all.

But at least to me that's kind of the point of it. It's clear from the moment Takumi first meets Nozomi that he doesn't see her as a real person. He struggles with coming to terms with how similar Karua and Nozomi is, often comparing the two over every little thing Nozomi says. He does try to view them differently of course. And he does succeed at it in the first timeline...until she is dying and he misunderstands her dying words as confirmation that Karua and her are one and the same.

From there on he is convinced that Nozomi is Karua, outright dismissing her agency believing he knows her better than she knows herself. Karua and by extension Nozomi is Takumi's biggest weakness, it's what makes him hesitate but also what makes him do many terrible things. His desire to protect her often turns him into the worst version of himself.

It's really only by learning the truth, that Karua was never real but the feelings of friendship he shared with Nozomi when they were kids was real, that he becomes able to see past the illusions and see Nozomi as the person she really is.

His relationship with Nozomi is proof of the evil the scientists at Kamukura General Hospital has inflicted upon them. The two of them are cursed to never stand shoulder to shoulder until every truth is uncovered. Only then will they truly know each other.

And by extension themselves.

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #9141:

The current state of the Hazbin Hotel fandom genuinely makes me feel like shit and I hate it so much. ESPECIALLY here on Tumblr.

I’ve posted about this a few times before, and the response I’ve gotten from other people is pushing me out of the fandom as a whole, something I’ve been a part of and has been a major part of my life for several years. I’m aroace, and I don’t want to see ship content of Alastor, who is also aroace. I cannot use this website with Alastor ship tags blocked. It doesn’t function for me, it’s unusable. I have to dig to find anything under #Alastor that isn’t “This post contains filtered tags.” Of the top 50 posts, I could see 7 (as of a few months ago, likely not accurate anymore). I got fed up with it and tried to block as many people off the top as I could in one sitting.

I blocked 209 different blogs. 209. And it barely made a dent. I can now scroll a good few pages posts down now, and then there’s a hard line where I stopped blocking people. And with the way Tumblr’s “Top” posts search function works, there’s about 10 new posts (which are mostly ship art/fics) and then all the shit I’ve seen already. And for some reason, the tags for the other characters are STILL just as flooded as they were before, particularly Lucifer. FUCK Lucifer x Alastor, in particular. Fuck you guys.

I cannot use this website for Hazbin Hotel fanfic/fanart if I don’t want to see Alastor ship content, and it pisses me off. It pisses me off people gave me shit for being pissed off about not being able to see the ONE character that’s like me. I shouldn’t have to fucking dig to find non-ship related content, of the only aroace character in popular media I can think of off the top of my head. I thought I had one character I could relate to and enjoy to the same level as everyone else, and instead I feel more isolated than ever.

He’s like me, but he isn’t for me, because next to nothing is for me, especially not in fandom spaces. Because god forbid something not be about sex and romance for two goddamn seconds.

[flashstep-connoisseur]

The absolute State of Samarie/Marina content on this site is driving me nuts because everyone goes "teehee toxic yuri because Samarie's a stalker" while completely ignoring that Marina just fucking HATES Samarie's guts which is why it's actually toxic yuri god damn it

In every scenario where a non-player character Marina meets Samarie in Rher's Church of Alll-Mer Playplace, she tears into her so hard that Samarie moonscorches on the spot, and even if you're playing as Marina and get to Samarie on Day 1 Morning, the dialogue options that get her to calm down are full of barely-represssd rage. People focus on Samarie killing Marina's awful dad and kinda forget that Marina already had extremely complicated feelings about him that were exacerbated by, you know, seeing him DIE and robbing her of the chance to get the closure that she made the mistake of going back to Prehevil for, and the culprit's this girl who fucking dares to say that she knows her, that she's dug into her deepest most closely held secrets. And the worst part is that Samarie claims to love Marina for all her faults that she ripped out of her mind, all the secret, hidden, ugly emotions and hangups that Marina still violently hates herself for! That's the worst part to Marina!

So yeah seeing pretty much all of the Samarina art and fic being lovey-dovey and full of fluff is starting to get on my nerves because it's doing a disservice to what could be a way more interesting character dynamic. Where's the content of Marina regretting her decision to bring Samarie back to the train and pinning Samarie against the wall of a locked cabin with a knife to her throat, then finally snapping so hard when she sees Samarie is INTO that she has violent, bloody hatesex with her to try and make her regret ever getting obsessed with Marina in the first place to the point of almost killing her until Samarie says that she'd love to die that way and Marina is so disgusted she gets up and leaves without another word? Where is it???

AND IF PEOPLE WANT A CUTE FLUFFY YURI SHIP FOR MARINA WHYYYYY ARE THEY IGNORING THE GIGANTIC CANONICAL MUTUAL CRUSH SHE HAS ON OLIVIA

[chameleonsd1sh]

not saying who bc i don’t wanna shit on ppl’s ships esp if they would not technically be problematic irl, but fuckkkkk they’re not lovers it’s a father-son relationship and i hate it here so bad ohhhhhhh my god you can barely find any content without this FUCKING SHIP

i can ONLY accept it being like a one-sided weird admiration crush that he’s not really actually serious about, mixed with seeing him as a father figure. and you NEED to acknowledge that it feels weird for him too, like “yeah he’s lowk a father figure to me but also. would. that’s actually partially what makes him hot. does that make me weird. do i have daddy issues. perhaps.”

like. yes there’s a couple jokes about it in canon (often alluding to the fact that their relationship looks sus from an outside perspective… almost like the fandom perceived it the same WRONG way others in-universe did… but okokokok whatever im normal), and YES witnessing that fight scene e definitely had “mark me down as scared AND horny” energy and i GET it but we need to acknowledge h literally knew him as like. a fucking small child. when he was a whole adult. so if you absolutely must do this, if you absolutely MUST put them together for real as more than just a one-sided crush, you gotta get weird and strange about it. on both ends. guy with regret over never having a family, never having a child, becomes a mentor to a guy who never had a dad and is weird about it. you can’t make this normal you have to get odd and psychological with it.

but yeah “oh it seems deeper than if he’s just his mentor” “i dunno they don’t just seem like friends” fucking duh??? that’s the whole point i fear?? he’s like a father to him?? they’re not just “friends” there’s a power dynamic here of mentor-mentee and more than that there’s a deep emotional bond of guilt and obligation and somebody finally believing in you and then loss and grief and then relief? sure there’s a level of friendship because they’re not related and they’re not lovers, so yes they could be “friends” but there’s more complex relationships than just friends, family, coworkers, and lovers, and they’re a complex relationship for sure.

like they do become more equals later, as earlier yes he’d talk back to h but in the second film because the situation has changed and e sees h as compromised, the power dynamic changes a bit (for a period of time) and e treats him more like someone HE’S responsible for (reversed places), an experience which may put them on more even footing from then on, although i lowk still feel like h sees him like a son since h knows that he’s right abt the betrayal and is not losing it even while e sees his protecting h despite his anger as mature… second film relationship is up for debate (friends or father-son, still not lovers) and i do think there is a shift, but at least when h returned in 2nd it DEF felt like still father-son. and in the first one? that is not “friends” that is 200% mentor-mentee with attachment you only get from, as i said, guy with (familial) regrets + guy with (dead) daddy issues. you get it

like. the thing is it’s not gonna be exactly a father and son relationship because he didn’t fucking raise him and he’s already a young adult so there’s the mutual discomfort of being adults (in very different stages of life obviously) who see each other like this, which does not exist in a relationship where one actually raised the other, but the nature of it is absolutely still more mentor-mentee with the emotional depth of father-son than anything else. he saw him as a young child, he feels responsible for him, he gets angry at him for wasting potential, he teaches him manners and to value himself and all of this and even if they wouldn’t acknowledge it, his feelings are almost certainly fatherly and e definitely felt like he lost another father, not just a mentor, when h died

[aesopsbaby]

"𝙊𝙝, 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩, 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩?"

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫(s): Mer!Lo Quill ( @feelin-lo) x Pirate!Meztli

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: All that separates them is glass, and the Captain’s ready to break it just to fuck him senseless. Besides, desire never needed permission to spill over.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: How would everyone react...if I said I have an explicit part to this... ANYWAYS!! I stayed up all night to finish this, I'm going insane, they are prancing about in my mind rent-free,,,

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Suggestive content but non-nsfw, obsessive/possessive behaviour, they are about to get their FREAK on!!!

𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: Moonlight Between Us

The moonlight cuts through the ship’s deck, cascading soft beams across the brig where Lo waits, swimming slowly in his tank.

His eyes glisten, bright and mischievous, peering through the glass. The water swirls and ripples gently around him, but it’s his presence—the slow, seductive way he glides through it —that has turned the tables and made Meztli feel like the captive in this tale.

Every movement a temptation, every breath a whisper of something more.

Lo’s eyes meet Meztli’s with that lazy smirk, fingers brushing along the glass with a soft, teasing touch. A promise of something much more intimate.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. His gaze alone is enough to make the Captain's chest tighten with a mixture of frustration and desperate hunger.

“If this wasn't here," Lo murmurs, his voice low and silky, barely above a breath. Running his finger along the glass panel separating them,

“Would you touch me soft or would you ruin me?”

The words hit Meztli like a storm. His breath catches in his throat, and the heat in his gut flares almost violently. His hands twitch at his sides, his teeth clenched as he stares through the glass, desperate to touch him, to claim him in every way possible.

He swallows hard.

He can’t stand it anymore. The way Lo looks at him…as if he wants him just as much as he does.

God….he feels as if they really are just animals giving in to their urges.

Meztli takes a few quick steps back, a hand coming to rest against the wall of the ship, his breathing heavy as he tries to steady himself. But it’s too late. His mind is already reeling, lost in the hazy idea of Lo’s slick body against him, and he moves before he even realizes it.

Without a second thought, Meztli rushes up the small steps at the side of the tank that contained his beloved. Lo's eyes trails after him, a knowing smile graces his lips, seeing Meztli kick off his shoes in a hurry.

His legs splash into the water, the coldness of it momentarily shocking his skin, but he doesn’t care. The fabric of his pants soaks through in an instant, but he’s too consumed by the need to be closer, too consumed by the urge to finally, finally touch his treasure, his Lo.

He sits at the edge of the tank, his heart pounding in his chest, looking down at the water below.

Meztli doesn’t say a word. He just watches Lo, every inch of him basically trembling with want.

Lo, without a single word, begins swimming up towards Meztli, every stroke slow and sensual. The water shimmers as Lo surfaces, his eyes never leaving Meztli’s. He slides up with effortless grace, his form gliding like the sea itself, moving toward the man who can’t seem to pull away.

When Lo reaches him, he doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask for anything—he simply rests his head on Meztli’s lap with a soft hum. The sound is low, almost like a purr, as his tail flicks lazily, just barely brushing Meztli’s soaked legs.

Meztli’s breath hitches just slightly. The feeling of Lo’s wet skin against him, the warmth of his hair resting on his lap, sends a jolt of desire through him. His hands are trembling as he reaches out, fingertips grazing the wet strands of Lo’s hair, before finally settling on the curve of his neck.

Meztli let's out a soft sigh, a mix between relief and a chuckle as he admires Lo.

How mesmerising.

The words from moments ago echo in his mind, and Meztli feels a fierce possessiveness bubble up within him—the need to claim Lo, to feel him completely, and to know that no one else ever will.

He leans down, lips just inches from Lo’s ear, the heat of his breath mingling with the salty air. “I’ll ruin you,” he murmurs, voice thick with dark promise. “I’ll make you beg me for more, mi amore.”

Lo widens his eyes, just slightly before it vanishes almost instantly, his lips curl into a subtle, knowing smile, his eyes sparkling with something dark and dangerous. He softly hums again, as he traces the fabric of Meztli's soaked pants. Inching closer and closer to the tightness straining very obviously.

“Then prove it, Captain.”

The words are a challenge, an invitation. And in that moment, Meztli knows he can’t...no, he won’t hold back anymore.