#could use such questions as prompts for art and answer them that way!

[aur0raaura]

im still blown away from the support im having with the previous art I've done related to the AU! as thanks, I'll share a wip of what i'm doing next as a continuation to this piece...hehe!

[veryberryjelly]

request ; @diorrfairy; can i get 25. kissing hip bones i repeat kissing hip bones with art donaldson !!

art donaldson x reader

prompts ; ' kissing hip bones i repeat kissing hip bones '

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✦ 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 !

while there were many benefits to dating a tennis player, attending functions was not one of them.

a lot of people would love to get dressed up, go to a fancy event with their partner and spend the night drinking, but both yourself and art would much rather just stay home and order in.

you enjoyed each others company more than others.

but unfortunately neither of you could get out of it tonight.

which was why you were finishing off curling your hair in the bathroom while art tied up his shoes sat on the bed.

" we could say i got hurt during practice "

the entire time the two of you had been getting ready, art had been offering up excuses you could give to the organiser to get out of it and every time you had the same sort of answer.

a soft laugh fell from your lips as you set the curler down on the counter, switching it off at the socket.

" baby, there is no way we can get out of it. " you relented, waking through to the bedroom, your bare feet padding against the carpet. " but we only have to be there for an hour or two and then we can come home "

art lifted his eyes when you came to stand infront of him and for a moment he was glad that they had been invited to this event.

you looked absolutely ethereal.

your dress complimented your skin beautifully, the thin material allowing him to see every curve of your body.

when he lifted his hands to slide up your thighs, ruffling the material slightly, he realised how soft it was beneath his fingertips.

his hands slid up from your thighs to your hips, pulling you those few steps closer to him, his head tilted back and his gorgeous blue and brown eye staring up at you with something you recognised as 'complete and utter adoration' as he so eloquently put it.

" you look absolutely stunning, baby " he whispered, his voice slightly hoarse from the amount of restraint he was having to put to use to prevent himself from pulling this dress off of you.

" is the promise of getting to take this off later enough to get you out the door ?" you questioned, your hands sliding up into his mess of strawberry curls.

he didnt seem to hear you, his lips moving to press light kisses against the silky fabric, his lips moving from your stomach and down to your pelvis.

you were so entranced with the sight of him so addicted to the feeling of the fabric against his skin, that you didnt notice his hands lifting your dress from the floor and up your thighs.

" art " you prompted, trying to pull him out of his euphoric state as he tried to pull your dress up over your ass.

that was when you had to step back and let the fabric fall down to the floor again, causing him to snap out of his daze.

you sat down on the floor infront of him and began to slide your feet into your heels while you spoke.

" 2 hours, and then we can come home and i'll even keep the dress on for a little while if you want " you bargained. seeing how he reacted to you in the dress, you thought the promise of some private time with you in the outfit might get him out the door.

" fine, 2 hours " he said, standing from the bed and offering his hands out to pull you from the floor after you had put your shoes on.

---

as you promised, after two hours at the event, you and art said your goodbyes and headed to the car, arts hands already all over you as you walked to the car.

you managed to keep him off of you until you got back to your place, but the minute the door was shut, he had his hands pawing at the fabric of your dress, pulling it up to bunch at your waist so he could grasp at you properly.

his hands went to your ass, your arms looped around his neck and your lips only disconnected for air every few seconds.

a small yelp fell from your lips when your feet were lifted from the ground and your legs wrapped around art's torso, holding on tightly as he brought you both to the bedroom, setting you down on the mattress with a small bounce.

he knelt down to undo your shoes and drop them onto the floor, his lips pressing to your ankles, then your shins.

he continued up your body, pulling your dress up as he went.

when he reached your thighs you lifted your ass slightly to help him move the fabric but you watched in amusement as his head pulled out from under the dress.

he didnt hesitate to push the silky material up over your hips so it bunched up just above your belly button.

his eyes flamed as he presses a feather light kiss to your stomach, following down the same path as he had previously by pressing a light kiss to your pelvis.

he moved to the left, his lips trailing a path towards your hip bone as he pulled down the fabric of your panties, doing the same to each side.

once your panties joined your shoes in the pile forming on the floor, you were absolutely done for

[thebellearchives]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐑

~ inumaki toge ; jujutsu kaisen

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : your friend inumaki toge is the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen, but does he think the same thing about you?

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : just a small drabble, gn!reader, fluff

‧₊˚ a / n : gorgeous art by @freyzrc 🫶🏻 they’re one of my fav artists here so check out their blog im sure you’ll love it too (‘: ~

i asked for permission to use it so please make sure you do talk to them about it if you’re thinking of doing the same thing

“That’s just rude” you pouted, pretending to be annoyed “going to eat all on their own and leaving us behind”

Toge giggled, you looked over at him. Truth be told everyone had left you two behind in hopes you’d finally make a move on him. And truth be told, you probably weren’t going to do it anyway.

“You don’t mind?” he took a bite of his food before his eyes met yours.

The boy raised his brows until they nearly met, almost as if the answer to your question was painfully obvious. So you raised your eyebrows back, but this time in inquiry, prompting another chuckle to leave his mouth. Toge just shrugged and flicked his hand dismissively, ready to take a last bite.

“Huh, I would’ve thought you’d be at least a little bit annoyed at your two friends leaving to eat without you.” he stopped chewing and squinted, his white lashes blinking twice before grabbing his phone.

Expectantly, you continued eating your food too, taking your time to admire his features. It wasn’t very often that you had the chance to see his bare face, which was probably for the best since most of the time it was almost impossible for you to not stare like an idiot. But Toge was just so pretty, his skin was clear and his lips looked soft and alluring. Beautiful eyes almost trembled from left to right as his nimble fingers typed quickly across his phone’s screen, before finally offering it to you. You took his phone in your hands and he put away his lunch.

I get to spend time with you so it’s okay (:

Feeling your blood rush to your cheeks, you couldn’t stop the silly smile that took over your lips. If only he knew the way he could make you swoon with just a simple sentence like that.

“I like spending time with you too, Toge” when your eyes went back to him you spotted him trying to cover up his face again, so without actually thinking it through you quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him “wait, don’t-”

He froze, his eyes widened and then searched for yours.

“Tuna?”

“N-nothing, I just like seeing your face… uhm, i mean, when we talk! I mean, like because we’re… uh, communicating… and…” panicking, you tried to come up with a decent excuse, but your face kept getting hotter and your mind couldn’t stop thinking about his curious lavender eyes staring back at you as you made a fool of yourself “I ju- I don’t know I- I just think you’re pretty.”

WHAT?!

Putting your hand away, your eyes darted towards the floor in embarrassment. But then you heard him giggle. When you looked up, he moved closer. The scent of his cologne suddenly and sweetly filling your senses. Toge grabbed the hand you had moved away and laced your fingers together, his closeness and warmth sparking a nervous sensation in your chest, flushing your cheeks once again and forming a knot in you throat. With his free hand he pointed back at you.

“Prettier”

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION: LORE, CHARACTERIZATION, AND THE ONE IN WHICH I RUIN A BUNCH OF PEOPLE'S FUN

As usual, this is far from all of the asks in my inbox but I'm trying to catch up 😩thank you everyone for your patience!

For the record, if your ask isn't being answered, that most likely means one of three things:

I am saving it as a possible art prompt.

I sincerely don't have a very interesting or good reply for it yet!

It's a question I have been asked multiple times/the answer is in my pinned post.

Glad you like them!!

As much as I don't limit what I draw to canonical events, vampirism is so antithetical to DU drow's character journey that I couldn't really envision it, to be honest, but who knows! Maybe I'll cook up some Ascended Astarion scenario someday that is kind of a role-reversal of the Bhaalist DU Drow AU I have going on in tandem to the story.

I'll be honest, this is one of the rare times where I'm really not sure which aspect of DU drow's weirdness this is in reference to. Do you know something I don't? 😅

His masochism is very... Classic, I guess? He's in it for the pain and for the emotional connection, and the process of being pierced wouldn't cut it whatsoever, it's too subtle. The body modifications he has are an incidental result of it, but they were never really the goal.

Also having stuff dangling off his face or body would just irritate him, he specifically only does rings because all other types of jewellery get in the way too much. Pre-tadpole Bhaalist drow obviously wore them by the ton, but only as a symbol of status and because he had a permanent new-money complex🤷 so yeah not a piercing-type of character at all, sorry!

He's smooth from the eyelashes-down and profoundly weirded out by body hair LOL

I don't personally think that whatever Astarion had for a home before would bear my resemblance to it after 200 years - having probably gone through several owners, remodeled, if not completely lost to the destruction of the end-game. I do HC that he used to visit it whenever he could as an enthralled spawn to read his mail, but he stopped after his father passed.

THANK YOU, I THINK? I can't say that isn't a passionate description at least!

I'm honestly surprised that this comes up as often as it does LOL but it's just an stylistic choice on my end!

The latter - for sure. He figured that them dying at each other's hands at the end was a given and took that assumption entirely for granted (and I'm sure daydreamed about it often while Gortash went on and on about political strategy during their dinner meetings.)

;))) way ahead of you and by "way ahead" I mean "eventually and whenever I can figure out when to do it alongside the other 30 ideas I am currently juggling" (but I really do want to make a little comic out of it!)

He used them! Not immediately, but he grew to trust the guardian after some initial suspicion and happily gobbled up those squirmy little things alongside Astarion. Because I made his character on a whim and without any planned backstory, I didn't really put any thought into his Guardian's appearance either, so she's just a human woman with a Joan of Arc look going on who's of no significance to him or his past.

But DU drow did trust her, again not immediately but eventually. It was honestly a big kick in the gut to him when the Emperor revealed himself and it definitely set their relationship up to fail from the get-go.

This is also why he didn't ascend to the next stage of Ilithid power, he just stomped the thing dead right on the spot LOL

LMAO I think Gortash is too proud to chase a tail he can't catch like that

He was probably very overwhelmed by the sudden realization that OH, THIS IS ALL HAPPENING BECAUSE OF ME which naturally didn't come across whatsoever to anyone present since he immediately bottled it up and tucked it away out of sight. However, as the story progressed and DU drow helped his friends get out of their respective pickles he was probably able to justify it to himself as it having been for the greater good - since it led to Astarion being freed from his master and Shadowheart to defying the Sharrans.

As for all of the rest of the ensued destruction and death that resulted from it? Well you can't make an omelette without cracking some eggs, or whatever is the wizard version of that saying. He has essentially turned the entire situation into a net-positive in his mind and sleeps great at night because of it.

[whumptober]

Whumptober 2023 Event Info & Rules

Event Info & Rules

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.

The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to an 'old flame' - an old relationship. It's truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participations as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

If you are uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag them with:

#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3 …..(theme/theme number)

#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC, ... (ironman, originalcontent, oc ...)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself, because tumblr sucks)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.

Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

[lulublack90]

Prompt 3 - Rush

@jegulus-microfic May 3, Word count 818

Previous part First part

Madam Pomfrey still wouldn’t let them in at lunchtime, but Sirius pushed his way past James and stood before her with his arms crossed and a look that dared her to try and keep him out. She released an exasperated sigh and waved them in. 

“Five minutes, boys. He’s still not well.” She warned them before walking back into her office. 

The boys made their way to Remus’s usual bed. He was curled up in a tiny ball, still fast asleep. He looked paler than usual and James could spot some new scars slowly healing on the exposed skin peaking out of his pyjamas. Remus would worry about hiding them when he saw them. 

Sirius perched on the edge of the bed. He was the only one out of the three of them that ever did. James and Peter preferred to give Remus some breathing space, but Sirius got as close as he could. James watched as Sirius leaned over and brushed a few stray locks off Remus’s sweaty forehead. 

“Hey, Moony,” He whispered. Remus began squirming and moaning pitifully. His eyes slowly blinked open, and he looked up at Sirius first. 

“Ouch,” He croaked, his voice would be sore after all the howling he’d done last night. “What happened?” He asked Sirius. Sirius helped him sit up and stayed close. 

“You were trying to get to something, and we were trying to keep you away from it. I ran back the way you wanted to go and found Regulus picking bloody Fluxweed. You broke past Padfoot, but I managed to get Regulus to go back to the castle, and we wrestled you back to the shack.” James filled him in. 

“It was really scary!” Peter piped in. James had to hold in the groan at Peter's words, they were sure to start a fight between Peter and Sirius. Remus’s worst worry is that he’ll hurt someone and making him feel worse about it was a sure way to aggravate Sirius. 

“Hey Pete, let’s get out of here. Remus doesn’t need all three of us. We can go get some lunch.” He motioned for Peter to head towards the door. James turned back to Remus as Peter left.

“Regulus wants to ask some questions tonight. Will you be back in the Tower by dinner time, do you think?” He asked quietly, not wanting to draw attention to them. Remus shrugged. 

“Depends on whether Poppy will let me go.”

“Okay, what can I tell him if you can’t make it? I don’t want to tell him anything you don’t want me to say. He guessed it was you, but we never confirmed it. I can lie and say we found a wolf while we were messing about in the forest,” James tried. They’d all been sworn to secrecy in second year after they worked out where Remus went every month. 

Remus looked to Sirius, silently asking for help.

“It’s up to you. We can get him to swear he won’t tell. We can’t tell Dumbledore or McGonagall because then we’ll have to explain the whole animagus thing.” Sirius ran his fingers through his hair and said to James. “I don’t know if we can trust him.” James thought it through for a moment. 

“As far as I can tell, he hasn’t said anything to anyone. I’m not saying we can fully trust him, but surely it must be a good sign.” He offered. 

“Okay,” Remus’s croaky voice was getting worse, so Sirius passed him a goblet of water. He took a sip and continued, “I trust you James. If I can’t leave here tonight, you feel him out and tell him what you think we need to.” He snuggled back into his bed and closed his eyes. 

“Are you coming?” James whispered to Sirius. Sirius shook his head and James left them to it. 

The rest of the day seemed to drag on, but somehow he still had to rush from defence against the dark arts up to Gryffindor Tower to meet Regulus on time. He ran inside. The Common room was empty, but Remus and Sirius were up in the dorm room on Remus’s bed going through the work Remus had missed that morning. “She let you out then?” He grinned from the doorway. Both his friends jumped, they hadn’t realised he was there. 

“Yes,” Remus answered. “I’m just sore and tired. It took a lot of grovelling, but she let me go as long as I came straight up here. Where’s Peter?” 

“I thought it best he went to herbology club.” Remus and Sirius nodded in agreement. “Right, I’ll go down and wait for him.” 

James descended the spiral staircase and pushed the fat lady’s portrait open. Regulus was leaning against the wall opposite. 

“About time,” He scoffed. “I’ve been waiting here for ages.” He pushed James out of the way and walked fearlessly into Gryffindor Tower.   

Next part

[anthropologyruinseverything]

One-Shot Roman Reigns

Untitled off shoot of a longer fic I am working on

🚨SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ only plz

1.75k words - Roman Reigns x Indigenous American FMC - Established D/s relationship/embarrassment/free-use/prompt exercise

I could barely contain my excitement as we filed into the conference room for the big merchandise meeting. Knowing Roman found the art interesting but the numbers talk insufferable I had planned this little stunt specifically for what I knew would be an exceptionally long and boring one. His shoulders were wound up tight already and his leg bouncing.

A week ago I’d removed my the simple purple bracelet I’d worn non-stop for a year. The free-use bracelet I had started to feel he took for granted. Politely, sweetly, I’d rebuffed any other attempts of his to come onto me with our safe word, which meant hard stop and no questions, and so he’d been left very frustrated but unable to do much about it. I never used our safe word and suddenly I was using it daily. His gentle questions answered with “I’m fine really, just not in the mood” or “It’s not you, I’m just really tired” and I knew he was close to bursting.

Memories of why I was doing this had kept me strong all week. I’d been on a call with costumes when he’d insisted on sex, embarrassing me on a professional call when I’d been unable to contain a shout. The giggle from Jamie on the other end of the line haunted me.

It wasn’t the only time he’d taken advantage of our agreement and I knew it wouldn’t be that last and that was okay. I just felt like we could use some boundaries and these seemed like a fun way to get my point across.

The roots of seeking revenge took hold and so I’d planned to do everything in my power to embarrass him in some way that would match up.

Mister Tribal Chief, Head of the Table, Big Uce could stand to be taken down just a single peg from time to time.

Digging into my bag I fired off the photos I took earlier along with a video and the words “hope your phones on silent”. Next I sent the app for the vibrating underwear I was wearing. He couldn’t control it but he could see what was happening on a live chart. I waited, watching as he settled in the chair next to me and fished his phone out before the meeting got started.

Roman’s tanned face went from his normal golden to deep red in a matter of seconds, even his ears turned pink. I could be a brat for sure, but I was shy and typically submissive, not one to do something so rash as take *those* kinds of photos, shots of my wet center and naked breasts. Not one to send a video of me orgasming with the toy he’d tortured me with so many times.

And in them all I was wearing the bracelet. Waiting for him to look up I tugged the long sleeves I was wearing to my elbows, exposing my wrist. Realization I had been wearing it all day dawned on his face and his mouth fell open ever so slightly. I made sure to glance away quickly, acting as if nothing was happening, as if I wasn’t nearing another one right now. Thanks to him I’d developed quite the poker face in our year together.

“Roman, you good?” Paul Levesque asked. He snapped his mouth shut but couldn’t hide the blush.

“Yep. Fine.”

My phone dinged.

*WTF*

I ignored it.

Again. *What are you doing? This isn’t funny.*

It was a struggle not to laugh as I heard him shifting urgently in his seat.

“S’matter with you dawg?” Jey threw him a dirty look from his other side. “Be’in annoyin’ as hell right now.”

“Sorry.” But he shifted again, earning a disgruntled sound from his cousin.

His phone buzzed letting him know I was peaking and I squeezed my pen a little tighter before turning the setting back down as if I were shooting off any old text. I looked over at him sideways.

“You feeling okay? You look a little flushed.”

If looks could kill I’d be dead. Making a face at him I held my hands up like I’d done nothing wrong and went back to doodling. Paul cleared his throat from the front of the room.

“Roman? If you’re alright we can get started?”

Again he flushed bright red and nodded. “Course. M’fine, just hot.”

Jimmy snorted from the end of the table. “Yeah, and bothered. Like a teenager over there Uce.”

Roman shot him a death glare as everyone chuckled softly. Never before had he been the butt of the joke and everyone in the room seemed to be enjoying his distress.

Without hesitation I fired off another video.

I’d been playing this game all week, he just didn’t know it. In this one I wore one of his tshirts, making it obvious I’d taken it while he was in the shower one night. In this one I rode a pillow and toyed with my breasts, something he loved watching me do when he had me wound up and desperate but wouldn’t allow me to touch myself with my hands.

*Coyote.*

I didn’t answer or look his way, just watched the slides as Paul talked.

*This isn’t funny. What the hell?*

Instead of answering him I sent yet another video, this on from even earlier in the week. Making it very clear that while I’d denied him all week I had enjoyed myself various ways while he was busy but close. His knee jerked and the table jumped at the video of me in shower, using the water stream to pleasure myself. Again something else he loved to do.

“What are you watching? Care to share?” Paul Heyman sounded mildly annoyed, he’d nearly lost his coffee when Roman had bumped the table.

The dark haired man beside me slammed the phone down on the table, hard enough I was worried he cracked the screen. “No. Look, it’s nothing.”

But it clearly wasn’t nothing. Again his phone buzzed as I adjusted my underwear. It looked like he might cry.

I relished it, wishing I could take a picture.

“Bet it’s porn.”

Everyone stilled before bursting into laughter, except Roman who buried his face in his hands. Sometimes Solo had the best things to say and he’d gotten much bolder about giving his older relation a hard time.

Once the laughter subsided the meeting moved forward, moving rather quickly. Roman was agreeable, clearly in a hurry.

“I think that sums it up-“

“Great.” Pushing himself up the tall Samoan grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet in front on him in one smooth motion. “See ya later.”

“Uh-hey! My bag-“

“Somebody’ll grab it.” He never missed a step, pushing me out of the room ahead of him. Stumbling into the hallway he kept a tight grip on my shoulder. “Closet, now.”

With some strange stoke of luck the first supply closet we came across was unlocked. Various boxes of what appeared to be holiday decor lined old metal shelves in a room dimly lit by a single bulb. It was musty and cramped and kinky.

I loved it.

Loved how feral he looked as he locked the door behind us.

“You’ve been *such* a bad girl Coyote.” His voice was like a dagger cloaked in velvet. Letting his hair down he approached, his eyes were focused but wild. “It’s time to pay.”

Putting on the bracelet meant he could do what he wanted, when he wanted, and where he wanted, only to stop if I pulled out the safeword.

“Strip and get to your knees.”

I shivered, moving quickly to do as he commanded and speaking the words I’d been train to. “Yes chief.”

He circled me in the enclosed space, tugging off his own tshirt. “You wanna behave like a little slut? Like a *dirty* pet?”

My whole body clenched in want. At first it had bothered me that I liked his dirty talk but now I embraced the rush of feelings it brought. Shame swept me yet my nipples tingled in anticipation.

Falling to his knees behind me he shoved me forward with one hand between my shoulder blades. “Then I’m gonna fuck you like one.”

Shoving his pants down just enough to free his cock he waisted no time slamming into me to the hilt. His big hands clutched my hips with bruising force as he pounded away with abandon. Glancing back over my shoulder I was rewarded with a gorgeous sight, his hair loose around his shoulders, face flushed and sweaty, warm brown eyes clouded with lust.

I loved it when I made him lose control.

Normally such a calm and cool and confident Dom he was lost to his passions now and I was falling quickly as well. All week I’d missed being stretched by his huge dick and now that I had it I was teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Not letting you outta bed for a week.” Roman was panting, grunting loudly like he didn’t care if anyone could hear.

It made my walls clench tighter around him. The slapping sounds of our flesh were lewd and delicious at the same time, the jolt of his hips slamming into me aided in the pleasure.

Wrenching my head back he leaned over me, pressing his lips to my ear. “Who owns this pussy Coyote? Who owns you baby?”

“You do!”

“And who am I?”

“My chief! Oh, Roman!”

“Coyote, ah fuck!”

If they hadn’t heard him before surely someone heard his shout now.

I fell apart beneath him, pulling him with me, my clenching walls greedily took all the cum he had to offer. It was incredible, feeling his cock pulsing deep within me as we lay there panting.

“Gonna use you as a cock warmer all night you brat.” Roman nuzzled my neck and nipped at my ear.

“Tie you up and torture you with those damn toys. What the fuck were you thinking?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes it feels like you don’t respect me. I was embarrassed on that phone call and so I wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine for once.”

He looked incredulous. “Course I respect you.”

“Okay, well how about we agree not to embarrass each other in a work setting again?”

He chuckled and squeezed me tightly around the middle. “Deal. But you gotta have mercy. A whole week? What’s a guy done to deserve that?”

I slapped his shoulder and we laughed. There would be another round in the closet before be finally collected himself enough to get us back to the bus.

True to his word I didn’t leave the bed for a week.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Helllooooo!!! I hope you're having a good day!! 💕💜✨

Can I submit a prompt where Lloyd calls in his normally mousey assistant on one of her off days and is blown back by her casual attire? Maybe she's on her way out of hang with the girls and she's got her hottie/freekum dress/attire on.

Bonus if she is as completely I bothered as she normally is and even teases him a bit for his audacity 😈😈

I appreciate you're brain and the time you spend sharing it with us!! ☺️💕💜

Hi nonny!! So sorry this took so long, but here it is! And just as a warning, this one is a doozy and I will not be earning bonus points based on your ask.

Is getting negative points a thing?? (Because this thing went off the rails...)

Title: Power Play: After Hours

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Assistant!Black!Reader

Word Count: 3.1K

Summary: What happens when Lloyd sees you, his assistant, in something other than what you usually wear? Well, you should be worried about what he does when he sees you.

Warnings: horrible boss Lloyd, pet name (Mouse), power imbalance, multiple threats of violence, non-con, forced oral sex (f receiving), slight dacryphilia, forced hand job (m receiving), dub-con p-in-v intercourse, vaginal creampie, forced oral sex (m receiving), oral creampie, dead dove: do not eat

A/N: I apologize to nonny who asked for something (I think) completely different. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @saradika

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

You’re at home getting ready to go out with the girls. It has been ages since you had a free night to let your hair down. But tonight was the night. 

You made sure to ditch the wool sweaters, drab colors, and sensible shoes that you usually wear to work. Instead, you opt for a form-fitting pinstripe dress that ends just above your knee. Large hoop earrings push through your hair and demand attention. Your feet are covered in strappy heels that are cuter than they are comfortable.

But beauty is pain, no?

Just as you are exiting your apartment and entering your car, your phone buzzes. You pull your phone from your purse and growl at the text message from your boss.

Your boss, your reason for migraine medication, the bane of your existence. Lloyd Hansen. Getting an internship with Hansen Government Service was supposed to be a summer gig to help you pay for odds and ends during your last year at college. But no, you had to go ahead and impress the CEO with your problem-solving and the way you covered your former boss’ ass one too many times. 

And now here you are, the personal assistant to this deplorable caricature of a human being. Amazing vision and dental benefits aside, you were the glorified babysitter to a sociopath with an inferiority complex. But you keep your mouth shut and your head down because you know where your bread is buttered.

The text from Lloyd is still sitting in your inbox unread one minute later when your phone starts to ring. You were hoping he would think you were asleep or something, but you remember Lloyd doesn’t observe normal business hours. And he doesn’t give a shit if you have a day off either.

“Yes, Sir,” you answer with Lloyd’s preferred moniker.

“Why didn’t you answer my text?” he asks, his annoyed tone unmistakable.

“I apologize for not being available to you, Sir. What can I help you with?” you acknowledge, wanting him to get to his point of bothering you.

“Hmmm. I’m gonna ignore you being rudely polite. For now. Need you to get my dry cleaning, Mouse,” he advises, using that nickname that boils your blood.

“Sir. It’s almost 9 p.m. Are the dry cleaners still open?” you wonder aloud.

“I called them, and they agreed to re-open so that I could get my shirts. Wasn’t that nice of them? You don’t wanna keep that sweet old lady waiting this late at night, do you?” he persuades, a sinister chuckle sending a chill down your spine.

“I will pick up your shirts for you, Sir,” you question.

“Had to pull a late night at the office, but I’m leaving now. Meet me at my place, Mouse,” he replies.

“Yes, Sir,” you say, holding back the urge to scream in his ear and ending the call. 

By being at the office, he is within walking distance of the shop where his clothing is being held. 

Deep breaths. Don’t let him take your joy.

You pass your office building and veer into the small shopping center. Stepping into the shop, you realize you don’t have a ticket, but you also know that the place is staying open for only one reason.

“You here to pick up Hansen?” The old woman behind the counter smiles at you and you nod stepping over to her, “Very particular, that one. Don’t let him work you too hard, honey.” 

“Oh, thank you,” you greet, smiling when she handed over the hangers of shirts covered in plastic material, “May I just apologize for him keeping you open past your hours?”

Before you can apologize, the sweet woman comes around the counter and pats your hand.

“How long are you going to apologize for him? Just go home, honey. And good luck with that one,” she reasons, and she scoots you out of the store before you can tell her that you’re only his assistant, not his long-suffering wife.

You give up trying to explain yourself and turn around to get back in your car. With the shirts hung in the back seat, you speed until you get to Lloyd’s gated community. Pushing in the code to the outer gate, you squirm in your seat as the gate slowly opens.

Driving through streets with pretentious names, you end up at the cul-de-sac where his McMansion sits center-stage among the other Stepford homes. You park next to his vehicle in the spacious driveway, a BMW M8 Competition Convertible in Alpine White. Not a scratch on her sparkling surface.

You stuff down the urge to put a scratch on his car because he will notice it. He notices everything. And with the level of neat freak that he is, he probably would notice a single fingerprint on the car’s hood.

Walking up to the door, you see the Ring camera and press the doorbell. The porch light comes on and the door opens to reveal your boss talking on the phone with one earbud in his ear. He pauses and looks you up and down before letting you walk in around him.

“I’m gonna have to go, something just came up,” he purrs, adjusting himself in the two seconds you were looking away from him. He pulls out his earbud, ending the call and turning his attention to you, “Mouse, glad you could make it, but you didn’t have to dress up for me.”

“I didn’t. Here are your shirts. Can I help you with anything else, Sir?” you explain, holding his dry cleaning out so he can take them. 

Once he reaches out, he bypasses the shirts, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to him. “Maybe there is one thing you can do for me, Mouse. It is quite a big job though,” he dares, ghosting his thumb over your pulse point.

“Hmmm. Sir, I didn’t come all this way to do whatever it is you think you’re doing,” you warn, putting your hand on his chest to push him away as you feel his increased heart rate. 

His eyes are dark, with barely any blue left in the iris. You can almost feel how hungry he is for you.

“Well, I was gonna say I wouldn’t mind a blowjob from those perfect glossy lips. But I think I wanna hear your mouth moan for me while I eat that pretty pussy instead,” he admits, taking the shirts out of your hand before hoisting you over his shoulder.

“Sir! No! Put me down, you fucking psycho. What are you doing?” you demand, pounding your hands on his back and landing a harsh blow directly to his ass.

“Fuck, Mouse! Hands to yourself, or I won’t keep my hands to myself, ok?” he cautions, surprising you with a hard slap to your ass, “And you got that wrong anyway, I’m technically a sociopath, not a psychopath.”

You’re in a state of stunned silence as he walks up the grand staircase in the room and brings you into a bedroom down the hall. You don’t have time to wonder what all of the other rooms are used for as you are dumped on his bed. The silk sheets underneath you are comfortable, but they seem creepy once you think about being thrown down on top of them. Before you can scramble off of the bed, Lloyd grabs you by the hips and traps you under his weight. 

“Mouse, mouse, mouse. Why don’t you ever dress like this for me?” he breathes, his clothed erection nestled against your hip, “You wearing this for some asshole? Should call him up and tell him I got to you first.”

“Sir, please. I was just going to hang out with my girls. I promise I won’t say anything about this if you just let me go,” you whimper, your hands going to his chest again trying to push him away.

He grabs your wrists and pins them to the bed. His nose takes in your RiRi perfume as it glides along your neck. Kicking your legs open, he nestles himself in between so he can rock his hips into you. Feeling his hardening dick against your panties as your dress rides up, he groans as he feels the heat coming off of you.

“Kinda funny you want me to let you go. But I bet if I dipped a finger into that cute snatch I know you have, I would find a little honey pot full of delicious sweetness waiting for me. Shall I test that out?” he counters. Holding both wrists in one giant hand as he trails a hand down your body until it disappears between you.

You feel his bruising fingers pushing your panties out of the way to find his prize. His touch turns almost delicate as the tips of his fingers find your wet pussy; your body’s betrayal is evident in the puddle forming on your netherlips. The look in his eyes when he finds what he’s looking for is bordering on sheer joy.

“There it is, Mouse. Just like I knew it would be,” he beams, pulling two fingers coated in your essence to his mouth and sucking them clean, “Fuck. I knew it would be delicious. You’re gonna sit on my face and give me all your sweet cream.”

He rolls your body over so that you are straddling him. You debate trying to scramble off of him, but he pinches your thigh and brings you back to the task at hand. You crawl up his body and hover over his face until he locks his arms around your thighs and pulls you down over his eager mouth.

Looking down at him, he looks serene with his eyes closed as he goes to work on your sensitive folds. For a while, you feel nothing when he licks up your slit. Circling your nub with his tongue, he moans when your clit twitches. When kitten licks against your clit turn to sucking it into his mouth, you can’t restrain the urge to grab a handful of his hair.

If he wants to hear you moan pretty for him, he’s gonna need to do better than this. You grind your pussy into his tongue and sigh when he sticks his tongue directly into your hole. Fucking into you with his tongue is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

You tighten your fingers in his auburn hair, unable to hold back your orgasm for much longer. Visions of all the times he looked at you like you were a piece of meat flash before your eyes. The way all of his other assistants quit the job after short stints. And you just about gift-wrapped yourself for him tonight.

You should have never answered the phone. But it’s kind of hard to think about that now with the way your resolve is slowly slipping away. You feel the metaphorical rubber band being stretched to within an inch of its life. Until pop!

The wave of your climax washes over you like a warm blanket. Your keening whine is music to Lloyd’s ears as he holds you tighter when you try and extricate yourself from his grasp. He laps up everything you have to give him and makes obscene sucking and licking noises. Once he lets up on your pussy, he lets your weak body roll to the side on its own. You don’t notice you are crying until he licks away one tear.

He looks down at you as he wipes his mustache clean of your juices. “Every part of you tastes amazing, Mouse. Even your tears. Fuck, that’s so hot I got you crying for me,” he hums, wiping away your tears with a thumb as he lays next to your limp body.

You’re quiet as you lay in your boss’ bed, him having just defiled your body with his tongue. Not knowing what to think, your brain just replays everything trying to find where you went so wrong. Because not only was that an Earth-shattering orgasm but it was given to you by your boss. That kind of thing is frowned upon in most companies. But Lloyd is the CEO, are the rules different? You don’t have the time to keep thinking when Lloyd chimes in.

“Now, Mouse, I’m sure your brain is going a mile a minute. But let me make one thing clear: I am going to need you to come into work dressed just like this from now on. You wear something tight, something that shows off this body, something that I can pull up or down and fuck you in while we’re in the office,” he chuckles as you look over to him with tears in your eyes at your new fate, “We’ll put that into your contract. What do you think? From Personal Assistant to Fuck Toy. That’s a step up, huh?”

You say nothing, content to shed tears and wish that the Earth would open up and swallow you.

“Don’t be so gloomy. At least you got to come, unlike some of us. You can help me with that, can’t you Mouse?” he pleads, as if he didn’t just change your job title to fit your new duties. He unzips his pants, pulling out his thick length and reaching for your hand to wrap around it, “I won’t need much help. I could’ve blown in my pants like a fucking teenager when you came in my mouth.”

You wish his mouth would just fucking stop. You don’t need the commentary. You unenthusiastically jerk him off until he spills rope after rope of jizz painting your hand and his pants. At least he was right, he didn’t need much help. 

“Good fucking job, Mouse,” he gushes, throwing an arm over his brow as he catches his breath, “Can’t wait to take that cunt for a test drive but I can wait until my balls are not so fucking empty. Go clean yourself up in the bathroom.”

You rise and walk into the attached bathroom all without a single thought in your head. You use the toilet, wash your hands, and splash water on your face. You avoid the mirror like the plague.

Coming back to the bedroom, you are greeted by Lloyd lying on his side and crooking a finger at you. You swallow your spit and take a deep breath, moving to join him on the bed. 

Once there, you let him manhandle you in every position he wants. You close your eyes, wishing you were somewhere else. Until he has you on your back. He makes you stare into his eyes as he fucks you like the little puppet you are. When he takes you over the edge again, he doesn’t stop his onslaught until you beg him to stop.

But begging only drives him to go harder. Flesh slapping against flesh painfully until he pushes himself deep within you and stills. Every twitch and spurt felt inside of you like a slap to the face. You’re not on birth control and you fear asking if he is snipped but he speaks up before you can ask.

“I pay you enough to afford the morning-after pill, right?” he asks, his dick softening and sliding out of you.

Fucking asshole. The thought of murder crosses your mind more than once, but you know people might come looking for him. And the thought of having to trade in your freedom for a life behind bars makes you rethink killing this nutcase.

So, instead, you just say, “Yes, Sir.”

“Right. Good. Alright, well it’s not too late for you to go out with your friends. Don’t stay out too late, you have work in the morning. Bright and early, Mouse. I expect you to be there tomorrow,” he remarks, acting like he didn’t just use your body for his sick pleasure, “That means you’re good to go home now, Mouse. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He gets off you, climbing off the bed and adjusting himself, pulling you up and escorting you to the front door. He all but pushes you out of the door into the night, as if you were trash. When you get back inside your car, your phone has tons of messages from your friends wondering where you are.

You send a mass text that you weren’t feeling well, and you needed rest. It wasn’t entirely untrue anyway. You make it back home, shedding your clothes as you walk to your bedroom. You pull back the covers and wrap yourself in warmth, willing the events of the night to just go away. But they don’t go away.

The next morning, you shower and dress like Lloyd wants. The looks of your coworkers cause heat to rise to your face. You don’t usually get this type of attention. Or any attention when you think about it. 

When you get to Lloyd’s office, he is sitting behind his desk on a call, and he waves you over. You walk around his desk and see his pants are already unbuttoned and his half-chub is sticking out. You spare yourself the embarrassment of being asked and go right to work on him with your hands. Unsurprised when he puts a hand on the back of your head, you just lower yourself and take him in your mouth.

Little does he know; your head game is strong. And within about three minutes, you have him spasming down your throat. His softening cock is sensitive as you tease him by swirling your tongue around the head. He ends his phone call and holds your face in his hands.

“What’s my soul taste like, Mouse? I’m sure you sucked it right out,” he praises, his dazed eyes focusing on you while he catches his breath.

“If you had a soul, I’m sure it would taste as bitter as your cum,” you snap, uncaring of whether or not he was offended.

“Good point. Watch that pretty mouth, though. My precious feelings might get hurt. And then you might get hurt. So, play nice, Mouse,” he cautions, lightly clapping his hand against your cheek, just hard enough to jerk you out of misbehaving.

“Yes, Sir,” you sass, putting on a fake smile and Lloyd rolls his eyes, shooing you away.

You can do what he says, doesn’t mean you have to make it easy for him in the slightest. And isn’t that the best way to get back at him? Give him everything he wants but with no enthusiasm. Of course, you know this little plan of yours won’t last long. But when you’re faced with a demon like Lloyd Hansen, you’ll take any little victory you can. As few and far between as they may be.

A/N: This got way out of hand. I don’t know what happened. Um, I’m not sorry though. Because I love this and if it ends up being just for me, then so be it.

**Tag List**

@peyton-warren @cakesandtom @brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @thabiddie23 @sweetandgentlecreature @foxyjwls007 @art2emily @titty-teetee @princessaxoxo @motivation-idontknowher @buckysteveloki-me @magnificentsaladllama @gyusbrownie @milknhonies @sultry-rachael @itsthestutterforme

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁

[detectivehole]

How can you tell the ghost chicken PETA poster is AI generated? I'm trying to get better at detecting AI images so I would appreciate any advice you might have thank you!

i actually am not 100% certain about the PETA image specifically. i am 90% sure, enough to claim that i think it is, but i want to be fair here- i could be wrong. im not the only person who caught it, but i could be wrong. that being said! i do actually have tips on how to better identify AI generated images. the tips can differ between artistic images and realistic images, but they do overlap

generative AI struggles in three key areas, imo

details

backgrounds

logic

everyone knows the check fingers and teeth, but as the tech improves, those easy indicators have become less reliable (though it still struggles with those features). AI does still flounder with details, though, you just have to look a little closer. checking patterns, textures, and occasionally lighting has been very helpful. it often fails to convincingly make patterned fabrics, and will create inconsistent or unnatural textures on skin, wood, and any other detailed surface. hair especially is a great indicator, since it falls and moves in very specific ways and has a deep level of texture inherently (watching the hair move in very realistic 3d animation can also help you clock it for what it is)

ie. these knives seem to melt into each other

ai seems to prioritize the subject of any generated image, which does make sense, but this often leads to the backgrounds or additional, non-focal aspects to be particularly nonsensical or imperfect on inspection. i struggle to come up with a examples of what exactly to look for here, but i do have a very helpful question to ask yourself when considering whether something is suspicious; in human made art, every aspect is hand made/posed, and the details of any illustration or photography must inherently be considered, at least a little bit. in AI art, no such consideration is taken, because it is incapable of doing do- ask yourself "would a human being do X detail? why? why not?"

ie. these nonsensical wooden details and the warped perspective of the background wall(s?) stand out to me. often the answer will not be a cut and dry "they would never do this," but noticing busted backgrounds is only part of the investigation

this ties into the first two tips, but i think it's worth reiterating that AI often makes illogical choices for how to interpret prompts. it's a pattern recognition machine, not a thinking machine. you know this, we all know this- just looking for things that don't belong or don't make sense can be the first sign something is up

the ghosts are chickens, but what is this meat? thighs maybe, but they almost look like hearts. they certainly don't look like poultry

some other miscellaneous tips

you've probably noticed, but a lot of AI (not all but a lot) has a distinctive style to it now, as generative models cannibalism each others work

companies that use ai usually have a history/reputation for being cheap or untrustworthy, or otherwise are brand new or small (people who want to save as much money as possible)

when generating people, especially realistic people, not only do they tend to have a horrible case of sameface, but they're also often exclusively "attractive" people. idk why. our bias towards beauty, maybe

none of these tips are perfect because a human being could create an AI-like image if they so choose, or i suppose even by accident, but i find them reliable

hope this helps 👍

[sgiandubh]

And kia... ora (?!) to New Zealand, like you've never seen it before 🤭

Just listened to Monica Gleberman's latest podcast with S. Twice. I can only urge you to do the same: it's 19 minutes long and well.. I'd just love to read your thoughts on it. By the way, I had no idea the woman even existed (happens a lot in SC world, at least to me) before she chimed in with indignation, you know... the Palestine Letter, and such.

But first, my short assessment, of course. By the way, this was recorded, I think, on November 1st, based on this X post:

Showbiz being showbiz, all grudge is now forgotten and you can listen to the podcast on Spotify, here (no subscription needed, of course):

OK, I honestly think her voice and her completely clueless, torrential debit are totally meh, but maybe that's just me. She made me think of one of those Tupperware representatives, always eager (hungry?) to sell something to you and do it quick, drug-dealer style. Some in Mordor thought she was drunk on the job (a half-emptied bottle of SS Gin was emphatically mentioned at least twice during the interview) - as usually, no humor and nasty.

I just think she was just acting too cool for school and #silly, with a severe case of ovaries going...

... on top.

Straight off the bat, the OTT praise is on steroids: how amazing S is, how he never changed, 'same sweetest person and like an amazing human being and friend to talk to and I just love you'. Kill me now, but that was unnecessary - yet still useful, since it prompted this answer (02:54):

'Well, that's very kind of you to say, but I think that's not true...I think there's...there's a lot of smoke and mirrors, this is ALL fake, um...underneath, there's a completely different human being. I have a double, actually. I AM the double. Um.. no, it's been a great journey, I'm very lucky and yeah, it's [OL] given me a lot of opportunities, as well (...).'

Translation: I am joking, but not even joking, if you see what I mean.

You'd think that was casual banter? You might want to think twice. Like all Taureans, bless their heart, S always almost heavily insists, when he wants to make sure the message gets across (07:12):

MG: ' Soooo, I don't know what's true, what's not true, but I'm just gonna assume that, you know, you looove watercolor. So, what is your favorite watercolor painting to make?'

Huh? Did I get that right? The answer does not match the clumsy question. At all. But see/hear for yourself:

S:' Err, you know what, I mean, I actually do, I actually have a couple paintings.. um.. from a..an artist called James Morrison, he was a Scottish artist.. he.. he actually painted a lot around Scotland, but he also painted up in the Arctic... the Arctic Circle... I'm kind of obsessed with him, so yes, this actually,,, this is truth...damn, I didn't know you'd actually put truths in here, but, you know...'

MG: ' OK, so we're already breaking barriers, right? Like revealing secrets so that is... that is... true.'

I shall not comment this. I do not think it needs any translation, to be honest.

The 'illiterate' S is, apparently, a keen art connoisseur and how could it be otherwise, if you only think of his mum? And Morrison is not just your average Scottish watercolorist. If you care to check his Wikipedia page (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Morrison_(artist), you'll find interesting things, like:

His works can fetch at auction (here at Christie's in 2006), around...

... and the recent (conservative) estimates are stable. You can check them here: https://www.invaluable.com/artist/morrison-james-1932-9fybkaiqbc/sold-at-auction-prices/. A very good investment, on a volatile, whimsical market (I know very well what I am talking about).

Surely enough, some of you will just hear that horrendous cackle and the flirt fest that totally goes south by the end of the podcast. But maybe - just maybe - if you listen a bit more carefully, you'd have a rare peek behind that damn mask.

[gruviaweek]

Ten years.

The first ever Gruvia Week was held in 2013. It is now 2023. Meaning, this is the 11th edition/Gruvia Week... but 10 years have passed since the creation of this blog and beloved event that’s been held on the exact same dates since the beginning (April 1st - April 7th). That’s right, the event date has never changed, never held early, nor late. To keep it this consistent and for so long is truly an accomplishment.

Thank you to all the wonderful fans that have kept this event alive for so long. It has been my pleasure to host this celebration for the last 10 years, and it’s because of you that I do so. All the dedicated Gruvia lovers deserve this. The fandom has changed a lot as time went on. People come and go. However, most notably, we have grown in more ways than one. Likewise, Gray and Juvia have gone through a tremendous amount of development in the last decade. They have confirmed mutual romantic love and a son that we have yet to meet in earthland, but still very much canon in the manga and drawn by the author (Hiro Mashima) of his own accord on multiple occasions. Despite this, we are still waiting for the day they “officially” get together. The setup and foreshadowing is there... He wants it, so Gray, confess to Juvia soon!

In the meantime, we celebrate the ship once again. Here are the official Gruvia Week 2023 prompts displayed in the image above. Just like in previous years these prompts are not complicated, but they are broad and meant to make you think. Be creative. Interpret them however you see fit. If you don’t know what a word means, look it up. Specific and basic prompts would result in different versions/entries of the same thing. That’s why Gruvia Week is so successful every year; imagination. Prompts for this event are always different every year. No repeats! See: Previous Gruvia Week editions

Those who are new to the week, unfamiliar, or would like to simply rehash, please click here to learn how to participate. Also be sure to follow the rules and guidelines. Feel free to ask questions, however please check this blog’s previous posts before submitting them. It’s possible your question could have already been answered.

Reminder: All pieces must be new. Old works will not be reblogged/included in the week. Be sure to specify the day/prompt used in your post. If you don’t have a tumblr, you can still participate. Post your work on any social media platform for that target audience. Participate anywhere; the more the merrier! However, if you’d like your work to be posted/featured here as well, be sure to submit it to this blog. Or submit the link to it (if posted on another platform such as twitter, instagram, wattpad, ao3, etc).

Reminders:

Tag your work with #gruvia week (with the space) within the first five tags.

Avoid using links in your post, as there is a chance it will not show up in the tags. Try using only five tags and no links if your post does not appear. If you must use a link, make sure it shows in the tags.

If your work contains an image or gif, make sure it’s within tumblr’s photo dimensions and size limits. Sometimes big images cause posts to not appear in tags.

It is YOUR responsibility to make sure your post shows up in the mobile and/or pc tags, so be sure to check if it does.

Gruvia Week will be held from April 1st - April 7th as always. Get ready and get creative!

Graphic/art by the wonderful and talented @goodnightlover. Thank you! ♡

[fluentmoviequoter]

Fake It 'til We Make It

A/N: I wanted to join @omgrachwrites 's 2k celebration! Congratulations on this achievement; here's to 2k more!! I hope you like this and thank you for letting me write something! I went with the "Fake Dating AU" prompt (It's not exactly an AU, but I hope it turned out okay)!

Summary: Dalton tells Chris he has a girlfriend, so he enlists some help to convince Chris it's true. He's left wondering, "What if it wasn't fake?"

Warnings: a little bit of angst, sarcasm, fluff, takes place after The Red Door (2023), Disney reference. 2k+ words.

Since Dalton closed the red door, Chris insisted on helping him “get out more.” As far as Dalton can tell, she drags him along when she wants to do something. 

Chris graciously allows Dalton to accompany her to a café a few minutes from campus, then asks him to order for them while she finds a table. After placing the order, Dalton finds Chris flipping through her notebook at a corner table. Dalton sits, pulls his sketchbook out of his bag, and taps his pencil against the blank sheet as he waits for inspiration or his name to be called, whichever happens first.

“I got you a date,” Chris says, not looking up from her notes.

“What for who?” Dalton asks.

“I got you a date,” Chris repeats with a sigh. “To take to your art show.”

Dalton tries to think of a response, but his mouth moves faster than his mind as he says, “I have a girlfriend, Chris.”

Chris looks up, and Dalton fights to keep his surprise from showing.

“What? Since when?” she asks.

Dalton’s name is called, and he jumps up, thankful for an escape from the conversation. He gets in a short line to pick up his order and Chris’s, then turns around, looking directly into the prettiest eyes he has ever seen.

“Excuse me, sorry,” you say, stepping back to allow him to walk by.

“Wait. Uh, I’m Dalton. This is weird, I’m sorry. My friend tried to set me up on a date – I don’t know why I’m telling you this – but I stupidly said I have a girlfriend…”

“And now you need a fake one?” you ask, smiling.

“Yeah. Pretty much. Exactly,” Dalton stutters.

“Are you asking me?”

Dalton opens his mouth but doesn’t speak, so you raise a hand to his forearm, laughing as you lean closer.

“I’m sorry. If you are asking, I’ll absolutely help you out, Dalton. I promise to be the best fake girlfriend you’ve ever had,” you say. “I know exactly what to do. See the lanterns, get you back to the castle, and part ways as unlikely friends.”

“What?” Dalton questions.

“Disney reference. I see we have a lot of work to do,” you answer, laughing.

“Dalton?” Chris asks as she approaches. “Who’s this?” she adds, pointing to you.

You say your name, shaking Chris’s hand while your other remains on Dalton’s arm. “His girlfriend,” you add after your name.

“Oh, you’re coming to sit with us,” Chris exclaims, wrapping her arm around you and leading you to the table. “Get the food, Dolphin,” she calls over her shoulder.

When Dalton returns to the table, he pulls your chair closer to him, wondering why he thought this was a good idea. Chris knows him better than most people, and she will see right through his lies.

“Where did you two meet?” Chris asks, the beginning of her third-degree interrogation.

“Here, actually,” you answer, slipping your hand into Dalton’s as you look at him. “He came over and started talking to me. Then I made a stupid joke even though I could tell he was nervous. He was so sweet, even after that, so I knew I needed to lock him up.”

Dalton’s hand squeezes yours, a silent thank you for reading him so well and incorporating his personality to make the story believable. He answers a few questions he knows you can’t and is surprised when Chris hugs you before leaving.

“You two enjoy some time together, I’ll see you later, Dolphin,” Chris says as she stands. She looks at you and adds, “I will talk to you at the art show tomorrow.”

“Thank you so much.” Dalton sighs but doesn’t take his hand back from you. “I did not think she’d believe us.”

“Maybe we’re more believable than you think,” you say, winking at him. “But if you’re not with me tomorrow and she asks what your favorite color is or something, she’ll know I’m not really your girlfriend.”

Dalton nods. “She doesn’t know either.”

“What do we do to seem like a real couple?”

“We could stay here for a while; talk about things couples should know,” Dalton suggests, looking at your joined hands.

“Sounds good. And we’re off to a good start; I already know that you’re an artist, you don’t seem like you walk up to girls in cafés very often, and you’re handsome.”

“Can you say that one again?” Dalton asks, a teasing smile on his face.

You lean close, inches between your faces, and repeat, “You’re an artist.”

Dalton smiles and shakes his head, raising a hand to your neck. “I think we look like a real couple.”

“If only that were enough to convince Chris.”

Several hours later, when Dalton has shared more with you than anyone else, you walk out of the café together. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, boyfriend,” you say. “And don’t be nervous, everyone can see your talent.”

“Thanks,” Dalton responds. “See you tomorrow, girlfriend.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You can’t remember the last time you were this nervous. Standing outside the dorm building, you tap your thigh to get rid of some energy while you wait. The door opens, but you don’t look up until a pair of shoes stops in front of you.

 “You’re wearing a suit,” you observe as you look up. “You look amazing.”

Dalton looks down, letting his hair hide his face. He extends a hand to you, pulling you closer. “You look amazing, too. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, Dalton.”

He keeps your hand in his as he leads you to the art building, talking about the pieces he has on display for the show. You hang on to his every word, nearly forgetting that this is not a date, just a favor.

The main corridor of the art building is filled with tables, and people are milling in and out of classrooms. Each room has a sign over the door with the theme and the artists displayed within.

“You made it!” Chris says as she walks to your side, looping her arm through yours. “Dolphin, your professor is looking for you.”

Dalton smiles and nods at you, letting his fingers slip from yours as he walks away.

“I can’t believe Dalton didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend. Tell me everything, I need more dirt on that dude.”

You laugh and let her lead you down the hallway as you speak. “I think he was going to introduce us tonight; he just wanted to be sure about me from what I can tell. You’re his best friend, so your opinion means something to him.”

Chris snorts before gesturing to a sign requesting silence as she enters a classroom. Crystal displays hang from the ceiling, reflecting prisms of light all around. Someone in the corner manipulates the shadows, creating different shapes as the prisms move.

A pair of hands find your waist, and you jump before recognizing Dalton’s cologne. You lean back against his chest, smiling as Chris pretends to gag. Exiting the room, Dalton asks to borrow you.

“Do I get to see your art now?” you ask excitedly, setting your hand on his where it rests on your hip.

“Yeah. Sorry I had to ditch before, someone actually wants to buy one of my pieces,” Dalton says.

“That’s amazing,! Congratulations!”

He leads you into a classroom, and you pull your hand from him as you walk past him. His art draws you in like a portal to a different world. There’s a picture of the café where you met, but it looks like it’s the only light on a dark street. Your attention is focused solely on that piece until someone clears their throat beside you.

“Hi. I am Professor Armagan. I saw you enjoying this piece, the artist will be glad to see someone enjoying it.”

“Oh, yes. I’m actually here with the artist,” you answer, smiling shyly.

“You must be the fake girlfriend. Dalton spoke with me, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” she says, patting your arm and smiling as she walks away.

Your smile and your joy fall in tandem. Part of you had hoped that Dalton was enjoying himself as much as you, and maybe he’d ask you on an actual date at the end of the night. That hope is crushed by the fact that he asked his professor to go with it. 

Are you not the kind of girl Dalton goes for? Is it unbelievable to everyone but Chris? Chris seemed convinced you were a good fit, but was she lying to be nice?

You are drawn from your thoughts and growing panic as Dalton says your name, linking his fingers with yours. Looking away from the drawing, you look into his eyes quickly before looking to the floor.

“Are you okay?” Dalton asks, dropping his head to look into your eyes.

You clear your throat and shake your head before looking back at him. “I’m fine. Sorry. I really love this one.”

"I drew it after we..." Dalton begins to speak but is interrupted by someone asking if he’s the artist. 

You tell him you’ll be with Chris before walking out. You walk into the next classroom, looking at the landscape paintings as your mind wanders back to Dalton.

“Hey,” Chris says as she walks in. “I did not think an art show would be this hectic.”

You laugh and nod in agreement. “I was expecting a bunch of museum types whispering about the composition, not people arguing over who gets to talk to the artist first.”

“You and me both.” Chris laughs. “Dalton has been talking to people all night, he’s going to be silent for a week. You know how he is.”

“Can’t blame him for preferring silence to people constantly telling him everything,” you say quietly.

Chris looks at you intently, and you worry she will call you out for lying about who you are to Dalton.

“You’re perfect for him. Does he talk to you every day?”

 “No,” you say with a smile. “But sometimes you can learn more about someone by what they do in the silence than the words they say.”

“Attention! Thank you so much for coming. The displays will be closing in five minutes. If you are interested in buying a piece, the official sale will begin tomorrow at 7 a.m.” Professor Armagan says.

Dalton appears by your side, wrapping his arm around your waist. You lean against him without thinking, turning to face him and matching his smile.

“I’m gonna head out, my roommate mentioned a party if you want to come, Dolphin,” Chris offers.

“Hard pass. Thanks for coming, Chris,” Dalton says.

“Of course. I’ll see both of you?”

Dalton nods, but you can’t bring yourself to lie again. You and Chris could become friends, but not after you fake-dump her best friend. The crowd thins, and Dalton speaks to one of his classmates on the way out while you send up silent wishes for tonight to end differently than planned.

On a quiet sidewalk, you separate yourself from Dalton’s side and turn to face him.

“So, this is it,” Dalton says. “We made it. Thanks for being such a great fake girlfriend.”

You nod, wishing this was the beginning and not the end.

“Seriously, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. You’re a pretty good fake boyfriend and a great artist, Dalton. Let me know when your next show is, and I’ll be there. Unless Chris plans to kill me for dumping you.”

You hug him quickly, kissing his cheek as you pull back. Walking away, you feel like you just got dumped and don’t know when or if you’ll ever see the guy you’re falling for again.

Dalton doesn’t even notice how dark it is getting as he watches you walk away, willing himself to run after you. But the deal is over, and you’re walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

It took a few days, but you managed to return to your favorite café to study. You focus on your notes, trying to keep your eyes from straying to the spot where you met Dalton, just a few feet away. The bell over the door rings, but you don’t look up from your drink and papers. Someone approaches your table and rests a hand on the empty seat beside you. Preparing to tell them to take it, you’re surprised to see Dalton standing before you.

“What if it wasn’t fake?” he asks, smiling as your face lights up.

[aloysiavirgata]

Prompt: Jealous Mulder and Scully reassuring him, UST. Thank you!

“Can I die?” she asked him once, dreamy with wine just after Ritter.

“Of course,” he said, broody, not really believing it. He didn’t know which answer he wanted for her.

She’d smiled at him with lushly purpled lips, the way she is now in upstate New York, in Ellicottville, where they’re undercover and investigating an art gallery owner for money laundering. She’s wearing a strapless blue silk dress right now and it swirls around her ankles like the sea at night.

People look at her the way some wolves must have looked at fire once. They understand that there is warmth in her, that there is light. That she can burn and burn and burn without being consumed.

He can’t. He feels himself being used up, hollowing out inside from his own cold, unquenchable flame. Gouging, he thinks, because he is a profiler.

Lumenizing, he thinks, because Scully is a doctor.

The gallery owner has been eye-fucking Scully for four days and Mulder is growing weary of it. He’s doing it right now, at this vineyard, where he’s pretending to be surprised to see them even though he recommended it.

Scully laughs a little, flirts a little the way she’s gotten better at doing. Shows her beautiful white throat. The gallery owner smiles at her, enchanted by her tourmaline eyes, her burnished hair.

“Excuse us,” she says after a few moments. Steers Mulder towards a side table with the press of her slim fingers on his arm.

They burn too, through his clothes.

She swallows the rest of her wine in a gulp. “What an asshole,” she remarks, peering back over her shoulder.

“Hitting on my wife in front of me is a bold move,” he observes, even though it’s the point of this little game they’re playing out.

Scully waggles her fingers so that the ring catches the light. “Maybe you should be a touch more possessive,” she suggests, her voice just past throaty.

He looks at her, then past her out the window. “That you talking or Mrs. Daphne Tillyard?”

“What do you want?” There’s so much in the question.

He shakes his head. Jerse, Van Blundht, Padgett, this idiot and a hundred other idiots. He wants their audacity, their risk tolerance. He wants her toothy smile, wants to kiss her without the threat of sorrow or damnation.

“Scully I-“

“Daphne.”

“Daphne.” He reaches out, runs a finger down her temple, over her cheekbone. He stops at the corner of her mouth. Her pupils dilate, her lips part.

“Mulder,” she whispers, husky. Her tongue is visible. She leans her cheek into his palm. “He’s not… it isn’t real.”

They could do this. It’s been brewing, fermenting for years and maybe tonight, maybe here, he can let himself do what he couldn’t even after the fungus.

He thumbs her chin, watches her searching eyes a beat longer. “Leo,” he corrects. He brushes her hair from her eyes and walks out to the back deck alone.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Lead me not into Temptation

Pairing: Priest!Marcus Pike x reader/nameless OFC (no physical description, story uses 3rd person "she")

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: ~2k

Summary: I'll let @write-and-buried tell it for me:

A/N: My apologies to @chaoticgeminate who also had an idea based off of this UNCALLED FOR prompt in the Discord. I hope I'm not stepping on any toesies by posting my own take. When the spirit moves you, you gotta follow it, right? (Pun DEFINITELY intended.) Please enjoy 2k words of being in Priest Marcus Pike's fucked up little brain.

Masterlist

Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…

The familiar verse dances on Marcus’s tongue, but the words are barely audible in the quiet of his bedroom. 

He doesn’t want to wake her. 

The sheets have slipped down, exposing the swell of her bare breasts in the soft moonlight coming through the blinds on his window, and in the dim lighting he notices a drop of his spend drying just to the side of her areola that he had missed, somehow, when he gently wiped her chest with a damp cloth earlier that evening. His mouth suddenly dry, Marcus forces his gaze back down to his clasped hands.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done… 

Oh, God, what is he doing? 

What has he done? 

Even now, when Marcus looks back on the events of the past few months, he can't suss out when everything went so very wrong. 

Each tiny domino that fell hadn't seemed so bad at the time, each little concession, each little slip of his airtight composure and control.

How could he have known?

How could he ever have known? 

When his eyes casually swept over the pews during his sermon and landed on an unfamiliar–and striking–face, how could he have predicted what was to come?

When she had approached him after the service, introducing herself with a firm handshake and asking if he minded her sitting in on a few sermons and taking notes for her dissertation, how could he ever have known how much hunger he'd have for her.

Eager to talk theology with someone just as knowledgeable on the philosophy of religion, he'd been happy to stay after every service and answer her questions, jumping at the chance to really delve into his approach to leading his congregation.

When did it go so wrong?

When she started staying later and later, her eyes shining as she offered him quotes from some of history's greatest thinkers?

When she challenged him, flashing him that coy smile that he'd been starting to see in his dreams at night, pointing out any inaccuracies or accidental fallacies that fell from his lips? (She remembered everything.)

Or was it when she was in his office, perusing the many titles on his shelves and he had misjudged his distance as he'd come up behind her to slide a book back into place?

She'd turned, and suddenly they were too close; she was gazing up at him with wide eyes and parted lips and oh, how her chest was rising and falling so rapidly, and how easy it was to close the distance between them.

Every little step never seemed so egregious, did it? Marcus hardly noticed that they had crossed a line until the line was no longer in sight.

A slow descent into…

…on Earth as it is in Heaven. 

Oh, but if this was Hell, eternal damnation didn't seem all that bad.

Marcus drank from her mouth as if he were drowning. As though he had been wandering, parched, in a desert for days with no water until he fell to his knees at her oasis. 

A hunger he hadn't felt in years ignited deep in his belly, a pull toward her that he couldn't explain. 

After he took his vows of celibacy, he hadn't truly missed the pleasures of the flesh until he had known the feel of her lips on his. There were so many other pleasures in life, so many other ways to love. 

Marcus always loved with all of his being. With his mind, his heart, and with hands in service to others. With so many ways to offer himself to humanity, why would he miss just one aspect of devotion?

Give us this day our daily bread…

I'm not religious, she had confessed with an airy laugh one afternoon as she sat in his office, in the chair opposite his desk.

They had been discussing human nature, the fallibility of moral character, and she, with a wry smile, had challenged his idea that people could not be totally morally good without some kind of framework.

And you provide this framework? She asked with knowing glint in her eyes. 

It had been just one week since the kiss.

Humanity is, by nature, imperfect, Marcus conceded. Even those of the cloth. I can only do my best to lead by example and guide my congregation in what I believe God has provided as a guideline for morality.

So if it weren't for you, she said, your entire flock would be tempted to murder?

That's not what I'm saying at all, he'd argued. People know what's right and what's wrong, but–

You're contradicting yourself. Do they know right from wrong without you, or not? 

It's… it's the intricacies, he sputtered. I'm not talking about murder, I'm talking about… he trailed off, a little crease on the bridge of his nose as he searched for the right words.

She was smiling, her eyes crinkling around the edges, and Marcus had known, then, that he was in trouble.

With a shaky breath, he had slowly risen from his chair and walked around the deep mahogany desk in his office until he stood just in front of her.

I don't want to talk about good and evil, he had whispered, extending his hand and pulling her up until she was pressed against his chest. 

What do you want to talk about?

I don't want to talk, he breathed against her lips before claiming them for the second time.

…and forgive us our tresspasses…

He can't get enough of her.

Never has he been so consumed with the sins of the flesh–not even as a teenager. He craves her; every time he has her in his bed, it isn't enough. 

Part of it is the forbidden nature–this he knows. He's not supposed to fall victim to lust. Marcus committed himself to a higher purpose. 

Now, though, that purpose seems futile compared to the paradise between her thighs. 

During his sermons, he talks of chastity and of propriety. 

At night, he worships at her altar.

He hadn't been chaste before he took his vows. He was seventeen once too, after all. He had given partners pleasure, and he had lost himself in their bodies.

When he dedicated his life to the church, though, he thought he'd left that behind.

He can't stop. 

The minute his front door had clicked closed with the two of them inside of it for the first time, every carnal desire came flooding back to him in an instant. 

His hands were on her waist, her hips, her breasts. They clasped at her cheeks and pressed against the hinge of her jaw to open her mouth to him. His fingers slid up her pretty bare thighs underneath the cute-but-modest floral skirt she had worn to Mass. 

His mouth swallowed the soft gasp of pleasure as he lightly traced her folds over the fabric of her underwear.

He trembled at the sound of his name from her lips as he slipped a finger underneath the band and gently sank it, inch by inch, into her waiting heat. 

The sound broke him. The only thought left in his mind was how to make her make more of them. With a soft growl, he started to pump his finger in and out of her, reveling in the way her head fell back against the wall and how he could feel her knees buckle slightly. 

Fuck, he whispered softly to himself as he watched her face contort with pleasure. Oh, fuck. He couldn't stop–he'd never be able to get the sight of her out of his head now that he'd seen the way she looked just before she fell apart.

Just when it felt as though the sweet clutch of her velvet walls couldn't get any tighter, her eyes opened, and she looked right at him.

And when she fell, so did he.

…as we forgive those who trespass against us.

He had made love to her that first night.

Bodies close, their sweat-dampened skin sliding against each other in the dark. His lips hardly left hers for a moment as his hips undulated, letting their pleasures climb slowly. 

He had always been a gentle lover, even before. Any roughness he might have had inside him, he always held it back. 

More, she gasped against his skin. More, please, I need–harder…

She begged for his cock. For the desperate clutch of his fingers as they gripped her hips. 

I don't want to hurt you, he protested softly at first. Precious thing, I'll hurt you. 

You could never hurt me.

She showed him–

Marcus knew how to love. She taught him how to take her apart.

Send us not into temptation…

The sight of her spread out on his bed became a common one. Some depraved part of him loved to see her bare and wanting before he even unbuckled his belt. 

He'd crawl over her, the fabric of his black dress shirt brushing against her nipples and making them pebble in the cool air of the bedroom before they were engulfed in the heat of his mouth. 

Sometimes the only clothing he'd remove–as he kneeled between her spread legs, face inches from her glistening pussy–was his collar, slipping it out from his shirt and casting it to the corner of the room before burying his tongue inside her with a groan. 

He wanted her all the time. It was getting harder and harder to deliver his sermons, preaching of honoring God, while his cock was already half-hard at the sight of her in the first pew looking up at him, her ever present notebook open in her lap as she listened. 

All he could see in his mind's eye were those same eyes looking up at him while her lips were around his cock. 

Come over, he'd ask–beg–her when she slipped into his office after Mass under the guise of returning one of his books. 

It was a damn miracle that he hadn't yet spread her out on his desk, sending his sermon notes fluttering to the floor as he snapped his hips into her again and again. 

His favorite sight was to see her on her knees below him. Face pressed into the bedding, she made those sweet, desperate sounds with every rough punch of his cock. When he pressed her head down harder with his hand, she'd sob, her cries of yes, please, more muffled by the thumb that he'd hooked inside of her mouth.

…but deliver us from evil.

She's everything to him. 

Marcus should have known better than to try to maintain a casual–and highly forbidden–arrangement.

She's never asked, not once, but if she ever even suggested that he leave his life's calling behind and run away with her, he'd already be packing his suitcase before she even finished her sentence.

He wishes she would ask.

He looks up at her again, smiling, in spite of himself, at the sound of her soft snores emanating from her parted lips.

Perfect thing, he always calls her. Sweet girl, angel, temptress, siren, perfect, gorgeous woman.

Every endearment tumbles effortlessly from his lips except for the one he thinks of the most.

My love. 

My heart.

Oh, God, what has he done?

As he looks back down, a tear escapes, the drop hitting his clasped hands perfectly and sliding down the slope of his thumb.

Amen.

[elexuscal]

An Educational Experience

A ficlet prompt by Gamebird [for some reason tumblr will not let me @ you directly, sorry]: Three is very intimidated by ART, but it somehow gets to the point where it can ask it about educational modules. How did that conversation play out?

======

"Perihelion?"

Yes?

I had prepared what I was going say. Preparation was wise in unfamiliar situations. Yet despite my preparation, I did not speak. Somehow could not. Wished that my buffer could offer an appropriate response.

0.5 seconds passed. 1 seconds. 2 seconds. 3 seconds.

If my governor module were still active, it would have demanded a response.

The Perihelion is not a governor module. It is nearly as unforgiving as one. (Nearly.) I brace for the demand to continue speaking, but it does not come.

After 9.8 seconds, I say, "I am not prepared to operate as a free agent."

No, it agrees.

Muscles in my back move reflexively. I unclench them. Perhaps communicating via the feed will be easier. My modules lack protocols for existing outside the context of Barish-Estranza. It would be helpful if there were alternative protocols I could utilize instead.

I can provide you with my own crew's standard operating procedures.

That would be helpful, thank you. I had found that statements of gratitude were still advisable, even without governor module compulsion to be respectful to (most) clients. It seemed even more prudent considering what I was going to ask next. If there were any other documents similar to HelpMe.file, that would also be useful.

I am afraid that we are rather lacking in other personnel memoirs from rogue SecUnits.

Sarcasm is a common communication device, which I have seen hundreds if not thousands of humans use. In Perihelion's case, it seems to compose of approximately 70% of its communication strategy.

I am aware of that. (I attempt to keep any frustration or other negative emotions I may be feeling out of the feed; I almost certainly fail.) I seek other informational texts and documents to supplement my educational modules.

Perihelion's feed shifts with a new emotion; excitement, perhaps, or interest. Something like this?

Suddenly I am staring at The Perihelion's full media library. No, not full, I realise after a moment of reflection; this is a curated selection. Documentary films and serials, audio-explainers, academic texts, and other books, all labelled #Educational.

They hold potential answers to all my questions.

If I could find them. With over 17,000 items, I do not know where to begin. I do not know how to even begin constructing a query.

"Thank you, Perihelion," I say. "On further consideration, I will begin by reading your crew's operational procedures."

Wait, Perihelion says, and then 0.07 seconds later, please. Apparently it is capable of using courtesy terms, if it wants to. That was too much selection. Try this. The media library refreshes. Now there are only three options; all mid-length educational serials. Do any of these interest you?

The three titles listed, including their summaries, are:

Building Ourselves Up From dams to space-stations, farms to terraforming facilities, how do engineers build the machines that keep society ticking?

Seeking The Final Horizon For millennia before we ever left our birth planet, humanity marvelled up at space. Take a tour of the cosmos, exploring moons, stars, black holes, nebulae, and more.

Suds! The Dirt On Soap Water, fat, and ash. That sounds gross, but we rub it over our bodies every day. Learn about the many ways soap is made and used across the universe.

I consider. They are all so different. How could I choose?

But I must. There are only three of them. It is a reasonable request.

The first documentary, on infrastructure, is clearly the one most related to our current situation. We-- by which I meant, the crews of The Perihelion and the Preservation ship Safe Harbour-- are assisting the humans in rebuilding their infrastructure. But judging from the demo footage next to the documentary's description, this serial was composed to many shots of coordinators, tunnels, and walls.

I had seen a great deal of corridors, tunnels, and walls since initial deployment.

In comparison, the soap documentary intrigued me a great deal. I like soap. Or I like The Perihelion's soap. It did not sting on the skin, but felt gentle and soothing. It came in a variety of shapes and colors and textures. Every time I showered, there was a new option to try. But this was such an unimportant thing to learn about.

Finally, there was the space documentary. I had some basic knowledge regarding space science, but nothing more. I could see how this knowledge could be relevant. And The Perihelion was a deep-space research vessel. It would most likely be pleased if I selected that option. In fact, perhaps, as I thought of it, the choice may have been a test to see if I would make the correct selection.

"Seeking the Final Horizon, please."

Did you only pick that one because that was the one you thought I'd like?

I do not answer. I had not wanted to lie outright. I realise belatedly that my silence may as well be as good as a confession.

You can select something else if you prefer.

I do not know if I would like to. I already decided. Surely that is sufficient?

Never mind, the transport says, indulgently. You can watch the others afterwards, if you are still interested.

The documentary begins playing. I sit down on the soft bunk. Because there is nothing gained from standing up now, and because I can. I watch the first two episodes. They total to 85 minutes.

I had known before that space was vast. I had known that large objects exerted a gravitational pull. I had know that same gravitation pull created worm holes. I knew that wormholes were necessary for faster-than-light travel between systems. I had known all of that, yet this documentary weaves it all together, so that it is no longer disparate facts, but a single cohesive explanation.

I had not known that space could be so beautiful.

[acasualcrossfade]

The Law of Contact

Rating: T | Cw: none | Words: 769

Tags: established relationship, established Steddie, busy schedules, cuddles

Prompt: Love is letting yourself be loved (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 15

--

Steve set his keys in the small clay bowl Eddie had made for their second anniversary, smiling slightly at its misshapen shape. It wasn’t a bowl to eat out of, but it was perfect to hold both sets of each of their keys. Steve’s keys clattered against Eddie’s, a sign that the man was home.  It was a good thing, too, since Steve desperately yearned for Eddie’s embrace.

Eddie was usually surrounded by law exam study notes and his days were packed with practice exams and study sessions, and Steve knew it’d been too long since they’d just gotten time together. It didn’t help that Steve’s own schedule was taken up with various meetings with the school and parents to take on the assistant principal role.

With their packed schedules, it meant that there was a lot less time for cuddles than Steve would have liked. It was strange to miss someone you lived with, and as Steve slipped off his shoes at the door, he felt a renewed sense of determination to get his fill of cuddles from Eddie. 

Despite Eddie being home, the house was quieter than expected. Eddie usually studied in the day and took the evenings for music and Steve was used to walking into the house, welcomed by the strums of Eddie’s guitar. 

But as Steve ventured into the living room, he got his answer to the question of the quiet house. Eddie lay asleep  on the floor, surrounded by various law books and papers. One arm was thrown over his eyes, and the other stretched across a few loose leaf papers. An abandoned pen lay inches away from his fingers, and Steve guessed Eddie fell asleep with it in his hand. 

The man snored softly, the rise of Eddie’s breath making his shirt pull up to reveal a slip of Eddie’s hip, the exact place Steve loved to press his lips. Desire stirred in Steve’s abdomen, but at the sound of Eddie’s deep breathing, Steve’s desire melted into something softer. 

Clearly, it’d been a long day for both of them. 

Steve knelt down and placed his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, the only way to wake Eddie as gently as possible. 

At Steve’s touch, Eddie stirred and woke up slowly, blinking up at Steve with sleepy eyes. “Mm, shit,” Eddie cursed as he rubbed his eyes before sitting up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He sniffed and leaned into Steve as he stifled a yawn. “When’d you get home?”

“Just now,” Steve whispered as he pressed his lips against the crown of Eddie’s head. “Another meeting ran late and I had to get a few emails out before tomorrow morning.”

Eddie slowly wrapped his arms around Steve, taking his time to run his hands over Steve’s back and shoulders. “You’re working hard.”

“I’m trying,” Steve responded. “I hate being away from you all day.” 

Steve missed the days when he was at the Video Store and could come home for lunch and have random days of the week off to hang around with Eddie. Even with them both trying for something new, Steve still wished for those earlier days.

Eddie hummed in agreement. “But I love it when you come home. S’my favorite part of the day. And much better than reading about contract law.” 

Steve’s heart swelled at Eddie’s words and he hugged the man tighter as he glanced at Eddie’s various papers and notes. “Mm, contract law looks complicated.”

“I’d rather be studying the law of contact with you,” Eddie nudged, burrowing himself deeper into Steve’s embrace. 

Steve’s mind played around with Eddie’s words. “Law of contact? Like, cuddles?”

Eddie gave him a squeeze. “And you say you could never study law,” he chuckled. 

“Well, with a law like that, I don’t see why I’m not,” Steve laughed. “But cuddling with you is all I”ve wanted to do all day.” He stroked the man’s inky black curls. “Upstairs?”

Eddie nodded and Steve carefully nudged Eddie off his shoulder and helped Eddie stand. But before he headed upstairs, Eddie pulled Steve closer for a tight embrace. 

“Mm, are we starting now?” Steve mumbled, letting himself press into Eddie.

“Mmhmm, and because I know you’ve had a long day, too.” 

Steve murmured as Eddie’s hands massaged his shoulders and down his back, physically untangling Steve from the stress of his day. With each touch, Steve decompressed more and more against Eddie until he was practically sagged against the man. 

When Eddie shifted to guide him towards the stairs, Steve took Eddies’ hand in his own, allowing himself to be led upstairs for more.