#i thought that was just sort of normal and everyone felt that way

[marksbear2]

Hiiii, bear!!! If you're still taking requests, could a request a homelander x male!reader fic where homelander is sort of a little desperate for readers approval because hw hasn't gotten a lot of positive attention in his life? And if it's still open, could I be '🪼 anon', please?

Homelander x male reader

Hiii and yes you may my friend. This has to be like a world record for me to be writing and posting a request in the same day.

Beneath the Cape

The first time you met Homelander, you hadn’t expected much.

Not because he wasn’t impressive—he was. Towering, broad-shouldered, the very image of America’s strongest hero. But you knew his reputation, the whispers beneath the carefully crafted PR. Dangerous. Unstable. Capable of wiping out a city if the mood struck him.

And yet, when you spoke to him, you saw something else. Something beneath the mask.

It had been a brief encounter. A charity event, one of those nauseatingly polished affairs where Vought paraded their golden boy around like a prize horse. You’d been there as part of your company’s sponsorship, nothing special. Just another name on a list.

But then he walked by, and you—unlike everyone else—didn’t grovel. Didn’t flinch. You just… smiled. A simple thing, a polite acknowledgment, nothing more.

And for a second, just a second, Homelander froze.

Then his expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face. He gave you a nod, an almost hesitant one, before moving on.

You thought nothing of it.

He, however, couldn’t stop thinking about it. Homelander started noticing you more after that.

It wasn’t immediate, but it was persistent. Every time he passed through a room, his gaze would linger on you a little longer. At first, it was just curiosity. Why hadn’t you looked at him the way everyone else did? With fear. With worship.

Instead, you were… normal. You treated him like a person, not a god.

And for the first time in his life, that felt more intoxicating than any amount of adoration. So he sought you out. First, by coincidence. Then, with more intention. He made excuses to be near you, dropping by your office under the pretense of business, stopping to chat when he saw you at events. He wanted—needed—to know why you were different.

And every time you spoke to him, it was like a breath of fresh air. No false praise. No trembling admiration. Just simple, casual conversation. You didn’t hesitate to crack a joke, to roll your eyes at corporate nonsense, to treat him like—well, like a regular guy.

He couldn’t get enough of it.

Of you.

At first, you chalked up his frequent appearances to coincidence. But then it became too frequent. Too deliberate.

Homelander always seemed to be around. Finding excuses to talk. Standing just a little too close. And then there were the looks. The way he watched you—not with the cold, calculated gaze he gave most people, but something softer. Almost needy.

It was subtle at first, the way his eyes followed you, the way his expression shifted when you laughed at something he said. But then there were the moments when he lingered after conversations, as if reluctant to leave.

And one night, after another one of those tedious events, you finally called him out on it.

“Alright,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against the balcony railing. “What’s your deal?”

Homelander blinked, tilting his head. “My deal?”

“You keep showing up around me. Hanging around like a lost puppy.” You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

There it was again—that flicker of something behind his eyes.

“Would you rather I leave?” His voice was casual, but you caught the undercurrent beneath it. The uncertainty. The smallest, quietest thread of insecurity, woven into the carefully controlled mask.

You exhaled. “I didn’t say that.”

His expression shifted, something relieved, something satisfied. “Good,” he murmured, stepping closer. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, something crisp and clean beneath the fabric of his suit.

And then he smiled, not the perfect, PR-ready grin he always wore for the cameras, but something real.

Something just for you.

From then on, it was impossible to ignore.

Homelander wanted your attention. Craved it. And he wasn’t subtle about it.

He’d show up at your office unannounced, making himself comfortable in your chair like he belonged there. He’d hover during conversations, subtly guiding them back to himself, clearly wanting to hear what you thought of him.

And, God help you, he was charming when he wanted to be. Infuriatingly so.

“You like me, don’t you?” he mused one evening, seated across from you in your apartment—because, yes, he had started showing up there too, somehow always knowing when you were home.

You scoffed. “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You’re nice to me.”

You frowned. “And?”

“No one’s ever nice to me.”

Something in his voice made you pause.

It was an admission, plain and simple, but there was something raw beneath it. Something vulnerable.

He covered it quickly, pasting on a smirk. “Well, not without wanting something in return.”

You sighed. “Maybe I’m just nice.”

He studied you for a long moment. Then, quietly, “Maybe that’s why I like you.”

Your stomach twisted.

Not out of fear. Not out of discomfort. But something deeper.

Something dangerous.

Because the way he looked at you—the way he wanted you—wasn’t just some passing fascination.

It was need.

And you weren’t sure you could ignore it much longer.

---

It escalated from there.

Not in the way you expected. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand.

He just… stayed.

In your life. In your space. Always there, always watching, always waiting for whatever little scraps of attention you’d give him. And God, when you did?

It was like he came alive.

A simple touch—your hand brushing his arm—made his breath hitch. A kind word had him lingering on it for days.

You realized, then, just how little warmth he’d ever been given.

And how much he wanted it from you.

One night, after a long conversation over drinks, he sighed, tilting his head toward you. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“How much I need this.” His voice was softer than usual. “How much I need you.”

Your chest tightened.

And when he leaned in, when his lips hovered just a breath away from yours, you realized something.

You needed him too.

THE END

[acerathia]

how art is made (out of your desire) || Qi Yu | Rafayel

Summary:

Art is something subjective. It's supposed to be. Yet, it seems that everyone agrees what art is. You don't. To you Art is something special, something only you understand. Until you met him.

Wordcount: 4.9k (lol?)

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Professor!Qí Yù | Rafayel / f!non-MC!Art Student!Reader

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! porn with some plot, art is subjective, and extremly horny here, semi-public masturbation (in a bathroom), orgasm denial, private masturbation (help lol), both vaginal fingering, edging, bodily fluids used in art, squirting, lowkey strip tease?, cucking as in, he's watching her masturbate idk if that's right lol, cunnilingus, pussy job, piv, some kind of exhibitionism, u will get it LMAO, this is without feelings, what if i kms, this is weird and lowkey gross and for meee

Note:

professor rafayel is lowkey insane and i need him in my guts thanks

Nobody truly knows what Art is for them. Many simply tell the normal and usual response.

“Art is an expression, some sort of communication.” “It’s entirely subjective.” “Everyone has their own interpretation of its meaning.” “The artist had an idea, a feeling and put it onto the canvas for us to understand.” “It’s the technique that matters.”

Nothing out of the ordinary, standard words for people to repeat without putting much thought into Art itself. Not you, though. To you, Art is something out of this world, something that sends shivers down your spine, making your heart beat, your blood rush, your head spin; something that excites you to the core. It’s reverence, it’s worship, it’s lust.

Maybe because of this difference in views, you can’t help but be bored to death at every single of your lectures. The professors, failed artists in your eyes, droning on about the techniques and how to use tools to use your skills to the fullest. Nothing but empty words when the right feeling is missing, when Art is missing.

That’s why you had pretty low expectations for your newest lecture. The professor is allegedly a famous artist, teaching just for some time, exclusively. Not that you care, most artists aren’t more than people with nimble fingers and connections.

At first, you did try to get into their world, to get to know all the different artists and their styles, what made them special, what made them stand out. But every time you stood in front of a painting, you felt… nothing. None of all these pretty decorations evoked anything in you, and soon boredom turned into frustration. Your dream was to belong, to have your own work join their ranks. But after disappointment after disappointment, you could not even think about your silly dream. Was it truly worth risking your beliefs just to fit in? To strip everything that makes art Art for you just to make it pleasing for all of these people with nothing but time and money? This realization made you turn your back on the world of artists, diving into your own Art, ignoring all possible repercussions of your intentional ignorance.

So, the professor at the front of the room is a complete stranger to you, but you do notice the reach of his fame, as the whispers stack on top of each other, getting louder with each student entering. You simply ignore the fawning and take a seat in a place where you can just not pay attention. Because the only reason you’re here is for the credits. And this new professor isn’t going to change your opinion about their type of art just with his senseless blabbering, probably filled with praise towards himself.

Still, you try to at least act as if you’re interested in what he’s saying, just until he’s not paying as much attention towards his audience anymore. You set your eyes towards him, and you freeze. Purple hair, soft as clouds above the setting sun, a gentle face, smooth and akin to beautiful marble. But what really gets your insides in a turmoil are his eyes. The way they shine when the light hits them, and the coldness hiding underneath all that radiance. Eyes that belong to someone with a certain touch, something similar to you, yet entirely different.

Your heartbeat rises, your lips curling ever so slightly. Oh, how much you desire to see a single work of his, to see if it could change your world. And so, despite your initial rejection, you begin to pay attention to what he says. Careful, one might even think calculated. Every word leaving his lips is akin to a script, something Rafayel, as he introduced himself as, is simply saying to please the masses. But you know, you know the way he’s speaking is different, the way his body coordinates so flawlessly with his words, but there’s always something off, and you know. Words which seem so pliant and meaningless, sprinkled with what he truly wants to express, hidden for anyone to see. And you were hanging on his lips, piecing everything into rough patches in your mind, out of order, nonsensical, but something.

Until he finally reveals one of his paintings, as part of the impending discussion. The moment your eyes lay on the canvas, the way the colors flow into each other, you gasp silently. The emotions seeping out of every brushstroke are caressing your skin, flowing into your veins, tickling the deepest part of you. The painting is filled with desire so intricate, so deep, you grin with excitement, pure unadulterated excitement, throbbing and twitching.

With this, you knew that Professor Rafayel is just like you, that his kind of Art is filled with the same meaning as yours does. A buzz is filling your brain, one stemming from all the possibilities, all the Art you can create under his tutelage; together with him.

The bubbling under your skin does not abate even after the lecture is over, your eyes never leaving him out of your sight, drinking him in, every single motion, every single word. You take everything, and you thirst for more.

That’s why you straighten yourself out, making sure that you look the right balance between amazed, worried and meek, hiding all your hunger away, before you make your way to his desk.

“Good morning, Professor Rafayel. Uhm, I love your art, the way the colors interlink and create this atmosphere, it’s amazing! Uh, what I wanted to say is, that I’m worried– worried that I might not do good work in this class. Do– Would you mind if I showed you my progress occasionally? Maybe give me some pointers?”

His eyes briefly glance over your face, and you barely hide a shiver, feeling your heart beat loudly in your ears. It’s obvious that Rafayel is a genius, and you don’t doubt he has seen through your empty compliment, but as most people sound the same, you’re not worried that he will call you out. Rather, it will strengthen your facade, making him believe that you’re truly as clueless as you make yourself out to be. So, you nibble at your lower lip and furrow your eyebrows ever so slightly, not too much, but just enough for it to look like a subconscious action.

“Alright, you can do so during my office hours,” he finally responds, scrawling all the information you need on a piece of paper and handing it to you.

Thanking him profusely, you leave the lecture hall, and the moment you step out, a grin breaks over your face, the tip of your tongue gliding over the edges of your teeth. You have finally found something that can satiate you, another person with the same essence as you.

So, without stalling for a single second, the moment the door to his office unlocks, you’re already carrying your painting with much care into the room, and give him a smile the moment your eyes meet. With a simple flick of the wrist, he shows you where you can set the canvas for the upcoming analysis.

The painting is one of the lighter ones. The real motive hidden behind the swirling colors of the waves, entering and leaving a cave, gushing. If one knew how to look, they would uncover the yearning, or rather, the desire behind each brushstroke. This painting got created with a mix of oil and water, highlighting the insinuation for those who get it. Normal paint, not the ones you mix specifically at home. No, those mixtures are used for that kind of painting you had yet to show. You first have to make sure that your intuition has not lied to you about Rafayel.

The artist has positioned himself in front of the canvas at the perfect distance and you watch as his eyes glide over every single decision of yours. Chaotic strokes and a use of paints that could only be called unrefined in the eyes of those who seek perfection. But every single one of these was a rational decision, every single one shows the heights you’re willing to reach, ignoring all that is natural and accepted.

You don’t know how long it takes, because you’re simply staring at him, watching every single reaction, down to the tiniest twitch. And then he faces you, a small smile playing around his plush lips.

“Interesting work. The emotional resonance could be stronger, though. Do you mix your own paints?” he cocks his head, his eyes wandering over your face, almost like it’s the first time he’s truly seeing you, like you weren’t even worth noticing before.

And now you are. You nod. Not trusting yourself to speak, as the depth of his eyes is revealed before you, their intensity not only shining through, but outright swallowing everything else. All of this makes your blood hot and you bite on your lower lip to suppress an inappropriately excited grin.

“Good. Next time, bring me one of those paintings. That’s when we can truly start with Art, yeah?”

A shiver runs down to your spine and you feel your lungs collapse, breathlessness wracking your body as you feel heat throughout your body. Before your reaction becomes too obvious, you thank him, giddiness tainting your voice, before you leave with your painting.

There’s barely enough time to stumble to the next bathroom, locking yourself into the cramped space, before you begin to pant, moans stuck in your throat. Before you know it, your belongings already strewn across the ground, your hand has dipped into your pants. Quickly, your fingers touch your throbbing clit, strokes after strokes after strokes, in circles, with more and less pressure, akin to how a painting is made. Slowly, they drag towards your slit, warm and wet, a cave yet to be filled, the waves yet to crash.

But instead of using your fingers to enter, you simply let the pads tease your entrance, and you shiver and clench. The aching hole, needy, bothered, yearning to be filled, an emptiness evoking nothing but inspiration. Your very own muse. One that cannot be taken away from you, ever. Your body tenses when your fingertips return to your clit, touch too feathery for your liking, but this lack of satisfaction makes you lightheaded, and you feel yourself climbing, climbing, one step and you’re going to–

With the last shreds of self control, you jerk your fingers away from your hot bud, your insides hollow and craving. Not yet, you’re only going to give yourself the heights of pleasure once you finish a painting that will make him look at you, truly look and see you.

A shaky sigh, before you fix your rumpled appearance and collect your scattered things. With the unsatedness settling in your body, you rush back to your atelier, inspiration fueled once again.

Once there, you grab your palette, dried colors flaking off of the surface. What you want, need, to show him should not be any old art of yours, no, it should be proper Art, the exact one Professor Rafayel is seeking.

There are uncountable tubes of paint sitting each in their own corner, but for this painting, you shall not use any normal paint. A stack of cans is hidden in a cabinet, each color painstakingly collected, wrung out, until mixing each component brought you these colors. Their consistency and shimmer something one could only replicate if they shared the same sentiment as yours. And of course, a small container, barely as big as your little finger, and its content even smaller. This truly is something that only exists for you, only imitations are possible, but perfect copies never. Unless you allow them to. But it has been ages since you have been attracted to another artist.

A thought creeps up at this, and you lick your lips. Maybe, if everything works out with Professor Rafayel, he might get a bit, and you might get another component for your colors. You wonder how that one might affect your painting.

For now, you set the small container away, it’s the last step to finish the painting, and then you turn towards the open white space of the canvas, and you remember how you felt earlier, how it felt to rise, rise, rise, only to plummet into nothingness. You let these feelings flow into the paint brush and you move, guided by your reverence, by your lust, towards Art.

The colors mix and flow, gush and squirt. Pushing and pulling, hitting the right areas, over and over again, getting the perfect angle with every stroke. Letting the tip caress and touch and love. Moving in circles, in patterns, pressure against the hot spot at the right time, and it drops and drips.

Heaving, panting, hot and feeling sticky, you finally take the small container combined with the smallest brush in your arsenal. You press your tongue against your teeth as you slowly spread the fluid where you need it to be, where it would have the most effect on your painting.

Only after the finishing touches do you unravel, feeling the high of Art, of this painting, penetrating you, making your insides squirm with want and desire. You throw your head back slightly and you moan, letting this feeling overtake you. This is what true satisfaction feels like, and it would reach new heights once you show this piece to Professor Rafayel, once you experience his reaction to it.

You let your piece dry, as there’s still time until you can visit him again. So, all you do until then is attend lectures as you have been, keeping the tension in you going and going, never letting it snap or slip away. Even if you were pretty close to losing control when Professor Rafayel made intense eye contact during one of his talks about the emotions and the way they manifest in art. Something about the way he looked at you made you clench and swallow.

And when he beckons you to talk to him after class is over, you feel your blood heat up with excitement, rushing to your head.

“How can I help you, Professor?”

Without a preamble, he gives you a slightly crumpled piece of paper. “Let’s change locations for the next meeting. I think it would be more ideal to do so. Do you mind?”

You shake your hand and glance at the address written.

“Good. See you then.”

His back is already facing you before you could say goodbye, but you don’t mind, your mind is too preoccupied with the fact that he wants to avoid meeting on campus. You knew your intuition about him was right.

With a grin splitting your face, you make your way home to grab your latest painting, before you input the address into your phone.

You have no idea how long it took you to get there, but standing in front of the gate closing off the huge mansion rips you out of your excitement-induced trance. This eerily looks like a home rather than just an atelier, just some place. Your ribs tingle and you hum. This is getting better with every step. You barely remember to ring the bell, your insides twitching and nudging, and all you want to do is grab him and show him what you’re capable of.

The gate swings open and you step through, feet almost silent on the soft rock leading you to the entrance of the mansion. You take a breath before entering with a knock.

“Professor?” You look around, trying to find the atelier in this huge place.

“Drop that, we’re not in university, right now, we’re just two artists,” his voice sounds behind you and you twitch in surprise and turn around to face him.

His words, coupled with his baring shirt and flushed face, make you unable to speak, suddenly stunned. Rafayel looks like he has been painting passionately and this, coupled with the removal of the societal barrier between you, make you lightheaded, your blood rushing into your fingertips, into your core, and weirdly enough, over your nape. You can only nod, clutching the canvas desperately.

He glances at your hidden work and cocks his head to make you follow him. And he leads you into his spacious atelier, paint and brushes, marble and chisels, a controlled chaos. You can’t help but stop to stare at some of his unfinished works, bare bones, but enough to light something in you, to make you yearn for something so far away, seemingly forever out of reach. His works are simply on another different level, out of your world, you can barely imagine how he might have achieved this.

“Hey, you can put it on this one,” he calls out to you, pointing towards a free easel.

A couple quick steps and you have caught up to him, and you put your painting where he has shown you, removing the covering at the same time. You notice the cloth covering the ground, but who are you to understand the whims of a genius artist.

You put some distance so he can have proper space to see your work while you watch him. Watch him scrutinize your work, analysing every single brushstroke, every single color combination. Like a lot of your paintings, it looks like a simple one, until you dare to dive deeper. This one shows the waves crash against an impossible cliff, trying to reach the edge but failing with each wave, with each push. To you, it’s obvious what your intent is, but you hope it’s clear to another person, to him.

There’s the tiniest clench in his jaw and you keep your eyes on him, wide and expectant, you’re not even trying to put on a mask anymore, it’s too late for that anyway. Soon after that miniscule reaction, he turns his head to face you, eyebrows ever so slightly furrows.

“This is excellent work. Truly, the repression is visually and emotionally resonant, making the viewer feel stifled as they’re failing to reach the climax. But say, how did you produce this?”

With a long stride, he’s letting his fingertips swipe ever so slightly over one of the parts you have coated in your very own mixture. And you almost whimper when you see him smell and lick it off his skin. All while holding eye contact with you.

“Why don’t you show me? Hm?”

You release the air out of your lungs, a little raspy, bordering between a giggle and a moan, and roll your shoulders and neck. Then, you make eye contact with him, as you let your fingertips wander over your throat and collarbones, drawing the line of your chest, splayed across the peak, before your palm beets your tummy, closer to the waistband of your pants.

Playing with the button, you ask him with heavy eyelids: “How much do you want to see?”

While you have been putting up this act, Rafayel has made himself comfortable on the closest couch. Positioned like it was his plan all along. From his seat, he cocks his head, fingers tapping slightly tapping against his temple, his body unrestrained, smooth and laidback, draped over the armrest, legs spread apart.

“Everything. Impress me.”

At his words, you hum, a suppressed moan in disguise, as you feel your insides twist and tense, yearning. With a flick you unbutton your pants and grab the zipper, slowly dragging it down, click by clack, his eyes watching your every move.

Without hesitation, you simply let your pants drop to the floor with a little shimmy of your hips. And maybe you did draw your motions out a little bit, just to see how his eyes follow each sway. Your pants out of the way, you lower yourself to the ground, legs apart to for him to see your still covered cunt and the wet spot on your underwear.

“Usually, I have something to collect it, but I suppose that won’t be necessary today, hm? This is but a demonstration. So, maybe a little censorship would make sense, don’t you agree?”

You watch as his eyebrows furrow, realization dawning upon him, as your fingers find your clit, pressing on your throbbing bud with the cloth still inbetween. A moan slips between your lips as you stroke it, drawing patterns on it, a piece in progress, swiping and flicking, controlled in a way a painter’s brush flows over the canvas. A calculated mess. The pressure sinking and rising, the angles changing, the position gliding. You know what your body needs, but to you, it matters more to satisfy the voices demanding for more and more Art. And the Art in this current situation is simple: A Show.

So, you follow the stream of one, building the tension more and more, hitting every spot that sends electricity down your nerves, until you’re about to reach the climax, only to stop, a cliff, the depression, tension dropping. Your moans turn into whines, even if you’re the one doing this to yourself, letting yourself hang in suspension. His eyes feel hot against your skin as he takes you in, takes every motion, every twitch of your hips, every drop dripping onto the whiteness underneath you. And you grin, tongue against the edge of your teeth, when you notice the strain in his pants. The effect of your Show, of your Art on him makes you clench around nothing, feeling yourself getting worked up without even touching yourself again.

After the little pause, you resume, fingertips stroking over your hot bud towards your slit, and you tease your aching hole with slow motions. You catch his eyes for a moment and you let your eyelashes flutter as you moan, deliberately making it sound close to his name, but not quite enough. With each dip of your fingers, with each caress, you feel your insides tighten, electricity tingling between your nervendings. Until with a certain flick, a finishing brush, you unravel, twitching and moaning, a resolution fit for the finishing act.

Panting, you put your hands behind you to support you, and you cock your head at him with a grin.

“Does that answer your inquiry? I doubt you could replicate it, though, unless you have me,” you raise your hand and stretch it towards him, and from your perspective it looks like he’s sitting on your palm.

“The Art we could create together, just imagining the possibilities inspires me again.” You close your eyes as you shiver slightly.

A shuffle, steps, and then Rafayel is crouching in front of you, taking your hand to kiss the tips of your fingers, his tongue licking the wetness clinging to them. With dark eyes he looks to you and smiles. A smile filled with something calculating and sinister, and your grin broadens as you give him the same look back, eyes wide and excited at the words he speaks next.

“With pleasure.”

With these words, his knees hit the ground and he crowds your space immediately. His breath mingles with yours, but he immediately pushes your torso to the ground, before he makes himself comfortable between your thighs, his hot breath now cooling the wet cloth of your underwear.

“Let’s make Art,” he murmurs as he completely removes your panties, throwing them aside.

Not allowing you a moment to register what he’s planning, his mouth is already on you, tongue running once over your sticky folds, and his groan vibrates against you as he tastes you. Swiftly, he latches onto your clit, sucking and licking, teasing the throbbing, still sensitive bud with each move. His hands grab your thighs, holding you in place as your hips buck in reflex, yearning for the new sensation. For some time, all he does is let his tongue glide over your clit over and over again, enjoying the way your body tenses with each stroke. There’s a meticulousness to his lapping, a precision one only wields when holding a brush. And it seems that you have turned into a part of his canvas.

His control leads to your climax being delayed over and over again, every time you feel close to the edge, he pulls away, almost like he’s observing you, thinking over his next steps, how he wants to finish this piece. And you don’t know what he wishes to achieve but you’re willing to do anything for Art. So, you moan his name and tense over his tongue over and over again, feeling yourself drip and gush. Until he finally allows you to reach the edge of the canvas, one last stroke and it’s done, you unravel and out of your frays Art is made.

Your body limp on the ground and you barely look up as you hear the sound of the zippers, seeing him pull his pants just enough down to reveal his hardened length, pre dripping from the tip. His hands grab your hip, fingertips carefully digging into your flesh, as Rafayel pulls you closer to him, hip to hip, his cock pressing against your clit, and you whimper at the sensation.

“Before the real mixing starts, we gotta have all the necessary materials, don’t you think?” he murmurs before he begins to jerk his hips.

His silky tip presses against your throbbing clit, and the rest of him follows as he lets his length slide through your folds, carefully avoiding your wet slit, the one clenching with every time he moves his cock through you. His veins rub against your heat and you moan, his suppressed groans growing with each slide, twitching against you. You can’t help but grind your hips against his, trying to get more pressure, more of him. With each move, you feel your insides tense up, his length slick with your wetness, gliding and pressing against your aching bud. The way your sexes rub together, the noise, the slickness feels like that sort of Art where every viewer gets to participate, gets to feel what has been felt before. And before you knew it, you were watching him cum, splattering onto the white cloth, mixing with your earlier demonstration. Just seeing him twitch and the way his spend is pumping out, feeling its heat against your skin, makes the tension snap in you, just barely.

“Hng… perfect… now, the climax of this piece,” he rasps against your skin, eyes hovering over your face.

You barely have time to grasp his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself some way, before you feel it. His tip slowly pushing into your entrance, spreading you apart bit by bit. Filling the aching void you have always left behind, the one always spurring your inspiration. The very one now getting replaced by another kind of pleasure, another kind of Art. You moan his name, clenching around him the moment he has filled you to the hilt, your hip against his, grinding, rubbing, slick and wet, and pure Art.

For a moment, everything stands still, the rapture of attention, the discovery of something so innate to life and what it means to create. Until his hips move, pulling out of you, slowly, drawing out like a brush following a measured line. And then he pushes into you again, angling your hips to hit that sensitive spot inside you, to get you messy and babbling underneath his touch. That’s how Art should affect people, turning their minds into a chaos, incomprehensible yet swirling you to the core.

Groans slipping from his lips mix with whimpers of your own as Rafayel finds a pace that satisfies you both, steady, careful, yet filled with conviction and decisiveness with which one would wield a pen to paper. His fingers find your clit and they add more pressure, more sensation, more texture and feelings, and you suddenly burst at the seams, sparks and colors filling your vision as you spasm and clench around him.

The way you tighten around him leads to his own climax, but he pulls out of you before he fills you with his heat, a decision you’re slowly beginning to understand.

Because as you pant and try to recover, you notice how the once white sheet has turned into different colors. With a surprised noise you support yourself on your elbows and take a closer look.

“Do you like it? The colors react to acidity and basicity making them appear. And see, desire is Art, Art is desire, and together, well, I think we can achieve the pinnacle of Art, yeah?”

You giggle, and even after he has milked you dry, you still feel a twist in your tummy, hot and delicious. “That is how Art is made after all, isn’t it?”

The same white canvas, the one colored with your pure desire, mixing and swirling, is soon exhibited amongst his paintings, your name by his side, a collaboration for all to see, with much more depth than anyone could ever comprehend (but not for you, every time you glance at this piece of Art, you see the outlines of your hips, your legs, the dents of his knees, his colors and yours, and the way they coordinate, mix). As for both of you, Art is Lust, Art is Desire. Something much more than what the common folk acknowledges, it’s something to pour your whole body into, no matter the consequences. So, you will continue to thread this path of Art, no longer alone, no longer with shut eyes, but with excitement and him by your side, discovering more and more ways to turn these feelings into expressions and colors. Showing each other how art is made out of your desire.

[adhbabey]

here's some autism traits of mine that aren't symptoms, but they're things that are autism and im choosing to unmask n share this with you all.

biting. just i want bite fingers. i crave to put them in my mouth. i want to bite in general. i know its not socially acceptable to bite people, but i want to. i am a creacher and i cannote change that.

when i was like 14 i was really obsessed with random xd humor. I would say "ekop" instead of "poke", because its poke backwards. And I had this one friend I'd constantly do this with. like "rawr" and "cupcakez!1!1!". We were truly scene.

Speaking incredibly eloquently, as one alter put it, "Human language does not account for all the nuances that I wish to share, so I am using the language to its full extent, detailing every complicated sentence that I can muster. I wish to share my full thoughts and experiences, but it unfortunately does not do what I want to convey in justice. So I must settle for the english language for now." Some of our alters can't really speak because of that, and its difficult for them to communicate outside of visuals and vague feelings. It's really either hyperverbal or no verbality for us.

every fucking alter being some brand of autism. Tsuki is ace and hates to put a label on things, the only concrete feeling she has is anger. Rai can barely speak/communicate, they are very observant and quiet, and they feel the most disconnected from others being the host. Kaori is literally the most autistic creature you could ever come across, they are just literally what you think of, they love all the "cringe" culture type stuff and adore being nonbinary. etc etc. Like, how did I not realize when all of us are some brand of autism?

Feeling like an outsider my entire fucking life. Even when I related to others, I always felt separate from the rest of society, and I must sacrifice everything in order to be loved. This has been connected to spiritual beliefs of mine.

Another thing connected to spiritual beliefs of mine, feeling like I truly cannot see the world, as if I have a film over my eyes. The reason for my self entrapment is a "curse" that a "film" over my eyes exists and I never fully can break free from. I realize that the "film" is masking and my truly unique way of seeing the world is my autism, and I've had to move through the world not letting myself "see" truly.

alice in wonderland, coraline, fran bow, all characters I relate to are young and unique girls that move through a world that is crazy and full of madness. Something I find myself deeply relating to.

feeling misunderstood all the fucking time. even if i try to explain my feelings or thoughts, I'm constantly put on a high standard that I have not been able to achieve. I don't know how to change people's minds as I speak with genuine intent besides rather obvious displays of frustration, anger or sarcasm. I was also the person who thought others were always genuine, and rarely questioned one's intention behind what they said. This trait of mine has led me to become gaslit by a few harmful people in my life.

my disorders all linked together, makes for a bad time. this isnt an autism specific trait. i just. if i feel like an outsider (asd), and have trauma with being treated like an outsider (did), and get really upset with other people saying nasty things about me in regards to not being normal (adhd + rsd), im going to have a hard time and constantly blame myself for being an outsider (ocd) and im gonna hate myself (depression). so its just like. hey i found a piece to the puzzle, but i already know most of it. and thats just the egodystonic experience for me.

but hey, lets talk about more lighthearted stuff!! i love kandi!!!!! it jingle jingle and it has super pretty colours!! im afraid to stim but this is the shit for me. this is amazing.

i'd love to use word quirks and kaomojis a lot more!!! but unfortunately thats not the blog for this bc its not plaintext. but in my heart, thats what i want to do and who i want to be.

oh i remember the last one!! I read this somewhere, but apparently since a lot of autistic people struggle to communicate their needs, they'll do things that meet their needs somewhat, even if they don't know why they do it. For example, wearing hoodies and heavy clothes because they're touch starved and want to be hugged! And I really related to that!! I wear hoodies and lots of layers all the time, or like just wearing my day clothes, even if they're uncomfortable. So, I do that, not just because I'm cold, but I need the weight compressing me, and i've always been doing that since I was young. So I felt.

Not really being able to read big books until middle school. I know there's people who havent really talked until they were older, I remember not being able to comprehend big swaths of text until I was a teenager. maybe thats the audhd, but i feel like thats always been my sort of "i think this was my developmental milestones that i hit late". And yes, I was able to read quite a lot for my age, but it always felt like something that I hit late.

share your autism traits that aren't necessarily symptoms, or you can talk about the ones you relate to and I wrote. Sorry if this post is hard to read, I just wanted to talk about it. :0 so ya

[anna-scribbles]

h-how do you ever finish any of your work? genuine question because you seem to be productive despite your agreste syndrome and I need to learn your ways. but also how do you ever finish any of your work

unclear. last night i stayed up and finished a report worth 25% of my grade at about 5am, arrived on time for my 9am lecture, and spent about half of it zoned out while thinking about seventeen year old emilie agreste. and i was one of the most active participants in the class discussion

[outlying-hyppocrate]

in line to the bathroom just to cry!!

[mellowwillowy]

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

Yan! Sugar Daddy who fell in love with you at first sight in the cafe he often visited for his daily to-go coffee. He had seen lots of beauties but you were the first to catch his breath.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who tried to woo you, he tried his best to not scare you and subtly flirt with you. It took him a huge courage to approach you and ask for your number.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who found out you were still just a college student who was most likely to be struggling with financial issues, or so he assumed from how most of the students there were.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who took his time bonding with you before subtly offering an arrangement with you, a mutual arrangement of a sugar relationship. Instead of sex, fancy dates, or a plus one to those higher-ups events, he wanted your company all the time if he could.

You were wary and hesitant but his silver-tongued nature convinced you that this would change your life for the better.

While you were inexperienced in most of it, Yulian made sure to make you feel comfortable about it and him. The weekly allowance and PPM were enough to make you never lift a single finger to work anymore.

The more you spent time with him, the less it felt like an arrangement. It felt like a man treating you with utmost respect while spoiling you with luxuries you would never imagine to have.

But with such great benefits came a great price. You noticed that you had been seeing your friends less because of the attention you had on him.

You noticed the higher-ups never stopped sneering at you for being a commoner or his pet whenever you attended the fancy events with him as his plus one.

You noticed how you had almost less to none freedom, always heavily guarded by what seemed to be his bodyguards. Who was he and why did you even need this sort of protection?

One day you decided to trick his bodyguards with your flat-out white lies so that they'd leave you alone. They did not expect someone like you to ever lie and put them at risk so they left you alone.

All you did was wander around in awe, checking the grand balcony to go to the washroom as normal people would.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who was seething in rage when the bodyguards came to him, tricked by your childish lie. But there was no way something bad would happen with this slight mistake right? You were not his spouse by any means.

But oh did everyone know you were someone he fancied for the first time in his whole life. Part of his brain just tried to look at this mistake in a bright light and it backfired.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who had to be endlessly teased by his great-for-nothing cartel friend. He had to endure the stress of losing you and the risk of not being able to take you back.

It's not like the Drug Lord couldn't help him, it was simply humiliating for him to endanger you by not keeping a close eye on you.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who could track you down in less than a week and ordered a mass slaughter on the faction that imprisoned you. You were not wounded terribly but a wound was still a wound.

Yan! Sugar Daddy was just a confidant to the Drug Lord and an infamous lawyer. You only knew he was a lawyer but never the lurking threat of his other occupation. No wonder he was always wary of his surroundings.

How could someone from such a cold underground world have the heart to fall in love with you? That was what you thought when you woke up to his concerned face.

Weeks passed and it didn't take him so long to propose to you, for you to become his spouse.

"I truly love you, dear. I have never even once seen our arrangement as something strictly business instead." He showed you a velvety box with a diamond ring in it. "I admit, it was not the best approach but I thought I could work my way into your heart while profiting you with all the benefits and luxuries you could have from me."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, "I wanted you to see how capable I am."

Something told you that nothing good would come out of your refusal. And instead, logic swarm into your brain. You had been in an arrangement with him for almost a year already and had never even once felt any hardships.

He was nice to you, downright kind and loving even. He cared for you deeply and wouldn't hurt you in any way. It was your fault that you broke free from the barrier of protection he granted you.

With great fame and luxuries, came all sorts of threats. He wasn't disloyal like those higher-ups. He didn't belittle you like others would. He loved you.

Even if you didn't love him, you knew how great it felt to be loved by him. There was not a single loss from this arrangement which was a marriage, right?

[lushrue]

dinner party (nsfw)

ghoap x fem!reader

cw: oral (m and f receiving), dubcon (sort of?), voyeurism, dom ghost

it was supposed to be a normal dinner party.

by all accounts, it had been up to this point. it wasn’t unusual for your husband to invite the men he worked with over for dinner, especially johnny. the man lives alone, he’d said, least I can do is give ‘em a nice home-cooked meal every once in a while. you always pulled out the stops, cooking something bordering on gourmet that the mess halls couldn’t even hope to replicate. tonight, it had been grilled salmon with wild rice and roasted asparagus.

conversation over dinner was normal, aided by the wine and whiskey loosening everyone’s lips. you’re far more sociable than simon is, but that doesn't take much, so the alcohol kept the words flowing freely. it wasn’t until after dinner that things started to shift.

the three of you settled in the living room with your respective spirits, wrapping up the night with friendly conversation over light dessert. you moved to your usual spot in the armchair beside the bookshelf, but the sound of simon clicking his tongue at you stopped you in your tracks. he was sat in his own chair nearest the sofa, legs spread like a king on his throne. you couldn’t quite keep your eyes from wandering, admiring the way his jeans clung to his thighs. he met your gaze, the corner of his lips quirked up in a mischievous smirk. he patted his thigh and you felt embarrassment burn your cheeks.

you glanced over to johnny, as if to remind simon that you had company, but he didn’t seem to care. his dark eyes stayed fixed on you, silence falling over the room as johnny’s gaze followed his lieutenant’s. simon cocked his head, a gesture that you recognized as obey or else. you didn’t feel like testing the waters tonight, so you padded over to him, perching yourself on his thigh.

your husband’s arm snaked around your waist as you swirled your wine in your glass, staring at the whirlpool it created to distract you from the way johnny was eyeing you. simon had pulled you onto his lap for a reason, and part of you wondered if it wasn’t entirely selfish motivation that had you positioned here. simon’s hand stroked over the crushed velvet of the dress he’d insisted you wear, sliding down to grip your ass occasionally when you got too fidgety.

conversation gradually turned to their work, so you tuned them out. it wasn’t that you weren’t interested; most of it just flew over your head. it gave you time to focus on the way your husband was feeling you up. his hand never stayed in one place too long, sliding from your shoulder to your spine to the nape of your neck and down. it made shivers run down your spine, goosebumps rising on your arms and legs the longer it continued. despite your squirming, you managed to stay ladylike, a metaphorical aspirin between your knees as the two men talked.

“so, how’s y’r sex life?” simon asked, which snapped you back to attention. johnny seemed just as bewildered as you did at the question, his cheeks flushed scarlet beneath the stubble. you nudged simon’s shoulder, shaking your head at him. “simon, that’s not polite,” you said, but he didn’t pay you any mind. he was too busy watching johnny fluster and scramble to find his words. “l.t., I-” he started, but simon held up a hand to stop him. “nah, don’ play dumb with me, lad. heard ya jus’ the other day in the rec room. talkin’ about how ya haven’t had a good shag in months, somethin’ like tha’.”

you were just as embarrassed as johnny was now. you knew simon wasn’t the most tactful of men, but this was a whole other level. johnny stuttered around his words, trying to find some kind of reply that was appropriate for the situation. nothing would be appropriate for this situation, you thought. simon just chuckled, his hand rubbing the plush cheek of your ass. “look how flustered ‘e is, lovie,” he said to you, finally giving you his full attention. “poor man, doesn’ have a good bird like I do. no one to cook ‘im a nice dinner and keep ‘is cock wet.”

as flustered as you were, the words sent a jolt straight to your core. taking care of your husband was a sense of pride for you. you got a primal satisfaction out of sinking to your knees and sucking him dry after he’d had a hard day. it meant the world to you when his shoulders sagged and released the burden that he’d been carrying, all at your hands. you shifted on his lap, pressing your thighs together to get some relieving friction.

simon looked back at johnny, who seemed just as affected. he had his hands clasped over his lap, his gaze cast down at the throw rug like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “ya wanna know wha’ it’s like, sergeant?” simon asked, his voice dropping into a register only you got to hear. “wanna feel my sweet, pretty dove wrapped aroun’ ya?” johnny jolted like he’d been shocked with a prod, wide blue eyes looking up at his commanding officer. there was bewilderment there, you noticed. clearly, he hadn’t been expecting this. but behind the surprise, there was something more carnal. he looked hungry, like a mutt begging for scraps from the table.

your husband placed a firm hand on your back, taking the wine glass from your hands and coaxing you to stand. “g’won, lovie. on your knees for our bashful lad, hmm?” simon’s choice of words struck you. our. this was for both of you, not just simon. the two of you had discussed the idea of a threesome once, but it felt like a pipe dream then. you’d expressed interest, never really expecting simon to share but confessing your fantasy all the same. and now, here it was. Happening.

you did as you were told, kneeling in front of the sofa where johnny was. from this angle, you could see how harshly his chest was rising and falling, his breath quick and uncertain. it brought you a strange sense of satisfaction that you could fluster a special ops soldier so easily. you sat there expectantly, but johnny didn’t move. he just stared at you, almost the same way he’d stared at his dinner plate before digging in. his eyes traced the contours of your body, over your shoulders and down to your full chest, over your breasts and down to the plush of your stomach and thighs where they pressed against your dress.

“starin’ won’ make ‘er cum, johnny,” simon quipped. you drew in a sharp breath, glancing back over your shoulder at your husband. he clicked his tongue again, motioning back towards johnny. “ah-ah, keep your eyes on ‘im, precious. he needs y’r attention more’n I do.” you looked back up at johnny dutifully, your lips parting slightly as you waited for him to do something, anything. the fabric of the rug was biting into your knees, making you a tad uncomfortable. “she’s yer wife, simon, I cannae jus’-” “you can an’ you will,” simon interrupted. “the only way she gets any pleasure tonigh’ is by your hand, an’ I don’t let my wife go to bed unsatisfied.” you let out a whine at that, the stakes so much higher now that you knew the terms. johnny just had to touch you.

“steamin’ jesus,” the Scot cursed under his breath, your whine sending a spark of pleasure between his legs. he’d never heard a woman make that sound before, especially not at the prospect of being pleased by him. “i can touch ‘er?” he asked, but he didn’t look at simon for an answer. his stare was more intense, sizing you up, deciding which piece of you would be most juicy to sink his teeth into. simon hummed in amusement. “unless y’r bloody telekinetic, s’pose ya have to, don’ ya?” simon responded, shifting in his chair. you heard the zipper of his jeans go down and it was almost painful that you couldn’t look at him.

johnny reached forward, taking your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he stroked his thumb along your jaw, shuddering on his exhale. “y’r so soft,” he breathed out, marvelling at the beauty of you on your knees. you lean your head into his touch, following the pulls and pushes of his hand as he inspects you. “such a bonnie bird,” he cooed, spreading his legs and pulling you in closer to him. you shuffle forward, settling yourself more squarely between his knees.

“simon says ya suck cock like a dream. is he righ’?” johnny asked. you nod, leaning forward to mouth at his crotch through his jeans. you could feel how hard he was already from barely having touched you. instead of focusing on the fact that simon was going around blabbing about your blowjob skills, you chose to take in as much of johnny’s musk as you could through his pants. you couldn’t quite smell him, but there was the barest hint of his body wash peeking through.

simon had started stroking himself to the sight of both of you, the wet shlick reaching your ears and emboldening you. knowing that your husband was enjoying this ignited a fire that started in your core and spread through your veins. johnny got the same motivation, locking eyes with simon for only a moment before shoving his jeans and boxers down. you gasp at the suddenness of it, placing your hands on his bare thighs to steady yourself. before you can fully get your bearings, johnny grabs the back of your head and shoves you down.

he’s not as long as simon, but he’s certainly thicker. he fills your mouth almost instantly, your cheeks aching a little with the stretch. you and johnny moan in unison, your eyes fluttering shut as johnny’s hand balls up in your hair. simon chuckles behind you, his hand tightening around himself. “tha’s it, lad. fuck ‘er mouth good, she likes it a bit rough.”

johnny’s hips start thrusting, the ruddy tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. tears bead up in the corners of your eyes, whimpers and moans giving johnny some vibration as he fucks your throat. you applauded yourself for the decision not to wear mascara; cleaning the tears and spit from your face would be difficult enough. saliva dribbled down johnny’s length, wetting your lips as you hollowed your cheeks. the salt of him coated your tongue, precum leaking down your throat. above you, johnny was grunting and groaning like a rutting bull, thrusting into your mouth with abandon. “how’s my girl feel, johnny?” simon asked, his voice sounding strained. hearing just how affected they both were had your pussy dripping with arousal. “fuck, si, she’s…ah, so warm. fuckin’ milkin’ me.”

your tongue traced the protruding vein on the underside of johnny’s cock, delighting in the shudder you earned from him. it didn’t take long after that for him to finish down your throat. you swallowed every drop, taking in everything he offered. he was more bitter than simon, but you enjoyed it all the same. you pulled your mouth off of johnny’s cock with a wet pop, peeking up at him with heavy lidded eyes. the man you saw was not the man who’d sat across from you at dinner. he looked downright feral, grabbing you like a man possessed. he pulled you up from the floor, laying you out on the sofa and tugging your underwear down.

before johnny tossed them away, he held them to his nose, drinking in the smell of you. he groaned, balling the fabric up in his fists. “y’r bird smells like heav’n, l.t.,” he rasped, dropping the panties and fixing his wild gaze back on you. “bet she tastes even better.” without any further warning, he dipped his head between your thighs, thick tongue lapping up the moisture from your cunt. you squealed in surprise, throwing your head back against the cushions. simon bit back a curse behind his hand, watching his best friend devour his wife like his last meal. the mere thought was enough to make him spill all over his hand and stomach, his release silent so as not to distract johnny.

you didn’t think anything could. your thighs clamped around his head to keep him in place, but it was hardly necessary. even the rapture couldn’t pull him away from your pussy and the nectar that dripped from it. as much as you enjoyed the feeling, johnny wasn’t as coordinated as simon was. his tongue was wild, moving for his pleasure rather than yours. 

you twitched and moaned when he would happen to graze your clit, hoping that he’d get the hint, but he never did. there was no technique, no purpose. johnny came up for air, hazy eyes meeting yours. he was pussy-drunk, your juices shining on his lips and chin. he nosed at the inside of your plush thigh, sinking his teeth into the fat there. it stung and your back arched, reaching down to push his head away. the sting wasn’t pleasurable, not compared to his tongue against your cunt.

the moment simon caught the resistance from you, he was on his feet, yanking johnny back by his mohawk. the Scot gasped, back arching as simon held his hair tight in his fist. “easy, mutt,” simon growled in johnny’s ear, pushing his head down to look at you. “tha’s my girl, and y’r gonna treat ‘er with the respect she deserves. not some blushin’ virgin tha’s never had a woman, are ya?” johnny huffed, taking the question as an insult to his manhood. “‘course not,” he said, voice tense and strained. simon shook johnny’s head, then released his hair. “didn’ think so. remember y’r place, treat ‘er right.”

the scolding from simon had leveled johnny, forced him to slow down and think with his brain and not his cock. you twitched and whined as he paid more attention to your aching clit, swollen and puffy with desire. your hips bucked against your will, pressing against johnny’s tongue harder. 

finally, his tongue pushed inside you, caressing your walls. you clenched around him, tension building in your lower stomach. “don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop!” you begged, chest heaving. simon appeared at your side, stroking your hair. his gaze was soft, admiring, a welcome contrast to johnny’s. “cum on his tongue, love. he’s been waitin’ for it, not gonna stop ‘til he gets it.” those words were all it took to push you over the edge, shuddering and whining as johnny licked you through your orgasm.

you felt floaty after, the pleasure of having your husband’s best friend eat you out while your husband watched going straight to your head. there were cooed praises and kisses to your cheeks, but you weren’t entirely sure who they came from. hushed words were exchanged at your feet, then johnny was zipping himself up and kissing you goodbye. simon wrapped you in your favorite fuzzy blanket, the gentle sway of his gait soothing you as he carried you to the bedroom. once he’d laid you on the bed, he started to leave, but your soft hum and hand on his arm stopped him. “si? can we do that again?” you asked, voice soft and wrecked.

simon just chuckled, brushing your hair away from your face. “don’ you worry, lovie. he’s comin’ back for dinner next week.”

[writtenapoiogy]

longfully awaited; jacaerys velaryon

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

summary: sequel to patience running thin. the wedding night.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: nsfw, 18+, smut, MINORS DNI, SWEET MARRIED JACEXREADER, nerves, oral (f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling (who wouldn't when his hair is that beautiful), some dirty talk, high valyrian used and i think that's it

a/n: the much anticipated sequel i am so sorry for the wait. i really hope everyone enjoys this!! (barely proofread i will go through it after work tomorrowww)

READ PART ONE HERE

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night.” You whispered to your now husband.

Your wedding ceremony had taken place at Aegon’s Garden at Dragonstone. It was just your parents and the Queen and Jacaerys’ little siblings. The day was full of love and there wasn’t one dark cloud in the sky. Your mother believed it to be a good omen for your future marriage.

The two of you were now at your wedding feast and you couldn’t help but think of the duties to take place once the two of you leave. You spoke to Rhaenyra before the wedding discussing your discomfort with the normal bedding ceremony. She immediately made sure nothing of the sort would take place.

Jacaerys smirked before responding into your ear. “Just a little bit longer, my sweet.” He grabbed your hand and rested them in your lap.

The two of you endured about another fifteen more drunk congratulations that had come your way before Jace rose and announced your departure to everyone. You stood joining him and bid farewell to all of your guests, bowing at your queen.

Jacaerys held your hand firmly as he guided you down the corridor to your newly shared bedchamber. You both were riddled with excitement. You two would finally be one together.

When you arrived Jace pressed you against the door, eager to feel you against him. He placed his lips upon yours in a fiery kiss.

The air in your lungs left you, making you dizzy.

Jacaerys was an all-consuming heat. His lips were hot almost searing. Your hands were tracing all over his clothed chest. You wanted to feel his warmth against you. You let out a moan against his lips. At that Jace moved his hand towards the door handle and the two of you stumbled in.

Jacaerys hands were gripping the back of your dress. “You do not know how long I have wanted this. How bad I have needed this.”

“I could probably take a guess, Husband.” You lifted your head up and smiled at him, getting just a tad bit closer to him. Close enough for him to smell your intoxicating scent.

He placed his hands on your cheeks, dropping his head down, reconnecting your lips. He deepened your kiss. You parted your lips allowing his tongue to slip in and glide across yours. He moved his hands to the back of your dress. He was desperately trying to remove the article of clothing that was keeping your full beauty away from him.

Jace began to tug your corset strings free. Being as impatient as he is, he tore open the back of your dress.

You gasped against his open mouth. Your dress slid past your shoulders and fell, pooling at the bottom of your feet. You felt goosebumps litter your body when a particularly cold breeze flew through your window.

Jace’s eyes fell down to your now hardened buds. He couldn’t help but reach his hand out, letting his thumb graze the side before his hand slid down your waist. “Mmm. They are perfect. You are perfect.” Jacaerys took in your bare beauty. He could not believe himself to be so lucky to be wed to you.

You could melt at his words. His voice like silk. “You are wearing too much clothing, Husband.” Your hands scrambled to undress his top half. Jacaerys groaned at the term Husband. He never thought hearing you say that would make ignite the way it did. His hand shuffled down to rid himself of his pants.

Your eyes slowly glazed over his body. Taking in everything about him. The cut of his abs. Then they landed upon his cock. You had spoken to your mother about the whole… marital act. However, you weren’t quite sure how this wouldn’t cause you pain, you blanched at the thought.

Jacaerys took note of your expression. He pulled you closer to him so that all the two of you could see were each other’s faces. No need to stress over the act. “My love. You do not need to worry. I will take care of you.” He placed a kiss on your soft swollen lips.

“B-but, I do no-,” You stammered.

“Do you trust me?” His eyes stared into yours with such intensity. All you could do was swallow your words and nod. He kissed you again, “Good.”

You both stepped outside of the pile of clothes that were now surrounding you on the floor. Jacaerys guided you to the side of the bed. You both climbed in with Jacaerys hovering over you. He placed soft kisses all over your face. He bent his head down towards your ear and whispered to you how beautiful you are. His words and actions made your heart flutter and that familiar burn in your stomach start to churn.

“I wish to learn all about your body. Wish to touch you. All of you. Every square inch of your body.” He began to pepper kisses all along you. Down your neck. Across your chest, leaving fleeting kisses on your nipples, causing you to arch your back against him.

You ran your fingers through his hair, lifting his head slightly. “We have our whole lives for that Jacaerys. Please. I need you. I have needed you for so long.”

“Very well, My wife.” He kissed your forehead before he moved down, coming to a halt right in front of your heat. “However you can not deny me this.”

Jace’s face was burrowed into your cunt in seconds. You gasped as he tested the waters. He was licking and sucking every part of your cunt, listening to your responses. He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit that had you shuddering. Jacaerys had a skillful tongue. Whether that be negotiating with vassals or in the martial bed.

You ran your fingers through his curls and gripped with all your might. “Jacaerys,” You moaned.

At the sound of your pleasure, he slipped a finger inside of your warmth. He groaned against your clit feeling your tightness. It made his dick twitch, but he ignored it. His focus was on you right now. Making sure you were comfortable and ready for him.

Jace continued to pump his finger into you. He didn’t add another finger till your juices were dripping down his palm. He hummed against your clit as he coaxed sweet moans out of you with his fingers. They were rubbing against the inside of your walls so nicely.

You felt yourself reaching dangerously close to your peak. You started to grind your core against Jacaerys tongue. He stilled himself allowing you to use him to reach your climax. Your face was contorted struggling to come.

Jacaerys, whose eyes were staring at you observing your face closely, closed his mouth over your clit and began to suck. As you continued to fuck yourself on his fingers, you felt your orgasm run through your body in a hot wave of pleasure that covered your whole body.

After your climax, your hips continued to grind down onto his fingers. They were still inside you, stretching you to perfection for him. He knew you needed him. He could feel how needy you were for him. Once wasn’t enough and it never would be for you. You could see yourself being victim to his pleasure for as long as you both shall please.

“That was so good my love,” Jacaerys said as he went to hover over you. His fingers never left your heat pumping into you slowly. Your juices from your orgasm created a squelching sound, which embarrassed you just a bit.

You turned your head from him as he entered your space. The scent of your arousal was strong on his face.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed. This is something so beautiful. You do not have to shy away from it, my wife. We are doing our marital duty.” He laid his lips upon yours in a hot wet kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue and lips. Jacaerys kissed down the side of your cheek to your neck. He sucked on the patch of skin right below your ear.

Your legs spread even wider for him. Accepting him in between your thighs. He regrettably removed his fingers from your sopping cunt. The both of you gasped when he leaned forward, his cock slid through your folds, the tip swiping your clit.

“Fuck,” Jacaerys rasped in your ear. He knew after feeling your slick heat against his cock that he was ruined. Laying with you was going to knock his world off its axis. “Do you feel ready to take me, my sweet?”

Your mother had informed you how horseback riding helps breakdown the barrier within you which should help ease the pain. But the uncertainty still ran through your body making you tense. “As ready as I believe I can be.”

Jace kissed the side of your ear. “Just relax. I got you.” He whispered.

His sweet words melt into your bed. You two were skin-to-skin. Completely bare. Jacaerys lined himself up to your entrance. He then moved his hand from around himself to rub his thumb along the side of your stomach, trying to calm you from the intrusion. He lifted himself on his unoccupied arm. He wanted to stare into your eyes as he entered you for the first time.

Jacaerys mouth fell agape when the tip of his cock finally breached through your entrance. Thanks to Your Husband, he slid into you with almost no resistance. Your warm wet walls inviting him in. “Fuck, ao issi vok.” You are perfect.

“Oh, gods.” You mewled once you felt him in you completely.

“Look at me, My Wife.”

Your eyes met his but only for a short second. He began to thrust into you and you squeezed your eyes shut. The stretch of his hard cock was a bit much. All of your other senses were drowned out by the overwhelming feeling of lust and pleasure. All you could feel was the push and pull of him inside of you.

“You feel so good.” He helped ease you around his cock before he spoke again. “Please try, my love. Look me in the eyes while I fuck you”

Your eyes shot open at his words. He dropped his forehead to yours and kept a slow pace. Little whimpers and whines left your mouth. Your eyebrows furrowed at the pleasure you were now receiving. Your eyes never left the princes usually hazel eyes. Which were now filled with lust.

“That’s my girl.” He felt you clamp down around him and he let out an unkingly sound. He knew you were close. Your heat was pulling him deeper inside of you. You were getting wetter with each thrust.

“Jacaerys.” You warned

“Oh, I love the way you moan my name. Fuck, I’m not going to last much longer.” Jace removed his head from yours and nestled it into your neck. You two were emitting such a lovely scent. It pleased his nose and made his body feel like molten lava. It made him want to ravish you and spill his seed inside of you.

He moved his hips to a slight angle so that every time he entered you, he hit that sweet spot deep within your heat.

“Jace! Fuck. Right there.” Your hands were everywhere on him. Scratching down his back. Running your fingers through his beautiful brown locs.

“Nyke gīmigon. Fuck, nyke gīmigon.” He growled against your neck in High Valyrian. I know. Fuck, I know.

Jace needed you to come before him. He was feeling so much pleasure. His hand never would compare to this. If he came before you he might faint before you get the chance to finish. He brought one hand down to rub your sensitive bud at the same time he began to suck the flesh of your neck.

“Jacaerys! Oh, Gods!” You screamed into your hot chambers. You were overcome with pleasure. You began to tremble under your husband.

Jacaerys was quick to follow behind you. Spilling his seed with one last hard thrust. “Fuck.”

Jace waited till you both came down from your highs to pull his limp cock out of you. You winced and he hissed at the feeling. Jacaerys got out of bed and brought a cloth to clean the both of you. Once he had finished and kissed you everywhere he could reach and he got you both under the covers.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. He laid there running his hand up and down your arm. “I could lay like this forever, with you by my side.”

“I could not ask for a better side to be mushed upon, My Future King.” You beamed at your husband.

Jacaerys chucked. “I love you, My Future Queen.”

“Avy jorrāelan tolī, Valzȳrys.” I love you more, Husband.

Jace’s eyes widened. That was the first time you had ever spoken High Valyrian. You sounded lovely. He looked at you as if you had just mounted a Dragon. Bewildered and all the more in love.

“I have been practicing with Your Mother. She wishes for me to learn your language just as much as you do. She is a wonderful teacher.” You spoke kindly about your new mother-in-law.

He couldn’t think of anything else but to kiss you before sleep took the both of you.

[slimyalienfreak]

Hiya, i saw ur requests are open and that you write for sonic series, so i was wondering if you could write sonic boom!shadow x fem!hedgehog reader? You can make up the story, and what happens! But i have to ask if it can be fluff. I read a little to much angst today cant handle more😭

I looove shadow sm, all and any shadow😆

Thanks! Drink,eat , sleep, shower

-Monty 🦔

Boom!Shadow Fluff HC’s With Fem!Hedgehog Reader

Hey there! Thanks for the ask!

I don’t know why but as soon as I saw this request was to have Shadow be in a hugging session with reader. Don’t know why but that was the first thought I had when I saw that you wanted fluff (by the way I kind of wrote this to at least be platonic but some views can be considered romantic in a way. You can view it as whatever). Plus that boy does deserve a hug, regardless of which Shadow it is. Also sorry if this is a bit shorter than my regular ones. Anyways, hope you like this. ~Blaze/Dawn

Pronouns: She/Her (Or At Least Fem Intended Since I Only Used She/Her Once)

Warning: ❌

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Shadow + Mentions Of The Other Sonic Crew

Proofread: ❌

Credits: Icon by punkmp4 on Pinterest + Banner by emiljjj (Edited By Me) on Pinterest

———————————

- ‘God today has been overwhelming’ Shadow thought to himself, his face clearly showing annoyance. Honestly he wasn't sure how long he could deal with another presence. The only thing that was currently on his mind and the only reason he even bothered to put up with the others was seeing you. A while ago he found himself becoming fond of you in his own brooding way. Normally he wouldn’t consider himself getting close with anyone especially since he’s known for being a loner but as he manages to spot you more often due to you often hanging out with that stupid hedgehog sonic and his friends he couldn’t help but get drawn towards you. It’s like you had some sort of aura about you that made him drawn to you. So he decided to hang out with you much to your surprise at him wanting to be around you but you weren’t going to complain.

- You’re the only person he actually tolerates out of everyone he knows. To him Sonic is too annoying, Tails is alright in a way but still isn’t too fond of him, Knuckles isn’t that smart, Amy is also alright he just doesn’t hang out with her too much so he doesn’t have that much of a bond with her and he just finds Sticks batshit crazy. So with you it’s like he’s getting some fresh air after being stuck in a room for hours. He actually enjoys being around you, you won’t get him to outright admit it but in a way you can tell he does because he treats you way differently compared to the others which doesn’t go unnoticed by them.

- Some of them actually find it cute (Mostly Amy) and some of them like to tease Shadow about (Most probably either Sonic or Knuckles) but you don’t mind it. You actually find it cute in a way as well. Managing to break his standoffish persona. Undeniably he kind of has a soft spot for. Often he finds himself getting defensive when someone like Sonic teases him for his said soft spot. Like Sonic could be saying stuff like “You really like her don’t you Shadow” which causes Shadow to tell him to shut up.

- Everytime he has a shit day or just wants to decompress he finds himself thinking of you. He could just be in a grumpy mood then he just sighs to himself and thinks to himself ‘I’m going to see [Name]’. It’s like his brain just automatically thinks of going to you as soon as he experiences a single bad emotion. He knows that you won’t judge which admittedly makes him happy inside. Honestly after having others getting on his nerves he rather have someone who knows how to calm him down. Honestly, this dude has so much built in anger it’s unbelievable.

- Eventually, after enough walking he managed to arrive at your place and immediately felt some sort of weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He knocked on the door crossing his arms waiting for you to open the door. He then saw the door crack open and saw the familiar hedgehog he actually likes. “Oh hey Shadow!” You said, happy to see your buddy again “what are you doing here?” You asked before he answered “apologies for interrupting you but is it alright if I stay here for a bit?” He asked to which you happily let him in.

- As soon as you sat down you found him following you before plopping himself head down into your lap “had another one of those days huh?” You asked slightly chuckling before placing a hand on his head “you have no idea. I swear that damn hedgehog is out to purposely ruin my day.” He grumbled as he felt himself softening while having your hands running through his quills “oh come on he’s not that bad you know?” You could hear Shadow slightly snorting to himself before replying “you hang out with him, your used to his idiocy” you chuckled at his answer before continuing to play with his quills, occasionally seeing him nuzzle his head in your lap even letting out some noises indicating that he was enjoying the attention he was getting from you “your weird you know that Shadow?” You joked with him “no I’m not” he retorted back even starting to hug you loosely around your waist “yeah whatever you say” you smiled to yourself hearing Shadow scoffing to himself as the two of you enjoy each other's company. “thanks for being there for me [Name]” he quietly said but you could hear him very well “no problem Shadow”.

———————————

[jilsthings-rb]

CAN I GET AN AMEN IN THE HOUUSEEE YOOWWWWWWWWWWWWZAAAAAAAAA‼️‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥💢🔥‼️‼️🔥🔥‼️💢‼️💢🔥🔥‼️‼️‼️🎉‼️🎉🎉🎉🎉‼️🔥💪🔥💪‼️💢🔥💢🎉🎉🎉🎉‼️‼️🔥🔥💢💢‼️‼️💢🔥💢‼️💢‼️💢🎉🎉🎉‼️🔥🔥

I Really Wanna Stay at Your House

Sypnosis: Pico invites Lara to sit down and talk with him. What she didn't expect is the reason for it.

Ship: Pico/Lara 💚🩷

Word Count: 3k

WARNINGS: Hurt/Comfort, Degradation (Pico @ himself, I need to save this man). Not sure what else so lmk!

Happy PicoLara Anniversary!!! The long awaited fic is finally here! Just as a little funfact but this was originally supposed to be a comic but the script got too long bc I kept writing... oops. So it's a fic now! Hope it's a good read still. I haven't written in a long while and this isn't completely proofread but enjoy still 🫶

DNI: prosh1p/comsh1p do not even touch this post.

May 13th, 2024. Monday afternoon. Today was their anniversary, and it was luckily a quiet and slow day. At least it was supposed to.

Pico finds himself seated on the couch, back slouched on the backrest, fiddling his fingers as he was staring at the ceiling. He was feeling nervous.

He wasn't usually like this most of the time, especially on days like these. But today was different, because today, he invited his girlfriend to sit down and talk with him because there was something important he wanted to mention. No, it wasn't about the anniversary– they were both fully aware of that already. It was something more personal to him, something that has been troubling him for quite a while now. He couldn't start on that conversation just yet though, because she wasn't there with him.

She was still in their bathroom cleaning herself up. He had knocked on the door prior to this– asking her to join him on the couch once she was done. She agreed of course, and now he was just waiting for her to finish. But as every second passed by, he was starting to get a little more restless.

He was alone with his thoughts for the time being, his mind swirling around the topic he wanted to talk about with her. It was terrifying, imagining all the made-up scenarios on how this one conversation he'll have with his girlfriend could go wrong. He should really try looking on the brighter side more often, but right now he can't.

Right now he feels his stomach twist and turn, and it almost makes him want to throw up. He clenches one of his hands into a fist until the knuckles turn white, forgetting his own strength of all things. He hates how uneasy he gets with simple confrontation, even though this wasn't a confrontation at all. It was really just a simple little talk. But the fear of it still gnaws at him from the inside out.

All those negative thoughts die once Lara enters the room.

"Hey, what's up?" She smiles, and it's as almost as bright as the sun that's shining through the window. Maybe if Pico stares hard enough, he could see the faintest outline of a halo right above her head.

He notes her appearance briefly. She's wearing shorts and a loose tank top. Her hair was slightly fluffed up, an effect of hair-drying such thick hair after taking a shower. She looked so relaxed and refreshed, and it makes his heart skip a beat. She looks so pretty.

Pico clears his throat as he finally loosens up, lifting one hand up to wave at her. "Hi, hey." He greets, and the words come out more quiet than he'd like. He feels like he's staring. He's definitely staring. It's so obvious to her that it makes her chuckle, the soft laughter finally snapping him out his trance.

"Here, take a seat." He moves to one side of the couch, making room for her to sit on.

Once she's seated, she looks at him expectantly. "So..." She starts, looking off to the side momentarily before returning her gaze on him.

Being on the spotlight like this makes a lump form in Pico's throat. There it was again, that sinking feeling of how this whole thing could go wrong. He clears his throat once more, pushing his fear back before speaking.

"So... about what I wanted to talk about." He pauses, trying to find the right words to describe the topic he has in mind. "It's... well, pretty serious."

"Did something go wrong?" She instantly asks. She tried to keep it casual, wanting to keep the light and airy atmosphere despite the topic (whatever it may be). But she couldn't stop the worry that slips in her tone when speaking, her protectiveness starting to override.

"No, no- everything's fine actually. I mean it as- this is really important, at least to me." He explains, and it makes her sigh in relief. He wouldn't want to give her a heart attack this early on.

"I'm listening."

"Well, you see... it's not really easy to talk about."

"Something personal?" She asks carefully, wanting to make sure she's not overstepping any boundaries. She knows he should know he can decline answering if it touches on something private.

"I guess you can consider it that way." He answers with a shrug, seeming unsure himself if it could be deemed as such.

"Well, whatever it is, take your time. I'm listening whenever you’re ready."

"Right, uhm..." He mutters, finding himself a lot more hesitant all of a sudden. He doesn't know why he still finds himself this way, scared to open up and be vulnerable still. The person across him has witnessed him at his complete worst. They've both been through hell and back for each other, yet there's still unease despite it all.

He gulps again, trying to swallow down his dread. "It's just..." He groans, and it frustrates him how complicated he's finding this. "It's- it's really not that easy. I-"

"Hey, it's okay." She immediately tries to reassure him, reaching out to hold him. Her hand rests gently on his arm, hoping it provides some form of comfort. "Like I said, take your time. But if you can't tell me then there's no need to force it-"

"But I want to tell you!" He cuts off, his face practically pleading. "I've been dying to tell you this and it's killing me, I-"

"Pico-"

"Lara," he grips her by the arms, white eyes staring straight into her own. "You are the love of my life and the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. You've stuck by my side after all this time even after everything. After every breakdown, argument, every time we'd wake up in the middle of the night because one of us had a nightmare. Even after I've hurt you-"

"So did I-" She's confused and startled. She wasn't expecting this yet she's still listening. She just couldn't help but butt in during that one sentence.

Pico huffs. "That's not the point. My point is that you still stayed. Stayed to love me, care for me. Made the best out of the fucking mess I am. Everything. And I just-"

"Pico-"

"You're everything. You're seriously fucking everything to me and I- I don't know where I'd be without you. Not here, not right now that's for sure. I'd probably- no, I'd definitely be dead sooner or later if you didn't come into my life."

"That's not true!"

"It is. It fucking is and you know it."

"Pico- please," she's the one pleading now, worried on where his words are going. Although she appreciates his adoration for her, she didn't want it to come at the cost of him demeaning himself. "I- you're shaking."

"You're just... I don't want to loose you." He admits weakly as he looks down, feeling his grip loosen when she moves his hands away. They're wrapped around hers now, slender and soft fingers cradling his shaky and calloused ones. He intakes a breath of air and it's an unsteady one. "I can't loose you."

"I'm not going anywhere, love. You know that." She responds, gripping his hands tightly into hers. "We've talked about this. I'll always be right here for you, just like you will for me."

"You're- that's not-"

"What? What's not? Explain it to me, I don't-"

"Fuck. Just-" He's exasperated now. He knows he's not making any sense and the conversation isn't going the way he wants it to. But he just can't bring himself to say the right words. The direct ones.

It's when he finally pulls a hand free from her hold, reaching into his pocket before dragging something out. He places the item on the palm of her hand, albeit a bit roughly.

"Just take it."

"Wh-" She's so much more confused now.

When she finally looks down and reluctantly opens her hand, she finds a small, golden colored band, with a shimmering stone encased neatly on it that she knows is worth thousands. It's settled gently on her palm, and that's when realization hits her.

He was proposing to her.

"Pico- This is-"

When she looks up to look at the ginger, she finds him facing away from her. He was trembling ever so slightly and... is that sniffling she hears?

Oh.

It makes her sigh, free hand reaching out to tap him gently on the shoulder. The action makes him flinch for a second, but she hopes it makes her lover look at her once more.

"Pico..." she says softly.

He slowly turns around to face her again, and that's when she sees it. The state of his face, eyes filled with tears that couldn't stop themselves from spilling, and the flush on his cheeks that was evident. This isn't the first time she saw him get this emotional, but the reasons for such a breakdown is different this time around. It makes her sigh again, reaching her free hand out to hold him.

"Oh, Pico... love..."

"'m sorry."

"Don't be."

She softly whispers, cradling his face now, letting her thumb wipe away some of his tears gently. It makes him instinctively lean into her touch, nuzzling into the palm of her hand despite the wetness. Soon enough, he moves closer, starting to embrace her now as he hides his face away into the crook of her neck. She lets him do so, the action second-nature as she moves her hand to his back now, starting to rub soothing circles on it.

"I could've worded this whole thing better." He mutters, his breath hitting her skin and making her hair tingle.

"You did fine."

"No I didn't. I'm such an idiot."

She sighs once more, a bit more frustrated this time. "You're not! You're the smartest person I even know honestly." She contends, not tolerating his degrading comments any longer.

"Seriously though, you did okay, I promise."

Pico merely stays quiet, gripping his hands a little tighter on her waist as he contemplates things. The silence takes over for a few minutes, but it doesn't bother her. Not one bit, at all. She'd wait for eternity on him if she needed to, but luckily she didn't have to when she hears his voice once more.

"You don't have to... y'know, say yes."

"Now why would I do that?" She tilts her head to try and look at him, even though the only thing she can really see is the back of his head.

He hums for a moment. "Multitude of reasons. Main one is that you aren't ready."

"Well, are you ready?" It felt redundant to ask such a question, considering he did just propose to her. But knowing him? She knows immediately that despite him taking initiative- he still had some reservations in doing this whole thing. She knows him like the back of her mind at this point, and it wouldn't exactly hurt to ask still.

Just as she expected, she feels the hands on her waist grip tighter for a moment, while the face that was hiding in the crook of her neck lets out a muffled answer. That was all she needed to know his true feelings. He was still hesitant.

"I'm taking that as a no, then?"

"No- I mean-" He finally looks up to her now, revealing his face from hiding. His eyes meets her once again and it makes him feel like he's caught red-handed. His voice was a bit more raspy and strained, but he cleared his throat before speaking again to let his words sound clearly.

"It was... hard. I thought about it a lot, so many times, for a long, long time." He admits now, his voice slow and almost quiet from the shame he feels. "Every time I thought of proposing, it scared me shitless. I didn't feel ready- I wasn't at all ready. But the more time flew past us, the more scared I got about losing you. Scared you'd get bored eventually with how long we're still dating. But it also felt too soon. But I still wanted to show you much you mean to me- how precious you are. But I'm still-"

"Hey. Hey, breathe. you're shaking again."

"Sorry, I-" He intakes a deep breath of air. When that wasn't enough, she guides him with a breathing exercise to help calm his nerves properly. When she sees he's finally relaxed, she speaks up.

"It's okay. It really is." She gives him a gentle smile, wanting to reassure him. "I can understand how hard this is for you, I'm not mad at you or blame you for feeling scared. But I want you to know I'd never get bored or leave you just because we've been dating for so long now. Do you really think I'd throw away all of this—what we have—just because you haven't proposed to me sooner?"

"No, but..." He trails off, realizing soon enough how she has a point.

It was purely paranoia on his part, clouding his common sense and reasoning. Even after all the progress they did to lessen it and make him feel safe in this relationship, the doubts still crawl back into his mind every now and then. Now is one of those moments. His face shows the inner conflict that he's going through, and it makes her frown. She places the ring in her hand on her side for a moment, before using that same hand to cradle his face fully to make him look at her again.

"I love you. I love you so much, Pico. I could care less when you'd propose to me, so please don't worry about it too much. Do it whenever you're ready."

"But I want to do it now. I want you to- I just want to show how you're everything to me. I don't want to push this back any further."

"So are you proposing now?"

His breath hitches, but he nods. "Yes."

"Then I do. I mean- sorry," she giggles, and it makes the ginger chuckle in response too. "I mean yes. Yes, I will marry you."

His features finally relax as it contorts to give out a relieved smile. His laughter becomes louder now, more joyful as he wraps his arms around her tightly. It pushes her back onto the couch with him on top of her now, still embracing her as he sounded and seemed so happy. It makes her laugh back in response, the laughter contagious.

"I'm glad. I’m so fucking glad..." He sighs, before pausing for a moment as he looks up to her. "Ah, where's the ring actually?"

"Oh, I set it down somewhere on the-"

"Found it." He says with a chuckle before lifting himself up from his fiancé now. Right, she was his fiancé now, and so was he to her. He could get used to calling her that.

He sits up properly to look at her now, and it makes her do the same. He holds out his hand to her, making her understand immediately and comply as she put her hand on top of his.

Slowly and gently, he slots the diamond ring into place, watching as it glimmers slightly. Once it was in place, Lara brings her hand up to admire it, shifting her hand in different angles as she observed the precious ring now wrapped around her finger. It makes her smile.

"It looks beautiful." She whispers.

"Glad you like it."

"Like it? I love it! But also... you shouldn't really have gotten me something so expensive."

He scoffs. "But you deserve it."

"I'm scared I might loose something so precious. The guilt of doing so would eat me alive."

"Nonsense. I'm sure it wouldn't slip off your finger that easily. How does it feel?" He eyes the ring closely now, running his thumb over the jewelry to check if he got the right size for her.

"Fits perfectly." She answers, and that alone makes his insides swell with pride.

"See? No need to worry. Even if you did loose it, I don't mind buying a new one."

"Pico!"

"Whaaat?" He shrugs innocently, but there's already a clear smirk on his face that he was anything but such. "Buying that one didn't even leave a dent in my savings. Surely another one wouldn't hurt." He says it so playfully that the angel couldn't help but just sigh.

"You're unbelievable."

"C'mon. Let me spoil you every now and then." He wraps her arms around her once more, gently guiding them both down to lay on the couch again. He nuzzles his face into her neck and it makes her laugh.

"It's not that- just..." She looks away as she hesitates on continuing, her cheeks heating up from the next few words she thought of saying. It only makes the ginger all the more curious, trying to encourage her to speak up. When she does, her voice is soft and quiet, and reasonably so.

"Save the rest of your money when we settle down, yeah?" She says sheepishly, but there's also a hint of sweetness to it. It doesn't help the gentle expression she has on that sets butterflies loose in his stomach.

"So soon?" He teases, although it did make his heart skip a beat just thinking about it. "Not like I can get more as extra."

"I'm just saying. Better to be safer than sorry."

"Fine, fine." He sighs playfully, surrendering to his lover's decision. He moves his head to be on top of hers now, pressing their foreheads together. There's that same adoration in his eyes as he whispers. "Love you."

She can't help but chuckle, smiling as she returns the same gaze. She feels her heart swell with the love she has for this man that it almost feels overwhelming. "Love you too." She replies, before feeling the soft press of his lips against hers.

She moves her hands upward to run through his hair, and it makes him smile during it. They'll be here for a while.

[maiamore]

STAR-STRUCK

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 5k

Summary: You’re a fresh-faced production assistant for known action star Joel Miller. He’s not quite what you expected–but neither are you.

Tags: actor!joel x production assist reader, action film set, no use of y/n, rough/dom Joel, use of the word ‘kid’, mirror sex, rough sex, unprotected pinv, mentions of injuries & violence, Joel does his own stunts, public sex, bdj (big-dicked-Joel), Joel is not nice in this fic, more untagged read at your own discretion A/N: oof this a long one. also! i swear i've seen something similar relating to the mandalorian reference. if anyone knows the fic, pleaaaase let me know

READER’S TATT/PIERCINGS-SPO

This wasn’t what you’d imagined your life to look like. 

For the majority of your adult life, you’d clung to a glittering, idealistic vision of your future. You’d blame it on those countless movie marathons with your dad–the late nights, the worn-out couch and the satisfying click of the DVD player setting the stage for your ambitions. You’d dreamed of being a part of the magic. The glitz, the glamour, the art of it all. 

Directors like Ridley Scott, Martin Scorsese, John McTiernan captured your adolescent heart, fanning the flames of your Hollywood dreams.

You knew coming into this that it was going to be far from easy. God knows you’d paid your dues living in NYC after having moved from your small town–sharing a tiny shoebox of an apartment with three others, taking multiple part-time gigs, hustling to finally land a Production Assistant (PA) role.

And now here you were. Accommodations comped, flown to Atlanta for the shoot of some action movie you weren’t even allowed to know the title of thanks to the NDA you’d signed.

It was suspenseful, sure, but not in the sexy, thrilling way you’d imagined. More like in the “what fresh hell did I sign up for” sort of way.

“So you’ll be handling scheduling, coordinating, and helping the stylists. And making sure his overall well-being is met.”

You shuffled behind Jonah, the PA you were supposedly replacing. It was nearly overwhelming. Already built streets, custom housings, all wrapped up in a larger than life sound stage. Everyone was in their own world, working on their own tasks.

Normal people might have felt small and unseen. But you? You were still star-struck. You could be a part of something so much bigger than you, and that thought excited you. 

“7am every morning. You’ll need to be on standby to help Joel with everything he needs. So here’s the schedule.” 

More papers were being shoved to you, your arms slowly vanishing beneath an ever-growing stack. You scanned it, eyes twitching in dread. 

Every fifteen damned minutes had its own designation. Was this a movie or a military operation?

“Right! Got that. So…who exactly am I…” You squint at the bolded text on freshly printed paper, still warm to touch. “Wiping sweat at 16:45…for?”

Jonah halts mid-strut, turning back to you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “What…do you mean? You don’t know who you’re working for?”

“I do.” You shoot back defensively. “Well–okay. No. Not really. I was given an NDA, so I’m–”

“It was a yes or no question, hun.”

Suddenly, you were grateful to J-hole leaving. Not so much of replacing his long ass list of endless tasks, though. 

He stops before the stylist’s station, gesturing to a cluttered board, displaying headshots and costume references for your apparent “boss.” As you step closer, your breath catches in your throat.

No way. No fucking way. 

“Joel fucking Miller?”

Your fingers, almost acting on their own, plucked one of the profile shots from the board. Joel’s broad frame was practically sculpted.  His Special Forces uniform taut over his muscles, probably for the character he was playing. Another close-up featured his face smudged with faux grime and fake injuries, his expression hardened and grim. 

And then…there were the less clothed test shots. Your gaze betrayed you, dipping to the dark trail of neatly trimmed curls disappearing beneath his belt.

Your head snapped up so fast it was a miracle you didn’t pull a muscle, as though the sheer force of willpower could exorcise the horny demon possessing you.

Jonah grins at your obvious surprise. Sighing dreamily at the profile shots of him, side views and costume shots.“Yep. Now. It isn’t going to be a problem with you now is it? We had to fire the old girl cuz’ she attempted to–nevermind. Don’t wanna get into that. It was a whole debacle. You can look it up in the files under the Miller versus Nancy lawsuit.”

You glanced at Jonah, confusion knitting your brow before returning the photo to the desk. Honestly? You probably wouldn’t have blamed this Nancy. Joel had been the blueprint for your sexual awakening. 

As fucked as it was. Considering he was closer in age to your dad than your own.

Watching him star in films by the greats back in high school had left you fantasizing, his smoldering intensity seared into your brain. God. You were going to need the entire night to mentally prepare for this.

“You tellin’ that story again?” The voice behind you sent a shiver up your spine–it was the kind of voice that wrapped around you like a thick yarned blanket on a cold night. And the kind of voice you fantasized about when you were grinding against your pillow.

You froze, every damned nerve on high alert. Turning slowly.

Joel Miller stands there. Resurrected from the photos itself.

He was dressed like he’d just walked off a lazy Sunday pickup game. Grey athletic shorts that hung low on his hips, revealing sturdy, hairy legs that somehow made him seem even more rugged. A black t-shirt clung to his frame, dampened at the collar with sweat. Navy cap sitting snug on his head.  

You couldn’t stop yourself from shamelessly dragging your eyes from the damp curls peeking out at the nape of his neck to his thighs. 

He scratches his stubbled jaw, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on you. They paused, and you realized–a little too late–that he’d caught you gawking.

Joel nudges his head towards you. “This her?”

Jonah nods, handing Joel a call sheet. “All new and sparkly.”

He looks you over–not in a predatory way, but like he was cataloging every detail. Dark and steady. And it lands on your shirt. For a split second his brows lifted, just barely.

“You watch that one?” 

Your brain stutters and you look down, realizing you’d stupidly worn your Mandalorian graphic tee. His face–or well, Din Djarin's helmeted face, was plastered across your chest along with the iconic Star Wars logo.

“Oh! Um. yeah,” you stammer, tugging the hem of the cotton as if the ink would magically disappear. 

Great. You meet the man you had dozens of posters of and you were stuttering like a fucking idiot.

“Big fan. Of the show. And, um, the movies. And, you know, your–” Joel holds up a palm, silencing your rambling. “Right.” He sounded amused, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “...‘preciate it.”

Joel never liked change. It was ironic, given his line of work. An actor, in its nature, had him slipping into new roles and personas on a constant basis. But no matter how many characters he played, he'd preferred the familiarity of a constant crew. 

So the news that Jonah was leaving and that his replacement was a fresh out of film school rookie had Joel grumbling for days.

Then he saw you.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him, like you were seconds away from fainting. Or maybe it was the shirt. That damn shirt.

You clearly hadn’t gotten the memo about dressing for long hours on set. Instead of the usual hoodie and less than glamorous foam sneakers combo, you were rocking a cropped baby tee stretched taut across your chest. 

His gaze dipped, almost involuntarily, taking in the rest of you. The way your bootcut jeans sat low and snug on your hips—to the bunch of keys and a juicy grape chapstick hung on a carabiner attached to your belt loop. 

When you shifted nervously, the movement sent a glint of light flickering from your stomach. A silver charm, shaped like a star, dangled from your belly button. He caught himself mid-thought, forcing his eyes back to your face, but the damage was done.

You weren’t as innocent as you looked. He’d figured out that much. 

Your fuck-ups hadn’t gotten you fired. Not yet, at least. Somehow, you were still here. Holding onto your job by a thread.

It still felt surreal, working for Joel Miller. You’d spent years watching this man on screen. All his works & press interviews. It seemed pretty fucking unreal to think that you now had his name saved to your phone like no big deal.

Given you weren’t able to tell anyone about it, though the purple vibrator that sat in your bedside drawer was pretty much the only thing that knew his name by now.

In the weeks that followed, you’d fallen into a rhythm with him. There were rules–unspoken ones. You didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t hover too close, and didn’t take it personally when he barked orders or dismissed you with a grunt. Joel wasn’t an easy man to work for.

What was even worse, was that in Joel's eyes, you were probably the least sexual entity to have ever existed. It stung, especially when you considered how much of your mind he occupied.

“Give me a…second. Dunno how these things work.”

You’d shifted uncomfortably, dropping to your knees to Joel’s horror. You sat on your thighs with a huff. Attempting to gather the hem of Joel’s pants to tuck into the army garters.

 “Christ. You don’t hafta…” Joel’s throat tightened as he fought the sudden, unwelcome heat pooling low in his gut.

“Huh?”

It was distracting, the sight of you so close. On your fuckin’ knees no less. Joel tugs around his belt. He snaps his fingers to catch your attention and you look up at him, with wide eyes. 

His thumbs twisting around the two metal hooks of the thin garter until it connects. “Just hook em’ together, kid.” 

You nodded at his words. Finally managing to neatly tuck it into his boots. 

Though from his vantage point, something else catches his eye–a small mark etched into your skin. Black ink at the nape of your neck, a star, delicate like the charm that hung from your belly button. 

“Ya got a thing for stars?” 

You blinked a few times before the words finally registered. Was he really starting a conversation when you were on the ground like this? You notice the slight nudge of his head towards your left. 

Instinctively, you cupped around the back of your neck. “Oh..yeah. I mean…it’s pretty and all.” You had to admit, Joel’s childlike curiosity over the ink on your body all of a sudden caught you off guard. 

He raises a brow at your admission. “What’s the point of puttin’ it at a place you can’t see. Seems pretty pointless.” 

“Didn’t put it there for me to see.” You say with a shrug. 

Joel’s jaw ticks when he realises the insinuation behind your words. He drags his hand down his face, opting to finally keep his mouth shut when the images conjured in his mind couldn’t be held back anymore. 

You didn’t quite notice his distress till you looked up after the lengthy silence that settled. 

The imperceptible twitch in his crotch area catches your attention. Your lips parted to stifle a gasp of surprise. 

Was he— “Jus’ get the hell up, kid.”

The respectable thing to do was to go on about his job. It was humiliating enough that you’d caught him in a painfully embarrassing position. 

But Joel Miller learned two new things about himself.

First, he didn’t quite mind the soft, lingering scent of strawberries and vanilla you seemed to carry. A quiet, comforting sweetness that seemed to cling to the air whenever you were near.

The second? Well, the second was far more troublesome. 

The thoughts that plagued him at night when he was fucking his fist, or someone else for that matter. It didn’t help that he was aware of such vivid and intimate details of you. It fucked with his head how desperately he wanted to draw pleasure out of you and stain that pretty little dainty star you had on your belly with ropes of his cum. 

The culmination of it all was taxing. But somehow? He managed to keep those thoughts at bay.

When the director finally called cut for the day, Joel stepped off set, muscles aching and shirt damp with sweat. He scans the area out of habit. 

Jonah would’ve been there by now–towel, water & phone in hand, ready for the usual barrage of calls and texts he needed to deal with.

Instead, it was you. 

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as the realization hit him again. Right. Jonah was gone.

“You don’t have to look like the world’s ended, Joel.” 

He doesn’t answer you, not at first. 

“It’s not like I’m going to tell people that you—“

Joel seats himself in his chair loudly. A silent warning for you to not go there. He lets out a long, drawn out exhale. Folding his arms tightly. “Kid. Don’t know whatcha think you saw–”

That again. Kid. Was that how he saw you? You had half the mind to admit what the idea of it did to you—the idea that he might’ve gotten hard at the thought of you. 

“Hate that I even have to ask.” You begin, not letting him finish his thought. “You realize I’m not.” You were dabbing a little harder now, tossing out the used makeup wipes in the trash beside you. 

“Y’are when I’ve got a decade over ya.” He says simply. Wincing at your harsh gestures. “Don’t need the complications.” He pushes your hand away, his deep brown eyes stayed locked on you, searching, warning. 

“Leave well enough alone, got that?”

The following weeks on set proved to be grueling, even by Joel’s standards. His reputation preceded him. A stubborn, self-reliant actor who insisted on doing his own stunts. For the studio, it was a nightmare. Higher insurance premiums, a ballooning budget, and his manager losing sleep over the what-ifs. 

For Joel, it was just how he’d always worked.

But his body wasn’t what it used to be. He could feel the aftermath of his aching limbs with every roll, leap, and landing. By the end of each day, he was a drained man.

The tension on set that evening was suffocating, the kind that made every sound sharper, every movement feel urgent. 

Joel’s stunt wasn’t supposed to go wrong. It rarely did. But today was different. 

You’d seen the way his jaw tightened with every take, the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. Monitoring him from the sidelines when the cameras were still rolling. 

Then it happened.

A sickening crunch, the unmistakable sound of something gone wrong. Joel hit the ground hard, and the set erupted in chaos. The director’s voice echoed through the sound stage, “Cut! Jesus. Check on Joel. Now!” as the crew scrambled toward him.

You froze, the towel and water bottle in your hands suddenly feeling useless. Your feet moved on instinct, but the crowd around Joel was essentially a wall. Blocking you out. 

You couldn’t get through.

“Back off. M’fine.” Joel’s voice cuts through the commotion, frustration dripping from every word. He swatted away helping hands, gaze darting through the crowd. His face twisted in anger, not from pain but from the lack of order.

“Where the hell is she?” he grumbled. 

You hesitated, your stomach knotting. His eyes finally locked onto you, and his expression darkened. “You. Get over here.”

The weight of his command pulled you forward, even as your gut screamed to stay back, letting someone more qualified deal with it.  You shuffled behind him as you’d maneuvered out of the crowd and back into his trailer. Eyes widening at the sight of blood seeping through a tear in his shirt.

“Joel, I–…shouldn’t we call–”

“Don’t need someone else,” he interrupted, his tone biting but strained. “Just. I’ll tell ya what to do. Kits in the left drawer.”

“Okay,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady, wracking your brain for memories of those first aid videos you’d seen on YouTube. Film school did not prep you for this. 

As you grabbed the first aid kit, you watched Joel slump against the trailer walls. You stood there, awkwardly, watching the scarlet blossom against his abdomen.

He looks at you for a moment before exhaling. “Y’know, you can ask n’ not jus’ stand there like a mute, darlin’.”

The witty remark dies in your throat when he yanks his shirt off. Effectively shutting your brain down entirely. You stare down at his body in its’ full glory. Damp with sweat and streaked with dirt. Blood smeared in jagged trails down his arm to his abdomen, mingling with grime from the fall. Joel pulls out the antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit, handing it to you.

“Shit, Joel. That looks fucking bad.” You hissed out, as though you were the one with a darkened gash on your midriff when you attempted to wipe the first streak off.

“Why…” Fuck. Your voice was cracking. “Why didn’t you just let someone else help you?”

He huffed, his dark eyes flicking to yours for a moment in amusement before looking away. “Ain’t worth makin’ a scene over somethin’ small.”

“This isn’t small, Joel,” you protested, frowning as you uncovered a deeper gash on his side. “You should’ve let the medics handle it.”

“Don’t need all that fuss.” His tone was clipped, defensive. “Been doin’ my own stunts for years. Ain’t stoppin’ now ‘cause of a scratch.”

“This isn’t a scratch.”

Joel’s gaze flicked to yours again, a flash of something unreadable in his expression. “Look, I get it, alright? But I don’t need everyone actin’ like I’m fallin’ apart. I’m fine.”

He knew deep down that his ego was far too big to admit that he actually needed help. 

“Stubborn,” you murmured under your breath, shaking your head as you pressed a clean pad against the wound.

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.”

Joel’s patience was paper thin, but he bit back whatever comment was forming on his tongue. “Enough of that. Just…tie it up” He sighs, strained, handing you a roll.

You nodded, fumbling with the bandage as your heart pounded in your ears. The wound was deeper than you’d thought now that it was clean, and the sight of it made your stomach churn.

“C’mon, darlin’. Ain’t got all day.”

You secured the bandage, tying it off with a bunny-eared bow before sitting back on your heels. Fingertips drumming on your knees, seemingly proud of yourself. 

Joel glanced down, his brows furrowing as he took in your work. “What the hell is that?”

“What?” you say defensively. “You told me to tie it.”

“Looks like ya wrapped a damn present,” he muttered. 

“Fine, I’ll redo it–”

“Don’t bother.” He caught your hands before you could move, holding them in place. “It’ll hold.”

The silence that followed proved to further intensify the air between the two of you. His grip on your wrist was firm but not harsh, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t dare to move. 

The curve of his nose grazed your cheeks, the faintest touch sent a shiver down your spine, but he had enough sense to move away. 

You however, didn’t think, didn’t hesitate when you leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick, tentative kiss.

It seemed to have caught the both of you off guard.

Joel froze, the kiss barely lasting a second before he pulls back, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he’d tell you off.

But instead, he leans forward. Kissing you harder, deeper. A palm slips to the back of your neck to anchor you in place.

With nowhere else to put your hands, you placed them on his thighs, gripping them tightly.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin. His other hand gripped your waist, drags you closer until your knees pressed against the side of his hips.

But just as quickly as it started, Joel stops. He pulls back with a bated breath. His hands slip from where he held your neck. “Shit,” he mutters, his jaw clenching as he looks away. “Shit.”

You blinked, your heart racing as you tried to catch up. Trying not to let the disappointment show in your voice. “Joel–”

“Stop. I shouldn’t have.” The curtness in his tone startled you. But you frowned. Trailing behind him as he gets up. 

“Well you did.” You blocked his path towards the door of his trailer. Eyes filled with a burning persistence of him once again denying you. 

“Don’t push it, kid.”

You’d practically stepped up to him confrontationally. “—Or better yet, you gonna tell me that I imagined it?”

“You can’t do all of that and then just back off.”

It frustrated you to no end when he stonewalled you like this. Like you were some irrational kid who couldn’t read between the lines.

When Joel finally does speak, he merely says your name. With a finality you couldn’t quite refute. You bite the inside of your cheeks. Feeling humiliated at being shot down when you’d thrown yourself onto someone like this.

“Fucking coward.”

This time, you didn’t mumble. 

Joel visibly grimaces at that. You feel his hand grip painfully around your wrist, stopping you from leaving the trailer.

You let out a choked gasp when his hands shoot out to grip around your throat before you could even react. Forcing you backwards at every step. Instinctively, you grab around his wrists to loosen his grip. 

“Hey!” 

He leans down to your level, lips grazing against your ears in a deep whisper. “Fuckin’ coward, huh?”  You'd pushed all the right buttons. He'd held back for so damned long and he didn't have it in him to hold back. Not after you'd run your mouth.

You let out a shaky exhale. Teeth grit painfully. You should’ve felt scared. Horrified, really. But the tenderness in his hold makes you feel conflicted about what you should’ve felt. 

Joel’s grip held you firm. Tipping your head up. “Y’want me to fuck you that bad?”

A soft whimper leaves your lips when his back presses against you. The hardness rubbed up against your core. You shudder at the sensation, nodding weakly. 

His rough palms circle around your waist, turning you over the dressing table until your pelvis sat flush against it. The grip around your throat swiftly turns to a vice grip around your jaw. 

He tugs at your jaw. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Ugh—yes.…need you..tofuckme.” You manage through gritted teeth. It irked you to say it, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t have let up.

Joel tugs you to look up into your own reflection. Your gaze immediately sours, attempting to look away. 

“C’mon now. S’a pretty sight.” He tuts. His other palm drags the fabric of your top up harshly, pulling it up along with your bra. Your tits spilling at the notion. A gasp slips from your lips. 

“Joel!” Your palms tightens into fists on the table at the obscene sight. 

So much for someone who didn’t want to give in.

It doesn’t faze Joel, merely letting out a low whistle. Kneading them in his palms. “Perfect fuckin’ tits.”

He presses a kiss down the sides of your neck. Twisting around your nipples till they hardened between his fingers. You let out a pathetic whine at the sensation. Holding his arms firmly, you squirm as he nips your shoulder. 

“Could you just—“ Your protests don't stop him in the slightest. Nudging your head a little to give him room. He takes it as a sign to bite down on your neck, bruising you with hickeys all over. 

Joel seems to catch your nervous flickers towards the doors. He shifts your hair over one side of your shoulder. Thumbing over the ink on the nape of your neck. You hear the sound of the zipper, briefly catching sight of him shucking his pants down. He winces slightly at the dull pain shooting across his abdomen, but the desperation of needing you was far greater than the pain.

Somehow, the idea of not being able to see it made it so much worse. And as though he reads your mind, he presses his jaw against the side of your head. “Relax.” The tenderness in his tone through the roughness does manage to soothe your nerves. You nod slowly.

Your hips jolt as the cold air hits your body when Joel dips a finger under the waistband of your sweats. He teasingly brushes his fingers lightly against your skin before swiftly tugging them down to your thighs along with the flimsy cotton panties you had on. “A little warning would help.” You bite back, finally losing patience at his tactless gestures. 

Joel meets your gaze through the mirror. A lopsided smirk quirking up his lips. “Right. My bad.” You could feel the disingenuity in his tone before he taps the length of his cock against your lower back. The gesture almost mocking.

A shudder runs down your spine. He was big, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. 

He hikes your hip backwards and flush against him. Your palms instinctively clutches around the edge of the table. Joel takes his time, sliding his hard cock between the softness of your thighs. The sensation nearly sends you doubling over. Watching the weeping tip poke through in the reflection, slightly smearing his precum on your clit.

You squeeze your legs together subconsciously, earning a wince from him. He was certain he could come just from fucking your thighs like this. The pace he took now bordered on torturous. Teasing you with everything but giving you nothing. 

You took it upon yourself to stretch your hands between your thighs in an attempt to notch him in you. You were aching. Badly.

Joel lets out a grunt of disapproval, yanking your wrist to pin it behind your back. Leaving you to steady your body weight onto your other hand. “Eager little thing. Daddy ain’t ever teachya patience?”

His snark burned in your cheeks. It was a futile effort. He could see every single expression you were making from your reflection and he fucking thrived on it. Joel takes a hold of his cock, lining it up against your soaked cunt, he slowly drags your slick over his length. You were soaking him before he even started.

Your head dips, clinging onto the fleeting pleasure every time the tip of his cock bumped against your clit. 

“Joel–please just fuck me...”

So he does.

Before you could even catch your breath, he snaps his hips into you. “Deep breath f’me, sweetheart.” If not for his grip around your wrist, you would’ve probably face planted into the dresser. 

The sting from the intrusion of his thickness had your cunt tightening with every move he makes, squeezing the absolute life out of his dick.

Your hair falls in front of your face as he mercilessly fucks you. You swore you could feel him almost grazing the entrance of your cervix. “T-Too..too fucking...big.”

Joel tips his head at the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock, probably only halfway. He doesn’t say anything yet. Only humming at your whines. “I know baby.”

You look down shakily at where the both of you were connected, the lines between pain and pleasure blurring to the point you hadn’t registered the tears prickling the corner of your eyes. “Hurts…”

Joel seems to feel a tinge of empathy at the way you were struggling to take him, hiccuping through your whines. His gaze flickers to the way your pretty little face scrunched up, doing your fucking best like the good girl you were. A slight groan leaves his lips involuntarily.

All rationality be fucked.

His hand grips around your throat, forcing you to look up at the mirror. 

As humiliating as it was, you couldn’t help but feel increasingly turned on at the sight of his cock fucked into your dripping pussy in squelches. “See that? Takin’ me so ’fuckin’ well.” He sighs into your shoulder. 

The praise has you lifting your hips higher, on your tippy toes–forcing a deeper arch at your hips. With how slick your thighs were, you weren’t even sure yourself if you did come.

Nothing but the sounds of his pelvis snapping into your ass in rhythmic, hard slaps. He buries his head in the crook of your shoulder. And you hear him audibly grunt this time. Thrusting into you at a punishing pace. 

Joel could feel the all familiar tightening in his sack, he knew he was close. The sheer suction your soft, slick walls were providing him was nothing he’d ever felt before. He lets go of your throat, both palms gripped around your hips, painful enough to leave a mark. The table rattles under your combined weights and Joel’s frantic thrusts, products rolling and clattering onto the ground. He noses your cheeks, stubble rubbing against your pulse point. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy…” 

You offer a slight whimper at his words, meeting the intensity his thrusts weakly. You both still at the shuffle of footsteps approaching the trailer.

 The sharp knocks against the trailer door has the both of you whipping your head towards it. 

“Everything okay?”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears loudly. The door wasn’t locked.

Joel doesn't answer, simply looking at you. Your expression twists in frustration. Mouthing the words ‘me?’. There wasn't time to deliberate. Your lips parts to speak, barely able to form coherent words. “Y..yeah. A-All good.” 

“Right…productions cutting it close. So if Joel’s oookaaay…”

You cursed internally at how persistent whoever behind the doors was. But you nearly see white when Joel fully slams into you. Deeper than before. You couldn’t control the sharp cry that leaves your lips, but it is soon muffled by Joel’s rough palms covering your mouth.

“M’fine. Give us ten.”

Your tears pool around his hand. Gripping onto his wrists when he continues to pound into you at a faster intensity. You were whining by the time the crewmate finally left. Joel pulls you against his chest. Audibly groaning into your ears now. “Fuck. M’close.” 

You nodded dumbly, not even sure just what at anymore. Shaky hands clinging onto him like a lifeline. With a final rut, his hips stutter, ropes of his cum painting the insides of your walls.

He held it there for a couple of seconds before pulling out. All messy and soaked with your arousal.

You let out a strained exhale at the feeling of loss as your pussy convulses around nothing, pearlescent liquid dripping from your reddened cunt. 

Joel sighs wantonly at the sight. With the state of you, he was briefly worried that he might’ve gone too hard. And then he sees it. Your smaller, manicured hands, pushing more of his dripping come into your folds. Yeah. Joel was fucked.

[stellamarielu]

sweetheart

declan o'hara x female reader

summary: working late with your boss (who you have a massively embarrassing crush on) was a normal occurrence for you. not a normal occurrence? him finding your favorite smutty romance novel and asking too many questions about it.

content: mutual pining, nsfw themes, age gap i guess, not actual smut but there are implications, teasing, some dirty talk (bc let's be real it's "how would you have liked him to touch you" declan)

author's note: so this is the first writing i've posted on here because this man and his hairy chest have me in a chokehold. the internet deserves more rivals fics!

—

It was the third Thursday in a row you found yourself still at work after everyone else had gone home. You were sat across from your boss, the only thing separating you was an office desk. The piece of furniture was obnoxiously oversized, but you were thanking the universe for it because if Declan was sat even an inch closer, he would probably be able to hear your heart pounding. You had such a ridiculous crush on him. You knew it was inappropriate, but you couldn’t seem to care less. So here you were working overtime just to sit and gawk at him. Pathetic.

Sometimes you swore there was some sort of tension between the two of you. The accidental stares that lingered a little too long. The careful touch of his hand on your lower back when he passed behind you. Sure, you were probably reading too far into it, but in the back of your mind you hoped that he saw you as more than a young naïve coworker. 

Your delusions were further fueled by Declan’s constant invitations to join him in his office on Thursday nights. You couldn’t help but wonder if he knew that you would stay late every single night if he asked you to. 

But of course, he knew. 

He knew you thought he was attractive. He knew that his presence made you nervous. He knew that you had an embarrassing schoolgirl crush on him, and he liked it. 

Not only did he like the idea of you wanting him, but Declan reciprocated it. He spent most days with his gaze trained on the work laid out in front of him to avoid eye contact with you. He knew the second your eyes met he wouldn’t be able to control the small smile that tugged at his lips. He would never admit it, but he lived for making you giggle. The sound of your laugh was irresistible. He would crack little jokes throughout the day just to hear it.

Your voice alone was like music to his ears- christ, even the way you said his name drove him insane. He could feel warmth spreading through his chest just thinking about it.

The thoughts he had about you were unbecoming. Thoughts a boss shouldn’t have about their employee let alone an employee that was almost half their age. 

So, he tried his best to suppress his feelings and treat you as he would any other coworker. But it sure as hell didn’t help when you were always so quick to stay late and help him with his work. Granted he knew by asking you to assist him after hours he was just digging himself deeper into this newfound obsession. But he couldn’t help it, he longed to be in your presence even if it was just an extra hour or two once a week. 

These nights were mostly filled with silence but the occasional banter about office drama or a Keats work that you both admired was enough to have him wrapped around your finger day after day.

“What was that article you were tellin’ me about?” His question breaks the silence that had been occupying the room for the last fifteen minutes. 

You look up from your busy work only to be met with his kind eyes. For a man that had no problem showing his angry side, you felt lucky that you so often got to experience a version of Declan that was calm and light-hearted. You sometimes thought he had a sweet spot for you, although you came to terms with it probably being because you reminded him of his daughter who was just a few years younger than you.  

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot about that. Hold on I think I have it in here.” You began the search for an article you had mentioned to him that morning. It was an old gossip piece that you thought would be good for him to use on the show tomorrow night. 

You began taking things out of your bag one by one trying your best to find the paper in your giant unorganized tote. Notepads, books, a handful of pens, and your favorite lipstick that you thought you lost months ago are now strewn across Declan’s desk as you continue digging through your belongings. 

A small chuckle escapes Declan making you stop your search for a split second. Your head snaps up expecting to see him looking at you in irritation for creating such a mess, instead you notice his attention on one of the books you had taken out of your bag. Looking down you realize your copy of Lizzie Vereker’s novel was sat on his desk. A novel that was well known for its extremely erotic contents… and your copy was so worn the spine was barely intact. 

Before you could try to say something to make the situation less mortifying Declan spoke, 

“I see you’ve read Lizzie’s book then.” 

There was no questioning his amusement. He seemed to be enjoying how awkward this was for you. 

“That Lizzie is a quirky gal, but a truly great author.” He finished and picked up the book thumbing through the pages. 

“She gave me a copy after the garden party last month. When she mentioned to me that she was a writer, this-” you said motioning to the book, “wasn’t exactly what I had in mind”

You giggled as you spoke and the second the sound left your lips Declan’s eyes met yours. There was something about his stare now that you couldn’t place. 

“So I take it you’ve read it then?” You asked him, needing to say something to keep yourself from full on passing out in embarrassment. You wish you had asked something else because you desperately needed to change the subject from the smutty pages Declan held in his hands. 

“My-“ He paused, “Maud read it years ago. I remember readin’ a bit of it myself. Absolute filth.” 

He was looking back down at the book while his hands found the worn spine, a smirk plastered on his face. 

Okay, so now he knew you were so miserably horny that you not only read the book, but you enjoyed it so much that you must’ve re-read it multiple times- hence the condition of the novel. 

“You certainly seem to be a fan of her work.”

With this comment your humiliation began turning into irritation. Was he trying to further embarrass you by implying that you’ve clearly enjoyed the book? Can a woman not read exceptionally horny literature in peace? Now you’re becoming annoyed by the whole conversation. Afterall, it’s really none of Declan’s business what you do in your free time.  

“Yeah, well I spend a lot of nights alone in my apartment Declan.” You deadpan. “I’ve found the dating pool in this town to be quite depressing and I’m 99% sure the men in that book are much better than anyone I would meet here anyway.” 

You haven’t been living here long, it’s been maybe three months since you got the job to be a production assistant on Declan’s show. You’ve been working so much that you haven’t had much time to scope out the town’s most eligible bachelors, but from what you’ve seen you’re not interested. Not to mention the inconveniently debilitating crush that you had on your boss keeping you from noticing anyone else at all. 

“Oh and why’s that?” He challenges. This time looking you straight in the eyes, a smirk still playing on his lips.

Alright, he wanted to keep this up so why not. Two could play at this game. 

“For starters, these men” You steal the book out of his hands, “are written by women. Meaning they have empathy, they’re emotionally expressive and socially aware. Seemingly simple character traits but you would be shocked by how many men I’ve met in the last few months who lack the basic complexity of a fictional character.”

His smirk has turned into a full-blown smile making your body feel warm. 

“Not to mention the men in this book are capable of making a woman cum not just once but multiple times in a row. Which seems to be an impossible task for every man I’ve been with.” You continue your rant. Declan’s eyes fixed on you.

“These guys are getting off on a woman’s pleasure” you tap your book, “truly enjoying making their partner feel good. Meanwhile in reality, most men don’t even care if you finish as long as they get theirs.”  The second the words leave your mouth you realize you’re talking about orgasms with your unbelievably handsome boss staring right at you and immediately feel the need to hide underneath the desk in front of you. 

You look at Declan and notice his expression has gone from playful to something more serious. His lips show no evidence of a smile, instead they’re now relaxed and somewhat parted. His deep brown eyes are slightly hooded, and you could’ve sworn you noticed his chest rising and falling at a rather quick pace. He waits a few moments before standing from his chair and slowly making his way to your side of the desk.

“Well sweetheart,” 

Your mouth gapes open at the words. He’s never called you that. But hearing the pet name fall from his lips in such a deep raspy tone sends shivers down your spine. 

“I’ll have you know the kind of men you’re talkin’ about from your book do indeed exist.”

No longer separated by the desk he now stood right next to you, close enough that you could smell his cologne and the cigarette smoke that lingered on his suede blazer. 

“Some men relish in their partner’s pleasure. They can’t get enough of the way their body reacts to their touch. The way they look so needy and desperate for release.” 

He stops for a brief second. His eyes slowly drop to your feet and take their sweet time coming back up to meet your eyes, steadily drinking in the sight of your body underneath him as you sit still in your chair.

“The pretty noises they make as they come undone.”

His Irish accent sounds heavier than normal, and his voice is hushed. Your body is frozen in place and the room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter. His words are stirring something thick and foggy in your head and you can’t think straight. You’re all too aware of how close you are to him. Your face a mere foot away from his crotch. You’re able to make out the intricately braided patterns in his belt and you try to stop yourself from letting your eyes sink lower to what’s beneath it. 

Declan watches your gaze fall, and his mind starts to race. Knowing any second now his attraction to you will be evident by the strain of his pants. He gently takes your chin in his fingertips and pulls your gaze upward so you’re looking up at him through your lashes. 

Fuck- that sight alone is enough to make him finish in his pants like a teenage boy.

You looking up at him with innocent eyes, your lips parted just inches away from his hips- he thinks he may die right there on the spot. The effect you have on him is intoxicating, clouding his thoughts and almost making him see stars. What he says next comes from a place of carnal desire surprising even him, 

“Unbelievable that the men who’ve had the privilege of bein’ with you don’t even know how to fuck you properly. If I had you in my bed I would take my sweet time makin’ you cum over and over again until you’re beggin’ me to stop.”

As he speaks the hand that was resting underneath your chin gradually makes its way down, his fingertips now ghosting your jawline. 

“You deserve somebody who knows how to make you feel good sweetheart.”

There he goes with that nickname again. This time he says it and you can’t deny the warmth that pools between your thighs.  

Just as you open your mouth to respond, Declan’s phone starts to ring. Your eyes remain locked on one another as the incessant noise continues. You were beginning to think Declan would ignore the call so he could continue dirty talking you into a puddle, but he stood up straight from his position at the desk and began walking to the other side of the room. Answering the phone, he gazed back at you running a hand through his curls, nothing but lust in his eyes.

You sat up in your chair, blinking slowly and trying to gather your scattered thoughts. You weren’t sure what had just happened, but you did know one thing. 

The next time you found yourself that close to Declan O’hara’s belt you would be undoing it. 

find part 2 here

my masterlist

[wonderjanga]

Trauma

Billy has trauma. Only, it isn’t his trauma. See, at first, he couldn’t access the previous Champions’ memories, but after a bit, they slowly eased in, even without him realizing it. Now, at first, when he realized the memories were kinda there he didn’t think much of it. He only ever really thought about them when something reminded him of something from the memories. The first time this happened in a really negative way was when the Wonder Woman and him were in Tartarus.

Marvel and Wondy: *in Tartarus, walking around and talking about whatever they were there to do*

Wondy: “This is a pain.”

Marvel: “I know-” *stops talking when he sees her a little too close to some hellfire*

As for why he suddenly stopped? He was suddenly bombarded with a memory of feeling his own flesh melt and bubble, falling off clumps as he, or rather a past Champion screamed in pain, clawing at their skin as if that would do something to stop the burning.

Wondy: “Brother? Brother is something wrong?” *sounds concerned*

Marvel: *snaps out of the memory* “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just uh…” *walks over, much to his displeasure as just feeling the heat radiating off the hellfire is making him shake*

Wondy: *feels his shaky hands, move her away from the fire* “Brother, are you sure?” *sounds more concerned now* “You’re shaking.”

Marvel: *gives her reassuring smile* “I’m fine. I promise, Diana.”

Despite what he said, he was obviously not fine. The day after this, any fire he saw was met with a violent flinch comparable to that of Martin Manhunter whenever the Martian would see a flame. Billy couldn’t stand looking at normal fire for the rest of the week due to it reminding him of the memory. He’d had no idea a past Champion had died so painfully like that. Unfortunately for the boy, this was just the beginning of him experiencing these types of flashbacks.

The next time this happened to him was three months later. The Justice League were all in Metropolis because some magicians predicted that something big would happen there. So far there’s only been a very large earthquake which resulted in everyone having to help civilians out of rubble and such. Then, for some reason, something big crawled its way out of the Earth. It was a massive, and Billy means massive, stone dragon.

The JL: *fighting this creature*

Marvel: *smacked away by its tail*

Dragon: *lunges at Marvel, mouth wide open displaying its sharp teeth*

Marvel: *freezes, genuine fear on his face*

This scene with the dragon caused him to be pulled into another memory. A similar dragon with its tail coiled around him, trying to crush him like a snake coiled around and trying to crush a mouse. The Dragon peered down at him, opened its jaws, and before he, or rather she, as he was sure he was a female Champion this time, could do anything, it chomped down. Gosh, he felt the bones in his neck, snap under its teeth. It was sort of slow too because of his/her durability.

Supes: *notices Marvel looking like he’s going through PTSD, dashes over, and tackles him out of the way of the dragon*

Marvel: *gets his head back in the game after rubbing his neck a bit*

After the fight…

Supes: *pulls Marvel aside when they get to the Watchtower* “What was that back there?”

Marvel: “Uh… What do you mean?”

Supes: “I mean, you just froze! If I hadn’t tackled you, you would’ve been eaten by that thing!” *sounds extremely concerned* “I just wanna know if something’s wrong.”

Marvel: “Nothing is! I’m sorry- I just got caught up in the moment. I won’t let it happen again.” *sounds guilty*

Supes: *sighs* “You don’t need to apologize. Just please don’t put yourself in danger like that again.”

After this incident, Billy decided he didn’t like dragons anymore. It was nothing personal- never mind, it was, but still. He won’t ever be able to look at them the same again.

Then there was arguably the worst flashback, and this wasn’t even induced when he was Marvel. It was induced as Billy, right in the of one of his radio broadcasts..

Billy: “And this just in! On Maple Street, an uncle… killed his nephew.”

You might already know whose memory he was forced to relive, but in case it wasn’t obvious, it was Aman’s.

He doesn’t exactly remember how he was killed this time, but he does remember what he felt at the time. The dirty, bitter, ugly feeling of betrayal that bubbled up inside of him. It was like it was choking him, filling up his throat and lungs, replacing his entire being with an icky tar-like feeling. Though that might not have been the betrayal at all. It might’ve just been him dying.

He couldn’t stop himself looking at Adam with anything other than genuine, cold hearted hatred after that.

[itsgrimeytime]

i know i got him || Rick Grimes (TWD) x gn! reader

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker @zomb-1-egutzz

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter

Summary: Ever since you showed up, you've had an effect on Rick. At least, that's what everyone said. Initially, you hadn't recognized it. But after one too many coincidences, it's starting to become a little impossible to ignore.

TWs: flirting, simp behavior, cursing, and all things TWD.

[[A/N: Was listening to this song nonstop (so good btw) and my brain went... hmm. Rick is terribly down bad in this. Like eager to do things for you, following you around like a puppy dog, the works. Also this gif????? girl... Enjoy :)))) ]]

You had never really thought about how you affected him. Or how they thought you did, anyway.

"You're being ridiculous," you stated -plainly.

Maggie was trying desperately to convince you that you had one Rick Grimes wrapped around your finger. Rick Grimes? Wrapped around your finger? No way.

"Do you remember yesterday? When he went on a run to find you a pair of shoes?"

"That was not why he went out on a run," you laughed a little, mindlessly bouncing Judith against your side, "-we need more as a community than just-"

"Then, why-" she interjected, "-did he only come back with shoes?"

"He didn't," you countered, "-He had some cans of food, I remember."

"Two," she relented, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, "-he went out on a run for two cans of food?"

"Sometimes you can't find much-"

"Oh my god," Maggie rolled her eyes, "-you are unbelievable. Let me just show ya-"

You pursed your lips, as she walked ahead of you -beelining to Rick. She had quite the pep in her step, pregnant and all, "Show me?"

Before you could call out to her, she was at Rick's side. He seemed to be talking to Deanna, actually, and if he was talking to Deanna, it was probably important. He smiled at her, in a Rick sort of way, until she started motioning to you. You had no idea what she was saying, but his eyes flicked to you instinctively.

Now, you'd never thought about if he smiled differently at you, but it was kind of hard to ignore right now.

Eyes dipping over you and Judith, the bright grin on his face was very different than the one for Maggie previously. And it wasn't even like that one wasn't genuine, you could tell it was, this one was just different.

It was crinkly eyes and shining white teeth. It surprised you that it didn't even seem unfamiliar to you; how long had he been smiling at you like this? And you had just normalized it?

You guessed you didn't have a direct comparison but still-

You smiled back (maybe just as bright, you weren't sure) and gently waved.

Watching him laugh a little and shake his head (like he couldn't believe you were waving at him?), your eyes darted to the ever-so-slight pinks of his ears.

Before you could think about it, Maggie said something to grab his attention (eyes stuck to you before snapping to her), and they were both on the way to your side. Something worried in Rick's eyes, you felt some guilt coil into your stomach; what had Maggie said?

You couldn't ask about it before he was already at your side, hands itching to fuss over you -you could tell. He seemed to let them win.

"Maggie said ya got a headache?"

Right, it was a sort of offhand remark to Maggie. And it was hurting, the sun even stung your eyes a bit. But he left that conversation (obviously very important) because you had a headache?

The gears in your head were turning, and Maggie seemed to watch them -eyes stuck to your face. You couldn't believe it yet, there had to be a reason.

"Rick," you started, "-it's fine. It's minor, had it since I woke up this morning, I can-"

His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes gleamed with concern, hands coming to rest on your arm, "Ya had it since 'is mornin'?"

Shit.

"Yeah," you answered, still trying to fight your case, "-but really, Rick, it's nothing. I can manage-"

"Ya should go rest," he interrupted, taking Judith from your arms, "-least til' it gets a lil' better. 'S hurtin' your eyes, I can tell."

How did he know that?

"Rick, seriously-"

"I'll take ya home," he hummed, carefully, "-and I'll come back in an hour to check on ya-"

"Rick," you tried again.

"-Get some medicine from the doc', and bring it to ya myself," he finished, something in him decided.

You pursed your lips, trying a different angle, "Shouldn't you be getting back to Deanna?"

"She can wait," he responded, simply.

"Well," you frowned, "-it has to be important, I don't want to-"

"'S not as important as you."

The words faltered in your throat, and Maggie looked at you in a way that you could hardly grasp. Mouthing 'I told ya so', you thought on it. Maybe he was just concerned, I mean one thing-

And then, his hand came to rest on your lower back, guiding you home, and your brain promptly turned off.

Ever since that conversation, you'd been trying to reason. Keeping watch on your interactions with Rick (he did always smile at you like that, fyi), you were trying to rationalize it. Give it a reason. Other than what Maggie, and others, said, but it started stacking up.

It was a dreaded day, laundry day. And out of the cycle, it was your turn.

Sometimes, the people of Alexandria would just air dry their clothes for conservation reasons, really. And every time, there was someone assigned the duty. A little like how the meals were made, and someone had to help Carol -not that she'd ask for it. She was a little stubborn like that.

That being said, no one, and you mean no one, liked to do laundry. Specifically, because you had to get up early (to make sure you got all the sun power you could), and it took hours. Especially on your own.

You basically crawled out of bed at 4, maybe 5, in the morning. Still in your pajamas, you stalked through the streets of Alexandria -dragging your feet a little, you won't lie. Making your way over to the air drying area, you pulled out all the baskets and placed them along the ground -organized. It was probably the only time you ever really were these days.

Putting your hands on your hips, you let out a big, long sigh.

"Well," you tried to smile, still so asleep that your voice was cracking, "-the sooner I start, the sooner the hell ends."

Before you could even grab a single piece of clothing, a voice interrupted you -low in drawl like maybe he had just woken up.

"Ya need some help?"

Your eyes shot to him and something in your chest fluttered, stirring in your stomach. Rick was still in his pajamas (plaid pants low, and a plain t-shirt), eyes still heavy with sleep like maybe he'd just woken up too, and his hair probably the messiest you'd ever seen. There was a curl hanging in front of his head, you got the urge to fix it.

And maybe it was because you were half awake, but you did. The smile he got on his face after made warmth shoot to your toes -all dopey and sleepy. You kind of just wanted to gather him up in your arms, and maybe fall asleep on his chest (woodsy smell and body warmth). Luckily, that urge didn't come to fruition.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "What the hell are you doing up this early?"

Not only was it odd that he was up this early, but like you said no one likes laundry duty. So why was he offering to help at all? If he had duties this early, shouldn't he be going and doing them? Why-

"'Eard it was your turn," he spoke, low and gravelly (you had no idea how to handle that), "- an' wanted to help ya."

You pressed your lips together, mind chiming 'wrapped around your finger'.

No one likes laundry duty.

"Thank you, Rick, but-" you started, "-I can tell you're still tired and I know for a fact you have a lot to do later today, so-"

"Nothin' to do," he hummed, wiping at his eye. Cute.

That had to be a lie.

"Asked Deanna for a break," he clarified, looking at you a certain type of way, "-Needed one anyway, thought I'd help ya."

"You're," you sputtered, a little in disbelief, "-You're taking a break day to help me with laundry? It is so much work-"

"Won't feel like work if I'm wit' ya."

Good god. Was he always this sweet? You couldn't have been that oblivious. Seriously.

"Guess I could use some company," you muttered, a little flattered but you tried to hide it. Rick just smiled at you in a way that made your breath hitch in your chest, you wavered on your feet.

"But, seriously," you added, "-if you need to take a break, on your break day, let me know, I'll-"

"'S long as you're workin'," he smiled, big and bright, "-I'm workin'."

"Is that," you laughed a little, "-Is that your way of making me take a break?"

He smiled differently then, mischievous, "Maybe."

You bit your lip and decidedly turned to the baskets, "Let's get to work then, Grimes, the faster we start, the faster we're done."

He joined your side, close enough to touch, it made your head spin a little. Before speaking, low like maybe a mutter, and maybe even nervous-

"Ya mind if I stick by ya for the day? 'Ve got nothin' else to do, figured I'd just be wit' ya. If 'at's alright?"

Good god.

You swallowed, blinking, but not quite turning to him, "Of course, you... Yeah, of course. I mean, I might have more chores-"

"I don't mind," he hummed, gentle, already hanging up something -not looking at you, "-'s long as it's wit' ya."

You blinked, damp shirt in your hands, just staring at him. Watching as he carefully clipped up the clothes, big hands ever-so-gentle like he didn't just drop probably the sweetest thing you'd ever heard. Genuinely too.

Shit, maybe they're onto something.

You decided to ask around.

"Honest question, Carol," you hummed, thumbing through a few of the ingredients. It was your day to help her, it's probably one of your favorite chores. You really enjoyed her presence, she was a close friend. Long story short, you trusted her judgment.

She hummed, gently grabbing one of the ingredients.

"This may sound so stupid, just know that I'm acknowledging that," you clarified, now looking at her, "-but do you think Rick is into me?"

Carol paused a moment, trying to decide how to react maybe, and you could already see her reaction. She was just a little too polite to say it instantly.

"Shit," you muttered, "-really?"

She pursed her lips, looking at you with a little pity almost, "'Fraid so. It's..."

She fell silent for a second, you just watched -patiently.

"-Everyone knows," she continued, hesitantly (like maybe she didn't want to embarrass you), "-Rick... I think he's been into you since the prison."

"The prison?" you nearly exclaimed, stalling in place. No way, "-what did he-"

"Remember the week 'at you were sick?"

Right, you'd been a little delirious from something. Maybe a little more than a cold? Nothing super serious, you remember Hershel telling you that but you had to rest. He was pretty sturdy on that. Turned out you couldn't have been doing anything, it made you feverish and nearly sleeping all the time-

"Ya ever wondered who took care of you?" she questioned, directly.

"No," you laughed, "-it was Hershel, he was the medic-"

"You sure?" Carol countered, eyes peeking at you -leveling a stare, "-He was feeding you, gettin' ya water? Stayed by your bedside?"

You faltered, something in you twisting, "Carol."

You'd remembered something like Rick feeding you, bites extended forward, and maybe the low timber of his voice. You'd just thought it was you being delirious; you had a thing for him, so you just-

"Carol," you repeated.

"He was there every day," she clarified, turning to the other side of the kitchen, "-as far as I know, he only left to do farmin' and see Carl or Judith. If you seemed to get worse, he got Hershel. But... otherwise..."

"Carol."

"None of us said anythin'," she added, busying her hands, "-because he didn't. 'At was his thing, it wasn't our place."

"For all this time?" you scurried to her side -hanging on to every word she said.

"Well," she sighed, turning to you fully now, "-we kinda figured he'd say something by now."

"God," you groaned, throwing your head into your hands, "-I have to be the dumbest person on the planet."

"To be fair," Carol soothed, "-ya didn't know."

You couldn't look Rick in the eyes for the rest of the day, or maybe you stared at him a lot more. It was all so confusing.

You decided then and there, that you'd try the most trustworthy person. The one who wouldn't lie to you, a little because he respected you too much. It did help that he was most definitely Rick's best friend.

"Hey, Daryl?"

You'd arranged a run with a few newcomers, and frankly made Daryl come because you wanted to have this conversation.

He didn't speak, just sort of grunted. It tracked.

"You're probably the most honest person I know," you cleared your throat, "-and I am pretty desperate at this point for just... honesty."

He turned to you fully then, something like concern in his eyes. The guy was truly a softie at his very core, you probably treasured your friendship the most out of everyone but it was a close call.

"Everythin' alright?"

You pursed your lips, "Yeah, yeah, don't worry. It's a... probably stupid thing actually."

He kept walking forward through the aisles of the store you were in, stashing away some essentials. You were doing the same, well, you were trying to.

"Stupid thin'?" he asked, not looking at you.

"Yes, it's dumb as hell, frankly," you laughed a little, "-but I just... I guess I want to know the extent of it."

Daryl turned to you, eyebrows furrowed together, "What the hell are ya talkin' 'bout?"

"Rick," you answered, and he seemed to take a second at the name, "-Is he really into me? Like everyone seems to believe?"

He didn't answer at first, just simply turned back to the canned foods, "Carol tell ya 'bout the prison? When ya were sick?"

"Yes," you swallowed.

"Ya should know the answer to 'at then," he spoke -gruff and straightforward.

"Well," you tried to argue, "-it's hard to understand it. I just... I don't know."

Daryl said nothing, walking forward through the aisle. You followed him, keeping your eye out for more that he hadn't grabbed. And for a moment, you thought he wasn't going to say anything else.

Suddenly, he spoke up, "He can't focus when you're on runs. Deanna 'ates it."

You opened your mouth to ask just how he knew that, but he interrupted you.

"She complains," he clarified, before asking, "-Ya ever wonder why ya barely get put on runs? When everyone else is goin' in a cycle?"

"I..." you paused, mulling it over. When was the last time you were organically on a run? You'd arranged this one-

"Deanna don't put ya on 'em," Daryl explained, turning to you with some canned food in his hand, "-'cause she kno's Rick'll be useless. He'd be waitin' at the damn gate if he could."

You tried to speak, but he continued.

"He always asks someone ya were out wit' to keep an eye on ya. And 'en, when ya come back, asks 'at same person if ya got hurt at all. Scratches, cuts, if ya tripped probably-"

You didn't say a word.

"-I kno' 'cause I've been 'em," he clarified, and you were wordless.

You took a deep breath in, good god.

"So yea'," he answered finally, "-he's into ya."

And then, he moved forward and didn't say another word. He didn't really have to though.

You'd even watched this time, keeping an eye on Daryl and where he went after coming back from the run. And sure enough, Rick waltzed up to him like it was the most normal thing in the world. You imagined you knew the conversation.

Yeah okay, your mind chimed, he has a thing for me.

The thing was, he might've been hesitant but you sure as hell weren't going to be. You might warm him up a little bit though, maybe just for a little fun.

He was wearing a new shirt. Kind of weird for you to notice, but it was the apocalypse, everyone wore the same thing so often that it melded with them in your mind. You could still vividly picture what Rick looked like at the prison and sure, maybe that was for more reason than just that, but still.

You went a little on autopilot. Call it confirming what you already knew, basically. Or, at least, that's what you'd tell yourself.

Upon closer inspection, you noticed the collar of his (new) flannel was askew -just a little. Bingo.

You waltzed up to him and Deanna with no particular air of anything. Just normal, you wanted to see it for yourself really (the laundry thing was very telling, but you wanted to see the little things). Rick stuttered to a stop, words halting in his throat when you showed up, and your heart flipped in your chest. Stay focused.

"Hey, sorry," you apologized, genuinely (well, kind of), "-I just gotta-"

Carefully, you straightened out his collar.

You felt his eyes on you the whole time (just staring), it made your heartbeat pick up a little bit but, luckily, he couldn't quite see that.

"-There," you cheered, just a tiny one, and you saw a dopey sort of smile spread across his lips (it made you feel warm down to your toes).

You pat his chest once, feeling his body heat thrum against your hand -eyes connecting to his, "Like the new shirt, by the way."

He looked at you in a way that somehow seemed familiar but you'd never really noticed. You'd been noticing a lot more recently, to be fair.

With one last apology (eyes dashing to Deanna, who in retrospect looked a little annoyed), you politely made your exit.

Finding anywhere to go, you spotted Maggie -who was already looking at you.

Shit.

She approached you before you could go anywhere else, and you readied yourself for the onslaught.

"What was that?" she asked, carefully.

You resumed your step, maybe with a little too much pep, "His collar was messed up. I fixed it."

"No, no," she followed your lead, perfectly in time, "-you... you're doin' somethin', what are you doin'?"

"I'm not," you answered -plainly.

Maggie, frankly, didn't believe you (obviously).

You weren't sure what you were waiting for, maybe for him to realize? You knew you could've just told him yourself, and you really were going to... but every time you tried to walk up to him, your throat just clogged up. He would look at you that way (all dopey and sweet and affectionate) and you just-

God, you were useless.

It was late, way too late for you to be up (you should clarify), but you just couldn't sleep. You weren't entirely sure what it was, but at the same time, you knew exactly what it was.

Every day that you didn't tell him was another day wasted. It was the apocalypse. Every day was numbered, and you could be gone at any moment and there was no time to waste. But, you tried and tried and tried. It just wouldn't come out. You weren't sure why.

You groaned, pulling your pillow over your face for a moment. You had things to do tomorrow, couldn't you just have this crisis later-

And then, there was a knock.

Pausing, you waited a moment just to see if it was even real.

Knock.

It was a strong one too, maybe a little desperate, and fear shot through your spine. Before you could think too hard, you scrambled out of your bed -the chill of the night seeping into your skin. Your mind was in one lane, survival. Someone was probably hurt, something was happening-

With shaky hands, you pulled open your door, words on the edge of your tongue-

"Rick?"

He was standing at your door, hair mussed and in his pajamas (still the low-hanging plaid pants, you noted). You let yourself look at him a moment, taking in the domestic view of Rick you'd only seen once before. Seeing him like this almost made you forget your worry, but it still struck a cord in your chest.

You frantically searched over him (looking for wounds or blood), "Shit, are you alright? Did you g-"

"I'm okay, I'm okay-" he moved his hands to your shoulders, and your mouth snapped shut, "-Everythin's fine, darlin', relax."

"God," you let out a breath, centering yourself, "-you scared the shit out of me."

Rick smiled at you a certain type of way then, sleepy and still with that little glint, and let out a low sort of chuckle. Hair all mussed and eyes half closed, it might've been the cutest thing you'd ever seen.

"Sorry," he smiled at you, something twinkling in his eye, "-didn't mean to scare ya."

You waved it off, before falling a little more serious, "If there's nothing wrong, why are you here, Rick?"

He seemed to take a pause. Eyes flickering all over you, a bit in reverence. It made you either what to throw up or faint, you weren't totally sure which one.

"Are you-" you spoke, carefully, "-Are you emotionally okay? Do you need me to-"

"I need ya."

You faltered, barely digesting, "Need me to what? Whatever-"

"No," he clarified, something in his eyes, "-I just need ya."

"What?" you asked -half awake, and unsure if he was saying what you thought he was.

"Y/N," he started, eyeing your now connected hands, "-I want... Shit, I need ya wit' me."

"Rick," you spoke, softly, "-what are you talking about?"

"I'm tired of not bein' wit' ya-" he spoke, like it took everything in his body to say it -a little like he was pleading with you.

It felt like your breath was knocked out of your lungs, and your heart was coughing up your throat. You felt totally and completely numb, all you could do was look at him.

He continued, eyes turning to match yours and grabbing your hands, "-I'm tired of missin' ya like a limb when you're standin' two feet away, I'm tired of always wishin' ya were closer, I'm tired of not tellin' ya 'at I think you are everythin' to me, I'm... I'm tired of it."

"Rick," your eyes were getting foggy.

"Darlin', I-" he let out a long breath, "-I can't do it anymore. I feel like I can't breathe without ya near me-"

"Rick."

"-Ya gotta understand 'at I-" he looked down (a little like the words were stuck in his throat), "-I... I can't function without ya. 'S like you're a piece of me 'at's just constantly missin' and it don't 'ave to be."

"Rick," you tried again.

"Y/N, I've-" he stuttered a second just looking at you, "-I've never felt 'is way 'bout anybody. An' I don't... I'm not even sure what to do 'bout it- I can't even think straight when you're gone, it... it stops everythin'-"

"Rick," you repeated, but there wasn't a lot of will behind it.

"Because 'ow am I supposed to be me without ya?"

You swallowed, heavily, eyes flickering all over him -maybe a little in reverence too. It felt like this was all a dream, and maybe this was exactly what you wanted him to say. Only one thought was rattling through your head, and you couldn't shake it, you're not sure you wanted to-

You spoke, breathless and maybe a little teary, "Rick, I love you."

Rick smiled at you so brightly that your knees felt a little weak, and your heart stuttered in your chest. God-

"You-" you laughed a little then, hands coming up to brush along his face (touching what you had longed to for so long)"-you're unbelievable. I couldn't even wrap my head around the thought that you could be into me-"

He just watched you, something shiny in his eyes (you couldn't tell if it was feelings or tears).

"-God you should've seen me. I asked like everyone in Alexandria," he laughed a little, and you gleamed, "-And... And I found out about so much that you've done for me. And you took a day off to do laundry with me-"

He laughed again, "Guess 'at made it pretty obvious, huh?"

"That, and-" you smiled at him, pushing some of his curls back out of his face, "-caring for me in the prison-"

He pursed his lips at that, maybe expecting you to never know. It didn't seem like he could stop looking at you though.

"-and you know what, not being able to focus when I'm gone on runs is pretty incriminating-"

He leveled the same look, and you could see his ears go pink. Cute.

"-or maybe," you continued, looking at him in a way that you hoped he understood (you were desperate for him to), "-when you dropped an obviously important conversation because I had a headache."

He just smiled at you, all dopey and affectionate. It made warmth bloom through your chest. Love, love, love-

"If it ain't obvious," he started, just staring, "-I love ya too. More than what I kno' what to do wit'."

You grinned at him, teasing, "Really? 'Couldn't tell."

He rolled his eyes at you, but was smiling so bright you couldn't take it seriously, "Ya gonna be like 'is now?"

"Oh, yeah," you answered, "-now I know just what you've done for me, and for how long. You're toast."

"Ya act like 'at's all I 'ave done," he countered, maybe smirking a little.

"It's not?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"No," he laughed, "-I was desperate for ya. For a long time. I did a lot to just be by your side, not countin' what I did for ya."

"Well," you smiled, moving your hands to curl into his hair, "-you'll just have to tell me sometime."

"Maybe," he hummed at the motion, and grinned at you, "-but the list is only bound to get longer. Might take forever."

"You know what, Grimes," you laughed, but you were genuinely, "-I think I can do forever."

"Me too," he grinned even brighter, eyes dashing along your face, "-as long as it's with ya."

Yeah, you thought to yourself (and maybe kissed the life out of him), I can definitely do forever.

[venuslarkspur]

Teen Hero Shenanigans

Part 5

With Love, To The New Batgirl.

Summary: Your Damian’s Twin Sister, after arriving 3 years after your brother, you never excepted to take the Robin mantle, until your brother runs away and you volunteer to take his place. Damian eventually returns and you are discharged from the role, after bottling up your anger you decide to go solo by running away and stealing the Batgirl. But you’re not alone, your sort of boyfriend joins you. The main problem is the boyfriend in question is your brother’s best friend, Jon Kent.

Warning: mentions of pregnancy, pregnancy sickness, overprotective Damian Wayne, hidden pregnancy, toxic Al Ghul family. Jason being fuming at Jon. Mentions of food and eating idk.

Pairing: Jon Kent x Batsis!Reader (romantic), Batfamily x Batsis!Reader (platonic).

Notes: this is so late I’m sorry and also I HATE USING Y/N IM SORRY GUYS. This isn’t proof read sorry again. Some Stephanie Brown love in this one.

—————————

You woke up, hair ruffled and memories from the night before rushed in. Dick finding you, nearly dying from the bone crushing hug all your siblings gave you, except your twin brother, the one you wanted to hug the most. Everyone was especially delicate with you, not even mad. Sure, Jason told you to ‘never try that shit again.’ But for the most part everyone welcomed you back, but a few of them were a bit clingier than others; which is why Steph, Dick, Cass and Jason are all having a sleepover in your room, you were sure Duke and Tim probably felt like the only normal ones right now, and you had no idea about Damian. You did let out a giggle at the fact that Steph’s foot was on Cass’s face as she slept on the other end of the bed, but your brothers took the floor.

You eventually pulled up the covers and slipped out of Steph’s grip, you’ve fought deadly assassins and monsters but nothing was more terrifying than Steph spooning you. You tip toed downstairs, as if you weren’t living with highly trained vigilantes; you made your way to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water. “Damian I know you’re there.” You announced whilst taking a sip of your glass, he revealed himself from behind wherever. “Nice to see you’ve taken the costume off, I thought you just slept it in.” You declared, you assumed that’s why his costume always stank, he needs to take it off more.

“Did you tell father?” He asked, and you immediately tense up. “Damian that doesn’t matter right now-“ you try and grasp but you’re swiftly interrupted, “Did.you.tell.father?” He said, in between pauses. His voice sounded so much more mature now, it was nearly unsettling; of course you had changed a lot too. You were carrying a whole child inside you. “Not yet, it’s not the right time.” You try and stress but he just scoffs. “Seriously! what is your problem Damian?” You hollered, hoping nobody heard from upstairs. “Me? I’m not the one with a baby inside me.” He points at you, so accusatory. But before you can snap back another voice is heard, but weakly. “What?”You recognise that voice, it was Jason.

“I-Jason-“ you tried to find the words but it was null and void, Damian crossed his arms in disappointment and maintained eye contact with Jason. “Other room, now.” Jason said, and you scattered behind him; needing to find a way to keep him quiet. You eventually entered the other room, it had a desk and few sofas and was dimly lit. Jason shut the door, turned to you and crossed his arms; “Explain.” You could hear the discontentment in his voice, you took a deep breath and looked up at him and spoke. “Please don’t be angry.” You pleaded, tears threatening to fall. “I’m not mad at you.” He replied, “Well don’t be grumpy.” You said whilst rubbing your eyes with your hands. “I’m not angry at you and I’m not gonna have a sour attitude with you or anything..I just wanna know what dead bastard had the audacity to put a kid in you.” He trembled, and you did feel a bit defensive considering he was speaking about Jon, your boyfriend.

“It’s not like that!” You almost yelled and he let his arms fall to his sides but you apologised and weakly said “I’m sorry-it’s just, it’s not the way you think.” You said and you felt frustrated. “Help me understand then.” He asked, you were just happy he wasn’t tracking Jon down and shooting him. “Jon and I-“ “I knew it, I’m getting Bruce’s stash of kryptonite.” He announced and slowly began to move but you stopped him, “please listen.” You begged, and he looked at your face and hesitated, he stopped. You took a deep breath in and out before continuing, “Jon and I were very close-“ “clearly.” “Shut up! Anyway we were just so happy and in love- that well..this happened.” You said and he looked slightly less murderous.

“You gonna keep it?” He asked, you fell a bit silent, you were unsure. “Yes.” You answered. His face scrunched a bit and he hesitated but asked again, “Is Jon making you?” He asked, this assumption was crazy; but you knew he was just making sure. “No he isn’t, that’s ridiculous.” You remarked and wondered where this was going. “I won’t tell Bruce but you need to sort this out, hiding doesn’t make it go away.”

“Rich coming from you.”

“Shush- and go back to bed.”

—————————

You were now 1 month into your pregnancy, two weeks had passed and you had not only an amazing Christmas, but a wonderful birthday. Jason had been helping you hide your pregnancy but occasionally scolded you; telling you he can’t cover for your pregnancy sickness forever, you had to tell the rest of your family, or at least Bruce. But what really shattered your heart is that you had heard nothing of Jon, maybe he decided he wanted nothing to do with you or his family has grounded him and taken away his technology, you hoped it was the latter.

Everyone was getting suspicious, you had been quitting patrol and constantly looking out your bedroom window (hoping for Jon to show up), it wasn’t until Steph came in with a letter in her hands that your life would take a new direction. She practically bounced into your room, probably excited for New Year’s Day dinner. Steph passed you the letter and you asked “who’s this from?” She only shrugged and smiled, “Not sure, dinner is in an hour though okay?” “Okay.” And with that she scurried off, and you wondered if maybe you should have told her at least; she would understand.

But no matter, you shred through the letter and payed close attention to its sender’s address. You recognised it, it was Jon’s home. Your heart began to pump faster and your face blushed, you took in the letter and began to read. “Dear Y/N, I’m sorry for not getting in touch with you sooner, I’ve been badly scolded here and it was difficult to even convince my parents to let me write this; they aren’t mad at you but they aren’t too happy with me. Please reply to this when you can; love, Jonathan.” And that hit you hard, like stealing your sort of sister’s costume and running away kind of hard.

You knew there was no better time than tonight, even though you were terrified.

—————————

It after dinner, and your father had finally been alone; he was sat in his office and now was your moment. So you swiftly went in and let out a sigh, your heart felt like it was collapsing in on itself. But you stood brave anyway, you met his gaze from his chair. “Father.” You said and stood in front of his desk, he looked up at you and put down his work. “Y/N, what is it?” He asked, in his usual stoic tone which worried you despite its regularity. “I really don’t know how to describe this..it’s so difficult.” You uttered, whilst fluttering your hands to cool down. He waited for you, and you eventually had the courage to spurt one thing out.

“Jason.” You said and he eyed you, concerned. “Is he okay? Did something happen?” He asked, and you immediately shook your head aggressively. “No-No! It’s not that, he knows he will tell you.” And with that you ran to collect him, eventually finding him in the cave, you guess it was a bad time, as him and Dick were chatting; but no mind. Your father sat in the same place and Jason knew immediately, you couldn’t tell him yourself; so you wanted him to tell him. You would usually be ashamed, your grandfather would be ashamed, you are ashamed. But you could never find the words, but Jason thought it would be best to get it out that way.

“Y/N is going to have a baby Bruce.” He said, quietly so nobody else would hear but you three, jeez he could have just said you were pregnant and shortened it. Almost like he was indirectly scolding you but also sugar coating it, so oxymoronic. Your’s dad face didn’t move, and that worried you. “Jon’s?” He asked, knowingly, and that deeply scared you. “I mean who else?” You sniffled, wiping some tears that escaped you. Bruce sighed but stood up to face you, “I’m not mad at you, just disappointed that you chose now.” He said and unexpectedly pulled you into an embrace. “Do not tell your brothers, leave them to me.” And with that you gave Jason a sarcastic look, he rolled his eyes at you and broke the silence.

“Gosh I’m hardly gonna kill your baby’s father now am I?” He announced and turned the other way, “Jason.” Bruce said whilst pulling away from you gently. “What?! I promise, scouts honour.” He argued and smiled. “Jason you were never a scout!” You retorted in joking annoyance, “yeah exactly.” “Jason!” “Forget me, just make sure Damian doesn’t find out that Jon got you pregnant!” He yelled, practically for everyone to hear. And just when you thought you were safe, you heard a voice.

“Y/N’s pregnant.?” Someone said, you couldn’t identify who as currently all your siblings were standing at the now opened office door.

“Shit.”

——————————

IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT I HAD SCHOOL WORK (AND THE CLIFFHANGER)

Taglist: @waterwyne @planetlotus @girlmachia @type-ink @0924ours @astrelz @icantcryicantstopcrying @twismare @sugarrush-blush @skepvids @dreaming-of-the-reality @otterluver05 @godoreo22 @earth-to-name @krys0210 @allycat4458 @chenlelover @qardasngan

PLS CHECK UR SETTINGS BECAUSE I CANT TAG SOME OF YALL <3

[fatuismooches]

Dottore and his segments get a taste of their own medicine after giving you a job of your own. (In other words, you ignore their need for attention in favor of your work, they get pouty, just like you did.)

As of late, a peculiar sight had made its way into the lab. Actually, peculiar wasn't even strong enough of a word for the agents to use. They had nearly tripped over their feet once they saw the new area of their working quarters in the lab.

In addition to their Lord Harbinger's desk (that was shared amongst the segments depending on the day), there was now another desk on the opposite side of the room, and the cute decorations on it were quite noticeable. Photo frames and stationery. A comfortable and plush chair with a blanket that dropped over it.

... A plushie version of the Harbinger that laid on Dottore's desk, commissioned by you to motivate him.

(A side thought - the number of desks the Doctor had was something to wonder about. One in the lab, one in the office, one in the bedroom - no wonder things were always scattered around the place. But that was something for another day...)

And most importantly, you, Dottore's spouse, standing next to their Lord, rocking back on your heels nervously as he introduced you as their new co-worker.

—

It all began when you approached your husband with a very simple request.

"Dottie, I want a job!" You said with enthusiasm, smile as wide and proud as ever. The scientist paused his work and turned to look at you with a blank expression.

"... A job, you say?" You only puffed your chest out more at his confirmation.

"Yes, a job. I mean, being your lover is already a lot of work for my poor back, but I want to actually work with you! With your research and stuff, like the old days!" Your excitement was completely serious and were it not for your health, it would have been infectious for the scholar. Rarely did he ever meet anyone who was truly interested in his work. But of course, certain restrictions have held you back for a long time now.

"We've already been over this. My work is too dangerous for you," the Doctor sighed as he turned back around to continue whatever he was doing.

"I know, I know, but I meant other kinds of stuff. I've been thinking like... a desk job! It doesn't have to be anything dangerous! I could... sort papers for you? Oh, and you have one of those fancy stamps, right? I could stamp them too! I could rewrite your notes... ah, and the best part - I could help you write reports too! You always liked my essays, didn't you?" You were doing your best to provide Dottore with a convincing case, snuggling up against his firm back. Only another sigh escaped your husband, not really that convinced.

"Come on..." you inhaled his familiar scent, tinged with that laboratory smell that never seemed to go away, but somehow brought comfort to you. "I've been so bored lately... and lonely," you muttered the last part pointedly. "I just want some work to take my mind off things!"

Indeed, there was always limited entertainment and pastimes to occupy yourself with. It was especially boring on days you couldn't get out of bed, or when no segment could afford you attention...

"And you know what, I could give those agents of yours some writing tips, too!"

Yes, there had been many times his employees were not up to his standards, despite how many of them fawned over him (for some odd reason)...

"And I'll be helping you too! It's good for everyone."

Of course, you always felt rather good about yourself if you managed to help him, being the Second Harbinger and all...

"I suppose I shall give it some thought-" Before the man could finish his sentence you started squeezing him tightly while hopping in delight.

"Oh, thank you! So, when do I start? Do I get one of your huge desks too?"

"I didn't say yes yet, darling."

"Shh... we both know what you mean!"

—

And that was how you now clocked in at "work" every day with the agents (later than normal, but you had special privileges.) It was daunting at first for the poor souls, even the ones who secretly admired you from afar (being in the fan club and all.) Even though initially you were merely sorting papers, you were the most important person in that room.

However, soon enough, going to work in this dreary lab became a lot more cheery thanks to your sweet demeanor. Somehow, the atmosphere had become a lot less tense since the last time the segments visited.

The agents had little to no problem speaking to you like a normal person, after you had graciously given them tips on impressing the Harbinger.

"Psst..." you were hovering behind an unsuspecting agent, reading the report she had for Dottore, who jumped at your whisper. "You know, he might click his tongue if you give him that." Although her mask covered her face, you could see that half surprised at how you popped out of nowhere, and half agreeing with your words. Perhaps she felt comfortable enough to spill the situation to you.

"I-I am well aware of that," she deeply sighed, "but no matter what I write, my Lord always seems to be unsatisfied..." You patted her shoulder in sympathy. Having worked with Dottore since the Akademiya days, you knew very well of his distaste for certain things.

"Well, that's why I was hired, friend! To make his and your life easier! See, look here, that's a no-no, he wouldn't appreciate those details, mhm, but this needs to be elaborated on more, uh huh..." Of course, being the good spouse and employee you were, the report was converted into the best one that had ever landed on the Doctor's desk.

On your lunch break, they provided you with some juicy gossip about anything they could get their hands on (the fan club had long reaches, apparently.) Frequently you had to debunk things about Dottore... (the handbook was swiftly revised.)

Needless to say, things seemed to be going well. You looked happier. Motivated. Having new "friends" as your company (that still watched their mouth around you after a single glance from the segments.)

However... an issue arose after a while. One that seemed entirely stupid and impossible.

Now that you were so caught up in your work, when the segments finally had some spare time to come to you, they were... rejected. Yes, they had come to you, fully expecting your devoted attention and kisses that you always gave them without hesitation, but now turned away. (Even more embarrassing, sometimes in front of the agents who kept their eyes glued to their strange chemicals.)

—

It was Omega, of all segments, who was turned away first. The most confident and charming of the bunch left uncharacteristically silent. He had come up behind you and traced his hands against your neck, always being the one who had no shame in touching you. You only softly giggled at the sensation and caught his hand in yours.

"It seems you've been busy for a while, dear." In truth, it was mostly you seeking him out and not vice versa, but the segment hadn't seen you invading his office in a while. The space had gotten too quiet without you.

"Mhm! But I can't imagine how much work you do. My desk is nowhere as cluttered as yours," you smiled as you felt the segment kiss your lashes.

"What do you say to a break with me?" Omega offered, already knowing what your eager response would be.

"Nah, I can't right now."

...

Your words took a few seconds to process through his head.

"Pardon?"

"I have all this work, 'Mega, and other people need my help," you shrugged your shoulders as you swung your legs. "But don't worry. I'm sure we can spend some time later!" You kissed him on the cheek and pulled your chair in before continuing your work.

Omega, the greatest segment, was reduced to a blankly staring man who had been deprived of his lover's attention for the first time.

He was irritable for the rest of the day.

—

Beta was next, the poor thing.

You were always the one he blew off steam to, always willing to listen about his gripes and complaints, offering him consolation in the form of kisses and soft words.

However, you hadn't come to visit in so long, the segment was all pent up and now the agents were beginning to fall victim to him.

Fine then - he'd seek you out. Not because he needed you or missed you or anything of the sort. You were just... halting his progress with the lack of your presence. Yes, that was it.

And so the scientist, donning his grand pink bow tie, swung by your desk.

"So this is where you've been? How boring." Beta was not a segment that you'd want to do paperwork. He much preferred to be hands-on.

"Ah, Beta!" You brightened in delight at seeing one of your lovers. "I missed you!" At least you were always honest about your feelings.

... But to cut a long story short, Beta faced the same conundrum that Omega did.

Someone got turned into a floating Ruin Machine that day.

—

By now all the segments had experienced being turned away from work. Alpha's signature scowl had become permanent. Zandy was pouting the whole day as he missed his parent. Foxttore kept to himself with a pathetic sopping wet eye. His segments were fighting with each other inside his mind, a great nuisance.

All because you were too absorbed with your work to pay them any attention.

... The Doctor was now realizing that it sounded like a very familiar tune sung by you. So this was what you felt for days on end? Now, it was easier for him to understand why you were always upset if you were ignored too much.

Still, it was mortifyingly embarrassing that his segments were reduced to this pitiful state just because you rejected cuddles a few times. Regardless, it was up to him to solve the issue. After all... he missed you too. He wanted you to be around him more often again.

And so the Doctor made his way to his beloved.

There you were, all cozy on your seat as you sorted through some papers. Really, he had no clue you'd be this productive, to be honest. At least it was proof that your health hadn't gotten worse, considering how well you were handling this.

"Aren't you the one who kept saying to take breaks?" His voice made you jump a bit, having not heard him walk up.

"It's you, Dottie! I was wondering when you'd come around. And of course, I take breaks, Dottore. I have lunch with the other agents!" Ah, another party that's been hogging your attention.

"You know, this job has been pretty fun, Dottore! Everyone's real nice, we make jokes, I get to write about interesting things..." You continued to go on about the research and while usually he'd be intrigued by your findings, this time he had enough.

Dottore picked you up like a long cat as you squealed from the sudden grasping.

"What are you doing?!"

"You're coming with me," was his cut and dry response as he lifted you into his arms.

"B-But I have to work on the big report for Pantalone!" Dottore's eye twitched at the mention of the banker.

"Someone else can."

"But I-"

"I'm not listening to anything you say further," he plainly said as he walked with you cuddled into his chest as you gawked at him.

Could he be... jealous? A wee bit lonely? You kept your guesses to yourself as he eventually bought you back to his room and laid you on his bed, not even saying anything to you before sitting at his desk.

Did he simply miss your presence that much? You felt a bit bad neglecting your lovers that much. But to be fair, they kinda did the same... sometimes. You got up to console your silly husband, who was just a man in your hands.

"Hey... I missed you too, dear husband... but I had to make sure no one stole the title of best assistant from me!" Dottore only sighed at your foolishness.

Of course no one could ever replace you.

"I know you'd rather die than admit it... but don't worry. You're lucky I'm sensitive to your feelings," you teased as you kissed the top of his mask. "I'll pay more attention to you and the segments, before they cause another headache for you, love. You'll give me some vacation time off, right?"

You laughed at your own joke before Dottore pulled you into his lap, biting down hard on your neck.

—

"Beloved, would you care to join me in discussing your work?"

"You fool, they're obviously coming to my lab to activate a new Ruin Machine."

"But [Name] is supposed to play with me today!!"

"As if, they're far too busy to join you all with your silly games."

"You all will stress them out with this arguing. Now, why don't you join me for a cup of coffee instead?"

"Grr, gr gr, grr!"

It was good to be loved so deeply.