#but there are a couple of mutuals that i'll either be like

[misscrazyfangirl321]

There are three kinds of Christian Tumblr Mutuals:

1. Those who are Catholic

2. Those who are not Catholic

3. Those that you cannot for the life of you remember if they're Catholic or not, so you're always having to check their blog description

[maddy-ferguson]

talking to new people again is making me realize that (this is gonna sound dramatic) i haven't lived in five years but what i have done is watch a lot of movies and read a bunch of books and believe it or not that actually makes me an interesting conversationalist in some ways (?)

[justlemmeadoreyou]

rain-kissed* (footballer!harry x

nerd!y/n)

summary: y/n and harry, former rivals turned reluctant partners, find unexpected chemistry. heated glances, playful banter ignite a spark. a near-tragedy makes y/n confront feelings, and...will they be reciprocated? ft. lots of mutual pining

words: 6.1k

warnings: Angst, fluff, mentions of a major injury, cursing, kissing, hints of smut, mutual pining.

Y/N groaned as she walked into the lecture hall for her literature class. "Are you kidding me?"

There in the very front row sat Harry Styles - captain of the football team, president of one of the biggest frats on campus, and certified douchebag extraordinaire. His feet were obnoxiously propped up on the desk in front of him as he laughed loudly with his friends. 

"This class is gonna be a nightmare," Y/N muttered, taking a seat as far away from Harry's circle as possible. She couldn't stand arrogant jocks like him.

Class started and the professor cleared her throat loudly, shooting Harry a pointed look until he dropped his feet to the floor with an eye roll. "Alright, since this is an upper-level lit course, we're going to kick things off with a big group project."

A collective groan went through the class. Group projects were the worst, especially when half the group didn't pull their weight. Harry raised his hand lazily.

"What's the project, Millers?"

The prof narrowed her eyes at Harry's casual address but proceeded. "You'll be analyzing the themes and formatting an anthology of poems, plays, and short stories from a particular era or movement. I'll be assigning the groups and topics."

Y/N mentally prepared herself to get stuck doing all the work as usual for her group when Millers started listing off the pairings. 

"Styles and Y/L/N - you'll be covering the Romantic period."

Y/N's head whipped up in horror as Harry scoffed loudly. Of course they'd get partnered up. This was quite literally her worst nightmare.

"Fucking kill me," Harry grumbled, slumping back in his seat rudely.

"I'd rather work alone," Y/N couldn't stop herself from retorting. Immediately, Millers zeroed in on her with a stern look.

"I don't recall there being a choice, Ms. Y/L/N. Unless either of you plans to drop this course, I suggest you learn to work together effectively."

Gritting her teeth, Y/N forced out a tight, "Yes, Professor."

Harry was already texting rapidly on his phone, not paying any attention. This project was going to be utter hell.

The rest of the semester only proved Y/N right about what a nightmare it would be to work with Harry. Their first meeting to divide up the work went about as well as could be expected - which is to say it was a total disaster.

"Look, I don't have a bunch of time for this bullshit poetry stuff," Harry kicked back in a creaky chair, looking entirely too at home in the empty classroom they'd claimed for their work session. "How about you just do the whole thing and I'll, like, proofread it at the end or whatever?"

Y/N stared at him incredulously. "Absolutely not! This is a hugely weighted project, Styles. I'm not doing all the work myself."

He shrugged impatiently. "Why not? You seem like a big ol' nerd who'd be into this."

Biting back a retort, Y/N forced herself to remain calm and reasonable. If he was going to act like a damn child,she had to be the adult in the relationship–or whatever this was.

 "Forget it. We're going to split everything 50/50 whether you like it or not. I'll take the poetry analysis and you can have the plays. We'll swap sections to proofread before compiling the final thing."

Harry made a face like she'd asked him to perform surgery. "Do I have to? Plays are so boring."

"Don't care," Y/N said flatly. "You're pulling your weight on this one way or another."

With a melodramatic huff, Harry finally agreed and they were able to separate the reading materials and due dates before parting ways, both dreading the long weeks ahead.

Except...after trading several heated email chains and a couple disastrous coffee shop meetups, something shifted. Maybe it was the punctuality that struck after virtually living in the library for a week straight. Maybe it was how they both surprised each other by not being complete idiots about the subject matter. But at some point, the bickering and resentful silences turned to a bearable truce and even - dare Y/N think it - a hint of reluctant respect between them.

Y/N had assumed Harry was just another brainless party bro who skated by on his looks and family money. But to her surprise, he actually had intelligent insights into the Romantic poets and playwrights - even if he still whined about having to read "this dramalogy crap." 

And Harry, who had fully expected Y/N to be an uptight, pretentious book nerd, found himself caught off guard by her whip-smart analysis...and her unexpected sarcastic quips that had him stifling laughs more than once during their study sessions. He called her nerd instead of her usual name, but was now slipping back to using Y/n more often.

"Oh my god, you did not just say that about Lord Byron!" Harry snickered as Y/N made another scalding comment about the poet's arrogant womanizing. 

"What? The man was an infamous manwhore by all accounts," Y/N shrugged unapologetically. "Self-important dickhead thought his brooding and philandering made him a genius."

Harry gasped in mock offense. "How very unromantic of you, love! Have you no poetic soul?"

Without missing a beat, Y/N deadpanned, "I prefer to admire poets who didn't give the clap to half of London."

The startled laugh that burst from Harry's lips was so warm and uninhibited that Y/N felt an unexpected little flip in her stomach at the sight. Whoa, what was that?

Shaking it off, she hid her face behind her book again, tamping down an oddly giddy–sort of feeling. Just because she'd managed to find Harry slightly less insufferable lately didn't mean anything.

And so it went, their bickering gradually becoming more lighthearted and playful rather than biting. The weeks ticked by as they somehow formed an unlikely...friendship? Bros? Sure, they'd go with that for simplicity's sake.

At some point, they started expanding their hangouts beyond just study sessions too. Grabbing food after class turned into actually sitting together, Harry regaling Y/N with stories from his frat's latest shenanigans as she pretended not to be entertained. 

On the rare nights Y/N wasn't holed up writing papers, she started joining Harry and his boys at their favorite dive bar, quickly becoming the calm voice of reason trying in vain to talk them out of their next boneheaded plan.

"Come on, PlainJane! Live a little!" Harry teased, throwing an arm around her shoulders at the bar. 

The rowdy group cackled at Harry's horrible attempt at a literary-themed nickname for Y/N, as per tradition when any new face got absorbed into their friend circle. Personally, Y/N thought it was a lame pun, but she secretly loved how easily she'd slotted into their bizarre fratty family...and maybe especially how Harry always seemed to plaster himself to her side whenever they went out.

The camaraderie and effortless banter flowing between them should've been a huge red flag that something was shifting. But Y/N was quite stubbornly oblivious, as was Harry in his own way.

At least, that was until their big group presentation day rolled around. They'd been prepping and quizzing each other for weeks, reviewing notes and analysis essays till they were cross-eyed. Harry had really stepped up, much to Y/N's surprise, retaining way more than she'd expected about the playwrights and their major works.

The whole lit class was spread out in the lecture hall, with bullet-pointed notecards and thick anthologies ready as the first group took the floor. When it was finally Harry and Y/N's turn, they moved to the front in sync, Harry shooting her a subtle wink as he grabbed the microphone first.

"Buckle up, kids - this is how you do a proper literary presentation," he drawled cockily.

Y/N rolled her eyes on reflex, biting her lip and bumping his hip with hers in playful admonishment. "Shut up and just start already."

Neither of them noticed the amused looks being swapped by their classmates at their easy rapport. Or Millers leaning back with a knowing smirk, clearly recognizing the chemistry flying between her formerly antagonistic partners.

For the next hour, Harry and Y/N launched into their meticulously prepared overview of the key figures and works emerging from the Romantic period. Their back-and-forth was flawless yet casual, almost playful at times with little ad-libs and jokes only they were in on.

At one point, Harry lightly mocked Lord Byron's arrogance with a pompous impression that had Y/N doubled over giggling into the mic, barely choking out the next lines through her laughter. When she managed to catch her breath, she shot him a look that was equal parts fond exasperation and...something more heated.

There was a noticeable spark between them that had clearly evolved far beyond the adversarial classmates they'd started as. And if anyone could miss that subtext, it became blindingly obvious at the end when they seamlessly transitioned into their concluding remarks, standing shoulder to shoulder.

"So in summary, while the Romantics may have been a pretentious bunch of melancholic lads-" Harry began.

"-their pioneering works cemented their place as quintessential figures in literary history," Y/N picked up without missing a beat. 

They shared a grin before finishing in unison, "And that's the tea, no cap."

A surprised burst of laughter rang out from their classmates at their cheeky sign-off, even the prof hiding a smile behind her hand. Everyone could see it - the easy chemistry, the almost electric undercurrent between the former rivals.

Everyone, that is, except Harry and Y/N themselves. 

As they moved to return to their seats amid the applause, neither seemed to register the weighted looks and muffled whispers following them. Harry just ducked his head with an almost bashful smile, still riding the high of how flawlessly they'd worked together. While Y/N felt her cheeks flushing under the weight of what she convinced herself was just residual adrenaline.

In the weeks after their wildly successful presentation, that same strain of electrifying connection only grew stronger between them. You'd never know they'd spent the first half of the semester low-key loathing each other based on their current vibe.

Now, when Harry's frat brothers tried to rib him about his "study buddy" at their typical dive bar hangout, he just threw an arm around Y/N's shoulders and proudly declared, "More like my brain twin!"

Y/N would just duck her head with a bashful grin, pointedly ignoring how her heart did a little somersault at both the affectionate nickname and Harry's easy touch.

Or like when they sprawled out on the quad between classes, passing a bag of chips back and forth as Harry ranted about his coach riding his ass over the big rivalry game next week. Without even thinking about it, Y/N would reach out to squeeze his knee consolingly as he huffed out his frustrations. It was such a simple, natural gesture between them now that she didn't even register the slightly stunned look Harry shot her before clearing his throat gruffly.

Even their friends couldn't resist commenting on their respective obliviousness at this point.

"Bruh, Y/N literally lets you call her 'love' without punching you in the dick," Niall pointed out bluntly one night when Harry claimed, once again, he and Y/N were "just friends." His Irish buddy arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Pretty sure she wants to ride your lancer if you know what I mean."

Harry smacked him hard while trying not to get flustered. "Shut the fuck up, asshole."

While on Y/N's end...

"Sooooo, when are you gonna admit you have a huge crush on Styles?" Her friend Riley asked point blank over brunch, making Y/N nearly choke on her mimosa.

"What? No I don't!" She insisted a little too quickly, refusing to meet Riley's all-knowing gaze. "We're just...really good friends."

Riley hummed disbelievingly. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England."

Y/N opened her mouth to protest further before clamping it shut as her mind started helplessly rehashing all her favourite little moments with Harry over the past few weeks. His warm, anthracite eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed at her jokes. The proud grin he'd get whenever she successfully understood something he'd tried explaining. The way she felt this inexplicable magnetic pull to stay pressed into his side for as long as possible whenever they hung out...

"Oh my god," she breathed out, smile slipping as the enormity of her revelation dawned. "I'm in love with Harry fucking Styles."

That's not to say the smitten epiphany immediately changed anything between the two. Well, maybe it made their lingering hugs and casual touches go on for a few beats too long. Or had them both shyly stealing glances when the other's back was turned.

***

Mostly though, they just continued their cozy, obliviously pining routine of late night FaceTimes and weekends holed up studying together for finals. All while Harry's team prepared for their annual football rivalry game - the biggest matchup of the season that would make or break their championship chances.

The night before the game, Y/N found herself inexplicably anxious as she sat in the stands amid a drunk, raucous crowd. Harry kept shooting cheesy grins and double finger-gunged winks her way whenever he trotted past her section, clearly buzzed on adrenaline.

"Go get 'em, superstar!" She shouted at one point, laughing as Harry blew her an obnoxious kiss before getting back in the huddle.

The energy in the stadium was electric and infectious, Y/N finding herself caught up in the cheers and chants despite not being a huge football fan normally. Something about watching her...Harry out there gave her swirling butterflies low in her belly though.

As the intense game raged on, Y/N was on the edge of her seat, nails digging into her palms whenever Harry took a brutal hit or made a heart-stoppingly risky play. At one point he got absolutely leveled by a linebacker twice his size, his helmet bouncing sickeningly off the turf.The roar of the crowd faded into the background as Y/N watched in horror as Harry's body slammed violently into the turf. She felt her heart stop as he didn't immediately get back up after the brutal hit.

"Harry!" she screamed, her voice drowned out by the gasps of the other spectators. 

The medical team rushed out onto the field as Harry lay unmoving. Y/N's hands shook with fear as she watched them carefully roll him onto a backboard and load him into the ambulance. She felt tears streaking down her cheeks as the ambulance pulled away, sirens blaring.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally received word that Harry was going to be okay. The doctors said he had suffered a severe concussion and possible spinal injury from the whiplash of the hit. He would need weeks of rest and recovery.

Y/N rushed to the hospital, desperate to see him. When she entered his room, her heart broke at the sight of Harry's battered body hooked up to various machines, a cervical collar immobilizing his neck.

"Harry..." she whispered, taking his hand gently in hers. "I'm so sorry."

Harry's eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice. "Y/N? You're here..."

"Of course I'm here, you idiot," she tried to joke, blinking back more tears. "I was so worried about you."

A small smile tugged at his bruised lips. "I'll be okay, love. Harry is a thick skull, remember?"

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help grinning at his terrible joke. "Don't scare me like that again, Styles. I don't know what I'd do without you."

A look of tenderness crossed Harry's face that made Y/N's breath catch in her throat. But before either could say anything further, the doctor entered to check on Harry's condition.

***

Over the next week, Y/N diligently stayed by Harry's side in the hospital. She helped feed him, kept him company, and supported him through the difficult early recovery stages. Harry quickly grew restless being cooped up, but every time he tried to get out of bed against doctor's orders, Y/N was there to scold him.

"You heard what the doctor said, Harry. You need to rest and let your body heal properly," she chastised him one day as he tried to get up.

Harry groaned in frustration. "But I'm going stir crazy in this damn bed! I feel fine, Y/N, honestly."

"No, you don't," Y/N said firmly. "You could have had a serious spinal injury. You're lucky it wasn't worse. Now lie back down before I get the nurses to strap you in."

Grumbling, Harry reluctantly complied, though he continued to hate being so confined and immobile. Little did Y/N know, he was already hatching a plan.

A few days later, Y/N arrived at the hospital only to find Harry's bed empty. Her heart leapt into her throat as she rushed to the nurses' station in a panic.

"Where is he? Where's Harry Styles?" she demanded.

The nurse gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, he checked himself out against medical advice earlier today."

"What? No, he can't have!" Y/N cried. She knew immediately where he would have gone.

Sure enough, when she ran across campus to the football practice field, she found Harry standing on the sidelines in his gear, acting as if nothing had happened. White hot fury blazed through her veins.

"Harry!" she yelled, storming toward him as the first raindrops began to fall. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Harry turned with a cocky grin as he saw her approach. "There's my favourite nerd. What's got your panties in a twist, love?"

"You insufferable asshole!" Y/N exploded, not caring that they had an audience of his confused teammates. "The doctor said you needed weeks of rest and recovery! You could have permanently injured your spine!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Relax, babe, I feel great. Probably just overreacted with that whole backboard and neck brace nonsense."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Y/N seethed, hands balling into fists at her sides. Rain began pouring down around them, quickly soaking them both, but she didn't care. "You're incredible, you know that? You have zero self-preservation! No regard for your own safety and well-being!"

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?" Harry scoffed, though his casual demeanor faltered slightly under her furious glare.

"Dramatic? You could've been paralyzed, Harry! Doesn't that mean anything to you?" Her voice broke with frustrated tears. "Don't you understand how terrified I was watching you lying there, not moving? I thought...I thought I might lose you."

Something flickered across Harry's features then. His cavalier mask slipped for just a moment, allowing a flash of guilt and tenderness to shine through that sent Y/N's heart lurching treacherously. Then it was gone, the wall snapping back into place.

"Well, I'm right as rain now, so you can quit your worrying," he said gruffly, turning his back on her.

That was the final straw for Y/N. She grabbed his arm and whirled him around to face her, not caring that they were getting drenched by the downpour.

"You're so fucking reckless with yourself, Harry! Like you have zero self-preservation or even an ounce of common sense! Do you have any idea how scary that was to see you lying there, not moving? How I thought..." Her voice hitched, throat growing too tight to continue as burning tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Through the rapidly blurring vision, Y/N registered Harry staring, chest heaving like she'd actually winded him with her outburst. His hands hung frozen at his sides, knuckles going white as he watched her come completely unraveled. And still she wasn't finished.

"You can't just keep putting yourself in danger like that! Pulling stupid fucking stunts and flipping off your own safety like it doesn't matter! Because it does, Harry. It matters so much to...to me," she finished in a thick whisper, finally allowing a tear to escape and streak down her flushed cheek.  

A weighted silence stretched between them, Y/N struggling to regain her ragged breathing as Harry continued gaping at her, utterly shocked by her reaction. Waves of tension rippled through the small space separating them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds, Harry seemed to recalibrate. His expression went utterly blank for a beat before, out of nowhere, his eyes hardened into flashing jade. When he spoke, his tone was laced with a chilling detachment.  

"Why?"

Y/N blinked owlishly. "W-What?"

"Why the fuck do you care so much, huh?" Harry exploded, eyes flashing as he aimed his scathing hostility directly at Y/N. "Last I checked, I'm not your boyfriend or your family. I'm just some dumb jock you study with, right?"

Y/N flinched at the biting sarcasm, feeling tears prick her eyes anew at his harsh dismissal. But Harry was on a roll, fists clenching and unclenching as he visibly wrestled with...what? Anger? Fear? She couldn't tell, but his next words sliced deep regardless.

"So why do you get to flip out and pass judgment every time I take a hit, huh? You think I don't know how to handle myself out on that field?"

"That's not what I-"

"No, clearly you don't think I have any sense of self-preservation or whatever psychobabble bullshit diagnosis you want to armchair next!" Harry barreled over her attempted protest, voice rising in a sharp crescendo. 

He took a menacing step closer, using his full height to loom over her in a move that likely would've been intimidating...if his eyes didn't look so pained and conflicted behind that mask of bitter anger. "Tell me, Y/N - what gives you the right to freak out like that, huh? To look at me with those scared eyes like you have any claim over whether I live or die or-"

"Because I love you, dammit!" The confession exploded from Y/N with the force of a meteor strike.

A stunned silence fell over the field as Harry gaped at her, mouth hanging open in shock. Even the rain seemed to pause in the heavy tension between them.

After several moments where Y/N felt her panic rising, Harry finally found his voice again. "You...you what?"

Y/N took a shuddering breath, bracing herself. She had come too far to back down now.  

"I love you, Harry," she repeated, slower and more sure this time. "I have for a long time, you idiot. But you're always so reckless and careless 'bout your own safety. You take stupid risks and shrug it off like getting hurt is no big deal!"

She stepped closer, feeling tears mingling with the raindrops on her cheeks. "Don't you understand? The thought of you being seriously injured, or worse...it terrifies me. Because I couldn't handle losing you. You mean everything to me."

Harry continued staring at her, eyes blown wide and lips parted as if her confession had utterly short-circuited his brain. Y/N pressed on, needing to finally unleash all the feelings she had kept bottled up for far too long.

"I love your stupid jokes and your kind heart. I love how passionate you are about football, even if it drives me mental sometimes. I love the way you always smell like sandalwood and make me feel so safe when I'm with you. I'm in love with every obnoxious, laddish, reckless part of you and I can't keep ignoring it anymore."

She let out a wet chuckle, wiping futilely at her drenched face, her hands still shaking. "So yeah, that's why I care, you absolute wanker. That's why seeing you get hurt destroys me every single time, because the thought of being in a world without Harry Styles in it is just too much for me to bear!"

The words hung heavy in the rain-soaked air between them. Y/N watched Harry open and close his mouth a few times, clearly struggling to find a response. For once, his swagger and cockiness had completely deserted him as her feelings poured over him in an unstoppable tide.

Just when the silence was becoming too much for Y/N to bear, Harry finally seemed to find his voice again.

"You...you love me?" he rasped out, the disbelief and wonder evident in his tone. "Like, you're in love with me?"

Y/N felt her cheeks flush hot despite the cold rain. She gave a small nod, unable to meet his intense gaze. Her heart was thundering so loudly in her ears, she barely registered the shouts and hoots coming from Harry's teammates who had witnessed the whole emotional outburst.

"Shut it, you wankers!" Harry barked over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off Y/N.

In two long strides, he closed the distance between them until they were mere inches apart. Y/N's breath caught in her throat as Harry reached up with one hand to gently cup her jaw, tilting her face up toward his.

"Y/N..." he murmured, emerald eyes searching hers intently. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

She let out a shaky laugh, leaning into his touch despite herself. "And ruin our friendship if you didn't feel the same way? I couldn't risk that, Harry. You mean too much to me."

Something blazing and tender flickered across Harry's face at her confession. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, he leaned in until their foreheads were resting together. Y/N shivered at the intimate proximity, at the way his familiar woodsy scent surrounded her completely.

"You daft woman," he murmured, the words fanning warmly across her lips and making her shiver for an entirely different reason. "Don't you know there's nothing I want more than for you to be my girlfriend? To be able to love you the way you deserve?"

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed at that, her heart feeling fit to burst from her chest. She had spent so long forcing herself not to hope, not to read into the heated glances and lingering touches she shared with Harry. Could he truly feel the same earth-shattering connection she did?

Her eyes blinked open again at the feeling of Harry's calloused thumb brushing reverently across her rain-soaked cheek. He was staring at her with such naked adoration and longing that it stole the breath from her lungs.

"I'm so bloody gone for you, Y/N," he confessed roughly. "Have been for ages now, if I'm being honest. Thought maybe I was imagining things between us or reading too much into it since I couldn't fathom someone as incredible as you wanting a mug like me."

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, to reassure him that she wanted every infuriatingly charming part of him, but Harry pressed on before she could get the words out.

"Then today, hearing how scared you were when I got laid out...how you thought you could lose me?" He shook his head slowly, curls dripping rivulets of rainwater down the sharp planes of his face and throat. "Don't know how I didn't see it before, love. The way you care about me, put up with all my shite...it's because you love me. Isn't it?"

It wasn't really a question, more like Harry was testing the words out for the first time and savoring the way they sounded. A thrill went through Y/N at getting to be the one to put that Look of rare, hushed awe on his handsome face for once.

"Yes, Harry," she answered anyway, both hands coming up to cradle his beloved face. "I'm desperately in love with you. The good, the bad, the reckless...all of it."

A crinkly-eyed grin stretched across Harry's lips then, brighter and more vibrant than Y/N had ever seen before. He wasted no more time closing that minuscule distance between them, capturing her mouth in a searing, all-consuming kiss.

Y/N gasped against his lips as the dam finally broke, months of too-long denied want and need bubbling over in heated waves. Harry's hands slid into her soaked hair, angling her head to deepen the embrace as he licked hungrily into her mouth. Y/N clung to him just as fiercely, fingernails scraping against his scalp and shoulders as if trying to physically pull him closer.

They were both panting harshly by the time they wrenched apart, sharing the same air in the infinitesimal space between their swollen mouths. Y/N felt drugged by the glazed, predatory darkness swimming in Harry's blown pupils,by the intimate glide of their rain-drenched bodies.

"Fucking finally," he growled against her lips before diving back in, one large hand splaying possessively across the small of her back.

Y/N hummed in ardent agreement, getting lost in his dizzying taste and scent and touch once more.  It felt like a cosmic star had been reborn between them, the force of their crashing inevitability obliterating all the hurt and confusion from before.

Neither was sure how long they stayed like that, trading desperate, drugging kisses amongst the pouring rain. But eventually, Harry pulled away just enough to nose his way along Y/N's jaw, lips dragging hotly up to her ear.

"Let's get out of this downpour, hmm?" he husked, teeth grazing her shell and making her shudder. "Got some making up to do for being such a blind tosser."

Y/N pulled back just enough to catch the incandescent fire blazing in his darkened gaze. Her breath hitched at the onceiled promise flickering there, at the tips of his wicked fingers already slipping beneath the drenched hem of her top.

It seemed she wasn't the only one who had been harboring some pent-up longing and hunger.

Still, there was one loose end she couldn't resist tugging before allowing Harry to whisk them away...  "Does this mean you're finally going to start taking better care of yourself?" she asked archly, arching one pointed brow. "No more stupid, reckless stunts for my idiotically brave footballer?"

Harry audibly groaned, dropping his forehead dramatically against her clavicle as his hands flexed with bruising force against her hips.

"Whatever you want, love," he conceded gruffly. "No more injuries or shite, I swear it. Now can we please get the fuck out of here before I embarrass myself further by ravishing you in the mud right in front of my teammates?"

Y/N gave a squeak of surprise as Harry abruptly ducked to gather her up in his arms, hitching her legs around his waist in one fluid movement. He sealed his wicked promise with another lingering, molten kiss that left her head spinning.

"Now, where were we..." he growled darkly before striding determinedly off the field, Y/N clinging just as fiercely in his embrace.

The teammates' raucous catcalls and laughter faded into the rainy background as Y/N tucked her face into the curve of Harry's neck, savoring his familiar sandalwood and smoke and the feeling of being wrapped in his arms at last.

She was never letting him go again. Not if she had any say in it.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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[luveline]

jadey!! would you ever write something for spencer where reader gets tipsy/drunk and is all over him? i just think he would be so cute and flustered, especially if she isn’t usually this forward with him (either established relationship or mutual crushing!)

thanks for your request lovely♡ —you really want spencer to be your boyfriend. fem!reader, 1k

The smell of your lip balm is the very first thing Spencer acknowledges, rather than the soft press of your lips to his cheek, or your hand on his neck. When he does realise you're kissing him it's like a shock to the system; Spencer hadn't thought about what his neck might feel like to a new hand until you're cupping it sweetly, hadn't worried about the neatness of his hair before you ran a hand over it with reverence. 

"Thanks for coming to pick me up," you say, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Best boyfriend ever." 

Which is a great sentiment and all, but Spencer isn't your boyfriend. He holds your back in one arm, the other busy strangling his shiny car keys, his mind racing. He isn't your boyfriend. Right? You have to ask someone for it to be official (according to Derek, Penelope, and Emily) (JJ was a little more lax about it) and Spencer's been too scared to ask you. 

"Are you okay?" he asks softly. You're wobbly. 

"Super drunk," you say, like it's one word, a diagnosable affliction. "Sorry." 

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to be sober for me to drive you home. I'm really glad you called me." 

You're drunk enough to miss his confused tones. "No,  I'm sorry 'cos I knew you'd say yes even though you hate driving. I honestly didn't even think you had a car." 

Spencer pulls you closer as a couple stumbles out of the same bar you'd been inside of, though when he arrived you were sitting on the cold sidewalk with your knees pulled up and your dress slipping out of place. He adjusts his grip to put an arm under yours and begins leading you toward to the parking lot. 

"Next time, I'll come inside to get you, okay? I don't think I need statistics to remind you that it's not safe to be inebriated by yourself in the city, especially now." It's pitch black outside, stars like a scattering of tint salt grains visible to only the most dedicated of eyes. "It's dangerous for you. I don't mind coming in to find you." 

"You're the nicest," you declare, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. 

He's fitter than he used to be, but Spencer doesn't have a chance of getting you to the car if you're not conscious. "Hey, keep your eyes open. It's not far, okay? Work with me."

"Will you call me something nice if I do?" you ask. 

Spencer helps you down off of the curb and across a naked stretch of asphalt shining like grease in the light from the lamppost. "I'll call you whatever you want me to." 

"You called me pretty on Thursday." 

Spencer feels the heat of a blush blooming at your slurred proclamation but doesn't back down. "You looked pretty on Thursday. You look pretty every single day. Watch the curb." 

"What about, uh, pet names?" 

"Like what?" he asks. 

"Like honey, and sweetheart. Angel, doll, dove." 

"Is that what you want?" he asks, trying to sneak a look at your face. You're concentrating hard on your footsteps, your tall shoes slippery on the wet ground. 

"If we're together…" 

"Are we together?" Spencer asks. He shouldn't ask while you're drunk, and it's not like he's going to take your word for it now over any sober discussion in the future, but he wants to know. 

"You don't think we're together?" you ask, frowning. He's horrified to see the crushed tremble in your lip. 

"I haven't had the chance to ask you yet," he says quickly. 

You sniffle, looking at him with a wide-eyed hope. "But you're going to ask me?" 

"Yeah, I'm going to ask you." He lowers his voice. He's not afraid of other people hearing him. If anything, he's afraid you will. He's afraid you'll hear him and reject him, despite every sign that says you won't. "I've wanted to ask you for a really long time, but you're– I was scared. You're beautiful, and kind, and you make me feel like I've found something I was missing, now. I guess I thought holding off would change the odds." 

"I thought you got banned from all those casinos," you say, clinging to his arm. 

Spencer's nose wrinkles. "What does that have to do with anything?" 

"You count cards and pr… probability," —you sound it out— "right? Have you not been doing that with me?" 

Spencer stops walking to help you pull your jacket back onto your bare shoulder. It's too cold to stay out here long. "It's different. You're different." 

"Oh." You smile at him dreamily. Eyes squinting until your lashes kiss in the corners, you smile like your lips have been stuck together with honey. You pout at him very gently, and he thinks you might want a kiss.

Spencer pats your back. "Come on. I'll take you home. You can sleep it off." 

"Can I come home with you?" 

He sees his car in the distance, a beacon of hope. "Yeah, if you want. But I don't have any pyjamas or anything for you." 

"Not yet," you say. 

Spencer goes pink to the ears, and unfortunately for him, you notice. You refuse to walk a step further, throwing heavy arms over his shoulders to beam at him eye to eye. Your fingers tangle gently into the ends of his hair and twist in circles that have butterflies exploding in his stomach. His breath catches when you tug on a strand, clearly bemused. 

"I really want to be your girlfriend." 

"I–" He swallows roughly. "I really want you to be my girlfriend." 

"Will you ask me?" 

"Tomorrow?" he asks delicately. He might be shy with you, but he has no qualms now showing you how vehemently he returns your affections, his arms curling slowly but surely behind your back. 

You fall into his arms for another hug. "Yesssss," you cheer under your breath. 

He sneaks a kiss against the shell of your ear. "Wanna go get something to eat first?" 

You gasp like you've been offered the world. "You really are the best boyfriend." 

[jetii]

Awkward

Pairing: Hunter x fem!Reader

Words: 9,063

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, squadmates to lovers, some general miscommunication awkwardness, mutual pining, inexperienced!Hunter, first time, smut, nipple play, oral (f and m receiving), face fucking, fingering, so much kissing

Summary: You messed up. After months of hiding your feelings for Hunter, you kiss him to avoid a bad situation, but he doesn't react the way you expect. And he doesn't seem interested in talking about it.

A/N: Thank you @wiltedwillowsvioletsky for the prompt! I can't lie this is one of my favorite tropes. I have another Hunter fic that I'll be posting in a couple weeks, and it's much more serious/angsty so I wanted to make this one fun.

“Physical displays of affection make people uncomfortable,” you say in a rush as if it's a single word, before you lose your nerve.

Hunter stops moving. He’s not even breathing, as far as you can tell. You feel your heart in your throat.

He looks at you, head slightly tilted to the side, like he does when he hears something strange. His eyes search yours for a long moment, his brow furrowed. 

You have no idea what he's thinking, but you plow ahead anyway. There’s no time for anything else. The guards will be on you soon.

You reach out, grab his shoulders and step closer to him. Your body presses against his chest, and his arms come up automatically to encircle your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck.

You close your eyes and lean in, until your lips are almost touching his ear. You whisper, in a tone you hope he recognizes as the warning it is, “Just act natural.”

And then you press your mouth to his.

It’s awkward. 

Painfully, agonizingly awkward.

Your noses are squished together, and he doesn't react. Doesn't even breathe, so far as you can tell. Your heart is in your throat, and you’re trying desperately not to think about what you're doing.

You’re aware that Hunter is warm and firm under your hands. His fingers twitch at your waist and the back of your neck tingles. He’s not moving. He’s not responding. You feel the familiar sensation of dread building in your stomach.

You know better than this.

You are such an idiot.

Finally, you start to pull away, heart in your throat. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. Maybe you should just let the guards shoot you and save you from the humiliation.

As you begin to move, you feel Hunter take a breath. He surges forward and kisses you again, pulling you closer to him. His hands are gripping you firmly, one sliding up to tangle in your hair, the other dropping lower, almost to your ass.

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss.

He still doesn't seem to be breathing, and the kiss is more a series of short, desperate presses of lips and tongue, but it's good. It's great, actually. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that Hunter has never kissed anyone before, but you’re too dazed by his enthusiasm to care.

His mouth is warm and insistent against yours, and he tastes like the caf you drank at breakfast. His stubble scrapes your chin and his teeth knock against yours, and he seems to be holding his breath the whole time. You can't tell if it's because he's nervous, or because he simply forgot how.

Either way, his grip is firm, and he kisses you as if his life depends on it. In this moment, it very well might.

You realize you're standing on the tips of your toes. You tighten your arms around his neck and lean into him, trying to relieve some of the strain. The hand on your neck slips up, cradling your cheek and the feeling of his gloved fingertips is so good, you have to stifle a whimper.

The kiss goes on forever.

It goes on long enough that you should have heard the guards coming, but you didn't.

Suddenly, Hunter pulls away from you, leaving you dizzy and off-balance. Your arms are still wrapped around his neck. You blink rapidly, trying to get your brain to re-engage.

"You didn't need to do that,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, and a little unsteady.

You look up, and meet his eyes, and you realize how close you are to him. The kiss felt like a lifetime. You were pressed up against him so tightly, his hands on you so possessively, that the absence of him is jarring. You shiver, and he rubs his thumb against the back of your neck.

"It was a good plan," you say, because you have no idea what else to say.

You are suddenly painfully aware of the fact that you're standing in the middle of the hallway with Hunter's arms around you. Your legs feel a little bit like jelly.

You want to lean forward and press your face into the hollow of his throat. You want him to pull you closer, to hold you tighter. You want him to kiss you again. You want him to push you up against the wall and—

Your stomach clenches. Your pulse races. You're pretty sure you've never been so turned on in your life, and that's not a useful thing to think about when you're in the middle of a mission.

“They're not coming," Hunter says, and you know, intellectually, that he is referring to the guards, but your mind is in another place entirely.

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod.

Hunter stares down at you, his eyes roving over you like he's never seen you before. His cheeks are pink, his hair is mussed, and his lips are swollen and slick. You're having a hard time looking away from his mouth.

The hand on your waist shifts, his thumb starts tracing a soft, slow circle across the exposed skin of your hip. It's barely any pressure at all, but it sends a wave of heat through you. Your heart is pounding, and you know he can hear it.

You can feel the blood rushing through your veins, and all you can think is he can't possibly not know, he's got enhanced senses, he can't possibly not know that I'm crazy about him.

Hunter's face is flushed and he looks as wrecked as you feel.

You wonder if he will ever kiss you again.

You are so close that the thought crosses your mind that you could lean forward and kiss him again, and it would be fine. That's what people do, when they've kissed each other. They kiss again.

You're not sure you can bring yourself to do it. You're not sure he’ll let you. He’s still looking at you like he can't quite believe what just happened, or maybe he can't quite believe what he did.

You wonder if there is a way to ask him, without actually asking him.

You wonder if there's a way to make him want you the way you want him.

You wonder, with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, if you've managed to ruin everything.

"So you think they're gone?" you ask. Your voice sounds normal, somehow, even though you can barely hear over the sound of your heart.

He pauses, like he's forgotten what you're talking about, then says, "They, uh, they turned the corner a minute ago."

"Good," you say, and the two of you stand there in silence.

It would be so easy to reach up and run your fingers through his hair, to pull him down and press your lips to his again. You can't stop thinking about it. Your whole body feels like it's on fire.

Hunter stares down at you, his eyes dark and wide, and you're standing so close together that you can see the flecks of gold in his irises. His face is still flushed, his mouth still slightly open.

If he doesn't kiss you again, you are going to die.

The hand on your waist is warm and heavy, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your skin.

“We should head back to the ship,” he says, but neither of you move.

He leans in a little, and his nose brushes against yours. Your heart is pounding. You feel hot all over.

He hesitates, and you're sure that he's going to kiss you again.

He doesn't.

"I'm going to check the hall," he says, and pulls away from you.

Your body is burning with unspent desire, and your hands are shaking.

He's going to pretend it didn't happen. That's fine. You can do that too. You can absolutely ignore the fact that he just kissed you like he meant it, and you can't stop thinking about it. It's not a problem. You're not going to be awkward around him. It's going to be fine.

Hunter turns the corner. He's gone.

Your hands are still shaking.

"Shit," you whisper.

You lean back against the wall, close your eyes, and try to catch your breath.

It's going to be a long trip home.

It's not going to be weird.

You won't let it be weird.

You keep telling yourself that, over and over, and you hope it will make it true. You’re not going to make it weird. You have to ignore the way Hunter looked at you when you pulled away. You have to forget the way he kissed you, the way his hands felt on your waist, the way he tasted. You have to forget the way he hesitated, and for a moment, you were sure he was going to kiss you again.

This isn’t something you can change. This isn't a mistake you can fix. You've made the best decision you could, and now, you have to live with it. 

You try your best to be normal. You sit next to him in the cockpit. You joke with him and laugh at his stories. You make eye contact, and don't stare at his lips.

You have a hard time keeping your distance. The ship is small, and he's everywhere. When he comes into the room, your whole body responds. It's not a conscious reaction. It's involuntary. So you try your best to limit your time alone with him.

It's fine. You're fine. You're being normal.

Except that Hunter is acting...different.

He watches you constantly, like he's waiting for you to say something. He's jumpy and quiet. He's clearly on edge, and you have no idea why. You've replayed the moment outside the vault a thousand times, and you can't figure out where you went wrong.

You're not sure how to talk about it, so you decide to pretend it didn't happen. That should help, right? If the two of you can ignore the kiss, maybe things will go back to normal.

But Hunter doesn't play along.

He keeps touching you.

The first time it happens, it catches you by surprise. You're on a supply run, and the two of you have stopped at a kiosk in the market. He's talking to the merchant about the supplies you need, and his hand brushes the small of your back, right above the base of your spine.

The gesture is so casual, so familiar, and so unexpected, that you jump. You look at him, and he's still focused on the merchant. You must have imagined it.

It happens again, on the ship, when he reaches over and pats your shoulder, his fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. You stare at him, but he doesn't notice. He's looking at Tech.

"Are you all right?" you ask.

"Fine," he says, and he goes back to his work.

It keeps happening.

Everywhere. On the ship. In the hangar. At the bar. Everywhere.

He touches your hand when he gives you your share of the credits. He puts his hand on your hip to guide you around a group of people. He squeezes your shoulder when he passes behind you. He leans over you in the cockpit, and rests his hand on the back of your seat. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear yesterday, and he nudged your knee with his while the two of you were sitting around the fire pit.

Everywhere. All the time.

The worst part is that it's not even sexual. He touches you the way a partner would. A lover. Like the two of you are comfortable together, and it's driving you insane. You don't understand why he's doing it.

Every touch is like fire on your skin. Every time, you jump, and every time, you look at him, and every time, he's not looking at you. It's infuriating.

Finally, when he grabs your elbow at Cid's, and you whirl around and glare at him, you realize that it is, in fact, intentional.

You grab him by the front of his armor and drag him into the nearest storage closet. You are absolutely done with this.

Hunter follows without protest, and as soon as the door closes behind him, you turn and demand, "What are you doing?"

He looks at you with amusement. He's smiling a little. It makes him look younger, and even more handsome than usual. "Touching you," he says, as if this is obvious.

You stare at him.

"Why?"

"You don't like it?"

"That's not the point!" You can feel the blush creep into your cheeks. "Why are you doing it?"

He leans down, so that his face is very close to yours. "Because I want to."

His voice is low, and a little rough. He's so close, and he's looking at you in that way that makes you weak in the knees. He reaches out, and cups your face with his hands. His thumb traces your lower lip, and it takes all of your self control not to bite it.

"Because," he murmurs, "you're not stopping me."

You can't breathe.

"Hunter," you say, and you don't recognize your own voice.

"Yes?"

"If you're going to kiss me again, I suggest you do it now."

He looks a little surprised, but then he smiles, and ducks his head and does exactly as you ask.

And, stars, the kiss is so good.

He's much more confident now. Hunter's hand is warm and steady on your jaw, and his lips are firm. He kisses you gently, as if he has all the time in the world. His tongue is soft and wet and teasing, and his other hand has settled on the small of your back, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the thin material of your shirt.

Your hands are pressed against the cold, flat plastoid of his armor, but you need to touch him. You slide your palms up his chest, over his shoulders, until you can cup his neck and tangle your fingers in his hair.

You can't tell who moans. Maybe both of you.

His hands slip under your shirt, and his gloves are soft against your bare skin. He pulls you closer, and the kiss deepens, his tongue pressing deeper, his mouth opening wider. You can't stop the whimper that escapes you.

Your back hits the wall, and the kiss changes, becomes hungrier. He's kissing you like he means it, and you're overwhelmed by the smell of him, the feel of him, the taste of him. He's surrounding you. You're drowning in him, and it's not enough. You're not sure it will ever be enough.

You pull away, gasping, and he looks at you, his eyes dark and unfocused.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice hoarse, and his fingers tighten on your skin. "I was going to talk to you about this, but I've never been very good at talking."

You stare at him. You feel a little bit like someone has hit you over the head.

"What?" you manage.

He clears his throat. "I thought I'd give it some time. Wait and see if you brought it up, or if you were going to...do that."

You're having a hard time focusing on what he's saying. He's so close to you, and you can feel his chest rising and falling against yours. His hands are on you. He's got one thigh between your legs.

"Do what?"

Hunter gestures, a little helplessly, towards the storage room door. "That."

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. You have no idea what is going on, but you can't think straight when he's so close.

"What are you talking about?" you ask, and your voice is a lot calmer than you feel.

He pauses, and his fingers are tapping out a nervous rhythm against your hip.

"Are you saying we haven't been flirting?" he asks, and the look on his face is almost comical. He looks so confused, so baffled, and so, so handsome. You've never wanted anyone more.

You have no idea what is going on.

"Flirting?" you echo.

"Or...something," he says, a little more cautiously.

You feel a rush of heat rise in your cheeks. You're suddenly aware that the two of you are still pressed together. His hands are on your skin, his thigh is still between your legs. You let go of him, and press your palms flat against the wall. You need some distance from him.

"You've been flirting with me?"

He frowns.

"I thought I was being pretty obvious," he says, and the confusion on his face is adorable.

"So," you say slowly, "you've been touching me, and following me around, and being..." you trail off, not sure how to describe it.

"Attentive?" he offers.

"No."

"Interested?"

"You haven't been subtle," you say instead.

"And I thought you were responding," he says, and he's looking at you like he can't figure you out, "I could hear your heartbeat. It was always a little fast when I touched you."

You're not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed by his powers of observation.

"Yeah," you say, because it seems like the easiest answer, "I was."

He's looking at you expectantly, and the realization hits you like a ton of bricks.

He has no idea what he's doing.

You're so used to being around the guys and seeing them as men, that you forget sometimes, how little experience they actually have. Hunter is a grown man, with enhanced senses, a lethal skill set, and a very high level of intelligence.

But he is also a clone, who spent his entire life training and fighting. Who spent nearly every shore leave on Kamino, surrounded by brothers. Who, as far as you can tell, has never kissed anyone, and certainly has never had sex.

He has no idea what he's doing.

You sigh, and lean your forehead against his chest.

"You're really bad at this," you say, and your voice is muffled by his armor. “I didn’t think you were bad at anything. Especially this kind of thing."

"I've never had a relationship before," he says. "I've never done anything like this before."

"Well, you're doing a good job of pretending you have," you mutter.

"You think I'm good at it?"

You look up at him, and there's an unmistakable look of satisfaction on his face.

"You're terrible," you tell him. He doesn't seem offended by this, so you add, "But you're lucky you're hot, or I would have left."

His expression turns thoughtful.

"So," he starts. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. His gaze drops from your eyes, down to your lips, and then lower. He pulls you flush against him, his body warm and solid against yours. Your hands are pressed against his chest, and he leans down, until his mouth is close to your ear.

“Are you going to stop me?"

"No," you say. His answering smile is brilliant, and for a moment, you're afraid you might drown.

"Good," he says, and kisses you again.

The second kiss is even better than the first.

He's not hesitant anymore. He's not careful. He's kissing you like he can't get enough, like he's afraid he'll never kiss you again.

His hands are everywhere, sliding up under your shirt, across the flat of your stomach, over the curve of your waist. His thumbs trace the undersides of your breasts, and his teeth tug at your bottom lip. You gasp, and arch into him.

He presses his lips to your neck, and the sound you make is obscene.

You can't think.

You're not sure why he wants you. You're not sure why he's chosen you. But, stars, you want him.

"Hunter," you say. Your voice sounds ragged and desperate, and he groans and presses his mouth to the hollow of your throat.

"This," he says, and his voice is low, and rough, and it sends a shiver down your spine, "is why I've been touching you."

You laugh, a little unsteadily, and run your fingers through his hair, scratching gently at the base of his skull. His reaction is immediate, his breath catching, his mouth opening wider, his hips rocking against yours.

He kisses you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth, and your thoughts scatter. You can't think, can't breathe.

The third kiss is a long, slow, lazy exploration. You kiss him until your legs are weak, and your head is spinning. You kiss him until your lips are swollen and you're breathless. And then you kiss him some more, because you’re still not ready to stop.

"We should," he says, and then doesn't finish the sentence. It doesn't matter, because you know what he's going to say.

"We should," you agree, and you lean into him and rest your forehead on his chest.

He runs his hand through your hair, and the sensation is pleasant. It's warm and soft and comfortable.

The fourth kiss is gentle, and soft, and you can't help but feel like it's more of a promise than anything else.

The fifth kiss is the one that makes you realize, with absolute certainty, that you're doomed.

Hunter kisses you whenever he can.

You don't even have time to be nervous about it, because he doesn't wait for privacy.

In the hangar, before a mission, he leans over you, and tilts your chin up with his fingers, and presses a kiss to your mouth. It's a soft, quick, brush of his lips, and it's so brief, you're not sure it happened.

At Cid's, in the bar, where everyone can see, he reaches over and touches the back of your hand. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin on the inside of your wrist. He leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth. The gesture is casual, and easy, and no one seems to notice. Or no one seems to care.

He does it in front of the others, and you wonder if this is his way of telling them that he wants you and that he doesn't care if they know. You wonder if he's trying to tell you that he's serious, or if he's simply testing the boundaries of his own attraction. You wish he would just tell you what he's thinking.

But you're not going to complain.

When the two of you are alone on the ship, and there's no chance of being interrupted, he does something a little less casual. He grabs your waist and pushes you against the nearest wall, and kisses you until your toes curl.

Every time, you're not sure it's going to happen. Every time, you're waiting for him to get bored, or annoyed, or change his mind.

Every time, he kisses you like he means it.

Sometimes, when he pulls away, his hands are shaking.

You know how he feels.

Every time he kisses you, it takes you by surprise. You're always caught off guard by the way he looks at you. The way his gaze roves over your face, his eyes dark and intense, his brow furrowed. 

You're always surprised by the way he smiles when he sees you. It's a small, shy smile, but it's full of affection. You're always shocked by the way he touches you. You're not used to being touched, not like this, not casually, and not with the same gentleness that he uses.

You're not used to it.

But you think you could get used to it.

You want to.

This evening the rest of the squad is out, scattering to enjoy the night before the next job. Hunter has asked you to stay behind.

He's told the others that you're both busy.

He's told them that the two of you are planning the next mission.

He hasn't told them that the two of you are spending a rare night alone together, and have every intention of enjoying it.

As soon as the others are gone, the ramp closing behind them, Hunter turns to you.

"We're not planning the mission, are we?" you ask, even though you know the answer.

"No," he says, and steps towards you. "We're not."

His hand comes up, and his fingers are soft as they cup your cheek.

"Good," you reply. "That was a terrible lie."

He laughs, and the sound warms your heart. You're not sure you've ever seen him so relaxed, so happy. He looks younger, less worried, less tense. You're not sure what's changed.

You don't ask.

He doesn't tell.

He’s far too busy pulling you into his lap, and kissing you until your knees are weak.

His hands are everywhere. On your face. Your neck. Your back. Your waist. They're warm, and strong, and possessive, and his lips are firm, and insistent, and soft, and kriff, he's a really, really good kisser. How he went from being bad at this to being so good, so quickly, you have no idea.

This kiss is a little rough, and a little needy. His hands are on your thighs, holding you in place, and his body is pressed against yours. He's not shy about letting you know that he wants you. He's forgone half of his armor today, and you can feel the insistent press of his cock, hard and straining against his pants.

You want nothing more than to wrap your hand around it, and stroke it, and feel him pulse and spill his seed over your fingers. He'd make the most incredible noises, and his face would flush, and he'd look at you with that dazed, overwhelmed expression he gets, and you want him so badly, it almost hurts.

His hips jerk forward, and you moan into his mouth. He breaks away from you, and presses his face into the curve of your neck. He's breathing hard, and his breath is warm on your skin.

"You're really good at this," he says, and you can't help the laughter that bubbles out of you.

"You're terrible," you tease. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because it's true," he murmurs.

You run your hands up his back and scratch lightly at the base of his neck. He shivers, and his fingers tighten on your thighs.

"Good at flirting." He leans in and kisses the hollow of your throat. "Very, very good."

"Stop," you say, laughing, and your face is burning. You're embarrassed by the praise, and the fact that he can feel how warm you are. He can hear your heartbeat. He can probably smell how wet you are.

He chuckles against your skin.

"Why would I do that?" he murmurs. His mouth moves up, and his lips are warm on the underside of your jaw. "I can tell how much you like it."

"Hunter," you hiss. Your voice sounds strained, you almost don't recognize it. He kisses the soft skin just below your ear, his tongue darting out to taste you, and your brain short-circuits.

“I can hear it." There's a note of wonder in his voice, like he's amazed at the way you react to him. "Every time I touch you, your heartbeat gets a little faster."

"You've noticed that?"

"Yeah," he rasps, and the feeling of his voice vibrating through your skin makes you shiver, "I can't concentrate when I hear it. Every time I hear it, all I can think about is kissing you."

"Every time?"

"All the time," he murmurs. He kisses the spot behind your ear, and your toes curl. "You have no idea how distracting it is."

You can't think. All you can do is tilt your head to give him better access. His mouth is hot and wet and he's sucking lightly at the sensitive skin there. You moan softly. His grip on your thighs tightens.

"So," you say, and your voice is unsteady, "what are you going to do about it?"

He pulls away, and his hands slip up, his palms settling on your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. He looks at you, his gaze traveling over your face, and then dropping lower. You're acutely aware that he's staring at your mouth, and your whole body is buzzing with anticipation.

"Well," he says slowly, and the expression on his face is absolutely sinful, "I was hoping that I could touch you."

You swallow hard. You have to take a few seconds to get your voice working. "Where?" you ask.

He grins, and his eyes sparkle.

"Everywhere."

You nod.

You can feel his body tense, and then he's kissing you again, and you lose track of how many kisses the two of you have shared.

It doesn't matter.

This is the one that's going to ruin you.

This kiss is hard and fast and messy, and his hands are gripping your thighs, his hips are rocking up against yours, and you're grinding on his cock, and it's so good.

His hands slide under your shirt, and his fingertips brush the underside of your breasts. He groans into your mouth, and the sound goes straight to your clit. You grind down on him again, and his hands move up, palming your breasts, and he pinches your nipples between his fingers. The feeling is so sharp and sweet, that you have to pull away from the kiss, gasping for breath.

His mouth is immediately on your neck, his lips warm and wet on your skin. He kisses his way down, across the curve of your shoulder, and bites down on the tender skin of your collarbone. You can feel the sharp edge of his teeth, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"Fuck," you whisper.

His mouth is still on your skin, but he laughs.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. He runs his tongue over the bite mark. "Did that hurt?"

"Yeah," you say. Your voice is unsteady. "I liked it."

He growls, and his mouth is on yours again. His tongue slips past your lips, and you suck on it, and the sound he makes is so desperate, and so needy, that you have to grind down on his cock again. You can feel him straining against his pants, hard and thick, and you can't wait to get your hands on him.

"Hunter," you manage, and his name comes out like a whine.

"Yes," he says, his mouth pressed against the base of your throat, "anything, just tell me."

"I want to suck your cock."

He freezes.

His entire body goes tense, and he pulls away and stares at you. His eyes go wide, and his lips part. It’s the same look he gave you when you kissed him for the first time, and you can't get over the fact that this, somehow, is more surprising than the kiss.

"Do you want that?" you ask, because maybe he doesn't. Maybe you've read the situation wrong. Maybe you've misjudged his reaction, and now you've made a fool of yourself. You’ve never had anyone turn you down before, but this isn't just anyone. This is Hunter.

He doesn't say anything, but he nods, and the expression on his face is a little dazed, and a lot hungry. His pupils are blown, and his breathing is shallow. He looks wrecked. You've barely touched him, and already, he's a mess.

You've never had anyone look at you like this. It makes you feel powerful and a little bit smug.

"Yes," he says.

"Can I?"

"Yes," he repeats.

He doesn't seem inclined to move, so you slide off his lap, and get to your knees in front of him. When he sees you on the floor, looking up at him, his mouth drops open a little more, and his cock twitches. You can see it straining against his pants.

You want your mouth on him so badly, you're afraid you might pass out. You lick your lips, shifting slightly to ease the ache between your legs. His eyes follow the motion, and he takes a deep breath before reaching for his belt.

He unbuckles it, and pops the button on his pants, and you lean forward, and help him pull them down. His cock springs free, hard and thick and curved, and the tip is already slick and shiny with precome. It’s just as beautiful as the rest of him.

He shifts a little, and you put your hands on his thighs and run the tip of your tongue over the head. The taste is salty and bitter and familiar, and the sound he makes is so needy, you can't help but moan.

"Oh," he says.

He sounds shocked.

"Does that feel good?"

"Yes."

He's looking down at you, his mouth still open, his face flushed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You wrap your hand around his cock, and he inhales sharply.

"Is this okay?" you ask.

"Yeah."

You lean forward, and kiss the head, and he exhales.

"It's good," he says, and the words are strained.

"I'm glad," you say with a smile.

"You're very...considerate," he says. Your smile widens. You have to hide your grin by pressing a kiss to the side of his cock. His hips jerk forward, and the moan he makes is delicious.

"I'm a nice person."

"You are," he agrees. His voice is rough. "You're a very nice person."

His head falls back, his words dissolving into a groan as you take him into your mouth. The noise he makes is so beautiful, you can't help but moan. 

The vibrations must feel good, because his hips jerk, and he makes a choked sound in the back of his throat. The motion forces him deeper, and you have to concentrate to relax, and take him without gagging.

He's thick, and long, and hot, and the way he's trembling and moaning above you makes you feel powerful. It's a little heady, knowing that you're the one who has reduced him to this. You can feel him struggling not to move, and the effort it takes is evident in the way his body is taut, and the tension in his muscles. He's fighting the urge to thrust. 

You're not sure how much longer he'll be able to resist, and you can't wait. 

You want him to let go. You want him to fuck your mouth. You want him to come on your face. You want him to grab your hair, and use your mouth, and fuck you until you're a mess, and he can't hold himself back any longer.

Your hand is still wrapped around the base of his cock, and you take him as deep as you can. The sounds of his pleasure are intoxicating. You can't get enough of them. 

He's breathing heavily, his hands are clenched into fists, and when you pull back, and slide your tongue up the length of his shaft, his hips jerk. You moan again, and he curses and grabs your shoulders. You think he's going to pull you off of him, but instead, he's trying to drag you closer. He's trying to pull you towards him. He's trying to force his cock further into your mouth.

You look up at him, and the expression on his face is desperate, and lost. He's so close. He's barely hanging on. You want him to come. You want him to use you. You want him to give himself to you, and take everything you have to offer.

The hand you have braced on his thigh squeezes as you relax your jaw, and Hunter's eyes shoot open. The expression on his face is somewhere between awe and fear, and his body is tense, like a bowstring, drawn tight and ready to snap.

You squeeze your hand again, and he lets out a harsh breath. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head before his hips start to move, and then he's fucking your mouth.

It's rough. It's sloppy. It's perfect. His movements are frantic and uneven, and it's clear that he's not going to last. His grip on your hair tightens, and he fucks your mouth in quick, hard, strokes. It's so good, the feeling of him filling you, his cock sliding in and out, hitting the back of your throat. He's making the most beautiful noises, and you can't believe that you're the one making him sound like this. It's almost too much.

You look up at him through your lashes, and the sight is so overwhelming, that you can't stop the whine that escapes you. A flood of arousal pools between your legs.

His nostrils flare as his eyes flicker down to meet yours. He groans and fucks your mouth harder. You moan and arch into him. You're dripping with need. You can feel your underwear sticking to your cunt, and it's distracting.

"Fuck," he says, his voice hoarse, "are you getting off on this?"

You moan again. You can't help it. It's a reflex.

"Fuck," he hisses again. "Do you like it?"

You moan louder, and his breath catches. His movements stutter, and his grip on your hair tightens.

"You do," he says, and the look on his face is dazed, and disbelieving.

You squeeze his thigh, and he curses. His hand leaves your hair, moving down to wrap around the back of your neck. He pulls you closer, his hips bucking, and he's not pulling away now. He's holding you in place, forcing his cock deeper, and you relax your throat and take him.

"Good girl," he murmurs. The praise hits you like a blow, and you can't help but whine. "Fuck. That's good."

You whimper, and Hunter's hips stutter, and then he's coming. His grip on the back of your neck tightens, and his eyes slam shut. His whole body is tense, his thighs trembling, his cock pulsing as he spills down your throat. It's a lot, you can't swallow fast enough, and it drips out of the corners of your mouth. He's still making these helpless little sounds, and you can't tear your eyes away from him. You want to burn the memory into your brain.

He's beautiful. He's perfect. And you're pretty sure you're going to be ruined for anyone else.

You pull off of him slowly, and his hand drops from the back of your neck. His eyes flutter open to watch you catch the last bit of come on your tongue, and he inhales sharply. The sound is rough and broken, and when you lick your lips, he curses.

You smile at him, and he shakes his head.

"Shit," he breathes.

"How was that?"

"I...you...uh," he trails off, and gestures vaguely. "I can't. Words."

You laugh, and stand up, and press a kiss to the side of his jaw. Hunter turns his head, and kisses you. It's a soft, slow kiss, and you melt into it.

His hands are gentle on your waist, and when the kiss ends, he pulls you close, and holds you tight. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, and sighs.

"You okay?" you ask.

Hunter hums a response, and kisses your neck, and then your jaw, and finally, your mouth. He cups your cheek, and brushes his thumb across your lips, and then kisses you again, and the gentleness of it makes you dizzy. He kisses you until you're breathless, and then pulls away, and rests his forehead against yours.

"What do you need?" he asks. His voice is soft and low, and the concern in his voice makes you flush.

"What do I need?" you repeat. You're not sure what he's asking. You're not sure if he's asking.

"Yeah," he says. "It's only fair."

"You don't have to do anything," you say, a little awkwardly. "I was having a good time."

"I know," he replies, and the smugness in his tone makes you roll your eyes, "but I want to."

"Hunter…" you start, but you're not sure how to finish.

He doesn't seem concerned by this.

"You like being praised," he says. He's looking at you with an expression that's far too serious. You want him to stop. "And you like being held down. Is there anything else?"

"You figured all that out just now?" you ask. Your cheeks are burning. He can't tell what you like. You've barely started. This can't be happening. It has to be a coincidence. You can't be that easy to read. "We've barely done anything."

"I've been paying attention."

"That's..." you trail off. You're not sure what the word is. Embarrassing? Flattering? Surprising?

You keep forgetting how observant he is. It's unnerving, and thrilling, and a little overwhelming. 

"Why?"

He's quiet for a moment.

"Because I care about you," he says finally.

"You do?"

"Yeah," he says. There's no hesitation. No doubt. "I care about you."

"I care about you, too," you say.

"So," he continues, "can I touch you?"

You nod, and Hunter grins, and kisses you again.

"Come here," he says. He stands, tucking himself back into his pants before he takes your hand and leads you over to his bunk. He sits down on the edge and pulls you into his lap, and then his mouth is back on yours. 

The kiss is messy and uncoordinated, his lips soft and insistent, and he tastes like sweat and sex. You're a little dizzy, and the way he's kissing you isn't helping. It's distracting, and overwhelming, and when his fingers brush over the top of your breast, the sensation is so intense that you can't help but grind down on his thigh.

He makes a small, surprised sound, and his hands find your hips. The world blurs for a moment as he turns and presses you into the mattress. He's above you, his body a warm, solid weight, pinning you to the bed. You wrap your legs around his waist, and arch up, and he groans, and bites down on your shoulder.

"Shit," you gasp.

"Sorry," he says. He doesn't sound sorry.

"It's fine," you breathe. His mouth is still on your shoulder, and he sucks on the spot he just bit. You moan, and your head falls back. "Oh."

"Good?"

"Yes," you pant, and his hands slide up under your shirt. His thumbs trace the curves of your breasts, and he pushes the fabric up until he can expose your chest. His gaze drops, and his eyes widen.

"Kriff, you're gorgeous," he murmurs. Hunter braces himself on one hand and traces the swell of your breast with the other. He runs his fingers over the curve of your waist, and then drags his thumb over the underside of your breast. His eyes are fixed on the way your flesh dimples beneath his touch. "How are you so soft?"

He leans down and kisses the top of your breast, and then nuzzles his face between them.

"I want to touch every inch of you," he whispers, and the sensation of his breath on your skin is maddening. His hair tickles your chest as he moves his mouth to the valley between your breasts. "I want to kiss every part of you."

He presses a line of kisses up the slope of your breast, and then his lips close around your nipple, and you gasp. Your back arches, and your hands scrabble for purchase on the blankets. He sucks and scrapes his teeth across the sensitive bud, and then lets go, and moves his mouth to the other side. His fingers toy with the nipple he just abandoned, and you whine. He's being gentle, and slow, and thorough, and you're not sure how much longer you can take it.

"You're sensitive," he says, and he sounds delighted.

"You're taking too long," you manage.

He laughs, and the vibration from his voice, and the warmth of his breath on your skin, makes your toes curl.

"Patience," he says, and then his mouth is on your nipple again, and the sound that escapes you is half laugh, half moan.

He switches back and forth, sucking, licking, and biting. The movements are teasing and deliberate, and by the time he finally pulls away, your skin is red, and sore, and slick.

"Hunter," you whimper. You want more, you need more, and you're not sure how much longer you can last. "Hunter, please."

He doesn't answer, but he sits up and pulls your shirt over your head, and then reaches for the button of your pants. His fingers are steady, and sure, and his expression is intense. He's focused on the task at hand, and the look of concentration on his face is adorable. You want to laugh, but it's cut off by a gasp as he slips his hand beneath your underwear, and runs his fingers along the seam of your cunt.

"Shit," he breathes, and his voice is strained. His eyes are wide and bright, and his face is flushed. His pupils are blown, and his nostrils are flared.

You're not sure why, but the way he's looking at you makes your cheeks burn.

"Sorry," you mutter.

He gives you a startled look, and shakes his head.

"What?" he asks.

"It's embarrassing," you admit. "I'm...it's a lot."

"Embarrassing?"

You shrug, and look away, and then he's cupping your face in his hand, and tilting your head back. His touch is gentle, and the kiss he gives you is tender. It's soft and sweet and slow, and when he breaks the kiss, he leans his forehead against yours.

"Nothing about you is embarrassing," he murmurs.

"You don't have to say that."

"I mean it."

He looks you in the eye, and his expression is so sincere, so earnest, that your heart clenches.

"It's not embarrassing," he says, and there's a finality in his tone, like he's daring you to disagree with him.

"Okay," you reply, a little weakly.

"Okay." He kisses you again, and it's quick, and chaste, and sweet. He presses a line of kisses up your jaw, and then his mouth is on your ear. "Do you know how many times I've thought about this?" he asks.

You shake your head, and he chuckles. His breath is warm against the side of your face, and his lips are soft on your skin. You can't help but squirm.

"A lot," he whispers, and you feel his mouth curve into a smile. "So much."

His fingers are still stroking you, and when they press against your entrance, you whimper. He teases you, his fingers circling your opening, spreading the wetness that's already leaking out of you. It's driving you crazy, and he's not helping.

"Every time you're near me, I want to touch you," he continues. His mouth moves back down your neck, and he presses a kiss to your collarbone. "Every time you get wet, it drives me crazy."

"You can't be serious," you gasp. His fingers are still teasing you, and you want them inside you. "You can't smell that."

He pauses. His mouth is on the swell of your breast, and his tongue is tracing lazy patterns across your skin. He leans back and looks you in the eye.

"Of course I can," he says.

"How is that possible?"

"The same way I can smell everything else," he says, a little absently, and then leans down and runs his tongue across your nipple. You let out a shaky breath, and he glances up at you. "I've had to go jerk off in the 'fresher, just so I can focus."

"You're joking," you say, because there's no way. It can't be true. There's no way he's attracted to you that much. No one has ever been that attracted to you.

"Not joking," he murmurs. He bites down on the underside of your breast, and then his mouth moves down your stomach. His fingers hook into the waistband of your pants, and he tugs them down and throws them to the side along with your soaked underwear. His eyes are on your cunt, and the look on his face is a little awed, a little hungry, and a lot smug.

"Fuck," he breathes, and the tone of his voice makes your pulse jump. He leans forward and runs the tip of his nose over your pubic bone. You can't help but shiver. His breath is warm against your cunt, and his lips brush over your clit as he speaks. "You're so beautiful. So, so beautiful."

He presses a kiss to the top of your mound, and then his tongue is on you. His hands grip the inside of your thighs, pushing them up and apart, and the first lick is firm and confident, and it sends a jolt through your whole body.

"You taste amazing," he whispers.

You laugh, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that?

He takes it as an invitation.

"So fucking good," he murmurs, and then he's licking you in earnest. He licks up the length of your slit, his tongue dipping inside, and then he drags it across your clit. You let out a strangled cry as he flicks the tip of his tongue against the sensitive bud, and your hands fly up to grab the back of his head.

"Hunter," you say, and it's supposed to come out as a warning, but it's too breathy, and too needy. He hums in response, and the vibrations from the noise make you clench around nothing.

"You're so wet," he murmurs. His breath is hot against your skin, and his voice is hoarse. "So wet, and so soft."

He licks his way back down, and pushes his tongue inside you. You cry out, and the noise is loud and obscene. It echoes in the small room, and you've never been so grateful for Hunter's enhanced senses. He's always seemed to know what to do, and he's not letting you down now. 

He fucks you with his tongue, and it's fast and sloppy, and he's making these needy little noises that send shivers down your spine. His nose grinds into your clit, and his tongue is pressing into the front wall of your cunt, and kriff, the feeling is incredible. It's overwhelming. You can feel the orgasm building, the pressure rising, and it's too much. You can't handle it.

You try to pull away, but his hands tighten on the back of your thighs, and he doesn't let you go. Instead, he doubles down. His tongue speeds up, and the motions are rougher, and more frantic. His teeth graze over your clit, and his lips wrap around the bud, and he sucks, hard. 

Your vision whites out, and you can't hear anything but the rush of blood in your ears. Every muscle in your body locks up, and then your release hits you, and you're lost.

Your back arches off the bed, your fingers tightening in Hunter's hair as you grind down on his mouth. The sound you make is raw, and broken, and you don't recognize your own voice. The pleasure is so intense, it almost hurts. 

A flood of wetness spills out of you, and Hunter moans. The sound is muffled by your cunt, and his mouth is still on you, and you can't stop yourself from moving against him. You keep riding his face, even though the sensation is overwhelming, and your hips stutter as you push against his mouth. 

You're not sure how long it lasts, and when the haze finally lifts, your body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Hunter's lips are still on you. He's still licking and sucking and kissing you, and it's too much.

"Stop," you say, and push his face away.

"Did you...?"

"Yes," you say. Your voice is unsteady. You're a little breathless.

"Are you sure?"

"Very," you reply.

"Oh," he says. He sounds dazed. "That was fast."

"Hunter."

"You were really turned on," he says. His eyes are bright, and he's looking at you like he can't quite believe what just happened. His mouth and chin are soaked with your slick, and the sight of him, flushed and disheveled, sends a rush of heat through your veins. "Was it that good?"

You laugh. You can't help it.

"Yes," you say. "I told you, I was already worked up."

"You really like me that much?"

You roll your eyes.

"Yeah, I do," you say. "Now you're just fishing for compliments."

"Maybe," he replies. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and when it lowers, he's smiling. His eyes are sparkling, and the expression on his face makes you ache. "It's nice to be wanted."

"Get up here and kiss me," you say, and reach for him. The kiss is deep and slow, and it's a little sloppy. The taste of him mixed with the taste of yourself makes your toes curl. 

"But I also want to know what I did right for next time," he says as you break apart.

"Next time?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. He rolls over and pulls you on top of him. "Next time."

"You're very confident," you tease. You prop yourself up on his chest and smile down at him. His eyes are closed, and the look on his face is serene. He's happy. You did that.

"I am," he says. He cracks open an eye. "Was I wrong?"

"No."

"Good," he says. He reaches up and brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I meant what I said before. I like you."

"You're such a sap," you say. Your cheeks are burning, and your chest feels tight.

"Don't tell the others," he says. His voice is solemn. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"What do I get in return?"

"Hmmm," he murmurs. The sound is a little thoughtful, a little smug. He slides his hands down and palms your ass. "I can think of a few things."

"You have a deal," you say. You lean down and kiss him again. You're not sure how much longer you'll get to spend like this. You'll take every second you can get.

He rolls over and pins you to the bed, and when he kisses you, you lose track of how many times his mouth touches yours.

It doesn't matter.

This one is just the beginning.

Taglist: @covert1ntrovert @bruh-myguy-what @baddest-batchers @spicy-clones @qvnthesia

@arctrooper69 @heidnspeak @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @cw80831

@lovelytech9902 @etod @lordofthenerds97 @umekohiganbana @chocolatewastelandtriumph

[inky-duchess]

Etiquette of the Edwardian Era and La Belle Époque: Courting

This is a new set of posts focusing on the period of time stretching from the late 19th century to the early 20th Century right up to the start of WWI. I'll be going through different aspects of life. This series can be linked to my Great House series as well as my Season post and Debutant post.

I get asked a lot about courting, what's acceptable or what's off limits and how one may woo a prospective spouse. So let's explore how to win the hand and heart.

Meeting (not so cute?)

Firstly, it is really difficult to have a meet cute in the Edwardian era. Women and men are kept separate for most of the day, only really getting to meet at designated events: A dinner, a ball, a social event. Meeting in the park is a cute idea but a gentleman can't just approach a lady (or another gentleman) without being introduced by a third party, either a senior party or a mutual friend. However, an introduction at a ball is sort of like Cinderella's get up, it ceases to matter when the ball is over. Your gentleman must not approach a lady after that ball, he must be reintroduced. Once an introduction has been made, he can speak with her.

An Interest

When an introduction has gone satisfactory, a gentleman must make the first move by calling to her parents'/guardian's home and making a formal request to begin courting. Her parents/guardians must consent, usually leading to a short brief interview of the gentleman's family, his connections, his wealth (though in not so vulgar terms, they may inquire where he lives which is an indicator). The woman's opinion did matter, she could give her reasons for accepting or turning down the offer. When the interest is approved, the gentleman can start offering invitations.

Three's Company

Of course, just because the parents agree, doesn't mean the couple gets to be alone. The young lady will be accompanied by a chaperone either a lady's maid, a governess, her mother or another female relative. While the couple is together, the chaperone will always be a few steps behind or have them in sight. She's there to ensure that nothing more than a conversation happens. This is not only for her young lady's reputation but also to save the man from any claims of impropriety. The chaperone also serves as a sort of spy, gauging whether this relationship is worth pursuing.

Activities & Tokens

A gentleman may invite a lady out to lots of different activities. He can invite her for a promenade at a local park or gardens, out the theatre, visit her at home, invite her to galleries, to balls or to be his companion at sporting events such as the races, tennis matches or boat races. When visiting in the house, the gentleman would be expected to speak with all the family, be polite and courteous. This is how the family guages his suitably. The gentleman must provide transportation and funds for any excursion. Gifts are to be refined as well. Expensive gifts are considered vulgar and will likely be turned down. Small gifts such as flowers, books, cakes are acceptable. Gifts aren't as important as the time spent together.

Rules of Engagement

There are certain unspoken rules surrounding courtship that every gentlemen must follow for a successful courtship:

A gentleman should always pay attention to his lady, and not exclude her or cast her off for others

A gentleman never smokes in front of his lady nor forget to remove his hat.

A gentleman must always offer to refresh his lady on an excursion

A gentleman must defend his lady from any offense be it an insult or a scene unfit for her eyes or within an argument. Throwing in an apology for any offense can add a cherry on top.

However if she's the one giving offense, without any reason, the gentleman must seek to create peace, apologising on her behalf.

When walking, a lady will be placed in the inside of the pavement.

A gentleman should never spend above his means to impress his lady. Staying within his means is not only smart but a show of restraint and a glimpse of what life ought to be if they marry.

A gentleman should always offer his assistance when a lady is exiting a carriage or going up a flight of steps or carrying anything heavy.

If a man accompanies a woman to a ball, he's expected to dance with her on her first and last dances of the evening.

A gentleman must always make his intentions known and not string a lady along with no intention of marriage. He must never joke about his intentions or lead her on.

Marriage

Courtship usually promises marriage which is why a gentleman or lady should not enter into courtship unless they would consider marriage. Courtship may last a few months or a few weeks and while it is going on, both sides should consider whether marriage would be a viable option of either of them. Parents/guardians would be consulted, the gentleman must make his intentions known to her father or nearest male relative before approaching the lady and popping the question. A courtship that doesn't end in marriage is seen as a failure and may damage the reputation of both parties, leading people to wonder what happened and who is to blame. For example is a perfectly eligible gentleman will not marry a perfectly eligible lady or she turns down his offer, people will usually leap to the conclusion that there is something lacking.

LGBTQIA+ Courting

Gay people have always been here. They have courted and they have loved. Whilst it was illegal in this time in many parts of the world, love did prevail. (fun fact: lesbianism wasn't illegal because nobody wanted to explain what it was to Queen Victoria). The good thing to know is that courting whilst gay was likely easier in this period. Whilst there were restrictions and rules for straight couples and chaperones haunted their every step, none of this would happen if two people of the same gender stepped out together. Two gentleman going to the opera together or dining at a restaurant or attending a ball together (dancing in public was unlikely) or two ladies promenading in the park or attending a concert would not be examined like a courting couple. They would have more freedom to move around but of course, with legal impediments PDA was kept a minium. Whilst they wouldn't be allowed to marry legally, there was little stopping couples from moving in together. Nobody would say much about two spinsters sharing a home or two bachelors crashing together

[om-nom-snom]

[Domestic Chores]

Rika x Reader, Leon x Reader, Steven x Reader

Rika <3

Rika is very on top of household chores, despite her relaxed nature

We all have that one chore we hate having to do around the house, however, even esteemed members of the elite four

Rika hates washing the dishes

Honestly, she'd be happy to eat exclusively off paper plates

You bet that every time it's her turn to wash up she insists on you keeping her company

"You can't leave your ol' pal to suffer through this alone..."

"You're my girlfriend Rika, not my pal-"

Rika is not above picking you up and setting you down on the counter beside her

She tries to kiss you until you have push her away and remind her to clean

Absolutely puts on some quiet music and insists you tell her about your day

And, naturally, she blows soap bubbles at you if you get distracted or silent

Expect plenty of dishwash bubble fights with her around

If there's anything that makes washing up fun for Rika, it's having you around

Leon <3

Leon is a domestic king

Real husband material right there

Unfortunately, there's one chore he can't be trusted to do alone

Grocery shopping

After multiple failed attempts in the past, it became a mutual agreement that grocery shopping would be a joint outing

He tries to make it like a mini weekly date, though

Buys you both drinks beforehand, coffee or bubble tea are Leons go-to choices

As you go through the store Leon is often in charge of the shopping list

He does always keep a hand on the trolley as you steer it, and him, through the store

"Oh, we forgot onions, I'll run back and grab them! ...Stop giving me that look."

He has good intentions but as soon as he's out of your sight it'll be hours before you find him again

Exactly why he needs to either hold you or the trolley

Leon is also definitely the type to slip extra goodies into the shopping when you aren't looking, usually things he knows you like

Steven <3

Steven has never had any issues staying on top of chores, when he is home

Having a regular cleaner that comes in a couple times a month certainly helps with that

Though, something he insists on caring for himself are the houseplants

What started as an off hand joke Wallace made has now turned into a new hobby for Steven

He does include you in it too, from shopping to repotting to watering

After his extensive houseplant research he'll point out and id any plant he sees

"Look at that one! Most people would think it's a monstera but it's actually a pothos, did you know they can have fenestrated leaves too?"

He gets you both matching Pokémon watering cans too

Steven has a wailmer one and he got you a load one

Before he goes on trips he entrusts you with plants care, too

Steven asks how they are when you two call, and when he gets back you can expect a very sweet 'thank you' kiss from the champion

[zorrasucia]

Teach Me Tonight - Part 4

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Deleted Scene] Part 4: [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Deleted Scene] [Part 8]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (4k)

Tags: Smut, Set sometime after the opening of The Bear, Porn with a little plot, Virgin!Carmy, Sex Toys, P in V sex, Mutual Masturbation, Bondage but they're really tame about it, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Summary: Carmy's eyebrows arched in surprise once he saw the contents of the box, accompanied by a pink colored brochure with more options of toys, and big, bold slogans about thrusting and G spots. "Oh. That's intense," he said, not repulsed but definitely taken aback.

A couple of boxes had arrived at the store early in the morning. You were sorting their contents when Carmy walked in through the back door.

"I'll be with you in a minute, babe," you said, leaving a peck on Carmy's cheek.

"Take your time," Carmy eyed the new merch, his tattooed fingers running over the wool of a blue sweater - one you had picked out for his Christmas present knowing it would make his eyes look stunning. You bit your bottom lip to contain a satisfied smile.

"What's this one? Jewelry?" 

When you turned around, Carmy was holding a small cardboard box, shaking it lightly by his ear. Your heart started racing when you realized what it was.

"Um, actually, that's a surprise," you cleared your throat. "For you. Well us. But we'll open it later, okay?"

"Now I'm curious," he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you away from the counter and closer to him. You ran your fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. 

"Well, if you weren't so damn nosy..." you said playfully.

"Fuck off," he said without bite. "You like my nose."

You nuzzled against it, then kissed him sweetly. 

"I do," you admitted. "Now come on, I'll see you tonight."

He left begrudgingly, but not before he gave you a bruising kiss. 

~

When Carmy arrived home, you took him to the bedroom and placed the cardboard box on his lap. He smirked. While he was opening it, you started getting nervous and second-guessing yourself. Men could get very defensive when it came to sex toys.

"This isn't, like, a jab or anything," you said quickly. "It's just something new to try for fun, you know?"

You didn't lack novelty in the bedroom. Maybe it was because Carmy was new to sex but he was willing to try most things. You had to squeeze your thighs at the memory of him fucking you against the bathroom wall, angled precisely so you could both see your reflection in the mirror as he buried himself deep inside you.

Carmy's eyebrows arched in surprise once he saw the contents of the box, accompanied by a pink colored brochure with more options of toys, and big, bold slogans about thrusting and G spots. 

"Oh. That's intense," he said, not repulsed but definitely taken aback.

"So I didn't know what you'd like, I'm guessing you don't know either," Carmy hummed in agreement. "So, uh, I bought a couple of things I wanted to try. You can choose next time, if you want," you offered sheepishly, taking out one of the two gifts you had ordered and handing it to Carmy. 

"It's a ring," he said, his Adam's apple bobbing as he felt it buzz on his palm. "And that's-"

"A vibrator, uh, for me... It's got a remote and everything so you can, uh, you know, control it too," you had seen the way Carmy's eyes darkened when he made you come before he did. It was that selflessness you loved but also something hungry and dark that made your knees buckle. "That is if you want..."

"Jesus, yes!" Carmy replied, flustered.

"Okay," you sighed with relief and grinned. "Okay! And, uh, if we like it, you can pick the next one."

"I'd like that," Carmy took a quick look at the brochure, slightly less intimidated than when he had just opened the box. "Just a quick question," he stared at the section dedicated to rabbits and dildos. "That goes inside you?"

You laughed. "Yeah, I thought it was pretty self explanatory."

He chuckled and covered his face, probably the reddest you had ever seen him. "No, yeah, I know. It's just- Does it, you know, fit?"

You took the brochure from his hands and squinted to see the measurements. 

"It's not that much bigger than your cock, Carm." you flirted. 

"Really?"

"Really," you knelt next to him on the mattress, a hand on his upper thigh and your lips ghosting over his ear. "So..."

"Uh- can I watch?" he asked, his voice quiet as he handed you the smooth vibrator. "Just for a little while. Then, I'd like to try that," he pointed at the remote, a little quiver in his voice. 

It was thrilling, knowing he desired you and your pleasure that much.

"Yes."

He started kissing and undressing you, hands kneading on your ass and thighs, lips kissing your chest. Once he got rid of your jeans he looked up at you expectantly.

You placed the vibrator over your underwear, teasing with the lowest setting, going around your whole pussy, feeling yourself get wet as you stared into Carmy's eyes - he licked his lips. You nudged your underwear lower and lower, halfway down your thighs, clicking the vibrator one notch harder. 

"Oh," you moaned and arched your back, something red and hot boiling in your veins. 

Carmy's hands caressed the inside of your legs and thighs, taking your underwear off completely, opening you wide. "Can I?"

You handed him the controller, your heart racing. His fingers hovered over the buttons.

"Be nice," you pleaded - though a secret part of you wanted to see how bad he could actually be. If his dark eyes were any indication he was toeing that line between loving and feral that made sex with him so delicious. "Actually, no. Don't be nice. Just have fun with it," you let out a breathy laugh. 

"Let me know if you don't like something, anything," he asked softly.

"Yeah," you exhaled. 

"Okay," he turned it up for a moment and then turned it off. You let out a needy whine. He kissed the inside of your calf, soothing. "I want it to last. You look so good, sound so good."

He went back to teasing, then slowly to a rhythm that made you roll your eyes and hips, and just to the edge of your release and back down. 

You let out a frustrated noise, desperate as you ground against the now perfectly still vibrator. 

"I can't believe you're edging me without me teaching you what that is," you complained half-heartedly, wiping beads of sweat from your forehead. 

Carmy was giving you a moment to catch your breath while he undressed, staring at you hungrily the whole time. His cock was hard and leaking in his boxer briefs.  

"You're so good," he said softly, sitting back in front of you, turning the vibrator back on, up and up, making you writhe against the sheets and moan loudly. Your jaw was slack and your free hand was grabbing at the sheets. "My good girl," he said, ears pricked up for the drawn out moan he knew would follow.

"Please, please," you met his eyes. "Please."

"Good girl," he repeated, going up a notch and watching you come, legs shaking and high-pitched screams leaving your lips. Your hips thrust with a will of their own as you rode it out, trembling with pleasure. Carmy's eyes were on you as you started breathing normally again and took the vibrator off your clit.

"Shit," you sighed. Your fingers grazed over your hard nipples, finding electricity wherever you touched. You would need a little while to be functional again. 

"D'you like it?" you mumbled, eyes half-lidded.

"Did I like it?" Carmy repeated then moved on top of you, strong arms holding him up as he kissed you senseless. His curls had become loose and they tickled your forehead. "I loved it so fucking much. So much."

He kissed the side of your face vehemently, like a man starved and you hummed contentedly. He ground into your hips a little.

"Give me a minute," you said softly. You were definitely wet enough to do just about anything Carmy could want but the world was still spinning a little. "I'll fuck you in a second," you joked breathily.

"Sorry," he chuckled into your neck. "Be right back," he kissed your temple and padded out of the room. 

He returned with a glass of water and condoms. 

"My hero," you teased, drinking eagerly while you watched him take off his boxers and pump himself a couple of times. The sight made you wetter if that was even possible - the prospect of fucking Carmy making you wild with need. "Your turn. Put that condom on," you said, reaching over for the cock ring.

"Oh," Carmy frowned once the toy was on him. "Feels weird."

"Bad weird?" you asked.

"Weird weird," he laughed, moving awkwardly to turn it on. "Fuck, never mind," he exhaled, eyes rolling back. 

You caressed him - his shoulders, his chest. "Too much?" you asked after a moment of him being very still and quiet.

"No, it's good, it's good," he replied dreamily, going back to his place above you, lowering himself into your pussy. You moaned loudly at the immediate feeling of fullness, the easy glide of his cock inside you, and the vibration against your clit. 

"Fuck, that's perfect," he slurred, overwhelmed. His brow furrowed in concentration as he was overcome with pleasure. "Shit. I can't move," he admitted. 

"Wanna switch?" you offered gently.

"Yes. Yes, please. Fuck," he pulled out of you, falling on the mattress, that same stunned expression returning to his face as you lowered yourself on his cock.

"Shit," you keened. The angle made the ring hit exactly on the perfect spot of your clit, your thighs were shaking and you hadn't even begun to ride him. "I'm not going to last, Carm."

"Neither am I," there was a sense of relief as he said it and chuckled. His hands squeezed at your hips with desperation. "Please."

You started moving back and forth, making Carmy squeeze his eyes shut, his breath coming in heavy exhales as you let out needy noises. 

"Holy fucking shit," he said, finally opening his eyes, following your breasts as they bounced up and down while you rode him harder and harder. 

"You're ruining me," he managed, his hand reaching for yours, calloused fingers keeping you grounded. "Ruining me completely."

You couldn't speak; every coherent thought was replaced with Carmy - his face, his voice, his tattoos, his smell, his body... 

You felt him growing tense underneath you, his muscles taut as his cock twitched inside you. You could hear Carmy panting and growling, his chest rising quickly under your palms. Exhausted, you stopped riding him and leant forwards, into Carmy's chest and open arms, your pussy directly on the cock ring. 

"Oh my- Oh my God," you gasped and trembled through a blinding orgasm while Carmy held you tight. Everything was white and hot and your ears were buzzing. You kept rutting into his hips, shaking with ecstasy for what felt like a very long time. Carmy's hands went from your spine down your ass and back up, then gently caressed the curve of your waist. 

After a while you winced at the vibration underneath you. Carmy rolled you to your side, sliding his softening cock out of you. You saw him take off the ring and discard the condom in a haze. 

"You okay?" he asked. His eyes were back to that soft, blue worry you loved so much. You cupped the side of his face.

"I'm perfect," you replied, out of breath. "You?"

"I'm good," he smiled. "That was-"

"Amazing," you supplied.

"I was going to say fucking insane but amazing works."

You giggled into his shoulder. He took your hand and held it close to his chest. You could feel his pulse still racing. 

~

The walk to Carmy's apartment was more quiet than usual. His arm was around you, warm but a little tense. 

"You okay?" you asked, raising your hand to interlock with his. 

"Yeah," he exhaled, "can't wait to get home is all."

You leaned deeper into his side. "Bad day?"

Carmy let out a chuckle. "Actually it was fine," he cleared his throat. "No, I got something in the mail this morning."

"Okay," you waited but he didn't say anything else. You stared as he got the keys out and opened the door.

You walked in, and as soon as the door closed, he started kissing your neck, hugging you from behind, breathing heavily into your hair.

"What's gotten into you?" you giggled, turning around to return his kisses, pressing against him greedily.

"Can you stay the night?" he asked instead.

"Of course, yeah," you replied against his lips. You practically lived there but he was always nice enough to ask when sex might be on the table. 

"Good," he sighed, his forehead to yours. 

He swayed you both slowly to the couch. On the coffee table there was a package. 

"Open it," he said with a faint smile, fingers tapping nervously on his knee. 

"Is this-?" you arched your eyebrow. He nodded.

Carmy hadn't taken you on the offer to let him pick your next toys... Until now, it seemed.

You rummaged through the box and touched metal and leather. Handcuffs. You had never fantasized about being tied up but you could be persuaded - maybe. You studied them in the light, they seemed sturdy and there was padding to stop you from getting hurt. Still...

"We'll have to talk about this, Carm. I trust you.  Completely. It's just-" you started, watching him tilt his head in confusion as you talked. 

"Oh, no. I mean, we can definitely talk about it," he said gently, "but those are for me."

You stared at him with wide eyes, something warm settling inside your belly. 

"Is that okay?" he asked when you were quiet for a moment too long. 

You pictured him, toned arms above his head, pupils dilated, writhing on the bed as you had your way with him...

"Yeah," you replied breathily. "That would be- fuck- I think I would be into that."

He smiled. 

"This one's for you," he said then, handing you a pink rabbit vibrator. You recognized it as the one Carmy had asked about weeks ago - it was bigger than him but only a little. "I don't know how it works exactly but, uh-"

You tested a few of the buttons and found the vibration settings for the dildo and the clit bit. You were already biting on your lip at the thought of using it when you found out the dildo moved on its own.

"Shit," you said.

"It can fuck you," Carmy added, his voice low. 

Your mind started racing at the prospect of having the toy inside you while you sucked Carmy off. Something to think about for later. 

"Do you, uh, do you have anything planned for tonight?" you asked. 

"Uh, kind of," he hesitated. 

"Tell me."

Carmy loved having a plan. You closed your thighs in anticipation. 

"I want you to cuff me to the bed."

"Okay." Pretty straightforward.

He gestured at the vibrator. "And I want you to fuck yourself with it. I want you to enjoy yourself and cum as many times as you want. And I want to watch."

Your throat went dry at his confident delivery. When you had started fucking Carmy, what felt like ages ago, he was the one blushing at things, going along with the plan. This was different - he was telling you what he wanted, he was in charge. Even if he wasn't going to be able to touch you. 

"How will you-?"

"Cum?" Carmy ended for you.

"Well, yeah. I want you to enjoy yourself too, Carm." You loved the plan so far but you weren't sure it was a fair deal.

"That's what you're worried about?" he asked incredulously. "I don't think you know the effect you have on me. The times I've had to stop myself from enjoying too much when I hear you or see you while we fuck," your stomach fluttered. He wasn't always so open. It felt like you had stumbled into something very intimate, except he had taken you there willingly. "Baby, I'll be fine."

You got closer to him. You didn't really know what to say in return so you just caressed him, his face, his hair, his shoulders. You searched for his eyes and found something fierce, something so like love...

"Tell you what," he said after a while. "If I haven't finished by the time you want to untie me, we can fuck and call it even?"

It seemed almost silly, to have him offer that, like you were haggling, like he was appeasing you, but you agreed nevertheless. 

"Deal," you gave him a little peck to settle it. "I still think I'm fucking scamming you but whatever." 

That made him chuckle. 

"Come on," he pressed another kiss on your lips and started walking to the bedroom, his silhouette undressing beckoning you like a siren's song. 

You found him shirtless, laying on his back, his jeans half unbuttoned. 

"Fuck," you said softly, your hands fidgeting with the handcuffs. "Are we doing safe words and shit?"

"Sounds like a good idea," he agreed.

"We can do green, yellow and red, you know? Green if everything is fine, red if you want me to stop and untie you," you had read about it ages ago, probably in Cosmo magazine or some shit like that but it was better than nothing.

Carmy nodded and offered his wrists to you. 

You bit your lip in concentration as you tightened the right cuff. "Yeah?"

"A little tighter," Carmy said. His Adam's apple bobbed when you pulled on the strap. "Mhmm, that feels better."

You secured the chain to the bed, your heart racing all the while. 

"Hey, you okay?" Carmy asked, his blue eyes searching for yours. You realized your hands were shaking. 

"Nervous," you admitted. "Never done this before."

Carmy used his free hand to cup your face. "Bad nervous? We can stop right now." 

You leaned into his touch - he was warm. 

"Good nervous, I think," your underwear was damp from you talking about it, you had to at least give it a go. "I'll tell you if it gets too much."

Saying that, you kissed his palm and secured the left cuff. 

You started undressing, there, sat by Carmy. His eyes followed every move. You stared right back - the strain on his arms, the tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows, his soft mouth agape. He looked beautiful, straight out of a painting, except he was breathing heavily. He shivered when your cardigan  grazed his skin as you threw it out of the way.

You stopped at your bra, then discarded your boots and jeans. The vibrator was on the other side of the bed, so you leaned over Carmy to reach it, your hair tickling at his stomach. He hummed.

You leaned in to kiss him: hot, full of tongue, then stopped and moved out of his reach. 

"Like that," he said softly, some reassurance that this was exactly what he wanted. You smiled and turned the vibration on. 

You moved it over your body, on your stomach, over the inside of your thighs. You were taking your sweet time. You took off your bra and caressed your nipples with the tip of it, a drowned out moan leaving your lips.

"Yes," Carmy said, his voice was close to that feral growl that made you curl your toes.

Finally, you placed it between your legs.

"Fuck," you hummed, getting rid of your underwear as quickly as you could, wetting the toy with your arousal. Carmy probably had lube on his bedside table but you didn't want to move, not when he was looking at you like that. His eyes were wide open and you knew that if he wasn't tied up he would be on top of you already, pounding into your pussy hard and fast. You bit your lip - you wanted it. 

You shifted on the mattress until you were in full display in front of him and aligned the toy with your entrance. 

"Eyes on me," Carmy said, his voice hoarse. A shiver went down your body. You got that delicious fullness while looking at Carmy; it felt right and good.

Once the dildo was inside you, it all became a blur. You let yourself lose control, selfishly seeking your pleasure. You got even more turned on by the sight of Carmy tied up, arms flexing.

"Is this what you want?" you said between gasps, searching the blue of his eyes, feeling your first orgasm approaching rapidly. "Oh, fuck, fuck- Carmy..."

You drew out his name into a moan, one hand pushing the dildo into you, the other playing with your nipples. You kept going, staring at him, the delicious V of his stomach as he thrust his hips into nothing. 

"Pleeeease," he keened. He was desperate, his neck strained when he arched into the bed. 

The room was hot, filled with sweat and moans from the two of you. You came and you muffled the cry that followed into your forearm.

"Let me hear you," Carmy asked with urgency once it was over. "Please, come again and let me hear you."

You climbed up the bed and gave him the sloppiest kiss, drunk with pleasure, licking into his mouth. 

"Yes, anything you want," you said, your lips on the side of his face. Then, you leaned back, just out of his reach, and started thrusting against the dildo, there, still straddling his torso, making a mess of arousal and sweat on his abs. You could feel the rhythm of him fucking into nothing just behind you. Your moans came almost in unison.

"You look so beautiful, so beautiful," he mumbled, his eyes glassy.

You went quicker, emboldened by his praise, feeling your pussy flutter against the dildo. "I feel so good."

"Cum, baby, please," he blurted out. 

And you did. And you kept going. Your moans turned into whines and then quiet sobs as the orgasm went on and on. You squeezed your eyes shut, overwhelmed.

"You're doing so good," you could hear Carmy through a fog of lust. "Sound so beautiful. I could die here, I swear..."

Slowly, the waves of pleasure became gentler, the vibration inside you just a soft hum, and you opened your eyes to Carmy's bessoted face. He stared like you were a beautiful work of art or a stunning sunset. It was everything.

You leaned forward, kissing his face, licking the salt off his skin, running your hands up his muscular arms, moaning softly as you took the dildo out.

"Did you finish?" you slurred into his ear. 

"It doesn't matter," he said earnestly, his tone soft.

And you smiled, kissing the side of his face, less lust drunk and more devoted as you went. You left kisses on every tattoo you could find. You loved him so much. 

"Can I touch you? Please," you begged.

"Yeah," he exhaled into your hair.

You reached down, between your legs, under his jeans and boxers, and started caressing his cock. It was tenting his clothes and leaking with precum. 

"You're so hard, Carm," you whispered. "You've been so good. Let me take care of you."

He groaned at your gentle touch. 

"Baby..."

"Carmy," you called, your free hand caressing his chest, lightly pinching his nipple.

"Oh, fuck," his jaw went slack. "Keep doing that."

You slid downwards, started kissing on his chest, licking at his nipples, and raking your nails down his ribs. 

"Jesus, fuck!" he thrust into your hand forcefully and shook the chain of the handcuffs. "Take these off. Please. Jesus."

You straightened up and stopped touching him, making him whine in response.

"You sure?" you asked.

"Yes! Red or whatever the fuck we said," he panted. "I need to hold you."

You freed him from the handcuffs as fast as you could. Once the first one was off, he rushed to help you, throwing them across the bedroom when he was done. 

"Thank fuck!" he said and immediately brought you down to hold you close, lying back with you on top. 

He kissed you hungrily, tongue first, mouth open. He ran his hands up your spine, squeezed your ass, caressed your legs, worshipping every inch of skin he could touch. You went back to pumping his cock, grinding into his jeans, your forearm grazing on your pussy and sending little shocks of pleasure as you went.

"Fuck," he moaned into your mouth. "I'm so fucking in love with you. Love you so fucking much."

"I love you. I love you," you said right back. 

Your hand pumped faster and faster, he was close. 

You made him lose control with one nipple in your mouth and the other held tight in your free hand.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed and came in his stomach and your hand. You kissed his chest one last time.

"That's new," you said, pumping his cock a couple of more times then letting go. You settled next to him on the bed, wiped your hand on the bedsheets and made yourself comfortable on his pillow.

"What is?" Carmy asked, breathless.

"You don't say 'son of a bitch'. You're more of a 'jesus christ' and 'fuck' kind of guy," you said smiling.

Carmy chuckled. "Yeah, you're right."

"And," you emphasized, "you like nipple play."

"I didn't know that about myself either," he exhaled. He turned on his side to have a better view of you. He was sweaty and gorgeous. You held his hand in between the mess of sheets you had both made. 

"I can't believe I was right about you," you said after what felt like a long time. Carmy was only half awake by now.

"Mmm?" Carmy rubbed your knuckles, soothing.

"You do like kinky shit."

He hid a sleepy grin behind his hand and brought you closer. 

"Fuck off," he said into your hair, sweetly, the rhythm of his breath lulling you to sleep.

[Deleted Scene]

[Part 5]

[necroangelz]

RARE EDITBLR SHOCKING HOT TAKES THAT WILL SHOCKINGLY SHOCK YOU!!!!!

following trends and doing what's popular is okay because it allows people to gain interactions and a bigger following by doing what's popular!! and it's also okay because trends are usually what people like, so it makes sense if someone genuinely enjoys following a trend!! people can branch out, do their own thing, and find their own style later!

actively expressing positivity, and helping or encouraging each other is what will help a community. making big rant posts, or rant accounts centered around negativity, without offering even a simple solution to fix the problems you're calling out, is not helping!!

(the other ones are under the cut. also feel free to reblog with editblr hot takes that will shockingly shock you!!)

sometimes things just... aren't a big deal. sometimes it genuinely does not matter

another person's personal business, creative decisions, etc. is not your business!

if you see someone who's not really educated on a certain topic or issue (and i mean, genuinely not educated. i don't mean people who are ignorant), the best move to take is to: patiently and kindly educate them! the worst move to take is to: yell at them and cancel them for not being as informed as you are.

people need to be careful with the words they throw around. it's not good to overuse words that have a very big weight on them, because those are important and sensitive words that shouldnt lose their meaning because people kept using them lightly. (what i mean is: people who throw around the words racist, ableist, etc. all the time even when what they're complaining about is not really either of those things.)

on the topic of words: it's important to be careful of the words you use online, and it's also important to be patient with people who worded their statements badly on accident.

don't treat every person like they're your friend. be aware of their boundaries and don't be overly comfortable with them if you don't actually know them. you are not automatically entitled to someone (or their personal business, or anything else) just because you're mutuals.

don't treat every person like they're your enemy. maybe you don't really need to be doubtful and passive aggressive towards a random person you see online.

gatekeeping kinda sucks tbh

god sometimes i find editblr so stupid like how do you create so much drama from a community that edits anime characters. how just HOW. and why.

please don't forget the other people behind the screen. the network of other people behind their screens. please.

sometimes people take the littlest problems and turn them into something HUGE even if it could all just be solved by a couple of civil conversations in dms. sometimes people take the littlest things and slap the "PROBLEMATIC!!!!!!!" label on it without even trying to understand what it is they're labeling as "PROBLEMATIC!!!"

people get followers then their ego becomes so high and they treat other people like dirt and think that their word is fucking scripture or something

oh yeah another hot take: i don't really like low contrast cluttered maximalist edits but if it's actually someone's style then I'll let it pass especially if it's good /silly

[actualmermaid]

Since I've spent the last month-plus neck-deep in queer Christian history research, I ended up with some thoughts™️ about "classical" Western homoeroticism vs. Christian homophobia.

Liberal Christian apologetics sometimes do a very annoying thing when asked to explain the homophobia in the New Testament epistles. Because it's real, it's there, and homophobic Christians take it as the Unquestionable Word of God. So obviously we have to do something about it.

The liberal explanation tends to go something like this: "the epistle writer is talking about the abusive and exploitative homosexual acts that were common in ancient Rome, not the loving/egalitarian/mutually respectful relationships that gay people are able to have today." And it's so frustrating because there is SOME truth in this. We and Paul both know that the Greeks and Romans were notorious pederasts and slave-abusers. And that's bad! It's super bad. I do agree that Paul/the epistle writer is condemning abusive behavior using language and frameworks that would have been available to him at the time. Deciphering the social context of the epistles can get messy.

But the annoying thing is this: it is not affirming to suggest that all gay people in the past were either abusers or their victims, and "we're more enlightened now" is a lie. We are not smarter than the Greeks. We are not more civilized than the Romans. We are not more pious than the medievals. (Hello there, Roman Catholic sex abuse scandals.) And there have always been gay people who have defied all odds to have loving, egalitarian, and mutually respectful relationships with each other, even if we do not know their stories or their struggles.

This is kind of the crux of John Boswell's "controversial" thesis: gay people have always existed, even if they had to conceal themselves and their relationships behind various protective structures. (I actually haven't read any of his books yet, so I'm not going to engage too deeply with the nuances of his arguments.) When people try to dismiss him, I suspect it's because they don't notice or appreciate what he probably noticed. I have a hunch that Boswell's arguments are not super intersectional and focus mostly on the privileged sphere of people who left written records in the Middle Ages, but hey, serious LGBTQ Christian history research has to start somewhere. I'll withhold judgment for now. But I do think he was totally right about one thing: Saints Sergius and Bacchus. They were totally a gay couple until somehow proven otherwise, IMO. The reason I think he was right is because he was able to notice the "classical" aesthetics of homoeroticism in their legend even though it might not obvious to people who don't know what they're looking for. Straight people reading the legend are like "there's nothing gay about this" and gay people are like "wow, this story is pretty gay."

If you've ever looked into Western gay history, you've seen two words: erastes and eromenos. This means "lover" and "beloved," the two sides of a classical Greek pederastic relationship. The Greeks did actually recognize an age of consent and had ideals of proper behavior that regulated these relationships, but these were still usually relationships between a teenage boy and an older man, which isn't great. They also had all kinds of weird ideas about the politics of penetration and so forth. The Greeks and Romans didn't really think that two people could really be equal to each other--in any relationship, there was always one who was sort of subordinate to the other. So it was "weird" for two social equals to be in a gay relationship, as opposed to one with one partner who was already "established" and was "showing the ropes" to a younger guy who needed some wholesome manly instruction. We may not be better, smarter, or more enlightened than people in the past, but we do have the ability to critique them and try to identify the harmful behaviors that we've inherited from them, so we can do better. We've come a long way since the days of erastes/eromenos relationships, but one thing has stuck around: the classical aesthetics of a "manly guy" and an "idealized youth" in love with each other.

Apropos of nothing, here's a photo of John Boswell and his longtime partner Jerry Hart. They were within a year of being the same age.

So anyway, this brings us back to the legend of Sergius and Bacchus. The version that Boswell translated takes great pains to show how Sergius and Bacchus were equals in every way. They're both Roman officers, they're about the same age, they sing in unison, and are united in the egalitarian love of Christ. However, they are still just a little bit unequal. Sergius is of a slightly higher rank than Bacchus.

To be clear, this whole legend is a literary creation, and it's got a bunch of Byzantine propaganda in it. It's not history, it's mythology. Whoever wrote it down would have been familiar with erastes/eromenos dynamics, because these were everywhere in classical antiquity. So they made sure to specify all the ways in which Sergius and Bacchus were equals, but took a firm position in ye olde fandom top/bottom discourse.

Throughout the legend, Sergius acts, and Bacchus is acted upon. Bacchus is killed first, and Sergius is temporarily demoralized. Bacchus then appears to Sergius in a vision encouraging him to stay strong. Sergius is so steadfast that they can't torture him enough to make him recant his faith, and he is beheaded. Even straight couples are not usually said to have been reunited in heaven, but Sergius and Bacchus are.

So, knowing that Sergius is the erastes and Bacchus is the eromenos in this story, we can start to notice it in iconography too. It's not always consistent, but sometimes icons will have Sergius' cloak curling protectively over Bacchus' head, or one of them taking a slightly more "authoritative" posture, etc.

Above all, they are always depicted as true equals--sometimes they almost look like twins.

Increasingly, modern icons are being made that explicitly communicate the idea that they were a gay couple. The one on the left was created by Robert Lentz, a Franciscan friar, for Chicago Pride in 1994. The one on the right makes the classical homoerotic aesthetic super explicit, and is by far the most sexually-suggestive "traditional-style" icon I have ever seen lol. Shoutout to this artist.

So to sum up: John Boswell knew what the fuck he was talking about. Also, none of this excuses the homophobia in the Christian scriptures or the homophobia that Christians continue to perpetuate. However, knowing what to look for in art and writing helps us understand that gay people were not magically granted the ability to have egalitarian relationships in the modern world, and THAT leads us away from problematic apologetics.

[jellalism]

Wriothesley x GN!Reader fic: Aftermath

You were one of the members of the now-disbanded Beret Society. Now that it's all over, Wriothesley invites all the people involved to his office one by one, to apologize and offer what little comfort he can.

Word count: 1677

Genre: Comfort

Content warnings: Mentions of trauma (no details)

Notes: Reader is gender neutral. Relationship can be read as either platonic or as a budding romance.

Read below or on AO3.

Before the Beret Society debacle, you and Wriothesley were on amicable terms. Not quite friends yet, but there was a mutual interest. He’d strike up a conversation when he saw you sitting at the cafeteria or when you ran into him in the halls. He had even invited you for tea once — something that turned out to be a common interest. 

Then you joined the Beret Society, and it alienated you from the rest of the Fortress — including Wriothesley, your friend in the making. You wanted to talk to him, everyone in the Society wanted to talk to him in some sense, but no one had the guts or the clarity of mind. Telling the Duke everything that was going on was obviously the rational thing to do, but humans aren't as rational as they'd like to believe. A plethora of emotions is more often the root cause of actions they do or do not take. In this case, the prime emotion was fear. If the pay-off seems uncertain, and the price for failure seems infinitely steep, it is a scary thing to even consider taking that necessary action. And so everyone kept silent. You kept silent and kept your distance. 

But now, Wriothesley has finally solved the case. You sit in his office. Every victim of Dougier was invited individually. Not for a stern lecture, but for comfort and apologies. From those who had gone to his office before you, you have already heard that there would even be financial compensation for Wriothesley's "lapse in delivering justice swiftly".

One by one, everyone was called to his office. It had taken a long time before your name was called. In fact, to your surprise, you had been the very last. Does he not want to see you? He may be hurt by your sudden distancing when you joined the Society, you fretted. And once you sat down inside, your worrying didn’t stop. Thoughts still whirl inside your head.

Despite the couch's comfort, your body is tense. You don't lean back against the sofa; instead, you sit upright, hands on your knees, legs close together. As if trying to take up as little space as possible; as if the very room is pressing down upon you. Wriothesley had turned on some music earlier, but even the soft tones of the piano resounding through the office don't manage to put you at ease.

"What kind of tea do you want?" His voice pulls you from your reverie.

It takes a moment for the question to register, and then another moment before you start stuttering and mumbling "I-I don't k-know, whatever you w-want."

From the corner of your eye, you see him turn around and frown.

"I'll just make you that oolong tea from Liyue that seemed to be your favorite when we were..." — he seems to weigh his words carefully — "... talking more often."

He puts a teapot warmer on the table in front of you, lights the candle below it and places the pot on top. "Now, let's let it steep for a couple of minutes." He finally sits down next to you on the sofa, but still at a respectable distance.

"Let's talk.” He takes a deep breath. “I'd like to sincerely apologize for not recognizing sooner what kind of place the Beret Society was. It has done immeasurable harm to people, and as warden of this fortress, it is my duty to prevent such things from happening. I failed. I am sorry."

You can’t find a single word to say. What is this? You knew he'd apologize, but now that it's actually happening, a flurry of unexpected emotions overtakes you. Relief and confusion, fear and happiness. 

"If you want to talk about what happened, I'm here to listen. It’s the least I can do."

It’s the straw that breaks the Sumpter Beast's back. You cry. Not prettily; you bawl. The tension, built up over months, comes out all at once. You hide your face in your hands, trying to somewhat lessen the sound of your sobs, but it's to little avail. Suddenly, you feel a hand on your shoulder. Wriothesley’s hand seems hesitant, as if he's afraid to touch you. But his voice is soft and comforting: "You can cry as much as you like. It's okay. I'll be your shoulder to cry on."

You bridge the distance between you and him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. After a moment, he wraps his arms around you.

"It's okay, I'm here now. Everything is going to be alright."

You let the tears come. For several minutes, you sit like this, his warm arms wrapped around you. Then, finally, you untangle yourself from his embrace. "It was terrible." Your voice is soft and shaky, but the words come out. Wriothesley listens attentively while he pours tea and hands you a cup.

"To have that stuff injected, it's just... the worst possible nightmare."

"Mm-mm."

"And even when it's over, it's not really over. The memories are there and the fear still runs through my veins, like my whole body is riddled with it, like my whole body isn't my own, like it's possessed by an evil spirit that—" You bite your lip trying to hold back the tears.

Wriothesley's arm wraps around your shoulders again. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop it sooner. But I'm here now. You're safe. I'll do whatever I can to make you feel safe again. You won't live those nightmares again."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I'm sorry I took my distance from you, I just—"

"Hey." He places a finger on your lips. "None of this is your fault. Don't apologize."

"But I must've hurt you!" Your voice is barely more than a whisper, but your heart seems to scream it out.

"Well, I can't deny that I was a little disappointed to see you take your distance. But I didn't want to force you to hang out with me, so I just let it be. But that last time we spoke, even though you seemed glad about your membership in the Society, I thought I saw a glimpse of fear flit behind your eyes. In truth, that's what brought me to investigate. To make sure you really were in a good place."

You stay quiet for a moment. Wriothesley did that... for you?

"In that sense, you were instrumental in solving this case. I wouldn't have been on the trail otherwise."

“Thank you.” Your voice is barely audible. 

“It’s my duty and my pleasure to take care of you. It’s my job as the warden of the Fortress to make sure everyone is safe, but it’s my desire to see to your safety specifically. I’m fond of you.” He softly squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. “If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”

You want to speak but are a little nervous. Wriothesley notices. “Whatever it is that’s on your mind, just speak.” His tone is almost commanding, but not unpleasantly so. It’s just the push you need to speak.

“If possible…” You swallow and gather the courage to continue the sentence. “Can we stay like this a little longer? I felt so lonely for so long… I need to feel someone's warmth beside me.” 

Wriothesley grins. “Why did you think you were the last person I called to my office? I have no other things to take care of today, so you can stay as long as you like.” 

“Thanks,” you murmur and snuggle next to him, careful not to spill the tea you’re holding. You take a sip. It’s as good as you remember, and you close your eyes in relaxation. Wriothesley knows how to make tea the right way.

“You really do have good taste,” he says softly. You open your eyes and find him, too, sipping from his own cup. “Oolong is a tea I don’t often have by myself, but maybe I should.” 

“Right?” Some amusement creeps back into your voice. It’s been a long time since that last happened. “It’s such a unique taste. It’s simultaneously delicate and strong.” 

“Like you, then.” He smiles. 

“I—… What?” You look at him in shock, while his smile turns into a genuinely joyful laugh. 

“It’s good to see you flustered like this! I like it! But” — his tone turns more serious — “it’s also true. I know you’re hurt. What you went through is horrible. Unspeakable, in more than one sense of the word. But I have full faith that you’ll get back up. You’re strong like that.” 

“Am I, though?” you whisper to yourself without thinking. 

Despite speaking so softly, Wriothesley still catches your words. “I believe you are.” His words are simple, but he speaks it with such certainty and authority that you are tempted to believe him. “And if you ever feel like you can’t take it anymore, I’ll be here for you. You don’t have to walk the path to recovery alone.”

Instead of speaking, you rest your head against him and close your eyes. You’re tired. You hadn’t realized it earlier, but speaking with Wriothesley, crying against him, shaking, letting go of all the tension… You’re exhausted. And he’s so comfortable. His arm is still wrapped around you. It makes you feel warm and safe. 

“Tired, huh? Rest as much as you need.” 

The scent of the tea, the soft fabric of the sofa, the piano piece on the gramophone, Wriothesley’s strong arm around you, and the warmth he emanates — they all lull you into the most peaceful sleep you’ve had in months. 

***

As you fall asleep, Wriothesley carefully takes the cup from your hands, still half full. He looks at you with a smile. They’re so cute. For a long time, he gazes at your sleeping form leaning against him. Then, with his free hand, he grabs a book that is, fortunately, within arm’s reach. He’s willing to stay here for a few more hours if it helps you rest, body and soul. 

[ladytauria]

actually, I'll give you something cute

Jason and Tim gotta pretend to be a married couple in a suburb or smth, specifically thinking they adopt like a dog/or cat while there (and then keep them obv)

but yeah playing happy married couple while totally not pining after each other

this is so messy i’m sorry lmao

mutual pining is one of my absolute favorite tropes <3 & you know i love a good undercover + identity shenanigans fic

I don’t have a lot of clear, defined ideas for the set up (I find casefics so hard to conceptualize for some reason???? Sigh.) But. I have a few thoughts— first, I don’t want them going undercover together to have been the original plan. Second, I kind of want to have originally been Jason’s case? Bc I kind of want there to be an opening thread of like. Jason’s such a planner that having his plans over turned is always upsetting for him—he’s adaptable, it rarely ever affects his actual work, but he still gets grumpy about it :/ So him reaching out for Tim’s help isn’t like. A Big Deal but it isn’t Not a Deal at all, you know? Like it means something that he’s asking Tim to come in for… SO many reasons.

Alternatively I suppose it could be something they were assigned to do by Bruce or Babs or asked to do by Steph, even, ‘cause it’s someone else’s case & they need intel but also more freedom to do stuff?? I dunnoooo. ALSO thinking that maybe Tim & Jason are the obv choice for such an assignment bc Jason is still legally dead & doesn’t have much of a civilian life that anyone knows about, and Tim is no longer involved with WE or doesn’t have to do much with the company so his free time is also… very open.

I’m also torn on like. WHERE I would want them to be. In a Gotham suburb? Or outside of Gotham completely? Like, say, Metropolis? There’s something appealing about the latter bc like. They’re already undercover, posing as different people, but NOW they’re also someWHERE else so it feels even more like this is a distant dream they can never have. However, if it’s in Gotham you could have that underlying “we could have been this if life had been different.” (You can kind of get that with the former too, but.)

Also thinking that as much as I love the gendefuckery of crossdressing / going undercover as a woman, AND as much as I love the idea of genderqueer/fluid/trans Tim, I want them to be going undercover as an MM couple? (Although, now I’m thinking about a similar situation where Tim, who doesn’t oft explore the femme side of himself in depth, actually would get to… hm.) ANYWAY. But yeah for this one, they’re going undercover as husband & husband.

Tim’s undercover persona… I’m split between something with tech or working as a mechanic. (Hush.) Jason… hmm. College TA or going for a college degree, so he’s mostly the stay at home/house husband type. Or maybe one or both of them should have a career that calls for traveling a lot?? Hm.

Both of them expect themselves and/or the other to kind of struggle with it. For multiple reasons! The first being that they have feelings for the other—there’s a part of me that actually wants to make one of them (probably Tim) oblivious to their own feelings until a week or so into the charade & have a sudden realization? But also I like the idea of both of them going into it knowing that they like each other and resolving not to let it affect things. They both also expect to miss vigilante work, because while they’re able to go out occasionally it’s not like either of them are used to.

And while it’s definitely difficult to find things to occupy their time with at first… it’s not as hard as they expect.

Thinking they adopt an animal fairly early on (thinking it should be a stray they start feeding & fall in love w). I’m leaning hard on the idea of a cat but a dog could be fun too lmao. There’s a lot of joking arguments about post-case custody but then those peter off as they start letting their roles bleed over into their lives.

And then. The case ends. They get the intel they needed, bust the operation, and it’s time for Tim & Jason to quietly pack up and leave.

Thinking the last couple of days they spend as their fake identities are awkward. They can’t find the ease they had before because they know they’re about to leave, so when they’re not actively performing for their neighbors… they’re more withdrawn.

And then they both go to their separate homes. Thinking Jason got primary custody of their dog or cat? But I could be convinced for Tim as well. Anyway. Both of them feel a little hollow; like they’re missing something. They cant stop thinking about their life together, how *real* it felt & how much they miss waking up to the other. How much they miss even the idiosyncrasies they used to argue over. (Even if at least half of those idiosyncrasies were made up for the persona. They still know each other well enough to know which ones were real and which were fake… & they find themselves wondering which parts of their private lives they left out, good and bad, what living together would *really* be like.)

Eventually one of them makes an excuse to go see the other—to check in on the cat/dog, obviously. And maybe there’s an awkward invitation to keep visiting, and a sort of. Ambiguous/open ending with an obvious/hopeful slant for them to be a couple in the future.

And then maybe an epilogue / one shot sequel set a few months in the future with a look at their established life <3333

[ send me an AU & i’ll give you at least 5 things i would include in it ]

[shychick-52]

I will never get over the injustice of the fact that we never got a mutual hug between Sofia and Cedric. Not once, in all the times she hugged him, has he ever hugged her back.

Not even in season 4 when he finally turned over a new leaf and truly accepted/embraced his friendship with her, and how much he cared about her.

In season 2's 'Winter's Gift', there was a deleted storyboard/scene where they would have actually shared a hug at the end after Sofia gave him the homemade wand case for Wassailia, (which he was canonically overjoyed and touched to receive in the actual episode, saying it was the best present he ever got; it would have made the mutual hug all the more precious and meaningful, a milestone in their relationship, showing how much he truly had come to cherish her friendship). But I can't see any logical reason it would have gotten cut for time, because I don't see how that would have taken up any time at all, especially if it was meant to take place during the sweet "Happy holidays, Mr. Cedric" / "Yes, well, it is happy, isn't it?" exchange right at the end. And I can't see why the Disney higher-ups would have disapproved it, because it would have shown even more growth in Cedric's character. And not only were we deprived of a mutual hug, but there was no hug at all in the actual episode (it would have been so sweet to at least have Sofia hug him).

Near the end of season 2's 'The Enchanted Feast', after Sofia and Cedric manage to defeat Miss Nettle together, Sofia hugs him. And... it's not totally obvious, because Sofia was kind of in the way of his arm, but it does look like he either gave her a one-armed hug or at least affectionately patted her on the back (either way, it's absolutely adorable, and I can't stop rewinding it to this part every time I watch this episode). In any case, it's the closest we got to a canon shared hug between them (and maybe it was one), so it's one of my favorite scenes in the series! I don't know how to make gifs, so I'll try to show it in this clip (it's at the 0:34 mark) and in a couple screenshots:

The only time he TRULY hugged her back wasn't even 100% canon! It took place at the end of that cute 'Rain, Rain, Go Away' nursery rhyme short on Disney Junior's Youtube channel:

Now, if only that's what we'd got at the end of the series finale ('Forever Royal') after she thanked him for saving her from the amulet!! But not only did she not hug him at all one last time, but it would have been a perfect opportunity for him to be the one to initiate a hug, showing even more of his incredible character development and their bond:

Sofia the First~Forever Royal~Cedric Returns Sofia's Amulet (youtube.com)

It also was a missed opportunity for them to share a mutual hug at the end of the first episode of season 4 'Day of the Sorcerers' after Cedric earnestly expressed his gratitude to Sofia for defending him and advocating for a second chance to Roland (during the scene where Cedric was still on his knees after pleading for forgiveness to Roland, and Sofia returns his wand after Roland agrees to reinstate him as royal sorcerer). It really was a missed opportunity, because that the was the episode where Cedric finally truly chose friendship with Sofia over his evil dreams. But again, there was no hug at all:

And another fantastic opportunity would have been in s4's 'In Cedric We Trust', after Cedric sacrificed his safety to save Sofia's life, nearly injuring him. ("I can't believe how you saved me like that! You could have gotten really hurt!" / "So could you, Sofia."). Once again, zero hug at all (but it was so adorable how he took her by the hands, at least):

I would certainly hope that if Sofia had hugged him in all those scenes, he would have finally hugged her back!!

And again, him finally being the one to first hug her would have been FRIGGING EVERYTHING.

@sweetmariihs2 @fantadym @bettathanyou @moonypears-blog @cedric-my-beloved

[head---ache]

hi im gonna drop brass' lore on you bc i didnt realize i never did

Just for context, Brass and Emmie are the same age, with Brass being born a couple of months after. So, while Emmie was cooking in the tube, Starline, who we're gonna say is alive, steals Tails' Tube Baby Project™ files, and tries to copy it, because he believes this is an attempt to make a bio-weapon at the same level of Project Shadow, and he wants to be ready for that, and besides, this seems like an improvement from Surge and Kit to him.

So he gets on with it, and he of course has Surge's DNA, but he doesn't want to combine it with Kit's because he can't imagine the result of that mix would be of any use. At some point he gets his hands on one of Amy's quills, probably by being a creepy stalker to all of the main cast, and decides to mix it with Surge's DNA in order to continue with his Anti-Tube Baby Project™, however, he then realizes Tails is actually attempting to take down the power levels and make his project more stable, which is not at all what Starline is looking for. And also, most of the power Tails' baby project would have comes from both from the Chaos Energy Sonic and Shadow have, and the Black Arms DNA passed down from Black Doom, which are things Starline simply can't get his hands to: Chaos Energy? Maybe, but not nearly enough, and it would probably be fake, highly unstable energy. And Black Arms DNA? Simply impossible.

So he just gives up. Tails isn't even making a weapon out of his project, so Starline doesn't even need his own anymore. So he abandons the hedgehog baby he made, inside the tube, and forgets about them for months.

One day Surge and Kit break into Starline's base, looking to steal some stuff from him, mostly Surge's idea just to annoy the guy. They eventually come across the big tube holding the small green hedgehog, still in the tube, however, pretty ready to go. And Surge just acts out of instinct, she doesn't even stop to think for a second before taking the baby with her and running as Kit follows her and keeps trying to ask her what she's doing. The thing is, she doesn't even know, but leaving this baby behind was not an option.

And when they got home it finally dawned on her, that now they had a baby at home and she didn't know what to do with it.

"So, uhm- Are you gonna raise it?" Kit asked, and Surge suddenly snapped as if nothing had happened. She stood up and walked away from the baby, crossing her arms behind her head and turning away.

Chaos, no. She was already a terrible mother to Mareep, she couldn't do that to another child.

"Nah! You can keep it if you want, tho." She shrugged.

Kit moaned, wavering.

And so Brass grew up with Surge and Kit, but they wouldn't call either of them their parents, although Kit would maybe be closer to that, as Surge seemed to be trying very hard to not be a parental figure to another kid.

On the other hand, Brass' relationship with Amy is fine, they can talk, Amy does try to be part of their life, but Brass is very indifferent to the idea. I'll share a little dialogue I have in mind because to be honest I don't really have much context for it, but it explains Brass and Amy's relationship kinda well.

"Listen, Amy, you're nice, and all, but you're not my mom."

"But I could be, Brass. I want to be, if you let me."

"I just- I don't think I want that, yeah? You can just pay attention to your actual children, I'm fine."

And also about Brass relationship with Mareep, it's also fine. They get along, they're just not super close. But they also have a mutual understanding, and Brass might be a little jealous since Mareep at least has Lanolin. And Mareep is a little jealous because Brass doesn't seem to be doing too bad even after being raised by Surge, while on her end Surge was kind of the root of all of her problems. But they get along fine.

Basically Brass wasn't super close to anyone (but acting as if it was fine), until she met a certain hedgehog-alien girl and her AI girlfriend TEHEHEHE (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

[brightest-stars-if]

So how soon can we develop a crush on Lux? Will it be possible for it to be one-sided or does choosing to have feelings automatically make them like us too? Who falls first, us or them? Is Lux a "tell everyone we know" sort of person when it comes to our relationship or would they want to keep it more private/lowkey? What's the rating of the game, how detailed will our relationship get? Will our wedding be covered in the game? Married life after? Does Lux want kids? Will there be more of a focus on the adventure with our prophecies or on the mandatory romance scenes?

Feeling like that McDonald's drive thru meme, but I have a lot of questions ^^;;;

I've been keeping this question in my inbox for a couple of weeks because I wasn't totally sure how to answer haha. Hopefully you haven't taken offense, anon. Let me answer your questions in order.

No, the MC's crush won't be one-sided. Lux's feelings emerge around the same time as the MC's.

So to add to the first point, no one really falls first, it's more of a mutual thing. If I include an oblivious route for the MC, then Lux is aware of their own feelings first.

Lux is 100% a "tell everyone we know" sort of person. They're in love with MC and see no shame in that. Though with certain MC-Lux combinations, they might not be publicly as affectionate in certain circumstances. Particularly with a f!Lux and a m!MC. That doesn't mean they love the MC any less though!

The game would have a late Young Adult to New Adult rating I guess? There’s certainly going to be violence more detailed than in chapter 1 so far. As for Lux and the MC’s relationship, romantically it’s going to be very detailed. I will say I’m not going to be writing in-depth sex scenes or anything like that. There’ll probably be some suggestive themes/moments though.

Yes, the wedding will be covered in the game! Opposite-sex MC and Lux combinations actually get married pretty early in the game. It's going to be either at the end of Arc 2 or the beginning of Arc 3, depending on how I feel it fits with pacing. Same-sex MC and Lux combinations can also get married, but this will be much later, during Arc 8.

As a result of an earlier marriage, opposite-sex MC and Lux combos get more married-life content, but same-sex combos should also get some. All combinations get a pretty equal amount of established relationship content.

Lux could take or leave kids, they don't feel strongly about it either way. They're sterile/barren so they can't have biological kids, but there'll be an option to adopt toward the end of the game.

My goal is to divide the game between romance and the prophecies relatively evenly, though I'll probably allocate slightly more time to romance.

[casual-praxis]

This should not have taken me nearly this long, but it's finally finished! Behold, the redundant relationship chart for my high school au fanfic!

I wasn't sure how to go about this at first, since it's pretty much just a big friend group, but I tried to touch on the specifics. They all interact with one another slightly differently depending on who it is, so I'll try to elaborate a little.

Red and Green are twins, so the usual sibling banter is common. They relentlessly tease each other about their respective crushes, but only because they trust the other not to go too far with it. As the "older twin" (by about seven minutes), Green feels the need to protect Red, who just rolls with it since he likes the attention.

Green and Blue have known each other since middle school, and while they didn't always get along, their rivalry eventually gave way to mutual respect. They're still very competitive, but they've got each other's backs when the going gets tough. Playful teasing is pretty much how they communicate (it only occasionally results in Blue angrily chasing Green around the school, big step up from the occasional fistfight).

Red and Vio, similar to Green and Blue, have known each other since middle school, and Red was the one to give Vio his nickname. The two are close, to the point where casual contact is more expected than not (it's a fairly common occurrence for Red to run up and jump onto Vio's back, with Vio simply adjusting his stance to support Red as the only acknowledgment it happened). Platonic soulmates.

Red and Blue have had crushes on each other for a while. Everyone can see it, except them apparently. They dance around the subject (i.e. flail) out of fear it'll change the dynamic of their group too much, but they're already so soft with each other that it wouldn't make a difference. Many nights are spent with only the two of them in vc, talking aimlessly just to hear the other's voice.

Green and Vio met through Red back in middle school, and while they aren't the closest, they do spend a lot of time together while waiting on Red and Blue to stop lowkey flirting (their version of it, anyway). Green has made it his mission to find Vio his own fashion style, but it's been an uphill battle so far on account of Vio not having much preference for anything. Vio, meanwhile, thinks it's funny to rile Green up, so he goes along with it despite not caring either way.

Blue and Vio, while not seeming very close, do talk way more than the average outsider might think. Blue is the only one in the group so far who knows almost the full extent of Vio's homelife, and while he can't do much to change it, he does his best to offer support (though he will absolutely not admit to it). These two can and will deck someone in the face if they mess with Red (or Green, but Green will defend himself at least).

Zelda and Green are the potential power couple just waiting to happen. They were always loosely aware of each other throughout the school years, but it wasn't until Vio (reluctantly) introduced them that they started to hang out. Green greatly admires her leadership skills and fashion knowledge (they'll talk for hours about it), meanwhile, Zelda finds his charisma and dorky humor charming.

Zelda and Red aren't incredibly close, but still friendly with each other. They're in drama club together and mostly talk about related club work, or Green, usually both. There isn't much to say about their relationship other than they get along and Red is excited at the idea of Zelda dating Green.

Interestingly enough, Zelda and Blue have a dynamic similar to the one Blue has with Green. They're gaming buddies, and very competitive with each other. This bleeds into their casual interactions at school, which always throws some people for a loop since Zelda's gaming hobby is very much a secret. The no-context smack talk is kinda funny to be fair.

Zelda and Vio do not get along. They grew up together because their families were friends, but both view their childhoods with one another very differently. While not outright hostile to each other, Vio tends to avoid Zelda and go silent if she's brought into a conversation. Zelda, on the other hand, would like to talk to "Violet", but his frequent avoidance of her does tend to make her a little bitter.

Zelda and Shadow have an odd friendship. What had started as an attempt to make peace, quickly turned into an unbreakable bond of solidarity. The two are gossip buddies, as well as theater kids, so you can imagine how that goes. They balance each other out in surprising ways (Zelda reins in Shadow's more over-the-top theatrics, while Shadow pushes Zelda to be more daring). They also game with Blue on the weekends, it's chaotic.

Shadow and Vio are a mess. Neither of them understands normal relationships and that's probably the only reason it's working out so well for them. Due to Shadow's history of bullying the group, Vio initially does not want anything to do with him, but once they get over that hurdle, depending on how you look at it, it's all downhill from here. Stalker x Stalker. They're obsessed.

Shadow and Blue, as mentioned before, are also gaming buddies. They usually don't interact much unless Zelda is with them, but they get along fine once they bury the hatchet. Blue is still a little wary of Shadow's intentions in the group, but he can always just punch Shadow again if he steps out of line.

Shadow and Red (who I forgot to draw a line between) get along great despite their history. They're both in theater (not the club) and match each other's energies fairly well. They both "fight" over Vio if he's around, but this usually just results in them hanging off of Vio while trying to have a normal conversation. A surprisingly chaotic duo.

Shadow and Green, much like Red and Zelda, aren't super close but can tolerate each other. None of their hobbies or interests really align, though they might team up to find Vio a fashion style someday. When left alone together they talk about cats. Specifically, Nail Polish, the weird orange cat Red found in a dumpster eating nail polish.

And that about wraps it up. I didn't mean for this post to be this long, but hopefully, if anyone reads it, it'll be at least a little entertaining. I'm excited to work more on this au, even if it takes me forever. ^^

Figuring out everyone's dynamics beyond just "character A knows character B" has been really fun! I look forward to exploring this more hehehe.