#less formal and more equal

[sigurdjarlson]

I always found that sweet how a lot of the time in TLG Med would jump to reassure Khadgar or even apologize after snapping at him

And yet in some ways the cruelest thing Medivh said to Khadgar in my opinion was correcting him when he called Karazhan “Our Tower.” And reminding him he was there at his whim and he could send him away at any time.

And he never did apologize for that one and honestly I don’t really blame Med for that per se? It is his tower and Khadgar can’t tell him who is allowed there. What I mean is going by JUST the power dynamic they have as mentor-apprentice, Khadgar is absolutely out of line there

In some ways could have come off quite spoiled and entitled but the thing is I don’t think that was the case at all.

He’s become so comfortable in Karazhan he’d started thinking of it as his home. Then Medivh has in one conversation reminded him it very much was not his home and he could send him away at anytime if he so wished it

He’d finally found someone who cared about him, respected him and treated him as a person. He found a place where he felt he belonged for once in his life and…

No wonder he was so jealous of Garona for a while after that. He’d been reminded that all of it could be taken from him at any moment and here was someone stealing his Master’s attention.

Just thinking about how that jealousy so obviously comes with feeling like he’s not enough and insecurity about his place in Med’s life.

Just very interesting how I think it could very well have went over Med’s head as not that big of a deal too? One of those things he’d be like huh oh yeah I said that? Meanwhile Khadgar is spiraling about it

He could of also been absolutely aware of how harsh it was because Medivh does lash out like that on occasion (especially towards the end of the book as Sargeras gets harder and harder to fight) he can be a little shit we know this

(Don’t really blame him for that given being possessed by the demon lord Sargeras is probably just a teensy bit tiring /s)

Also seen valid and honestly very possibly canon interpretations where he’s also trying to push Khadgar away cuz he knows what’s coming and what Khadgar is going to have to do.

The more attached to him he is the more difficult it will be for Khadgar to do what needs to be done.

What better way to push someone away then hit them right where it hurts?

And yet even then I think those words hurt Khadgar deeper than he’ll ever know :(

[ethan-acfan]

I love writing merlin and arthur as less *servant and king* and more *two best friends who do a lot of favors for eachother* just because I feel like after spending 10 YEARS with the same guy every day, the formalities would just kinda slowly fall away and now their just two doofuses who show their love in opposite ways so it balances out

[marzipanandminutiae]

thinking about the infantiliztation and/or formalization of 19th-century women's clothing to modern audiences

like

our entire reference point for "wearing long skirts and outfits with decoration like lace, embroidery, appliques, etc." is either formalwear or fictional characters in children's media like Disney princesses. women's clothing is just so radically different now- not that those elements don't exist, but they're much less common in everyday clothing than they once were. some form of simple trousers and an equally simple top are de rigeur for everyday attire, and anything else is Fancy

combined with the fact- which is true! -that a lot of what survives to end up in big museums belonged to wealthy people, this ends up in wild assumptions like "basically our entire idea of what the Victorians dressed like is just Rich People Clothes really"

which has led to the eternal cry of "but what did NORMAL people wear?!?!?!" that will not be satisfied with real examples of middle or even working-class everyday clothing because it still looks too "fancy" to modern eyes

not Victorian, but a great example of this is what Abby Cox wore to portray a milliner (hatmaker) in Colonial Williamsburg. a working, middle-class woman:

(ignore the facial expression there)

this is the exact outfit she sported in a video that apparently got responses like "but that's just what rich women wore!" and it is, in fact, everyday attire for a working person. a person who worked in the fashion industry, it's true, but still

I had someone ask me about how to find examples of casual Victorian clothing because they were at their wits' end trying to research it. and I had to tell them that...what they were looking at WAS casual. in the sense of Clothing For Everyday Wear That's Not Especially Formal. there's nothing inherently formal, or exclusive to the wealthy, about a matched bodice-and-skirt dress, instep-length, with some trim. or even a trimmed blouse and skirt. obviously women working the absolute hardest outdoor, physical jobs might have adopted occupational trousers or similar, but we don't all dress like construction or farm workers all the time nowadays. why would they have back then?

Laundresses, probably 1850s or early 60s. Note that I can STILL date the picture based on their outfits and hair, and these are the furthest things from wealthy socialites.

Maid scrubbing steps, probably 1870s or 1880s. Note pleated trim on her skirt and what appears to be a peplum at the back of her bodice.

also, not all working women worked physical jobs any more than we do today. here is a teacher around the turn of the 20th century:

Teachers, 1887

"Breton Seamstresses," 1845, by Jules Trayer

were there differences in quality, type and quantity of trim, fit, etc? obviously. but some people are convinced that the basic outfit format can't POSSIBLY have been something ordinary women wore, because it looks formal and/or princess-y in a modern context

[crepezinhos]

Patriarchy

POV: Waking up back to the 1700s wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be when you had your best friend, Phainon, accompanying you through your new journey. Now you have the chance to begin feminism yourself! How much more advanced will society be if manage to get women equal rights by 1800 instead of 1900?! But, when you were close to getting one right in specific, Phainon’s support of you was suddenly… gone.

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a Yandere SFW work

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Contains: Possessive, obsessive and abusive behavior, a bit of physical abuse, misogynistic behavior and confinement.

— Arranged!Phainon x Arranged!Reader

— AU is: 1700s Europe

“Y/N! You’re back!” Phainon screamed excitedly from the main staircase of your shared palace when he saw you standing in your mansion’s entrance, beginning to step down towards you faster than he was doing previously. “How was it on the streets today?” He asked when he finally finished climbing down and jumped off the stairs, walking towards you with his arms behind his back excitedly.

You, happy to see him too, were quick to take off your hat, jacket and accessories with the help of your lady-in-honor, staring back at Phainon’s joyful ocean-blue eyes.

“It was fine. The army resistance was surprisingly very little today so we didn’t have much trouble doing our protest.” You reciprocated his excitement, bowing to your maid in gratefulness before she could start walking away and taking your things back to your bedroom.

“That’s great to hear, Y/N!” Phainon replied, eyes shining with pure admiration of your courage. “I also have good news.” He blinked to you with a smirky grin in his lips, just waiting for you to ask him about his achievement so he could brag about whatever he’d done.

“Oh? What is it?” You crossed your arms casually, finally putting an end to the classy and formal behavior that you adapted to to follow the societal norms of the town where you two live in.

Phainon decided to fix his throat and tie before he could answer you, trying to make himself a bit more classy and snobby before flexing whatever news he had.

“Our pads and tampons are making such a huge success that one of my investors managed to begin trading our products with all North, Central and South America.” Phainon talked in a slightly sarcastic tone, obviously trying to exaggerate it to you so you could be extra happier with it.

“Are you serious?! No way! All three Americas at the same time?!” You gasped in shock, almost skipping in joy while imagining what would be all kinds of women trying out those items and finding out just how extraordinarily better they are than whatever they were currently using to absorb their menstruations.

“Yessir!” Phainon opened both his arms,welcoming all that joy you were expressing.

Every day, Phainon somehow managed to surprise you with good news and raise your spirits about your current life whether it was because of his mindless kindness and consideration of you or with his intelligent marketing skills. You admired him so much that you didn’t even like imagining what would your life be without him in this universe. You’d probably just find yourself marrying an old man who has zero interest or empathy with you, much less in your feminist ideals, and only gives you the bare minimum attention to keep you sane.

The difference between all men and Phainon is that you and him were modern. While other men thought with a non-industrial mindset of making a few thousands for profit, Phainon, who has lived with billionaires, thinks immediately about the millions he can profit because he knows exactly what to invest in. And while other women were mostly illiterate and solely worried with things like their marriage and birthing dozens of kids for their husbands, you were worried about ‘men things’ such as the job market and human progress and you had knowledge about all sorts of things. Because of this, you two were an extremely powerful duo. Your success was sudden, massive and impressive, leaving every man and woman from all social classes either inspired or envious. You two reigned everything. Either your or Phainon’s presence was highly valued in every party you stepped in, whether as an annoyance, taking everyone’s eyes away from the main objective of the ball, or as a blessing, since your presence meant that the party was entertaining.

After all, whatever the perfect couple interacts with or believes in, many others will want to interact with it or follow your beliefs too.

Yes, you and Phainon were technically a couple that got married a few months ago, but in practice, you two didn’t even sleep in the same room. It was an arranged business that you two agreed to do because women cannot really live without a husband and neither you or Phainon wanted you to be bullied for the rest of your life, so joining family, money and forces was obviously the smartest choice. You two had a little wedding and a marriage certification, but no kiss was ever seen after the fake one in the altar.

Your ‘marriage’ was actually one of the first triggers to awaken women into feminism. It was completely alternative. You weren’t forced to display affection with him publicly, you had all rights to complain and raise your voice to Phainon, Phainon had zero demands to you regarding his satisfaction with his life or kids, while at the same time he’d spoil you nonstop. It made women crave that freedom from their husbands, who all thought you were a greedy witch and that Phainon deserved better. But there was nothing they could do about it. His money reigned the country. So much that it made this sinful way of life of yours affordable and even cultural. It’s not his fault he know as exactly what inventions will be successful or not, but he’ll only keep growing, and whatever you two do will be what people want to do too. ‘His’ idea about creating tampons and pads was actually a request from you. Using random, non-absorbing cloths as pads was horrible and barely efficient, making your routine horrible during menstruation, so you decided to talk to Phainon about it, who immediately went after the creation of tampons and pads. A perfect example of how you two were iconic. Phainon already knew tampons and pads would be an immediate millionaire success, and all women envied the dedication of your husband to you compared their own men.

There is so much Phainon has done to you… He gave you a whole personal room for you to sleep in without him, a whole garden that had all the flowers you wished, he bought you all the dresses and makeup you wanted and every reform and furniture of the house was ordered by you. It felt like his life mission was assuring you a comfortable, almost free life, but it still felt incomplete to you because of one reason. The inferiority of women. Seeing women being sent away at age of 15 to marry a 40 year-old man made your heart ache with anguish. Seeing men shame prostitutes for their jobs and even throw tiny rocks on them made you angry. Seeing men’s hypocrisy to force women into a religion and a cult of purity that they don’t follow on their own made your blood boil… A much larger list of failures in this patriarchal system made you revolt, so you begun using your influence and money to create feminism.

And your ideas were expectedly booming between all women of your country, and Congress was slowly becoming more and more convinced that it wouldn’t be horrible idea to give women a few rights.

“I know I’m awesome, I know.” Phainon used a hand to push his frontal hair back to act even prouder of himself in front of you.

“We’re making so much progress in so little time! I can’t believe we are the first era of feminists and we’re turning out to be so successful!” You tip-toed in the floor, holding your own cheeks with excitement.

“We? No, no, no… you.” Phainon’s fingers suddenly reached to your chest bone and pressed it down, forcing all the credits for the success of the feminist movement to you. “And a lady like you deserves a delicious meal in compensation for her work, don’t you think?” He took away his finger off you, but his face leaned a bit closer to you too, staring at you deeply with admiration. “Follow me, Y/N.” He blinked a bit seductively, making you giggle, and when you looked down, his hands was hanging open in front of you just waiting for you to hold it.

And so you did, inflating your chest with air to show him your excitement and how high were your expectations. Phainon giggled at your behavior, beginning to gently pull you around the house.

You and Phainon silently walked in direction of the dinging room, only a few noises of creaking wood accompanying your steps. The silence wasn’t awkward, only a bit tense due to the circumstances you were in. Every corridor you two walked through, the house would become quieter and darker despite still being early afternoon. Your dining room was in a corner of the house where no background noise could annoy you and him, meaning it was distant from the home’s main entrance. And when you had finally reached the long, dark and narrow hall that led to nothing but the dining room in its end, Phainon decided to break the silence.

“You also have a second appointment today, don’t you? Or maybe tomorrow? Or maybe it already happened?” Phainon turned half of his face to you, staring at you with curiosity.

“A second appointment? I don’t—” Before you could finish speaking, your brain suddenly brought back a memory of you and some of your friends talking about future plans and played it for you.

It was you, Ms. Castorice and Ms. Algaea, the other two co-leaders of your movement, discussing about some great news in Aglaea’s mansion. Congress had accepted to participate in a debate with you and a team of other 5 people about giving women a few rights. You and them were discussing about which topics to bring up, which people to form a team with, and when should the debate happen.

“Cat got your tongue?” Phainon woke you up from your thoughts, laughing at your frozen face and still staring at it now with a mischievous stare.

“I do!” You snapped the fingers of your other free hands. “I-I have to go to Congress by 6 tonight!” Phainon’s eyes widened when you reminded him of what appointment was scheduled for today or maybe sometime else.

“Ah, yes!” Phainon stopped walking and let your hand go. “You were telling me about your plans for it a few days ago!” He pointed to you with a hand, trying to relate to you.

“Yes, yes, yes! I’ve prepared such good arguments to tell the Congress! It’ll be very difficult for them for them to deny our requests, much less with a good reason!” You crossed your arms again, remembering the expectations you had set. “Can you imagine? By tomorrow we might get the right to divorce! Women will get the right to divorce!” Phainon’s eyes widened when he felt the impact of those news.

“Seriously? The right to divorce this early?!” His mouth dropped to the floor as you confidently nodded to him.

“Yessir! We might finally be able to ask for a divorce too!” You laughed at your own additional words, but you quickly realized that Phainon went fully quiet while you were, so you stopped laughed and looked him, only to see he did not reciprocate, still with the same widened expression in his face, but his mouth was not smiley anymore.

“What do you mean?” He asked a bit confused.

“Me and you… Getting a divorce…” You pointed to him and you as you spoke, then you put your hands together only to separate them, representing what divorce was.

But Phainon’s expression turned horrified and almost pale when you separated your hands from each other, apparently taking it as a genuine offense.

“Why..?” His eyebrows frowned, looking as you worried.

“Well.. because we aren’t exactly married… This is all just for survival, remember?” You laughed a bit to try cooling him off, but Phainon’s expression only seemed to sadden even more.

“But… we’re fine together, aren’t we? We’re surviving really well, aren’t we? So why would you want to divorce?” Phainon stepped closer to you once, and this hall started to feel like it’d became narrower.

“W-Well, yeah, we’re doing good, but if I get women the right to divorce and to work independently, I won’t need you anymore… I mean, we were not doing this back in Amphoreus for a reason…” You laughed it off again, but then his hurt expression and silence made you realize you shouldn’t be giving him any reasoning. “What’s going on, Phainon?” You darkened your expression, trying to get straight to the point.

“I’ve been a good husband, haven’t I? I’ve made you happy all this time, haven’t I?” Phainon now sounded visibly anxious, breath almost hitching as he slowly stepped closer and closer to you, forcing you to repel and step backwards.

“Yeah, Phainon, but you’re not actually my husband. No need to call yourself one…” You laughed at his words, not sympathizing with his worry. “This is all an act for us to survive in this society, remember? There is no actual love or dependence between us or anything…” Phainon’s eyes widened with that last phrase as if you said something that just crushed his heart.

“W-What..?” Phainon’s cute puppy eyes stared at you with dying hope, but you still didn’t feel the slightest pity for him.

“Phainon, seriously, what the fuck is going on?” You decided to step forward this time, setting your ground for him to understand he was almost disrespecting your space.

Phainon didn’t answer you at first, only reluctantly staring at your eyes with his shaky blue pupils. It costed him quite a while to build courage to be truthful with you, gulping down his accumulated saliva and turning his head down to avoid the shame of what he has in his mind.

“I… I don’t want a divorce.” His confession came out as loud as a whisper, which made you not understand what he said initially and forced you to guess it.

Jointing the few syllables you’ve heard and assuming the words and articles he’d said with the help of context clues, you’d concluded he’d said ‘I don’t want a divorce’, which immediately triggered you to have a negative reaction. But you still remained quiet, trying to comprehend why would he want to stay married to you. Maybe he’s afraid to live without a wife in this rigid society? But he’s a man… You are the one supposed to be afraid of living without a husband. Or maybe he’s thinking about that? About your safety and comfort living in this society without a husband? Or maybe… that alternative you’ve been avoiding to recognize ever since the day of your ‘marriage’..?

…

No, it can’t be. He would never.

So you just sighed, throwing that thought to the back of your and concluding your investigation. Phainon did not want a divorce, and he doesn’t want it because he’s worried about you.

“You don’t a want a divorce?” You firmly queried, trying to have a bit of confirmation over your guess, a hand of yours moving to the necklace you wore to fidget it while he answered.

“Yes…” He mumbled shyly and you scoffed in pride of having guessed it correctly, still not understanding why was he be acting like this if his intentions were so pure.

“Why?” You inflated your chest again, preparing for whatever he wanted to say now.

“Because…” He tried to answer your question immediately, but the knot in his throat impeded him from finishing. “Because…” And he tried again, a bit less desperately, failing so miserably he looked down to the floor again in embarrassment.

And so, you exhaled, letting all that imprisoned air in your lungs in a sigh. Since he couldn’t say it for himself, you’d do it for him.

“I appreciate your worry for my comfort, Phainon, but I can definitely live on my own. I don’t care about what these people have to say about me and my choices. In fact, they can feel free to bully me as much as they want, I’ll still be milking more money than them in the end of the day.” You spoke less firmly, trying to see if that would make him feel comfortable to be more honest with you. “I can’t even guarantee that we will get the right to divorce in the first place anyway…” You tried to be a bit more optimistic, but then you immediately regretted it in recognition that it is needed to be realistic in a situation like this. “But I’ll still go to Congress today and fight for it. For me and all the women that need to get away from their husbands.” You could see Phainon swallowing another big chunk of saliva when you finished talking, surprisingly having a negative reaction again.

“For you? Why you?” Phainon stepped closer once again, face only becoming more stunned, which truly disturbed you.

“You’re scaring me, Phainon.” You brought your shoulders closer to your body, trying to make yourself more resistant and tolerable to his behavior.

“I don’t mean to scare you, Y/N… I just want to know why do you want a divorce when we’re so happy together…” He tried to argue in a way that still didn’t reveal his reason, but seeing how unmoved and suspicious you still were of him, he sighed and squinted his eyes. “I don’t want a divorce…” He stated his intentions again, but in a weak tone that made him sound like a hungry puppy, trying to make you feel guilty.

And that pissed you off. You believed Phainon was genuinely not trying to intentionally manipulate you into staying married him, but he was still acting unreasonably.

“But I do.” You countered him firmly. “And I will get it.” You wanted to turn away and immediately walk back to your room, but the moment you spun your right foot, before you could even start about turning your full body away from him, Phainon reacted to your words.

“No, you won’t..!” The tone of his voice deepened in such a rapid way that made you stop and look back at his eyes immediately, a sense of danger growing in the back of your mind.

“Yes, I will.” Feeling even more cornered by the hall’s tightness and afraid of Phainon, you decided to turn away abruptly in a speed that would stun Phainon for a moment before he could possibly catch you and bring you back to the discussion.

“Where are you going..?!” You heard Phainon stomp forward harshly, launching himself forward to reach your wrist and hold you tight with his large hand.

“Let me go, Phainon.” You decided to turn your eyes back to his again, trying to use your presence to order him, forcing yourself to control your voice from shaking as you spoke, taking his action as a threat to your security.

“Why are you trying to leave..? Why are you trying to leave me?!” His eyes were fully widened with anguish as he desperately filled you with two questions to answer.

“I’m just… not hungry anymore. I’ll eat later.” You quickly mumbled a fake reasoning, but it didn’t seem to convince him. After all, Phainon’s eyebrows noticeably frowned.

“That’s not true. Why are you lying to me..?” His grip in your wrist tightened in a way that made you grunt from the pain.

“Phainon, you’re hurting me..!” You tried to pull your hand away from him, only to be fully held back, which only made you even more nervous and scared of him.

“I don’t want us to divorce, Y/N… We don’t need a divorce…” He suddenly turned a bit soft again, endlessly trying to argue with you about that despite the fact that he was really freaking you out.

“I-I need to prepare for Congress, Phainon..! Let me go at this instant!” You even tried stepping away from him, seeing if it was possible to run away, but it didn’t work due to his heavy weight holding you back.

“No…” He mumbled, looking the deepest he could to your eyes, still trying to find any bit of pity in you and hope for himself.

“You’re only giving me more reasons to divorce you right now, Phainon..! Let me go now!” You had no choice but to try facing him with your own strength, now trying to use your other hand to grab that wrist of his to pull it away from you.

“No… We can’t divorce…” His repetitiveness finally made you snap.

“Yes we can and we will!” You launched your face forward and screamed at him, trying to shake your hand out of his grip the fullest you could.

But that triggered him snap too in reaction to your audacity in making such a hurtful statement.

“NO, WE WON’T!” He screamed at a tone that you’ve never heard from him and didn’t recognize, also finally releasing your wrist.

But before you give your first step backward, or think about his change in tone, something else stunned you again.

SLAP!

Your body immediately fell to the ground as Phainon’s hand smacked across your face, your feet enrolling themselves with the thick layers of your dress, giving your instincts time to only put your palms in the wooden floor before your head actually hit the ground, meaning you successfully landed sat instead of fully laid. But you recovered a second after the fall, so you immediately placed a hand on the cheek Phainon had slapped to ease the arduous pain he inflicted on you and rose your head up to him, finding him powerfully standing right in front of you, staring at you like a caught prey, jailed in a cage.

Neither of you spoke for the next seconds to process what had just happened and only breathed with opened mouths. The more you thought, the more frightened for your life you became, remembering the sudden change in his tone to one you’ve never heard, the slap itself and the threat it represented to your relationship… But the more he thought, the more calm he became in realization that you were frozen in fear, defeated by his action. And that’s why after a last round of breathing in and out deeply, he shut his mouth and calmly walked closer to you, kneeling down in front of you.

“Y/N…” A hand of his also reached the same cheek you were holding, cupping it gently, which only made your skin shiver with disgust of his touch, begging yourself to scream at him to get the fuck away from you. “I’m… I-I’m sorry…” He briefly wheezed, trying to ease the both of you from the mood. “I didn’t mean to… do this… or… t-to scare you.” He pathetically smiled at you, only making you wish to run away from him even more, but your adrenaline could only afford to freeze your body in that sat position. “I just… don’t want us to divorce… There’s no good reason to do that… That’s all…” He gulped down again.

You knew it. Deep down, you’ve always known it. You just didn’t want to admit it.

But maybe… you should’ve definitely talked to him about it sooner.

Phainon’s kindness… was never just friendly.

And there were always many little signs that rose that flag…

For example, the way he’d stare at you whenever he gave you a gift, sometimes only a few inches away from your face, just waiting to see the amazing reaction he’d rip out of you. Deep down, it always felt like he urged for more of something you couldn’t name until now. It didn’t feel like he just wanted your comfort and happiness because that’s what friends do, it felt like he did it as if he was your lover. These little gifts, perfectly enveloped in a beautiful wrap, felt like little seduction attempts. After all, the next gift would always be better than the next, as if he wanted to show just how dedicated he is, and convince your heart to let yourself fall for him.

The way he treated you during the day of your marriage… In the altar, what was supposed to be just a quick smooch to pose a fake picture of yourselves to the crowd witnessing you, turned out to be so much more touchy, intimate and even… real, like real couples do. And even when the vows were done, he kept throwing himself at you and holding your hands for the rest of the celebration party, for some reason so happy with the day. Friends don’t stick their tongues inside their friends’ mouths when it’s needed to fake a kiss. It wasn’t just an act.

And the one habit that mostly made you icky about thinking about Phainon’s possibly feeling things for you… The way his eyes stoned in you and his cheeks flushed whenever he saw you trying any ball dresses and makeup for the parties you were invited to or even when he saw you in your rendered pijamas when you two were home… They always delivered you a message of lust, and you don’t want any of your friends to lust over you, much less Phainon in such a situation like yours right now. But it was true, Phainon would not react to you being pretty like a friend would.

You should’ve accepted it sooner. But now it’s too late. You’ve let this grow. You are reaping what you sowed.

Phainon liked you as more than a friend.

“But think about it… Wouldn’t it be iconic? The leader of the feminist movement herself doing all of this work to get the right of divorce when she, on her own, does not desire to divorce her husband? You could show them that it is possible to be a feminist and be a married woman at the same time…” His thumb caressed your hand, lamenting that he couldn’t directly reach your fluffy cheek.

But you were still too stunned to say anything, despite the thousands of protests running in your mind, begging to be shouted.

“We are such a good duo… Why would you ever want to put and end to us? Put an end to our influence? Our impact? Our empire?” Phainon looked at you with more pity, assuming his position of total power over you. “We don’t need to be exactly like other couples… I would never force you to do that… We can still be exactly like how we are today, but all I want is to still be able to live in the same house as you… and call you my wife.” Phainon pulled that hand of yours that held your cheek and turned it around, making your palm face down.

And with very slow movements, he smooched your knuckles, smiling softly at them. And then he looked down at your fingers, meeting that engagement ring that the both of you were forced to wear to avoid any accusations or bullying, and that made his grin grow, blue eyes shining with joy. He leaned down and kissed the ring too with more intensity, sucking your skin for a bit to demonstrate just how much he valued that golden ring.

“I just want you to wear this ring with me for the rest of your life… Is that too much to ask from you? I’ve done so many harder things for you…” Phainon laid his cheek on your hand, rubbing himself against it as if it was the comfiest pillow he’d ever laid on.

He kept doing that for a few seconds before he kissed your hand again… and then again… again, again and again, many spots in it becoming a bit moistened with his saliva. He even turned your hand around and begun kissing your palm and its heel as deep as he could.

“I love you, Y/N…” He mumbled in your skin with closed eyes, breath warming up your skin. “I really do…” He made sure his message was clearly sent to you, pausing for a moment to let you absorb it. “But I can’t let you do this to us… to me…” He opened his eyes, staring at you with a weird kind of pity again, as if he wasn’t bothered by your discomfort, like a masochist would.

But then he stood up again, not offering you any help to get up too.

“You won’t go to Congress today.” He stated a bit more seriously, contrasting his previous tone as he stared down at you very firmly, before he started to calmly walk away from the scene as if he hadn’t just done something completely absurd and out of normal.

Your eyes followed his body in fear, watching him walk with his hands holding each other behind his back ao elegantly, each step making the wood planks creak a bit. In the end of the hall, where you two came from, Phainon met one of your many maids standing still with an uncomfortable expression visible in her face, but still forcing herself to do her job as either your or his servant.

“If you see her trying to leave tonight, don’t let her. You understand?” Phainon spoke to the maid very gently, contrasting himself once again.

“Yes, sir.” She nodded, assuming her new responsibility.

“Good. You may call me or the guards in the gate if that happens.” Phainon assigned the maid her permissions, making her nod again, but silently. “Go tell the other maids their new assignment.” He used to a hand to tap her shoulder twice very sweetly.

“Yes, my master.” She gently bowed to him again, making Phainon grin, feeling comfortable enough to keep walking away from the scene.

When he finally turned to the left and fully left you alone, the maid looked at you again, staring at your pitiful situation with mixed feelings. It was a silent communication, but you could still get her general message, the same way she could get yours.

After all the efforts you’ve been doing to push a feminist agenda in your town to all kinds of women and men, you’ve failed to do that in your own home with your own maids. The same women who were stuck in your palace, working 24/7 to keep every detail of your home perfect and make your routine as easy as possible, were neglected by you and your movement, just like how in real life some women were neglected from the early stages of feminism too. And now you were suffering the harshest consequences of it you could suffer. She pitied you and even seemed to wish she could do something for you, but all she was ever taught to do in this sort of job was obey the man’s command, meaning she’d betray her own beliefs and risk her whole career if she dared to think about helping you, which would be disobeying Phainon. So all she could do was give that silent treatment until she couldn’t bare her own grief anymore and begun to walk away in the same direction as Phainon did, beginning to call him by his nickname, her voice echoing in your ears lightly.

How could you forget? You live in a conservative patriarchy.

Phainon is the man in your relationship.

In conservative patriarchies, the man is always the leader. The woman is just his follower. A servant who is always mindlessly ready to please him.

And he likes this system the way it is.

Today he just made that very clear. The roles of the relationship were established.

Taglist: @gaboplaydespacito

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it! <3

[ditzybeee]

❥・Jason Todd — high school bf

❥・tags: jason todd blurb, jason todd is a loverboy, jason todd is a loser, high school sweethearts, gn!reader, no use of y/n, implied dialogue, loosely based on me and my bf :3

❥・word count: 636

❥・─────────────────────

Jason Todd is crushing hard.

The two of you met freshman year and he couldn't get you out of his head since.

He, of course, went through the painful process of friends-to-lovers. Because he'd rather make sure you liked him—a lot—before considering flirting.

Not that you'd know it.

He was bad at it. He was so, so bad at it.

Stupid lines from his stupid novels. Did you even read Jane Austen?

Never mind that you thought it was cute—you thought he was cute—lucky him.

When Jason asked you out, it couldn't be less cheesy. Full bouquet of flowers—which he didn't burden you with holding for the school day—and a bunch of your favorite snacks, which you promptly shoved into your bag before your teachers questioned them.

Newly dating and he was so excited. Nervous and sweaty palmed holding your hand in his, smiling ear to ear.

He'd walk you to class, even if it's across campus.

Sure, a few tardies would damage his perfect record, but he can't afford you missing your classes.

Dates with Jason were something else. Bruce had Dick chaperone the first few—either that or the dates were at the manor. Not that he didn't trust you, but he didn't trust Jason.

And he wanted to see his second son awkwardly maneuver speaking to his own partner.

Jason shared his first kiss with you on his first non-chaperoned date. A picnic some spring day in which he kept sneezing because of the pollen, mumbling about how badly he looked.

You stared at him in awe, giggling, and helping him wipe his face.

He was so, so in love with you that he whispered if he could kiss you, and quickly did when you accepted.

As high school continued, your relationship blossomed.

Both families trusted the other to keep their child safe when they slept over, to send the two of you to different cities and states for events, and to allow trips.

Jason first said "I love you" when he saw you in your dance attire. Sure, he's seen you in formal wear before. But this? This takes the cake.

He kissed you quickly, whispering the three words into your ear before Alfred made you two pose for pictures.

This same scenario repeated every time the two of you had a dance.

Every dance, every school event, every club meeting, you and Jason were there together.

It was about junior year when he told you about Robin and how he was thinking of changing it to Red Hood once you two graduated. He took your pointers for his new costume design—after a week-long argument about him being a vigilante and how dangerous it was.

He asked you to prom in a long-winded text message—multiple questions of whether you wanted a public promposal—it was obvious he used speech-to-text, and the message mirrored his speech patterns.

The dance was great. Dinner was delicious and the night was equal parts your boyfriend and equal parts your friends.

The days leading up to graduation were full of anxiety and joy.

You and Jason would stay out well past your curfews—which were basically obsolete, as both families didn't enforce it, as long as you were with each other—and just hang out.

You'd talk about your plans after high school—college, trade school, straight to work?

He'd mumble soft praises against your skin as you ramble about your ambitions, mirroring your energy when you asked about his vigilante plans.

Graduation—Jason's eyes hadn't been dry for a single second that day. He sobbed when you walked across the stage, when you cheered just as loudly for him, and when he saw you in your graduation gown all dressed up.

Jason loves the title "high school sweethearts".

❥・─────────────────────

❥・a/n: im feelin soft for my boy rn :( obvi no trauma au if he never DIED <3 more smut soon tho! i wont have internet the week after this coming week so ill try and get as much stuff out as possible!

❥・masterlist

[matsunoluvr]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ when the love and deepspace boys get jealous

warnings: pouty men, jealous xavier is a warning in itself, sorry if i mischaracterise…. and i also have favourites LOLL

characters: sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier

link to master list here!

author notes: all i can think of is pouty rafayel and jealous xavier my brain is a melted goop of lnds brainrot… also sorry for not posting in a while i was on holiday!!

also quick reminder that i have requests open but 1. i’ll get to them slowly and 2. please read my pinned post about rules!

more under the cut ~

out of the four men i think sylus is the least jealous - now let me elaborate that possessiveness and jealousy (in my eyes) are very different

if you talk to another man, sylus both trusts you and has enough faith in himself to know that no matter what the dude does, sylus is yours and you’re his

he trusts you 100%, without a shadow of a doubt. and this translates through his lack of jealousy when you spend time with other people

however, if the man even attempts to lay a finger on you, his tone becomes too sweet or his hand inches a bit too close and you’re getting uncomfortable?

you bet your ass sylus is interfering.

immediately shifts his body to create distance between you and the other party

he flashes a dangerous look at the other man, evol glowing dangerously as it whispers a small warning into the other’s ear

“Stay away and you get to stay alive.”

he seriously doesn't fuck around when it comes to your comfort and safety, and if he feels that another man is compromising it or pushing the boundaries it really ticks him off

when does sylus get jealous?

mostly when you start to spend less time with him and more time with others

it’s not as if as soon as you spend time with someone else he gets jealous, but if it causes you to start to ignore him/spend less time with him he gets jealous

when he gets jealous, he doesn’t hide it at all

sylus isn’t one to keep his feelings from you, so when you see his displeasured frown you know immediately something is up

he doesn’t get angry or petty when jealous, he just makes it clear that he’s not happy with the division of attention

when you ask him what’s up, he gives you the answer plain and simple

“Getting bored of me already? How come you’re spending more time with […] than me, I’m jealous.”

his voice is slow and clearly unimpressed, crossing his arms as he looks you up and down.

luckily for you, he’s not hard to win over

spend time with him, even if it’s not active such as going out to restaurants or to one of his formal events

the two of you sitting in comfortable silence, him reading a magazine and you looking through moments, that’s more than enough for him

he’s not opposed to displays of physical affection either, cuddling or kisses to his face - anything that tells him “you’re mine/i’m yours” will satisfy him

just make sure not to spend TOO much time with the other person, otherwise sylus might seriously hunt them down

he’d never make you jealous on purpose, he had no interest in other women/men at all and respects you way too much to pull petty moves like that

when sylus accidentally makes you jealous, he’ll definitely pamper you, spoil you with gifts and spend time with you

wanted to get the new limited edition plushie? he’ll stay in the arcade with you until you get all of them. wanted a new game on steam? he’s bought both the game, all the dlcs and any in game passes and currency.

Somewhere at some point during the day he'll simply come clean about it, after all he's a straight forward man and he trusts you.

"I'm sorry sweetie, I didn't mean to make you jealous. Forgive me, please?"

tldr; sylus is a love sick loser that knows you’re equally in love with him as he is with you

here goes the award to the most composed LI - zayne gets jealous alright, not nearly as much as the coming two but he still gets jealous

it's not that he doesn't trust you, but watching you smile so brightly to the café employee or get a little too friendly with another doctor sets him on edge

if you're talking to male friends/giving them friendly hugs zayne's completely fine with it, he's happy to see you surrounded by people who care for you and for you to be happy too

at first it's hard to tell when zayne gets jealous, he has a poker face that would put lady gaga to shame

however, after a while you discover the few subtleties that give away his disgruntled state

for example, if you're talking a bit too excitedly or friendly to the barista - especially one you'd both met just today - there'd be a little crease in his forehead, his mouthwould be a fraction more downturned and his eyes a bit narrower as if he was squinting

or if you talk to him about a male colleague when you two were supposed to be out on a date, he'd definitely be jealous... however the only give away would be the faintest purse of his lips and twitch of his eyebrow

if you ask him if he's jealous he's going to deny it, he usually doesn't lie but when it comes to vulnerable emotions such as jealousy i feel he'd have difficulties expressing them

"Jealous? I'm not jealous, don't worry about me."

but then the right side of his mouth is twitching a little and if you focus hard enough he gives the impression of a kicked puppy, a very subtle hint of 'give me attention'

if you manage to learn the art of 'zayne expression reading' and finally notice that he's not 'lactose-intolerant-and-having-stomach-issues-causing-him-to-look-like-that' but in fact jealous, here's a few ways to heal your zayne!!

zayne specialists recommend a good dosage of subtle affections - e.g. bringing up one of his interests or reminiscing upon something you two did in the past, basically indicating to him 'hey, i still love you most in the world!'

he's a perceptive man and will pick up on what you're doing relatively quick, and his little grumpy face will relax back into the unconscious, soft smile he adopts when in your presence

if he accidentally makes you jealous, he makes sure you know more than anyone else in the world that he's yours and yours only.

reciprocates the small gestures such as holding your hand in public or introducing you to his colleagues

"Good afternoon to you too. I believe you haven't met [Y/N] before?"

and then he'll adjust his hand placement, sliding from patting your shoulder to gentle resting on the small of your back, a little intimate gesture that screams "I'm their partner."

makes sure by the end of the day he's got the message across, and at one point brings it up (even though you've basically forgotten what he did to make you jealous anyways)

"I didn't mean to upset you, [Y/N]. I love you only, no one else could replace you, I promise."

okay, yeah, we made it to jealous, pouty, bratty man territory

there’s an evident gap between zayne level jealousy and rafayel level jealousy

don’t get me wrong, rafayel would do anything you asked of him - partially because of his whole lumerian bond and also because he’s utterly whipped for you

does he love you? that’s a stupid question to ask oh course he does… but does he truly trust you?

i’d like to think that rafayel (if he was dating you in this situation) is absolutely devoted to you and trusts you wholeheartedly, but in reality rafayel has deep engraved fears and uncertainties

he has a fear of being forgotten about, and likely (as a consequence of being forgotten multiple times) - the idea of being abandoned or replaced sends physical chills down his spine

so honestly, rafayel’s jealousy stems from the unwavering fear of being left alone, lost and forgotten again…

the pain of being forgotten, it’s not something he’s willing to go through any more, causing it to be difficult to fully reassure him that you’re his.

on a more lighter, more playful level, rafayel’s jealousy would probably lay with animals - specifically cats and sea creatures

one day he finds that instead of lazing about with him indoors, that you were outside napping with a cat on your lap

if he wasn’t so afraid of the cat concerned for your quality and length of sleep he would’ve had a go at the cat as it smirked triumphantly at him, licking its paws as it rolls around in your lap.

when complaining later on he would be his usual, petulant self, pouting and crossing his arms, tilting his chin up etc

“I guess you prefer those furry monsters over a fishie like me, why don’t you just leave me for one?”

to fix this petty brattiness is simple!

simply devote all your attention and affections to rafayel, as in when you two are alone and spending time together you can just pat his head or trace his beauty marks

he’ll be pouting the whole time, but after a few pats he’ll get embarrassed and his ears will go red as he says something like “I’m not a cat…” yet he still lets you pet him lol

rafayel especially likes it when you gently stroke at the roots of his hair, leaning into your touch a little every time you thread deeper into his hair

however, if you spend too much time with another man rather than rafayel, it’s a whole different type of jealousy/insecurity

he’s quiet, too quiet, and withdrawn

the situation was deeply confusing the first time around

it’s as if you ordered the wrong rafayel, what happened to his usual bratty and playful personality? this wasn’t like all the other times.

unlike his childish display of jealousy when you were with the cat, this time he had a schooled expression, blank, a facade

his expression was eerie, you’d never seen him like this, so… emotionless seeming

rafayel, really, was emotionally detaching from the relationship - he still loves you oh my god he adores you so much he’d sacrifice everything he had for you, but the idea of you preferring that other person over him?

it sends him into panic, and all he (believed he) could do was numb himself, anticipate the leave or him getting forgotten

(am i projecting too much here… avoidant attachment rafayel believer and lover 😞🙏)

if he withdrew from the relationship first, maybe it would hurt less being left again

of course you weren’t intending to leave him, so how do you fix this?

well, as unhealthy as this may seem, spending less time with the new person and more time with rafayel really would be the only way i could think of making him feel better

saying things such as “Rafayel I would never leave you.” can only provide him with short-term reassurance, after all how many times have you said that before and then still proceeded to leave him?

instead, caress him gently, give him time to feel safe in the relationship again. late night calls where you two fall asleep together or hold him in your arms as you two both sleep at night

this avoidant attachment style will, however, probably go when you two start dating, since in dating you rafayel has probably decided to let you into his heart and whole heartedly trusts you now :)

if rafayel accidentally makes you jealous, depending on the severity (again) here’s what he’d do

if it was a simple thing (such as spending too much time with the shakes idk something more tame) he’d definitely tease you

“Awwh cutie? Getting jealous of the sharks? Don’t worry, I prefer you over them any day.”

he’ll have this smug ass grin that pisses you off, as much as it makes you love him too

rafayel will give you more hugs and gifts than usual for a while after, claiming it’s ‘nothing’ and that you’re ’hallucinating things’ when you ask what he’s doing

really he’s apologising, but you don’t need to know that

if he made you really jealous/upset he’ll make is extremely clear to you that he belongs to you, his heart and will is yours

will become more clingy and affectionate with you (not that he does it on purpose infact he’s only showing his true desires more), forever. like, you get jealous? don’t worry, literally for the rest of your life you’ll know that rafayel is head-over-heels for you.

tldr: he needs a hug :( also i ended up writing way more than intended but im a rafayel lover, writer and if he has no stans left im dead

here he is, the most jealous and arguably possessive man in lnd.

xavier tries to hide it, but everyone knows that he’s yours, without a shadow of a doubt

we all saw what happened with jeremiah, don’t make me pull out the receipts LOL. like jeremiah was just happy to finally see the girl xavier was lining over for centuries and xavier was already losing his shit 😭

literally anyone talking to you too affectionately will tick him off, but xavier’s too sly to make it obvious

you’re talking to a doctor (cough zayne) ? xavier brings up some sort of old medicine they don’t or asks about their speciality so you stop talking to them

talking to a protocore specialist? he’ll all of a sudden be holding a textbook worthy protocore, worth the poor persons whole shop

a florist? he’s pointing at every flower and naming them, both common and scientific name.

“Oh [Y/N], look at that flower. I believe it’s called a Lonicera periclymenum?”

*turns to face the clearly shocked and flustered florist with a polite smile*

“Well, maybe you know it as a honeysuckle, is that correct?”

after living for so long he’s learnt many things, and boy does he use it to his advantage

when xavier gets jealous, he doesn’t expect anything from you, no no, this man is a service boyfriend if i’ve ever seen one, he was MADE to please you

rather than thinking “oh you don’t like me anymore i’m so upset“ he thinks “i need to serve and show you i’m yours.”

do you like sweet things? he’s buying you chocolates of all kinds, if that’s not your jam he’s got pastries, or candy, or fresh fruit, maybe everything in a little gift box

prefer savoury foods? he’ll cook you a meal that he knows you like (even if you don’t trust the food) he’ll practice making it until you like it

if you talk about another person when you’re one on one with him, he’ll do little things to get your attention, maybe bite your finger softly or tuck hair behind your ear, little fleeting touches and such

cheeky little grins and conversational diversions such as 'Oh? What about you, how did you do in the exam?' or 'What were you buying in the supermarket?' - more ways of saying "i'm yours, don't forget"

but if you wanted to reassure xavier, physical affections such as cuddling and kisses can win him over

nap with him for a few nights (really he forgave you the first night, he just pretended to be grumpy with you for a while longer for more naps) and he’ll be satisfied (for now)

“Come cuddle with me starlight, I’ve still not forgiven you.”

(he’s lying, he forgave you like a week ago)

likes it when you play with his hair when you two cuddle - now this makes me want to write abt how the men cuddle lol

if he accidentally makes you jealous it’d probably be when the two of you are on a mission and he flirts with another woman to easily progress through a mission

the two of you are in the hotel room and you’re sulking in the bed, turning away from him and clearly displeased

xavier knows you’re jealous, and can only huff out an amused breath - he doesn’t like that you’re feeling bad but he’s happy that you’re jealous… means you like him as much as he likes you!

he gently walks over to the bed, shifting onto the duvet beside you and reaches out to touch your shoulder - making sure you’re okay with him touching you

if you let him, he’ll lie down next to you and slowly wrap his arms around you, spooning you from behind as he slowly kisses the top of your head

slipping your shirt down to just below your shoulder, he gives the skin of your back gentle kisses as he apologises

“I’m sorry, it was for the mission. I’ve only ever loved you, so please don’t be angry.”

and then he nuzzled into your back until you finally cave in, twisting around and hugging him back.

he’ll be seriously apologetic about it though, and in the future avoid such intimate forms of gathering information even *if* you told him it was okay

AN; i got way too carried away with rafayel ANYWAYS hope you enjoy and now i want to write smaller hcs on how the men cuddle lolol

also this isn’t proofread no beta we die like caleb ig

[garbean]

Happy Valentine's, here's some stobotnik valentines cards through the movies, tried to edit some dialogue to make it more valentines-y but honestly I barely had to edit some of them

Some small details under the cut

The to and from parts change over time along with their relationship:

For robotniks cards:

Stone goes from Barnacle → Agent stone (as Robotnik starts to appreciate him more) → Stone (as he becomes robotniks equal)

Robotnik goes from You know (doesn't want to tie his name into anything and it's also just his usual sarcastic remark) → God (for obvious reasons) → Robotnik (They're equals but saying Ivo seems too personal for him, or at least too soon. Ties his name into the card also)

I tried to make the handwriting for his second card more unstable/insane though I don't think I did it very well. His last card he uses the same pen as stone.

Stones cards:

Robotnik goes from Dr. Robotnik (Formal, normal) → Doctor Ivo Robotnik (Stone didn't know if he'd ever get to write his name again. The handwriting is somewhat shakier.) → Ivo (Yes yes we get it they're equals)

Stone's stays at agent stone for the first two mostly because he doesn't really develop anything in terms of how close they are. It's stone in the last one just because he starts to know that they don't quite have the same superior-henchman relationship.

Honestly the quotes don't have much behind them, I went for dialogue instead of pick up lines just cause why not and so it would be more stobotnik-y. The last quote Robotnik has though is fairly aromantic coded just for my own indulgence. I did struggle with stones quotes as most of them are "sir you're magnificent" "you're basic" "are you afraid of g-ghosts?" "sir you're back!" Which are very difficult to edit. That's more or less why his first card is more of a response than a quote

Stone ends up developing the same smile as Robotnik over time, and he's a lot more expressive compared to the second card because he becomes more comfortable. (The first card is an outlier for obvious reasons)

[croquis-el]

Self-addressing of the main female characters of Ace Attorney (Gyakuten Saiban)

I promised you, I remember

First we will analyze our mentor Chihiro Ayasato (Mia Fey)

She uses the universal polite pronoun "watashi" and it is written with kanji 私 (which is used to show an adult character)

This pronoun can be used by both women and men (watashi is also used, for example, by Mitsurugi / Edgeworth)

(これ以上、私に ハジをかかせないで････)

(koreijō, watashi ni haji o kaka senaide)

(Don't make me do this anymore...)

___________________________________________

Next, of course, is the younger sister - Mayoi Ayasato (Maya Fey)

Mayoi uses the feminine pronoun "atashi", however it is written in hiragana, which indicates her "youth", compared to her older sister, giving it a less formal feel.

Atashi (あたし)

It is an altered word from わたし(watashi). It is an informal personal pronoun used by the younger generation mostly young females. 

It’s also important to note that the kanji for "atashi" is exactly the same as "watashi" (私).

"Atashi" is most commonly written in hiragana as あたし.

あたしやっぱり、 御剣検事がよかったよ。

atashi yappari, Mitsurugi kenji ga yokatta yo.

I think Prosecutor Mitsurugi was the best.

___________________________________________

The next equally important character is Harumi Ayasato (Pearl Fey)

The miracle child uses "watakushi" to address herself

だってわたくし、 もうシンパイで････。

datte watakushi, mō shin paide.

I'm so worried...

Watakushi (私 / わたくし) is an ultra-formal term, often used by who are profusely polite, very sophisticated, or somewhat old-fashioned. Same kanji as "watashi".  

___________________________________________

Then, Naruhodo's beloved daughter (our daughter) - Minuki Naruhodo (Trucy Wright)

And here it gets interesting. The girl addresses herself in the third person, i.e. instead of "I" she calls herself "Minuki".

それが、みぬきの夢なんです!

sore ga, minuki no yumena ndesu!

That's Minuki's dream!

ホント、パパはみぬきがいないと なんにもできないんだから!

honto, papa wa minuki ga inaito nan'nimo dekinai ndakara!

Really, Daddy can't do anything without Minuki!

弁護士さんが、みぬきの家族に なってくれる、ってコトですか?

bengoshi-san ga, minuki no kazoku ni natte kureru, tte kotodesu ka?

Does this mean that the lawyer will become part of Minuki's family?

This kind of address is considered "childish" and is acceptable up to a certain age. The fact that Minuki does not use any pronoun "I" even at 15 years old can mean different things. Using a pronoun in the third person, your name instead of "I" - allows the brain to process information more easily and impartially in a stressful situation.

And considering that she called herself "Minuki" from the age of 8 (known to us), this is the most likely scenario.

The exact reason is unknown to us, but we can assume about it, and we know that everything here is not just like that.

___________________________________________

Next, our younger colleague - Kizuki Kokone (Athena Cykes)

The master of analytical psychology uses the pronoun "watashi", but it is written in hiragana, which, as in the case of Mayoi, indicates to us that Kokone is still a very young girl who had to enter the adult world too quickly

(わたしは、希月心音 《きづきここね》)

(watashi wa, 《kizuki kokone》).

(I'm Kizuki Kokone)

___________________________________________

The lady prosecutor Karma Mei (Franziska von Karma) also uses "watashi" to refer to herself, but it is written in kanji (like the adult characters).

私の名は狩魔 冥(かるまめい)。････天才検事よ。

watashi no na wa karuma mei (karuma mei). Tensai kenji yo.

My name is Karma Mei. ...I'm a genius prosecutor.

Considering that Mei grew up in the USA, this even gives her more severity and shows her desire for the ideal. In comparison with Mayoi (with whom she is the same age), Mei "formally" looks older, standing out among her peers, in an effort to catch up and overtake her brother.

___________________________________________

The forensic lady Akane Hozuki (Ema Skye) uses the feminine version of the pronoun watashi in her speech - her pronoun is "atashi" (like Mayoi)

あたし････カガク捜査官の 宝月茜(ほうづきあかね)です!

Atashi kagaku sōsa-kan no hōdzuki akane (hō dzuki Akane)desu!

I'm Akane Hozuki, a science investigator!

___________________________________________

And last but not least, Mikumo Ichijou (Kay Faraday)

The crow girl uses the classical formal pronoun "watashi", which at first seems out of place with her appearance, but fits the image of a noble thief. It is also written in hiragana (young character).

わたしは正真正銘の “ヤタガラス”ですよ。

Watashi wa Shōshinshōmei No “Yatagarasu” desu yo .

I am a genuine Yatagarasu.

___________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed it and learned something new about the characters!

[celestialgallaghers]

Cherry [18+]

Note: I've had this draft saved since yesterday and contemplated not posting bc it feels a bit tone deaf right now. But I decided to do it bc i worked too hard on it and didn't want to disappoint those who expected a post this week.

this one turned out uhhhhhh a LOT longer than i thought. white mustang changed the way i write i think……..anyways this is based on this request. i hope you guys can still enjoy although i understand if you don't wanna read about liam rn💗

Summary: Tired of feeling left behind, you’re on a mission to lose your virginity before starting uni in the fall. The only problem is finding someone to help you out in that department. As it turns out, the last person in the world you would've thought of is willing to fill that role.

Word count: 11.6k

Liam Gallagher wasn’t your friend. Well, you didn’t really know what to call him. Coworker felt too formal. Dealer felt too transactional. Acquaintance? But even that implied a kind of mutual acknowledgment that didn’t really exist between you. Maybe it was easier not to label him at all. 

You’d known him most of your life. Sort of. The way people know each other when they grow up in the same town and go to the same schools. But your paths never really crossed. He was one of those kids that was always getting in trouble for being too loud or too hyperactive whereas you were more on the shy side and never caused any trouble.

As you got older, girls started seeing him less as annoying and more cute. He’d grown into those big, doe-like eyes and his hair had darkened from blonde to a soft brown that suited him better.

You weren’t blind. You knew he was attractive. But it was more of a detached recognition. Like looking at someone in a magazine who was completely unattainable. Not someone you'd ever bother trying to talk to. He’d never seemed like the kind of person you’d get on with. And he’d never noticed you either.

Until recently. 

You’d just finished school and taken a job at a corner shop to tide you over before uni in the fall. You hadn’t known Liam worked there. If you had, maybe you would’ve thought twice. You’d been so ready to leave it all behind. Your hometown, your classmates, the whole awkwardness of adolescence. But there he was.

At first it was fine. You worked mornings, he worked afternoons. There was little overlap, save for the occasional handoff at shift change. He’d show up late more often than not, leaving you irritated and stuck there longer than you wanted to be. You occasionally got a muttered hello, but it always came with that vacant stare like he couldn’t be arsed.

You didn’t bother making conversation. Neither did he. And that was how you preferred it. Everything was fine until your boss started scheduling you for afternoons.

It was already a shit day. Customers were more infuriating than usual, your back ached, and the fluorescent lights were giving you a headache. By the time your break rolled around, you were equal parts exhausted and fuming.

You stomped out back, craving a moment of peace, only to find the overturned milk cartons-turned-chairs already occupied.

Liam. Of course.

He was slouched low, long legs stretched out, smoke curling lazily from the corner of his mouth. At first, he didn't even look your way.

You hovered in the doorway, debating whether to head back inside. Then he flicked his eyes toward you and back to his cigarette. But now that you were closer, it didn’t quite smell like tobacco.

“You smoke?” he asked.

You stared at him for a moment. “You get stoned at work?”

It came out more judgemental than you meant. The truth was you didn’t but it wasn’t like you were against it. 

He gave you a slow grin. “Always.”

You blinked. “And you’re not worried about—” you gestured vaguely back inside, “I don’t know, getting caught?”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “He don’t give a fuck. Neither do I.”

Then he looked at you properly, a gleam in his eyes that made you uneasy. He held out the joint casually.

“Might help with all that uptightness.”

Your eyes shot to him. “I’m not uptight.”

He just shrugged and took another drag. You hated how uncool you felt right then.

“Wait,” you said, surprising even yourself as you moved to sit beside him. “Give it here.” 

He raised an eyebrow but passed it over without a word.

You inhaled and immediately regretted it. The smoke burned the back of your throat and you fought the urge to cough, swallowing hard as your eyes watered. You passed it back silently.

He took it, that same half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His gaze flicked over you. Just once, but it lingered.

“First time?” he asked knowingly. 

You coughed quietly and bit your nail instead of answering.

“Figures,” he muttered under his breath. 

“What?” you asked, head snapping towards him.

“Nothing,” he said, still grinning.

You sat in silence after that. The joint burned down to nothing between his fingers. He stubbed it out on the edge of the crate and stood without a word.

You stayed there a while longer, limbs softening, thoughts loosening. The hum of frustration that had been clanging around in your skull all day faded to a dull buzz. You closed your eyes and thought about the look he’d given you.

Like maybe he had been seeing you after all.

It became a pattern without meaning to. You’d find him out back on your break, sprawled out, joint in hand. He never said hello. Just passed it your way like it was expected. Eventually you stopped hesitating.

You’d just sit there and listen to him ramble about football or the Beatles or random conspiracy theories. You didn’t have much to add and he didn’t seem to mind. It was easy to let his voice fill the space. Easy to be quiet around him. Sometimes he made you laugh. Even if you tried not to show it.

Once, he didn’t even wait for your break. Just sauntered up to the front and jerked his head toward the alley.

He never let you take more than one hit. 

“Don’t need you freaking out at the register,” he’d said, plucking it out of your fingers.

You’d rolled your eyes and insisted you could handle more, but he’d waved it off like it wasn’t up for debate.

He liked to joke that he was corrupting you. You never knew how to respond to that. Maybe he was. But the truth was you were tired of being the girl who didn’t know anything. Who hadn’t done anything. And maybe, just maybe, you liked the attention.

Still, you told yourself you didn’t really like him. You just...didn’t mind him. He made work tolerable. Still annoyed the hell out of you, but you were, reluctantly, starting to get to know him. 

Maybe you’d judged him too harshly. Or maybe you were just starting to pay attention.

Lately though, something else had been gnawing at the back of your mind. Something you’d started fixating on in your final year of school but had never really acted on.

You didn’t want to start uni as a virgin.

It wasn’t some big, dramatic thing. It wasn’t even about romance. You just wanted to know what it felt like. Get it over with. And to be prepared so you didn’t end up in some awkward, fumbling experience down the line.

You were tired of feeling like the only one who hadn’t figured it out. Like you were lagging behind somehow. Sure you’d kissed people before, but nothing more. And the longer it went unaddressed, the more it messed with your head. Like it was something people could somehow tell just by looking at you. 

You wanted to stop wondering. Stop feeling left behind. You just needed a willing participant.

Mid-summer rolled around and you still hadn’t made any progress. You’d lay awake staring at the ceiling and chewing on your thumbnail and get mad at yourself. The more time that passed, the more pressure you felt.

The solution was obvious. Even if you didn’t want it to be.

Liam was there. He was attractive. Experienced. You knew that much just from overheard hallway gossip in school. Girls had thrown themselves at him. He had a reputation and from what you could tell, he’d earned it. He was cocky, sharp tongued, and probably knew exactly what he was doing. He could teach you.

But the thought of revealing something so deeply personal about yourself to him made your stomach twist. You weren’t even that close. You didn’t talk about real things. Besides, how were you even supposed to ask something like that without sounding completely pathetic?

A week passed and you were no closer. The idea had been eating at you more than usual. You’d even started eyeing up strangers on the street. Anyone who might solve your problem.

You caught yourself staring at Liam more often. The way he sprawled in his chair. The way his fingers moved when he lit a cigarette. The grin he got when he knew he’d gotten under your skin. It was getting harder to pretend you weren’t thinking about it.

You kept turning it over in your head, until one day you just blurted it out.

“Do you have any friends you could set me up with?”

He paused, then gave you a look. Like he was trying to figure out where that had come from.

Then he smirked. “Sure. Come out with us tomorrow night.”

He gave you the name of the pub and added, “They’re a bit rowdy, mind.”

You nodded like it didn’t bother you. Like this was a normal thing to ask. But as soon as his back was turned, your stomach dropped.

What were you even doing? It was probably a bad idea. But maybe bad ideas were better than no ideas at all.

The next night had you dressed in one of your more revealing tops and a mini skirt you almost changed out of twice. Liam introduced you to his friends without much ceremony. A few you recognized from school, others you didn’t. They were loud. Full of pints and jokes you didn’t get. The kind of group that could swallow you whole if you let them.

You started downing drinks to settle your nerves, trying to summon up some courage. There was only one of his friends that stuck out to you. He leaned in when you spoke. Let his hand brush your arm when he laughed. It was going well enough.

Until Liam leaned in beside you, voice low and almost too casual.

“Girlfriend.”

You blinked. “What?”

He nodded toward the guy. “He’s got a girlfriend.”

Just like that. Deflated.

You leaned back in your chair, heat rushing to your cheeks. Of course he did. Because of course the one guy you’d felt bold enough to flirt with was already taken.

Liam didn’t look particularly sorry. In fact, he was smiling. Amused like your disappointment was entertaining to him.

“Don’t pout,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. “There’s always me.”

You shot him a look. He seemed like he was joking so you laughed it off, took another drink, and tried not to overthink what he’d just said like he somehow knew exactly what you were after.

This was nothing like work. The atmosphere was looser. Enough that it felt like the dynamic between you was shifting. Everything was a little more cheeky and oddly charged.

Later you found yourself outside with him, standing in the alley behind the bar. You weren’t sure why you followed. You just did.

Liam leaned against the brick wall, cigarette between his fingers, his head tilted back. You swayed slightly, tipsy and quiet, watching him. In the dark, his features softened—long lashes and sharp cheekbones catching the glow from the light above the door.

He was annoyingly pretty. Pretty in a way most boys weren’t. You found yourself a little mesmerized by how his plush lips wrapped around the cigarette. You must've been staring a bit too long because a slow grin spread across his face. 

“You checking me out?”

Your face went hot. “No.”

He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked delighted.

“Really?” he drawled. “’Cause it looked a lot like you were checking me out.”

You flushed and looked away. But then something tugged at you. Maybe it was alcohol or maybe just a week of pent-up want and frustration.

You turned back to him. “Maybe.”

His grin widened, eyes sparkling. “Knew it. You like me,” he teased.

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Nah nah nah, you do. I can see it in your eyes. You want me. Big time.” 

“Just because you’re nice to look at doesn’t mean I like you. I tolerate you.”

That didn’t deter him. “Just keep telling yourself that love.”

He was annoying you again. You muttered a ‘whatever’ and began to turn away, but he caught your wrist. You spun back around, eyes flicking down to his hand then locking with his gaze.

He stared at you for a moment, then leaned in without warning, kissing you like it was no big deal. Like he’d just decided to. His lips were warm, soft, and slightly chapped. The kiss didn’t linger, but it was just long enough for your brain to register how much you liked the way he felt against you.

When he pulled back, he didn’t move far. Just looked at you, still smirking.

“Well?” he said.

You pretended to think it over. “Not bad.”

He laughed at that. “Cheeky.”

Neither of you made a move to push things further, but you wondered if he felt the sudden buzz between you too.

You reached for his cigarette, pulling it from his fingers and taking a slow drag. You tried to look more relaxed than you actually felt.

He raised an eyebrow. “You gonna steal all my bad habits?”

You glanced sideways at him. “Depends. What else you got?”

He laughed under his breath. “Plenty. Most of ’em worse than this.”

You took another drag, then handed it back. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, I am tempting you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away.

He leaned back against the wall, watching you like he was still trying to figure you out. “Didn’t think you’d let me kiss me.”

You crossed your arms. “Why not?”

“Thought you were too…” He trailed off, tilting his head. “Uptight.”

You groaned. “You love saying that.”

“Because it winds you up.”

“It doesn’t wind me up.”

He grinned. “It definitely winds you up.”

You shook your head, heart rate picking up.

“I’m just saying,” he went on, almost mockingly sincere, “you’ve got this whole quiet, innocent thing going on. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Maybe you don’t know me that well,” you shot back, feeling a bit bold despite the pounding in your chest.

That seemed to catch him off guard. His smirk faltered, just slightly.

“Maybe I don’t,” he said, quieter this time.

The silence stretched a little too long. He almost looked like he might kiss you again. You would’ve let him—until he bumped your shoulder lightly.

“C’mon let’s get back in before they think we’ve run off to shag in the alley.”

You snorted. “As if.”

He smirked again. “Not yet, anyway.”

You shoved him playfully, laughing despite yourself, and followed him back in—heart racing, head spinning, the taste of him still lingering on your lips.

The days that followed weren’t as awkward as you expected. If anything, he got a little flirty. Not overtly, but enough to keep you off balance.

Anytime he passed you, he’d pinch your waist. Just a quick squeeze. The first time made you freeze. By the fifth, you were swatting his hand away, half-heartedly trying to kick him while he darted off laughing, only annoying you more.

He always seemed to be bumping into you around corners. You could tell it was deliberate. He liked seeing you flustered. Liked standing a little too close and watching the way your cheeks flushed, that smirk tugging at his lips every time.

Another night, you went out with him and his friends again. Not for a setup this time, just for fun. It was louder, rowdier, and you got drunker than you meant to. At some point you ended up outside with him again, pressed against a brick wall. 

That kiss had been messier. His hands had steadied your waist while his mouth moved against yours. It wasn’t serious, but hours later you could feel exactly where he’d touched you.

None of it seemed to be leading anywhere. You hadn’t talked about it. But slowly, you were getting more comfortable around him. A little braver.

Which was probably why you were sitting out back with him again, biting your nails and quietly working up the nerve to ask.

It was quieter than usual. No rambling stories. No teasing. Just the rhythmic click of his lighter as he flicked it open and shut.

He was leaned back in his usual sprawl, shoulders relaxed, eyelids low. You watched him from the corner of your eye, studying the slight curl of his mouth when he exhaled.

He caught you staring.

“What?” he asked, voice low and faintly amused.

You looked away too fast. “Nothing.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and smug. “You’ve been weird today.”

“I’m not.”

“You are though.”

You didn’t argue. Just stared down at your hands, fidgeting with a loose thread on your jumper. You chewed your bottom lip before forcing yourself to speak.

“Can I ask you something?”

Liam glanced sideways at you, more curious now. “Course.”

You hesitated. Your heart felt like it had climbed into your throat, thudding hard and fast.

“It’s kind of serious so please don’t laugh at me.”

He leaned back slightly, sensing the change in tone. “Alright.”

You took a deep breath. Then another. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as you said it.

“I don’t want to start uni without…knowing what I’m doing.”

The silence between you felt unbearably loud.

“Sex-wise, I mean.” Your face burned like it was feverish.

He didn’t say anything right away, so you rushed to fill the space, heart pounding.

“I just—I’ve been thinking about it for ages, and I’m sick of overthinking it. And you’re…I don’t know, easy. Not like that. I mean—”

You stopped yourself, wincing inwardly.

But Liam didn’t tease you. He didn’t laugh. He just blinked once, expression unreadable

“Are you asking me to help you with that?”

You nodded once, your mouth suddenly dry.

“I was thinking you could teach me. I mean if that’s not too weird.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes studying your face with something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but not fully serious either.

“So you’ve never…” he trailed off.

“No,” you said, blushing and looking away.

“Hm,” he murmured noncommittally, as if debating something inside his head.

A rush of embarrassment hit you all at once. “I mean, you don’t have to,” you added quickly, words tumbling out. “We can just pretend I never said anything and forget it and—”

“I’ll do it,” he cut you off. 

Your eyes shot up. “You will?”

He nodded, a grin finally breaking through. “Yeah. Sure.”

You blinked. “Just like that?”

“Well…” He leaned back, looking too pleased with himself. “I figured you’d ask eventually.”

You smacked his arm, half-glaring. “You’re such a dick.”

“Hey, I could take it back right now,” he joked.

You laughed, nervous and relieved and still very unsure of what you’d just signed yourself up for.

He glanced at you again. “So when do we start?”

The next time you worked together it was already decided that you’d go back to yours after. But all day a fluttery kind of anxiety hummed beneath your skin. Excitement tangled with nerves. You couldn't stop thinking about it. About him. About what was going to happen. You kept replaying everything you knew, what little you knew, and wondering if it would be enough.

By the time your shift ended you were a mess. Every time he caught your eye, your nerves had spiked.

He found you near the back and gave you a small smirk, all confident and unbothered.

“Ready?” he asked casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. And maybe it wasn’t. For him, at least.

You nodded, though your palms were already sweating. “Yeah.”

Now the both of you were standing in your room. Unsure what to say, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Do you have condoms?”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Easy now,” he said with a grin. “Can’t just dive headfirst into the deep end. Gotta work our way up.”

You nodded, a mix of disappointment and relief washing over you. “Right. Sorry.” 

You crossed your arms, then quickly uncrossed them, unsure where to put your hands. “I don’t really know how this goes.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said with a smirk. “I was thinking we’d start simple. Just toss me off.”

Your head whipped toward him, eyes wide. He raised his eyebrows, clearly enjoying your reaction.

You gaped, trying to respond, but your brain stalled completely. Of course he could say that so casually. You, on the other hand, felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest.

You were really doing this. And with Liam Gallagher of all people.

He caught your flustered silence and softened, just a little. “C’mere,” he said gently.

Nerves twisted through your stomach as you stepped closer. You reached for his zip, hesitant, and he immediately stilled you with a laugh.

“Hang on,” he chuckled, placing a hand lightly over yours. “We’ll get there but I’m not exactly ready if you know what I mean.”

You laughed nervously, biting your bottom lip. “I really don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. “You’re going to have to…I don’t know, guide me.”

Something about your honesty must’ve struck a chord, because his teasing faded just slightly. His hand came up, thumb brushing your cheek with surprising gentleness.

“Right, first things first,” he said, a bit lower now. “It’s all about the build up. No rush.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “And how do I do that?”

“Best to start with a kiss,” he murmured, leaning in.

That, at least, you could handle. You let yourself lean into it. His lips were warm and slow against yours. Unlike before, there was no urgency. He was patient, his mouth gentle as he eased you into it, letting the tension drain from your shoulders one kiss at a time.

Then something hot flicked against your mouth. With a jolt, you realized it was his tongue, brushing tentatively against your bottom lip. Your other kisses hadn’t gotten this far. At least from what you could recall. Or maybe you were just sober now. More aware of him.

You froze for half a second before opening your mouth a little more, letting him in. It felt strange. Slick and new, but not unpleasant. You could taste the lingering traces of smoke and something sweet. Maybe cola. Maybe weed.

You mimicked the way he moved, letting your tongue brush against his. It sent a ripple of something hot through you. Excitement maybe. Or nerves. Or both.

When he finally pulled away, your mouth instinctively chased his.

He chuckled, his breath a little uneven now. “That’s step one,” he said, his voice rougher. “Then there’s the neck.”

He brushed your hair aside, fingers trailing gently along the back of your neck. “S’got all these spots that feel…well you’ll see.”

You held still as he tilted your head, breath ghosting over your skin. Then he kissed you there, light and experimental. At first you felt nothing. But when his lips trailed further down and found a spot that made a shiver ripple through you, everything shifted.

He grinned against your skin, clearly pleased with himself. He kissed again, then sucked gently, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. Over and over, he found new spots you hadn’t known existed until your pulse was erratic and you were sure he could feel it against his lips. 

By the time he pulled back, his lips were a little wet and his eyes were half-lidded.

“You wanna try?”

You felt completely out of your depth, but still nodded breathlessly. He was too tall for you to reach his neck properly standing like this, so you sat on the edge of your bed. He tilted his head, exposing the line of his neck. 

Leaning in, you tried to replicate what he’d done, focusing on the spots that had felt good. You pressed your lips just below his ear, but the angle was off. Awkward. Your confidence wavered.

You shifted, placing your hand beside his leg for support, and tried again. This time you were able to elicit a response. He let out a low hum and you felt the vibration under your lips. It startled you at first, then you realized you’d made that sound happen. And you liked it.

You moved to the other side of his neck, but the angle was off again. You were too far, too bent.

Without warning, he reached out and grabbed your hips, pulling you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your breath hitched as you found yourself straddling him, legs on either side of his hips. The shift in position made you feel more exposed, more aware of everything. Of his hands resting lightly on your waist. The growing heat blooming between your thighs. How little space there was between you now.

He looked up at you, voice softer now. “This okay?”

Your hands had settled on his shoulders to steady yourself, your heart pounding somewhere in your throat. “Yeah,” you breathed.

He waited a moment, then tilted his head again, offering the other side of his neck. You leaned in, lips brushing the curve of his skin, a little more confident this time. You kissed him slowly, lingering just long enough to feel him shift beneath you. When you sucked gently at a spot below his jaw, he inhaled sharply through his nose, and his fingers flexed against your hips.

A quiet thrill ran through you. You were doing it right.

Without thinking, your hands slid around the back of his neck, fingertips curling into his hair. You felt heady with it. The weight of his body under yours, the way he reacted to your touch.

Then he pulled back slightly with a low laugh. “Okay, okay—not too hard you’re gonna leave a mark.”

You glanced down and saw the skin where your mouth had been already darkening.

“Oops,” you said, though you were smiling.

He grinned. “Oh, I’ll get you for that.”

You laughed softly, grateful for the banter. It helped ease the nerves still fluttering in your chest. Made this feel like less of a performance.

You caught your breath and asked, “Okay, that was step two, what’s next?”

Liam’s eyes dropped to your waist as his hands slipped from your sides. “Step three,” he said, his voice a little lower now. “It’s where things get interesting.”

He shifted you gently, guiding you off his lap and laying you back against the pillows. His touch wasn’t rough. Just enough to steer you. You let him move you, body still buzzing from before.

Your shirt had ridden up slightly in the shuffle, and you saw his gaze dip down to it.

“Can I?” he asked quietly.

Your breath caught, but you nodded. Slowly, you lifted your arms above your head, giving him room. He pulled your shirt up and over you in one smooth motion, dropping it somewhere off to the side. The cool air hit your skin and instinct took over, your arms crossing reflexively over your chest.

“Hey, hey. None of that, okay?” he said gently, his hands finding your wrists and coaxing them away. His eyes dipped briefly to the lacy black bra you’d picked for the occasion. His voice dropped again. “You’re gorgeous. Don’t hide it.”

You weren’t sure if it was a line or if he was being sincere. Either way you still blushed as you looked away, fighting the urge to cover up again. When you turned back to him, you took a breath and met his gaze. 

“At least make it even,” you said, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

He let out a soft laugh and pulled it over his head, tossing it beside yours. You couldn’t help but look. He was skinny. Pale. A bit of sparse hair across his chest that caught the warm light of your bedroom lamp.

“Stop staring at me tits,” he said with a smirk.

You grinned. “Sorry.”

Then he was leaning over you again, body hovering above yours, his warmth already sinking into your skin. He braced himself on one elbow beside your head.

“Tell me if you wanna stop,” he said, quieter now, just for you. “I won’t be offended.”

You nodded and then his lips were on yours again, a little deeper than before. His free hand started at your bare shoulder, the heat of his palm seeping into your skin as it slid down your arm, then your side, until it settled at your waist, making you twitch. It stirred something in your belly and you found yourself turning into him, seeking more. 

Your leg slotted between his without thinking and he let out a pleased sound against your mouth, squeezing your hip in encouragement. Your hand found the warm stretch of his back, your fingertips exploring the smooth skin, hesitant but curious, as your mouth parted beneath his.

Then you felt the subtle pressure of him grinding against your thigh. A low sound slipped from him, muffled by your kiss, and your stomach flipped. You pressed back, trying to mimic the motion. Then his hand moved lower, found the curve of your ass, and pressed you closer. Your breath caught.

Then you felt something hot and rigid pressing against your thigh and your head spun when you realized it was his dick. He was hard. Because of you. Or at least what you were doing. The realization landed like a jolt—part thrill, part nerves, part disbelief. You’d never made anyone feel like that before. 

“Liam,” you broke away, breath unsteady. You caught a glimpse of his face. His lips were a bit swollen and slick with spit and his eyes had darkened. 

You swallowed thickly. “Can I…I mean, is it time?”

He smirked, but it wasn’t unkind. “Impatient are we?”

He leaned back, sitting up enough to tug his zipper down and shimmy out of his jeans. They hit the floor with a thud and you suddenly felt a little overdressed. Your fingers trembled slightly as you unbuttoned your own jeans and easied them off.

Your eyes flicked to the tent in his boxers. It was…intimidating. More obvious than you’d expected. You couldn’t help staring a bit. Then, casually, he pulled himself out.

Your eyes widened. It looked…angry. Red and heavy and very much real. He gave it a few lazy strokes and it sprang up firm against his stomach. The motion was so normal, so practiced, and you realized with a start that your mouth had gone dry.

You looked up, eyes darting from his cock to his face, uncertain. “So what do I do? Or where do I…”

He caught your hesitation and his smile turned crooked again. “Alright first rule: no one likes a dry handjob.”

You blinked, nodding quickly.

“Spit works. Or lube, which I’m guessing you don’t have.”

You shook your head, cheeks burning.

“Then spit it is.”

You hesitated, then did as he said, awkwardly spitting into your palm. It felt weird, unsanitary almost, but you were committed now. 

He watched you with an unreadable expression, then gently took your hand and guided it toward him. His fingers closed around yours, slowly curling them until you were gripping the base of his cock.

“Not too tight,” he said, his voice noticeably rougher now.

He was burning hot in your palm. The skin was softer than you expected, but firm beneath and somehow impossibly alive. You could hardly believe this was happening. That he was letting you touch him like this. That you were touching him.

You glanced up. His chest was rising and falling a little faster now.

“Start slow,” he said, his eyes fluttering for a second. “Most girls rush it, but I like to take my time.”

Your face went warm again. You couldn’t help picturing him alone in bed, stroking himself, and knowing that you were now doing what he’d probably done a hundred times before made your stomach twist with heat. You shifted a little, suddenly aware of the wetness between your thighs.

You took a breath and started moving your hand. Tentative at first, slick with spit, slow strokes up and down. His hips twitched beneath your touch. You watched his expression closely, trying to read it.

“The head,” he murmured. “Make sure you—”

He didn’t finish. Your hand had reached the tip, and he groaned low in his throat, hips bucking up into your palm. The sound shot through you like lightning.

“Was that good?” you asked, breath catching.

He let out a short, breathless laugh. “Yeah. Yeah—now twist your wrist, like this.” He demonstrated the motion in the air, and you copied it, your movements smoother now.

He moaned. 

You froze for half a second, startled by the rawness of it. But he didn’t look embarrassed. He looked wrecked. And the sight of it sent a rush of pride through you.

You kept going. Up, down, twisting slightly. The rhythm came naturally and you watched as he unraveled beneath you. His lip caught between his teeth, chest rising sharply, brow creased in pleasure. You liked watching him like this. Liked the sense of control. It felt powerful.

A bead of something glossy appeared at the tip, and on impulse, you ran your thumb over it. He shuddered violently and you stilled. “No no no—don’t stop. Faster.”

You picked up the pace, nerves giving way to instinct. His hips began to rock into your hand, just slightly, and then a soft, desperate whine escaped his throat. His head tipped back, neck exposed, lips parted, lashes fluttering. He looked beautiful like this.

“That’s it, keep going, don’t—fuck.”

And then he was coming. His hips jerked forward and a low groan tore from his throat as he spilled into your hand. You watched, mesmerized and breathing hard, your grip still curled around him as he rode it out. Some of it had hit his stomach, but most was in your hand.

You blinked, staring down at the mess in your palm, frowning slightly, unsure what to do next.

Then he spoke.

“Try it.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. “What?”

Liam was still breathless, chest rising and falling steadily, but his eyes were locked on yours with a flicker of mischief. His cheeks were tinged pink, making him look even more debauched than usual.

“Give it a taste.”

You glanced from your palm to him. He couldn’t be serious. But the look in his eyes said otherwise. Cautiously, maybe just to prove to yourself that you weren’t a total coward, you brought your hand to your mouth and gave the smallest kitten lick.

You recoiled instantly.

“Oh my god,” you said, face twisting. “That’s disgusting you bastard.”

You smeared the rest across his stomach in retaliation, and he let out a surprised laugh.

“It’s not meant to taste good,” he said. “Just tryin’ to prepare you. You’re gonna have to get used to it if you plan on blowin’ me proper.”

You paused, eyes drifting down to where he was softening, trying to picture fitting him in your mouth. You chewed the inside of your cheek, then glanced back up and gave it one more experimental lick.

Your face twisted again. “No. Nuh uh.”

He just shrugged, unbothered. “Acquired taste then.”

You shook your head, wiping your hand again on his stomach just to be petty. He squirmed. “Alright, alright. Do you have tissues or a towel or something?”

Right. You stood up and rifled through your hamper until you found one. It wasn’t clean, but it’d do. 

He took it, wiped himself off, then handed it back. You quickly scrubbed your hand, still mildly horrified.

“Not bad for your first time,” he said, voice light again, almost smug.

“You’re just saying that.”

“Nah, not when I’m teachin’ ya. Impossible to fail under my guidance.”

You let out a quiet laugh, and the room felt a little lighter. Until his gaze flicked over your body again.

“You ever been fingered?”

The bluntness of it made you bark a surprised laugh. “What?”

“I’m tryin’ to return the favor here,” he said, nonchalant. “But I need to know what I’m workin’ with.”

You hesitated, cheeks warming. “No…not really. I mean, just my own.”

Liam let out a sharp exhale. “Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, eyes pinned to you like he was picturing it.

You blinked, unsure if he was turned on or overwhelmed. Possibly both. He was watching you closely now, eyes darting over your features. You realized he was waiting for permission. Slowly, you nodded.

He sat up, and when you shifted to lie back, he stopped you gently. His fingers tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, then he leaned in, voice low, breath ghosting across your skin.

“I was right about corrupting you,” he murmured. “Watchin’ it happen in real time. You’re so fuckin’ innocent it’s almost wrong to do this to you.”

Your breath hitched. The words shouldn’t have turned you on but they did. He liked this. Liked showing you. Ruining you. Maybe you kind of liked it too.

The thought had you leaning in, pressing your lips to his soft and slow. He met you halfway, mouth warm and pliant, and you threaded your fingers into his hair without thinking. It was soft between your fingers, slightly damp with sweat, and he hummed into the kiss like he liked it.

You were throbbing now. Heat pooled low in your stomach, a growing ache that felt impatient and overwhelming all at once. You didn’t know if it was just from finally having someone touch you like this or if it was because it was Liam. Maybe both. Either way, you wanted more. And you could tell from the way his hands slid slowly up your thighs, so did he.

His hand cupped your breast through the lace of your bra and you gasped into his mouth. He reached behind you, fingers fumbling near the clasp, but you pulled away. You were about to let him inside you, yet somehow baring your chest felt like a step too far. 

He backed off without question. His hand dropped and instead he guided you back against the pillows, his body settling over yours. He didn’t push. You were grateful for that. One of his hands rested at your waist, his thumb tracing slow strokes into your skin.

Then, gradually, that hand began to wander lower.

He reached the waistband of your underwear, toying with it lazily, like he was giving you time. Still, your stomach fluttered with a flicker of panic until his thumb brushed your clit through the fabric.

A jolt of pleasure surged through you. Your hips jumped. A helpless little sound slipped out before you could stop it. He pressed again, firmer this time, and you shivered.

Then he kissed you once more and slowly began to tug your underwear down. You nodded again, a little quicker this time. He peeled them down slowly and the air felt cold against your skin. Your heart jumped into your throat. No one had ever seen you like this. No one.

Liam must’ve felt the shift in you, the sudden stillness, because he paused. His hand returned to your waist, smoothing over your skin in slow, steady circles.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You don’t have to do this.”

You blinked up at him. The thought of stopping and leaving the ache between your legs ignored felt unbearable. Plus you wanted him anyway.

“I’m okay,” you murmured, your voice shaky but sure. “Keep going.”

He leaned down to kiss you again, slower now. Then his hand slid back between your legs. When his middle finger brushed through your slick folds, you jumped, startled by the rougher pad of his fingertip.

His eyes flicked to yours again, checking, and you gave his arm a quick squeeze in response. He kissed you as he gathered the wetness then slowly pressed the tip of his finger inside.

You stilled. It was strange, being filled by something not your own. The sensation was sharper. Deeper. His finger was bigger than yours and the stretch felt unfamiliar. When you’d tried on your own, you could never quite get it right. Never found anything that felt good. 

You felt the same now. Just full. Not uncomfortable, but not quite pleasurable either. He slid his finger to the knuckle and paused.

Then he curled his finger up and your whole body tensed. A shocked sound escaped from deep in your throat before you could stop it.

He froze, pulling back just enough to look at you, searching your face for any sign that he’d hurt you. 

You stared back at him, just as shocked. But you weren’t hurt, you were stunned. He’d hit something and the sensation had lit up your entire body.

Liam’s mouth tugged into a slow, knowing smirk as he figured it out. Then he curled his finger again, this time with a little more pressure.

“Good?” he asked, voice back to that cocky lilt again.

You nodded, unable to speak. Your mouth parted on a breath, eyes fluttering shut as the spark flared again, deeper and hotter this time. He started to build a rhythm and you couldn’t believe how good it felt. Couldn’t believe you’d ever tried to do this alone and thought you were just broken.

When he tried to add another finger, you gasped and flinched slightly at the stretch, so he backed off without a word. God if you couldn’t even take two fingers, how the hell were you supposed to handle his cock? 

But that thought dissipated as fast as it came, replaced by the surge of pleasure when he found that spot inside you again. He kept the rhythm steady and you were nearly overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it. How insanely good it felt. 

Then his thumb found your clit again, circling it in time with the thrust of his finger, and a choked whimper slipped out before you could stop it.

Your hand flew to your mouth, face burning.

He just laughed under his breath. “There we are.”

The orgasm was building fast, far more intense than you were used to. Your legs tensed. Your stomach clenched. Your hands fumbled for something, anything, grabbing at him, at the sheets, needing an anchor. Your mouth stayed frozen in an silent gasp. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe.

Then it hit.

Your body arched off the bed as the pleasure tore through you in a wave, shuddering and all consuming. You felt it from the base of your spine to the tips of your fingers, white hot and blinding. You were dimly aware of the gasping moans falling from your mouth, unfiltered and raw.

When it finally let go of you, you collapsed back into the mattress, limbs trembling. Every part of you felt loose.

Liam was watching you, still stroking lightly, his expression somewhere between smug and soft.

“Fuck,” you breathed hoarsely, eyes barely open.

“That,” he said with a slight grin, “was step four. In case you’re keeping track.”

You gave him a wobbly smile, trying to catch your breath.

Then, casually, he pulled his finger out. And instead of wiping it off, he brought it to his mouth, sucking it clean. The sight made your stomach twist. It was filthy. You had to look away for a second. When you looked back, he was still watching you.

You just stared at him, speechless.

The following weeks were fun. Surprisingly fun. You’d expected this whole thing to feel awkward or clinical. Like checking a box. But instead it felt like something else entirely.

After you got the hang of handjobs (and Liam very smugly declared you a natural), blowjobs had been next. You’d been nervous, terrified if you were being honest, but Liam had been patient. He let you figure it out at your own pace, guiding you when you needed it, praising you when you got it right. And you did get it right. Apparently you were a “fast learner.”

What surprised you most though was the appetite you’d discovered in yourself. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been holding back. The way desire for someone could twist through you. Every time you got off with him, which was multiple times a week now, it only left you wanting more.

Once you’d gotten used to his fingers, he’d gone down on you. And that had changed everything. You hadn’t expected it to feel so good. Or to feel that good that quickly. The way he used his mouth, his tongue, the little noises he made, it was enough to make you lightheaded just thinking about it.

You caught yourself staring at his mouth all the time now. In the break room. On shift. Even when he was just smoking or mouthing off about football. You knew exactly what that mouth could do. The memory alone was enough to make your thighs press together involuntarily.

There was even a moment at work, mid-shift, where you'd caught yourself fantasizing about dragging him into the broom closet and dropping to your knees. And once the idea was there, bold and impossible to ignore, you realized there was nothing stopping you. So you did it.

Found him. Grabbed his wrist wordlessly. Got on your knees and took him into your mouth until he came hot and heavy down your throat. His hand had gripped your hair, his breath ragged, and the sounds he made…god you’d have teased him later if they hadn’t made you so painfully turned on. 

You’d spent the rest of that shift flushed and frustrated while Liam sauntered past you now and then with that crooked smirk.

But for all his swagger, he never rushed you. Never made you feel like you owed him anything. If something made you nervous, he slowed down. Checked in. You always had a way out, and he made sure you knew it. 

It didn’t go unnoticed. You were still figuring everything out, but one thing was certain. You’d picked the right man for the job. Even if you would never say that to his face.

Even if sometimes you thought too hard about why it was him. Why it felt safe with him. Why his voice, his hands, his teasing meant more than it should’ve.

There was an unspoken rule between you: no feelings. This was strictly about sex. Learning. Experience. Whatever you wanted to call it. And it mostly worked.

Except when he flirted with you at work. Or looked at you too long. Or made you laugh mid-kiss and then just held your face in his hands.

The line between “just sex” and something else kept blurring. But neither of you said anything. That was part of the deal too.

One day, out back on break, you told him you wanted him to fuck you. He’d just taken a drag and immediately choked on it, coughing out smoke like he’d swallowed wrong.

You’d smiled, far too pleased with yourself, and walked back inside like it was nothing.

And now the day had come. You were going to let Liam take you.

You were equal parts excited and nervous. It felt like the right time, but there was still that low hum of uncertainty running through you. 

You’d never done this before. You had no idea what to expect. But also…you’d seen him. He wasn’t exactly small.

Still, you trusted him. And that made all the difference.

You hadn’t worked that day, but you’d agreed on a time for Liam to come over. The hours leading up to it felt surreal, like you were hovering just above your body. You were restless and fidgety, your nerves tangled up in anticipation and something that felt uncomfortably close to fear.

You kept telling yourself it was fine. That you wanted this. But you’d built it up so much in your head it had started to feel more like a test you might fail rather than something to enjoy.

So when he finally arrived, you launched yourself at him. Kissed him hard. Tugged him onto your bed.

It wasn’t just eagerness, it was distraction. Maybe if you threw yourself into it fast enough, you wouldn’t have time to second guess everything. He seemed to be able to tell that you were overcompensating. 

“Hey,” he said between kisses, his voice steady. “We don’t have to. You’ve still got a month ‘til uni. There’s time.”

You paused, his words sinking in. The way he said it, no pressure, made your throat tighten.

“I want to,” you said quietly. “I just… I don’t know. I guess I’m a little scared. Because you’re—” 

You gestured vaguely toward the front of his jeans, cheeks heating as you tried to laugh it off.

A smirk tugged at his mouth before he reined it in. “Can’t help it if me dick’s big. Sorry ‘bout that.”

You let out a breathy laugh, grateful for the shift in tension. Of course he’d say that. Of course he’d make it easier.

Then he surprised you by pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you. No wandering hands. No grinding. Just a hug. 

You froze for a second, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. Then you leaned into him, letting your own arms wind around him. Your head pressed into his chest where you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart. His breath slowed beneath your cheek. You inhaled. He smelled like skin and laundry powder and faint cigarette smoke. Like Liam.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, just holding each other, but it calmed something inside you. Helped quiet your nerves.

Then you felt something pressing into your lower stomach and leaned back with a half-smile.

“You perv,” you said, smacking his arm. “We were only hugging.”

He grinned, totally unbothered. “Can’t help it. My body just reacts to you now.”

The words hit you. You stilled, the smile fading slightly. It wasn’t just about you anymore, was it? He wanted this too. He wanted you. And he wouldn’t have been so patient with you if he didn’t care on some level.

“Can I ask you something?” you asked, voice softer now.

He nodded. “Yeah. Go on.”

“When I first…proposed this idea to you, why'd you say yes?”

He exhaled slowly and was quiet for a moment. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and looked at you seriously.

“Honestly the idea of you finding some random guy to help you made me feel a bit sick.”

Your chest tightened.

“You’re just…” He paused. “You’re so gentle. You need to be handled with care.”

It was so uncharacteristically earnest that you didn’t know what to say.

“Didn’t want some knobhead taking advantage of you,” he added, more gruff now. “Plenty of weirdos out there.”

“Plenty of weirdos who don’t get a stiffy from hugging,” you managed, trying to lighten the sudden shift in mood.

“Oh please,” he grinned, pulling you closer. “You love it.”

You laughed, lighter this time. But then you felt him twitch against you and just like that a bolt of heat ran through your body. It hit you how much you wanted him. Not just to do it. But to do it with him.

“I do,” you murmured, eyes flicking to his lips, then drifting back to meet his.

He looked back at you, gaze steady. The air between you shifted, charged now. Not rushed like before. Something unspoken passed between you before you leaned in and brushed your lips against his.

He responded instantly, one hand sliding into your hair, holding you gently as he deepened the kiss. It wasn't frantic this time. It was steady. More patient. His mouth moved with yours in perfect rhythm, like he was giving you room to find your footing again.

Your hand slid to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the soft strands. You’d learned what he liked by now. How he’d go slack when you tugged lightly at his hair. How he’d shiver violently whenever your hand drifted down to that particularly sensitive spot just above his hip. And how much he liked it when you got confident enough to lead.

So you did. 

You shifted, rising just enough to swing a leg over and straddle him, settling your weight onto his lap. A soft breath escaped him as your hips met, his exhale catching in your mouth. You rocked forward slightly, feeling the hard line of him pressing up through his jeans. He made a quiet, helpless sound in return, and you smiled against his lips.

Men, you’d learned, were surprisingly weak. You just had to touch them in the right places and they’d fall apart. At least Liam did. You hadn’t tested that theory on anyone else yet.

Your smile grew against his lips as you did it again. Dragged yourself over him through the denim, savoring the way his fingers flexed against your hips, the way his breath started coming faster. And god, the heat between your thighs was already pulsing, slow and aching and addictive.

His hands found your ass and squeezed, guiding you down harder against him as his hips rolled up to meet yours. The friction, even through the layers between you, was electric. Your breath hitched, the sound escaping before you could stop it, and your hips began to move in slow, searching circles, chasing the feeling. Every nerve felt lit up, skin buzzing, brain hazy with the sheer need that was building in you.

Your fingers found his zipper, fumbling slightly in your urgency. He chuckled against your mouth, the sound low and fond, before pulling back just enough to help. You shifted clumsily together, kicking your jeans off with little grace, but none of it mattered. 

Not with the way he was looking at you. Eyes dark and full of want.

You settled back into his lap, drinking in the sight before you. Liam, flushed and half-dressed and looking unfairly good. 

His boxers did nothing to hide how hard he was, a dark patch already blooming at the front. Your eyes lingered a second too long, something pulling tight and hot low in your belly.

These past few weeks had taught you a lot. That the buildup—the tension, the teasing, the grinding—could be just as thrilling, sometimes more thrilling, than the release. There was something intoxicating about the sounds Liam made, those little moans and stuttered breaths you could pull from him. You loved it. Loved how much power you had when he was beneath you like this.

You leaned forward, pressing down firmly against him, and the pressure made you both gasp. He twitched beneath you, hips jerking slightly, and you kissed him harder, messy and open mouthed. The drag of his cock against your soaked underwear was dizzying. You could feel just how wet you were, the thin cotton sticking to you with every motion.

You rocked again. And again. Each motion was a little more sure. A little more desperate. Your thighs trembled slightly with the tension, with how badly you wanted more, wanted him. 

Your shirt clung to your back, damp with heat. You broke the kiss, panting, and pulled it over your head in one motion. Your skin prickled in the cool air.

Liam watched you, eyes half-lidded, drinking you in. His gaze made your stomach flip. You paused, familiar nerves rising, but you didn’t look away. You reached back and unclasped your bra, letting it slip from your shoulders and onto the floor. 

You still got shy sometimes, still hesitated, but he made it easier. Made you feel braver. Every time.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. 

His hand came to rest on your waist, thumb dragging slowly across your skin like he couldn’t stop touching you.

You felt your face flush, still not used to receiving such open affection from him. But it settled somewhere warm and deep in your chest.

Your hands reached for his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. He helped you out of it and tossed it aside, and you let your eyes wander over him.

“Now where’s my compliment?” he teased, breaking the silence, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was genuine. “Shut up.”

The teasing helped. It always did. It took the edge off your nerves. Reminded you of who he was. Someone who made you feel safe, who never rushed you, and somehow knew exactly when to pull back and when to lean in.

He reached for you again, pulling you flush against him, and this kiss was different. Hungrier. Like he was trying to consume you whole. And god you’d let him.

His hand skimmed along your side, down your hip, anchoring you in his lap. You could feel him thick and hard beneath you, pressed perfectly between your thighs, and it made your whole body throb.

Your hands wandered across his shoulders, down his chest, tracing the soft trail of hair below his stomach. You felt his muscles jump slightly beneath your touch. Then his thumb grazed your nipple and your whole body shuddered, a shock of pleasure tearing through you. You clenched around nothing, hips twitching with the ache to be filled.

“You’re really sure?” he asked after a moment, voice rough now, but still careful.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I want to.”

He kissed you once more, then gently eased you off his lap, guiding you back onto the mattress. You watched as he stood and slid off his boxers and for a second your confidence wavered. 

You’d seen him before. Touched him. But this was different. 

Your gaze flicked down before you could stop it, and the weight of what you were about to do hit you all at once.

He caught the flicker of panic in your face. “We’ll go slow,” he said softly, his voice steady. “I promise.”

You nodded, though your throat felt tight. You were nervous. But you still wanted this. Wanted him.

He reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out a condom, and rolled it on without fanfare. Then he moved between your legs, settling his weight on one elbow. His other hand traced down your side until his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear. He peeled them down slowly, and then they were gone and there was nothing between you.

Your pulse quickened. The vulnerability crept back in. But it didn’t last long.

His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing into your center, and your breath caught in your throat. A full body shiver worked its way up your spine.

“This’ll be easier the wetter you are,” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your skin. “And I think you can do better than this.”

His fingers slid through your slick as he said it, tone dipping into something darker. Like he wasn’t just trying to warm you up, he wanted you wrecked. Completely undone.

You opened your mouth to protest, to say you were ready, but then his thumb pressed down on your clit and the words dissolved into a gasp. Your back arched, eyes fluttering shut.

He moved just the way you liked. That’s what got you more than anything. The way he knew. Knew your body now—every twitch, every breath, every tell. Knew exactly what broke you. There was something overwhelming about being understood in such an intimate, instinctive way.

He leaned in, lips pressing softly to your sternum, then trailing upwards with slow kisses. When he reached your breast, he paused, lips brushing your peaked nipple before sucking it into his mouth. His tongue flicked and swirled, making you twitch beneath him.

By the time he reached your collarbone, you were squirming, desperate for more. His fingers slid lower, finally sinking into you. You exhaled sharply, relief immediate and welcome. You clenched around him, your body greedily responding after so much buildup.

He worked you open with gentle precision, adding another finger to stretch you just right. His fingers curled to stroke that spot that always made your eyes flutter. His kisses grew sloppy, distracted by the soft, needy sounds spilling from your lips.

You couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel when it was his cock instead of his fingers. How utterly full of him you’d be. Just the thought made you clench harder, body tightening with impatient need. You were soaked now, trembling with desire.

“Liam,” you breathed, voice rough and unsteady. “I don’t think I can be any more ready than I am right now.”

He stilled, eyes lifting to meet yours. Whatever he saw in your face shifted something in him, and that dark, hungry look overtook his expression. He gave one last teasing curl of his fingers before slipping them out and wiping them carelessly on your duvet.

You were about to chastise him, but the thought vanished the instant you felt the head of his cock press against you. Instead of fear, all you felt was a fierce need to have him inside of you.

He paused, just long enough to search your face again.

You nodded, voice soft but certain. “I’m okay.”

And then he began to push in.

A sharp breath caught in your throat. It burned. The unfamiliar stretch had your hands scrambling up his back, fingers digging in as your body worked to accommodate him.

“Alright?” he asked, voice strained, jaw tight with restraint.

“Yeah,” you whispered, trying to breathe through it. “Just…slower.”

He nodded and inched in, even more careful now. Your body fought it at first—the pressure strange and bordering on too much—and for a moment you weren’t sure he’d even fit. But then you focused on everything else. The warmth of his breath at your collarbone, the soft press of his lips against your skin, the quiet reassurances whispered just for you.

Little by little, your body adjusted. Until finally, he was fully seated inside you.

You both stilled and the air between you shifted. Your hands found his neck, clinging to him. You’d never felt anything like it. To be filled like this. You could feel everything. The heat of him. The weight. How impossibly deep inside of you he was.

Liam was struggling too. You could feel it in the way his breath stuttered against your neck, in the tension coiled through his entire body. He was trembling slightly above you, holding still with effort, and inside, you swore you could feel his heartbeat in every pulse of his cock.

Then your body clenched unexpectedly around him and he let out a choked sound. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, one hand gripping your hip like it was the only thing keeping him from losing it.

A moment later, his hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit. The pleasure cut clean through the ache and it loosened something in you. The sting was still there, but it was fading. Transforming into something warmer and heavier. Still intense and foreign, but less sharp. 

You blinked up at him, breath shallow. He still hadn’t moved, eyes locked on yours, jaw clenched tight. Waiting for you.

You nodded. “I’m okay.”

And then he moved.

It was slow at first. A careful drag out, then a gentle push back in. Not quite pleasurable, but not unpleasant either. Just a new, strange feeling that your body hadn’t yet figured out how to process. So you focused on Liam. On the way his breath hitched when you clenched around him, how his hips faltered slightly. How wrecked he already looked just being inside you. It helped a bit.

Gradually, your body began to adjust. The ache receded. Your muscles loosened. You shifted your hips experimentally and he groaned, grip tightening on your thigh.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice frayed. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

The praise went straight to your head, and somewhere much lower. Your body reacted without your permission, clenching tight around him. He cursed into your neck, hips stuttering like he was fighting the edge already. 

Then he shifted, just slightly, and a bolt of pleasure shot through you, sudden and blinding.

Your whole body jolted. Your grip tightened around his neck, nails digging in. A gasp tore from your throat as your eyes flew open, wide with shock.

“There?” he asked, voice low and ruined but faintly smug.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “That—yeah.”

He adjusted, chasing that spot, and suddenly you understood what the fuss was about. The reason people craved this. The obsession. 

His rhythm quickened, shallow thrusts hitting that place again and again until your thighs were trembling and your mouth fell open, helpless sounds spilling out.

“Okay?” he asked, slowing just enough to check.

You nodded frantically, gasping. “Yes—yeah, don’t stop.”

Your voice didn’t even sound like your own. It was husky and desperate and it made your face burn, but only for a second. Because then his thumb returned to your clit and your hips jerked, lightning shooting up your spine.

The added friction made you cry out, the pleasure tipping into something wild. Liam groaned, deep and needy, and you felt it in your bones. Everything was too much and not enough all at once. The stretch, the heat, the pressure. All of it building into something too big to contain.

Your orgasm slammed into you fast and hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. It twisted sharp and sweet through your belly before breaking wide open. You cried out, hips jerking, clenching around him, the world narrowing to nothing but sensation.

Liam cursed, barely holding on. His rhythm faltered, then stilled with one last deep thrust and a raw, ragged groan as he came. His whole body shuddered above you, arms trembling with the effort of holding himself up, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath coming fast and uneven.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your combined breathing and the soft rustle of sheets as your bodies slowly settled.

Eventually, he pulled out carefully and disposed of the condom. Then, without a word, he collapsed beside you and pulled you into his chest. 

You didn’t hesitate. Your limbs were still trembling faintly, your mind caught somewhere between disbelief and a soft, glowing buzz. You felt strangely empty and cold without him inside of you now.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead.

“Yeah,” you said after a moment, trying to find your words. “Yeah that was…yeah.”

He laughed softly, arms tightening around you, and for once he didn’t say anything cheeky in return.

You lay like that for a while, your cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. The silence was comforting. You were wrapped in it, safe in the weight of his arms, when you finally mumbled into his skin, voice low and a little shy.

“I’m really glad it was you.”

And you meant it completely. You’d be forever grateful it was him. Him, who you’d misjudged for years. Him, who surprised you. Him, who made this feel less terrifying and more like something you’d want again. Someone you were quietly growing fond of.

“I’m really glad it was me too,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You hesitated, then the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “Can I tell you something?”

“Hmm?”

“I was wrong about you,” you blurted. “You’re kind and patient. Still annoying, but in a way I actually like. And I think I do like you.”

It all came out in one rushed breath, and your face burned immediately after. There was a pause, brief but long enough for panic to rise.

“I was waiting for you to admit it,” he said eventually.

Your head lifted sharply, eyes narrowing. “Oh, piss off—”

“Because I like you too,” he added, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Even if you’re a bit of a goody two shoes.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” you shot back, laughing softly as you pulled back enough to see him properly.

“No,” he agreed, grin spreading. “But you like me,” he sing-songed, smug and unbearable.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, pressing your face into his chest. “You like me too!”

“Yeah,” he said, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice. “I do.”

You snorted. He leaned in to kiss your forehead and managed to knock your heads together.

“Ow,” you muttered, laughing anyway.

“Meant to do that,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose in retaliation.

He grinned, then tilted his head. “So now that you’ve officially completed your mission, does that mean I’m out of a job?”

You shook your head. “Not even close. You’ve got loads more to teach me.”

His smile softened. “Good. Because I’m not ready to be done with this yet.”

And neither were you.

You nestled back into him, your leg draped over his, and everything went quiet. Hazy in the best possible way. The kind of calm that settles when something just clicks. For the first time in your life, everything felt right.

There was nothing more you needed to say. You were exactly where you wanted to be. And you knew, without a doubt, how insanely lucky you were.

[prokopetz]

Hi! Do you know of any TTRPGs that can (or must) be played with multiple DMs? Not DM-less systems, DM-More

Since you explicitly specified "not [G]M-less", I'm going to leave aside collaborative worldbuilding games like Microscope, as well as stuff like Belonging Outside Belonging/No Dice, No Masters hacks which do the "anyone can voluntarily step into a temporary GM-like role as needed" thing; one can argue that these are technically "multiple GM" games, but given that every participant has roughly equivalent narrative authority at all times, one could equally say that they simply decline to recognise a player/GM distinction – "if everyone is GM then no-one is", and all that.

So, then: games which have a formal player/GM distinction, but also explicitly require more than one of the latter. The first one that springs to mind is Polaris: Chivalric Tragedy at Utmost North. It's not the first of its genre, but it's certainly the most well known early example. In brief, it's a game for exactly four participants, one of whom takes on the role of the Heart, or player character; another takes on the role of the Mistaken, an antagonistic GM whose explicit goal is to kill or corrupt the Heart; and the other two take on the roles of the New Moon and Full Moon, co-GMs tasked with mediating between the Heart and the Mistaken and playing any non-antagonistic NPCs the Heart encounters. Each of these roles rotates scene by scene, so everyone will eventually have the chance to play all four roles.

(Interestingly, that last point isn't necessarily true in playtest versions of the game, contained some extra stipulations regarding the gender of the Mistaken which explicitly depended on the Heart player's gender, not their character's. This is absent in the published version.)

For a somewhat less esoteric take on the premise, you might instead have a look at Perfect (Unrevised). It's a game about heroic criminals in a quasi-Victorian dystopia, and features a similar rotating-roles setup, save that each player is specifically assigned to be a different player's GM; any time your character is the focus of a scene, your assigned counterpart steps into the role of GM. Like Polaris, it operates on the assumption that generally only one player character will be "on screen" at a time, in this case recommending a sort of anthology framing in which different player characters may indirectly influence each others' stories through the fallout of their actions, but may never encounter each other in person. It differs in that it features multiple GMs serially rather than simultaneously, with participants other than the active player and their assigned GM serving as a sort of semi-interactive audience.

Heroine poses a fun spin on the rotating-GM setup in that the GM role rotates while the player role doesn't. It's very blatantly designed around emulating Labyrinth (1986), with one player taking on the role of the titular Heroine, one player acting as Narrator, and the remainder playing as Companions; i.e., the Heroine's various weird muppety friends, rivals and hangers-on. The way it strays from a conventional one-GM-many-players setup is that the Narrator and the Companions are effectively on the same team, with the Companions functioning as co-GMs each assigned to a specific major NPC. (This might sound like a hair-splitting distinction, but you'll totally get what I mean when you see the rules that Companion play by.) The Narrator role rotates from scene to scene exclusively among Companion players, so the same player remains the Heroine from start to finish while everybody else gets a turn as both Narrator and Companion.

If what you're after is something which is simply built around the assumption or requirement of more than one GM, rather than this "everyone is a GM except for a single, possibly rotating player role" business, I'm afraid your options are much thinner on the ground. Trying to search for games of this type tends to yield results choked with a lot of worthless "well, this one time I was in a D&D group with a co-DM, so technically Dungeons & Dragons counts" anecdotes, which I suspect may be part of the reason you're asking me!

I have to confess it's not really my area; I don't have a great deal of interest in that particular strand of the genre. I was going to plug Pantheon – a game where participants are divided between GM-like gods and player-like mortal champions – here, but when I checked I noticed that the author seems to have withdrawn the downloadable version from publication, so that's my top rec here off the table. Perhaps this blog's followers will have better suggestions?

Finally, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention @jennamoran's Wisher, Theurgist, Fatalist, which at first blush seems to fall into the same "if everybody is GM then no-one is" category that disqualifies Belonging Outside Belonging and such, save for the very amusing twist that it supports mechanically mediated adversarial play to resolve GM-type rulings: that is, if you and another player disagree regarding what the rules of the game actually are, you can roll dice at each other to determine who's right! It also has a more conventional GM-esque facilitator role in the Weaver, but includes formal procedures for other players to depose the Weaver and usurp their authority, so whether it meets our criteria or not raises some pointed questions about exactly how we're defining both "multiple" and "GM".

[lazyjellyfish300]

12 𝑫𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 ~ 𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝑻𝒘𝒐

Synopsis: It's the classic Hallmark tale: what happens when you, a business woman from the city, arrives at the family owned O'Hara Christmas Tree farm your greedy boss wants to demolish, and finds much more than you bargained for that fateful night you get snowed in?

CW: x FEM!READER, SMUT(unprotected p in v ,oral (f receiving), creampie, breast play, touch of mirror kink) enemies to lovers ish, DUBCON?(You're both a bit drunk), alcohol, touch of angst, mention of pregnancy

Words: 4.4k

A/N: a little late, mb but I hope it's worth it!😩 I'm on vacation rn but I'm dedicated to making this happen even if I'm a lil behind lolol

Dividers: @/saradika-graphics

12 Days of Smutmas Masterlist 🎄🎁

You certainly weren't in Kansas anymore. Or so the saying went. This time you found yourself somewhere in the Catskills outside of Nueva York. Your high heels crunched on the gravel as you stepped out of your Uber, taking in the grand Christmas tree farm in front of you. 

"O'Hara Ranch" was welded in iron lettering on a black sign above the entrance. You whistled as you took in the expansive acres of balsam fir trees, dusted in a thin layer of snow straight out of a painting. 

It was no wonder your boss was so dead set on this place. You became keenly aware of the biting chill of the countryside as you huddled your arms closer around you, your pink blazer doing little to keep you warm as you started to quake in your Jimmy Choos with your laptop case and singular carry-on in tow.

---- 

Miguel grunted, scratching his lower back as his large, sturdy boots squeaked a little on his kitchen floor, eyes almost as dark as the warm beverage in his mug, looking out in silent disapproval at the black Escalade that pulled up, dropping off what he was certain was another employee from that pesky developer.

Some poor soul who had to be the shot messenger for a CEO who never strayed out of the wealthy privileged fairytale land they lived in, thinking that multiple commas would be enough to get him to sign his life away. 

When would they ever learn? He thought. He puts down his mug on the counter then strides over to the door, placing one of his hats on his head before he goes outside to greet this new imposter. 

---

You shuddered as you reached inside your pocket, taking out the flimsy scrap of paper that contained the phone number for the ranch and dialing it again, hoping to reach this Miguel, or whoever it was you were supposed to meet. 

"C'mon..." 

You shouldn't be surprised if he didn't pick up again. It was no secret that you were the bad guy in this situation straight out of a Hallmark film. 

Corporate business lady visiting a Christmas Tree farm that's been in the same family for decades, beloved by all the locals, who forced them to sign over their American dream to a greedy land developer and demolish it to the ground for a lavish mountain resort, and 2 weeks before Christmas no less. 

Just as the call goes to voicemail, a four wheeler's engine interrupts your train of thought. Just like out of a movie, you take notice of the very tall, dark haired, very handsome rider who sat astride it.

His long sleeved grey shirt did nothing but accentuate his rippling arm muscles, layered underneath a Carhartt vest, complete with a baseball cap and salt and pepper five o clock shadow on his sharp, steely jaw. His lips were plump and relaxed into a subtle frown, complete with thick brows and dark wavy hair that complimented the pair of rich brown eyes he possessed that compared to the slice of Earth he owned. 

"Miss...?" He asks your name with an equally deep beautiful voice to match in slightly bored formality. You could tell it was painful for him to be polite to you like this, if you were the corporate imposter like he thought you were.  

"Yes, hi! You're...M-Miguel, right?" 

His expression remains unmoved. "That would be me." 

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Gorgeous property by the way! Really, it's much much better in person than the pictures-" 

"Right." He replies stiffly. "There's really no need to be so gracious.  I figure you're here for one thing and one thing only." 

"Uh-" you reply, a little thrown off by what he means. 

"And the answer is no. I understand you've got a job to do, but I've told your boss over and over again: no. Five years ago, it was a no. Last month, also no. Come back in a week, my answer will still be no. Thank you." 

He revs the engine, getting ready to speed away. 

"Wait! I really do need you to sign this! From the mayor?" You waved a pink colored document which caught his attention for once. 

Miguel turned off the engine, hopping off the four wheeler and strode towards you. He shoots you a superstitious glance before his eyes flicker to the paper, slowly becoming more enraged as he scanned along the fine print:

 Notice of Eminent Domain. 

That bastard. There was a reason Miguel didn't vote for this prick. The new mayor was part of this recent wave of money hungry idealists in power who wanted to turn the humble town he grew up in into another rich touristy playground. 

Usually, these folks couldn't wait to sign the dotted line, get their check, and be on their merry way, but this Miguel was taking his time reading every last stipulation in the document. You notice the snow is coming down harder and harder, your teeth chattering wildly as you did your very best to stay calm as the relentless cold tested your endurance. Finally, Miguel hands you back the paper with a sigh, 

"Still not signin'. Sorry for wasting your time." 

"Miguel." You felt your patience snapped in half by now. Between traveling all morning, your boss's incessant emails, and the cold ass weather, you had just about had it up to here. 

"I'm sorry. But any complaints you have will just have to be taken up with the big man later. I came with a job to do and I have every intention of doing it." 

"That so?" Miguel straightens up, flexing his height over you. 

You were emboldened by this point through all the bullshit you had endured. "It is very much so. I'm not leaving this damn farm without a signature, and that's final." 

"Hm." Miguel nodded his chin, as though he was calling your bluff before he swiftly turned around, walking back towards the awaiting four wheeler. 

"Oh no you don't!" You huffed as your icecubes for feet magically thawed off of pure adrenaline and spite as you began to sprint. 

"What the-" Miguel looks at you quizzically then his brow furrows when he sees you darting towards his four wheeler. "The hell you think you're doing??" 

You ignore him and climb on, Miguel snickering a little bit at the prim and proper lady from the city now straddling his seat, slightly disheveled with a wild look in your eye from dealing with corporate messes all day. 

"Get down." Miguel says sternly, coming up to stand next to you. 

"No." You answer simply, smoothing your blazer. 

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be." Miguel's tone becomes more warning now. "Get off my property, woman." 

"Sign my document, then." You fold your arms. 

"You're a brat, y'know that?" Miguel folds his arms too, incredulous at your undying persistence, more like annoyance. "So childish." 

"Name calling? And you say I'm the childish one." You turn your nose up at him.

"I'm not the crazy lady jumping on a stranger's four wheeler that she doesn't even know how to drive." Miguel grumbles. 

"You'd be surprised." You glare. 

Both of you just sit there in silence, the snowfall has  escalated to just short of a blizzard by now. You're trying but failing to conceal just how damn cold you are as you shiver and shudder. Miguel's mind brews with some ideas before he speaks. 

"Alright." Miguel sighs "I'll sign your damn document. But I need to show you the place first. Just so you can get an idea of just how sick and twisted you people truly are: tearing down a place like this that's been in the family for generations." 

"What?" You blink, not expecting this change of events. "But I mean- but..." You glance at your wrist watch. "It's almost 4 pm. I was supposed to be on the road a half hour ago." 

"Not in this storm you're not." Miguel tsks his teeth. "They always close the canyon when it snows. You won't be able to go anywhere until the morning. But hey, if you wanna call an Uber and wait four hours for him just to be turned around at the bridge, then be my guest." 

"You-" You shuddered and groaned, exasperated at the fact that Miguel appeared to have the upper hand this time. You were stuck playing by his rules. 

"Fine." You resign, throwing your hands up. 

Miguel smirks at this surrender in you, getting on the four wheeler behind you. He's aware the space between your bodies is now very thin, his chest just barely grazing your back as he leans forward, placing his hands on both handlebars. 

You try not to make it obvious that you can't breathe and realize you might be in way over your head being stuck overnight with a man four times handsome as he was stubborn as Miguel drives you rapidly towards his ranch. 

---- 

"Home sweet home." Miguel hums halfheartedly as you enter the elaborate living area of Miguel's mountain home. Several brown and white cowhide rugs were spread over the polished wooden floors, a large pair of antlers hung over a luxury stone hearth, with an inviting leather couch in front of it. 

A short time later, you're absentmindedly staring at some photographs on the wall when Miguel's voice startles you. 

"Had enough snooping?" 

"I wasn't snooping!." You whirl around, pretending to avert your gaze. "I was admiring the antlers." 

Miguel scoffs. "You're a terrible liar, you know." 

"Who is that?" You ask, voice a little more gentle. You kind of wish you never asked when Miguel's eyes soften with the slightest tinge of melancholy. 

"My daughter." He answers then clears his throat. "She passed some years ago." 

"Oh..." You look at him then back at the photograph of the cheery bright eyed girl in it. "I'm so sorry." 

"Thanks." Miguel answers shortly, crossing over to the bar on the far side of the room. 

"I can see why you don't want to leave." You admit, crossing your arms and running your palms up your arms as the glow from the fireplace worked quickly to rid you of any lingering chill from outside. "For what it's worth..." 

Miguel scoffed again. "You don't need to play the sympathy card to win points with me." 

"I- No Miguel! Of course not!" You look at him in horror. "Really, you think I take pride in doing these things to folks like you? You think I'm some souless corporate ghoul that drinks blood of the innocent?" 

"Yes." Miguel stays deadpanned, with the faintest glimmer of amusement. 

"Oh shut up." You blow air through your lips and stride over to where he's standing by his bar. "What do you have to drink around here anyways?" 

Miguel smiles, the bourbon in his glass had made him feel a little more comfortable by now. He glanced outside, eyes slightly widened in surprise at the complete blizzard that was unfolding outside the frosty window. 

"You might wanna go for something a bit stronger than that." Miguel nods in the direction of the window. 

Your fingers move away from the canned margaritas in the mini fridge. You realize bourbon is also the answer tonight when you lay eyes on the absolute winter wonderland outside. 

You had never seen so much snow in your life, as a seemingly infinite stream of snowflakes littered the staggering blankets of pure white that would be nearly waist deep should you venture back out. 

Even though the night was completely black, the shimmery powder stood out, illuminating the December night among the silent and formidable evergreens. 

"Damn..." You whispered. 

"Damn is right." Miguel polishes off his bourbon. "Another round for me too, when you get a chance." He slides his glass towards you across the polished wood. 

"Please?" You quirk a brow at him. 

Miguel chuckles, the sound deep and a little breathy. The feeling it left you...quite unexpected. "Yes, please."

You hum and fill his glass a quarter of the way after you pour your own into one of the small shot glasses you spied below the countertop, throwing the liquid fire back in one ragged gulp. 

Miguel laughs at the face you make and little cough you let out as your eyes water. "Miss Corporate can't handle a little country bourbon?" 

"Miss Corporate can handle herself just fine." You give him a small harrumph. "Miss Corporate wishes to remind Mr. Country Man that she is still here strictly on business and she has no problem decking him in the face should he continue to mouth off." 

"Hmmm business, eh?" 

"Mhmm." 

"Oh, I think we're way past that." Miguel smirks as he leans forward a little closer towards you. "You're having a drink with your evictee. Can't imagine that's not frowned upon." 

"I've had drinks with clients before." You huff, hastily grabbing the bottle and pouring another shot as if to prove a point. This one went down with less resistance, albeit still just as fiery as the one before. 

"Cálmate."(Calm down) Miguel goes to grab the bottle from you just as you're about to pour a third when the sudden move causes the bourbon to splash a little, ending up on your thousand dollar blazer. 

"You... idiot." You roll your eyes as Miguel snorts. 

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." Miguel steps towards you, trying to help. 

"Nope, you've done quite enough." You huff, trying to disguise the warmth the alcohol was quickly dispelling all over your body. 

"I insist." 

"Miguel, fuck off!" 

"Come here, dammit..." 

And you're not sure exactly what happened, but in that moment his body was pressed up against yours and your faces were mere inches from one another.

This was dangerous now. You knew it, and he knew it, but for Miguel, he was at risk of losing everything anyway. Who could blame him if he wasn't going to make the most of this...convenient situation that presented itself to him. It didn't help that you were quite easy on the eyes as well. 

He pauses as if holding his breath, those deep, deep eyes completely swallowing you up where you stood, the faint sting of the bourbon you can detect on his lips that he wet ever so slightly. 

"M-Miguel, I really shouldn't, I-" 

And you can't remember exactly what drove your lips to meet in that heady first kiss, or how his touch moved from your face, to your neck, whether you were the one who guided him, or his hands wandered on their own accord to the sensitive swells of your breasts, but here you were, up against this tall, rugged farmer you thought you hated only 20 minutes ago, breathing and panting into his mouth and kissing him like your life depended on it, completely contradicting everything you ever said. 

He began to rock his hips against you, hands now on either side of your head, caging you against the wall. You could tell he loved being bigger than you, finally something he had to humble all the sass you loved to throw at him earlier. A not-so-secret attraction you had for him all this time you feebly tried to disguise with disdain. 

Miguel felt it too, and God, right now he couldn't get enough of all the little whines and sounds you were making. How desperate you got just from a little deep conversation and bourbon. This night was swiftly traveling in a more heated direction, and if he wasn't mistaken by the subtle rolls of your body against his aching bulge in his jeans and the hunger laced in your fingers as they tangled in his hair, you had no intention of stopping. 

"Not so feisty now, are you?" He groaned as he started leaving heated kisses along both delicate junctures of your neck. "Sure you're not gonna change your mind  and go back to stealing my farm, hermosa?" He teased. 

"Oh, fuck off..." You grumbled and then bit your lip, back arching involuntarily when you felt him just barely tug your delicate nipple with his teeth. "Aaah Aahhh, Miguel..." You threw your head back.

Miguel smirks and takes that as permission to lay you back completely on his bar, gently tugging the waistband of your business slacks while he switched between both tits and lapped them with the pointy tip of his tongue, until both buds of your nipples were bumpy and hard from all the attention. "You can still stop at any time..." 

"N-No more asking..." You managed to sputter out as you felt his fingers begin to wiggle against your clothed heat that was steadily soaking from the inside. "Just- fffuck, Miguel, so good...just fuck me..." 

"Mmmm..." Miguel groaned in satisfaction and yanked off your pants, followed by your panties without another word. 

Pure ecstacy rolled off the tip of his tongue and dripped between your warm folds as he began to slurp your pussy up like hot cocoa. Miguel strategically left your high heels on, smirking as he glanced over at the mirror on the wall, seeing the pretty businesswoman half naked and back arched so beautifully, moaning as he ate you out on his bar. 

Despite never knowing your body before, his tongue just seemed to find and hit all the right spots, even the ones you were too impatient to look for when you laid in bed all alone. He sucked, and he spit, rolling your clit so perfectly between his lips and leaving no inch of your pretty pussy unbathed by his tongue. 

He alternated between tongue fucking you where his thick nose squished against your clit, hands slinking up the soft flesh of your hips, encouraging you to grind on his face. When he paused and brought his face up to look at you, you swore he was never more handsome than when his face was shiny with your slick, dripping with the evidence that he could make you wetter than any man you'd ever been with.

And other times, he loved to just stare into your eyes with that same, beautifully mesmerizing gaze that was almost too intense to where you'd have to turn away, only for him to whisper, "ah, ah, mirame..." (Look at me) , while his thumb slowly rubbed over your swollen clit, and his middle and ring finger noisily and wetly massaged your squishy walls. 

"Miguel, baby, so good..." You moaned and you sighed, face twisting into a smile as you bit your lip. It felt so shameless to indulge right now. Your career hit the road the second you decided to kiss him but right now you weren't complaining. Logic took a permanent vacation leaving you with nothing but raw, carnal need. All that mattered right now was spreading your legs for this man, being his whore, riding his face and taking his cock every which way he'd have you tonight. 

Your eyes watered as you felt that familiar feeling swelling in your belly, thighs shaking more unsteadily than before. Your back slightly arched from where you laid on his bar but the pleasure Miguel kept injecting into you with his sinfully delicious tongue kept you right there.

"M-Miguel...I'm gonna cum." 

Miguel went even harder, nuzzling his nose even further into your dripping heat, savoring the dribbling honey running between your thighs and dripping into his mouth. He added his fingers again, fingers normally rough and taut and calloused from all that work he did on the farm became soft, intentional, sensual, and deliberate as he coaxed your pussy closer and closer to releasing all over for him.

Your thighs began to quiver around his head, clamping down, however Miguel would gladly suffocate every time for the cause.

"R-right there, Miguel..." 

"Right here, baby?" He groans, swirling his finger in circles over that tried and true spot on your clit, another gush of your juices wetting his fingers before the flood, and Miguel leans over to clean it up with his tongue. 

Every touch now feels amplified in electricity, bordering on overstimulation as his tongue glosses over your soaked folds, something changing in your brain chemistry as he licked up every bit of your arousal as though it were frosting from a bowl. 

"Still with me?" Miguel whispered, leaning in and making out with you as he scooped you into his arms, leading you over to the couch, the entire room painted in an alluring orange glow from the fire next to the warm yellow lights from the tall Christmas tree. 

You groaned as you tasted yourself on his soft, messy lips, the ember of desire burning hotter than ever in both of you. "Y-yeah..." 

Miguel smiles as he sets you down next to him, reaching over and pulling a fleece blanket over your shoulders. His thumb gently brushed the corner of your mouth as he took you in. The most sobering moment between you all evening. One where the alcohol had some time to sink in and both of you were riding out the end of your high together. A new kind of closeness beginning to set itself alight between you as you wordlessly began stripping off the rest of your clothes and you reached for his. 

"Can I?" You asked and a low groan rumbled from his chest. 

"Please." 

You weren't sure, but somehow despite his sass, his generosity and sole focus on making you cum with no assumption on his part that you would be obligated to do the same for him made you even more determined as you peeled back layer after layer, until he sat there in all of his naked glory in front of you. 

He was absolutely beautiful. The salt and pepper pattern from his stubble on his jaw was repeated in his happy trail, leading to a nice, thick, bush around the base of his thick, veiny, cock (More fun for you when you'd be riding him into next week later on).

The tip was just barely a hint of red as it bloomed with precum.  His legs and arms were hairy as well, stomach soft with just the right amount of pudge but everywhere else was solid pure muscle that could only be found on a man who worked hard in the elements, dark hair tousled a bit that fell in his eyes from your passionate fingers earlier. 

The throbbing ache pounded, the glistening sheen between your thighs was all the lube you needed as he pulled you into his lap. Miguel's eyes remained completely locked on you, softening a bit as he felt himself start to push inside you. 

He had suspected sometime around while you were moaning his name and he was lapping up your arousal like an oasis that this whole encounter was deeper than a hookup, and now, he realizes he's sunk: hook line and sinker as your pussy just grips and squeezes him. He sighs as his hands find residence on your hips, taking pleasure in kneading the soft fat. 

"Take your time...." He whispered as he noticed you struggling a bit under his sheer size, his girth slowly spreading you more open. Somehow though, the stretch felt more rewarding, more sinful as you became fuller and fuller of him as you just allowed yourself to relax. 

Miguel's cock bottomed out inside of you, an experimental twitch of his cock reminded you on all fronts that you were stuffed to the brim. He adored this, he loved being so close to you like this, loved the satisfaction that the woman who supposedly hated his guts at first was now completely putty in his hands as you wrapped effortlessly around him. 

"So damn warm..." Miguel purred as he began bouncing you in a slow rhythm. "Ah, ah, mas despacio, por favor(more slow please)..." He teased, grip tightening as he slowed your hips. "I wanna enjoy you like this for a while." He grunted and groaned, loving the way you just responded with more dripping slick around his base as he leaned in to suck on your tits while keeping himself buried inside. "If I'd known you felt this good I would've dragged you out of that fucking snow a lot earlier." He murmured before his lips puckered over your nipple. 

"Please, Mig..." You rolled your eyes but returned a chuckle with a sigh, gently rolling your hips while his cock remained warm and snug inside you. "I'll admit when you pulled up on that four wheeler, it was kind of hard not think about you bending me over the seat.." 

"Yeahh?" Miguel groaned as he churned his hips, drawing his cock in and out of your sea of wetness. "Shouldn't have told me that, now I might need to make that happen..."

As he spoke, his pace increased faster and faster. 

"Aaahh, Miguel...Miguel!" Your threshold was being tested on how much you could take, but nearly fell apart altogether when he added his thumb back to your clit while continuing to fuck up into you ruthlessly. 

"Come on baby, with me...let go."  

And your highs came in waves, yours first followed by his like a bursting dam. His cum overwhelmed your tight hole, causing it to dribble down the sides in filthy display but you loved it, shoving yourself back down on his cock with naughty enthusiasm. Miguel smirked at you, eyes still slightly dazed from euphoria. 

"Good to see you're not wasting any, baby." 

And before you knew it he picked you up, yelping slightly then giggling when you took the initiative of squeezing your thighs tighter around his waist, cock still softening slowly inside your silky pussy, but beginning to pulse back to life as you and Miguel began making out passionately while he took careful steps with you cradled in his arms to his bedroom. 

Perhaps by now you didn't have a job anymore, the future of Miguel's farm was still uncertain, surely you'd be the talk of the entire town come a few months later when your tummy would be swelling with the evidence of every steamy thing that took place tonight inside this snowed in ranch. But, for now, you had much harder, longer, thicker things on your mind as round two became three, then four, with a surprise fifth in the middle of the night and a sixth in the morning. 

When all is said and done, you could always just blame it on the snow. 

[affableramen]

No Nut November. How long they can survive without touching you?

ʚɞ Early relationship-established relationship, sfw-nsfw. Contains explicit words, mature content etc. etc.

ʚɞ Character included: Kazuha, Wriothesley, Tartaglia, Neuvillette, Pantalone, Ayato

Kazuha:

It’s difficult to say at first but Kazuha cannot long survive without having to touch you. He adores you and can let his guard off once you’re accompanying him. His favourite type of physical touch that does not involve sex is hands holding. 

Speaking of the sexual aspect, his libido is relatively lower than yours so it’s usually you who takes the initiave. Kazuha is so used to having you ride him, if you’d suddenly put him on a sex ban for any reason, he’d be stressed out, for sure. It’s not that he cannot be dominant—oh he can—but he enjoys seeing you all shameless and putting effort for him. 

Wriothesley:

Do not take hugs away from him. Physical touch is one of Wriothesley’s strongest aspects in the relationship, unlike using words which he is usually despicable at. This guy is mean, but he’s good at giving hugs and you know it. 

His sexual drive hasn’t always been so high before you, rather it is you who made him so aroused and constantly craving. Wriothesley does it with you at least 4 days a week, and he will definitely be upset once for some reason you cannot provide him with sexual aspect of relationship. But that’s important to note, that he won’t ever force you either. He’ll probably be whiny the next week after you do not have sex for 7 days.

Tartaglia:

He loves hugs and he loves touching you, both in a timid and inappropriate way. You’re used to having his fingers intertwined with yours, especially after an exhausting training at the Fatui school. 

Regarding sexual aspect, Tartaglia is dependent on his emotional attachment first and utmost, so he will look forward to being united with you in the most intimate way, and he probably won’t survive without sex if it is absent more than two weeks.

Neuvillette:

Neuvillete is a very reserved, tranquil and introverted person. It will be a mistake to say that he does not enjoy physical touch with a person to whom he’s addicted emotionally. He is shy, but he truly adores when you two hold hands, lay on one another’s lap or simply cuddle in the morning before completely waking up.

In the intimate relationship you two are quite balanced and it is a matter of time when someone gives up and suggests to have sex. One day it’s him being needy, and the other day your cravings are at fault. You’re perfectly equal and balanced in your intimate life. Neuvillette will be increasingly frustrated if for some reason you two can’t be intimate, he’s used to having it no less than trice a week. 

Pantalone:

Cannot cope long without your touch. He is addicted, and not only (but not lastly) in the sexual way, but in the affectionate aspect too. He is not a touchy feely person as well and he’s mostly reserved when it comes to physical contact in early period of your relationship; but once he starts trusting you more, he refuses to ever let you go—night and morning cuddles, occasional hugs and hands holding bring him satisfaction. 

In the sexual aspect his libido is higher than yours and he’s usually the one who offers a good night sex. Usually you two have sex daily. He’s addicted to being inside of you, and he’s also quite fond of your hands—he doesn’t even feel urges to fist himself anymore because he’s most contented with how you jerk him off.

Ayato: 

He is not a person made for physical contact. It’s difficult for him to let go and embrace something new and undiscovered, so it might take longer than expected to finally make him melt. Though once Ayato is warmed up to you, he will consistently ask to hold your hand, and on formal (business) occasions he will display that you’re his girlfriend/wife very obviously.

Low libido. He’s very stressed due to his work, and his mind is constantly filled with duties. But you find a way to grab his attention and make him for once think of something that wouldn’t be work. He’s most grateful to you for this, and he can hardly imagine his days off without fucking you into his desk, or the kitchen counter—whichever you prefer. 

[ekho-ekho-ekho]

having spent my entire professional life working book-adjacent jobs for various flavors of cranky old white men, I wish to offer two insights into what I think are fundamental aspects of Old Maniel Molloy's characterization, which I've yet to see anyone else point out.

Old white left-leaning men LOVE to fuck with uptight twenty/thirty-somethings. (Actually, most old folks with progressive sensibilities will do this, but they tend to stick to their respective demographics. Old white men are unique in being equal-opportunity young-person-botherers.) I've seen some takes on Daniel's little jabs and snide remarks toward Armand (when he was playing Rashid) and Real Rashid as being dismissive with privileged overtones, but . . . idk man his dynamic with Real Rashid in particular* reminds me viscerally of how my first boss used to try and get a rise out of me. And by "get a rise out of" I don't mean bullying to laugh at my distress, I mean a 70-something-year-old man decided I was too polite for my own good and spent six months calling me every name that starts with the same letter as mine EXCEPT mine. And he only stopped when I plucked up the courage to tease him back. Sort of like how Daniel keeps calling Real Rashid ''Real Rashid'' until Rashid finally snaps. Ever notice how, despite totally steamrolling Rashid's valiant "It's just Rashid," Daniel finishes a moment later with a perfectly innocent "Thank you, Rashid"? Ever notice he looks a little proud when he says it? Ever notice he sticks to that, even while finding other ways to ruffle Rashid's feathers? Classic old man shit. (*This also puts a totally different spin on his interactions with Armand in s1. Armand looks barely a year out of undergrad yet he's completely unaffected by Daniel's grumpy professor routine. Which—sure, fine, Vampire's Butler must be a stressful job, but I'm betting Daniel's interviewed 22-year-old combat veterans who were easier to fluster than this neurotic little weirdo. Of course he got suspicious.)

With that said, Daniel does not try this with Louis, because he knows Louis is older than him. He doesn't nitpick and needle at Louis to provoke him, or as some kind of power trip. Rather, what he's doing is confronting Louis with the most bad-faith interpretations he can imagine a future reader taking from a comment. In his capacity as an interviewer, Daniel is less a Writer than a Bitchy Content Editor. Content editing, if you don't know, is a sort of formal beta read. It's where you point out continuity errors or spots where the characters' motives don't quite make sense, and you float potential ways those issues could be fixed. Daniel does the same thing with Louis' story, just bluntly and out loud and in real time. The ultimate goal of content edits (and also a lot of line edits tbh) is to idiot-proof the text as much as possible. "I know you mentioned the gun on the mantelpiece in Act I, but I promise you some readers will skim and miss that line, so we gotta mention the gun at least one more time before it's used, otherwise you'll get a thousand Goodreads comments complaining how the gun 'cAmE OUt oF nOWheRe!'." In that same vein, Daniel calls Louis on any comment or detail that he thinks readers will nitpick. He's not NICE about it; he's not what you'd call tactful; but he is a journalist and journalism is confrontational by nature. (Also, he must know most readers won't believe the book is nonfiction. Meaning a lot of folks will assume Known White Man Daniel Molloy invented a gay Black character, put him in a weird power dynamic with a white character, then had the words "Equals in the quiet dark" come out of his mouth. He knows DAMN well how that's gonna look on paper, and he knows that if he doesn't get Louis to examine that statement, TikTok will do it for them. Same goes for Louis' waxing poetic about the less overt racism in post-WWII Paris. I mean, IMAGINE. Imagine how that would've gone down, metatextually, with readers assuming that sentiment came FROM Daniel.) Interestingly, Daniel only attempts to pry delicately two times during the interview—which are also the only times he hints at his reasons for prying. The first is when he and Louis discuss the missing diary pages, which others have explored exhaustively. But what I find interesting is the second instance, right before the big reveal at the end of s2 when he asks his followup questions. Daniel's demeanor in that scene fascinates me: he's ostensibly out of "Interviewer" mode and for a second, we see his inner editor take over—shuffling papers, acting flustered, apologizing for his disorganized notes, etc. Of course, he's doing this to bury the lede because he doesn't want Armand steering what comes next. But I have edited enough memoirs to tell you firsthand: this is exactly how you manipulate someone into questioning their deepest assumptions. You act friendly and casual and not at all like you're opening a gigantic can of worms as you recap the relevant facts; you ask clarifying questions about each point; and then you gently point out the other ways all those facts you just established might be interpreted. You know, by a reader who doesn't know any better. "Huh? No no, of course I'M not saying your husband of 70+ years is lying! I'M only pointing out another conclusion someone might HYPOTHETICALLY reach, based on all those details you just verified! I'M just a journalist, it's my JOB to question everything, guess I just have trust issues haha!"

"...Unless?"

[dreamygirl19]

Unseen Bond

✮ Summary : An unwanted arranged mating between Neteyam and Y/N deepens unexpectedly during an attack.

✮ Contains : Fluff, little bit of angst

✮ Pairing : Neteyam x omaticaya!reader

✮ Word Count : 2403 words

The scent of the forest, usually a comfort, hung heavy with unspoken tension in the Omaticaya hut. Neteyam shifted uncomfortably on the woven mat, his tail twitching, a mirror of his inner turmoil. Across from him, Y/N, her bioluminescent patterns glowing softly in the dim light, sat equally stiffly. Around them, their parents, clan elders, and Tsahìk Neytiri herself, spoke in hushed, reverent tones of prophecy and lineage.

"It is the will of Eywa," Jake Sully's voice rumbled, though his eyes, a shade too human, held a familiar weariness. "For the strength of the clan, to unite the bloodlines."

Neteyam snorted internally. 'Unite the bloodlines' meant his parents, the Tsahìk and Olo'eyktan, pushing him towards a mate from another influential family, a family that, until this moment, he hadn't spent more than polite greetings with. He knew Y/N. She was skilled, swift, and a fierce hunter, but their interactions had always been formal, almost distant. The idea of mating her, of sharing a life, a bond, and eventually children, felt… alien. He wanted to choose his own mate, to feel the pull of Eywa’s true connection, not one dictated by duty.

Y/N felt a cold knot in her stomach. Since childhood, she had always imagined her mate: a strong hunter, yes, but also someone with whom she could share laughter, quiet moments, a true soul-bond. Neteyam, the eldest son of Toruk Makto, was undeniably handsome, skilled, and bore the weight of his father’s legacy with a solemn grace. But he was also... Neteyam. The slightly arrogant one who always seemed to be chasing trouble with Lo'ak, the one who saw her only as another clan member, never her. She’d heard the whispers, seen the glances from other young women in the clan who vied for his attention. She knew he wouldn't want her, not like this. The arrangement felt like a cage, trapping them both.

After the elders dismissed them, the silence between them was thick, heavier than the humid jungle air. They walked along the forest path, the vibrant flora glowing around them, yet neither truly saw its beauty.

"So," Neteyam finally broke the silence, his voice low, almost flat. "This is it, then."

Y/N didn't look at him, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. "It would seem so. Our parents have spoken." Her tone was equally devoid of warmth. She felt a flicker of hurt. He didn't even try to hide his lack of enthusiasm.

"They talk of duty," Neteyam continued, a bitter edge to his voice. "Of prophecy. Of Eywa's will." He stopped, finally turning to face her. "But what of our will, Y/N? What if this isn't what we want?" His bioluminescence flared faintly with his frustration.

Y/N met his gaze, a surprising strength in her eyes despite the turmoil within. "Do you think I wish for this any more than you? To be bound without choice? To mate a hunter who looks at me as though I am a burden bestowed upon him by elders?" The words, though quiet, held a sharp sting.

Neteyam flinched. He hadn't meant it to sound like a burden. He was frustrated with the situation, not with her. "That's not what I meant. I just… I always thought… it would be different. A connection."

"A connection forged in obligation?" Y/N scoffed softly, a hint of genuine pain in her voice. "We are bound, Neteyam. Let us at least acknowledge the reality of it. We are to be mated. By order. No more, no less." She turned and continued walking, leaving him standing there amidst the glowing plants, the reality of their forced future settling heavily upon him.

The arrangement meant they were now expected to spend time together, to "learn" each other. It was awkward, stilted. They hunted, trained, and ate together, but a wall remained between them, built of resentment and unspoken desires for freedom.

"Your aim is true," Neteyam said one afternoon, watching Y/N send an arrow precisely through a distant fruit. His voice was neutral, almost clinical.

Y/N lowered her bow. "As is yours. You are swift." She offered a polite nod, not meeting his gaze fully. She hated these forced compliments. They felt hollow, a performance for watchful eyes. Inside, she felt a growing sadness. This wasn't how she imagined a mate bond. There was no warmth, no joy, just mutual obligation.

Neteyam, too, felt the hollowness. He saw the way Y/N's eyes often held a distant sadness, how she never quite relaxed around him. He knew his own disappointment was evident, and it pained him slightly to see it reflected in her. He tried, sometimes, to bridge the gap, to ask a question about her day, a story from her hunt. But the responses were always clipped, polite, and he’d retreat, reinforcing the unspoken understanding that they were simply enduring this.

One evening, while patrolling the forest perimeter, their path converged. The wind whispered through the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth. Neteyam slowed his pace, walking beside Y/N.

"The Sky People's patrols have been more frequent lately," Y/N remarked, her voice quiet, a rare moment of genuine observation outside their forced interactions. "Their ships fly lower."

Neteyam nodded, appreciating her sharp perception. "Yes. Father says they grow bolder. They seek new resources beyond the obvious." For a moment, the shared concern for their home overrode the personal awkwardness. This was the most natural conversation they'd had yet.

As the weeks passed, a quiet, almost imperceptible routine settled between them. They were efficient partners in tasks, their movements synchronized in training, their instincts sharp in the hunt. They learned to anticipate each other's next move in battle drills, a silent language of combat evolving between them. But the personal connection remained elusive, buried under the weight of the arrangement. They were a functional unit, not a future family.

The peaceful hum of the forest was shattered by the guttural roar of a Samson helicopter. It ripped through the canopy, followed by another, and another. "Sky People!" a shout rang through the camp. Panic flared, quickly suppressed by the training of a lifetime.

Neteyam's heart hammered against his ribs. This was no mere patrol. This was an attack. He grabbed his bow, his eyes scanning for his younger siblings, Lo'ak and Tuk. His parents were already directing warriors.

"Neteyam! Y/N! Defend the lower caves!" Jake's voice boomed.

Neteyam immediately turned, his focus already shifting from family to duty. "Follow me!" he commanded Y/N, not stopping to see if she obeyed. He expected her to.

Y/N felt a jolt of pure adrenaline. This was real. No more drills. She drew her own bow, her movements fluid and practiced, falling into step behind Neteyam. As they raced towards the designated area, the ground vibrated with the heavy thud of AMP suit footsteps. Sky People. Close. Too close.

Suddenly, a loud explosion rocked the earth. A direct hit on one of the ancient hometree roots above them. Debris, huge chunks of wood and rock, rained down.

"Watch out!" Neteyam roared. He instinctively shoved Y/N forward, pushing her violently out of the path of a falling timber. He felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as he twisted, the impact throwing him off balance.

Y/N stumbled but regained her footing, her eyes wide as she saw the sheer size of the falling root he'd saved her from. "Neteyam!" she cried, turning to him, fear coiling in her gut. He was already back on his feet, wincing slightly, but his gaze was fixed on the approaching threat, not his injury.

An AMP suit, its metal gleaming menacingly, crashed through the undergrowth. Its heavy gun began to spit fire, sending rounds tearing through the trees. Neteyam didn't hesitate. He took cover behind a thick root, Y/N right beside him.

"Cover me!" he hissed, nocking an arrow.

Y/N didn't need to be told twice. She drew her bow, aiming for the AMP suit's weak points, its exposed joints. Her first arrow found its mark, sparking against the metal. Neteyam fired, his arrow finding an optic sensor, causing the suit to stutter.

But more Sky People soldiers, dismounted and heavily armed, emerged from the smoke and chaos. They were flanked.

"We need to move!" Y/N yelled, pulling Neteyam's arm.

He glanced at her, her face grim, determined, utterly focused. He saw the quick, sharp movements of her eyes, assessing the threats, not just protecting herself but scanning for him too. A new feeling, hot and urgent, flared in his chest. It wasn't just duty. It was raw, primal instinct. He would not let her fall.

An armed soldier charged them. Neteyam fired, but another soldier, hidden by the smoke, appeared behind Y/N, raising his rifle. Time seemed to slow. Neteyam's warrior instincts took over, blinding and swift. He didn't think. He threw himself, shield-like, between Y/N and the barrel of the rifle.

The blast was deafening. Pain exploded in his side, a searing, white-hot agony that ripped through him. He gasped, stumbling, but remained upright, his body tensed, instinctively covering Y/N.

"NETEYAM!" Y/N screamed, a guttural cry torn from her throat. She saw the blood bloom on his side, soaking into his loincloth. Her mind went blank, replaced by a surge of pure, protective rage. She didn't hesitate. Her bow was useless at this range. She lunged, knife in hand, at the soldier who had shot him, her roar echoing the ferocity of a banshee. Her movements were a blur of furious blue, a deadly dance of vengeance. She plunged her blade deep, then spun, protecting Neteyam as another soldier tried to flank them.

Neteyam, gritting his teeth against the pain, watched her. She was a whirlwind, swift and deadly, moving with an untamed ferocity he'd never seen from her before. She was protecting him. Her mate. The thought, clear and sudden, cut through the pain.

More Omaticaya warriors arrived, led by Lo'ak, their cries filling the air. The Sky People, overwhelmed, began to retreat. The immediate danger receded, but the battle was far from over.

Y/N dropped to her knees beside Neteyam, her face streaked with dirt and fear. "Your side!" Her hands trembled as she pressed against the wound, trying to staunch the blood flow. Her eyes, usually so composed, were wide and filled with a raw, desperate concern. "Why did you do that? You fool! You didn't have to—"

"You're my mate," Neteyam rasped, his voice rough with pain, but his eyes, locked onto hers, held a newfound intensity. "My mate. I protect you."

Y/N stared at him, the weight of his words, the raw, undeniable truth of his action, hitting her with shocking force. He hadn't thought. He hadn't calculated. He had simply acted. For her. And in that moment, seeing the depth of his selfless protection, a warmth, fierce and undeniable, bloomed in her chest, chasing away the fear and the old resentment.

Neteyam's injury was deep but not mortal, thanks to Eywa and Neytiri’s swift healing. He lay in the healers' hut, weak but recovering. Y/N rarely left his side. She brought him water, fresh fruit, spoke softly to the healers. She no longer felt the stiffness that had defined their interactions. Now, a quiet, protective tenderness filled the space between them.

One evening, as the bioluminescent insects danced outside the hut, Neteyam stirred. He met Y/N's gaze. "You were… incredible," he murmured, his voice still a little hoarse. "Fierce. Like a spirit of the forest."

A faint blush appeared on Y/N's cheeks. "And you, Neteyam, were a fool. But a brave one." She managed a small, genuine smile. "Why did you truly do it? I could have defended myself."

Neteyam reached out, his hand hesitantly finding hers, their fingers intertwining. The touch sent a jolt, not of awkwardness, but of a quiet, unfamiliar warmth through them both. "I don't know," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "There was no thought. Only… you. In danger. And then... a clarity. That you were mine to protect. My mate." He squeezed her hand gently. "The arrangement… I hated it. I didn't want a mate chosen for me." He looked into her eyes, raw honesty in his own. "But then, seeing you, fighting beside you, and knowing I nearly lost you… it changed. Everything."

Y/N's eyes, usually so guarded, softened completely. She felt the depth of his confession, the truth in his touch. "I understand," she whispered. "I felt the same. A cage. A duty." She squeezed his hand back, her thumb tracing the lines of his palm. "But when you shielded me… when I saw your blood… all I felt was fear. And then… I didn't want to lose you either, Neteyam. You were no longer just the Olo'eyktan's son, or the boy I was forced to mate. You were… you. My mate. And I would have done anything to protect you too."

A comfortable silence settled, filled with the soft hum of the forest. The old walls between them had crumbled under the fire of battle and the honest confessions born of fear and near-loss. There was no grand declaration, no sudden, overwhelming passion. Instead, there was a quiet, deep understanding. A bond, forged not by prophecy or parental decree, but by shared danger, selfless action, and the unexpected, fierce surge of protection that had risen from the depths of their souls.

Neteyam looked at Y/N, truly looked at her for the first time without the lens of resentment or duty. He saw her strength, her quiet fire, her unwavering loyalty. He saw a future, not forced, but chosen, in the aftermath of near tragedy. He realized, with a profound sense of peace, that being mated to Y/N, the fierce, loyal, brave Y/N, might not be so bad after all. In fact, it might be exactly what Eywa had intended, a bond that only true peril could reveal.

Y/N met his gaze, a soft, accepting smile on her lips. She saw the genuine warmth in his eyes, the absence of arrogance, the true gratitude. The cage had opened, revealing not a burden, but a mate she could truly trust, a connection forged in fire, strong and real. The thought settled in her heart, a quiet, hopeful promise. Perhaps, after all, this arranged mating was exactly where she was meant to be.

꩜ Masterlist

꩜ One shots requests opened

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; jinshi

requested by ; mod / self indulgent

fandom(s) ; apothecary diaries

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; jinshi

outline ; “dating hcs for jinshi”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

jinshi is not an easy person to be in a relationship with — though that almost goes without saying regardless of whether you meet him as the eunuch or as his true self. it’s not through any fault or failings of his own, of course, it’s just a natural consequence of the lives he leads and the responsibilities he has as a member of the inner court

he’s secretive. he has to be. it’s not his choice and he feels so guilty for hiding so much from you for so long, but he knows it’s for the greater good so he continues dismissing and disregarding and deflecting until you’re so frustrated that you stop asking altogether

he’s absent a lot. stuck in meetings, locked up in his office, chasing up officials for one reason or another, checking in on the rear palace and its denizens, away on trips that he doesn’t talk about, or doing whatever other important things he’s assigned to take care of this time. it’s frustrating, you’ll feel isolated and even neglected some days, but it’s so far out of his control that he can’t do anything but grit his teeth and smile through it all (even when he misses you so much he feels sick)

he’s demanding. demanding of your time. demanding of your attention. demanding of your affection. demanding to the extent that he comes across as possessive some days and it leads to arguments that lead to hours spent apart in order to cool off. it’s a lot, he’s a lot, but at least this particular flaw is one that he’s actively trying to work on and that you can see him making progress with the longer you’re together

and he’s strikingly childish, leaving you to feel more like a babysitter or his favourite toy than his lover and equal some days. these incidents are blessedly rare, only occurring after a particularly rough couple of days on his part, but they’re no less frustrating to deal with as you start adjusting to all of his other eccentricities

but once you get past all of that and come to know him as he truly is, you’ll be in for quite the treat

because jinshi is extremely loyal. like he won’t even entertain the thought of courting anyone else and hasn’t since he first set his eyes on you. you’re the love of his life, his soulmate, his other half, and he refuses to compromise that at all

he’s observant — he pays attention to everything about you, making mental notes about your appearance, your body language, your facial expressions, the things you like and those you don’t, and so on, and he uses that knowledge to be, quite possibly, the most attentive lover the country of li has ever known. not that you’re complaining, of course, but sometimes you do wish that jinshi would understand that he doesn’t need to put in 100% every single day. that you’ll still love him the same even when he’s not doing everything perfectly

he’s protective. scarily so sometimes. willing to interrogate, intimidate, isolate, and go to war with anyone who even tries to cause you harm — wielding every possible tool and power he has at his disposal in order to keep you safe because he knows just how much danger you are in just by being his partner. it’s that same protectiveness that pushes him to postpone your marriage for as long as possible because he doesn’t want to risk you getting assassinated once you become formally tied to the moon prince

he’s playful. he’s the type of partner that falls in love with your laugh, your smile, and tries any and everything he can just to get you to do it again. unafraid to tease or flirt or joke or play fight with you until you’re gasping for air and your sides are aching with laughter — because being with you lets him feel like himself again (unburdened by purpose and status, free to be childish and weird and eccentric) and he wants you to feel that same sense of lightness and freedom when you’re with him too

he’s affectionate: pulling you into his lap and cuddling and kissing you for as long as time will allow, spooning you in bed or pulling you down so you can rest on his chest and listen to his heart as you fall asleep, stealing kisses whenever you’re alone for the briefest of moments, sitting or standing as close as possible to you in moments where he’s unable to openly claim you as his own, wrapping his arms around you and following you around as you go about your morning routine, and so on and so forth. showering you with physical affection until your head is spinning and your skin is burning and you need to go take a walk to clear your head so you don’t actually make a fool of yourself in front of anyone else

he’s generous and never misses a chance to surprise you with a gift or treat you to something nice. even if you tell him that you don’t need anything fancy or new, that you’re perfectly content with just being with him, jinshi will still go out of his way to spoil you however and whenever he can

he’s not afraid to show you, and everyone else, how much he adores you. sure he’s cautious and limits this particular habit to when he’s acting as the eunuch, but the point still stands! he’s proud of you goddamn it and will gladly show off his wonderful lover to anyone who will listen (usually the doctor, maomao, or gyokuyou who are the only ones who really ask about you and that don’t see you regularly like gaoshun does)

and you’re never given any room to doubt the fact that, if given the choice, your darling not-a-eunuch would choose you each and every time without hesitation

anyway, moving on…

doesn’t do pet names and would rather you two just call each other by your first names instead — also damn near melted the first time you called him by his real name

his favourite place to kiss you is your inner wrists, his favourite place to be kissed is either his forehead or the underside of his jaw

he loves it when you play with his hair and has been known to (rather brattily) insist you do so after he’s had a particularly draining day

chronic lip chaser after you two kiss — and when he’s drunk jinshi gets super giggly when you make out. never bring it up to him when he’s sober though, it’s horrifically embarrassing for him

stares at you a lot when he’s meant to be working, but in a cute way not a creepy way (mostly)

nowadays he does prefer when you’re nice to him, but there are still moments where he finds himself quite enjoying your mean side (like he did back before you two started courting)

[theorphicangel]

thinking about knight!reader and prince!gojo (this has the potential to be a long term fic but my drafts are so full wow)

being assigned to prince satoru is probably the worst thing in the world. you could be out fighting for your nation or putting criminals in jail but instead you're looking after a brat.

you're stubborn and in satoru's eyes you don't look like you've ever smiled a day in your life.

so he makes it his own personal job to annoy the shit out of you. he purposely makes your job harder for you, he's running off when he's not supposed to, leaving you to find him in a maze of a palace when there's a serious royal meeting. he attempts to trip you up before mocking that you're not as agile as a knight should be.

not to mention the ways that he tries to scare you every time you turn a corner. he has the ability to somehow hide his presence so that even you can't even sense it.

sure he makes your life hell, forcing you to chase after him and hold him back from devouring every sweet treat on royal grounds but he swears that you're softening up.

even if it is slowly.

he would never mention this in your presence but he has noticed the way you look at him when you think he doesn't notice.

particularly the night that his royal establishment were to hold a ball. Satoru was fussing with his hair in the mirror, doing little touch ups whilst in the top corner he could sense you looking at him. and was that admiration in your eyes? he'd have to catch you looking again to make sure.

all dressed in a formal royal suit, made to fit a future king he asks 'am I looking good my precious knight?'

for once you don't scold him or downplay his ego. for once you actually smile and speak in that rare sweet tone of yours. 'you look perfect, my prince.'

a flush of pink spreads across satoru's cheeks and he lets out a choke of a cough. 'perfect huh, never thought I would hear those words leave your mouth.'

'don't get too ahead of yourself, satoru.'

of course the two of you had gotten close enough where he allowed you to call him by his name. he never had an admiration for honorifics. (you only refer to his name in private.)

for the first time in forever you feel excited for a royal event. in the months leading up to it meticulous planning had occurred. even the prince himself had gotten stressed over the preparations, but now the night had come, you looked forward to the smooth sailing of the night.

until it's announced that Satoru is arranged to be married to a princess of a mutual nation.

he's just as shocked as you are, his family only now breaking the news to him. keeping his professional composure, he keeps a tight smile on his face. anything to keep the public calm.

as the announcement goes on, you tune out the words letting the disappointment sink in. your stomach practically drops and you're finding it hard to swallow.

if anything this is just a brutal reminder of your reality and the stupid idea of making your confession to satoru tonight. you had it all planned, when in private with him you would make known your feelings to him.

but his marriage announcement snapped you back into your place. which would always be beneath him. never equal.

you were nothing but a knight to him. his security. nothing more and nothing less.

taglist:

@thoreeo @moxieisanalien @amberbalcom14 @ehcilhc

fill in this to join the taglist!