#y'all have deluded me

[foxedfriend]

9-1-1 || 7x04

here before buddie canon!! 😜😜

(🤡🤡🤡)

also currently listening to bad omens by 5sos and that exactly describes how i feel about this.

[lightningfilledsaber]

Ever hear a song that you KNOW is something someone you cut off is fucking playing to act all sad and mopey about you leaving? Follow up question: how do keep yourself from beating the shit out of someone without feeling like you're going to literally explode

[noiriarti]

The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU) | Chapter 4

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, maybe mild degradation. semi-public sex WC: 6.7k AN: sorry this took so long to churn out y'all! i'm currently at a crossroads where i could make this fic end at 5 chapters, or extend to 10 and really cook the plot. please let me know which you'd prefer!! i really love all the responses from every single one of you, and, if you all want to see the crazy shit (and smut) i have planned, i'd love to hear it! until then, enjoy this self-indulgent chapter. requests and asks are open, as always <3

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, [Ch. 4], Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8

Chapter 4: Breaking

Anakin woke up first. Because of course he did. Because of course the universe tortured him with the beauty of your sleeping face, naked in his arms. Last night was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and that counted winning Nationals and his first Lego Robotics kit. The previous night, when you lay down on his chest and said all those sweet things, no anger in you at all, he felt his stomach do a full flip, and he accepted right then that he loved you. Once he let the thought in, it was done. He loved you. And that was pure torture, because he knew he wouldn't do anything about it. The two of you were too delicate, too breakable right now.

He watched your sleeping face in the morning light the way a moth watches the moon, bright and so unattainable, with your peaceful eyes and full lips. Those same lips that sneered at him, that told him how smug and horrible he was. He really didn't know how he could be so stupid as to sleep with you. Anakin knew he was never someone who could keep his feelings and his dick separate. He knew it. But the second that you seemed interested, he offered it so freely, probably because he was already done for at that point. Last night, he wanted nothing more than to make you feel pleasure, to make you shake under him and say his name. And now, he was aware of what he had done to himself. What he had been doing to himself since freshman year.

The thought propelled him to get up, to move around. Anakin never could stay still for long. He closed your bedroom door softly, trying to avoid waking you up after he put his clothes back on, then sat on your couch to have a moment to think. A moment where he couldn't smell your shampoo or feel the skin of your stomach against him. Fuck. He leaned his elbows onto his thighs and put his head in his hands.

What was he going to do? Could he even do anything at this point? If he told you how he felt, that he wanted to be more than just someone you slept with, he genuinely didn't know what you'd say. What was the probability that you had feelings for him? Something other than just carnal, animal desire? He'd been noticing, lately, that you were less likely to snap some rude comment at him. That you were, maybe, just maybe, softening towards him. Maybe he was just deluding himself into reading into the soft touches last night, or the fact that you didn't kick him out. But maybe he wasn't. And maybe you'd be scared away by the suggestion that he had feelings for you, for any one of a million reasons. You were only six months from graduation, or some ex still had your heart, or maybe you just didn't want to be seen with him. There were infinite possibilities, and he didn't know which, if any, would happen if he told you. The uncertainty was killing him.

But the biggest thing stopping him was the competition. It made everything so hard between you, and maybe he would have said something if he didn't have to see you every day for hours until he graduated. If he could just run away if you rejected him to lick his wounds in peace. But, if you said no, he'd have to watch you ignore him, watch your perfect, deft hands build something brilliant.

He felt like an idiot. He had put himself in this position. And he couldn't really afford the time commitment of spending hours a day with a fuckbuddy/girlfriend/whatever this was right now. He hadn't fucked you without thinking about it, it was just that he was weak around you. Sure, he was horny and repressed and hadn't gotten some in a while. That's what hands were for. But, in all honesty, he hadn't been interested, really interested, in anyone since sophomore year. Then you came along, the one person he should hate, always next to him in the lab. As he got to know you better, he felt that lump growing in his chest, the one that meant that he was going to be hurt, inevitably. That much love never ended well.

Oh, fuck, what have I done?

He heard hinges creak, and, for a second, he thought you were up, but it was Ahsoka, heading out for a run based on her joggers and jacket. And he was wearing last night's clothes in your living room in the early hours of the morning. Shit. It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened, from the timing to his messy hair.

"Hey, Snips." His voice wasn't as confident as he hoped it would be, but Ahsoka took pity on him.

"Hey, Skyguy," she said, sitting down next to him on the couch and wrapping an arm around him. Anakin hesitated for just a moment, before leaning his head onto her shoulder. She was his second-in-command, and she knew things he didn't tell pretty much anyone else. Ahsoka was dependable, if annoying. She was who he imagined his little sister would be in some alternate universe where he had a bigger family. It irritated him to no end that she could read him like a book, especially with the look she was casting him. She knew the slump of his shoulders, the faraway look in his eyes.

"You caught feelings, didn't you?" She said into the silent room. There was a peace, a still serenity to the morning, and he found himself tired of hiding.

"That easy to tell?" He let out a little snort. Of course it was.

"Yeah." For her, at least. She'd seen him cry in pain after a competitor dislocated his shoulder, and she'd seen him go through his breakup with Padme. "Well, why don't you say something?"

"I'm scared that it wouldn't work out, that it would end badly." The confession was quiet, vulnerable. Anakin could practically hear Ahsoka rolling her eyes affectionately.

"You're already enemies. You literally hate each other. How much worse could it get?" There was a smile in her voice, but Anakin was serious.

"So much worse. You don't know--I don't think I could handle silence. Anger, hatred, that's whatever. But silence, not talking, that would kill me. When we're just casual--it's safer. Even if it fucking hurts." He'd never been a guy for casual hookups. He'd never had one before. Anytime he had sex with someone, it had to be emotional for him. Deeply.

"But you already have feelings, so you're going to get hurt if it ends, regardless of what label you put on it. Just… say something, Skyguy." Her arm wrapped around his shoulders squeezed him comfortingly. He nodded, still far away in thought. The possibilities spun around in his mind like debris in a hurricane, smacking him around like a ragdoll. Everything was chaos, and he just wanted to learn more. To know more about how you felt.

"I think I just need more time. To figure out what this is. If there's anything I can do. And I can't let myself get distracted from work," he said. The problem was that, when he got like this, he knew you would be the only thing on his mind, night and day. The only thing that kept him from going insane would be his work, what he was building, but you would always be there when he was working. And that would throw him off his game by a country mile.

"You work too much, Skyguy." Anakin barked out a laugh, a resentful sound.

"Maybe." What was too much? He didn't know the concept.

Every second, every iota of willpower within him was dedicated to getting through college and getting a good job. To making a future. To making money. He swore to himself, when he learned what a bill was and why his mom would cry in her room when the envelopes with the red stamps came to their door, that he would never let her worry about money again. She had done enough of that for a lifetime. Whenever she got him a gift that he knew was expensive, his heart would break. After she bought him the Lego Robotics set, he said he didn't want any gifts for Christmas anymore, only his birthday. Said he didn't want to celebrate consumerism, or some bullshit like that. He used the set until it stopped working. And then he fixed it, and wore it out again. For years, he was angry about how unfair it all was, how the world could punish his mom this way, but all of it boiled off until all that was left was determination, thick like syrup. Then he started the odd jobs, fixing computers for people with small bits of equipment he borrowed from the school robotics team. He worked part-time at the dojo in exchange for lessons, and collected every scrap of prize money he could. He'd slip the twenties he got into his mom's wallet in the middle of the night, his bare feet padding on the tiles, hoping she wouldn't notice.

He only accepted Coruscant University because of the full ride they gave him. If they had offered any less, he would have had to go to Tatooine State University. And now, if he won, $10,000 was enough that he would probably have to make up some excuse for her to accept it, like a thank-you gift for being a good mom. Or maybe he'd invest it and take out small chunks once a month that he could slip into the family bank account, maybe pretend he got a new part-time job. That is, if he won. If.

Whenever he thought about not winning, about what that would mean, he felt a pit open up in his stomach, sucking him up whole. But if he won, a different pit opened up. You'd never forgive him for it. He knew you'd never be able to get over the resentment, the anger at him if he won. You held grudges longer than anyone he'd met before, and this would probably be unforgivable in your book. That was, if he even won.

"When did life get so complicated? If I win, I feel guilty because it'd ruin everything that we're doing. If I don't, I don't even know--I have to win. I can't afford not to. I--I just wanted to make robots." The feelings spilled out of him, letting some pressure off of his heart, but he could feel his eyes prickling. Anakin blinked quickly, getting rid of even the threat of tears. Ahsoka could tell, he knew, but she had the decency not to mention it. The arm around him rubbed his shoulder, saying I know. It's okay.

"It doesn't seem that complicated to me. All you can do is your best with your project, and with… other things. It'll all work out, I promise," Ahsoka said, with such authority in her voice that Anakin believed her.

"Thanks, Snips." He pried himself off of her shoulder, though it was a Herculean task, and threw her a forced smile.

"Oh, and if you tell anyone about this, I'll make you do sprints at practice," he added, and she laughed. Ahsoka pushed off the couch and grabbed her water bottle, then was at the door in a moment.

"I'll see you later, and… I do mean it. Say something," she said as she opened the door and slipped out of it.

That left Anakin alone on your couch, thinking and turning the possibilities over in his mind until he lost his patience and came back into your room. You were still laying in bed, and his heart ached. Anakin came up to you and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. Something you probably wouldn't have let him get away with if you were awake, honestly. You shifted a bit

"Good morning, sleepy. Let's get to work," he said.

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Anakin spent the rest of the day distressingly far from you. First, after you had breakfast together, which made his heart race in an almost embarrassing way, he had to leave immediately for a meeting at the Jinn lab. Then, he had to race to TKD practice, because he was teaching the intro, the intermediate, and the advanced group today, which was definitely evidence that God hated him. He shoved some kind of sandwich from a dining hall down his throat on the shuttle back to the engineering department, where he then sat for four hours working on replicating the results from some test Obi-Wan had run that morning. At some point, he ate two protein bars from his backpack. Anakin was so busy, he almost didn't have time to think or feel, and that soothed him the slightest bit.

Then came the thesis lab, at 10. It was packed to the brim with students. All twelve of your cohort apparently found their way out of the woodwork tonight. He checked the calendar. Seven days until fall semester submission, so that made sense. Most of them probably hadn't even started. Whatever, that just meant less real competition.

When he entered the lab, his eyes found you instantly, the way they always did. You'd saved the workbench across from you for him, a gesture which almost made Anakin pass out. He tried not to read into it as a sign of affection, he really did. He did not succeed. You gave him a little wave and a smile, asked him how his day was, and he went almost dizzy with joy.

By the time an hour passed, he realized that he had done remarkably little. He thought back to that morning, when he was sure having sex with you had been a bad idea precisely because it felt like such a good idea. Anakin decided that he was correct to feel that way, because he couldn't focus on anything right now. You bent over your lab bench to reach something in the back, and he wanted to walk over and sink his fingers into your soft cheeks. Maybe something else. When you lent over your workstation, which was across from his today, and he got a perfect look down your shirt to your perfect bra and tits, he tried to hold back the flashes of how your nipples felt under his fingers and tongue. Each stretch of your lithe neck reminded him of how desperately he wanted to suck a deep red mark right there, then watch you walk around with it.

He really was trying to resist, but he wasn't good at it. Anakin already knew he was weak when it came to you, but this was a whole new level. He was hard, in public, because of you. While he pretended to read an email sagely, a hand crept under his lab bench to palm himself, just to take the edge off. Somewhere around his hip, he remembered Obi-Wan could be watching, either now or years down the line, and his hand retreated to the desk. So much for that idea. But he could deal with a little erection, right?

Wrong. So, so wrong. Because, right in his line of sight, you were trying to unplug a stuck power supply, and you were making these sounds, these grunts and groans, that went straight to his cock. Fuck. Each sound that escaped you sounded almost like your little moans while he ate you out. He could practically still taste you, feel the nub between your legs under his tongue. When you finally got it, you let out a little celebratory yes! which was definitely something he heard last night when you were riding him. The weight of your body on him, the way your tight pussy swallowed his cock whole as he looked into your eyes, the smell of sex in the air.

The image was too much. Anakin's resolve crumbled, and his hand went down all the way until it reached his sensitive head and applied just enough pressure to satisfy the itch. Apparently, that wasn't nearly enough, because his body immediately demanded more more more, greedy and obsessed with what you were doing to him. He had never been this hungry for someone before, like you were the very air he needed to breathe. Since you arrived at the lab, it had been sheer torture. It had gotten him to the point where it might just break him not to fuck you, and soon.

Anakin took a deep, ragged breath, then turned to his project. He inspected what he had done, and he found that he had connected the wrong resistor to the top of the circuit, as well as put the input cable in the wrong place. If he had turned it on, it would short the whole thing. Probably blow out the MPU6050-6 gyroscope and accelerometer chips he had spent hours soldering on yesterday.

Okay. Enough was enough. If his horniness was getting in the way of his work, he had to go take care of it. Nothing could stop him from winning. Anakin muttered out that he was going to the bathroom and rushed off down the stairs to the basement, to one of the private bathrooms.

As soon as the lock clicked behind him, his right hand immediately locked onto his cock through his pants, stroking it as he popped the button with his left. He barely had enough willpower to take his hand off of his cock while he unzipped himself and pulled it out. He was hard, leaking, desperate. He spat in his hand, then pretended it was you stroking him. Slow, languid. Those eyes looking up at him through your lashes, telling him you how badly you wanted him. Fuck it, he thought as he sped up and twisted at the top, just like he imagined you would. He didn't have his cock in your hands or mouth last night, and he was starting to wish he had, if not for the feeling, but to have the mental image stored away. Or maybe an actual image. What if he pulled out a camera while your pussy swallowed his cock whole and wrung the life out of it as you bounced on top of him? Or maybe while you played with yourself for him, fingers shoved within you as you mewled about how badly you wanted him inside you instead?

Anakin nearly came from the image alone. He stopped, just for a second. He wanted to take care of himself quickly, but, when it came to you, he wanted to make it last. Spend time in that space where he meant so much to you. Anakin leaned his body, already sweaty with need, back on the cool metal tiles, his hand on the safety rail. He counted down from 10, just to let his breathing slow and wipe some drops from his forehead, then started fucking his fist again.

Less than five seconds in, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Motherfucker. He pulled it out, just to see, hoping it was you. It was.

Hey, you ok? You've been gone a while

You were worried about him. Fuck. Anakin sped up on his cock. What would you think if you knew he was thinking about you and jerking off? One-handed, he typed out a quick yeah, be back soon, but his phone buzzed again a second later.

If you have some kind of stomach flu and give it to me, I'll smash your bot right now

He breathed out a laugh, but it got caught in his throat as he rubbed his thumb across his frenulum. Anakin almost made a few mistakes as he was typing out his response, but managed to write back.

thanks. but i'm just taking care of something. b back soon

Less than a millisecond later, you sent him a response. How did you type so fast? How would those fast, precise fingers feel wrapped around his shaft?

Does that mean what I think it means?

He sent a quick response without thinking. No, he was not jerking off in the work bathroom because just being near you turned him on beyond belief. Nope.

get your mind out of the gutter, he sent back. But, even if you suspected what he was doing, why would you ask? Maybe you would join him, if he asked. His hand got frenzied at the thought. Twitches jolted his cock. He sent another text.

maybe

Would you want some help with that? Your text flashed up on his screen and hit him like a truck. So you were interested. Maybe you were kinkier than he thought. Maybe he should have asked you to come down here with him, whispering in your ear in the lab so you could follow him, and only him, wherever he wanted so he could fuck you until you couldn't walk.

He typed I bet you'd enjoy helping me. Being on your knees for me, but then deleted it. Scaring you off was the last thing he wanted to do now.

if u want, he sent instead.

You instantly responded. Where are you?

This was happening. It was actually happening. Anakin gripped the base of his cock violently to make sure he didn't cum while he waited. He had to be patient.

basement bathroom, down the hall from the motion capture lab, he typed.

I'll be there in 2 mins, I'll knock 4 times

Those two minutes might just have been the worst two minutes of his life. Waiting, cock in his hand, for you to get there, precum dribbled out of him like a fountain. His cock was already slick with his spit, but it had dried while he waited. Despite the fact that it had been a bit since he last touched himself, he wasn't getting any softer. It was like his body knew you were getting closer, about to touch him. Like it knew you were about to put your soft lips around him.

When the knock on the door came, he did up his pants, unlocked it, and stepped to the side. On the off chance it was someone else, randomly using this exact bathroom.

But it wasn't. It was you, your hair pulled up, away from your face, breathing just a bit heavily from the way you had obviously run down the stairs. You were excited for him, and a thrill shot through him as he realized that he knew you well enough to recognize that.

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In the lab, you had noticed Anakin was off, somehow. That morning, he was so tender to you, helping you up and getting breakfast with you. The way he made you laugh over your off-brand cereal squeezed your heart. When he left, telling you he needed to go to work, you flashed into some future where the two of you were at a run-down kitchen table in some tiny apartment you shared, spending a few precious minutes together before you had to rush off to your jobs in the city. You shook it away.

You spent most of the day working on a thermo problem set in your room, trying desperately to understand how this would ever matter to you. Sometime before lunch, Ahsoka messaged you.

Hey, I forgot my water bottle at home. Can you grab it? I'm at the athletics center xx

You rolled your eyes. Of course you'd bring it. You found it by your little kitchenette area (which was comprised of a definitely-against-the-rules hot plate and microwave), probably discarded last night when Ahsoka was studying. You grabbed it, the metal cool under your fingers, and filled it with water from the Brita in your fridge for good measure. She'd probably forget to fill it during practice if you didn't.

You decided to wear some comfortable slides for your walk to the athletics center, which was only two buildings down from your dorm. The concrete of the imposing building always felt threatening and harsh. The machines were a bit run-down inside, and it wasn't your favorite gym of all time, but they had a pool and volleyball courts, so you found yourself there sometimes for intramural sports, if one of your friends convinced you.

You scanned your ID at the front, and the student attendant gave you a look which questioned why someone wearing sweats and slides, carrying nothing but a water bottle, would show up to the gym at noon on a Sunday. Whatever, you'd be out of here soon. You bounded up the stairs to the second floor, which housed the aerobics room, where Ahsoka told you the team practiced. You saw some of the others--Cody, Vaughn, Rex--in the corner, talking to Ahsoka in their kits. You cracked open the glass door and waved her over. Her bare feet smacked on the wood flooring as she plodded toward you, a bright smile on her face. Once she met you in front of the door, she grabbed the water bottle and guzzled it down until little rivulets slipped past her lips. She was sweaty, and, even though her white and blue braids were tied back, some had fallen out and hung loose around her face.

"Hey! Thank you so much, I was literally dying," she said, winking.

"Yeah, I can see that," you said. Ahsoka let out a little laugh and told you she needed to get back to it, so you were about to turn to leave when you saw a familiar figure.

Anakin. He was in front of a crowd of students, almost all of them wearing black belts, with some smatterings of red belts, as he demonstrated some sort of combination of kicks. You didn't really know that much about taekwondo, even though your roommate was really dedicated to the team, and your whatever-Anakin-was had won about a million championships. You'd never really seen Anakin do anything, though, but you almost had to stop your jaw from physically dropping.

He moved so precisely, so agile and sleek. And then someone took out three boards, thick, wooden things, and he smashed them clean in half with one kick. Details flooded you. The way his standing foot corrected itself to support him, so well-tuned to his body. The furrow of his brow, the beads of sweat collecting on it. The taut muscles in his chest that peeked out from the slightly open vee of the kit. The way his mouth opened in a yell you could hear through the door, an angry, powerful sound that sent shivers down your soul.

You were wrong about him. He wasn't just otherworldly. He was so much more. When he moved like this, you imagined him on a battlefield, cutting through a swath of enemies with those strong limbs like they were nothing. He was ethereal, battle itself come alive, strategic and controlled and precise, but vicious.

Whatever he was showing ended, and the pupils started attempting some mimicry of it. But none of them would ever come close to him, to the way his body moved. You wanted him all to yourself, in that moment, when you realized how incredible he was. You didn't want anyone else to snatch even a fraction of him, of his brilliance. As the jealousy of some imaginary people tugged in your gut, you turned and left. You had work to do, and this was… distracting. Hard to look away from. Hard to stop thinking about. But you could manage it.

Even in the lab that day, when you'd found a bench and saved him a seat, the image of him, snapping out his hand at the wood, didn't leave you. It was like trying not to think of an object, it just kept popping up in the screech of the bandsaw, in the wood flecks that speckled the ground near the drill press. It was everywhere.

It only got worse when Anakin arrived, a few hours later, shooting you glances that made your body simmer. When he sat at his computer and typed, you wondered how you'd never seen that side of him before. How you didn't see that those hands, the ones that had been inside you just hours ago, were so strong. So dangerous. Something stirred within you. That chest that you'd run your hands over held so much power, and the thought of him using it on you, to lift you up and throw you around, made you far wetter than it should. Your clit twinged when you remembered that this very desk was the one he had lifted you up on that first night. Jump. His hands were so strong under your legs, like you weighed nothing. Not that you were tiny or delicate, he was just that strong. You looked across at the table at him. Anakin was precise in the lab, too, his hands twisting the wire in his hands under his fingers just so. Could he grab your clit like that too, and pull and twist? Watch you squirm under him?

Fuck, you had to snap out of it. You caught him looking at you, and he smiled when you made eye contact. Shit, you'd forgotten how cute that smile was when it wasn't full of contempt. It was only turning you on more.

You threw yourself into work, pulling off a horrible plug that wouldn't release no matter what you did, then typing out some words into your running lab log. When you looked up, Anakin was looking at you and breathing heavily, his face suddenly deadly serious. You suddenly felt like his next meal, and the thought made you shiver. After a few seconds, he told you he was going to the bathroom, and asked you to keep an eye on his prints.

The twelve people there had dwindled to six, counting you and Anakin, so you started to wonder if you could get away with going home early once he returned and either fucking him the second you got home, or fucking yourself silly on your vibrator when you got home.

So, when he implied in a text that he was, in fact, jerking off downstairs, you needed to find out where he was. Immediately. His strong hands wrapped around his cock would stay in your fantasies for years. And, you hadn't had him in your mouth yet. And, fuck, you wondered how he would taste, now that he had been teasing himself for so long.

The basement was quiet, empty. You didn't see anyone in the motion capture lab on your way over, so you two would probably be safe. A thrill bubbled through you--fucking in semi-public was something you'd always wanted to try, but no one you'd been with had been willing. You were sure that your panties were more than a little wet at this point, but it wasn't just that you were doing something so daring, it was the fact that you were doing it with Anakin.

The four knocks on the door came quickly, and you heard the tell-tale click of the lock. You opened the door, then found Anakin leaning up against the wall.

"Hey," he said, nonchalantly. That charm was really serving him now, distracting you from the red in his lips and the heave of his chest. You noticed anyway.

"Hey."

"So, uh. I don't have a condom or anything, so we probably shouldn't--y'know," he said, seeming a bit unsure what you wanted to do. His index finger rubbed the metal bar protruding from the wall that he was leaning on.

"Yeah. I was hoping that, um," the words fell short on your tongue. Was there a sexy way to ask this? One that would guarantee he'd say yes?

"What is it?" Anakin was suddenly curious, not ready to accept your pause, or the "I-uh" you uttered as you searched in vein for some innuendo to use.

"C'mon, tell me." His tone had more of an edge to it, one that made you blurt out what you were thinking without a question.

"I was hoping you'd fuck my throat. Hard." You looked up at him, and he was looking at you a bit like he looked at those boards at practice. Like a goal. Like something he wanted, something he'd get. Anakin stalked over to the door and clicked the lock so that no one could get in, then turned to you.

"Get on your knees for me, baby." His voice was so gruff that you did what he said immediately, and dropped onto the hard tile floor. You were on your knees, and all that mattered in that moment was him. His pleasure. "Take it out," he told you, his eyes fixed on you. Your hands came up to his thighs, shaking in anticipation, then ghosted along his hard cock in his jeans. It jumped under your fingers, eager, but you continued up and undid his button. While Anakin stared down at you, you glanced up at his furrowed brow and tightened lips before slowly, teasingly, drawing down his zipper until it showed you his boxers. You hooked a finger under the waistband and drew them down until his cock, hard and heavy, bobbed in front of your hungry mouth.

His head was dark, leaking precum. Anakin had clearly been playing with himself for a long time before this, and you could see some wetness along the shaft, probably spread across his hard cock by his hand. The veins were defined, angry and desperate. One of his hands came up to your jaw, caressing it, then trailed to the back of your head to pull your mouth closer to him.

You reached up and grabbed around the middle of his shaft experimentally, just to test his reaction, and he let out a huff. The skin was so soft and silky under your fingers, and you wondered if the head would be smooth and warm in your mouth. You tested that theory immediately, taking the entire head in your my mouth in one go. You were both too impatient for teasing right now.

"Ahhffuuuck," he groaned as his other hand braces him against the wall. You hummed, but your jaw was open as wide as it could go, so it came out incoherent. Your tongue darted to his slit, lapping up his precum, which was salty and musky, like the rest of him last night. It was Anakin's smell, something masculine and sexy that made you get even wetter. Your tongue started brushing over different parts of his head, feeling the spongy head and the smooth bumps of his frenulum. He really liked it there, it seemed, based on the sharp inhale and small eye roll you saw him give.

You loved his reactions, you loved watching him lose that filter that pretended he didn't want to do horrible, rough things to you. Your head started bobbing as you worked your lips over and over across the rim of his head, letting the whole thing pop out of your lips over and over. Words would probably start pouring out him soon like last night, and the memory of him saying ride me was enough to propel your hand down to where your splayed out thighs met.

"What? Is blowing me in the bathroom turning you on?" There it was. You nodded, his cock still in your mouth. Yes, it was turning you on more than it had any right to. Knowing that someone could be right outside the door while you stuffed him deeper down was everything you wanted. You took more of him in, going as far down as you could, before he hit the back of your throat.

You gagged on him, your body begging for air, but then he used the hand that was behind your head to shove you off him. His fingers wrapped into the hair at the base of your skull and turned you up to face him. He was completely disheveled, the sweet Anakin still there, but a kind of sweet that terrified you, that would ruin you while whispering how good you were in your ear.

"Well, go on. Touch yourself while I fuck your throat, baby," he said, his voice commanding but caring, which only made you wetter. You didn't waste a second, dipping your fingers into your pussy, which was almost shamefully wet. As soon as he saw you sink down on them, he used the subtle opening of your mouth to shove his cock deep down inside your throat, then pulled back and thrust in again, harder. His cock was practically thrumming under your lips, needy and insistent.

The feeling made you speed up your fingers slamming the walls of your pussy, but it wasn't enough. Nothing other than him was ever enough. Desperate for anything to dull the need, you thrust your hips into your palm, grinding against it while your fingers were still buried inside you. The extra friction made you whine around him and squeeze your eyes shut as he worked you back and forth. Suddenly, his hand in your hair wrenched you off his cock.

"Eyes open, beautiful. Look at me," Anakin growled. You instantly opened them, staring up at him. He was wrecked for you. His open mouth huffed out hot, ragged breaths, and, under your fingers, his thighs were clenched so hard you thought they'd give out. As soon as he saw your eyes on his, he lowered you back onto his dick, this time even more frenzied when he saw the devoted look you were casting him and your cheeks hollowed out. You were doing your best to suck the life out of him, and it was working. Quiet grunts started ripping out of his chest every time your tongue passed the bottom of the head of his dick.

"Ffffuck yeah, suck my cock--You like when I pull your hair hard like that? Like it when I use you?" The words were unfiltered, wild. You nodded as best you could, but his brutal pace moving your head was too much, so you tried to say yes, please, I love this so fucking much, but it came out as a series of incoherent noises around his length. Anakin smirked, ravenous, when he heard your desperate cries, but quickly had to squeeze his eyes shut and let his mouth drop open in pleasure. You loved seeing him come apart like this, just because of you. Because of your mouth. He recovered quickly, and words, dirty things, started pouring out of him.

"Yeah, I know you do. Can you feel how much I wanted to bend you over that fuckin' table in the lab? How much I wanted to--shit--slide my fingers inside you and watch you fuck yourself on them?" You whimpered around him, his words going to your head. Your pussy was on fire, heat spreading to every part of your body. He sped up, and you could feel his head smacking the soft flesh at the back of your throat. Your lips ached, your knees ached, your pussy ached, but you would do anything for him at that moment. And he knew it. He cursed under his breath. "Fuuuck, you're so fucking good at this--just like that, baby." It only took a few more seconds before you felt his thighs seize, his balls tightening and his cock starting to jerk and twitch in your mouth. You tongue was so tired, and you weren't sure breathing was even something you remembered how to do anymore.

"Gonna--fuck-- gonna cum. Gonna paint your fucking throat," he groaned, letting noises fall from his lips as you saw it finally overtake him. You were so far gone that you could barely feel your wrist from the amount you were moving it. You could barely feel anything except his cock tensing up inside your mouth. His orgasm burned through him like a wildfire, and, based on the loud gasp that ripped from his chest as the first shot of cum hit the back of your throat, he was losing himself in it. It was bitter, so salty, but you barely tasted it as it slid straight down your tongue. The next spurt hit you, and his hips thrust sharply into your wet, hot throat, but the cum stayed on your tongue this time. It was thick and tasted like a more intense version of his precum painting your mouth. Anakin rode out his orgasm, still buried inside you, then gently pulled his cock out and let go of your burning scalp.

You looked up at him with the best doe eyes you could, then stuck your cum-covered tongue out for him to see. His eyes were half-lidded, but curious. You wanted to badly to make him desperate for you again, to make him need you the way you needed him. Then you took it back in, and made a show of swallowing all his cum.

He groaned, giving you a fuck, baby as he recovered from both the image and his orgasm, and you registered, somewhere far away in your mind, that it was the first time he had called you that outside of sex, and that you wanted to hear it more.

His warm hand trailed your jaw, a bit tentative, holding you like you might shatter in that moment. And, you were. You were shattered, horny beyond belief and desperate to be taken care of. Every joint and part of your body ached, but nothing mattered other than having him inside you as soon as possible.

"Please, Anakin, I--I. I need to be fucked--I need you inside me, please," you begged, still on your knees for him. Anakin offered you a hand up, then helped you get off your sore joints. For a moment, you wondered if he'd leave you alone with your dripping, aching pussy, as some revenge for something. For some sin you'd committed years ago. But then he spoke, his deep blue eyes boring into yours with a heady mix of sincerity, sweetness, and something else. Something deeper.

"I'll take care of you, don't worry. But, first, you're gonna go upstairs and tell everyone you're going home, but you'll wait for me by the entrance. Then, when we get back, I'm going to fuck you on my bed until you can't walk straight."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Tag List (please let me know if you'd like to be added! i'm also searching for beta readers for this series, just to tell me if you like the concepts of each chapter, so message me if you'd like to chat about that): @skywalkercinema @throughparisallthroughrome @anak1ns-wife @radiantvader @eloquenceinpurple @rosekillerdaughter @doblasftcisco @rhiannonhippiegirl @mistress-amidala @mortalheartache @xorilixx @sunnytotheend @olivia091108 @aniiuv @sotal3rsa @springnaiad @bettysgardenswift @ursogorgeous13 @avalovesjoe1 @anibeaar @anisluvrgirl @johnbassplayercutie @mcdonaldshelppage @usuck @sythethecarrot @lovrsm

[astonmartinii]

love love love these social media aus. i am obsessed. would love to see a soft launch with carlos maybe of him showing her spain and his home? carlos just screams old money european vibes and i love it

old money | carlos sainz social media au

pairing: carlos sainz x reader a class in soft launching 101

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 301,671 others

carlossainz55: some much needed time at home

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username WHOMST?

landonorris so i see my invite was lost in the mail?

carlossainz55 i thought you were tired of third-wheeling?

landonorris touche

username was deluding myself that it was maybe his sister but the third-wheeling comment just slapped me in the face

charles_leclerc ahhhh my favourite sainz

carlossainz55 thanks mate you're my favourite leclerc too charles_leclerc i meant the dog mate arthurleclerc that's not what you said to me at imola sainz

yourusername

liked by carlossainzz5, yourbff1 and 21,761 others

yourusername: let's go explorin'

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username i'd eat her last when we eat the rich

username what i'd do to be her friend? assistant at least?

username i saw her in madrid the other day and omg she's even more graceful in person

username her posture is insane i need it bad

username while she looks great and you're all right - are we ignoring that a MAN is driving the car?

username i am ignoring it because i don't want to think about it username she can't be the coolest person in the world and be in a relationship it's not fair

carlossainz55

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 359,561 others

carlossainz55: blood is thicker than water

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username my favourite pastime is watching the old money aesthetic overtake carlos' entire being as soon as he sets foot back in spain

landonorris oh he's getting braver

carlossainz55 you gonna be bitter under all my posts cabron? landonorris until i'm wifed again, yes.

username so like why is y/n here?

username is that defo her? username i was referring to her liking the post but now you say it, the girl on the horse does look suspiciously similar

charles_leclerc mommas boy

carlossainz55 didn't know it was a crime to love my mum

username so yall be yelling about y/n but not telling us who she is and why she matters

username y/n y/ln is a spanish socialite whose family own a lot of the high end restaurants in madrid but she's most known for her poetry and style username so do we hate or love her? username i like her, and a lot of people do, just usual dislike for being grossly rich but from what i've seen she's pretty down to earth

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 29,871 others

yourusername: keeping the operation smooth

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username THIS ISN'T FUNNY

username stop playing with us please

username i feel like this is all the confirmation we'll get

username y'all i know he's an f1 driver and everything but we all know he's PUNCHING

username i need her haircare routine STAT

f1wagsupdates

liked by username, username and 1,249 others

f1wagsupdates: it's all but confirmed!! after a pretty solid soft launch from both carlos and his new lover y/n y/ln, her latest post was captioned "keeping the operation smooth", playing on carlos' iconic theme song. our sources state that the driver and socialite poet have been together for as long as six months but after other relationships and relative platforms, both were determined to take it slow. what do you think?

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username they're very cute and i can't wait to see her paddock looks

username bestie i fear you'll be waiting a while she's notoriously private when it comes to event appearances - really only going out for her family or her own events

username they're annoyingly sexy like save some for the rest of us

username this soft launch feels like its been going for about seven years

username f1 drivers defo have a type

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 720,778 others

tagged: yourusername

carlossainz55: mi hermosa

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username AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

yourusername you live in my heart

carlossainz55 and i never want to leave landonorris free real estate yourusername my favourite third-wheel carlossainz55 stay out of grown people's business landito

username they're so lana del ray coded

yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari, carlossainz55 and 71,230 others

tagged: carlossainz55

yourusername: life with you feels like poetry in motion

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username NOOOOOOO WE LOST HER

username but does this mean new poetry ??

carlossainz55 you make me crazy baby

yourusername crazy in love

username when will it happen to me?

landonorris finally i can interact without having a year long argument with carlos

lando.jpeg

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 301,285 others

lando.jpeg: a study in third wheeling, a six month project by yours truly

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username i'm obsessed with this couple actually

carlossainz55 as much as you are annoying landito, thank you for these ❤️

yourusername we love you landito landonorris so i can use the boat yourusername i don't love anyone that much carlossainz55 eh? yourusername other than you obviously

username lando just starts domestics in these comments and i love that for him

note: sorry this one is a bit short, but i hope you enjoyed anyway!!

[hainethehero]

So I made the mistake of stumbling onto the NOT STEVE ROGERS FRIENDLY tag today and..

You have to be a special type of delusional to be this obsessed with a character you don't like!??

Over 2k fics have the tag and are almost entirely Tony Stark-centered fics. I'm assuming these are the "fans" who totally buy into the MCU canon and don't know any other Captain America lore outside of what Feige and Whedon have done. Or, they're the "fans" who refuse to understand the politics behind Steve's character and how he was inherently undermined throughout the entire ten years of the MCU by the directors and writers for most of the films.

Because the arguments in most of these fics for being "not Steve rogers friendly" are really surface level shit like:

1) "Steve refused to sign the Accords and broke up the Avengers" (he was right & he didn't break them up, an overemotional Tony did when he refused to listen to Bucky's side of the story).

2) Steve fought Tony and almost killed him (yeah, like Tony didn't blast Bucky's arm off and shoot his repulsor rays directly at Steve).

3)Steve is homophobic (y'all are just making up reasons to hate this man atp)

4)Steve is racist (Steve hated racists & you'd know that if you read the comics, or you guys are just that deluded that you're making Steve racist & trying to project it as canon and therefore a "reasonable" explanation as to why you hate him)

5)Blaming Steve for Rhodey's accident (WHICH WAS TEAM TONY'S FAULT!)

6)YALL, THEY MADE STEVE THE BAD GUY IN A BROCK RUMLOW/BUCKY FIC! I stg I cannot make this shit up💀 Steve's bad for wanting Bucky to be Bucky again, but somehow Brock's the good guy for wanting Bucky to be the Soldier...

Steve left Bucky for Peggy (we'll get to this soon)

There's a hundred more irrational reasons for the Steve Rogers hate, but let me get to the WORST part.

THERE ARE BUCKY STANS WHO ARE ANTI-STEVE ROGERS.

And I'm sorry, no. I don't accept that you love Bucky Barnes but hate the one person he loves the most in the world.

They argued in a couple fics that "Bucky also went rogue after Siberia but he didn't want to associate with Steve, Nat & the rest of the team- WHO HELPED RESCUE BUCKY & EVENTUALLY EXONERATE HIM- but rather, he went off on his own & eventually Tony finds him, they hash it out and become friends to lovers."

Helppp???? Wdym Bucky isn't gonna stick with the one man he's been keeping diaries about to try and get back his memories? But he'll go to the one guy that re-traumatized him by blowing out his arm again?

Not only that, but Bucky absolutely hates Steve in some of these fics and the reason will be, "he left Bucky to go back to Peggy." Like, you cannot be a serious fan if you're still going with the Endgame canon. For a majority of us, we recognize Endgame as being nothing but terrible writing and mischaracterizations. Why are yall not analyzing and interpreting media critically? The MCU has never been on Steve's side and have always diminished his character in an attempt to make Tony the ultimate hero of the OG 6. Don't yall know the discourse? It's embarrassing atp.

And this is my stance on the entire thing: there's nothing wrong with writing fics about characters you don't necessarily like or aren't interested in. It's OKAY if you don't like Steve Rogers- but you've gotta be rational about him, instead of hateful. Most, if not all of these "anti-steve" fics are written in bad faith. Bad understanding of the character and pure, shameless mischaracterizations which just makes these types of fics fickle and weak- hilarious to read though cos that Brock one had me deadddd😭💀.

[blac-ivy]

You know what I love? A break from the monotony of regular fics where the reader mc is a victim.

I love when the reader is the unhinged one. I love it when they're so deluded, so far gone that you as sane as you are (which can't be alot if you're on tumblr lol), that you start to see their point and even root for them.

It's like the ultimate girl power thing for me in like a screwed up way, to have the reader be the pursuer, the predator. It's so rare to see Yandere! Or obsessive! dark fics from that perspective.

I love seeing the common themes in dark fics, with a female reader as the instigator,

like the misogynistic "you're going to be my housewife and have my kids whether you like it or not" thing turned to " I'm just trying to be a good housewife for you and give you a family, I promise you'll love it" or " just let me make you feel good, I know you need it even if you don't know it yet" vibes

I love that. I'm going to eat it up everytime

If y'all know of any go ahead and comment. And to any writers who come across this don't be shy to self promote.

My preferred fandoms the MCU : the avengers, Captain America, TFAWS.Harry Potter, Twilight (which is dead as fuck)

Any C. Evans works, or S. Stan

[lovemyromance]

My opinion on Gwyn:

I like her, she's fine. She is Nesta's friend and while she does have a tragic backstory, so does everyone else in ACOTAR, and I am far more interested in the other characters than I am in Gwyn.

My opinion on Gwynriels:

lol

If they just said "I hate Elain and like Azriel with literally anyone else" or "I like Gwynriel because they're cool and I ship them more"... I think we'd all respect them and their ship infinitely more

It is actually crazy how instead of just saying the above, y'all decided to reduce ACOTAR down to ONE bonus chapter and delude a small portion of very loud people into thinking that a ribbon and sparky sparky glow glow means MATES and ENDGAME when the characters haven't shown a scrap of romantic interaction in a series where males are intrinsically unable to stay away from their mate, especially when they are in danger (which has happened twice now, if we're counting)

My opinions on Lucien:

He was my favorite character in Book 1. Lost my respect for him when he wouldn't stand up to Tamlin and help Feyre, or go after Elain himself.

I don't care about him.

I don't wish him ill, ideally I want everyone to get a happy ending but he is not dear or dead to me in any way.

Very much like Elain, I am indifferent to his fate

My opinions on Eluciens:

The fact that Elain & Lucien are mates makes this ship legitimate and I will respect that. I'm not calling Eluciens delusional for hoping their ship gets together because they very well could 🤷🏻‍♀️

I hope they don't, because the way SJM has written the pairing this far, only shows how Lucien is unwilling to fight for her even though she's his mate. And Elain can't stand to be around him

I understand the "SJM writes enemies to lovers" blah blah excuses, but this is not enemies to lovers even. This is a case where two people don't want each other.

Eluciens shipping this couple does not bother me if they admitted they like Lucien more or they are mates so they'll end up together

What bothers me about Elucien is that people who ship them tend to dismiss Elain's feelings with a simple "she'll get over it" or worse, "she doesn't know what she wants/she's in love with Lucien and being childish". It feels degrading to act like a woman can't make her own decisions

If Elain were to warm up to Lucien in the next book, I would get on board. But as of right now, Elain doesn't want Lucien. It is crazy that Eluciens won't admit THAT.

I don't think that screenshots of deleted Facebook and Pinterest posts count as evidence for ANY ship unless SJM is verbatim saying they are endgame - which she has not.

I dont appreciate Eluciens calling Elriels delusional when Elain has more interaction, and romantic interest with Azriel than her mate. They have more romantic scenes, actual sexual tension, and an almost kiss, etc.

If you want to ship Elucien because you like fated mates, that's fine. But why are you denying what is on the page?

[seethewiredsouls]

I need to talk about Sweetpea. Particularly, AJ and Rhiannon. BIG SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE FINALE.

Y'all... I am fuckin sad. It's been awhile since I've been affected by a TV character's death like this, and I think it's worsened by the fact that I feel kind of... betrayed by Rhiannon. I'm still trying to process my feelings, so instead I'll look at it from a narrative standpoint.

It had to end like this. There was no other way to end it. Rhiannon was in a spot where it seemed like her life had overall improved, and she wasn't going to kill anymore. There was MAYBE a chance of her getting caught but for now, she was getting away with it. Murdering people had majorly improved her life.

That being the takeaway or moral of the story was obviously not going to work. The writers had a moral obligation to condemn murder, and I say this because of how clear Ella has been in her press tour stating "KILLING IS BAD." They don't mean to inspire young serial killers by sharing a successful I-killed-my-bullies-and-lived-happily-ever-after type of story. Meaning, there had to be consequences for Rhiannon in some capacity.

This could've been done by having her caught and arrested, or even left in a spot where it felt like she was right back where she started (where she loses AJ, Craig, Julia, her house, maybe even her job)... But instead they decided to rip our fucking hearts out and stomp on them. I hate it, but you know what? It was effective as fuck.

Rhiannon truly believed she was in the right murdering those three men because they were "bad" people. She had some remorse about the first victim until she learned enough information about him to justify it to herself. They were bullies, so she did a Good Thing. She's not a monster because the murders were justified in her eyes.

But AJ? The sweetest dork who noticed her when no one else did?? The one person rooting for her the whole time??? She chose her OWN FREEDOM over the life of this objectively GOOD man that she supposedly cared about. How can she possibly rationalize this murder and feel guilt-free?? Her reason for killing was entirely selfish, and she tries to delude herself (muttering "I'm not a monster"), but you can see the guilt. It completely broke her.

And that's her punishment, the consequence of murdering people - hurting the people that care about you. Being called a monster by AJ, the act of killing him and losing him at the same time, and ending up alone and alienated at the end of it all... It was more of a punishment than jail time could've ever been.

And frankly, it was very well executed. The story came full circle. Rhiannon's automatic response quoting AJ from their initial meeting ("nice piece of kit") being the trigger for his realization was done beautifully. You could FEEL the shift - her panic realizing she gave herself away, and him in stone cold fear and denial. And the initial stab... It was obviously coming, and yet I was hoping SO HARD that it wasn't. Like maybe, just maybe she'll let him go... And she doesn't. And it makes her completely irredeemable in my eyes. It was the one last step off the deep-end into psycholand.

It hurts, but it's goddamn good writing. RIP AJ, our beloved dork.

not me rationalizing the writing choices to numb the pain of a fictional character death

PS it's not working I think I need to write fic

[morgansdeb]

Seeing the One Piece fanbase hyping up this 24-year-old white girl to play Robin because they're allergic to older and non-white women is so annoying to me (they're also allergic to fat women)*. The fact that she's super young when Robin is supposed to be visibly older and more mature than the East Blue Five, makes her an immediate NO for me. These weirdos will see a super young girl with black bangs and scream "Robin-chan~~!!!" because they can't consume media without their dicks in their hands. I mean, 19k likes? Seriously?

Iñaki Godoy is 20. Mackenyu is 27. Taz Skylar and Jacob Gibson are 28. Emily Rudd is 31. The ideal thing would be for Robin to be 40 (or AT LEAST 32, and not look like she just graduated high school. She needs to look older than Emily Rudd and the rest of the cast).

I can only imagine the amount of racist vitriol Robin's actress will get if she ends up being a WOC. And let's not even start with the comments about the size of her breasts. Emily Rudd is the most conventionally attractive white girl you could think of, and I still see comments saying she wasn't "right" for Nami because her boobs aren't "big enough."

"But Oda said that if Robin were real, she'd be Russian!!11!" And he also said Luffy would be Brazilian (Iñaki is Mexican), Nami would be Swedish (Emily is American), Sanji would be French (Taz is Spanish/English), and with Usopp... all he did was write Africa, which isn't a country. So let's be serious for a bit. Those answers weren't literal.

Y'all love to talk about how the creepy things that he says on the SBS are "jokes" (remember when he sexually harassed a fan who asked him if she could be a Jump Editor, or when he said he fantasized about Rebecca's top falling during battle? Because I do), so why are these answers the one thing you choose to take seriously?

But this fandom being filled with racist, misogynistic, fatphobic incels isn't surprising considering how terrible Oda is. All these issues are connected and lead back to the source material. It's nearly impossible to have productive conversations about One Piece when everyone wants to blame all the bad on OPLA or Toei, as if the creator himself wasn't the one who opened the door for every single problem.

Some of you act as if someone kicked your dog whenever someone dares to suggest that Oda isn't the Super Progressive Writer™ the fandom has deluded themselves into thinking he is. I don't even understand where the denial comes from, considering his misogyny is so blatant and his association with sex offenders is public information. I understand loving One Piece, but you don't need to kiss Oda's ass, you know? He's not a good person.

Being critical of the media you consume and its creator isn't being a "hater". I can consume One Piece while disliking its many, many issues. I didn't sign a contract that says I have to like every single thing about it.

I'll be upset if Robin ends up being played by some 20-something white actress, but I'm already upset by the fandom's attitude. *Don't think I haven't noticed the obsession some folks have with monitoring Ilia Isorelýs Paulino's social media activity to check if she's losing weight to be "manga/anime accurate Alvida", as if Alvida magically becoming thin is this super important plot point that needs to be adapted. The source material and the fandom's treatment of fat women is another topic I could rant about for days.

[enha-hype]

maeumi & me - ch 29 : outrageous conclusions

a/n : the wait is finally over y'all!! i'm so sorry ik it's been almost a year since i updated this sgtsbdkdks. make sure to go read the previous chapter(s) as a recap since it's been so long :3

w.c. : 1.3k

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Jungwon hadn’t been home when you had gone over in the morning to see Maeumi. You were a little disappointed, because you’d been looking forward to your usual weekend routine – taking Maeumi to the dog park together and watching him play while you both sat and talked at one of the benches. But more than the disappointment, worry had started to eat its way up your stomach – was he okay? Why had he left so abruptly the other day? Why hadn’t he contacted you since? And then you saw Jay’s tweets, and you were both relieved and concerned. Relieved that whatever it was, he wasn’t as bad off as your wild imaginations had proclaimed, and concerned because he did still seem upset nevertheless.

Now you stand in front of his door, uncertain.

What exactly are you gonna say or do when you don’t even know what the problem is? You kind of just showed up here without much of a plan. Sure you could ask him, but you don’t wanna push if he’d rather not talk about it. And how will you even know if he just wants to be left alone? He’d probably be too polite to say so. Ah, whatever. You’re here already, you might as well try. You take a deep breath and ring the doorbell.

Jungwon’s eyes widen in surprise for just a second before quickly reverting to implacable indifference. “Did you leave something?” he asks in a stiff voice, looking back into the house as if to check, but not really checking. Huh. Very subtle why are you here. You’re not used to him being like this.

“Umm no, I came to see how you were doing?” you reply, slightly offended.

He looks past you at the lamppost outside. “I'm fine.”

“O. . . kay.” You stand there awkwardly, not really sure you should do this anymore. You study his face as he keeps his eyes fixedly on the spot behind you to avoid meeting yours. Maeumi comes out to greet you then and you scoop him up, eager to dispel the awkwardness. At least someone's happy to see me, you think. Then you remind yourself why you're here. Maybe he's just feeling grumpy because he's in a bad mood; you probably shouldn't take it personally.

You let Maeumi down after giving him a few scratches and clear your throat. “You don’t seem fine, Won,” you start again, reaching out and taking his hand. “I mean you left kind of abruptly the other day and you haven't responded to any of my calls or texts . . . Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me right?”

He clenches his jaw. God, you’re making this so much harder for him. It feels so painfully good to have his hand in yours. He wants to lace his fingers with yours but instead he pulls away – you can't keep doing this. “You don't have to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” you demand, trying not to think about how it stung to have him snatch his hand away from yours.

He finally looks you in the eye, a mix of resignation and determination in them. He knows that if he wants to get this over with as soon as possible he has to be firm and harsh, like ripping off a bandaid. There's no other way. He can't let this continue. He has to set clear boundaries. “Look, I don't know if you're doing it on purpose or if I have just horribly misunderstood everything and deluded myself into some fantasyworld and if it's the latter I apologise for all that I've said and done when I was under the impression that you liked me too. But if you did do it all on purpose out of some twisted sense of gratitude because you feel like you owe me or some shit or for fear that I wouldn't take as good care of Maeumi as I have been until now if you didn't reciprocate my feelings then rest assured that I am not that kind of a person. I will continue to take good care of him for your three years of university like I promised so please, you can stop pretending you like me.”

What . . . the actual fuck? You're so confused at first that it takes a few seconds for you to process what he just said. Your anger steadily rises as the words sink in. What exactly is he insinuating?

“Excuse me?” You glare at him, waiting for him to retract, say he was mistaken, anything, because you still can't quite wrap your head around all that you've just heard but he just returns your stare, unflinching. “Did you hit your head somewhere? Who fed you all this bullshit?”

“Bullshit? Fine, if that's what we're gonna call it. But you said it yourself so I don’t know what else to think,” he snaps, his icy stare still not leaving yours.

What the hell is he talking about? “Said what myself?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Well I beg to dif–”

“I heard what you said to Heeseung the other day. That you don't like me. That you just feel bad because I’m sweet to you and take good care of Maeumi. That ring a bell?”

You go red in the face, partly from embarrassment - he heard that? - but mostly from rage. You most definitely did not say you felt bad for him although yes, you had said you didn't like him. But was it not obvious that you didn't mean it? Did the past few months mean nothing to him? You had almost kissed the night before for God's sake! And yet his immediate conclusion upon hearing it was what, that you had just faked it all for your own selfish gain? Shouldn't he have talked to you first before jumping to such outrageous conclusions?

You clench your teeth. “I lied to Heeseung.”

He blinks, his face going blank like he hadn't considered that. “What?” The determined look from earlier falters, replaced by a flicker of doubt.

“I said I lied,” you snap.

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“You know what Jungwon, I don't care what you choose to believe. Clearly coming here was a big mistake. But for what it's worth – not that it's any of your business listening in on us like that – yes I did lie then because maybe I just wasn't ready to admit the truth to him or to myself, you ever think about that? Maybe feelings are complicated, and maybe I was overwhelmed because I haven't ever felt so much for someone before, and maybe I needed some time to sit with it before going around proclaiming it to everyone. Of course, he ended up seeing right through me anyway but you know what? Now I'm not so sure it was a lie anymore. I can't believe that's what you thought of me after everything. I came here thinking that maybe you needed some help cheering up after seeing Jay's tweets but this has been very enlightening. Thank you, Yang Jungwon for this eye-opener.” With that, you whip around to leave. You're not quite sure what you're going to do about the Maeumi situation just yet but you'll figure that out later.

Jungwon stays frozen in his doorway for a few seconds watching your retreating back as the gears in his head turn. Well fuck this is BAD. Why did the possibility that you could have lied never cross his mind? I mean, all the signs did say you liked him too up until that point. God, you must think he's such an asshole and he can't even blame you.

“Y/n, wait!” He shuts the door behind him and runs after you.

You trudge on ahead without responding, still fuming.

“Y/n, please just hear me out!” Jungwon picks up his pace to catch up with you. He doesn't know what the hell he's going to say or how exactly he's going to fix this. All he knows is that he can't let you go like this.

tag list : open [comment or send an ask to be added <3] @hiqhkey @i-yeseo @harperwasstaken1 @tomorrowbymoa-together @eloelooo @yjwluvr @rshmra @cholexc @hueningcry @luvnicho

[scarletlilyy]

From Pro to Anti Zutara

Zutura is basically Katara & Zuko from atla has a ship. A ship that is not canon & will never be canon. It was a childhood favorite of mine until the fans really started to piss me off (you will see this happen in 80% of my post)

Zuko and Katara are the perfect enemies to lovers' blueprint. She's ice and he's fire. He's the prince of the land that ruined hers and just the thought of the two of them getting together felt so enticing as a kid. Now it just seems dumb….

First, zutara shippers are extremely annoying especially with the way they constantly did Aang and misunderstand his CANON relationship with Katara.

I will admit I wasn't a fan of kataang’s chemistry until I read the comics where Aang was much older and mature. But one thing I didn't do was deny the fact that Aang and Katara both had feelings for each other

This fact is just something Zutara shippers love to gloss over, they will say stuff like “oh Katara never cared for Aang” or some bs along those lines.

like I'm a true believer of people having free will to ship whatever they want, but some of y'all be doing too much.

Do not let your non canon ships & stupid headcanons get in the way of canon material. No zutara was never meant to be together, the creators intended for Katara to be the main love interest and even went further to make fun of zutara shippers in the show. Yet Zutara shippers will do anything to delude themselves into believing false narratives. Myself and everyone else just like(d) the thought and concept of it.

Whatever you do, don't drag my boy Aang for no reason.

SMH

[possumcollege]

Bless Tumblr for being the least soul-rending of my social spaces online. I'm hoping a lot of it is just that I don't engage with the horror in here and try not to reward the devs more misguided ideas but I appreciate the environment that others also build here.

Less

- existential horror

- ragebait

-trollfarming

- grief-fuel

- doomposting

- trad-propaganda, glorification of toxic masculinity

- hazardous levels of sarcasm* and outrage-porn

More

- soft happy beasties

- sincere affection/appreciation for the inhuman

- emotional vulnerability and openess

- unhinged queer joy

- better* kink-literacy

- opossums

- accepting of nsfw material , when management aren't being cowards

- beautiful poetry for my heart to snack on

- all the little guys that you think about constantly want to show us

- benign* goblin activity

- vague documentation of things that are but shouldn't be crimes

- cringe-venting, oversharing, guilty pleasure show 'n' tell

- shit that makes me cry in a positive direction

* we be sarcastic and snarky as fuck here but every first n third post isn't 'imagine being this deluded/shitty/stupid,' about something.

* kink can be extremely hard to suss out for a lot of people. There's a lot of bad takes and bad actors, and problematic camps even within pro-kink circles. On average, this place handles it better.

* Tempted to say some of y'all need to have a pan of water thrown at you from time to time but there 'fore the grace of dog go I and I can always just hide a post or flag out a topic for myself.

Anyway, I appreciate the hell out of my mutuals and the delightful weirdos that I follow. Keep up the nice work.

I'm sure as hell not making this shit for normal people.

[cinamun]

There is a pop-psychology concept called the relationship escalator that represents how we are socialised to view how intimate relationships should go, dating to engagement to marriage to kids etc. And while it is fine and even comfortable for some (the majority, even?) to follow the script, it is very much not one size fits all.

But social pressure exists to follow the script, and anyone who deviates is harshly scrutinised and will be covertly (and frankly overtly - sometimes violently) pressured to conform. Often the strictest enforcers are people who on an individual level would have chosen another option had they known one was available, or those who deluded themselves into believing conforming would lead to an easier life even if it isn't what they really wanted aka misery loves company.

I’ll get to my point - though this story is fictional, there is an established path to happiness that reminiscent of the Relationship Escalator. Characters date, fall in love, fuck, get married and then have kids who will continue the cycle. Sometimes they even do it in the order they're supposed to😅

Even the arguably most subversive character in the story, my beloved Jerri, has hopped on the escalator and ultimately found happiness on it. But that doesn’t and shouldn’t mean that following that path is the only way to live a happy life (in fiction or in reality).

One thing about the way that Dira comes across is that she has always been herself, and she does things her way when she wants to, and not a moment sooner. So who’s to say she even wants to ‘settle down’ - ever? Does she need a reason for not wanting a long term relationship beyond the fact that she just doesn’t want one?

Now is it possible that Dira is a Lesbian or on the Aromantic spectrum? Of course anything is possible and I for one would love to see it as there is no reason to assume everyone is straight by default. But I can also appreciate the depiction of a (presumed) straight young woman living life on her own terms, and not allowing herself to be pressured into a committed monogamous (🤫) relationship just because it’s what she “should” do.

And maybe her desire to be non-committal is rooted in trauma. Maybe she does have some unpacking and healing to do before she is ‘ready’ to settle down with that firecracker from next door. I’m stirring, I do like Charlie, he seems like a good egg. Mostly. But to return to my point, trauma doesn't mean her autonomy should be dismissed.

Speaking of Chuck, there is a whole other conversation to be had about the line between being lead on and personal accountability but this ask is already an essay 😜

I’ll wrap this up by thanking you as always for giving me and everyone else something to think about with this story.

Thank you for leading with what you led with AND acknowledging that Dira and what she wants can be absolutely normal without being rooted in anything other than her desires. I think anyone who asserts Dira _MUST_ be lying to herself or that somehow how I've written her in a _FICTIONAL_ story is somehow wrong and immoral.

Because that's super frustrating but I mean, I get it. Anytime I write women in roles other than happy homemakers this happens.

And you're welcome! Its important dialogue to have and a reminder that if anyone is looking for the happy love story here you're not ever going to get it. You didn't get it with Indya, you didn't get it with Hope and you're not getting it with Dira (you in the general sense like how I say y'all lmfao just so we're clear!)

ANYWAY *gulps coffee* this is a refreshing take an old idea about how women should behave. I hope you get an unexpected settlement check from a class action you never knew you were apart of today.

[leviismybby]

Tw: rant about ship wars under the cut!!!

Now that attack on titan is over, can we stop with the ship wars about Levi?? I thought that people would leave one another alone esp since the final instead all I see on twitter is toxic shipper wars and the old debate of "who did Levi Ackerman love romantically in canon?"

That is not what pissed me off since that has been going on for years, what pisssed me off is people sending direct HATE at Isayama and the Mappa team because of a ship they deluded themselves into thinking it's canon. I can count on my fingers how many people said that Isayama was "queerbaiting". Seriously people GET A GRIP.

TikTok isn't better in this either, all I see all the fucking time is Eruri and Levihan shippers down each other throats for no other reason than the fact that both parties have somehow convinced themselves that their ship is canon. Even worse is the fact that people on there are spoiled so much that they send hate to oc x characters or slefships, y'all need help. When someone doesn't ship with anyone, you all attack them with "proof" and subtext or whatever it is and call them delusional, talk about irony...

Next point. If I see one more person hate on either Erwin or Hange because of the ships, I will rip someone's hair out. It is not either of the character's fault and you hating on a character because of your fanon ship is nothing but stupid. Characters should never get hate bc of ships, esp not FANON ones. And don't even get me started on the hate Petra gets because of it all.

And finally, Levi isn't your tool and his worth doesn't lay in your fucking ship. All the time all I see when Levi is shipped with either is just Levi being so degraded. It makes me uncomfortable and it butchers Levi's character so much.

Why does it matter what his sexuality is?? Why does it matter if he is a sub or a dom??? None of these things are important about Levi. It's like he has become this puppet in this play you all are playing and you all are making Levi's worth based off of your ship. Of course this doesn't apply to all shippers, just those who are toxic and let themselves hate people bc of a ship...

Stop with this bullshit and ship in peace. You don't like Levihan, Eruri, whoever block the tags and move on ffs. At the end of the day Levi doesn't have a canonical love interest and its totally okay to ship your ship and admit that they aren't canon. Stop bullying each other and other people on the internet over factional ships.

[ii-neg-confessions]

Cabby alter here

I would kindly request you don't use an image of me of all characters to advertise this hellhole of a blog, you are far from being professional about it and honestly, do you really want an Inanimate Insanity character to be your mascot right now? Isn't that hypocrisy to you?

I'm willing to live and let live, but in all honesty, you need to understand at some point that your hate is baseless. It is fine to hate things just to hate them. You don't have to constantly make up shit just to justify why you hate things.

Toodles! Have a nice day.

cabby represents animationepic's shitty writing, who stereotypes and/or villainizes minorities, especially when it comes to neurodivergency representation

When I say "Remember Cabby" I mean to remind people II is not the good show y'all delude yourself into thinking.

Remember Cabby

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 13 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 12 here. Part 14 here.

Summary: Oh, insupportable delight! Oh, superhumane rapture! What pain could stand before a pleasure so transporting?

Words: 5700

Warnings: tiniest amount of bloodplay

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia.

So, uh, it only took us 13 chapters and 80k words later, but we hope you enjoyed!

Not something at all we anticipated we'd end up waiting for when we first started writing this story, but we have had such a great time writing and our first-ever 'slow-burn'ish type fic has been really fun to explore. We are so grateful for y'all for coming along with us as well - much more to come.

Love you so much! <3

You bolted for the window.

The latch slid through your fingers. Your shaking hands slipped twice on the wood. Grunting, you flung it open, only for it to slam shut from the top. In the glass, you met Tavington’s eyes.

He was impassive. “I wouldn’t.”

Desperation rattled your breath. If you could get out of this room—run somewhere—perhaps Goddard or Cornwallis or even the horrible Ferguson would believe your story first.

You spun for the door, feinted left, then dipped right. Anticipating you, Tavington seized your arm, yanked you toward him, then spun you to slam your back to the wall.

The room whirled around you. Your chest heaved, your eyes darted to every corner of the room, seeking salvation, finding none. You were left to only focus on the man in front of you, the man whose hands had pinned your arms still, the man whose face seemed wrought between frenzy and victory.

“I believe,” he murmured, “I asked you a question.”

You swallowed. “Why are you following me, you brute?”

He hummed. “Fascinating response from a woman caught meddling in the documents of a royal officer.”

“I wasn’t—that’s not—”

“I’m quite sure of what I just witnessed.”

Grimacing, you flailed, trying to wrest yourself free. He stepped closer, flattening your body with his own, his leg slotting between yours to rob you of leverage. You grunted, ignoring the reluctant warmth glowing around his thigh.

“Get off of me!”

“I don’t think I will.” His breath skimmed your ear. “You knew about the ship, didn’t you?” he asked. “You knew it would give you opportunity.”

“What?” You shook your head. “N-no, I—the ship—”

Another breath stabbed through you. You could still see the desk. Paper smothered it, the reports you’d already examined tossed away and covering the surface, the floor, the chair like leaves from an autumn tree. In the firelight, trapped to the wall, none of the words were discernible. Not that it mattered, now. He’d caught you.

Your chin trembled. You couldn’t have appeared more guilty if he’d walked in on you with a knife plunged into another man’s chest. There was no explaining this. He’d see you hanged, see your sister slain and the farm burned. And if your father wasn’t already dead, he’d see to it that it soon followed.

Heat bit the backs of your eyes, threatened tears. You would not, could not cry in front of William Tavington, but God, if only you could let them fall, dissolve into them as they slipped through the floorboards. You were awful at this, he’d been right, you’d been sloppy and obvious and altogether incapable of subterfuge. And because of it, you’d damned yourself and your entire family to die, all while having never asked for any of this in the first place.

“Why do you try to delude me?” he asked. “Why do you lie as if I won’t know?”

“Go on, then,” you said, choking back your anguish. “Think whatever you want.”

Tavington’s head cocked. He studied your face. “Do you deny you are a spy?”

“Does it matter?” You stared into him. “Am I to believe that a denial would stay the hand of the judge, jury, or executioner who all bear the name Colonel Tavington?”

His lip furled. “You infuriating, impossible creature,” he growled, pressing into you. Another rapid breath in your chest—this one woven with excitement. “For every death sentence you are spared, you can’t help but seek another in its stead.”

“Spared?” you scoffed.

“Had I known this to be your plan, I might have allowed your own temerity to doom you tonight and had done with it.” Firelight danced across the thin blue rings of his irises. “Cornwallis would have seen your illusion dispelled in an instant.”

“That wasn’t—ugh!” You tried to yank your arms from his grasp, but his fingers only tightened. “I wasn’t going to say anything!”

“Another lie,” he murmured. “Or do you truly believe I don’t know that look in your eyes?”

Your insides flipped. You stilled, suddenly too conscious of your chest brushing his as it rose and fell. Of his thumbs resting against the pulse in your wrists.

“You know nothing about me.”

“Don’t I?” he breathed, gaze trailing from your eyes, your lips, your neck, your breasts before rising back up. “I know your rage. How easily your tongue is seduced to violence. I know that you think yourself a player in the game of war, but you’ve no regard or care for its stakes. And…” He leaned closer, triumph glinting in his eyes. “I know precisely why that is.”

You stuck out your chin, holding his stare, inviting—or perhaps daring—him to continue.

“You want to lose.”

Fury lit up your spine, and you thrashed against him. He crushed you against the wall, a flicker of delight surfacing in the black wells of his pupils.

“Then let me lose,” you said. “Why impede the temerity of which you accuse me? Why not let me doom myself? If you despise me so deeply, if you consider me to be a spy, a traitor—”

“I consider you,” he said through his teeth, “to be the most vexing, capricious woman I have ever encountered.” His tongue rolled in his mouth, eyes locked onto yours. “I know you to be misguided. A vicious animal—”

“For you to tame?” You wrenched uselessly against him. “Is that what this is about?”

A dark grin flashed across his face. “Is it not obvious?”

“Play your damnable games elsewhere,” you said. “I’m finished. I’m not your creature to domesticate.”

“And yet...” He tutted, maddeningly calm. “Imagine where you’d be tonight without my intervention.”

Vitriol crawled like slime from your stomach, still fat, still wriggling from when he’d forced you to bury it alive in front of Cornwallis. It burned, clawed its way to your throat, catching there and swelling in your humiliation.

How did this despicable excuse for a human, this monster, even divine its existence? In fact, how dare he—how dare he know this part of you, incise through you and unmask it in all of its shameful sticky fury.

Every muscle shook underneath him. The vile taste of rage coated your palate, beseeching an exorcism.

“Admit it,” he said. “I’m right.”

You screamed. “Fine! You’re right. I never cared about winning,” you spat. “Or losing!” The inanity forced a breath from your chest. “I never cared about any of it! Not your games, not even who wins this damned bloody war!” A laugh escaped, like venom on your tongue. “I have only ever cared about protecting my family—and if I die doing so, then may God let the end of my rope reunite me with them.” You leaned close to him. “And even if I never see heaven,” you whispered, “I’ll rest peacefully knowing you shall never darken its gates to torment them again.” A thin smile creased your lips. “And that no one has or will ever love you enough to care if you live or die.”

The fire crackled. Wisps of troubled voices echoed from the gardens. Shuddering air escaped you as you held Tavington’s gaze. Within it, you could see something churning, like the cogs of a clock reversing rotation until their teeth clicked into place.

His jaw shifted. He glanced over his shoulder, studying the heap of disheveled reports, their information wasted, ungathered, unimportant. A soft exhale left his nose, and he focused on the wall, his brow tensing before he turned back to look at you.

Tavington’s grip eased. He stepped back.

A flutter in your vision. You sucked in air, fresh from the space he’d given you, your eyes flicking between him, the desk; him, the desk; him—

Turning, he left you against the wall to move toward the desk. He frowned, turned over a few piles before finding what he wanted: a neatly pressed stack of parchment at least several pages thick. As if to verify, he flipped through them before crossing back to you, extending it in his hand.

“You were looking for this,” he said.

Something stuck in your throat. You looked between him and the report, feeling like a dog offered food by a stranger. Holding your breath, you snatched it away and your eyes consumed it as if you were that very dog.

The documentation was thorough, his penmanship fine—these were details you didn’t want to notice, but did anyway—and as you skimmed it, checking page by page, you didn’t once consider gleaning any other information that could’ve been of use. Your heartbeat resonated in your temples, your fingertips. With each beat, the papers shook in your grip.

You turned a page and the list leapt out to you. You scanned it, scrutinizing every line you found, looking for Michael, and Captain, and the first few letters of your last name. But nothing.

You found nothing.

Papa was alive.

Relief hit you like lightning. You exhaled, the report dropping to the floor, your face dropping to your hands. A swell of air rolled through you, and you relaxed, slumping against the wall.

It hadn’t been for nothing. You hadn’t ruined everything. Papa was, at the very least, still alive.

Thank God.

You cleared your throat and steadied yourself, your eyes lifting to Tavington, gazing at him as if he’d just raised Jesus himself from the grave. You expected him to gloat—to mock you—but found him watching you, staring into you, his own face clear of everything but curiosity.

The world shrunk, its boundaries reduced to the perimeter of the office, its context of war and strife and danger lost. Opposite you was no one but a man self-stripped of his obligations, a man who had alleviated your fears, a man who had met you, human, and wished now to know you.

You felt small, insignificant as the recipient of his mercy. It was as if you’d ripped your chest open and allowed him to cradle your heart in his hands, like you’d seen a ribbon of affection in his gaze as he hovered his teeth over its bloody rhythm.

He looked at the report now discarded at your feet, then advanced toward you, his voice like a distant peal of thunder.

“Why,” he asked, taking another step, “have you been avoiding me?”

Again, your mouth parted. Again, you were unable to speak.

“I know that you think of that night as often as I do.” When you didn’t reply, he stepped forward again. “Do you deny it?”

Fire roared, rippling from the hearth to your blood. You didn’t want to deny him. And even if you’d wanted to, gazing at him now—the flames spinning threads of flax through his hair, his eyes paler than morning sky, his lips so supple that you could only yearn at their memory—you couldn’t.

Shaking your head, you replied, “I… I do not deny it.”

He cocked his head, waiting. You hadn’t answered his previous question.

“But…” You glanced at his mouth. Swallowed. “What you want and what I want—they’re at odds,” you said. “I want my father alive. I want my family safe.” You gestured toward him as if it was self-evident. “You… do not.”

Tavington drew closer, looming over you now, and rested one palm next to your head. “Our desires are not…” His stare swept over your body. “... fully at odds.”

Your mind pleaded with you to grab his jacket, to tear the buttons from its seams and expose his chest to your hungry hands; your cunt throbbed, alive and aching for his attention.

“I don’t…” Whatever words you were trying to form kept falling apart in your mouth. “Know what you… mean.”

He smirked, his free hand stroking up your arm, finger tracing over your lace-covered clavicle. “I know you, little soldier, remember?” he whispered. “I know what this trembling means.” His thumb ghosted your pulse, stroking the rapid thrum under your skin. “I know what your racing heart looks like in your throat.” He cupped your cheek, tilting your face toward his own. “I know what hunger lies behind your eyes.”

“I…” With the noblest of intentions, you laid a hand on his chest, prepared to push him away. “But we can’t—there’s no reconciling these—”

Tavington leaned forward and captured your lips with his. You whimpered, softening in his hold, as if it was your purpose to yield to his touch. He held you still, cradling your head, and your hand slid down his chest, catching on each button of his waistcoat as it traveled to his hip. With a breath, he pulled away, his gaze trained on yours.

“Tell me,” he said, “truthfully, that you don’t want this.”

A beat resonated from your core to your fingertips, a cry to sate whatever beast within you he’d created and enslaved. The truth, you knew, was obvious to you both: You wanted it so badly you suffocated beneath it.

The only thing left was to succumb.

You hooked his hips, tugged him against your body, and sealed your lips to his.

Tavington growled, gripping the back of your head, fingers curling in your hair, his body flattening you to the wall. His mouth sought yours like a blaze sought tinder, his tongue pushing past your teeth and teasing over your own. Shivering, you tightened your hold on his hips, hoping to ground yourself as air fled the room. He groaned, adjusting his angle, deepening the kiss, and you met him in kind, breathing him in, reveling in the heady scent of apple and wood and smoke-steeped leather.

His hands moved to grab your wrists, tacking them to the wall as he broke from your mouth to nestle his face into the crook of your neck. Grunting, his hips bucked into you, searching for friction beyond the layers of gown and finding relief against your thigh. A gasp escaped you, and he ground against you again, again, panting into your throat, his teeth scraping the delicate flesh.

You felt him, even through your petticoats, growing hard, growing needy, a promise to satisfy a longing you could not even define. Drawing a breath, you exhaled exhilaration, nuzzled your head against his—and his nails and teeth sunk into you simultaneously.

“Ah!” You squirmed, but his grip intensified, and a thrill shot up your spine. “You animal.”

He huffed, dragging his tongue over the tender spot. “‘You are like what is said that the frying-pan said to the kettle’.”

You stifled a laugh, rolled your eyes. “Is now the time to quote Don Quixote?”

Tavington glimpsed you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Never a better time than in present company.”

Desire surged through you, and you fought against his hold, wanting to meet his mouth with your own. His eyes glittered, and he bit your throat again. You cried out, breathless at how pleasure and pain inextricably knotted in your flesh. Writhing against him, you delighted in how this only urged him to bruise your wrists, to drag his teeth down to the clothed parts of your chest.

When this prevented him from advancing, he released you, moving to instead undo the buttons on the front of your gown. Your stomach petrified. Even though Tavington had already seen your body, now he craved it, like a hunter relishing the meat of his first kill. And you—despite the terror his blade inspired, wanted to be tasted.

His nimble fingers fully revealed your stays, and you braced yourself with a breath. This was just a man’s body, touching your body. You were not a coward.

You shrugged off your bodice, exposing your shoulders, arms, and collarbones fully to his eyes. He leaned back to absorb it, then twisted to search for something on the desk. Before you could discern what it was, he found and grabbed it, his arm barring your chest and pinning you along the wall. You squealed as he brought the letter opener to the bottom of your stays’ laces and sliced through them like flower stems.

You gasped. “Bastard! This is my only pair of stays!”

A single brow rose. “And the only silk ribbon in the Carolinas, as well,” he said, and shucked it to the floor.

“Well—” He tugged down your shift, exposing your breasts. “Oh—”

Tavington snorted. “Oh.” Then he jammed his thigh between your legs, his mouth latching to your throat, his hands groping at your chest.

“Oh, God—”

The moment your center connected with the hard muscle of his leg, you moaned, the sensation of pressure so staggering that you were afraid you would be unable to stop. Tavington exhaled with satisfaction, shocks of bliss peaking over you as he kneaded your breasts in his hands, his thumbs circling your nipples.

Your cunt felt swollen, hot, and you rocked on his thigh, frantic to oblige its budding need. A sound rumbled in his throat, and his teeth attacked your shoulder in a sharp stripe of pain. You yelped, and he did it again, his breath picking up, his mouth raising wet, furious marks on your flesh.

“Yes,” you said, because it was the only word that you could think to say. “I—ah!”

He gave you no room to speak, gripping your breasts so firmly that you twitched, grinding his erection against you. You wanted, needed more of him—your hands found his jacket, slipped under the lapels, scratched at his arms in a wordless request. Relinquishing you, he allowed the coat to slide from his shoulders, and you made quick work of his waistcoat, unbuttoning it as deftly as he’d done to you.

“I see what you want,” he murmured into your skin.

The waistcoat joined his jacket on the floor—but you had no time to admire him before he was back on you, squeezing your breasts, kissing his way to one before taking your nipple into his mouth. You threw your head back, overwhelmed with desire, with the insistent throb that now pounded between your legs.

There was a part of him you were both desperate and anxious to know: the part of him that might slake the lust that your fingers had been so unable to satisfy. It was just a man’s body, you told yourself, a man’s body you had longed for since the moment you’d seen him.

As he swirled his tongue around your hardened bud, you clung to him, breath hiccuped with whimpers of bliss, and reached below his waist, gliding your fingers over the bulge in his trousers.

Tavington convulsed, slamming you to the wall, teeth tearing at your breast, a rabid noise strangled in his chest. “Enough of this, then, hm?”

He grabbed you by the shoulders, his jaw tight as he pushed you toward the desk and smashed you chest-first against its surface, sending papers flying. You groaned, making to move before he gathered your wrists and bound them behind your back. Air kissed your legs as he hiked your skirts up, baring your stockinged calves, your thighs, your ass to the room. Panic rang bells in your brain.

“There we are.” Fingers brushed the backs of your thighs, coasting toward your center. You wondered what it looked like through his eyes. The mere thought made you clench. “You’re dripping.”

Heat burst in your belly. You could only manage to nod. He skated his fingers over the fat, puffy lips of your cunt, and you writhed, flinching at every sensation on that tender flesh which had never known a touch that wasn’t yours.

Tavington hummed appreciatively. “It’s about time I made use of that.”

Behind you, you heard rustling of clothes, something dropping, and you clenched again, knowing he was releasing his cock, furious you couldn’t see it for yourself. You tried to stabilize your breathing, thoughts spiraling in a storm of emotion. He was going to fuck you. William Tavington was going to fuck you. You were about to lose your virginity.

A hand curled around your thigh. Something hot, thick prodded your folds, slicked itself on your wetness.

He was about to take your virginity.

“Wait,” you said, “I—”

Tavington shushed you. “Hush, now,” he mumbled. “I’m introducing your cunt to its new master.”

You whinged. A flash of memory—the first time you tried to tell him.

His cock found your entrance. Pressed against it.

Swallowing, you closed your eyes.

“William.”

He stopped. You felt the head of his cock pulse, felt his grip dig deep. A slow, long breath left him.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I…” You laid your forehead against the desk. “I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.”

More silence. Every inch of your skin burned.

“You what?”

You tried to turn to face him, meeting his eyes from the periphery of your vision. “I’m a virgin.”

Tavington seized your hips, flipped you onto your back. Breathless, you devoured the sight of him; his skin bronzed in firelight, the patch of his chest heaving in need, his eyes like those of a starved wolf. His cock was free, proud and hard—longer and thicker than you had imagined. Your mouth watered, your thighs squeezed together.

He was going to put that inside of you.

Your heart skipped. You met his gaze. He was inspecting you for hints of deception, and as you stared into him, his throat bobbed.

“I believe this is the first time I've seen true fear in your eyes.” He smirked, so irritatingly assured. “You are a virgin.”

Blood warmed your face, and you looked away. “Well,” you muttered, “I hope that's all right with you, Colonel.”

He growled, spread your legs and settled between them. “William,” he corrected. “And you should hope instead that your tolerance for suffering is as impressive as you seem to believe.” Busy hands tossed your skirts up again. “Because I'm going to make this hurt.”

Your breath hitched. Like a cat watching a dangling string, you couldn’t resist.

“You can try.”

Tavington offered a pitiless grin and hoisted your backside onto the desk, scattering papers over the floor. Trembling at the fact you’d provoked him, you could only watch as he grabbed your calves and propped them onto his shoulders, his hands cupping your ass and giving a longing squeeze. You groaned, and he swallowed again, positioning his cock at your entrance.

Gazing at you, he said, “Plead with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You may effectively play at some things,” he replied, “but not war, and certainly not stupidity.” His voice lowered. “Plead with me to take you.”

Your cunt clenched around emptiness. His cock was warm and slick and hard. Hard for you, throbbing for you. God, you wanted it—and he knew it.

You grumbled. “You are, without a doubt, the worst man I've ever had the misfortune of meeting.”

“And what of the best one?” he asked, tilting his head to indicate your ankles at his ears.

“Shut up.” You exhaled. “Please,” you said quietly, “take me.”

“To whom is this request addressed?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please, William.” You met his gaze, the truth easily slipping free. “Please, I want you to take me.”

Tavington’s jaw set. “You’re almost pleasant when you're obedient.”

The next thing you felt was pressure. Crushing, terrible pressure, widening into pain, like a fire iron was expanding inside of you, searing your insides, tearing deep into your stomach. You grimaced, gripped the table, fighting to find breath as tremors wracked your limbs. Above you, Tavington’s mouth was parted, his gaze fixated on his invasion of your cunt, the evidence of his pleasure escaping in soft, choked noises of disbelief as he drove deeper, and deeper, until his hips hit yours.

Fully buried inside of you, he exhaled, staring between your legs. Your mind was a whirlwind of sensation. You knew virgins to bleed. Had it deterred him?

He glanced at you. In his eyes, you could see nothing but utter rapture—the blue of heaven after apocalypse. You shivered, tightened painfully around him. No, it hadn’t deterred him.

William Tavington had only ever been delighted to see blood.

He exhaled. “Does it hurt?”

Your teeth clacked together, your body shook, drowning in its own feeling. Words wouldn’t come to you. But even if they would, you would refuse to give him—

Snarling, he slid out and slammed back inside. Agony ripped through you, forced a scream from your chest, and you spasmed, grappling for something more solid than the earth to steady you.

“Does it hurt?” he growled.

“Yes!” you sobbed. “Yes, yes—”

A quiet laugh rumbled in his throat. “Good.”

Tavington withdrew from you, grappling your hips, jaw slackening as he stared between your legs. He thrust in, you winced, and a deep, incredulous groan escaped him, as if he’d just released a millstone from his neck. Breath stuttered in his chest, his eyelids drooped, and he thrust again, again, his voice wracked with bliss.

Every stroke pushed pain inside of you, filled your belly with it. Your mouth lolled open, the only sounds leaving you strained through what little grip on reality you had left; the sensation sawed to your bones, engulfed you like gunfire. Seeking stability, you found his wrists, squeezed them to anchor yourself, shutting your eyes to endure the savaging of his cock.

“No,” he said. “Look at me.”

You whinged, forced your eyes to open. His gaze transfixed you.

“Very good. Meet my eyes,” he said, rocking into you, relishing each stab of discomfort flitting across your face. “Watch me defile your virgin cunt.”

Gooseflesh swarmed you, and you nodded, your attention flicking between his face and the sight of him disappearing inside of you. The truth of it electrified you—you were no longer a virgin—and as you surrendered to that truth, each new plunge of his cock felt less, less painful, as pain unraveled into pleasure. Tight squeals in your throat rumbled lower, reaching your chest, until you were moaning, panting as he fucked you.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” Tavington looked drunk with lust. “Have I found myself a glutton?”

“I…” You didn’t know how to respond to that. Maybe you were. “D-don’t congratulate yourself… just yet.”

He smirked, rammed into you so hard that you wailed. “You’re an even worse liar when I’m inside of you, girl.”

“Do all men talk this much?” you replied, digging your nails into his wrists. “Or only you?”

Tavington’s lip furled. He flung your grip from his arms and leaned closer, folding you in half. The angle drove his cock even deeper than you’d thought possible; it speared through your belly, split you open to your ribcage. One hand fisted your hair, the other clamped around your throat, and he huffed in satisfaction, cock pumping into you.

“Come again?” he mumbled into your ear. “Didn’t… quite hear you.”

His hips punched forward, impaling you deep. You quailed, but the sound perished somewhere under the pressure of his grip. A strange hum infused your senses—buzzing in your lips, grazing along your scalp, trailing bliss in its wake. It inebriated you, like his touch was made of Madeira.

And you needed more.

Blindly, you felt your way up your body, found the rise of his fingers where they pinned your throat, clutched at them. Tavington uttered a disgruntled huff into your ear, his pace faltering. His grip slackened fractionally.

“No,” you whispered, trapping his fingers and crushing them harder into your flesh. “More.”

He leaned away from you, just enough to take you in. His eyes, wild and black with desire, searched yours. You nodded, brows pinching together.

“William,” you croaked, “please.”

The wildness in his eyes morphed into something utterly possessed. He unlaced his hand from your hair, bracing it on the desk beside your head. His hold on your throat twitched, tightened. He leaned closer.

“Isn’t that better?” he asked. “Isn’t it a relief to lose?”

His fingers cinched around your neck. Tighter, tighter, until that hum resumed, then rose to a knell.

Tavington renewed the onslaught of his hips. Your own heartbeat pounded through your skull. Around you, the edges of the room softened, crumbled into grey mist. Your eyes rolled back. Existence narrowed. Left at its beating center, raw and alive, was you. And within you—heat, pain, ecstasy, and him.

Just when everything dwindled to a tiny, bright speck, just when it seemed the mist would engulf you whole, the pressure vanished. Air struck your lungs, consciousness and pleasure surging outward in a riptide.

You cried out with it, keening as his cock stroked a spot inside you that blazed alive with sensation. It was too much. Not enough. You couldn’t tell. Logical thought seemed a distant memory in this state of indecipherable need. Each sensation was new, each unearthing an excruciating, exquisite frontier within.

Tavington straightened, rhythm unrelenting. Gulping air and blinking the remnants of mist from your sight, you beheld him, a towering devil framed in firelight. You watched him take your hand, entranced as he guided it between your legs to where your body split around his.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, voice ragged as he positioned your fingers at your clit. His face twisted in a smirk. “Like you do when you think of me.”

An indignant flame, half-buried in delirium, leapt to your tongue.

“I don—”

He snapped his hips, cutting you off in a gasp.

“Now, now,” he huffed. “I believe I requested your honesty.”

A languid thrust pushed a moan from your lips, and you nodded, eyelids fluttering. Tavington grunted his contentment, coaxing your fingers in slow circles over your clit. Surrendering, you took over the motion, touching yourself as instructed, as you had done so many nights before.

For the first time, a familiar pleasure crested, meeting the unfamiliar intrusion of his cock with a spark that made fireworks burst behind your eyes. Your fingertips brushed him where he entered you, dipped curiously down to feel the soft, wet wound of your flesh yield to the wrought steel of his.

“Tell me,” he purred, bracing over you again like a smug, hunched beast. “Is it everything you’ve imagined?”

He fucked you in long strokes, matching the tempo of your fingers on that sensitive nub to cataclysmic effect. Your only answer came out in a choked, desperate sob.

“Is this how you’ve longed to be ruined?” His hand slid to reunite with your neck, fingers cradling your nape while his thumb dragged up the bruised column of your throat.

“William,” you whimpered, trembling with the sweet ache that burgeoned inside you, deeper than you’d ever felt it, swelling toward a precipice. “I think I… I’m going to…”

“Yes.” His grip locked into place around your neck. “You are.”

His hand throttled any further noise. All you could do was writhe and swirl tighter, faster circles on your clit, drawn nearer and nearer to some indefinable edge as you shook with the force of his thrusts. Closer, closer it came, and your eyes squeezed shut, your limbs went rigid, your sanity suspended on threads, fibers fraying—

“That’s it,” came his voice, growling into your ear. “Break for me. I want to feel you break around my cock.”

Like a saber, his words severed you from rationality. You didn’t break. You shattered.

Euphoria ruptured your blood, a deluge through every vessel, the stretch of his cock stuffing you fuller, saturating you with it, until it reached the brim of your skin and poured over, washing you with bliss. You wheezed against his hand, quaking as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“Yes,” he hissed, “yes—”

Tavington released you. Coughing down a breath, you peeled your eyes open, watching as he wrenched out of your cunt and into his fist, panting, stroking himself. Sweat gleamed off his chest and forehead. Your jaw dropped. You could look nowhere else but at him, and his eyes fixed on you.

His hips pitched, and he released a guttural, primal moan, hand stilling and mouth parting. Jets of warm, white seed pulsed from his cock, splashed over your thighs and belly. It slipped down your skin, mingling with the sweat smeared underneath you. As the tail-end of his climax receded, Tavington exhaled, finally spent, and leaned on the desk to catch his breath. Craning forward, you took him in.

Sweat soaked you both, and between your legs, blood stained your thighs, your shift, the wood. It had even seeped into the hem of his blouse. He glanced down at it, sighing with an arrogant satisfaction. He swiped across your inner thigh, collecting your blood, his seed on his thumb. Staring at you, he wrapped his lips around it and sucked it clean. You shivered. Swallowed.

Tavington was exhausted, yes, but it was the exhaustion of a duel winner: relaxed, at peace, and fully secure in his conquest.

Your head dropped back onto the desk, and you stared into the ceiling. Aftershocks of your peak continued to distract you from toddling your way back to whatever normalcy was. What did the world look like for you, now that your virginity had been slaughtered by an uncompromising hound? The cavern between your legs felt sore, empty. Sticky.

Sighing, you rolled your head along a stack of papers, looking toward Tavington. “What are we to do about the desk?”

He cleared his throat, finally managing to straighten and meet your stare. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

“Don’t be difficult,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “Someone has to clean it up.”

“Do they, now?”

“I’m not convinced of the wisdom in worsening His Lordship’s evening further.”

He snorted. “Am I to believe you’ve come to care about his opinions?”

“No,” you replied, frowning, “but they seem to be of great importance to you.”

Tavington gazed at you, a smirk crossing his lips. Keeping your focus, he reached toward an ink well, reeled back his forefingers, and knocked it over. Ink spilled like water across red-ribboned parchment.

“‘Alack, the day,’” he said apathetically, “‘what blood is this, which stains?’”

Oh, yes, this is just like Romeo and Juliet, you thought, as the ink bled into paper, dripped onto the floor.

Your hand plastered over your face. You couldn’t help yourself. You laughed.