#i thought it was just lack of content but no people just hate women i guess??

[allamericanb-tch]

you can’t use the lack of canon content about the girls to justify not liking them or writing about them or talking about them and then like or write about or talk about evan or regulus or james or frank or literally ANY of the boys

[httpsserene]

hey can I request something that’s angsty to fluff and then smut for Oscar where reader gets a ton of hate for dating Oscar so she kind of ghosts him for a bit and they figure things out

𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐰/𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: oscar really just wants to hear you laugh again. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. angst. fluff. happy ending. reader is exhausted physically and mentally. reader's internal monologue is not not nice. bad eating habits. bad sleeping habit. self-deprecation. don't worry she's back on her bs at the end. reader neglects herself (?) and her relationship. implied self-sabotage. people are mean. don't worry oscar is meaner. oscar piastri is a good boyfriend. emotional hurt/comfort. tenderness. intimacy. baths and pampering. crying (non-sexy). implied sex. implied bath sex. logan and lando as plot devices. no beta we die like my will to live during finals. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot w/ blurbs. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: best i ever had • drake

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: sorry it took me so long, i've changed this fic like multiple times :/ hope it fulfills you request properly :))) this is not my favorite thing in the world, i feel like if i went on a smaller scale i would've enjoyed this more but what can you do. this is also not very black reader coded? idk but feel like it's lacking there. i also apologize for my inability to write an oscar fic without including lando, he's such a willing plot device though even if he's a little ooc. i also couldn't find the mental space to write smut but there's smth for you at the end. dedicated to us women in stem! i hope you have fun reading this because i didn't have fun writing it :)

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oscar is worried. you haven’t responded to his texts for a week, he hasn’t seen your face for two weeks, and he hasn’t heard your voice for three weeks. four weeks ago, you told him you wouldn’t be able to fly out to see him at the austin grand prix, like you promised. you sounded exhausted and incredibly guilty when you explained that your course load this semester is extreme, and finals are rapidly approaching. oscar understood; he won’t ask you to sacrifice your education for one of his races, there will be plenty you can come to in the future. what he doesn’t understand is how you’re still functioning. it’s your senior year of university at an american ivy league school, you're pursuing an engineering degree, and you’re also working nearly five days a week as a barista. oscar thinks the last time he’s seen you relaxed is before your fall semester started, you spent your entire summer break with him, making appearances at the only three races you’ve been to this season (silverstone, hungary, and spa). the last time he recalls seeing your smile and hearing your laugh is in august—it’s the end of october now. 

you’ve been ghosting him. oscar wants to believe that it’s unintentional, that it’s just a side effect of the amount of work and pressure on your shoulders—but he can’t accept that. if you were unintentionally missing his calls, facetimes, and texts, you’d spam respond to all of them with a voice message or paragraphs of texts before you went to bed or class. you would send him daily or weekly recap videos of how life is treating you, like you used to do. you would send him stupid videos of you messing around on your shifts during a pause of customers. you would send him thirty reels a day on instagram of brain dead shenanigans with little captions of how you reacted, or if you thought it would make him smile. you would send him fit checks every morning before you went to class, even though your outfit consists of a hoodie and sweatpants. you would send him tiktok edits of himself and tell him that he needs to stop being ‘so hot’ because you almost barked in the middle of class. you would ask him how he’s doing, you would respond to his texts the minute you could even if it's hours late, you would leave him voicemails if he doesn’t pick up, you would make an attempt to communicate. 

except, you haven’t. so, he knows that you ignoring him is intentional, and that your lifestyle right now makes it easier for you to disguise your avoidance of him as accidental. 

you didn’t say ‘i love you’ back. 

“mate, what are you frowning for?” oscar jumps, eyes flying up from the phone screen and meeting lando’s. the brit is staring at him in confusion, the two of them are still in their race suits, tied around their waists. the sprint race ended an hour ago, and they’ve just finished celebrating oscar’s win.

“you’ve won a race, oscar—what could possibly make you sad after that?” lando says teasingly. but, the smile on his face is quick to fade as he must see oscar’s dejected mood.

the australian debates his next move for a moment, before deciding that telling lando isn’t a bad idea; they’ve been getting closer—they’re friends, oscar would say. he sighs, and hands his phone to lando, maybe he’ll tell oscar he’s worrying over nothing.

“oh,” lando says, eyes widening, “i’m sorry, mate.”

oscar brushes off lando’s words, and buries his face in his hands, “she’s pulling away from me. that was five days ago, and she hasn’t answered any of my calls. she’s only responded to my texts since then with one word answers or very dryly. she’s ghosting me.”

oscar feels lando fumbling for words, not needing to look at him to know that the older man has no idea how to go about reassuring oscar.

“look, mate, if it were me i’d go see her anyways.”

oscar huffs, “she literally said she doesn’t have time.”

“oscar,” lando stares at him in disbelief, “she hasn’t seen you in two months. i guarantee she’s probably dying to see you again, fuck whatever time she doesn’t have. she also can’t ghost you, if you see her face to face. you should go and try to fix whatever’s wrong, before you let her slip away.”

“maybe…maybe she’s just burnt out,” oscar suggests shakily, “i’ll go see her after the triple header–i’m probably just overreacting about this. she’ll be back to her usual self in time.”

oscar is enraged. he’s pissed off at his fans for attacking you in a sick twist of ‘defending him,’ ‘protecting him’ and the supposed ‘ownership’ they think they have over him. he’s pissed off at you deciding to ghost him instead of confiding in him about the hate you receive. he’s pissed off that his flight to you has been delayed for four hours. he’s pissed off at his race in brazil, if you can even call what happened a race. he’s pissed off at the fact that you can’t make time to see him before vegas. he’s pissed off that you lied to him about picking up extra shifts at the cafe.

he stalked through your instagram the minute after he was allowed to escape debrief, hunting down your roomates accounts from where you’ve tagged them in an older post. he innocently made a group message to the two girls, figuring it would be kind and proper to inform them of his impending arrival to surprise you. and the two girls you shared an apartment with responded eagerly to his message telling him that you’ve been extremely stressed and almost depressed this semester, and that hopefully his appearance will break through to you in a way they are unable to. oscar asked them if they knew your work schedule for the week, since you never told him when you're working–and learned that you lied. you didn’t accept any extra shifts, matter of fact, you got all of your shifts covered for the next two weeks. apparently, all you have been doing is going to class, working, studying furiously, and crying. when he asks if there’s any reason besides the stress from work and school that has you crying, the girls decline to speak for you, and strongly suggest that he asks you himself when he arrives. 

oscar’s no longer pissed at you for lying to him or for ghosting him–he’s hurt, but, he already understands your motive. you don’t want to worry him, so you bottle it up and distance yourself to not make him aware of how you're struggling. he won’t let you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone anymore, he’s going to see you and he’s going to take care of you, and then he’ll sort out the ignorant people on the internet.

when he’s at your apartment, you’ll be coming home from your last shift before your time off. and then, once he has you in his arms, he can make everything right again.

your hands are shaking; a result from the mix of stress and exhaustion that has been plaguing you for a few weeks. it takes you four and a half attempts to unlock the front door to your apartment—this is an improvement, yesterday it took you six times. a trembling sigh of relief exits your lungs as you shut the front door, triple checking that you lock the door properly. you remove all of your outerwear and slip out of your shoes, half-heartedly making an attempt to neatly place them in the organizer you have by the door. (you fail to register how there’s only two pairs of shoes stored away; yours and a pair of shoes that look too big to be one of the girls you live with—the usual sneakers the girls wear are nowhere to be seen.) you grunt as you tenderly put on your backpack and slowly make your way into the kitchen, off-handedly murmuring a “hi,” in the direction of the living room since you can hear the tv playing, but you don’t even spare a glance to see which roommate it is—you can’t stomach anymore human interaction today.

your walk is more of a waddle; your legs and feet are sore from working nine-hour shifts five days in a row, and also from going to class four out of those five days. you place your backpack on the small island, and continue to gently meander towards the fridge. your stomach aches at the thought of food—which is unfortunate, considering you’ve only had one meal today. regardless, you will shove a sandwich down your throat, you need the energy if you’re going to study for three hours before you go to bed. 

you pause before you open the fridge, a note is stuck on the door with a magnet. your roommates are gone; the two girls have spontaneously decided to go spend the weekend with their boyfriends—you’re not going to complain, you have the apartment to yourself. a brief wave of loneliness washes over you, you were kind of looking forward to venting about the week you had to the girls in the morning, and also, couldn’t they have texted you this earlier today? who leaves old-fashioned notes on the fridge anymore? you pull out your phone to send a text in your group chat wishing them a nice weekend, and see that they did, in fact, text you that they would be gone—three days ago. and, you never responded, because you never saw it. you shrug, and send the text anyways, you’ve been incredibly busy and you’re bound to miss a few texts (especially the eighteen texts from oscar that remain unopened). 

you're just going through a little bit of a slump, and you’ve had a bad day. you accidentally messed up three orders today (out of the hundred you fulfilled, so three isn’t really terrible), your running off of four hours of sleep (you’re more energized when you sleep less, anyways), and a customer accidentally bumped into you as you were walking to bring coffee to a table, causing the hot liquid to spill and burn a little spot on the back of your hand by your thumb. well, you know it wasn’t purely accidental, as the girl giggled to the group of friends she was with after she “bumped” into you. based on the way she was wearing a mclaren hoodie, you can make several guesses as to why she did it—you’re kind of shocked that she noticed you even though you wear a mask at work (you have for about a month, too many fans have noticed who you are), her hate for a relationship that’s not hers should be studied for science. 

incidents like these have made your coworkers start to…dislike you. the decrease in tips when you’re assigned to the register causes you to be forced to be hidden behind coffee machines the entire shift, only making drinks the entire nine hours you’re there. it’s better for you though, at least you can have a physical barrier blocking the prying eyes you feel are judging you the entire time. if anything, the recent atmosphere at work made you want to put in your two weeks—but, you have bills to pay. you’re just glad you managed to find a way to get two weeks off so you can focus on school and prepare for your exams—you can’t afford to fail, it’ll cost your scholarship and then you’ll need more than the job you have right now to finish school.

the buzzing of your phone pulls you back to the present—oscar’s calling. you squeeze your eyes shut for a few seconds, before you blink and silence the ringer. if you speak to him, you won’t be able to hide your troubles from him any longer; he reads you as easily as a kid’s picture book. he definitely doesn’t need to deal with your problems after whatever the hell happened in brazil. the noise of your phone startled you into a new thought, however. if the girls aren’t in the apartment, why the fuck is the tv on? who did you greet when you walked past the main room without a glance?

“i was calling to tell you that i’ve got takeout from the asian restaurant you like, if you’re looking for something to eat,” oscar says gently.

it’s a testament to how extremely exhausted you are: you don’t scream, you don’t fight, you don’t run—you just flinch slightly, and turn around slowly to face your boyfriend…the man you’ve been avoiding for nearly a month. at the sight of him (his fluffy hair, his soft sweater, the confused and concerned glint in his eyes) your lip starts quivering, and your eyes start watering. oscar’s gaze softens into something sweet yet empathic, and he says, “i know it’s been a while since we’ve last talked, but i didn’t think you’d cry at the sight of me.”

you burst into tears with a sob, and in a second oscar’s got you wrapped up in his arms, one hand soothingly massaging your back, while the other cradles your head on his shoulder. your borderline hyperventilating, your tears have started to soak his sweater, and you’re sniffling every two seconds to avoid getting snot on him too. oscar doesn’t try to quiet your tears, he doesn’t ask about what’s making you cry, he doesn’t even try to tell you that everything will be fine—he just holds you as you cry it out and presses kisses into your hair. eventually, the flow of tears dries and you focus on pulling in shaky breaths of air to calm down. oscar switches to holding you to his chest with one arm while he uses the free one to reach across the counter and grab a tissue. wordlessly, he wipes the wetness off your cheeks and under-eyes, he even uses another tissue to wipe your nose, clearing away the snot that managed to escape. you almost start crying again at the tender treatment and the matching look in his eyes, but you muster enough strength to keep the happy tears from falling over the waterline. 

oscar nods once, deeming his cleanup complete, and clears his throat, “i’m going to heat up the food. then, we’ll eat and you’ll tell me what’s wrong and if that has anything to do with why you’re ignoring me.”

there’s no attempt from you to keep the façade up any longer, all you do is nod and step to the side so he can grab the food from the fridge.

oscar has already cleared his plate and you’re still picking through half of yours. the two of you are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, teen wolf is playing on a low volume, and your eyes are tunneled on the screen even though oscar can see that you’re not paying attention at all. one of the characters is screaming about having to get his arm cut off (stiles, probably) and suddenly you start talking to oscar.

“it’s been a shit semester. if i wasn’t graduating in spring, i honestly think i would’ve dropped out or taken a gap-year. and, i knew what i signed up for as an engineering major, and i knew that working was only going to add more on my plate—but, it’s not like i can quit my job, i have bills to pay. so, juggling school and work is difficult, and i was managing fine. but, i guess i made the mistake of scrolling through twitter—which is truly my fault i think—and everyone on the internet was calling me a ‘terrible girlfriend’,” oscar watches you scoff out a choked laugh, “and, i obviously didn’t believe i was. in the beginning, at least. i mean, it’s like they expected me to be at every race by your side, like i’m not working my way through a hellscape of a degree. i watched every practice session, qualifying, and race—they’re literally the only hours i don’t spend studying or working. i brag about you to everybody who would listen, i missed hours of sleep just to speak to you on the phone for five minutes, i work as hard as i can so i can finish this degree early so i can be with you as early as possible, and they say that you deserve a better girlfriend.”

you pause and rub at your eyes furiously, mouth opening and closing as you take time to find the words to continue. oscar quiets the flare of anger at your distress, and stays silent, not wanting to interrupt your speech, this is the most you’ve said to him in a month.

“the thing is: i-i i let their words get to me. i think it’s because i was being kicked while i was down—or whatever the phrase is. i was already mentally exhausted, and i already believe that i’m not doing my best this year, i’m disappointing everybody who knows me, i’m a shit student—and just seeing everybody agree, even though they’re just randoms on the internet, tore me down. i even deleted all of the apps off my phone,” your voice has shifted into something desperate, “so i couldn’t see what they were saying about me anymore, but it’s like once i saw it, it never left my mind. i feel like everybody is staring at me with condescending eyes, like they all think i’m terrible. and, logically, i know that’s probably not true. but, this semester has pushed me past the point of being able to rationalize properly. so as a result, i have become a ‘terrible girlfriend’ to you; like a twisted self-fulfilling prophecy.

“i avoid your calls, i leave you on delivered for days, i respond with one word, i lie to my friends and say i was up all night talking to you on the phone when i was really crying and studying at the same time, i hold back from bursting into tears in the middle of my shifts when one of your ‘fangirls’ spills their drink over me for the third time. and while doing all of this, i was hoping you’d do the hard part and just break up with me,” your voice rings out sharply and you refuse to look at your boyfriend, afraid to see the look on his face.

“because…” you whimper slightly, tongue flicking out to lick at your lips anxiously, “you do deserve a better girlfriend.”

oscar is lost for words at your conclusion; seeing you, one of the strongest women he knows break down, is a sight he never imagined. a sense of guilt builds within him, knowing that he’s added to the deprecating thoughts in your brain by postponing this intervention for weeks. you may think that he deserves someone better, but he hasn’t been the best to you either recently. if oscar was half the man you think he is, he would’ve never allowed you to avoid him in the first place. oscar stands up, collects your plate and his, and places them on the coffee table. he turns and drops to his knees in front of you, resting his hands on your thighs, and squeezes them gently to grab your attention. it takes a minute, but eventually you allow your eyes to fall to meet his, and oscar breaks further at the lack of light in your eyes.

“i think,” oscar starts quietly, “that you expect me to break up with you and leave—am i guessing correctly?”

you blink down at him and shrug, biting your lip to prevent it from quivering.

“i also think, that if i flew all this way to see you, and that if i listened to your heartbreaking recollection of how this semester and how the world has been incredibly unkind to you, and that if i sat here and still broke up you—it’s not me that deserves a better girlfriend; it’s you that deserves a better boyfriend.”

stunned, you stumble over your disagreement, but oscar steadfastly continues.

“you did the right thing by deleting your socials—and that would explain why all three hundred of the reels i’ve sent you have gone unseen,” he laughs lightly, “and even if their words took root, you prevented yourself from being able to see more of it every time you used your phone; so even if my pride is not needed, i am proud of you for doing that. i’m even more proud that you sat here and told me that you aren’t doing well, that you didn’t make an attempt to lie, and that i didn’t have to force you to tell me,” oscar says seriously, holding steady eye contact with you to make sure you're hearing him.

“i wish that you would have mentioned the hate you’re receiving as soon as it started, and that you would have told me your mental health was suffering too. you know i do everything in my power to avoid reading anything with my name in it unless it’s a credible article—so imagine my surprise, when i learned about what people were saying about you through a twitter thread logan, of all people texted me about,” you snort out a laugh at the feigned disdain in oscar’s voice when he mentions the american driver. 

“you know i have no issues embarrassing people on the internet for their incorrect claims—and i’d especially tear them to shreds for trying to drag you down. we’ve been together too long for you not to come to me about things like this, even if it’s something that mildly upsets you—i want to know, because then i can make it better, or i can at least try to. you haven’t complained to me about the grueling lifestyle once, as i worked my way up to f1; if anybody could be perfect, it would be you. so, let me try to be as perfect as you, and support you properly and thoroughly as you finish up this degree, baby.

“we’re soulmates, aren’t we?” it’s a question, but oscar states it like a fact, “and i know i can’t magically make the self-loathing disappear with one conversation, but i'll tell you that you’re the best girlfriend i’ve ever had countless times, until you believe me unquestionably.”

oscar watches your nose scrunch cutely as you sniffle, unable to stop the tears that leak from the corners of your eyes. sweetly, he catches them with his thumb before they fall. he stands up and tugs you to your feet, pulling you into a tight, warm hug. 

“i love you, kanga,” oscar coos as he kisses your forehead.

“i love you the most, roo,” you answer back, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“i’ve bought some lavender epsom salt and an embarrassing amount of bath bombs. will you let me take care of you tonight?” oscar asks quietly.

he sees the mix of awed-disbelief and confusion as you stare up at him, like you can’t imagine why he’d want to love you tenderly tonight, and that hurts him more—the words of his ‘fans’ online have done enough damage to cause you to doubt him. maybe he can convince you to come to vegas with him so he can keep you close, but first, he needs to focus on caring for you here and now.

oscar grabs his duffle bag and smiles as you hold his hand to lead him to your room and the attached bathroom (rent is ridiculously expensive, but at least you don’t have to share a bathroom with your roommates.) oscar sends you to grab pajamas while he starts filling the tub, epsom salt already poured in. he fiddles with the temperature for a while before it’s set to the boiling-your-skin-off hot you enjoy. by the time you join him in the bathroom, he’s added the salts and soap in the water and has placed the bath bombs out for you to choose one. oscar can’t help the small smile that rises to his face at the sight of the serious furrow of your brow as you pick out your favorite from the bunch. 

oscar hums as you hand him the jade-infused bath bomb, and asks, “can i wash your hair too? or will it mess up your schedule?”

“i actually really need to wash it,” you murmur with a humorless chuckle, “i’ve been so busy that i haven’t been taking care of my hair properly.”

oscar blinks and continues non-judgmentally, “i’ll give you an extra scalp massage to make up for that—you can start getting undressed now, the water’s nearly ready.”

he turns around awkwardly, he’s seen you naked before but he feels like it would be slightly perverse to watch you while you’re clearly in a more sensitive state tonight. he fumbles with the faucet for a few seconds before turning it off, and drops the bath bomb into the water so it can start dispersing. oscar faces you again carefully making sure he avoids staring at your body and locks eyes with you, he beckons you forward with an outstretched hand and holds your hand as you submerge yourself in the water. once you’re settled comfortably, oscar grabs your hair products (he holds up any bottle he thinks you may not want to use tonight, and you give him a thumbs up or down to decide), and then kneels at your side.

he starts to roll up the sleeves of the hoodie but your hand halts his motions, the water splashing loudly at the quickness of your movement, “you’re not getting in with me?”

“uh,” oscar stutters, “i-i wasn’t planning on it. i just wanted to give you a nice bath.”

oscar pinkens as you stare at him wordlessly and when your unimpressed gaze shifts to a slight glare, he finds himself shedding his clothes and sinking in behind you at an impressive speed. 

his heart began to race as the two of you shifted into as comfortable of a position you could achieve in a too-small tub, but calmed at your pleased hum as you settled between his legs with your back resting on his chest. this may be the most romantic experience oscar has ever indulged in. sure, it’s not a candlelit dinner at an obnoxiously expensive restaurant but, it’s him detangling your hair, it’s him massaging shampoo into your crown, it’s him scratching softly along your scalp as the deep conditioner sits, it’s you playing with the water innocently, it’s you whispering every detail of your life that he’s missed out on, it’s you gently directing him through braiding your hair, and it’s him pressing kisses to your shoulder when he finishes. there isn’t a single moment where the two of you become unsettled during lapses of silence; the intimacy of his actions is loud enough to fill the gaps. oscar can’t imagine ever being this comfortable with anybody besides you, he hates that he almost allowed you to pull completely away from him. moments like these, where you allow yourself to be thoughtlessly vulnerable with him, are exactly why he’s completely enamored with you.

your body has loosened against him, muscles syrupy and lax from the effects of a toe-curling scalp massage, and oscar gently guides you to sit upright while steadying most of your weight with a single hand splayed against your abdomen. the sound of the cap of your body wash clicking open startles you into the present, and you shift around to straddle his lap. it’s amusing; he inaudibly chuckles at the sight of you struggling to complete your change of position without sending water over the edge. you make a triumphant noise when you’ve managed to turn around to face him, and oscar’s hands cradle your hips when you rest on his lap. 

“can i–”

“shouldn’t you–”

oscar bursts into laughter and you into giggles, at the interruption of each other's sentences. it’s definitely not that funny, but oscar’s heart skips a beat at the sound of your laugh–he hasn’t heard that sweet noise in what feels like forever. he motions for you to speak, ever the gentleman, and eagerly awaits for our question with a smile still stretched across his lips.

“shouldn’t you fuck me before we wash up? so we don’t have to clean up twice?”

oscar chokes on his breath, his grip on you tightening in surprise, and he babbles, “what? no-i mean, yes, i mean—wait. i didn’t do all of this just to have sex with you, you know that right? i genuinely just wanted to pamper you–”

“oscar,” you cut him off, intentionally this time around, “after the semester i’ve had, and the less than kind words i’ve heard and thoughts i’ve had describing myself–i really do appreciate the bath, i feel reminded that you love me. however, i really think that having sex would help…solidify your devotion for me.”

oscar blinks up at you, he wasn’t quite expecting you to return to your normal sassy behavior as quickly as you did. but, he is thankful that you’ve opened up to him with no further hesitation–it’s actually incredibly attractive of you, how you’ve resumed complete comfortability in expressing exactly what you want to him. at least, that’s the excuse he’s telling himself to cope with being half-hard already.

“...at least let me take you to bed, then?”

“no,” you whine down at him, your hips sneakily twitching forward, oscar moans lightly at the light grind, “too far! saves time later if we don’t have to come back to shower.”

“you’re right,” oscar hums distractedly, moving his right hand off your waist to slip between your thighs and brush along your cunt, “i’ll fuck you here as long as you let me do all of the work.”

oscar’s blood heats at the sound of your whimpering moan and he takes his other hand off your waist to grab at your chin and he pulls you down for a kiss.

oscar groans when you pause before your lips touch his, and he feels the breath of your giggle ghost over his mouth, “mmm, i’ll never say no to that—and, didn’t i agree to let you take care of me tonight?” 

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz

© httpsserene2023

[chososdiscordkitten]

✫Escort!Toji✫

MDNI

Pairing: Escort!Toji x Afab!Reader content: some plot, no use of y/n, reader is a frustrated office worker, toji fucks ur coworkers, reader masturbates to thoughts abt toji, reader isnt a virgin, sub!reader, toji is a bully, teasing, brief oral (f receiving) orgasm denial if u squint, manhandling, missionary n doggy, spanking like once, rough, HE SPITS IN READERS MOUTH, no aftercare:( multiple orgasms (f & m) Toji contemplates stealing ur money ,proofread ONCE

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

You found yourself on your lunch break with your female coworkers, in the cafe below the offices you worked at. Only having worked there a week or so, new to the city and lacking friends.

Quiet as they spoke of their full lives while they ate their sandwiches. Older divorced women with a few kids, you didn't really fit in with them. They were elegant women, experienced in life and sure of what they wanted out of it.

You sat surrounded by them, your hands on your mug of coffee as they spoke about mortgages and how there's a stomach bug going around the school.

One of them called your name, pulling you from your thoughts as you looked up at them, “Do you have a husband?” One of them asked, seeing your face fall.

“No i don't-” you spoke up, seeing a few of them smile when they heard you.

“And a boyfriend?” another asked.

“No-” you tried saying.

“But you're so pretty! New play thing in the city- how could you not have a boyfriend?” One of them asked.

Their questions were not to get to know you. Their voices coated in passive aggressiveness.

“Speaking of- I found a new rent-by-the-hour companion.” one of them chirped, pulling her phone out and showing them a picture.

Forgetting the past conversation as you started to gather your belongings.

Hearing the women swoon over the picture, “This one, he's different. He gets down to it like no other. And he's not nice like the others are. He fucks like he hates you.” you heard her say as you walked away. 

You had heard rumors that this city was littered with “companions” for lonely women and men. It didn't take long for you to hear the older women of the office talk about them.

Trading videos and pictures like they were pokemon. If you were being honest, you found it strange. But you knew why people would pay.

You knew what that kind of loneliness felt like. How good it feels to touch another person. To feel their warmth. But your morals couldn't let you hire one. Not desperate enough to have sex with a stranger.

The next few days the ladies of the office kept praising this new wonder of a man. On one occasion seeing his picture, seeing that this wonder of a man was actually attractive.

For weeks you kept hearing more and more. This one man sticking longer than the others did. Hearing their descriptions of his body, of his cock. It got to the point that you contemplated filing a sexual harassment claim with HR, but knowing that the women had seniority, and one of them was head of the HR department.

You knew filing the complaint would bring on more harm than good. So you kept quiet, practically forcing yourself to listen to these conversations.

One day after your lunch break, one of the nicer women called your name. Asking you to wait up. “How are you feeling, hon?” she asked, her face showing genuine worry for you.

“I’m okay, just haven't been able to sleep all that great.” You replied, eyebags showing through your makeup.

“Here, hold on.” she said, pulling out her notepad and writing something down, “This is Toji’s phone number- he's helped me sleep like no other.” She smiled, handing you a piece of paper.

“He's always taking on new clients.” she smiled, hand on your shoulder as you looked at the paper. “If you're ever looking for a companion for a few hours.” She finished, walking past you and disappearing between the cubicles.

You looked down at the paper, grimacing as you read the numbers, seeing ‘Cash only’ written below it.

That paper sat on your nightstand for weeks. Not wanting to throw it out incase of an emergency. Living in the new city without friends was rough. The only things that filled your days were work and sleep.

You had thought back to the one time you had sex, your first year in college with a drunk frat guy. Didn't last longer than 10 minutes, feeling disgusted at his sweaty body on top of you.

“Companion for a few hours huh.” you thought out loud, looking over at the paper. The exhaustion of your job eating away at you. Not even being able to please yourself late at night. It was frustrating, celibacy was frustrating.

Until one night you tried to masterbate, porn not doing anything for you and thoughts of this Toji guy flooded your brain. Remembering how they described him. Tall and muscular. How he ate them out with so much fury.

Feeling your heartbeat rise and a heat shiver down your core. Closing your eyes and picturing the photo they passed around. That was the first time you had come since moving there. Right after you thought you'd give it a chance, not satisfied with your hand and wanting to feel warmth.

Besides, everyone is doing it right? Would it be so bad if you tried it once? 

Your shaky thumb typed in the phone number, pressing messages as you typed. ‘Hello, I got your phone number from my coworker, Agatha. Just wanted to see if you were available for service.’ You typed, cringing at how formal it sounded.

And you always hated texting, especially new people. Pressing send as you instantly regret your decision. A few minutes passed, fiddling with your fingers to see if he would respond.

A ding came from your phone as you flew to open it. Only seeing a link to the maps app. Opening it and seeing directions for a love hotel, ‘Friday, 8PM.’ another message dinged as your eyebrows rose.

You gulped, wondering if you were going to be trafficked or murdered by a strange man just because you didn't have patience to try and find a partner. It was wednesday evening, knowing that your nerves wouldn't be settled for two whole days made you uneasy.

The lack of his care of who you were or what you looked like also made you realize that it really was just for money. 

The next day was horrible, the feeling in your gut didn't settle. Hearing how highly the women spoke of him. “Last night he was taking me from the back, and I felt him move and I looked back to see him texting someone!” she exclaimed, somehow it was a compliment.

But you felt your heart stop knowing that he was messaging you while fucking your coworker. That evening you couldn't sleep. Picking your phone up and looking at the love hotel location again. You felt uneasy, like anticipation was building inside of you but not in a good way.

Friday came flying in, the work day was slow. So slow that you swore that everytime you looked at the clock it went back five minutes. You finally got off at 5:30, walking home to prepare.

Taking a hot bath as you thought of how badly this could go. Getting out and blow drying your hair, getting ready as though it was a first date. Lotioning your entire body as you waited for your clothes to finish drying. Dragging a darker lipstick on your lips, spraying perfume on your wrists and spreading it to the back of your ears. Putting on the warm clothes fresh out the dryer.

Looking into the mirror before leaving, getting a ding on your phone as you gathered your keys. ’Ask for me at the desk.’ it read. 7:37 on the clock as you walked out.

Your cheeks were warm while walking to the uber you ordered, so if he was a creep, he wouldn't know what car you drove. Wallet stuffed with cash as you didn’t know how much he would charge you.

The driver made a face at you through the rear view mirror, seeing the name of the hotel from the window. You stepped out, looking at the tall building and seeing the glass doors. Walking inside to be greeted by the front desk.

Smile on their face as they asked how they could help you, “I'm looking for Toji’s room?” you asked, looking at the small sign on the desk that showed the prices per hour to rent the rooms. Seeing her look down to the computer and look through the reservations.

“4th floor, room 203.” She smiled, her hand pointing you to the elevators. 

You started to feel the lower part of your stomach churn, seeing the numbers flash on top of the elevator as it took you up floor by floor.

The doors beeped open as your eyes laid on the dim hallway. Red colored doors as you walked passed them hearing muffled sounds of moans coming from them.

Your heart was pounding as you walked past room 200. Stepping passed room 202, inhaling sharply before standing in front of room 203. Your hand hesitated to knock, flinching your wrist back before knocking three times.

You heard heavy footsteps walking towards the door, hearing the lock come undone and seeing the black door handle turn. You gulped, eyebrows furrowed as you waited for the door to open. Blinking and seeing him.

A giant of a man before you. Face stern as his eyes scanned you. His eyebrows furrowed, not expecting you to be much younger than his usual clients. “Toji?” you asked, looking up to his face as you noticed a scar on his lip.

“Come in.” He demanded, his voice deeper than you expected, letting go of the door and leaving a small space for you to walk through. You swallowed, stepping past the entrance and leaving your doubts at the door.

Eyes scanning the clean room, lights dim and the curtains open. Flinching when you heard him close the door. “I charge per hour.” He spoke up, walking up behind you as his hands went to your coat. Causing you to slightly jump.

His hands pulled your coat off of you, hanging it on one of the hooks behind the door. “Or per service if that’s what you prefer.” He spoke close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Whichever is fine.” You mumbled, feeling his massive hands rest on your hips, guiding you to the bed. You sat down on the edge, looking up at him as he looked down at your curled eyelashes. He kneeled down to your feet, his hands going to your shoes, slipping them off slowly as you watched him.

Rolling down your knee high socks and tossing them. His hands sliding up your calf as he reached for your skirt, “How do you want it.” He stated, it wasn't a question, he sounded like he already knew the answer.

“Want…It?” you asked, feeling his hands go up your thighs slowly. 

He leaned over, smirk on his face as he whispered in your ear. “How do you want me to fuck you.” He clarified, you felt his hand slip past the hem of your skirt, kneading the plush of your thighs.

“Gentle, please.” You whispered back, feeling his body stiffen at your response. Only being used to women telling him they wanted it rough. He pulled back, looking at you in your eyes. Noticing the features on your face.

His hand going closer to your core, pulsating already from his words. He leaned you back, landing on your elbows as you propped yourself up to see him, his free hand tracing down your side down to the zipper on the side of your skirt.

His thick fingers slowly pulled it down as slipped your skirt down. Toji’s hand guiding it down to your ankles, hands sliding up and settling on your knees. His eyes make eye contact with the wet spot forming in your panties.

He spread your thighs, leaning in closer and blowing cool air to your clothed cunt. A needy whine escaped your lips, he leaned in. His tongue slipped past his lips as he licked at the wet spot. Making you almost jump.

A smile on his lips seeing how reactive you were. His hand came up from your thigh, leaning his head back as his thumb dragged from the bottom of your now soaked pantied, up to your clit. You shivered.

“I haven't even done anything and you're already this wet?” he asked, voice low as you whined. Toji’s thumb teasing the tip of your clit as the other held your hip in place.

All you wanted was to grind down on his teasing fingers. But his strong hand wouldn't let you. You could feel the mess in your panties soak down to your ass, back arched as he teased your clit.

“Don't tell me you're already gonna cum just from this?” his tone soaked with cockiness, smile on his face as he teased you, you couldn't let out any words, feeling his thumb rub against you harder as he kissed at your thighs.

Only letting out small moans at his teasing. Toji felt your leg shake against his side, knowing your orgasm was close.

“How pathetic.” he cooed, seeing you buck your hips up against his thumb, seeing white behind your eyes as he degraded you. Cumming at his cruel words. So pent up that it didn't take much for your first orgasm. He smiled, seeing you come undone by nothing.

His fingers traced up to your hips, pulling your panties down, the wet cloth sticking to your cunt as he exhaled, pleased seeing you squirm. His cock throbbed in his pants, seeing your glistening cunt. Clit blushed and practically begged him for attention.

“Oh, this simply won't do.” he said, clicking his tongue as his index finger traced your lips as he tried pressing it into your pulsating cunt. 

Feeling a thick finger slide past your entrance, lip in your teeth as you felt Toji’s thumb on your clit again. The rest of his hand firm on your tummy as he circled it slowly.

You hissed feeling his finger curl up, you knew you said gentle but this was agonizing. This wasn't gentle anymore, this was tortuous. He watched as you arched your back, pulling his finger out and looking at your face. His eyes half lidded as he held it before him.

“Open your mouth.” He demanded, his thumb rubbing firm circles on your clit, soft whines from your lips at his words. Your eyebrows curled upwards, opening your mouth slightly as you saw his hand come closer to your mouth.

Placing it on your plush lips, feeling your own juices on your lips as he pressed it in. Your lips closed around it as your hand went up to his wrist. Holding the side of his palm as you sucked on his thick finger. Moans from your mouth vibrating around it. Tasting yourself on him.

His face was decorated with a sinister smirk. Seeing how eager you were. Toji slowly pulled his finger out of your mouth, seeing how you licked it clean. Tilting his head slightly as it went down again, this time pressing his middle and ring finger at your entrance, circling it as you felt the resistance from your entrance.

His eyes on your flushed face, looking at how your eyebrows furrowed at feeling the tips of his fingers press into you. You whined, his thumb not going fast enough on your clit to give you another orgasm. Toji felt the want to kiss you, leaning into your face as he worked at your cunt.

His thick fingers sliding into you as you squirmed under him, his body now pressed against you as his tongue was deep in your mouth. Toji groaned, being able to taste you on your own tongue. His cock now leaking as his fingers disappeared inside of you. Your cunt squeezed around his fingers as you felt the hand that was on your clit stop circling it.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head when the thumb on the same hand that was thrusting into you replaced it. By then Toji couldn't help himself, his hand going to his cock as he felt your cunt squeeze around his fingers trying to keep them inside, pleads falling from your lips.

You pulled away from him, “Let me cum-” you whined, your hand on his clothed shoulder as his pace didn't speed up.

"Do you think you deserve another one?” He asked, his hand on his cock speeding up as he palmed himself through his pants.

“Please-” You whined, looking into his eyes with tears forming in them. Toji felt his cock throb, seeing you beg for him to let you cum almost made him bust in his pants. He groaned, feeling your spongy walls pulsate around him as his lips brushed against yours. 

“Come.” He demanded, his fingers speeding up, your poor clit being abused by his thumb as the hand on his clothed cock sped up. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your mouth falling open as you felt him take your orgasm from you.

His nose scrunched, seeing your face churn as he abused your cunt. His cock releasing inside his pants. Toji pressed his hot mouth to your open one, his groans vibrating in you as you felt his thumb keep its fast pace against your clit. Making you squirm.

Your hips bucked up against him as he pulled his fingers out of you. His thumb falling from your clit as his lips fell from yours, pulling his fingers up between your lips, he groaned seeing that you had creamed around them. He looked into your eyes as he slipped them into his mouth, craving the brief taste that he tasted on your tongue earlier.

Your eyebrows furrowed seeing his actions, your cunt squeezing against nothing in reaction. You leaned in, licking at his knuckles while your eyes never left his. Licking up the mess that had dripped down his hand.

Toji pulled his fingers out, pressing them against your lips. His mouth opened as he watched you kiss them. Inhaling air as you looked at him through your thick eyelashes. Dried streams of mascara beneath your eyes as he felt his cock harden even more.

He took his free hand and traced it up your leg, slowly inching you up the bed till you were pressed against the pillows. His hand slipped up your knitted shirt, pulling it up above your tits. Pretty pink bra holding back what he ached for.

His lips brushed against yours as he cupped one of your breasts, the other going to your back. You lifted your shoulders so he could release you from the cute pink prison that held your breasts.

Your hands pull your top off, feeling Toji’s fingers undo the clasps. He pulled it off of you and wasted no time latching to your neglected nipple, the other kneading your soft tit. He groaned when he inhaled, feeling the scent of your perfume and the sweetness of your skin fill his nose.

At that moment, Toji had forgotten what he was there for. His cock made decisions for him as his mouth sucked harshly on your nipple. 

You whined, your hands holding his head as the other went to his clothed shoulder. “I want you inside.” You moaned, feeling his teeth graze your nipples. Toji pulled away, his back straightening as he looked down at you.

Cock so hard he was sure it would rip a hole through his pants. He pulled his shirt off, revealing scars on his chest and a prominent v line. His happy trail made your cunt throb.

He reached into his pocket, finding the small square of foil, placing a corner to his teeth as he ripped it open. You nibbled on your lip, seeing the gold foil read ‘magnum’.

He slipped his soiled pants down, kicking them off as you hissed seeing his thick cock. The tip was bright pink, precum falling from his slit and the shaft dark at the base. Your eyes scanned his heavy balls.

Propped on your elbows as you looked at it, mouth watering at the sight, you knew it was going to rip you in half. But you were always up for a challenge. You saw him place the rolled up rubber on his leaking tip. Seeing his hand roll it down to his base. Cock so huge that the condom didn't even reach the base, stopping an inch or two above.

If it was up to Toji, he would've gone raw. But he didn't want to risk it, knowing you were a new client. He propped himself above you, placing a wet kiss to your lips as he pressed the tip of his fat cock to your entrance. You whined against his mouth, Toji pulled away seeing his face wasn’t as stern as before.

His eyebrows knitted as he muttered, “Open your mouth.” his teeth clenched seeing you obey him without hesitation. His eyes on yours. He sucked his tongue, collecting saliva in his mouth before spitting it on your tongue. Toji’s fat head pushing at your entrance. You felt it sting as you swallowed his spit.

He hissed seeing you swallow so eagerly. His head now fully in your cunt. “It's so big-” you whined, your hand going down to his shaft and guiding him to go deeper, your poor cunt starved of cock for too long. He groaned, hearing your whiney tone but still taking it.

Feeling his cock go deeper inside of you. You let out a loud moan, feeling his tip curve up to your sweet spot. His hips trying their best not to shove his cock fully into you, knowing his pay depended on this. He groaned, his hands went to your hips.

He couldn't take it, he flipped you over. Manhandling you as his hands fell to your ass. You moaned feeling his cock shift inside of you. Your face buried in the pillows as he pushed himself into you.

Now on your knees with your back arched. Sweat made his hair stick to his forehead as he looked down at you. His hands groping handfuls of your plump ass as he bit his lip. Throwing his head back as you clenched around him. 

You moaned into the pillows as you felt him start to pull out of you. His size causing tears to fall from your face, black streams falling from your cheeks onto he white pillows. His thrusts started slow, but little by little he thrusted faster, wanting to cum inside so badly.

He gave you a firm spank on your ass causing you to cry out. Frustration in his groans as his hand found its way to the nape of your neck. Pulling you up to him as your eyes cried, feeling another orgasm pool in your womb.

“You’re so fucking tight.” he groaned into your ear, his hand on your neck as the other held your hip up. His thrusts harder into you, bullying your poor cunt as he snaked his hand down to your clit. Your hands reached down to his hips that snapped to your ass at light speed, in hopes to relieve the ache from it.

Feeling like his rough thrusts were some kind of punishment. Trying to push his cock out a little so it wouldn't sting. You cried out as his thrusts became faster as you came on his cock, his finger on your clit as his hand on your neck roamed up to your cheek.

“Please- Please-Please-” you cried out feeling overstimulated, moaning as his cock pulled out of you, leaving only the tip inside, before ramming it in again. Toji’s hand on your face holding you up as your knees wobble. Struggling to keep yourself up right.

He looked down to see his cock slipping in and out of you. Groaning when he saw you cream around him. His fingers on your clit made you cum again, your knees buckled forcing you to fall back down, trying to hold yourself up on your knees. His cock not even hesitating to stop as he used you.

Toji’s hands now holding your hips up so he can angle himself. “Fuucckk-” he moaned, your cunt still tight around him as he heard your cries into the mattress. He snapped his hips forward. Feeling his orgasm flow out of him.

Wishing he had cum inside of your pretty cunt. He thrusted into you once more, slow as his body twitched. His big hands on your waist as he placed his forehead on your back, placing wet kisses to your spine. Keeping his cock inside of you as you exhaled. He pulled himself out of you, seeing the mess in between your thighs as he tipped over next to you on his back. Heavy breathing as he felt his cock soften.

He looked over at you, a smile on your face as your eyes fluttered closed. Smeared makeup around your eyes as he came down from the high. His eyebrows now softened, his face fucked out as though that was some kind of therapy for him.

He sat up, taking the filled condom and tossing it in the trash. Standing up and walking to the chair in the corner of the room. You flipped over, hazy eyes looked at his body. Seeing him pick up a thin sheet off the chair and tossed it to you.

He slipped his soiled pants back on not caring if people saw his mess, a small smile on his face as he saw you nuzzled up to the pillows. Silence filled the room as he put his clothes on, reaching down to where he had tossed your panties, discreetly picking them up and sliding them into his pocket as his prize.

He looked over at you, already asleep as he walked to your coat. He hesitated in taking the money out of your wallet. Normally he didn’t enjoy sex with his clients, always bored while fucking.

But it didn’t feel right charging you for fucking. Knowing you had asked for him to be gentle, guilt in his stomach knowing he used you for his own pleasure. Knowing he was too rough. He settled on just letting you pay for the room, thinking it was some sort of compromise.

Heavy feet walking over to your sleeping body. His cock throbbing as he saw your hard nipples through the thin white sheet. Filthy thoughts clouded his mind as he considered waking you up fuck again.

Cock hardening as he reminisced on how tight you were. He wondered why you were trying to pay for sex. Considering you were younger than his usuals, and much, much more beautiful than they were. He leaned down, placing a wet kiss to your sleeping lips before leaving. Noticing a pep in his step as he walked out of the hotel. Toji knew that he had to save your number in his phone.

Wanting to know if it was you if you texted him again. Only to see he didn't even catch your name, saving your name in his phone as “Tight cunt” with a smile on his lips. Hoping you'd shoot him a text again, and soon.

-

PT 2 HERE

I hope there's an audience for this one, this has been a thought ive been fighting the whole day. im already thinking abt pt 2 help me. I hate him sm he's such a bum. nobody tell choso ok

[ghostkennedy]

Workplace Romance

~ID! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 7213

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, dub-con, serial killers, murder, leon's a major asshole and mean to reader, lots of arguing, confrontation, drugging, kidnapping, use of shock collar, degrading, pet names, serious bodily harm, forced self-harm, crawling, descriptions of blood/pain/body mutation, forced blowjob, cum swallowing, piss, reader pisses self, removal of an appendage/body part, capital punishment, death row, lethal injection, masturbation, very little comfort, no happy ending

the content warnings are a mess, but i think i included everything.

!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!

Agent Leon Kennedy. A name you weren’t familiar with until a few weeks ago. Now, he’s the leading cause of all your headaches.

He’s a renowned FBI agent. Not only is he an excellent detective, but an expert in serial killer psychology.

He’s successfully led in the investigations and captures of eight serial killers and helped in the convictions of upwards of a hundred murderers.

He’s spent years studying the minds of serial killers. He can find the smallest bit of information and utilize it to get inside a killer's head. He’s the FBI’s serial killer specialist and if there’s ever a suspected serial killing, the case files land right on his desk.

And that’s what’s brought the two of you together.

You had just made detective at the Raccoon City Police Department, but the training was subpar. Any case that goes through this department is almost guaranteed to go unsolved. It’s not the station's fault, but the lack of funding and resources that has led to its downfall.

You’re up to your neck in cold case files. And crime that needs any sort of investigation is immediately your obligation. You’re a one person department and absolutely set up to fail.

When the FBI finally shows interest in the series of murders taking place throughout the city, you’re honestly relieved. Anything to ease your heavy workload. But it all changes when you meet him.

Agent Leon fucking Kennedy.

He’s a cocky bastard who undermines your department, which is solely you, constantly. He is unimpressed with the investigative work done on the case and won’t hesitate to insult your abilities as a detective.

And the man is basically untouchable.

He’s the FBI’s golden boy who can do no wrong. Everyone in the station worships the ground he walks on because he’s here to save the town, like a superhero. He’s the best of the best and everyone is expected to tolerate him. No exceptions.

It doesn’t help that he’s absolutely gorgeous. Always looking so well put together, a calculated appearance that never falters. Men and women alike gawk at the man. Whether they want to be with him or be him, you’d be stupid to not acknowledge it. 

A brown fringe cascading around his face. Pretty blue eyes matched with a prominent nose and jaw line, a dimple centered in his chin. Even the stubble lining his jaw is flawless. His eyebrows are knitted together in a permanent scowl. He looks like he despises the world and it makes him that much more enticing. 

And it pisses you off entirely. If he was just some mediocre, average looking man, it’d make hating him so much easier. But of course the jackass is incredible. It makes you wanna pour acid in your eyes just to give you your peace of mind back. Seeing is believing, right?

Without a single break in the case and no solid leads, you’re happy to take a step back from the case. It doesn’t mean you don’t care, but the crime rate in town has been steadily rising and you know you can help better elsewhere.

You walk into the station on what you thought was a typical Tuesday morning. But you’ve barely made it through the front door when you’re met with chaos.

People are running around, coming in and out of the station. The noise level is atrocious and has you wishing you’d caught the fucking plague because it would be less exhausting than this.

You barely make it five paces into the station when one of the coworkers you actually bother with appears at your side.

“It never stops, does it?” Jill says breathlessly.

You shake your head before replying, “What’s going on now?”

“Wait, you don’t know? Shouldn’t you be the first to know, actually?” She stops dead in her tracks, which in result causes you also to abruptly stop.

“Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have no idea.” You cross your arms over your chest and turn to face her.

She sighs and places her hands on her hips. “They found another body early this morning. Everything matches up with the previous ones, so it’s basically confirmed to be one of his.”

“Another body? This will be his tenth fucking kill.”

“Thank God we got the FBI on it then?” Jill quirks an eyebrow at you, causing you to roll your eyes in response.

Jill is one of the few people seemingly in the world to not care for Leon’s bullshit. She can’t stand the man and isn’t afraid to voice it. She’s your number one defender and isn’t shy about arguing with the dreaded FBI agent.

“Maybe he’ll finally be good for something other than making my life a living Hell.”

Jill reaches out and squeezes your shoulder as she shakes her head. “But at what cost? Let’s hope the sweet, tender boy can magically solve the case and fuck back off to wherever he flew in from.”

Another coworker comes up and pulls Jill away from you. As she marches away behind the man, she turns and waves at you. You hate that you instantly wave back, but it’s Jill. You’ll look like a dork over and over for her sake.

You lower your hand and sigh, but before you can even begin walking again, a presence takes shape beside you.

“What are you doing?” An unmistakable snarky voice calls out to you. Your muscles instantly tense up in his presence, like your body is physically rejecting him and his aura.

You scoff as you begin walking again. “None of your business, Leon.”

You’re annoyed when Leon meets your big strides, keeping up with you pace for pace. You both remain silent as you quickly arrive at your office door.

You go to close the door behind you, but Leon pushes past, welcoming himself into your office. You’re frozen in place for a second in your confusion, but you quickly snap out of it and sink into your desk chair.

“What’s up?” You fold your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair. Being around Leon is exhausting and you can already feel this conversation draining you.

Leon doesn’t take a seat, instead choosing to stand tall above your desk, looking down at you.

“None of your business.” Leon mocks you in a shrill voice. 

“What’s up?” His eyes meet yours, locking in an intense stare.

“You need to address me properly. Agent Kennedy, not Leon.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the sudden authority in his voice. When he doesn’t speak up again, it prompts you to instead.

“Okay. But I would appreciate it if you addressed me properly too, Agent Kennedy.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

You quirk your head to the side, shocked by the pure audacity of this man. The audacity to demand respect when he can’t even give it. It’s infuriating.

“Well, Leon, I don’t appreciate being disrespected in my own-“

“Earn it.”

You shake your head in exasperation at his interruption. Yes. Infuriating is the best word to describe this man.

“What?” You release a heavy sigh, already exhausted from the few words exchanged.

“Respect is earned. Earn respect and you will receive it.”

“You haven’t earned-“

“I’m the FBI’s best asset when it comes to convicting serial killers, not to mention all of the side work I’ve done in homicide prevention and precaution. I’ve earned goddamn respect and I expect it, no exceptions.”

He slams his hands down on your desk, causing you to jump, your chair screeching across the floor as you put more space between you two.

Your voice is shaking as you throw your hands up in the air, “Fuck! Okay! Sorry, Agent Kennedy.”

He gives you a final death glare before backing up and causally stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. It remains silent as you two stare across the room at each other.

“Anyways, I needed to talk to you.” He finally sits in the chair and your shoulders visibly relax. You hate yourself for being so visibly nervous in his presence currently, but it was out of your control.

“What about?”

He clears his throat. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but my bosses have instructed me to take you under my wing. Teach you what I know. And it’s my obligation to follow those orders and I think it’s in your best interest to do so as well. It would be very beneficial to you.”

Your eyes fall closed as you barely manage to hold back a groan. Your head falls back, scalp connecting with the back of your chair.

“You just made detective, correct?”

You sigh and look back up at him, “Yeah. Not even a month ago.”

“Then let me help you. There’s no one here to train you on how to be a good detective, a good investigator. I know a thing or two. You just have to let me help you. Also, it’ll be better on my conscience if I leave here confident in this station's sole detective.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m being serious. I have a lot to teach and you have a lot to learn. You’d be stupid to not take full advantage of this opportunity.”

You remain silent, lost in your own thoughts. You were confident with your abilities as a detective. Confident with your capability to solve cases, but he has the experience that you don’t. But he’s also Leon Kennedy and that alone is almost enough to make you say fuck no.

“How many people have died at the hands of this killer? That we know of so far.”

“9 I believe.”

“10 after the discovery this morning. And there could be more we don’t know about. You don’t wanna solve this case? Wanna bring this sick fuck to justice?”

“Well, of course-“

“Then work with me. How many more innocent people need to die?”

You release a heavy sigh. “Alright, alright. We have a deal or whatever.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Weeks have passed and Leon’s arrogance has only gotten worse.

The belittling, the undermining, just everything he does has you raging. You’ve given up on helping with the investigation because anything you do is scrutinized. You found a solid piece of evidence that could have easily been looked into, but he rejected it and told you to disregard it.

No matter how hard he tries to make you feel like it, you’re not an idiot. You’re a great detective and nothing about this situation is right. His behavior, his attitude, his methods of operation are all suspicious as hell, so how could you not look into him?

You’re not exactly sure what you were looking for. Maybe a sign that he was taking credit for work he didn’t actually do? Or maybe a sign of him planting evidence?

Why couldn’t you have just minded your goddamn business?

You’re the only two left in the station, working late on the case. To say things are tense is a fucking understatement if you’ve ever heard one. 

“Can I ask you a question, (Reader)?” 

Your head shoots up from your computer screen. The way he says your name has chills running down your spine, has you struggling to swallow. 

“Um, yeah. What’s your question?” 

His elbows are on the table, his chin resting on the backs of his clasped hands. “Did you find what you were looking for?” His tone is accusatory and it confuses you.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?” 

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why were you looking into me?” He brings his hands down to the table and leans in closer to your side of the table. “Did you find what you were looking for?” 

Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to find the words to explain yourself. “What kind of detective would I be if I didn’t?”

He snickers. “Answering a question with a question. Classic. But I’m not interested in beating around the fucking bush, so how about you just tell me what you were looking for.” 

You take a deep breath before straightening your spine and feigning a confidence you definitely don’t feel. “Okay. You’re suspicious as fuck. And I don’t trust you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“And what did you find?” He snaps at you. You don’t understand why he’s taking such offense to a detective doing detective work? He didn’t anticipate this? 

“Nothing. I didn’t find anything.”

“And do you still have your suspicions about me?”

“Yes.” You answer his questioning immediately. You’re not sure what compels you to do so, but your mouth moves faster than your mind. “I still don’t understand why you act the way you do.”

He looks away from you, pulling a file out of his briefcase and flipping through the papers inside of it. “What were you hoping to find?”

“I-” you’re once again stumbling over your words. No one has ever made you so nervous, no one has ever triggered your flight or fight as much as he does. Alarms are constantly going off in your head about him and you hate it. “I just wanted some answers.”

“Then fucking ask.” He slams the folder shut and tosses it down the table. “Ask me your questions. Don’t be a baby about it, going behind my back to find them. You’re a big girl. If you want answers, come and get them.”

“Why are you such a dick?”

“Because I can be. Next question.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Obviously.”

“We’re getting nowhere. Nevermind.”

“Wait!” You yell at him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist as he goes to stand up. “I’m sorry. You just piss me off.”

He pulls his wrist from your grasp with a disgusted look, but he doesn’t get up from his chair. He stares at you silently, which means he wants you to speak up. He’s so fucking entitled, you have to refrain from going off on him for the billionith time. 

“Why do you brush me off constantly? I bring you solid, concrete leads and you treat them like they’re nothing. You’re leaving so many loose ends. We’re not any closer to solving this case. Why?”

He hums at you like your question is invalid. You don’t know what you expected. Of course he was just going to be a prick like he always is. 

“That’s your perspective on it. A false perspective, but one nonetheless.”

“What does that mean?” The offense is obvious in your voice. More belittling, more brushing off your valid concerns. Of course. Of fucking course.

“Because I’ve followed every last lead and every little piece of evidence. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up.”

“Bullshit!” You’re both surprised at your outburst. You can’t hold it back anymore. You can’t stand the lying and fucking diversions anymore. “I’ve been watching you, Leon. I haven’t seen you investigate shit. You pick and choose where you pay attention. This is the FBI’s very best? It’s fucking pathetic.”

He keeps his expression blank and neutral. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck it is you do that’s so fucking incredible that you’ve solved so many cases. Are you taking credit for other people’s work? Are you planting evidence? That’s the only thing that makes sense. You’re an opportunist. It’s like you’re just silently waiting to find the perfect person to blame. Is that it? You frame people to make yourself look better? What is it?”

Your voice is desperate and it’s genuinely embarrassing. But you are desperate. And you don’t wanna sit by anymore, not with the terrible suspicions constantly plaguing your exhausted mind. 

“You think I’m covering up for serial killers? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. It’s not that fucking farfetched.”

“Why would I do that?”

You let out a noise of frustration, “I don’t know! To make yourself look better? Everyone worships you for the work you’ve done. Maybe it’s for the praise and glory, to stroke your ego.”

He smirks at you and it only enrages you more. 

“You told me to ask you questions!” you yell at him, “Now give me fucking answers!”

“I don’t give a shit what people think. You think I would cover up for serial killers to make myself look better? That’s stupid.”

“Then maybe you have another reason!”

“Like?”

“I don’t fucking know! For all I know, you’re the serial killer and you just frame people to cover your own ass. Your job would be the perfect guise wouldn’t it?” It’s just word vomit pouring from your mouth at this point, but something about what you’ve said has Leon jumping to his feet.

Before you even have time to react, he’s leapt across the table. His hand wraps around your neck, pushing you back in your chair until you go crashing to the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull connects with the ground.

Your vision is fuzzy from the impact, but you slowly blink your eyes until they focus back in on Leon’s body hovering over yours. With the grip he has on your throat, you can’t speak. All you can do is look up at him and the unhinged expression on his face.

Leon shifts and there’s a sudden sharp, burning pain in your neck. Your arms shoot up and your fingers connect with the syringe in your neck. Your eyes widen in fear.

“Good detective work, baby. You’ve figured it out. Congratulations! You found your guy!” His smile is huge and combined with his crazy eyes, has you shaking beneath him.

The muscles in your body quickly start to tingle as you lose control of them, slowly going limp beneath him.

“Goodnight.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you pass out.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re awake, your eyes are open but your brain still isn’t able to process anything. You stare blankly as you try to actually wake up. The room is a blur and you can hear a voice calling out to you, but you can’t make out what it’s saying.

Sudden white hot pain has your consciousness finally catching up with you. You’re gasping for air as you finally take in your surroundings. 

The room is dirty, trash littering the floor around you. The only object in the room is a chair on the other side of the room.

“Good morning. Thought that’d wake you up.”

You push yourself up into a sitting position as Leon appears in front of you. He gently pats your head causing you to cower away from him, but he just laughs at you and walks over to the chair. Every step he takes makes a loud crunching sound as his shoes connect with the debris covering the floor. The only cleared spot is the space surrounding you, just enough for your body to lay in.

You try to speak, but all you can manage to do is cough. Leon sits leisurely in his chair as you struggle through your coughing fit.

The second it passes, while you’re still gasping for air, you call out to him, “Wha-what are you doing? What do you want?”

“Crawl to me.”

You look at him like he’s insane, and in all honesty he is, but he only smirks at the look you’re giving him. He leans back in his chair so casually, legs spread open as his left hand dangles between them. It pisses you off that he looks so good like this. Maybe if he hadn’t just kidnapped you, you would be more willing to appreciate how good the view definitely is.

“I said, crawl to me.” His voice is filled with venom as he points to the ground between his legs. He cannot be fucking serious right now.

You look at the stretch of floor between you two. It’s littered with broken glass and who knows what else. It’s obviously been intentionally spread around. This house may be old and abandoned, but the sharp shards are too clean and perfect to have been sitting here long at all. 

He wants you to crawl through shattered glass on your hands and knees to him. Kidnapping you wasn’t enough. Having complete control isn’t enough, he has to exercise it.

“Leon…” you struggle to find the right words, because what are you supposed to say? It’s obvious that you don’t want to crawl across this fucking floor. “Please don’t make me-”

You gasp as your body goes tense from a sudden, unfamiliar pain. It feels like several wasps just stung your neck, and as quick as it hits, it’s gone. 

Your muscles finally loosen and your hands shoot up to your neck, feeling some sort of rough fabric with a rectangular plastic box at the front of your throat.

“What the fuck is this?” Your voice is strained, still panting as you try to recover from the pain.

He chuckles at you. “You will address me as sir and you will crawl to me.”

Your fingers are still fiddling with the device strapped to your throat, trying to find some way to take it off. But it’s complicated not being able to see what you’re doing. Just when you think you might be able to slip a finger under the tight, firm fabric, the pain comes back.

The stinging pain is more intense this time and longer. You’re about to collapse, unable to keep yourself in a sitting position, when the pain once again subsides. 

You can’t stop the tears pouring down your cheeks, body still shaking and in shock from the intensity of the pain to your neck.

“Now. Stop fucking with your collar and crawl to me.” 

Your head shoots up to him at his choice of words. “Collar?”

He licks his lips while a look of amusement lights up his face. “Yes, dumb little bunny. A shock collar. To help you behave.”

The hand that’s been lazily lying between his legs flips around to reveal the remote in his palm. Your eyes widen as your pain riddled brain slowly catches up to the present. A fucking shock collar. He put a shock collar on you like you’re some fucking dog.

“Crawl. To. Me. Now.” He spits out angrily, his tone sending chills down your spine.

When you don’t make any movement, he makes a big show of fiddling with the remote. Taunting you, warning you. 

You let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, shit okay. I’ll crawl to you.” 

“Crawl to who?”

You push yourself up on your knees and lightly bring your palms to the ground, gently sitting them over top of the shattered glass. “You, sir. I’m going to crawl to you, sir.”

He relaxes in his chair once again at your answer, seemingly pleased with it. “Go on then. What’re you waiting for?” 

You take a few deep breaths, attempting to will yourself to move forward. You know you have to do this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to make the first move.

“Unless you need some more motivation. We could make good use of that collar.”

Your eyes shoot up and look up at him pleadingly, “Please, no.”

“Then fucking move.”

Leon’s patience is completely gone and you don’t want to see what other lengths he’s willing to go to to punish you. 

You reach out with your right hand and your right knee slowly follows. You hiss out as your skin connects with some of the shards.

“That’s it, being such a good girl right now.”

Your breathing stops for a moment as a blush creeps up your neck at the praise. You’re so mad at yourself for your body’s reaction to his words. This is already fucking humiliating, how much worse can it get?

You move your left hand forward, breathing through the pain as it connects with the floor and your left knee follows. You’re going slow, being careful not to cut yourself up worse by being hasty. 

You move your right hand carefully, blood already spilling from the cuts and onto the glass covered floor. It’s making shards stick to your skin and making everything that much more slippery. 

Your right knee connects with the floor, right as the stinging pain returns to your throat. The sudden shock has you digging your knees, hands, and toes in the floor, heightening the pain you were already in.

The pain in your neck is once again gone and you’re left shaking and sobbing as blood puddles around your hands and knees.

“You know how to crawl. Go faster before you piss me off.”

You don’t know why you’re surprised he wants you to crawl faster, causing worse damage to your body. Of course he does. Why would you ever expect to be granted mercy?

You take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. At least you won’t have to see the glass you’re crawling into.

You’re still crawling fairly slowly, but a lot faster compared to your previous pace. You’re whining and groaning in pain and you feel the glass embedded deeply in your skin connect with even more glass. Your lower legs and toes are dragging glass behind you.

You feel the burning pain throughout your hands and legs, but you focus on moving your body forward. 

“Open your eyes.”

You ignore his demands. You’re doing what he’s asking of you and he has the audacity to ask for even more.

“Look at me when you crawl to me. I will not tell you again. Unless you’d like another… shock of encouragement.”

You raise your chin up from your chest and shakily look up at him, opening your eyes. He smiles at you for listening to him and you wanna rip his fucking face off.

Your heart sinks when you realize you’ve only crawled half way so far. The pain is absolutely nauseating and you’re choking down the bile that keeps rising in your throat. 

You begin crawling once again, vision blurry from the tears that are continuously falling.

All you feel is the agonizing pain as you force yourself to Leon’s blurry figure. You’re on the verge of passing out from the pain when you finally place yourself between his legs.

He runs his fingers through your tangled hair, almost soothingly. And you want so badly to jerk your head away, to run from his movements, but you can’t help but give yourself over to the gentle touch. His comfort somehow pulls you back down to Earth from your pain induced robotic state.

“Show me your hands, bunny.”

You go to push yourself up but red hot pain rages through your hands and knees, causing you to scream out in pain. Your body goes to collapse from the sheer exertion, but Leon is quick to catch you, steadying you and forcing you on your knees with your wrists in his hands.

You’re shaking as the glass embedded into your knees is forced deeper into your skin beneath your newly distributed weight. You take deep breaths as you adjust to the new level of pain. Bile fills your mouth, but you’re able to force it back down, the burning sensation of it only adding to your misery.

Your eyes open again after shutting in response to the pain. Your vision clears and you find Leon studying your destroyed hands.

Blood is still oozing from your countless wounds, shards of glass sticking out of your palms and fingers. Your hands and forearms are covered in blood, you can barely see your skin tone through the mess. Your hands are unrecognizable. 

He tsks as he continues to look over them. “These are useless to me now. Shame.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his words, not sure what the implications of his words are. He releases your wrists and you let your hands fall limply into your lap. When his hands move to his belt and he starts unbuckling it, you gasp and try to move away from him but are instantly met with sharp shooting pains in your legs from your injuries.

You’re stuck in place and there’s nothing you can do about it. Anything you could possibly need to do will require Leon’s help. Just how he planned it. 

Rope, duct tape, or any other typical restraints are so boring. Glass being embedded into your skin as you sit in your own blood? Now, that’s new and fascinating. You’re a cute little test subject for his vile thoughts and ideas.

He slides the zipper down his pants and you finally look down at what he’s doing. 

What the fuck? He’s hard, not just hard, but really fucking hard and about to pull his dick out right in your face.

Your throat is raw from your previous wailing so your words come out scratchy. “What, what are you doing?”

“Oh, baby… Look how hard you’ve made my cock. It’s only fair that you let me cream that tight, hot throat in return.”

“What?”

“Oh don’t be such a fucking prude.” He rolls his eyes as he stands before you, sliding his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out, his tip poking your lips. You attempt to pull your head back, but his hand is quick to grab onto your hair and push your face into his cock. You’re frantically trying to turn your face away from him, but it only has him gripping your hair impossibly tighter.

“Now, now. You don’t need another shock of encouragement do you?”

“N-no. Please.”

“Then start sucking. And don’t try anything smart because I am more than happy to shock your annoying little ass again.”

Before you can even prepare yourself, he’s pressing his fingers into your cheeks and forcing your mouth open, immediately shoving his cock into the back of your throat. You’re instantly gagging. And you’re already so close to throwing up that you’re certain you’re going to puke all over this man's dick.

“See, princess? You don’t want me to do it my way. So fucking behave and don’t stop until I’m creaming that fucking mouth.”

He pulls his dick out and you’re immediately running your tongue up and down his tip. You’re ready to do anything to keep him from choking you like that again. 

“Make me cum in less than two minutes and maybe I’ll consider sparing you.”

You suck his tip into your wet mouth, the taste of his precum flooding your taste buds.

“There ya go. You’re so hot, all dirty and bloody for me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum so fast. Pretty bunny has such a good mouth when she’s not running it.” He chuckles at his own words as you quickly bob your mouth up and down on his dick.

“Just like that. You ready to taste me, baby? Need to cream this throat.”  He speaks quickly as he starts to thrust, meeting every bob of your head. His grip in your hair tightens as his hips still and he holds his tip against the back of your throat.

You resist the urge to gag and cough as you feel his cum fill your throat. You think he’ll never be done when he finally pulls himself from your mouth and stuffs his cock back in his pants. He refastens his belt and turns to walk away, but stops and looks down at you.

“Here.” He grabs your shoulder, causing you to gasp, as he pushes you down to the floor, until you’re laying on your back. “I’ll spare you.”

And then he’s quickly leaving the house, confident that you’re not going anywhere anytime fast. You realize you’re in less pain being off your hands and knees and breathe a sigh of relief. Your weight is distributed better over the glass, so your back and legs only tingle and sting slightly.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re not sure how much time passes as you drift in and out of sleep, but when the front door finally opens, you can’t mask your excitement at Leon finally returning.

“Leon?” You call out in a happy, relieved voice.

“Hi, bunny. How are you doing?” His tone is lighter than you’ve ever heard it before and it fills you with hope.

“I’m gonna piss my pants, can you take me to the bathroom?” The back of your legs are getting badly cut up because you can’t keep your body still as your bladder throbs and aches.

“Sweetheart, you’re so silly.”

His tone is mocking. “What?” You're obviously confused and it has him shaking his head.

“That’s not my problem.”

“I can’t get up.” You whine out, praying he’ll give in and help you.

“I know,” he coos at you, “You’re gonna have to just piss yourself then. But don’t worry, I’ll stay here and watch.”

“What?” 

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It hurts so much.”

“And you know exactly what will relieve you of that pain don’t you?”

“But I can’t get myself up.”

“That’s too bad.”

You’re so fucking confused. You don’t understand what his game is here. It has to be about control, the humiliation it’ll bring you. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and try your best to pretend this isn’t happening, but the pain is only getting worse and worse.

“Bunny… Just relax. You’ll feel better if you just relax.”

“Fuck no, Leon. No fucking way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” You open your eyes and give him a dirty look. “I’m not going to lay on the floor in my own blood and piss! What’s wrong with you?”

He smiles as he shakes his head, “You don’t have a choice, baby.”

You don’t know what to say to him. What can you say? Beg for his help? Hope he actually cares? It’s all so useless. You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut and clenching every muscle in your body. This is so stupid, so fucking stupid.

“You really want my help?” Leon breaks the silence, pulling you from your thoughts.

You look up at him once again, “Please.”

“Okay, I’ll help you.” You breathe a sigh of relief. He’s going to help you, there’s some sort of hope. If he can find it in himself to help you now, maybe you’ll be okay. Maybe everything will fall into place.

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a familiar remote. Your eyes widen in shock, realizing what he’s about to do. “Wait, Leon, don’t-”

But you aren’t even able to finish your statement before the shocks are shooting into your body and every muscle tenses up in resistance. A few seconds feel like minutes before the pain stops and your body goes limp on the ground. Every muscle in your body softens.

Before you can even process what’s happening, before your mind even comes back to yourself, you register a warmth growing on your thighs and ass. The warmth spreads further as you come back to yourself.

The second you realize what’s happening, you wish you’d remained oblivious. You try to stop it, but your body is so weakened that you have no more control. 

You lay on the floor in your dried blood mixing with your hot piss. You’re no longer peeing, but the humiliation has tears welling up in your eyes.

The liquid starts to cool quickly in the chilly air and it has you shivering on the floor. It has you wishing you were dead.

Suddenly, Leon’s petting your head and hushing you. “You’re a good girl, you know that? Did such a good job for me.”

Your eyes dart up to his face. “What?”

“So pretty like this. All wet and helpless.” Your thighs clench together at the praise, furthering your humiliation. Leon notices immediately and smirks down at you. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

You whine as he lifts you in his arms. You’re slack in his arms because of the extensive injuries to your body. You feel your piss soaked body pressed against him and knowing your piss is getting on him makes you wanna vomit.

But that’s not the only thing you feel. This time it’s a lot less surprising, but doesn’t make things make any more sense. His erection pressed against your ass and you don’t have the energy to point it out or try to push yourself away from it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Thankfully, not a whole lot of glass is embedded in the skin of your back, so you can happily lay in the blankets piled on top of the mattress without causing yourself any more pain.

You lay with your arms against your sides, avoiding making contact with your hands. Every time you look at your hands, your stomach twists and turns at the deformed skin. They’re cut to shit and glass shards stick out haphazardly all throughout the skin.

“Are you comfortable?” Leon asks as he runs a cold, wet washcloth across your forehead.

“As comfortable as I can be.”

“Good, good.” Leon gets up and walks across the room. You let your eyes fall shut, your body crying out for blissful sleep.

You hear Leon’s footsteps approach your bedside, not bothering to open your eyes. You’re not even sure you could open your eyes if you wanted to.

“Baby, keep your eyes shut for me, alright?” You nod as he softly caresses your cheek, pushing your hair from your face. 

“Can you stick your tongue out for me? I got a surprise for you.” You hum in response, too tired to question him. But you couldn’t help the hope growing in your stomach at the thought he might finally give you some water or food.

You lol your tongue out as far as you can and feel him grab it with his thumb and pointer finger. He grips it tightly. You’re not sure why he’s doing it, but once again, you’re too exhausted to question him or resist it.

“This will be quick.” 

You make a “huh” sound as best as you can with your tongue in its current position, and that’s when you hear a disgusting snip sound followed by squelching. 

You start screaming as excruciating pain sets in. Your screams are cut short as you start choking on your own blood, the liquid pouring from the wound and slipping down your throat.

Leon grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a sitting position, allowing the blood to pour down your chin rather than your throat. Your body is shaking from the pain, you’re on the verge of passing out, feeling the darkness creeping up on you, awaiting to consume you completely.

“There you go, baby. I got rid of the thing that causes you the most trouble. You’re perfect now.”

Your tears pour down your face, mixing with the blood coming from your mouth. You look down at the bedspread in front of you and the sight of your severed tongue has your vision going foggy. You let out one final cry before passing out from the pain and blood loss.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It’s been fourteen years, but you still remember it like it was yesterday. You relive those events every fucking day of your miserable existence. It doesn’t help that you have optimal time to think about it in your small prison cell on death row.

Of course he handed you over to the police with some elaborate story on how he found you out and when he confronted you, you went crazy and mutilated yourself. And of course, you can’t properly defend yourself, considering he took your fucking tongue. You could write out your claims of innocence over and over, but how could you possibly convey it with words alone?

Leon framed you for all of the murders. Planted all the evidence at your apartment and in your car, “finding” all the overlooked leads in your office. It was a pretty open and shut case. Took the jury less than an hour to find you guilty and for you to get sentenced to death.

Tomorrow’s the day. You’ll finally get the lethal injection and be free from your own personal purgatory. You’re confined to a prison cell by yourself 24/7 considering if you show your face outside of it, other inmates are instantly on you. You’re America’s most brutal female serial killer, how could they not want to kill you?

It’d be too easy if the prison would just let the other inmates go through with it. Just put you out of your misery and throw your body into the prison’s graveyard. But no. No amount of suffering will ever be enough to pay for “your” crimes.

You hate yourself. You look at your unrecognizable, mutilated hands and all you can do is sigh as you slip one down between your spread thighs to relieve the ache you feel between them.

In your line of work, you were well aware that trauma could cross wires in your brain. You can’t control your trauma responses. But the fact that your pussy is always soaking wet when you think about his dick in your mouth and the praising words he spoke to you is torture in itself.

You try to think of anything else, anything else at all. Even when your fantasies don’t revolve around that man, you can’t get yourself off without thinking of what he did to you. 

As you lay in bed, shirt stuffed between your teeth to silence your sounds, you feel your climax grow closer and closer and his face above you is all you can see. And no matter how many times you go over it with yourself, telling yourself it’s a trauma response, you know the truth. You know that deep down you loved what he did to you and the only thing that makes you so angry is the fact that he put you here.

Here in this cold, lonely cell to waste away for the rest of your days. Leaving you with a heart, soul, and cunt that aches for him. You know what he’s done and you hate it, but you can’t bring yourself to hate him.

And as your wetness runs down your fingers, coating your palm in the proof of exactly what he does to you, all you can think about is that fucking day. You’re going to die tomorrow and here you are touching yourself to the man that put you here.

Your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a shaking and shivering mess in your threadbear sheets on your paper thin cot. It’d be so much easier to hate him, but you have the curse of hating yourself instead. 

Tomorrow you will die and pay for your crimes. And maybe the crimes you’ll be dying for aren’t yours, but you still deserve to pay for being so fucked in the head. So you’re happy, almost giddy to be dying tomorrow. 

Maybe you’ve gone mad, or maybe you were always mad to begin with and it took him coming along to pull it out of you. Either way, not like it fucking matters. You’ll still be dead and he’ll still be a free man. But you caught the killer and for that, you’ll always be a good fucking detective. 

~masterlist~

[romeosharpae]

“NEVER CHANGING”

theodore nott x reader

last and final part of this series!!! another series is on the way but not sure when though... it's lowkey funny that i wrote that first post in 2022 and now it's 2024.. enjoy though!!

content warnings : cursing, mature language, explicit adult content, rough sex, make up sex, hate sex? (i don't know y'all theo's gone feral), kind-of toxic! theodore nott.

word count: somewhere in the 5k’s

let’s all be happy this part one took 2 months!!

parts : 1,2,3-

Some things just never changed, huh?

Your eyes searched around the crowded ball room and that sentence constantly replayed in your head. The entire thing was cliche, and humbly, you thought you were really above all of it. To avoid vomiting from annoyance, you bring the fleet of champagne in your hands up to your lips and take a long sip.

Standing aside you was boasting your mother and father. The ending of the war was a celebration for new beginnings! Or that's what your father declared in the multiple letter's that he wrote you. Though you knew that wasn't the actual reasoning behind your father's sudden urge to party; He had been trialed for being in cahoots with Voldemort.. and luckily, he was proven guilty. But the concept that you couldn't grasp was why your family wanted to celebrate with a party, it's not like the moment these people walked out of your childhood home that your mother wouldn't judge everything about them. Despite your disagreement of this you were unfortunately still in attendance, wearing an expensive black dress that nicely hugged your curves with your hair neatly pinned up.

Truthfully, if it hadn't been for your father's threat you wouldn't be here. You smiled when the twenty-seventh person approached your parents tonight and engaged in a meaningless conversation. Very rarely did any of the guest direct words towards you, and you really didn't even care because this was probably the last time you'd see most of them.

"Ah! Y/N, I almost didn't recognize you." The women spoke awkwardly, a fake smile slapped on her face. "How has things been going for you abroad?"

"Fine, Thanks for asking."

Before you even finished speaking the women turned back to your parents. About 3/4 into your sixth school year at Hogwarts you made the decision to go and study abroad, well, your parents knew that Hogwarts was in shambles and no longer wanted you there, so they sent you to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You didn't put up much of a fight because you always wanted to travel the world, and on top of that there were things that you needed to detach yourself with at Hogwarts. So, for the past three years of your life, you've been living happily between Italy, France, and America. Ironically, your extremely rich father funded that and threatened to stop doing so if you didn't show up tonight.

So here you were, sipping through endless champagne as you were surrounded by stereotypical aristocratic purebloods. It reminded you of when you were still in school.. you hated it then and even more now.

"Excuse me, I need some air."

Your parents didn't pay much attention to your words, far to engaged in their conversation. You took another sip of your beverage as you stepped outside of the ballroom and onto the balcony. There was a part of you that missed England while there was another that didn't -- Your life was filled with so much diversity now. You traveled, met new people, ate new food, learned about cultures… everything! But you still missed your home,

Or at least that's what you tell yourself it is.

In your heart, although you were often belittled for your lack of "accomplishments" you absolutely loved traveling the world. But sometimes when you were lying in bed, staring at the celling in silence, you couldn't but to feel sometimes that there was a void that needed to be filled. It was almost like your mind and body feened for something that you couldn't actually make out.

"…Y/N?" The deepness of the voice almost has you thinking it's your father.

With a bull-crap apology sitting on the tip of your tongue you twisted your body to where the sound come from. To your surprise it wasn't your father here to scowl you… it was the last person you needed to see. Your apology swallowed back down, along with every insult you promised yourself to throw Theodore's way the next time you crossed paths. The familiar deep blue gaze and beautifully structured features had your stomach falling your feet. Were you seeing things? Or dreaming?

Why would your parents invite Theodore Nott to your home? They always wanted the two of you together and perhaps that's why they allowed him to take advantage of your naiveness for so long, but you expressed when they wrote you about him three years ago that you wanted zero involvements with the brunette.

Recalling how he emotionally drained you years ago have goosebumps spreading across your skin. Recalling your emotional breakdown in the common room that night makes you more uneasy. The only thing that comforted you was the promised that you made and kept so far, since that night in the common room Theodore Nott never had you again. Not as a lover, as a friend, as an acquaintance… nothing! For the first few weeks it was hard, you missed him because you loved him, but seeing the smugness on his face in the great hall that declared "she'll be back" kept you from going back. Then eventually you left, and your healing became much easier.

"Hi Theo." You softly greet. "You look Good."

You were telling the truth, the brunette looked extremely handsome tonight. His brunette hair was styled in a way that you never seen before but liked and the suit he wore was black. You couldn't help but to think that in a way, the two of you almost looked like you came to this party together.

The brunette pays your compliment no mind, eyes simply piercing into yours, and he wore an expression like maybe he thought he was seeing things or dreaming. The intensity behind his eyes has shivers rolling down your spine -- There was a moment in time when that would've turned you into puddy but now the effect wasn't that strong. Ironically, there was a moment in time when you never could've imagined not talking to Theodore for three minutes let alone three years.

"There you are, Y/N. Come back inside."

Your mothers voice rang through your ears. When you turn around, she's standing at the entrance of the balcony, shooting you a disappointed look. Her eyes than snapped to Theodore who was still staring at you, "What a pleasant surprise, Hello Theodore!"

Your mother wore a smile that lets you know that she purposefully invited the brunette against your wishes. You scoffed, underneath your breath and folded your arms over your chest. Theodore continued staring at you, distracting himself from what your mother was saying.

After taking the hint that Theodore probably wasn't in the right mind to give a response your mother stepped back into the party. There was something deep inside of you that didn't want to leave Theodore standing out here, it was telling you to talk to him. For closure? Or perhaps a better understanding? You didn't know. Eventually you followed behind your mother and stepped into the party, but you couldn't help but to look over your shoulder,

"It was nice seeing you" You cooed.

And before he got a chance to respond your lost in the herd of people.

The next time that encountered Theodore Nott was just as unexpected as the last. Your mother had convinced you to stay in town for a couple of days extra, you easily agreed. Being your mothers only child came with self-inflicted guilt growing, your father was always working, so aside from the house elf's (Which you didn't have any more thanks to Hermione Granger) your mother was at the house alone all of the time. So, when she asked you stay a few days after the party, even though your gut was telling you no, you did. Plus, you didn't really have anything to do for the next week anyways you really didn't mind.

You were walking into your favorite muggle bistro, inhaling the sweet smell of fresh baked goods. Pansy Parkinson and you always made stops here during the summer for the delicious Angel Cake and ever since you step foot in England you've been craving it. Luckily for you your mother had been at some book club for pureblood housewives this evening, so you were able to go without being criticized for eating from muggles.

You laugh to yourself as you remembered that the last time you came here three years ago. Theodore and you drank so many frapes that your stomach hurt from all of the sweetness. Merlin, although he was horrible to you it was the best when he was good. Remembering the good times for you were hard, mainly because you had to bombard your head with the bad ones to be able to fully get over your attachment to him.

The look that he gave you at the party played through your head like a broken record. You wondered; did he finally realize what he lost after all these years? Did he finally value you as much as you did him back then? It was far too late for all of that.

"Y/N? is that you?!" A voice chirped.

Looking over your eyes immediately lit up at the sight of the bistro's owner daughter. When you used to visit the shop, she'd always insert herself in you and Theodore's conversations, he found it irritating while you thought it was cute because she was so much younger. The small curly head girl ran to you, wrapping her arms around your waist as she embraced you.

"Hi, how have you been?"

"Good! Sit down, I'll go put your order in." The ten-year-old girl dragged you to sit down at the counter, "Same thing, right?"

You smiled, "You know it."

The little girl's hair bounced off her shoulders as she ran into the back, smiling ear to ear. You sat down on the stool, picking up a menu to see of they've put anything new that you'd like to try on there.

You didn't pay much attention as someone came and took a seat beside you, an empty stool between the too. The Frangrance that your nose caught a whiff has your heartbeat picking up… and you didn't understand why because your mind hadn't processed it at first.

"How can I help you?" The waitress asked.

"Can I get a slice of Angel Cake and then a medium Carmel Latte with extra whipped cream, please."

The order makes your ears perk up and finally draws your eyes away from the menu. Ironically enough, that was your same exact that you've been getting from this bistro since you discovered it at the age of twelve. You smiled, "Hey, that's my exact order t--,"

"--Theodore?"

His eyes flew to you the second he heard your voice. Why is Theodore ordering your order? He used to act like this place was the worse now he's coming here voluntarily to eat their food. His blue eyes pierced into yours, and for about two minutes the two of you just stared at each other. You hoped he wouldn't just stare at you like he'd done at the party… It made you nervous. You humorlessly chuckled, gesturing to him,

"I thought you didn't like it." You smiled.

"Yeah, I don't."

"Yeah, why are you buying it then?"

Theodore didn't give you an immediate answer and it makes your stomach twist. You'd spent three years getting over him, why were you so nervous now? The brunette cocked his head, rolling his tongue inside of his cheek before chuckling, his much more humorless than yours.

"Because when you came back, I wanted it to be a shortage of Angel cake, so you'd regret leaving."

"Nothing would make me regret leaving."

Coming back to a shortage of this bistro's Angel Cake probably make you flip out but not make you regret leaving. Truthfully, you don't think nothing would make you regret leaving your six years because deep down you know that had you stayed, Theodore would still be dragging you along like some dog.

He knew that to and perhaps that's why there's fury burning behind his eyes as he looked at you. Yeah, you left without saying anything to him, but it was laughable to you that Theodore wore an expression like you betrayed him by ripping his heart out and stomping on it. You couldn't understand why he didn't grasp the concept that he's the reasoning behind your split… you can't even say break up because you were never in a relationship.

"I've written you eight hundred and thirty-seven times."

"I know." You admit.

"You didn't write back."

"I had nothing to say to you, Theodore."

That was the God honest truth. All of the letters that Theodore had written you from the time you left to about three ago were stuffed in a kitchen cupboard in your flat along. It wasn't like you didn't want to read them, it's just that you knew that you couldn't read them for your own sanity.

Theodore wasn't as calm and collected as you were, he snaps, "And why is that?"

"I'm not going to argue with you." You shrugged. "We're too old for that now, don't you think?"

"Okay let's talk then, Y/N. Let's talk like two civilized adults."

"There's no point in that, Theodore."

A large smile spreads across your face when the young girl brought your desserts out. Following behind her was a different girl with the identical thing for Theodore who was now looking at you like you were talking nonsense. If looks could killed, you'd be lifeless on the floor from the way that Theodore eyes were staring at you. When the dessert was placed in front of you you wasted no time digging your fork into it and breaking off a piece.

"Yes, there is because my feelings for you are never changing, Y/N."

Theodore was trying so hard to get you to fold, but you weren't. It almost sounded believable, but luckily enough you know that Theodore loved to pillow talk and get you exactly where he wants you.

"Okay."

"You don't care anymore."

Theodore spoke the words in a way that lets you know that he wasn't asking you, he was saying it like it was a fact. Your nonchalant attitude was fueling his thinking of that and that brought you satisfaction. To say that your fully over the brunette would be 100% percent lying so you wouldn't say it. You missed him, you shouldn't, but you did.

"Yeah, because you never did." You argued.

"I always did."

You sighed, "I don't want to talk about this anymore Theodore."

"So, you just disappear for three years and now you wanna cry because I want answers, Y/N?--,"

You couldn't believe the words that had just left his mouth. He couldn't be serious right now… you were the villain for leaving? Unknowingly, you stood up to your feet, "Real typical of you to invalidate my feelings and prioritize yourself, Theodore! You want me to sit here and listen to your feelings like you literally didn't break my heart."

"You don't deserve answers."

"I'm sorry."

For the first time, those words sounded genuine leaving Theodores mouth. It almost makes you want to give in, feeling like you've finally proved your point by hurting him back... then you realized two words weren't enough. Two words couldn’t even compare to emotions that you felt when Theodore broke your heart three years ago... it wasn’t enough.

It wasn't enough to forget the fact that he practically used you for his own pleasure, disregarding the emotional attachment that you were beginning to develop.

"What can I do to make you forgive me?"

"Theo--"

"Y/N." He interrupts.

What could Theodore do to make you forgive him? Were you even in the proper mindset to forgive Theodore Nott for the troubles that he put you in? You we're sure, if you were, you're not sure that you wanted to forgive Theodore.

The way that Theodore and you were just staring at each other caused the body hair on your arms to stick up. It felt awfully weird seeing the same cold green gaze from three years ago be filled up with so many emotions now. You heaved out a deep sigh, eyes pulling away from his and onto your drink. You only look back when Theodore placed a hand on your leg, basically sending a shockwave through your body.

"One more chance, Y/N."

You blinked, "Do you even think that you deserve one more chance…?"

"No."

All you could do was hum in response to Theodore. At least the brunette was finally being truthful to you, well, that was the least that he could do after all of these years. You took a bite from your Angel Cake, no longer seeing the point in participating in this conversation with your ex-lover.

"I know that I don't deserve another chance Y/N… but--" Theodore shoots out. "Please."

"I was sixteen--"

"Yeah, so was I Theodore but I had enough common sense to string someone along for an entire year." You sighed, shaking your head. "What do you want from me Theodore? I just don't understand."

"I want you to let me show you that I've grown Y/N. Look, I know that I took you for granted and I'm sorry that it took you leaving for me to realize that I need to show that I cared--"

"I accept your apology Theodore, I do."

"You do?"

You were never really the one to hold grudges and Theodore was aware of that, so you didn't understand the shock behind his eyes. Of course, you didn't hate Theodore, no matter how hard you tried you just couldn't. Your mind would always flashback to Theodore's confessions to you, how broken he was and how that might be the reason he treated you the way he did. Back then that excuse made sense, now it was almost laughable; Theodore's trauma wasn't the reason he behaved so nonchalantly towards you, he did it because he wanted to and thought you would never stand against it.

"Of Course."

With that you stand to your feet, grabbing onto your frappe. You sent Theodore a small smile, mainly because you were leaving him to pay your bill, before walking out of the Bistro.

The week that you promised your mother that you spend with her went by in a flash. Hopefully by this time tomorrow you’d be inside of your Flat in Rome, laying on your couch and binge watching your favorite muggle series.

But at this time today you were standing in the corner of a crowded party, watching as Pansy Parkinson basically dry-humped Draco on the dance floor.

Pansy spent the entire day with you doing meaningless nostalgic stuff that the two of you did during your time at Hogwarts. You didn’t understand why she decided to hang out with you your last day but the answer came to you eventually when she mentioned a party being thrown tonight in honor of Blaise Zabini’s 20th birthday. She knew you were more likely to go had she been in your face pleading rather than her asking over the phone.

There were numerous of reason why you didn’t want to attend tonight’s party. For starters you knew there was a good chance you’d see people you attended Hogwarts with and they’d question you about your disappearance. That was a conversation that you’d rather avoid because you knew they already assumed it had everything to do with Theodore Nott. Secondly, you knew that this party would consume of nothing but Slytherin’s which you had nothing in common with but having wealthy pureblood supremacist parents. And your last reason was shamelessly staring right at you over the brim of their red cup.

You learned a long time ago that Wherever there was Blaise Zabini there was Theodore Nott not to far behind. So when Pansy mentioned the get together you automatically began spewing up excuses of not wanting to go that didn’t include the tall brunette. You were so determined on not going but there was apart of you that felt guilty; You just disappeared and now you were declining her offer to hang out because of your own selfish reasons.

And that’s you ended up here, standing in the corner watching as Draco and Pansy danced while being eyed like prey.

Theodore’s staring makes you nervous in undeniable ways… so nervous that you feel the sudden urge to use the bathroom. You almost felt pathetic, you weren’t sixteen years old anymore so why would you get so nervous over a look? Sighing softly you turned on your feet and made your way to the restroom. According to Pansy the party was being thrown in Blaise’s flat but you’d considered it more of a penthouse than flat. It peered over the beautiful city of London, giving you in sight of what was taking place on the streets.

It takes you about five minutes to handle your business inside of the lavatory. Before stepping out you fix yourself up, ensuring that you don’t look as nervous as you feel. When you pulled the door open, hands still damp from your wash a gasp left your lips at the unexpected figure standing in front of the door.

“Why are you following me?” You grumbled lowly.

“This is my home, Y/N. I’ll go anywhere I please without being questioned.” Theodore’s snappy tone makes your eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Whatever.”

You tried to move out of the bathroom but Theodore just stepped in front of you. Your body shifted in the other direction and he blocked you once again. With squinted eyes you stared up at him once again, “What do you want?”

Theodore took a step closer to you, reducing the space between the two of you until there was none left. For some reason you were stuck, not being able to take a step back to open the space again. Goosebumps rise across your skin, being this close to Theodore did something unexpected to your body. You were scared, knowing that despite your rejection of giving him another chance that you’d allow Theodore to take you on right here if he did the right thing.

“I miss you.”

You sighed deeply, “Theodore we don’t need to keep having this conversat--"

“But we do because you don’t believe me.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe that Theodore Nott missed you in the past three years.. it’s that you knew you shouldn’t believe that Theodore Nott missed you. You couldn’t understand what else the brunette could want from you, He’d taken your pride, dignity, and ability to want anyone else but him. And here he was standing with desire laced in his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Theodore gently said, taking your hand inside of his. “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head and looked away, feeling the pace of your heart pick up immediately at his convincing words. Theodore quickly grabbed onto your face and turned you back to meet his low green eyes.

“Please Y/N?”

“You’re gonna hurt me again!” You shouted in an unfamiliar tone. “Why are you doing this? Why do you keep doing this?” Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes and your fingers tried to pry his hands off of you but he wouldn’t budge. “You’re so Selfish!”

Theodore had always been self when it comes down to you. Freaking out when you made other male friends, playing the hot and cold game, But this right here was another degree of selfishness coming from him—Theodore knew that he hurt you horribly and that you’ve spent the past three years trying to get over from that hurt. So for him to come after realizing that he could not in fact find someone better than you.. it was selfish.

“I know.” He admits.

A single tear slipped from your eyes, recalling the pain from everything that Theodore had put you through and the fact that you still loved him. It hurts your mind, your body, and your soul. Theodore’s quick in swiping the tear away from the skin of your cheek, you found it funny that after all of these years he was still able to wipe away the tears that he caused. Suddenly, He shushed your quiet cries by pressing his soft lips against yours.

And Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest at the taste of the brunette back on your lips. While your mind was telling you to push him away, telling you to stop him, but the way that he kissed you made your body crave otherwise.

Perhaps that’s why you’re eagerly wrapped your legs around his waist when he reached underneath your knees to pick you up. You gasped when his hard erection pressed against his lower half and with your mouth opened Theodore takes his chance to slide his entire tongue inside of your mouth.

The two of you continued your sloppy make out session as he carried you inside of his bedroom. After this all of your built up self-respect from the past three might as well go down the drain and truthfully you’re not sure that you cared. Your legs felt weak from arousal when Theodore sat down on his bed with you straddling him.

You gasped from pleasure when his mouth trailed down your neck. Theodore’s kisses were filled with desperation and you could tell how much he wanted you. While one of his hand he lifted your hips up and the other flys to the button of his pants. Sometimes you got annoyed with Theodore’s lack of foreplay during the heat of the moment.. but right now all you wanted was for him to be inside of you.

Need filled your stomach to the brim while your hands yanked your dress up and pulling your underwear to the side. Drool nearly slipped past your lips when you caught glimpse of Theodore’s freed thick cock, precum leaking from the tip.

His lips caught yours in a kiss again, a moan slipped past your lips when he begins rubbing the tip of himself against you a few time, collecting your wetness.

Before you could brace yourself he was pushing the head of himself inside, the familiar stretch has your body burning and your legs practically spasming.

“Stay still, Y/L/N” Theodore groaned.

Although you wanted to listened to him you just couldn’t. Truthfully, you hooked with a couple of euro boys but they didn’t even half-compare to Theodore Nott. The pleasure spreading across your body has your head spinning.

“Goodness, I’ve missed you so much.” Theodore grunted huskily. “Ugh--I hate it when you keep this away from me.” The pace of him thrusting into you picked up and the sharp pain of his fingernails digging into your skin as he kept your waist in place wasn’t even noticeable,

You’ve missed this so much.

Your fingers slide up from Theodore’s frame, you placed your hands around his face and he shuddered. An unexpected vulnerability filled his eyes while he moaned that almost caused you to close yours. You were token aback by it, your walls fluttering around him.

“I won’t hurt you again.”

“Theodore… Please--,” You gasped, barely catching your breath to speak to him. “--Don’t.”

You couldn’t handle hearing Theodore’s pillow-talk right now. Him lying about going to be better was something you couldn’t handle..Something that this intimate moment couldn’t handle. Your eyes fell close when he pulled you in for another wet open-mouthed kiss.

“Don’t what?” He hummed.

Theodore ran his hand through your hair. You couldn’t form a response, truthfully you’d forgotten that the brunette even asked you something. But clearly that didn’t please him because Theodore suddenly rolled the two of you over. Your body was now pinned underneath him, completely vulnerable to whatever strokes he wanted to give you.

And clearly they weren’t nice ones…

Suddenly, there was a change in Theodore’s thrusting. It was rougher, animalistic almost. You weakly pushed against his stomach, small whimpers leaving your lips at every hateful thrust he gave you.

“Look at me,” He growled, grabbing onto your neck and forcing you to look at him. The way that Theodore drives himself into you has your eyes watering, tears streaming down your face, so he was a bit blurry. “Don’t do what?”

The hard squeeze that he gives your throat has you spiraling. You hiccuped, eyes rolling in the back of your head, toes flexing as you came.

“Yeah, Just like that.” Theodore begins guiding you through your orgasm, thrust becoming deeper yet still rough.

“--Theo,” You panted his name.

“Yeah, Theo.” He mocked you. “That’s who’s fucking You.”

Despite you being stuck underneath him, you squirmed at his tone. You already sensed the possessive words he’s about to spew and you’re sure it would send you cumming once again.

“That’s who’s always gonna fuck you, Y/N. Me.” He practically growled in your face, forcing you to keep eye contact with him.

“You don’t wanna hear that I’m sorry? I don’t care because you need to, I’m sorry that it took me this long to realize it but I do love you.”

You moaned but it was overpowered by the sound of Theodore moaning in your ears. Overstimulation filled your body as Theodore finally came undone, spilling his cum inside of you. Your fingernails dig deep into his back while he snapped his hips at yours, drilling his release deep inside of you.

With a grunt, Theodore smashed his mouth against yours in a sensual kiss. He mummers against your mouth, “I’m gonna change, I promise.”

taglist: @jeyusosgirl @rae-pottah @abeltownshipslittlebitch

[yesimwriting]

Promise

a/n yes im using the princess! reader who's about to be forced into a political marriage with anakin again,, and what about it the vibe is so fun to me, also i love jealous anakin

warnings: 18+!!! smut (he broke me down) written by someone whose only experience comes from fanfics, so pls be nice,, also written in 1st person bc that was the vibe when i started and i didn't realize this was going to get smutty (i'm sorry yall😭 it's still my best tense)

Summary: As a princess, your future is set in stone. You'll marry someone your father picks for you to aid your country. All of this you've accepted...until you befriend Anakin Skywalker, who was originally assigned to guard you during a time of political unrest on your home planet.

----

He's still near the door, arms crossed and expression as stoic as it was when he first interrupted my meeting to escort me to an urgent consultation with my father.

I understand that publicly we need to remain as indifferent as physically possible and that any sort of friendliness we display needs to seem completely surface level. But we're not in public anymore and usually the transition from appropriate indifference to something much warmer is instant.

"...How urgent is urgent?"

The question is more for our sake than anything else. I want to hear his voice outside of the stiff way he interrupted the meeting with that last suitor. He had barely looked at me as he mumbled something about my father. I want it to feel light the way it usually does between us. I want him to make one of those jokes that always has me rolling my eyes or to smile or--or to do anything that makes him feel like Anakin.

The urge to study him begins to make it hard to just stand there so I turn towards my vanity. What I'm wearing isn't exactly inappropriate for a closed door meeting, but it's more formal than I'd like and a little itchy. If I have time to change into something more standard, I'll take it. "If I call Raina in here I can be in something a lot more comfortable in five minutes."

No response. I smooth my hair back with my palms, eyes subtly shifting towards his reflection in the mirror. Anakin's taken the slightest step forward. "Anakin?"

His head tilts downwards, eyes briefly meeting mine in the mirror before darting away. There's something about the way he's holding himself that would feel bashful it was less stiff. "There is no meeting."

"What?" My head instinctually snaps in his direction. Anakin's already watching me. "You--you made up an emergency?"

This is--Anakin interrupted a meeting with the first suitor that didn't make my skin crawl. I wouldn't have been thrilled to walk down the aisle with him, but I could have likely learned to be content with him. At least he believes that women can do more than just be brides and raise children. He'd allow me to participate in some community work to bond with his people and I'd be able to visit home.

But that's besides the point. He could have been the most repulsive candidate my father had found for me and it still wouldn't have justified what Anakin did. I don't walk out of meetings. Ever. If my father finds out about this...

"Do you have any idea what my father will do if he finds out?" I sit the edge of my vanity's seat with a tired sigh. There has to be some excuse. I could blame it on sickness or a misunderstand or--

"Then I'll take the blame." Anakin's words pull me out of my thoughts. His voice is still stiff and lacking its usual warmth in a way that only adds to my unease. Why is he acting like this? "I'll tell him that it was my fault and that I misunderstood your schedule debriefing."

My fingers dig into the soft fabric of my dress that's pooling over the seat. "Don't." My voice sounds so small, so vulnerable I have to hate myself for it. "He might take that the wrong way and--" I exhale slowly, forcing myself to cling to rationality. "And he might arrange your removal."

Anakin scoffs. What is his issue? "Like that'd bother you."

My throat tightens. After everything we've been through, after telling him things that I've never been able to tell anyone...How can he just dismiss all of it? And why is he being so mean? "What?"

"You've found your ideal suitor and now you can get married and be sent away and never--" Anakin cuts himself off, eyes tearing away so quickly like there's painful about looking at me. "You don't need me anymore."

Oh. That's what this is about. "Anakin." He's staring at some distant point on my wall. "That's not true. You know it isn't."

Everything about him remains stiff. "You were smiling." He briefly glances at me, eyebrows drawn together so sharply it tugs at something in my chest. "A real smile, not your practiced one." Anakin lets out a sigh that feels as pointed as a sarcastic laugh. "And you laughed."

"What?" I'm not miserable in one meeting and now he's acting like I hate him. "I--I might have been making the best of it because he's the first suitor who didn't spend the entire time listing off the requirements for his bride, but that isn't the same as liking him." And even if I liked him, would that be such a terrible thing? Would it really undermine our entire friendship if I found a way to be married and not miserable? "I'm going to have to marry one of them at some point, and I d--"

"Don't marry him." Anakin blurts the sentence out in one wavering breath. The letters run together so closely it feels more like a single word.

For a moment, all the shaky request does is sit between us. I've been on several outings and meetings with potential suitors and Anakin's never reacted like this. What was so wrong about this last one? "Don't marry him? What do--"

Anakin's eyes finally meet mine. The way he's looking at me stings, all glossy eyes and a pouty frown that's trying its best to be harsh. He seems more pained than angry and that's somehow worse.

Don't marry him. The words too strained and small to be about just the man from earlier. Don't marry him means don't marry any of them.

Oh.

I scratch the back of my wrist as Anakin's eyes drop to the ground. He knows that I have no interest in marrying for my father, but even if I did, why would that bother him?

With a sigh, I push myself to stand. Why it upsets him doesn't matter. So much is already weighing on him.

Anakin doesn't look up as I start walking towards him. "I--I can't promise that." My nails dig into the skin of my palm. "I wish I could." The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. "But it doesn't matter." Anakin's rigid as I carefully extend my hand and bend my fingers against his forearm. "You're always going to be important to me."

He pulls his arm forward instinctually. My hold on him loosens, but before I can take my hand back, Anakin adjusts his to squeeze mine. He's holding on just tight enough for it to feel uncomfortable, but I don't mind it. It's grounding.

"Until you're married." He's staring at where our hands sit between us. There's something I should say, something comforting and easing. Nothing's coming to mind. The reality of the situation is set in stone. I'll have to marry eventually and that--that will change things. But it'll never change the way I feel about Anakin.

Anakin, who always listens when I need to purge all of the resentment about the rules that control my life. Anakin, who sits with me when I can't sleep. Anakin, who has the worst sense of humor that can always pull a smile from me even when it feels impossible.

He moves our hands, releasing my hand at my side. The brief loss of contact makes my ribs feel cracked. "No." It's instinctual. "It's--" I reach forward, hand reaching for his arm. "You're the only person I can tell anything to, the only one that never expects anything from me and just--just likes me for who I am."

The realization that Anakin might be the only true friend I've ever had hits me hard and fast. All of that and a part of me has always been selfish enough to imagine what it'd be like to live in a different world that could allow for more. Though, that's barely been a thought that I've allowed myself to have. Neither of us are in a position to get attached to anyone in that way, and even if we were, Anakin wouldn't see me that way. Besides, his friendship is no small thing, so it definitely takes the sting out of the impossible.

"Who wouldn't?" The comment comes out so soft, so absentminded I nearly melt on the spot.

A lifetime of being a daughter instead of a son has a reflexive a lot of people attempting to crawl up my throat. I swallow the bitterness like bile before I can make this about me and settle on a much lighter, "You'd be surprised."

Any lift in his expression falls again. "You don't see it."

I do try to think about it, but nothing that makes sense comes to mind. "See what?" Anakin pauses, lips pressing together. I'm expecting some kind of response. Instead, Anakin shakes his head once dismissively. "Tell me." His lack of response has me gently shoving his shoulder. "I thought we didn't keep secrets."

He lets out a small breath, we're so close I can feel the warmth of it against my skin. "It's nothing." When my only reaction is to glare, he reaches for my hand. "I don't want to talk about them anymore."

Strange. What does whatever he's talking about have to do with what we were talking about? Yes, the suitors want to court me but they want me the same way they want an ornament or my father's leniency in a business deal. Before I can remind him of this, his hand finds my shoulder.

If Anakin notices the way I freeze, he gives no indication of it, he just trails his thumb up and down the start of my collarbone. It's not the first time he's done this, but until now the gesture has been reserved for late nights when I can't sleep. I'm so used to it being soothing that it immediately gets rid of any fight in my system.

"You've had more meetings recently."

I nod, still too focused on the feeling of his hand on my shoulder. "It's a busy time...celebration season is always elaborate, and things are...tense."

He nods. If there's one thing he knows about, it's the precariousness that seems to be reaching everyone these days. But my time with Anakin is limited. He's been assigned to be my personal guard during the celebration season since the year a political protestor took my mother's life. The season always feels like it will be long, but time always slips away quicker than it should when it comes to Anakin.

I know I shouldn't do this. He doesn't need any type of encouragement after what happened at today's meeting, but something's clearly been weighing on him and I do miss him. The additional events, the public outings, the suitors...all to save face as the threat of war continues to become a more pressing issue. "My father had most of my afternoon blocked off in case that last suitor wanted extra time."

Anakin frowns, his thumb stopping its outlined path across my shoulder. He is so dramatic. "I shouldn't be telling you this because it might sound like I approve of you making up an emergency, but if you don't have anything to do, we can catch up."

He tilts his head, a hint of a smile turning up the corner of his lips. "Catch up? We're together all day."

I extend an arm, gently pushing him. First, he basically throws a fit because he convinced himself it was possible for me to like a suitor more than him, and now that I want to do something with him, he's trying to make fun of me. "I mean about before you came here. We've barely had time to talk since you've gotten back."

"Okay," his thumb brushes back down where my collarbone meets my shoulder, "We can talk." He squeezes my shoulder before retracting his hand. "The garden or the library?"

Our two most frequented spots. I grin. "The garden, the weather's nice today." He smiles, taking a step back. "Give me a minute to change. I turn away from him, walking towards my closet. "I've been ready to take off this dress since Raina put me in it this morning."

Raina spent longer than a minute trapping me in between scratchy fabric and a stiffly structured top. All of those ties and buttons that I still can't reach. Ugh. I wonder if calling Raina in will lead to more attention being drawn to the fact that I left early. Technically, the official meeting would likely be over by now but my father wanted it to go well. He kept things open in hopes of it lasting a little longer.

It's probably better not to ask. Drawing any attention to me and Anakin isn't the best idea in general. We're good friends, which is okay in front of some people but wrong in front of others. Raina is a little skeptical. It's nothing personal against Anakin, she just knows me too well, which means she reads into things.

I stretch my arm back as far as it'll go and manage to undo the bottom of the lacing and a few buttons. Anything that's more than halfway up my back is impossible to get to. I twist and turn and push and I can't reach.

"Everything alright?"

Anakin's voice carries through the short hall. I sigh, giving the fabric one last desperate tug. "Everything's fine I just..." I squeeze my eyes shut before pinching the bridge of my nose. "Can you come here?"

A brief wave of silence that leaves my face burning lingers until the sound of footsteps ends it. Anakin appears in my closet's doorway. "You're okay?"

"Yeah," I mumble, "Yes, I just--I can't get the buttons." As if to make my point, I try again in vain, trying again to reach the tiny clasps.

"You need help?" Anakin's voice comes out lower than usual.

Maybe he feels just as awkward about this. "If it'd be easier, you could just call in Raina."

"No," I can hear his weight shifting off the doorframe, "I can do it."

He takes a few steps forward. Before I know it, he's directly behind me. Anakin smooths a hand over my hair before gently moving it over my shoulder. The way heat begins to crawl up my neck makes me glad that my back is to him. His hand settles against my back.

I pull my arms forward, crossing them in front of my chest. He takes over, fingertips grazing against my back. The longer he works, the looser the dress begins to feel. I should be feeling cooler now that I'm getting closer to just being in my thin layering dress, but all of my earlier warmth and discomfort is now rising up my face.

"Raina put you in this this morning?"

I nod, "Raina woke me up earlier than usual today to make me up." The final button is pulled apart. I have to keep an arm at my chest to keep the dress from pooling at my feet. "I think this might have taken longer than my hair."

The comment is meant to be lighthearted. Instead of taking it that way, Anakin lets out a breath as his hand settles against my hip. "Won't things be easier when you don't have to worry about finding a husband?"

Now it's my turn to sigh. I make a point of pulling his hand off my side. I wander further into my closet. "You know I want nothing to do with this." My grip on the dress tightens, my sudden movement making it harder to keep the heavy dress on. "And if you honestly think I find any joy in being packaged in suffocating fabric and bodices so structured that they stab into my ribs every time I breathe, then you don't know me."

I turn around and let go of the dress, allowing the gown to pool at my feet. I step out of the puddle of fabric before reaching for one of my hangers, a casual day dress that I've barely looked at.

"I didn't mean it that way." His voice comes out low, almost reluctant. It's not enough to ease me, so I make a point of scoffing. Something warm pulls on my forearm. Before I know it, I'm facing with him. Oh. Anakin's closer than I thought he'd be. "I'm sorry." He exhales, voice tight, "Don't be mad, princess."

I keep my expression neutral. Though I'm in no mood to be reminded of my title, Anakin has a way of making it feel like a term of endearment. "If you're bothered by my situation, I understand that." He's staring me with such intensity I have to make the conscious choice to not look away. "I really understand that, but do not treat me like this is my choice. Not all of us are meant for more and can do whatever we want."

"Not whatever I want," he whispers, voice strained.

Now it's my turn to wish I had bitten my tongue. Anakin's told me enough of the stories for me to know that while sometimes the fact that he gets to leave and be an active source of good makes me wish my life was different, his isn't exactly easy.

His eyes hold mine for a beat before drifting downwards. For whatever reason, that makes me aware of the fact that this is likely the least dressed I've ever been in front of anyone. Sure, Anakin's seen me in pajamas and casual wear, but the silk dress under my gown is thin and low cut.

"And don't say that this is what you're meant for." He pulls my arm down with his hand, letting his fingers interlock with mine. "I've seen you in meetings and the way that you care about your people. You don't need to do this."

Again, it's like he's trying to convince me to change my mind. Like this is something that I want. I don't understand what he's trying to convince me to do. "Try telling that to my father."

I'm not sure what it is, but something about Anakin's expression looks a little flatter. Maybe even disappointed. I get it, this isn't exactly a fun topic, and we have no reason to dwell on it now. It's not like I'm getting engaged tonight. And I rarely get time to just be around Anakin, my future marriage has already taken enough from me, it doesn't need to take this too.

"Why are we still talking about this?" I pull my hand back, ready to grab my dress. "It's not like anything's happening now, let's just go to the garden like we--"

Anakin reaches forward before I can turn around, his hand finding my shoulder.

"I--" He cuts himself off, "There's been a rise in meetings with potential suitors, it's not as easy to ignore as it used to be."

I know exactly what he's talking about. All of my energy has been focused on not thinking about that. But that's because it's my inevitable future. How could this possibly matter this much to Anakin? "Ignore what?"

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to know what they're feeling? What they're thinking about you?" Anakin's breath catches itself in his throat, his thumb slipping beneath the strap of my dress. "What they're thinking about doing to you?"

Heat rushes to my face. I try to swallow to clear the lump in my throat but my mouth has gone dry. "Anakin?"

"I've spent so long trying to let you go."

What? Is he--is he saying that he-- "What?"

He tilts his head downwards, "You don't need to do this. I--"

"Don't say it." My hand is quick to grab the one he has on my shoulder. Push him away, I should push him away. My hand won't move. The one person I've always known I won't ever be able to have.

"Why not?" He asks the question so innocently, like he couldn't ever fathom a reason for me to shut this down. After a moment, his eyebrows pull together, a small frown playing at his lips. "You don't want me?"

If this was any less serious, that would have made me laugh. That is, most definitely, not the issue. "That's not true."

He relaxes slightly, his thumb trailing down my shoulder. Before I can explain issues that we both are definitely aware of, he leans impossibly closer. His weight on mine is nearly enough to make me forget the concept of logic entirely.

"Anakin," it's meant to be a warning. The breathiness of my voice takes away all of its severity. "We can't." I'm arguing for more my sake than his. He already knows all of the reasons that we need to agree to remain just friends before things get any more complicated. "What I want doesn't matter. Nothing I've wanted has ever mattered." He hasn't moved away, but at least he isn't trying to get any closer. "And even if it did, it's not like we'd suddenly be able to be together."

Anakin's hand adjusts on my shoulder, his grip tightening. He has the audacity to look like he's not sure what I'm talking about. "The Jedi code?" He blinks, still giving no indication of understanding why everything about us is impossible. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you why that matters, chosen one."

He scoffs. "I don't care."

I place my free hand on his chest, willing myself to create some distance between us before my judgement finally lapses. "You can't--you can't say that." My eyes squeeze shut, "I know that it's unfair, but time will pass and you'll feel rational again, and it'll be easier."

"Don't do that." The harsh quality of his voice nearly makes me step back. "Don't treat this like it's a political compromise."

Something about me trying to keep things together the only way I know how is hurting him. I don't know how to get through this without taking the emotion out of it. Still, I don't want to make this harder on him. My hand moves up his chest and rests on his shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that."

He nods slowly, visibly relaxing at my touch, "You're only pushing me away because you're afraid."

"What?"

Anakin's thumb drags across my skin. "You're afraid that if you let yourself even admit that you might want something that your father hasn't decided for you, and that if you're selfish for even a second, your entire world will fall apart."

If it came from anyone else, I'd be offended, but coming from Anakin, it just makes the real reason why I can't just say it and give in hurt more. "That's not it." Anakin doesn't respond. He wants me to say more and I'm not sure that I can. "It's--" What I'm afraid of is that I let myself admit that I want Anakin out loud, I'll have to decide whether or not I want him more than everything I've been working towards my entire life and that I won't like my own answer.

"It's that," I start over, staring at my hand on his shoulder in case looking at him directly will make the confidence I've gathered to wither away. "That if I let myself think about it, about you--like that--for longer than a moment, I might want you more than any of this."

He pauses, likely thinking through his words. Maybe he'll try to promise me that he wouldn't make me choose while not understanding that being with him at all makes that decision for me. Or maybe the amount of care I'm implying will scare him into second guessing this.

His hand slowly moves off of my shoulder. If my deep, dark secret has finally gotten him to understand why we're better off as we are, then maybe it's worth how hard it was to get out.

His fingers settle against my jaw. Slowly, he gets my head to turn. I look at him, expecting some kind of rejection to be written across his face. Instead, all I see in his eyes is a pool of emotion ready for me to drown in. "Would that have to be a bad thing?"

This time, the softness of his question doesn't feel like an attempt to dismiss our reality. It's so genuine it turns into a physical ache between us.

I'm reminded that despite all of his talent, confidence, and sense of humor that I've tried so hard to enjoy less, he's still a boy who's experienced so much heartbreak. The council constantly dismissing him and refusing to grant him the title he deserves, the loss of his mother, all of the expectations on his shoulders...

Would it be such a bad thing to want him more than anything else? To love him more that much?

I tilt my head back, just enough to press my lips against his. Anakin's quick to reciprocate, turning the barely there press of lips into something else with no warning. He shifts his weight so that he's fully against me. My back hits the wall of my closet before I realize what's happening.

It's heavy, my bottom lip being pulled between his teeth. The hand that's not still cupping my jaw settles on my hip, the silk of my slip dress crumpling between his fingers. I pull my head back, Anakin attempts to follow, teeth tugging on my lip one last time before letting us separate.

He doesn't let me get far, resting his forehead against mine as we both struggle to catch our breaths. "I'm sorry, I should have--"

"Don't be sorry," I manage between slow pants, "Not for that."

Anakin smiles, and for once, I don't mind feeding his ego. "I can feel how much you need me." The urge to squirm away and hide any potential embarrassment is strong, but I have no way to act on the impulse. I'm pinned between Anakin and the wall of my closet. He slowly pulls my dress, exposing another inch of skin. "Do you think any of your suitors could make you feel like this?"

I shake my head, "No." That's an easy thing to get out, "Only you."

Another tug that has more fabric pooling around my waist. "Promise you won't marry him." His head dips forward, his lips brushing against the end of my jaw. "Any of them."

My eyes instinctually shut. I need to hold it together. "You--you know I can't just--" He places an open mouthed kiss against my neck. "Anakin."

"Promise." An order.

I exhale, struggling to focus. "It's not--" Another kiss. "It's not f--air." My voice cracks on the last syllable as Anakin moves further down my neck. "You know I'd never break a promise I made to you."

"What's not fair is having to watch you meet with men who look at you and to know that this..." He pulls the strap of my dress off of my shoulder, exposing more skin that he immediately presses his lips against. "Is what they want to do to you."

What? I had never thought that my suitors fantasized about anything, everything about those meetings always feel so cold and political. I'd question it if I could bring myself to care about the revelation with Anakin's teeth pressing into the pulse point of my neck. "To have to watch them look at what's mine."

"Anakin..."

One last shift of fabric and the hem of my dress is now over my hips. His hand leaves my jaw and skims the waist of my underwear. "Promise."

His fingers finally reach where I need him most. My eyes instinctually shut at the sensation, a wave of pleasure I've never felt before nearly making me jump. Noticing my tension, he presses a gentle kiss against my cheek.

I have to give him something, and maybe that'll be enough to at least put this conversation off until I'm in a position to negotiate. "I'm yours." My ability to form sentences is quickly fading as his finger presses into me. "Can't that be enough?" A small part of myself hates how easily I'm cracking. "For now?"

Anakin does the meanest thing imaginable, he stops. "Promise me."

A pathetically desperate whine escapes me. He can't be serious. He won't walk away now just because I can't immediately promise to never marry anyone.

He straightens enough to pull away from the crook of my neck. "Anakin." I meet his gaze, and behind the harshness of his eyes, I see that he means it. "You know I--I can't--"

"We can work it out." That genuine side of him returns, softness bleeding back into his expression. "All that matters is that you want to."

"Of course I want to."

He leans forward again, forehead pressing against mine, "Then promise me..." Anakin's eyes briefly shut, "Promise me you won't marry anyone else."

I let myself take him in, how it feels to let him consume me entirely. It's too late for me, anyway. I wouldn't be able to will myself to walk down the aisle the same way I couldn't force myself to push him away. "I promise."

His lips are on mine in an instant. When I don't part my lips fast enough, he hooks two fingers between the waistband of my underwear and tugs them down my legs in one, swift motion. I gasp, giving him all the access he needs to drag his tongue against mine.

He moves back, beginning to press his lips against my jaw. "Anakin."

"Say it again." His fingers find the spot that makes me see stars. "Promise me that you're mine."

A whiny breath slips past my lips, "I promise." His teeth drag against my throat and my nails instinctually dig into his shoulder, "Only you."

A rough sound escapes from the back of Anakin's throat. He removes a hand from my hip to adjust his own robes. I'm too distracted to realize what he's doing until it's obvious. "Again."

I reach my hand forward until my fingers are wrapping around his length. "Only you, Anakin." He groans. "I--I won't marry anyone else." Anakin places his hand over mine, guiding my hand up and down his length. "I'm yours."

He buries his face in the crook of my neck, "Maker, you're--" The rest of the sentence is murmured into my skin at a pitch that I can't make out.

His fingers press into me even harder. "Anakin," my whininess would be embarrassing if I wasn't so distracted by the coiling feeling in my stomach, "I--I--"

"Tell me," he lifts his head enough to speak the words into my ears, "Tell me that you want me."

My eyes screw shut, "I--It's more than want." It feels like a confession. "I need you."

Another strangled breath escapes him. Anakin pulls away enough to line himself against my entrance. He presses in slowly, the feeling in my stomach reaches a height I didn't think possible. "Anakin."

"You're so," he's getting the words out through gritted teeth, "Tight." Anakin pushes in even more. A gasp escapes me. "Say it again." I'm too lost in what I'm feeling to form the words. He pulls back before pushing his entire length in with no warning. Anakin shows no reaction to the pitchy whine he forced out of me. "Again."

"It's--it's only--you," I pant. "I won't marry any-one else--just--just please, Anakin."

His thumb presses against where my nerves are at their most on edge. I can't breathe or focus on anything. "Please what?"

"I need you."

He rubs tight circles against me and picks up the pace. My head falls against his shoulder, eyes squeezing tight. "Look at me." I--I can't keep my head up. Anakin's hand tugs at my hair, forcing me off of his shoulder. "Look at me."

I force my eyes open. "Anakin."

"Feel good, hm?" All I can do is nod. "Can't even talk anymore?" His lips find their way against my jaw. "What would all your suitors say if they could see how easy it was for me to get you like this?" His lips find a spot on my neck that leaves me dizzy. "First breaking all the rules and now you can't even talk." It's hard to focus on anything that isn't how he feels. "Who has you like this?"

I take a shaky breath, "You, Anakin." My voice is shaky, "Only you."

His lips press against mine. Hard. I give in entirely and it's all teeth and wanting a closer that doesn't exist. He pulls away just as quickly, "I've got you, princess," he exhales, "come for me."

My body knows what to do more than I do. I cling onto him. Anakin's thrusts become less even without losing speed. He continues until an all consuming pleasure has my body practically shaking. My orgasm hits so fast and hard I can barely hold myself upright.

"Oh, you're squee--" Anakin cuts himself off, pulling out before he can finish inside me. "Maker, you're perfect."

After it ends, I expect to be filled with some kind of regret or remorse. Instead, all I feel is a sense of peace as I recover with my forehead pressed into Anakin's chest. He keeps his arm around me loosely. "It's just you and me, princess."

I nod against him weakly, desperate to accept what he's saying. "Just you and me."

He smooths circles against my back. "We'll figure it out together."

It's not an easy thing to believe, but trusting Anakin is natural. I finally lift my head to look at him, "We have time." I don't know how much time, but it's definitely not happening today, and if I can push this until our political crisis becomes the ultimate concern, my father won't bring it up until this is resolved. Maybe if I prove myself as a leader, he'll see that I can be more. "I'm tired."

He smiles lazily, "You're saying I tired you out?" I roll my eyes. "Come on, we have some time before you have to meet with your advisors." Anakin squeezes my shoulder, thumb soothingly tracing a pattern against my collarbone. "Stay with me?"

I have to bite my tongue to keep a much too emotional always from coming out, so I just nod. He takes my hand and leads me into my bedroom. Anakin helps me into bed before laying next to me.

Drowsiness pulls at my eyelids. I fight against the exhaustion as best as I can, but Anakin's gentle touches and whispered terms of endearment aren't making it easier.

"You can sleep," he finally whispers, "I'll make sure you're awake with enough time to get ready for your next meeting."

It's tempting, but after all of this, all I want is to be near him and to--to talk to him and absorb his presence before I can't. "But--"

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, reading my hesitance easily, "We have time."

My eyes are already closed, "Promise?"

Anakin's head dips forward as he presses a chaste kiss against my temple. "I promise."

[pretty-weird-ideas]

IWTV Twitter and the so-called "Fake Black Fans" Invasion

Something that I've been seeing a lot after it gained traction on Max is white fans condescendingly talking down to Black fans, some of whom have been in this fandom longer than they have, and acting as if they don't know what they are talking about because of their critique including a concept or subtext they wish to ignore. I want to repeat that this doesn't happen in the same amounts to white fans who make analyses or memes, it seems to uniquely be Black fans speaking AAVE or with Black pfps (visibly black bc of this) being bombed in the comments for having valid opinions.

I reached about the fifth tweet of white women going onto posts of Black people (particularly older women on Black Twitter) talking about IWTV and saying "You don't know what you're talking about, read the source material/finish the show" or entirely saying that "You don't understand fandom culture". Prompting those Black people to respond curtly that they, in fact, have read the source material, finished the show long before they have, and have been a fandom elder since before they even rolled into town. I witnessed someone doing BABY talk to a 30-year-old Black woman who was talking about episode 5, with "Well you see, it's not my fault you can't read". And when the woman professed anger back, she was the one blocked.

I witnessed this backhanded shit FIVE TIMES over the course of this week. With different white women doing the job of whitesplaining fandom culture and Anne Rice to random Black fans who already know unprompted with a level of passive aggressiveness and annoyance that only comes with doing it repeatedly. I must assure you (white people who are doing this) nobody asked, you can put down your task and stop pretending like you are doing something Sisyphean. You are not legally required to explain and describe IWTV poorly while getting into screaming matches with far more educated Black fans on Twitter and Tumblr.

People are acting as if there's a rising population of Black fans who are "Fake Fans" and must be stopped, lest they start up the freaky discourse. OOHHH NOOOO! Whatever are we to do then???? And therefore it is completely normal and a civic duty to blast Black fans in the comments of everything that they say about the show or the books.

I've been seeing people unironically football tackle reaction posts of the show with paragraphs worth of text that is inflammatory and backhanded. This is even more apparent when the poster is visibly black or uses AAVE. The association is that Black people who use AAVE or memes obviously are uneducated, lack media literacy, and cannot consume content the way that "White" fans do.

It is an attempt to tone police Black fans away from creating new topics of discussion or creating/expanding the fandom space with the growing watcher-base. It always has to happen in their chosen language, on their time, in the places they can reach us and yell some more. They are very discomforted when Black fans have pockets in fandom where they can't be outnumbered and they do in fact control discourse in a way that isn't productive to respectability. (As much as I am a big fan of big words and rambling, that is somewhat what is expected in this fandom as a Black person to be considered "respectable" and I'm not willing to ignore or shy away from that).

This is also hand in hand with my previous thoughts about fans' dog-whistling about media becoming accessible/mainstream and how "Others" will ruin it and outnumber them. I noticed that in the IWTV fandom, it seems like white fans believe that the "Others" is just Black Twitter in general. Not just "Twitter" but specifically Black people who don't fit into their narrow respectability politics.

I hate to tell you all this, but Black fandom culture is still fandom culture, and Black people do in fact read and write. I should not be seeing a pattern of random white fans going into the comments of Black people who mention IWTV and automatically assuming that they have no clue what they're talking about.

Like clockwork, exactly as when the show came out, racist white book fans started up the discourse of "The Black people are going to ruin fandom with their racism discourse and spit on Anne Rice!" and then when that time passed, the show reaches Max, and here they go barking again.... We really need to get a muzzle.

[erodasfishtacos]

Safe Space

prompt: follow up to demi piece for mlb!harry

warnings: insecurity, smut, minors dni 18+

Please please like, follow, comment, and reblog ❣️

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-

Harry isn’t trying to be dramatic when he says that he is officially and utterly obsessed with everything about YN.

He felt like he was addicted to her, from just being in the same space as her, and then from craving her body so much it hurt.

For a long period of his life, he didn’t understand the hype about sex - sure it sounded fine and orgasms definitely felt good but why did people care so much?

After his first time with YN, he very quickly realized what it was about because fuck, it was beyond the physical feeling of pleasure - it was how connected emotionally he felt to her and the display of love that sex was.

The issue was, they’d been intimate twice now with yesterday being their first time having sex, and both times he came prematurely.

No matter how kind and understanding YN was, it didn’t take away the deep insecurity of not being masculine enough or being a flop in the sheets.

YN had to use her own hand to help her along because he was coming so fast when they had sex, he was so far gone he hadn’t even thought about dipping his own hand down to assist.

Harry had to leave YN in his bed in the morning because he had to go to weight training and then right after a grueling practice.

He had left a little handwritten note on top of her cellphone to find when she woke up.

Good morning, baby. I’m off to practice. I love you x

It was simple but sweet.

When Harry’s in the locker room with his teammates as they all hits the showers and start to change after practice, well it’s no surprise sex is brought up - literally nothing has changed since high school.

He still didn’t feel the need to join in on the disgusting conversation, the way they talked about women was truly abysmal and some of them were referring to their own girlfriends in such crude ways.

Harry had so much respect for YN, so much undying appreciation for her body even though he just is beginning to learn it.

He would never talk about the intricacies of her form with other people, why would he want them to know what is only for him?

He didn’t want others to know how puffy her nipples get after he’s given them attention, how she gets so wet that it makes her folds glisten - that’s purely for his eyes and imagination only.

“Yeah, Becca told me that Cameron only lasted for three minutes,” Joseph cackles as the other boys join in on the laughter, “Said he jizzed nearly as soon as he stuck it in.”

“No wonder she turned him down when he asked her to the Sigma Phi party,” Payton crows with a boisterous laugh, “He’s never gonna get another date while he’s in school.”

Harry hates the anxiety that strikes in his chest because it hits him that they’re making fun of what he’s most self-conscious about right now.

He was new to everything, having YN’s hands, mouth, cunt was so mind blowingly euphoric and like nothing he’d ever experienced before that he couldn’t control how fast his orgasms snuck up on him.

The first time her lips wrapped around him, he couldn’t even think a conducive thought, let alone stave off his release.

The first time they had sex, she had to finish herself off because he came so fast that he didn’t even have time to focus on her.

His throat is tight as he rushes to get his clothes on, he didn’t want to lose YN - she was his person.

They only downfall of finally finding the love of his life was the immense fear of losing it because he knew this was once in a lifetime.

He was this allstar, cocky athlete who everyone drooled and daydreamed over - only YN knew he didn’t truly live up to his potential in the bedroom.

It’s not that he thinks she’s shallow enough to drop him over that but his anxiety and lack of self confidence had negative talk swirling through his head.

Harry wanted to be the best for her and he’s worried that he’s just not enough - it was the worst feeling on this earth and he hated that he didn’t feel confident in his own skin.

He’s out of the locker room without another glance at his teammates, putting his airpods in so he can act like he doesn’t hear all his classmates who try to say hi to him as he walks across campus.

His night class drags on, his fingers are fidgeting against the desk, knee bouncing because anxiety is one of the nastiest emotions to have.

Miss you already ☹️

The text pops across his screen towards the end of class, he has to tamper down the dopey grin that appears on his face - she must have just gotten out of her weekly newspaper meeting.

I miss you more. 😖

You’re the sweetest. Do you love me?

Harry has to bite the corner of his lip to tamper down his smile because he’s in a relationship, he loves her so much.

So much, baby.

I think you should totally invite me over tonight and show me how much. Just so I know you’re not all talk. 😛

Harry’s heart plummets back into his stomach, for what seems like the hundredth time lately because now he’s nervous about having to have sex despite how much he wants to.

Of course, he wants her to come over and he would have invited her in a minute anyways but now that the promise is lingering in her words, he’s struck with nerves.

He doesn’t respond fast enough because another text is coming through as his thumbs hesitate over the screen.

If you’re not up to it, that’s fine too.

And Harry never wants her to feel like he doesn’t want her there. It’s the exact opposite. He wants her there all the fucking time.

Don’t be silly. Of course, you’re welcome over anytime, my love. Meet me at Holden Hall in fifteen, we can walk back to mine together.

Okay ❤️

He’s not twelve, he shouldn’t get butterflies in his stomach but the thought of seeing her makes him squirm with excitement.

Because he is in love.

The class can’t end quick enough because even though there are always a few classmates who want to bullshit with him after class - Harry is bypassing them with a small smile and wave instead to get out the door.

YN is waiting on a bench, eyes on her phone until she must notice class letting up because her gaze rises and she has a breathtaking smile when she notices him.

It quickly turns downward when Harry is stopped by a group of girls, they’re giggly and overly nice as they compliment him on his recent game and how good he looked in ESPN College Edition this week.

Harry would usually give them all a cocky smile, dimples on display, and his shoulders broad as he let them coo over him.

Now he’s a taken man, he doesn’t have to act like he’s into all these girls he’s not anymore, and it’s so refreshing when he gives them a short ‘thank you’ and squeezes out of their circle.

Their eyes follow with annoyance and envy as they’re dismissed so quickly for Harry to make his way over to YN, where she’s sat on the bench in one of his baseball hoodies and a pair of leggings.

The girls begin to whisper furiously amongst themselves when Harry bends down, gripping YN’s chin, and kissing her softly for a moment before helping her up and taking her backpack to swing over his other shoulder before intertwining their hands.

YN seems surprised as they walk away, her hand squeezing his tightly as she ignores the daggers being glared into her back.

“What’s the look for?” Harry asks when they’re finally away from everyone spilling out of the lecture hall, and on the walk back to his frat house.

“I was just surprised you kissed me in front of all them,” YN shrugs, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal to her, “Most guys wouldn’t have done that in front of another group of pretty girls.”

It’s Harry’s turn to frown at that, stopping in his tracks to give her a look, “Why wouldn’t I kiss you in front of all them? You’re my person. I only want to kiss you. I don’t care what any of them think. I only care what you think.”

YN’s let’s a smile creep on her face, leaning up to kiss him for a long moment before she’s giving him a big hug and nuzzling her face into his chest.

“I love you. You’re just…” YN trails off, like she can’t find the right words, “You’re so good to me. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Harry can’t believe that. It feels opposite, he doesn’t know what he did to deserve her.

“You deserve the best and I’m going to always give it to you. I’m going to show you off to everybody all the time,” Harry promises as they begin to walk again, this time his arm around her shoulders pulling him into his chest.

The sex dilemma floats out of the forefront of his mind only for a little, only until they’re in his room, and Harry announces he needs to shower.

He was still sweaty, dirty from practice because on these days he doesn’t have time to shower before class.

When he drops their belongs near the door, he’s kicking of his shoes and telling YN, “Alright, gotta get cleaned up before we cuddle. M’gross.”

He fully expects YN to make herself comfortable on his bed while he cleans up and what he doesn’t expect is to YN to follow him to the bathroom - luckily, he had his own and didn’t have to share with his disgusting frat mates.

“Wh-What’s up?” Harry stutters as his cheeks flush, he hadn’t had anytime to figure out how he was going to solve his stamina problem and showering with his drop dead gorgeous girlfriend wasn’t going to help.

YN’s face twists in confusion as he stands frozen near the sink, “Uh, I was going to join you? If you don’t want me to, I don’t have to. I just thought that-“

He could tell he had embarrassed her by the way she’s trying to overexplain her reasoning to following him in there but Harry also knows that normal couples shower together all the time and if he was fucking normal - he wouldn’t be so surprised.

He wants to shower with her, fuck, of course he does.

Harry wants to scream and pull his hair because in his lack of self-confidence and anxiety - he’s making her feel bad about herself.

“No, no,” Harry interrupts her, bringing her into his chest, and kissing the top of her head, “Forgive me, darling. This, just all this is new to me. I’ve never showered with anyone before. I’m still getting used to actually being in a relationship.”

YN seems a bit relieved at his explanation, kissing his collarbone and rubbing at his back, “Still, if you don’t feel comfortable with me joining you that’s okay. Not all couples shower together. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Harry’s chest pangs because he just keeping mucking everything up, “No, I always want you with me. Please don’t second guess yourself, baby. Want you to shower with me. Want you with me every second of the day.”

YN nods against his chest but doesn’t make any move, like she’s nervous to be the first one, and so Harry does so first - stepping back to strip his shirt over his head before he’s slipping YN’s hoodie up and over her head.

He leans over to turn on the faucet to get the water warmed up, she’s standing there in just her bralette and leggings - god damn, she’s pretty.

Harry’s heart rate is going a million miles a minute as he shrugs the bralette over her head, her gorgeous tits bouncing out to where they naturally lay - perky but real and soft.

“Baby,” Harry huffs out in awe as he thumbs over her nipples - hard and puffy, they are making his mouth water, can’t help but duck down and wrap his lips around one as she whines happily.

She’s reaching for the waistband of his athletic shorts and briefs, pulling them both down in one go, and it’s not shocking he’s already plumped up and hard for her.

It was still a new experience, being bare and vulnerable in front of someone else - showing the innermost personal parts but he wanted her to see him, it made him feel good when she whispered how nice his cock was.

After he’s got her leggings and panties off, he’s bringing them under the stream of the shower, and watching in rapt amazement as the droplets slide down her neck, over the peaks of her breasts, and bead off her now soft nipples.

“Turn around,” She orders quietly, turning his shoulders until he’s facing towards the back of the tub, her hands come up with lathered shampoo and begin to scrub through his matted locks - her nails scratching against his scalp feel so good that he moans weakly.

She takes such care of him, his heart is melting for her as she washes out the suds before snagging his loofa off the shelves and beginning to wash down his body to wipe away all the dirt and sweat of the day.

It feels so amazing to be taken care of like this, he’s never had this before, and now that he does - he wants to cry because he’s just emotional.

When she’s finished with him, he takes it upon himself to return the favor, not because he feels obligated but because he wants to take care of her just as much and prove his worth as a partner.

“Ouch,” YN hisses when Harry’s fingers get tangled in a knot in her hair and pull it quite harshly, YN’s face contorting in a brief moment of pain.

“Fuck, m’sorry,” Harry apologizes instantly, he was on edge and he just kept making everything worse - he just pulled his girlfriend’s hair, “M’sorry, baby. Are you alright?”

YN rolls her eyes at him, stepping closer and flopping against his wet chest, kissing his skin, and nodding, “I’m fine. You don’t have to apologize. Just be careful.”

Harry’s hands are shaking with nerves as he carefully weaves through her locks, taking his time with the knots before he’s moving onto soaping her body up - he would have to buy scents she liked as everything in his shower was more masculine scented like sandalwood and sage.

After gently running the loofa over her tits and belly, Harry dips downwards but she’s moving his hand away from her center and down her thighs.

“No scented products near the goods,” YN tells him as she wipes a stray hair off his forehead, “It will throw off my PH. I just use unscented soap for that.”

And once again, he feels like a fucking idiot and like he should have known that about female anatomy but he didn’t.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, inhaling through his mouth because he feels like such a twat today.

YN doesn’t notice, her eyes shut as she lets the water pound down on her skin, and humming happily as he washes down her legs, hand playing with his sodden curls.

They dry off and Harry grabs YN a tee shirt of his from a baseball camp because he loves seeing her in his stuff - it settled his possessive side.

YN uses his hairdryer to dry her hair until it’s nearly dry, just damp on the ends, and she crawls onto his bed, forgoing dressing in her shirt and underwear.

And Harry doesn’t know what to do because he wants to crawl over top of her, kiss her, and push inside where he knows she’s hot and ready for him but he also knows he was just in the shower for half and hour naked with her and he’ll come too soon.

“Er, what do you want to watch?” Harry asks instead, standing in his tight briefs near his desk with the remote - clicking through Netflix.

YN who’s got a confused look on her face doesn’t say anything at first, she’s literally splayed out on her boyfriends bed bare as the day she was born, and he hadn’t even acknowledged it.

“I was thinking about Bake-Off? We haven’t finished the season yet,” Harry swallowed nervously, eyes glued to the screen and not at her.

YN visibly deflates out of the corner of her eye, her shoulders slumping and she reaches for her top to shove quickly over her head before tugging on her underwear.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” YN responds without the enthusiasm she had a few minutes ago, Harry realizes for the second time that night he’s embarrassed her - he just turned down her blatant invitation.

Harry hates this.

YN is perfect, doing everything perfect, and he can’t get a fucking grip on himself.

He needs a second.

“I’m going to go make us some popcorn,” Harry excuses himself, tugging on a pair of shorts as he exits the room.

A few minutes later, with a bowl of popcorn and some water bottles, he enters his room again, frowning when he notices that YN had also tugged on a pair of his joggers.

“You cold? I can close the window,” Harry offers as he sets the food down and YN looks down at her hands, avoiding eye contact.

“No, m’fine,” She responds, her tone is unsure like he’s never really heard it, “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I figured I’d cover myself up.”

Harry shakes his head, angry at himself as he mutters, “Fuck.”

YN glances up at him with wide eyes as she watches him pace for a moment before he’s stepping over to her, kneeling down in front of the bed, and putting his hands on her thighs.

“It’s not you. You never make me uncomfortable, baby,” Harry reassures her, he feels tears start to prick his eyes as he hangs his head, “I just keep fucking this up.”

“You’re not fucking anything up, Harry,” YN replies softly, her hands coming to rub at his shoulders, “What do you mean?”

Harry sniffles pathetically, refusing to look up, “I wanted to jump your bones the second you were naked on my bed. I wanted you in the shower with me before you even offered but I’m making you feel like I’m not into you and I’m sorry.”

YN titters, thumbing over his warm ears, “I don’t think you’re not into me. I feel like I’m not reading you correctly and I feel bad.”

“No, no, baby,” Harry refutes, kissing her belly, “You’re reading me right. I want you. Every part of you. I just…I’m really doubting myself and I don’t feel like a good boyfriend.”

“But why?” YN presses, finally forcing his chin up until his watery eyes are meeting her concerned, honeyed one’s.

“You’re gonna laugh at me,” He mumbles but lets her press sweet kisses over his forehead and temples as he struggles.

“Never going to laugh about something serious, if you want us to have a healthy relationship we have to work through whatever is bothering you,” YN encourages, cupping his hands and moving her lips to kiss all over them as well.

“I was in the locker room today and they’re were fuckin’ around and making fun of some guy who…doesn’t last long. It made me anxious because I haven’t been and I don’t want you to get annoyed with me because I’m not good in bed,” Harry’s gone teary again, YN is quick to wipe them with her thumb and a knowing, calm smile decorates her face.

“Baby, that’s why you’ve been so skittish?” YN shakes her head with a small giggle, leaning down to kiss him once more.

“Said you weren’t gonna laugh at me,” Harry grumpily reminds her, nudging her cheek with his nose before pulling back.

“Didn’t realize you were worried about something absurd,” YN tries to tamper down her grin, “You’re worried that I’m not enjoying myself when we had sex?”

“You had to finish yourself off,” Harry points out as a weak reason to his defense.

YN raises an eyebrow, “Okay, at the end? But the reason I was even close enough to get myself off was because I was so turned on and you were making me feel so good.”

Harry didn’t think of it like that, he blinks at her like he wants her to keep talking, and so she does, gripping his hands firmly.

“The two times we’ve done it, they’ve literally been the best experiences I’ve ever had sexually,” YN rubs at the bridge of her nose, “I told you no guy has ever made me come before even when I was helping myself along.”

Harry takes in that information, a sense of pride swelling in his chest, and twitch in his thin shorts at the praise.

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles, brushing his lips against her clothed shoulder, “M’sorry I’ve been being such a dickhead.”

“You just need to communicate. I understand this is all new to you. It’s new to me too. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in love with the person I’m having sex with,” YN admits as her body gravitates closer to him and her legs spread for him to wriggle in between.

“And I’m going to be the only one who gets you like this. Always gonna be in love with everything about you. You’re my person,” Harry reassured her, the nerves melting away because he feels so fucking safe with her.

The stage fright, the nasty quells of insecurity dissipate, and are fully replaced desire to please the gorgeous girl in front of him.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you needed to cover-up. I actually think we should probably do a no clothes policy in my room from here on out,” Harry rasps, his tone getting lower with the more arousal swirling in his tummy.

YN giggles kittenishly and it goes straight to his center, “Oh really? When did that become a rule?”

“Right about now,” Harry growls impatiently, tugging off her bottoms and panties in one rough yank before he’s lifting her thighs over his shoulders and making himself at home between them, “Fuck. How do you always taste so good, pet?”

“I-oh fuck, Harry,” YN whines loudly as her legs try to squeeze around his ears, he was so fucking dedicated when he went at it - licking, kissing, sucking every bit of her mound and what lay inside.

“Always want this,” Harry murmurs before lapping consistently at her slit while he thumbs at her clit - it was all coming naturally to him now.

“Yes, there. Yes,” YN encourage breathlessly when he finds the perfect rhythm that  has her back arching of the mattress and legs restless against his shoulders.

The encouragement just spurs him on to thrust his tongue into her perfect, velvet core as his thumb doesn’t stop the motion.

Her hips speed up to ride down onto his tongue as she nears her orgasm, Harry reaches up to flip her shirt up to reach and knead at one of her tits, pinching at the nipple.

That small burst of pain tends to do the trip because she’s squeezing on his tongue, clit throbbing against his thumb as she tries to muffle her mewls as she comes down.

“In me, want you in me,” She orders brattily, pulling Harry up by his biceps and dragging him on top of her, she’s bossy as she grips him around the base and leads him straight to where she needs him.

“Fuck, fuck baby,” Harry moans as he’s overwhelmed with pure fucking euphoria, his hips starting to fuck in automatically as his noises echo off the walls.

“S’good, you make me so full,” YN whimpers as her lips brush against his on every odd thrust, “Love being full of you.”

“Darling,” Harry scolds between a groan, the dirty talk did not help his stamina and fuck, her mewling about how full she felt just made it worse because he’s giving a few more weak thrusts before he’s coming as well.

“Mm, thank you,” YN hums as she pulls him up for another kiss, a spark in her core when she tastes herself, “See, practice makes perfect. We’ll get there.”

“Next time m’taping your mouth shut, who knew you spewed filth like a sailor?” Harry teases as he pulls at her bottom lip, “Made me come on the spot.”

“I don’t mind being gagged,” YN says nonchalantly and holy shit, Harry is in big trouble with this girl.

He fucking loves his person, his safe place.

[maevecrom]

I really want to talk about the pregnancy situation in acosf.

(Just to preface - I don't excuse nor condone the withholding of medical information from a patient; Feyre had every right to know about Madja's concerns, this post is simply a word-for-thought about how harshly we, as a community, condemn Rhys for hiding it.)

I think the biggest thing about this situation that frustrates me is the pregnancy arc in its entirety. I am so unbelievably happy for Feyre that she is finally content. She deserves to have her hae. But what I do not appreciate is SJM using her as a sacrificial lamb for Nesta's redemption arc. Feyre and her maternity should not have been changed for the sole purpose of bringing another character peace/grace. Nor do I appreciate the complete and total rewrite of Madja's abilities; you're telling me in a world where there are contraceptives, there are no forms of abortion? Or in a world where Azriel could drag Cassian off the battlefield with his organs hanging out, he could come out unscathed but they couldn't perform a cesarean? Not only that, but withholding said information from Feyre had absolutely no impact on the story. Rhys could’ve told her from the beginning and nothing would’ve changed.

Now, let's get into Rhys:

I haven't seen as much hate towards him for this as of recently since CC3 came out, everyone has been harping on him for getting mad at Nesta. So, I think now that everything has calmed down we can have a logical conversation about this.

Logically, from the start Rhys should've known, or at least speculated, that his child could've been born with wings. But, I also want to bring of the point of Illyrian's lack of education. Mating outside of Illyrian camps was practically unheard of, and it was kind of an unsaid rule that Illyrian men mate with Illyrian women. So, on some level, I'm not sure the difference in pelvic sizes really came up in his mind because the difference between Illyrian and Fae anatomy was probably never taught.

It's also important to recognize that this was never mentioned in the book as a conflict. We have no idea what Rhys knows or doesn't know because we were never given that interaction. So, in my opinion, it's not really fair to base your hatred of an event based on speculation.

Now, onto the actual withholding of information: I'd like to make it known that he had only hid the information from her for 12 days. Not even 2 weeks. I think that is very much a reasonable amount of time to keep information from someone if you are still looking for a solution. Now, do I think that entirely excuses it? No. But I do think it provides context and at least eases up to effect of keeping it a secret.

I also keep seeing people say it was out of character. It's not. We have seen Rhys sacrifice his own sanity for his loved ones, taking on the brunt of burdens in order to keep those around him safe and euphoric. We all read how mentally unstable he was becoming towards the end of acosf and that's because, although we all keep forgetting this, he isn't just a husband or father; he's also a High Lord. Not only did he have an entire court to run, he's going person-to-person, teaming up with Helion, making visits to the Dawn Court, desperately trying to find a solution for Feyre. So he could one day go to her and say "We found a complication, but it'll be okay bcause we know how to fix it."

Onto the Nesta situation, I'm so tired of seeing the whole "she told Feyre because when it comes down to it she really does love her." Are we forgetting that she ALSO kept it a secret? Nesta withheld the information until she could wield it in a way to harm Feyre and villianize Rhys. She didn't do it out of the kindness of her heart. Was I glad someone told her? Yes. But she didn't deserve to find out that way.

She's not a saint. She's not a martyr. She didn't do half the shit she did in acosf out of love or peace, she was cruel and mentally unstable.

I've also been seeing so many people mention the IC and how they should've punished Rhys, but they didn't aid the investigation in any way. None of them offered to help find a solution for Feyre's issue.

What really went wrong is that we didn’t see the discussion that was had. We didn’t know what was happening during Feyre’s pregnancy. This not only exacerbated the situation, but also forced people to come to their own conclusions and speculations. People saying Rhys wasn’t punished have no idea what happened between Rhys and Feyre privately. All in all, I absolutely hate this trope for using Feyre as a pawn to further Nesta's character development and as a plot device.

[kataraslove]

I just stumbled across your acc and I gotta say, I agree with alotta ur takes

Ur sooo well spoken and I really enjoy reading your thoughts and opinions

Katara is one of my favorite characters and it makes me really happy to see someone appreciate her and her writing

Ngl a lot of atla fans r lowkey braindead so ur acc is pretty refreshing

Thanks for posting!! 🩷

thank you! 🩷 your words are too kind. i appreciate it.

i did mention this before, but this blog stemmed kind of entirely out of spite. i was sick and tired of fandom on here telling me that there was only one way to interpret and enjoy my favourite character, dictating who i could or could not ship her with and how much of a stan that made me. it’s not an experience just unique to the atla fandom, of course. it’s becoming something more apparent nowadays especially, the ways in which multiple readings and interpretations of a character is heavily discouraged by fandom in favour of just one.

it’s baffling how, for so many years, there was a strict binaric interpretation of katara’s character, with 0 being non-canon and 1 being completely in favour of all things canon. either you had to vehemently agree with everything that bryke wrote for katara’s within atla and post-canon, to the point where i have seen people defend the lack of statues of her as “oh, she probably didn’t want one anyway,” (NO!!) or you had to have deep-rooted anger and rejection for all things that were done to her story, in the guise of katara deserving better.

katara does deserve better narratively, but NOT in the ways that the tumblr fandom thinks she should have. not in the ways that she should be ambassador to the fire nation, or become firelady (a racist depiction in fanon and nothing but a decorative title in canon) and live out the rest of her life by zuko’s side, serving and prioritizing zuko’s nation.

“but wouldn’t it be empowering if katara sat on the throne of her oppressors and got to dictate - “ no. it’s not. stop advocating for that type of ending for women from oppressed and marganized groups. stop acting like that is the ideal future that katara wanted this whole time, that ruling as part of a foreign monarchy that decimated your people and your culture is the ultimate threshold for liberation.

i’ve seen people who claim to take a doylist perspective for critique of atla (read: kataang)’s writing completely lose all comprehension when it comes to critically assessing post-canon zutara. by that i mean, if we continue with the writing direction that we saw for all of the female atla characters in the sequel series, a zutara endgame would position katara in a worse outcome than she got narratively. but you tell anyone that and it’s an instant “zuko would have given her 10 statues!!”

but most importantly, nothing has radicalized me more over this year than seeing the “katara deserves better (in the form of zuko)” crowd, the same crowd who is currently dreading any form of fixing or retcons from avatar studios in upcoming content, defend the hell out of natla katara’s writing. the very same people who were praising katara’s arc to the stars, stating that it was nearly complete until the two grown men decided to pair her up with aang and ruined all at the end.

well, what about the group of zutara shippers in the natla writer’s room who handed her everything in the narrative, who removed her flaws, her anger, her compassion, who stripped her down to everything except hope, all in the name so that she wouldn’t appear unlikable to audiences. i mean, that tremendously backfired for them, because now the young actress who plays katara is getting hate spewed at her for failing to portray katara interestingly, when the problem has always been the shit writing.

anyway, i appreciate this message! glad i could be of service and it’s nice that you’re a zuko fan who ships kataang! lots of people who love zuko do.

“a lot of atla fans are braindead” LMAO you can say that again!!!

[remylebeaugambit]

So, I decided to wait a little to think this show over. As a Gambit fan I’m still pretty much bitter about it all. However, as an X-Men fan, I can say I understand why people love the show. But I also believe there’s an exaggerated amount of praise due to the fact that we’ve been starving for good X-Men content. 

I was going to write a much angrier version of this text (I actually outlined an angry rant but there were too many fuck yous), however I’m trying to be reasonable here. The animation is mostly impeccable (don’t like the way the women are drawn, but that’s a minor complaint), it’s colorful and vivid and fluid. The action scenes are mostly awesome too. So, yeah, there’s a lot of good in it. Having said that, there’s tons of problems as well and the great majority of fans are willingly blind to them because of, you know, the good and the lack of content for years. 

I want to be bluntly honest and say I’m glad that the showrunner had been fired. I wholeheartedly don’t believe he is deserving of all the praise he’s been getting because my biggest issues with this show come from the writing. It’s amazing and exciting to see scenes from the comics being brought to life in beautiful animation? Yes, definitely. But it’s not enough when the writing is rushed and lacking.

First, I thought I was biased because I hated what they were doing to Gambit, but now I really, truly don’t think this show that amazing. The first half of the season was mostly decent, there were things I didn’t like but that wasn’t enough to called it bad. Episode 5 was when the show peaked (although to be fair Gambit wasn’t in it much, it was the way he went down that made it memorable) but after that it just went downhill.   

All the plot holes, the playing favorites, the inconsistencies, the rushing through storylines, the terrible pacing, the loose ends, the weak motivations, the terrible character development, the retcon to characters’ relationships (so Ororo and Jean are sisters now? Ororo was way closer to Rogue in the original cartoon, but, you know, Rogue had to be isolated for her disgusting retcon and inconsistencies of character and decisions to work out. Newsflash asshole: they didn’t. Rogue was character assassinated. And though I love her in the original show, I wouldn’t be this angry if it hadn’t directly affected Gambit the way it did), and, of course, all the foreshadowing of Gambit becoming Death left to be (hopefully) resolved in the second season. That means there was no payoff. I repeat: the show was mostly curveballs and no real payoff. With a cast that big, you don’t expect all the characters to have satisfying character arcs but in this case if you aren’t a Jean, Scott or Magneto fans you’re left hanging. 

Storm, who has been friends with Gambit, simply didn’t even mention his death. The excuse was that ended up on the cutting room floor, but don’t be fooled, there was enough time for Ororo to smile and hug Jean and later tell her platitudes (what a boring, cheesy speech!). There was also plenty of time for all those insufferable Magneto moments. “You killed more people than the Nazis? Awwww that’s fine, cause you’re family.” 😉 None of it was cut, right? That leads me to my biggest gripe with his show: fucking Magneto. I hate that took so much space and was unironically written as an old man who groomed a teenage girl (they can lie all they want and say she was an adult. She WASN’T. She was a teenager with serious emotional issues), manipulated her, gaslighted her, isolated her and told her pretty things to bang her. I guess that’s what’s called romance nowadays. I mean, the show runner didn’t even try to hide his fetiches for the old creep. All those plot contrivances and conveniences to accommodate someone’s wet dream. 

Ok, so, I don’t want to go ad hominem on the show runner here, but to be fair, he’s been dishonest with us fans this whole time, he’s lied straight-faced, said a lot of stuff that hasn’t panned out, given dubious answers, manipulative and evasive comments, asked for our trust, even though he’d been lying and giving us false hope (trust is earned, dude; I stopped trusting him after the first lie, if ever), and there are people, Gambit fans, still being hopeful and taking his words at face value. Fucking seriously? THAT dress was just another spit in our collective faces. Wake up!), also he’s self-indulgent, and pathetic in his comments about being the master of magnetism (ok, I lied. So what?).        

All in all, I don’t think that show is as good as so many people are making it out to be and I’m way too happy about the firing of the show runner. To him, I say, thank you for tainting the legacy of something dear and pure from my childhood. Good riddance, please, don’t ever come back, sink into oblivion and go fuck yourself (ok, I needed at least one fuck you, he’s had it coming). 

Ps. Romy fans, mark my words, the old creep will be making passes at Rogue and since she has no personality in this, we can expect the worse, like little Charles next season or anything else that is just as irreversible. I’m mean, an old man fucking a teenager is already irreversible to me. But that’s me. 

[punkeropercyjackson]

Within the structure of Pjo canon,transfem Percy holds a lot more weight than Percy being attracted to any male character does.Percy as a character since her conception was made to defy traditional manhood and while it's true that positive masculinity is something that deserves to be represented in children's media much more often,she's far from the right character for it because the thing is the reason Percy is who she is she's completely lacking in masculinity fullstop.This dosen't necessarily mean she can't be a gnc man but 1.She can be a woman too since genderfluid,bigender and other multigender people exist and they can be transfem by being amab 2.It is erasure to masculinize Percy regardless of what gender you see them as.Transfem Percy is straight up transmisogynistic because in canon she's feminine but transmasc Percy isn't any better because it's just 'you can only be a trans man if you're masc' regurgitation

Percy is constantly said to be different from male characters with an emphasizes on them being men-Piper saying she's not her type because she's not manly looking like Jason,her as a heroic foil to Luke who's pretty much the personafication of ancient greek men and their brutal nonstop violence to ancient greek women,the overhanging theme that Percy never wants to be a god because she dosen't want to turn into her dad or Zeus or any of the MANY men who've hurt her and it's her plot with Zoe to prove herself as nothing like ordinary men.And the thing about that last one is,the fandom loves to call the Hunters of Artemis te.rfy and say they have r*dfem energy but this is more on them because the Hunters never speak of biology,only gender identity and Titan's Curse wasn't 'Not ALL men',it was 'Yeah no men as a group are genuinely awful but Percy's built different than normal ones and that's why Percy's our protagonist and a role model for you'

She herself is aware of this-She's always insulting guys as she uses them being guys as the basis behind her dislike and often wonders what the appeal of being a guy even is,both from an attraction persective as she finds the male gods' extreme conventional attractiveness and stereotypically male to be really offputting and on herself as she frequently complains about having to live up to those things too according to society when she just wants to be Percy instead.She often shows a preference for femininity on both those aspects too and it's very important to note that Percy's positive important m/f dynamics are:Grover who is soft and sweet and considered 'unmanly',Beckendorf who is black and acts like her big brother,Frank who is a transmasc-coded moc and her family member,Jason who is an actual example of healthy and positive masculinity and that she met while having amnesia and most of all NICO who she sees as her kid brother,pseudo-son and is the first gay Percyverse character that was made gay by crushing on her but got over her because he realized she's not the ideal man he thought she was and calls her cute when saying this to her to reassure her she's still pretty because he loves her even if not like he thought because he thought they(her and him!)were something else

Now,i'm not saying Percy can't like boys at all.I actually headcanon her as bi and ship her with a good handful of male characters(Jason,Leo,Ethan,Carter and Magnus)but you are making her not Percy by removing her trauma involving men and resulting discomfort with them and her femme traits because these are major parts of her that make her who she is as much as her sense of humor,attitude and mannerisms do and while i hate him as a person and have since i was 12,Rick has stated that he never intended Percy as liking men romantically and has expressed no interest in changing that or ever stated Percy is cis but he did say he'd be happy and supportive of a poc playing Percy in adaptions and it says quite a lot that people get more angry over afrolatino Percy content-specifically that interpretation,the antiblackness focus in racist Pjo cannot be ignored-because it 'goes against canon' than they do over Percy having who she actually is taken away from her,the representation she provides as neurodivergent and poor protagonist who has zero conformity and is potrayed as cool and hot for it instead of a loser

Pjo fans think it's worse to say Percy's not a skater boy or stupid or lame or an egoist or dosen't has a thing for blondes than it is to turn an audhd abuse victim with implied bpd and ptsd who's an anarchist and works hard to break the cycle of abuse both personally and as a societal structure into a generic male mc.They think Percy would rather give up her entire self to be a man who's obsessed with every man she meets than be a femme trans woman or even just femme and they lash out when she is potrayed as transfem and only accept male femininity in her when it's for sexualizaton for guys they want her with instead of making herself happy.This is,without a doubt,transmisogyny

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

I know you are tired of being reminded of the whole mess that’s been going on. I had no idea what was going on until foxyanon told me cause I asked. The shock that went through me when I was reading ems post. I was decent friends with bel and interacted a lot with her. Had no idea how vile those bloggers are, just damn right disgusting and rude. But I told em as well that I have nothing to do with what’s her face. I’m always here for you! This fandom needs some serious work done and rethinking. I’m screaming the biggest f you to her! I love your content even though I don’t say anything much. You’re wonderful and deserve better! 💗💗

Thank you for reaching out, and treating me like a human being. It is more than I currently deserve. I will place the rest of my response beneath a cut, as it will be quite long and I'd like to give people the option to scroll past, as they are doubtless tired of all of this, and rightly so.

Yes, the behaviour of that group is despicable, but I cannot downplay the gravity of my own in that.

I had a longstanding block with two users (I am not going to use their online nicknames, I do not deserve to), arcielee and sylasthegrim, I said disgusting things about both of them - the screenshots of my messages regarding them both on the post you have doubtless all seen are real (so is the final screenshot where I mention an anon I had received telling me to die in my sleep, the rest of the screenshots in that post have been falsified, doctored or snipped heavily out of context to make them appear hateful - the doctoring has been confirmed by two individuals well versed in Photoshop)

I hold my hands up and apologise to both those people, and the people that have seen those messages and been harmed by them. They are inexcusable, indefensible and were guided by a false belief that those two people were being hateful in turn about me, and actively going out of their way to harm and spite me. I am unsure what Bel thought she had to gain by exacerbating the animosity between me and Em and those two women, regardless, we should have done the mature thing and reached out directly to them. I will say, that I have never once sent anonymous hatred to either person. The extent of my vitriol was confined to that group chat.

Bel also used slurs in the group chat (I would like to point out that myself, Em and Fae did not). I won't repeat what these were. I do not want those ugly words on my page. They made me uncomfortable and I called her out any time she used one in particular, but she always laughed off my discomfort and carried on anyway. She is mixed race, I am white, in my mind it is not my place as a white person to tell an ethnic minority what is racism and what isn't. There are enough white voices shouting down others in online spaces. I know better now. I should not let my own discomfort silence me. I will call out hatred, bigotry and discrimination in every instance that I see it. My past inaction is embarrassing, it's offensive and I am devastated by the hurt I have caused to others. I am so deeply sorry.

I didn't speak up for a long time, because I have seen what these people are like when they have a grudge against someone. It's frightening, I was a coward. Yet despite staying silent on all of it, I have been doxxed just the same. I suppose perhaps that's karmic retribution?

I appreciate that people have felt my response has been lacking, however, I was out of the country, away from home, from the 14th until the 22nd, with only my phone at my disposal and with the expectation from my husband that I would enjoy the vacation we were on, and not be online dealing with all of this.

I would like the opportunity to atone for my behaviour, to make amends. Currently, I feel I am not going to be given the opportunity to do that, and understandably so. Emotions are high, people are raw from what they have learned and they do not feel comfortable being around me.

Seeing the screenshots of the people in their group passing around my personal photos and saying incredibly vile things about my appearance triggered a lapse with the eating disorder that I am in active recovery for. I then had another a few days later. I need to take some time away to get myself well, as the fear and anxiety of all of this is taking its toll. I also need the space to deal with the legal action I will be exploring with regards to Chris having doxxed me. I am not running away. I simply need to get myself into a space where I am stable enough to handle all of this, be accountable, and take responsibility without my own emotions diminishing other people's.

I know people hate me right now, but it pales in comparison to how much I hate myself. I am so very sorry for allowing this to happen.

[olderthannetfic]

https://newrepublic.com/article/120689/babdook-what-it-says-about-you-if-you-enjoy-horror-movies

This is from years ago but I had to go dig it up for the "cozy horror" conversation.

The article claims that horror fans are more likely to lack empathy. But the study they mention didn't survey horror fans, it surveyed people who watch horror movies on dates. Maybe choosing a movie for a date without regard to your partner's tastes demonstrates a lack of empathy, and the genre or content of the movie itself doesn't have much to do with it?

It claims that horror fans are more like to "be aggressive and thrill-seeking". That one I'll give a pass. Horror movies themselves are a specific kind of thrill. Anecdotally I wouldn't say that I or any other horror fan is more aggressive than the general population, but if a study lumped aggression and thrills together as one metric it'd be impossible to sort out (horror authors and other creatives, in my experience, tend to be fluffy bundles of joy IRL. Jungi Ito is Tumblr's favourite example)

And horror fans are more likely to be men. The article straight up admits that its data there is outdated. Moving on.

And lastly, the one that ticked me off so much that I remembered this article for ten years. People who watch horror movies are more like to "be a man accompanied by a frightened woman". This one is based on a study from the 1980s (so outdated even ten years ago) and looked specifically at college kids watching horror movies in m/f pairs. This tells us absolutely nothing about people who enjoy horror, and a lot about college boys in the 1980s. I like to think that college boys in the 2010s and 2020s are a little different, since gendered expectations have shifted a little over the last 30-40 years. But even without that, I cannot stress hard enough that this study did not look at people who like horror movies, not to mention that adults of all genders are usually more mature than college kids in their interactions with fiction and with their movie-going partners.

And also, since this is Tumblr specifically and fandom in general, we have to mention that when gender comes up, the article is talking exclusively about studies that did not account for queerness.

If we want to talk about horror movies in a fannish context, we have to understand that a large portion of the audience will be queer in some way or another. It's simply not fair to say "college boys like it when their girlfriends are scared of horror movies, therefore horror fans are doing some sort of macho endurance posturing" when you've got an audience full 35 year old pensexuals without genders going "actually, I just think it's neat when monsters eat people".

--

When I was younger, I thought I didn't like horror...

And this was because I grew up in an era of particularly boring-to-me slasher movies that were usually also pretty misogynist.

Turns out I like gialli fine. It's just 1980s US horror of the most mainstream type that I hate.

I am singularly unsurprised that women on dates in the 1980s were unimpressed with this choice of movie.

I'll take articles about horror seriously only if they start by going to one of those Lovecraft conventions or something and actually dealing with the Horror Fandom as it exists today.

[g-xix]

what’s your opinion on the hate towards faith kelly with people saying she has plastic surgery and that?? also people saying ethan should leave her

Heya mate, my opinion is that men in particular see Faith Kelly with hatred because of their lack of understanding, and moreover, a lot of them already hate Faith, and just choose to pick on her because they want to see her get grilled even more.

Towards the beginning of the introduction of Faith into the Sidemen fandom, everyone thought she was class. She made cute TikToks with him, she was (still is) gorgeous, she was the embodiment of a good girlfriend because she was new and nobody had any reason to dislike her.

As more of her personality grew and people began following her and what she did and said, I think lots of women began empathising with her, whereas lots of men began disliking her more and more.

Her first big controversy was the "Why the fuck did the pornstar sit on Ethan when Faith, his GIRLFRIEND was literally carrying his baby."

That was a BIG drama which I think reaaally divided the whole of the male and female demographic of the Sidemen fandom. Most women ((including myself)and some logical men) could empathise with Faith, because WHY did Ethan let that situation get that far? Having a girlfriend and letting a woman sit on you is bad behaviour on it's own, but the to extent of having a PREGNANT GIRLFRIEND, carrying YOUR BABY, allowing that to happen is absolutely stupid. Especially when Ethan had NUMEROUS opportunities to get up or say no to Mia Malkova sitting on his crotch, nonetheless.

And alternately, many (immature) men thought that Faith was overreacting, because look! Ethan's a YouTuber! He's an e n t e r t a i n e r... he gets a pass for these things because he just did it for a YouTube video, it's fine! To which I say... Shutthefuckupthat'ssomebullshit. It wasn't really a highlight of the video. It wasn't the funniest thing- it wasn't even really good content. The only "good" content that came out of it was Faith's TikTok's or Ethan having to explain himself on Sidecast's, and the only reason people enjoyed that was because they were allowed an opinion on the conflict and could watch the beef play out whilst also adding fuel to the fire with all their snide comments and keyboard warrior-ing.

It was really stupid in my opinion, that whole Mia Malkova, Sidemen Tinder conflict, because it shouldn't have happened; Ethan should've known better.

But that's the start of the Faith Kelly hate train. A few other things that have contributed to it are:

The fact she doesn't want to take Ethan's last name and rid her own. Ethan wants her to take his last name, "Payne". She wants to keep some of her family name and made a compromise, agreeing to go for "Payne-Kelly". I feel like Ethan's patriarchal values really spoke to me when he threw a little tantrum at the idea of that.

"permission slips": the name given to the action of Ethan checking with Faith whether he's good to go out. People called it "micromanaging" and "controlling" from Faith, but that's literally basic communication? Tell your partner you aren't available and check that you haven't got plans with them or signed up to something else beforehand...?

The podcast. Because apparently if you aren't interested in what they're doing and saying, you can't just scroll by without hate-commenting.

The fact that she has an Essex accent. People hate it and say "God I could never date a girl that sounds like that"... Then don't?

Her nose. Because she has a nose which literally fits the beauty standard, but some people still found ways to get angry.

And now there's the whole problem with the fact she got surgery.

I personally don't think there's a problem with getting surgery in the first place. If you're insecure about something and that's holding you back, change it; we have surgery available to all for a reason and if it's safe to do so, I see no problem with it.

Faith got bits n bobs of surgery done when she was younger, and she cleared up on an Instagram story, and which is also evident on an old clip of her on some TV dating show.

She had cheek fillers, chin fillers, jaw fillers and lip fillers (which I'm certain of, I don't know of any others if i'm honest). And that was because she didn't like her face shape and thought that to be more pretty, she ought to get those done.

Since then, she's used 5ml dissolver (im not too sure what exactly she said she got done but there was the number 5 somewhere, and she said that all filler had now DEFFO been dissolved) and gotten all filler removed from her face, leaving her with a softer, more heart shaped face and what is in my opinion, an overall prettier face. Beauty of course is in the eye of the beholder.

Now whilst I can empathise with Faith for being insecure when she was younger and thus getting surgery which she in later life dissolved as she realised she was happy with her face, I know that the male "Faith-Hating" population cannot.

This is likely because of the belief that plastic surgery = fake, fake, fake = bad, bad, bad. This is quite a common view which I believe that men and older generations uphold; surgery is for those who focus only on aesthetics and makes you fake which means you aren't naturally pretty aka makes a woman worth less. A very crude explanation of the patriarchal view on plastic surgery.

I think this view is quite shallow and superficial in itself because it lacks engagement with a what? argument, because whilst males can identify that women (may) get surgery out of insecurity, they cannot engage WHAT the problem with that is.

What is the big problem regarding a women deciding to change her face slightly? What does it matter to you if someone makes their lips slightly puffier? What effects does it have on your life whereby you feel the need to then go onto Faith's page and tell Ethan that HE NEEDS TO LEAVE HER!!!!

Hence moving onto the "Ethan should leave her" opinion, I think it's absolutely shocking.

Lacks grace, etiquette and fundamental respect to HARASS someone who you look up to- someone who you (perhaps) IDOLISE just to command them that they must leave their girlfriend.

And I've seen these comments time after time.

Why do they tell Ethan that he must leave Faith?

Because of the permission slips. God forbid having a girlfriend that controlling, that she'd want to know when her boyfriend wouldn't be home so that she can plan out her day accordingly.

Because she argues with Ethan on the podcast. Quite ironic that their little bickers over the little things have people thinking that they are always arguing and completely toxic. Wait til those fans hear about banter between friends.

Because she's "the type" to cheat. This one was mind-bogglingly stupid: people were telling Ethan that Faith is the type to cheat, whilst she claimed to have a little celeb crush on Haaland. For those who don't know, this is Haaland:

He obviously isn't an absolute stone cold stunner, but he's quite sweet. A little celeb crush on him is v reasonable. But for some reason, these thickos just cannot understand that having a celeb crush DOES NOT MEAN SHE'S GONNA CHEAT!!!!!

The whole REASON for a celeb crush is the sort of idolisation that someone is so cute and dreamy and that it's find to have that crush because it's not like you'll ever meet them or have a chance with them... i mean, that's literally the definition of having Hall Passes in relationships!

I bet the situation would be 10x bloody worse and somehow still anti!Faith, if Ethan said that he had a celeb crush on... idk SELENA GOMEZ or someone famous n gorg like that, and Faith said "what so you'd cheat on me for her?", voicing Ethan's fans in her Haaland-situation.

And I think a lot of these scenarios follow that logic.

Flip the roles around- assume Faith said/did the things that Ethan does to her, but instead did those to Ethan...

The Sidemen incellular-fanboys would go off their rockers. How dare she! She's such a cheater! He should leave her!

In summary, I think the spawn of the hate towards Faith Kelly is born out of patriarchal, hypocritical double standards from a male demographic of teenaged Sidemen-fans who cannot yet develop empathy and understanding to anything Faith does, and due to their own self-important ignorance, refuse to even try empathise with Faith and thus instead of choosing to educate themselves and understand- they take the easy route and decide to send her sexist and unjust hate instead.

Sorry for the waffle and hope that makes just enough sense for atl one person to read this and think "you know what, that isn't half untrue"

[not proofchecked, ignore spelling errors]

[cherishmimi]

Wattpad Conversions of CA

Hi my loves!

Just wanted to reach out to all of you and thank you for reading CA and still commenting after all of this time. Your love for this fic is what is keeping me going! Thank you! I also want to update you all on an ongoing situation:

I've been made aware that the Wattpad user, 'edits_727' (on Ao3 their user name is bishopsbxtch) is still copying and pasting my chapters as I update them to Ao3. This started as a conversion originally done by the Wattpad user 'Switcho_16' and I believe they stopped taking the chapters around the time I took a hiatus and most likely got tired of waiting for me to come back. Now, this user is continuing the conversion, having copied and pasted each update since I returned to posting the story.

I know that to a lot of people, converting stories to different fandoms seems harmless - but it absolutely is. CA is an AU, meaning that there are differences in its universe than the Glee universe that it's based from as a fan work, which can be incredibly time consuming to create. I don't say that to downplay other non-AU stories, I say that to highlight just how much work I put into the story as a whole. The updates take so long because I spend so much time making sure everything I write connects and is cohesive. Not to mention the original characters and backstories I came up with, making sure there are no plot holes, the research I've done - this is hours and hours of labor that I do because I had a vision SPECIFIC to this fandom. To me, it is a slap in the face to see another person simply copy and paste and change the names. Before, when I made a post about this, a person messaged me and told me that this was 'flattering' and that the users on Wattpad never took credit - which is A. not true, because there were other versions that have been deleted that absolutely did not credit me as the author, and B. this person simply says that 'the story is a conversion of another on Ao3' and never lists my name. Most of all, THEY DO NOT HAVE MY PERMISSION TO DO THIS. Period.

There is nothing flattering about this. If you crave content for your fandom like CA, go out and create something similar, or even 'inspired by' with the author's permission and knowledge - that's flattery and even more so, that's real creativity. Craft your own work for your fandom.

CA exists because of my love for BDSM and the lack of well written stories about it in the Glee fandom. I hated the Fifty Shades series because it was a terribly fleshed out story that demonized that lifestyle for the sake of a few poorly written smut scenes with a main character that had no boundaries and was a terrible example of what a real Dom looked and acted like. It was glamorized for all of the wrong reasons and I hated that. So, I thought I could do a better job with Rachel and Quinn specifically due the character traits they have on Glee.

Not only that, but I wanted a story that accurately covered body dysmorphia and the ups and downs of falling in love with someone who is emotionally unavailable. The G!p tag was an interesting rabbit hole that I had journeyed down at the time, and I wondered what it would be like to create a story that didn't just use it as an excuse to get out of writing smut scenes between two women whose bodies were the same. I wanted to know what kind of plot could be crafted and how realistic I could make it. I wanted to know what kind of impact going through something like that would have on a person. I wanted a real story, a journey for the two characters.

Of course, this story is just a fanfiction, but I worked so hard on every aspect of it and I have gone through hell to keep it going. I don't want other people taking it for other fandoms. I just don't feel that it is right. I have messaged the 'author' and calmly explained how I felt to them. I have also asked them to take the story down and to stop because they don't have my permission and I'm hoping that is well received, but in the meantime I am encouraging ANY of you that are doing that in any fandom to stop.

As I said before, take the time to create your own works and build your fandoms with the stories you want to see. It is much more exciting, and it comes with ups and downs but that is the beauty of fandom and fanfiction itself.

Love you all.

-Mimi