#that’s what we (the fandom) are here for though don’t worry

[edge-oftheworld]

I don’t really talk about it much on here because I’m extremely lucky to be able to understand exactly what’s going on in my body, but it’s scary to live for years as someone who Gets Things Done in a way your peers don’t really understand, be putting effort into so many things you care about, and then suddenly lose the ability to do not only that but also basic tasks overnight after a deadline, and bit by bit after many. it’s scary getting really irritable sometimes to the point of violence, just when you were meant to be celebrating the rewards from your hard work, the only impact of the work you did that you can see is that you overdrafted your ability to do anything. including have a basic conversation without getting grumpy or crying. and your body is going to make you pay it back with interest, you already know that, but you don’t know how to start filling yourself back up. you’ve only ever enjoyed being on the grind, hard at work on exciting things.

I don’t know how many of you have been through the kind of burnout that’s years of needing 12hrs of sleep a night but with terrible insomnia, waking up to what feels like a hangover for weeks on end with little relief then rinse and repeat without having a single drink, feeling too sick to eat and needing to exercise to emotionally regulate but being unable to, anxiety that doesn’t come from worry but you’ll pick that up too at some point, dissociating every time you try to do mentally taxing tasks that you’re PAID for so it takes an hour of grounding yourself just to get five minutes worth of productive concentration, falling asleep the minute you feel a little safe by being in the presence of loved ones. but I suspect I’m not the only one.

I’ve had songs for the energetic and angsty times leading up to this. for the exasperated times and the brain fog and the times where all my limited energy is tied up in feeling things. that I need to, need to acknowledge, but it’s overwhelming and I live in a haze for weeks as a result of. songs telling of the kind of youth I wish I had, even when I was sold something else. songs for the months spent as a teenager trying to be there for my friends, worrying for them, distracting me from worrying for myself, trying to cling on to positivity and hope amongst it when I had to choose to make a discipline of always seeing that. I’ve had songs for healing and when healing is harder than expected and songs that have the right level of musical complexity to capture the layers of everything that’s happening in my head, making it sound good, telling me it’s gonna be okay.

I don’t know how I could ever say thank you for this. but I do know that I see parts of myself in the people behind these songs, of course I do, and I worry for them as a result and ache for them because it’s hard enough to feel this way when no one knows me or feels the need to control me or mould me into what they think I should be. I’d do anything to keep them all healthy and happy and all of their loved ones too and I don’t think it’s strange as a fan to take that seriously. I hope we can understand the need to treat them gently, and to while not questioning their privacy and the fact that they’re never going to tell us everything they go through, listen to our intuition when we catch something we relate to and treat what they’ve shared with us or hinted at with the dignity we would if someone we love told us something vulnerable. be kind in our expectations and be intentional in the fan culture we create because it does make its way back to them.

and the same goes with all of you. we’re bonding over the same things. I know a lot of this fandom is in the stage where interpersonal relationships are hard. we don’t mean to be grumpy of frustrated but we are. and I’m sending love to all of you. we can get through this together. it’s what they’ve always longed for isn’t it?

[misfitmiska]

Some authors really be creating individual characters who are SO made for each other (wether platonically or romantically) in every single conceivable way and then just forget to make them interact smh…

[ziracona]

Me with my encyclopedic Until Dawn knowledge trying to help guide and aid my friend into beating it in the best possible way without spoiling anything or making decisions for him POV:

[luveline]

You mentioned in one post that bombshell!reader was furious with the team for not helping Reid with his addiction (as she should be)…. Would you maybe write about her helping him thru withdrawal or thru the cravings that follow? Maybe subtly at first, then just making sure he knew he wasn’t alone? Just some tender moments where Spencer starts to realize she actually cares about him, even if he doesn’t believe her flirting yet.

-🌕

I love every single thing you write, even for fandoms I’m not even in. You’re amazing!!

thank you for requesting my sweetheart!!! I really hope this is what you wanted, love you <3 fem!reader

cw past drug abuse

“Hi, Spencer Reid.” 

You perch on the edge of his desk with no further introduction. You’ve changed perfumes, to his immediate recognition, the rich smell of your usual parfum swapped for a less consuming scent. He detects apple blossom, and rose, the smallest hint of jasmine, a contrast to your usual vanilla and peony. The human brain can remember 50,000 scents, and Spencer can remember all of yours. Or, he could. 

“You’re not saying hi anymore?” 

“Hi, Y/N.” 

“Hi. It’s nice to see you.” You put your hand on his. Spencer isn’t sure you’ve ever touched his hand before you took it at the hospital, he’s never really let you, but he doesn’t move away. A huge winding of tension between his shoulders begins to unspool. “It’s really nice to see you, babe. I’ve missed you tons and tons.” 

He looks up tentatively. “You have?” 

“I have. I haven’t really been invited, today. I’m just here to see you.” 

“Why?” Spencer asks. 

You tighten your fingers on his hand. “Missed you. Thought maybe we should, like…” And that’s unusual, for you to use filler words, Spencer doesn’t know what to think of it. “Well, I have something to say to you, and it’s going to either sound reassuring or ridiculous.” 

“Okay.” 

You give him a withering look. “Don’t make it any easier for me.” 

He laughs. The sound alone fosters your smile. “Sorry,” he says softly, “I doubt it’ll be ridiculous.” 

“Spencer Reid, we are friends. We are. But we never do anything outside of work, so I was thinking you could come over tonight and we’d make dinner and watch TV and stuff.” 

“And stuff.” 

“I’m a bit nervous,” you confess, looking down at your lap, then quickly back up into his face, “I’m worried you won’t want to.” 

You’re kind to avoid saying what he’s sure you’re thinking; you’re worried he won’t want to spend the night with you, and instead will look down the long barrel of a small needle. Or, he thinks that’s what you’re thinking. He does it to everyone. 

“What do you want to make for dinner?” he asks. 

“What are you enjoying lately?” 

“I… I don’t know. I’m not really eating.”

“Cereal?” 

“Yes,” he laughs. “Lots of cereal.” 

You tap the wheel of his chair with your heel. You’re dressed as though you aren’t working, wearing a sweet dark dress with a starched collar and baby sleeves, stockings, and a necklace at your neck that glows with a small white crystal. You look amazing. It never makes any sense to Spencer, why you’d taken an interest in him, and why you bother now. He knows he’s hard to care for. He knows he’s making it worse. 

You look up and down his face. You must see the purple half circles beneath his eyes, the crack at the corner of his mouth, the cut he can’t stop picking on his cheek. Every time it scabs, he opens it again. One second he’s sitting there and the next he’s got blood under his fingernail. 

“Hug?” you ask hopefully. 

He goes to stand. You move in too fast and wrap your arms around him, leg slotting between his, leaning over his shoulders with a distinct sense of protectiveness. You squeeze him, a little sigh escaping you that sounds loud so close to his ear. 

“How has it been this week?” you ask quietly. 

“It’s fine.” He cups your back in his arm carefully. The other wraps tight around the small of it. He soaks you up, scared you’re gonna pull away any second. 

“How are you feeling about it? Do you need any extra help?” 

He cringes. “No,” he says. “It’s really fine.” 

“When you texted me, about the cravings? What are they like today?” 

He wishes he could breathe in the smell of your perfume and your skin and tell you they’re all better now. It would make sense; there isn’t much in his life that hasn’t been made better by your attention. He’d struggle to do this without you. You’re his only friend who actually cared enough to say the problem out loud, but you’re just a woman, you can’t work the sort of magic necessary to kick this for him. 

“Spencer?” You pull away, nudging his cheek with the back of your finger. 

“They’re okay. I’m not gonna do anything.” 

“Good, honey. I’m proud of you. I know how hard this is.” 

He bites the inside of his lip, surprised at your caring. He shouldn’t be.

“What are you two whispering about?”

You and Spencer have different reactions to Emily’s sudden question. He flinches like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and you, still vaguely pissed with everyone for not telling you Spencer was struggling and not afraid to show it, keep your eyes trained on his face. 

“Nothing,” Spencer says. 

You turn to her with a small smile. You still like her, Spencer knows. Secretly, he’s pleased you’re angry for him. It’s nice to have someone so obviously on his side. “We’re just deciding what to get for dinner.” 

“Oh, nice. Date night?” she teases. 

You press your cheek to his forehead. “Date night,” you agree, your hand unmissable where it bunches in his sweater near his heart. 

[wolvietxt]

𝓻oom 𝓯or 𝓶ore ??

pairing : dean winchester x female!reader warnings : food mentions, forced proximity, frenemies to lovers, crying, hurt / comfort, offhand comments, fluff, kiss wc : 3.3k a/n : hello supernatural fandom🙋‍♀️ i’m only on season two yet sorry if anything seems off, also taglist form here (i’ve finally added dean + sam)

the diner was loud, the clatter of plates and hum of conversation filling the space as dean leaned back in the booth, looking way too pleased with himself. he’d already finished his burger, one arm slung casually over the back of the seat while his other hand nursed a cup of coffee. sam, as usual, was glued to his laptop, scrolling through case notes like his life depended on it.  

you stabbed a fry into a pool of ketchup on your plate, glancing between the two brothers. "so, what’s the deal with this case? anything concrete yet, or are we still chasing theories?"  

sam didn’t look up, too focused on the screen. dean, on the other hand, smirked and tapped the edge of his mug. "chasing theories, sweetheart. that’s the fun part."  

"yeah, nothing screams fun like getting blindsided by a vetala or a skinwalker because someone didn’t do their homework," you shot back, arching a brow.  

dean grinned, the kind that always made you want to smack it right off his face. "don’t worry, i’ll save your ass. again."  

"oh, please," you scoffed, shaking your head. "the only thing you save is your own ego."  

sam finally chimed in, his voice calm as he flipped his laptop around to show the two of you a map. "four victims, all found in their homes, all with the same m.o. blood drained, no signs of forced entry. we’re looking at a vetala, but the pattern doesn’t quite fit. usually, they target travelers, not locals."  

"so, what’s the plan?" you asked, leaning forward.  

"we’ll hit the victims’ homes tomorrow," sam said, shutting the laptop. "for tonight, there’s a motel nearby. we can regroup there."  

"works for me," dean said, already sliding out of the booth.  

the drive to the motel was tense but quiet, aside from dean insisting on blasting some alice in chains track while you stared out the window, trying to ignore the knot of exhaustion twisting in your chest. by the time you pulled into the parking lot, all you wanted was a shower and some peace.  

"i’ll grab the rooms," sam offered, heading toward the front desk.  

dean stretched as he got out of the impala, giving you a sideways glance. "bet the rooms are gonna be just as glamorous as last time."  

"as long as they’re clean, i don’t care," you muttered, slinging your bag over your shoulder.  

a few minutes later, sam returned, holding two keys. his expression was almost apologetic as he handed one to dean.  

"is there a problem?" you asked as you approached him.

sam glanced back at you, looking sheepish. "there are only two rooms left."

"that’s fine," dean said easily. "i’ll take one, and you two can share."

"not happening," you and sam said in unison.

dean held up his hands, grinning. "okay, okay, relax. i’ll bunk with sam."

"actually," sam said, cutting in, "i already grabbed a key. figured i’d get first pick since i’m the one doing all the work."

your jaw dropped. "are you kidding me?"

"sorry," sam said, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. "but hey, at least you’re stuck with dean and not some random stranger, right?"

you glared at him, but he just flashed you a smug grin and gave a quick peck on the cheek before disappearing into his room, a soft chuckle coming from his direction.

"great," you muttered.

dean jingled the remaining key in his hand, smirking. "c’mon, sweetheart, don’t look too excited. i don’t bite. unless you’re into that." he muttered, winking at you. 

"don’t call me sweetheart," you muttered, snatching the key from him and stomping toward the room.  

"aw, come on," dean said, following behind. "it’s not that bad. i’m great company."  

you didn’t dignify that with a response, shoving the door open and flicking on the light. the room was standard cheap motel fare: scratchy carpet, ugly wallpaper, and one double bed smack in the middle.  

"of course," you muttered under your breath.  

"well," dean said, tossing his duffel onto the bed, "this’ll be cozy."  

"you’re sleeping on the floor," you said flatly, dropping your bag onto the chair.  

he scoffed, already kicking off his boots. "yeah, that’s not happening. bad for my back."  

"your back?" you repeated, turning to glare at him. "what about my back?"  

he grinned, flopping onto the bed like he owned it. "you’ll survive."  

"you’re unbelievable," you muttered, running a hand through your hair.  

"relax, sweetheart," he said, propping himself up on his elbows. "it’s just one night. unless you’re worried about me stealing the covers."  

"i’m worried about strangling you in your sleep," you muttered, grabbing your toiletries and heading for the bathroom.  

his laughter followed you, low and smug.  

when you returned, showered and slightly less irritated, dean was still sprawled across the bed, flipping through channels on the ancient tv.  

"move," you said, gesturing for him to scoot over.  

he rolled onto his side, patting the spot next to him. "plenty of room, baby. don’t be shy."  

you froze at the word, heat creeping up your neck. "don’t call me that."  

"what? you don’t like pet names?" he asked, smirking.  

"not from you," you snapped, climbing into bed as far from him as possible.  

he chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "suit yourself, princess."  

you turned your back to him, willing yourself to sleep. but after a few minutes of silence, dean spoke again, his tone lighter now.  

"you know, for someone who acts so tough, you sure get wound up over the little things."  

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you asked, not turning around.  

"just saying," he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "you’re always trying so hard to prove something. it’s like you’re afraid if you’re not perfect, you’ll just... fade into the background or something."  

the words hit harder than you expected, and you felt your chest tighten.  

"wow," you said quietly, your voice colder now. "thanks for the psychoanalysis, dr. winchester."  

"hey, i didn’t mean - " he started, his voice accompanied by a hint of amusement.

"forget it," you said, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.  

dean didn’t say anything else, and after a while, you heard the tv click off. but sleep didn’t come easily, the sting of his words lingering long after the room went dark.  

the room was too quiet. the kind of quiet that made every little sound seem deafening: the creak of the mattress springs when dean shifted, the low hum of the heater kicking on, the rustle of the thin motel sheets.  

you lay on your side, staring at the wall. the pillow beneath your head felt stiff and lumpy, but that wasn’t what was keeping you awake. it was his words - flippant, thoughtless, but sharp enough to slice through you like a blade.  

"you’re always trying so hard to prove something... like you’re afraid if you’re not perfect, you’ll just fade into the background or something."

dean didn’t get it. he never did. it wasn’t just about proving something. it was about survival. you couldn’t afford to screw up - not in your line of work, not with the stakes so high. the constant pressure to be sharp, to be reliable, to be good enough - it wasn’t a choice. it was a necessity.  

and then dean had to come along and throw it in your face like some stupid joke.  

you rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. the tears prickling at your eyes were unwelcome, hot and stubborn. you didn’t cry often - not over things like this. but tonight, with exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders and his words still echoing in your head, it was harder to hold back.  

on the other side of the bed, dean was still awake. you could hear his steady breathing, the faint rustle of fabric as he adjusted his position.  

"you asleep?" he muttered, voice low in the dark.  

you didn’t answer.  

"look, i didn’t mean anything by what i said earlier," he added after a moment, his tone uncharacteristically hesitant. "i was just messing around."  

still, you said nothing.  

he sighed, and you could picture him scrubbing a hand over his face in frustration. "fine. be mad. whatever."  

you turned back onto your side, curling into yourself as quietly as you could. you just wanted him to stop talking, stop prying at the wound he’d opened.  

a tear slipped free despite your best efforts, quickly followed by another. you pressed your face into the pillow, hoping the darkness would swallow your silent crying.  

but then dean spoke again, and his words hit you like a brick.  

"are you hugging the damn pillow?"  

your breath hitched. you weren’t hugging the pillow exactly, but you had one arm curled around it for some semblance of comfort. you stiffened, waiting for him to make another joke.  

and he did.  

"what, you need a cuddle buddy?" his voice was teasing, laced with that stupid humor he always used to deflect.  

"shut up, dean," you said, your voice cracking in a way that made you wince.  

the laughter in his voice faded immediately. "wait... are you - "  

"don’t," you snapped, your throat tight. "just don’t."  

the room went dead silent. for a moment, you thought maybe he’d dropped it, that he’d roll over and go to sleep. but then the bed shifted, and you felt him sit up.  

"hey," he said softly. "what’s going on?"  

you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.  

"come on, talk to me," he pressed, his voice gentle now. "did i say something? because if i did..." he trailed off, exhaling a long breath. "damn it. i’m sorry, okay? i’m an idiot. we both know that."  

you let out a shaky breath, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your shirt. "it’s fine. just forget it."  

"yeah, no," he said, moving closer. "you don’t get to say ‘it’s fine’ when you’re over there crying into the pillow."  

"i’m not crying into the pillow," you muttered, your voice muffled.  

"baby," he said, the word soft and warm and startlingly tender. "you can’t lie to me. i can hear it."  

your breath hitched at the nickname. it wasn’t one he used often, and when he did, it wasn’t like this - low and soothing, like he was trying to piece you back together.  

"just drop it," you said, curling tighter into yourself.  

"not happening," he said firmly. you felt the bed dip as he leaned closer, his hand brushing your shoulder. "look at me."  

"no."  

"please," he said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading.  

you hesitated before slowly rolling onto your back, your arms still wrapped protectively around yourself. his face was close, the dim light from the streetlamp outside casting soft shadows over his features.  

"what did i say?" he asked, his brows furrowed in concern.  

you bit your lip, the words sticking in your throat, tears rolling down your flushed cheeks. but the way he was looking at you - like he actually cared - made it harder to hold them back.  

"you said..." you started, then stopped, your chest tightening. "you said i’m trying too hard. like... like i’m afraid i’m not good enough."  

his face fell, and you saw the exact moment he realized how much his words had hurt. "oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his hand finding yours. "i didn’t mean that. i swear. i was just being a jackass, like always."  

you shook your head, blinking back fresh tears. "it’s not just that, dean. it’s... everything. the way you always joke around, like nothing’s serious. like none of this matters. but it does. it matters to me."  

he didn’t say anything for a moment, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in slow, soothing circles. "you’re right," he said finally. "it does matter. and i should’ve thought about that before running my mouth."  

his honesty caught you off guard, and you glanced up at him, your defenses wavering.  

"you’re good at what you do," he said, his voice steady. "better than good. you’re smart and tough and... and hell, i don’t even know how you put up with me half the time. but you do. and i..." he hesitated, his green eyes searching yours. "i don’t want you to think i don’t see that. or that i don’t appreciate you. because i do."  

your breath caught, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the heater.  

"dean," you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper.  

he leaned closer, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "i mean it, baby," he said softly. "you mean a lot to me."  

the words hung in the air, heavy with something unspoken. before you could second-guess yourself, you tilted your head slightly, and his lips brushed against yours - tentative, testing.  

when he felt you kiss him back, his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. the kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, like he was trying to say everything he couldn’t put into words. his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. he was solid and warm, his body pressing into yours with an intensity that made your heart pound. his fingers traced the curve of your back, dipping under the hem of your shirt just enough to make your skin tingle.  

you felt the roughness of his fingertips, the callouses from years of hunting and fighting. they were a stark contrast to the softness of his touch, a reminder of how layered he was - how carefully he’d built this facade that now felt like it was falling away. he moaned low into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips, and you responded with a shiver, your hands finding their way to the hard lines of his chest.  

you couldn’t help but feel his breath hitch as you pressed your palms against him, as if the simple contact spoke volumes. his mouth moved against yours, claiming, exploring, every stroke of his tongue leaving a heat behind that was making it hard to think straight. his hands shifted, one moving up to cradle your face, his thumb sweeping over your cheek, the other slipping under the edge of your shirt again, skimming just above the curve of your hip.  

he pulled you tighter, until you were pressed fully against him, the soft fabric of his shirt brushing your skin. you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the way he seemed to anchor you to the moment, making sure you were there, right with him. it was dizzying, intoxicating, a heady mix of familiarity and newfound wonder that made you feel like you were on the edge of falling.

his mouth traveled to the corner of your jaw, down your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that made your skin burn. you gasped, a soft, involuntary sound that sent a surge of pride through him, made him growl low in his throat as he pulled you back into another kiss. his hands moved, now tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, making sure you felt every ounce of him, every single unspoken word he hadn’t said yet.  

when you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, his thumb still tracing gentle patterns along your jaw.

"you okay?" he almost cooed at you.

you nodded, your heart racing. "yeah. i think i am."  

"good," he said, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "because i’m not going anywhere. not tonight. not ever."  

you didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just leaned into him, letting his warmth and steady presence chase away the lingering ache in your chest.   

you woke to warmth. a heavy arm draped over your waist, the quiet rise and fall of his chest pressed against your back. for a moment, you didn’t move. you let yourself sink into the comfort of it - the weight of his arm, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint smell of his aftershave still clinging to the air.  

then reality crept in, and your eyes blinked open. the events of the night before played on a loop in your mind: the fight, his apology, the kiss.  

you turned slightly, just enough to see him. dean was still asleep, his face softer in the early morning light. his lips, which had been pressed to yours just hours ago, were parted slightly, and his hair was sticking up in a way that would’ve made you laugh if your heart wasn’t pounding so hard.  

you were so caught up in watching him that you didn’t notice his eyes fluttering open until it was too late.  

"morning," he said, his voice low and gruff with sleep.  

"morning," you murmured, suddenly hyperaware of how close you were.  

he didn’t move his arm, didn’t pull away. instead, he tightened it slightly, drawing you closer.  

"you okay?" he asked, his tone soft but cautious, like he wasn’t sure where you stood after everything.  

you nodded, your cheeks warming. "yeah. i’m okay."  

his lips twitched into a small smile, the kind that always seemed to disarm you. "good."  

for a while, neither of you said anything. the quiet was comfortable this time, filled with the unspoken understanding that something between you had shifted.  

eventually, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "so, uh... about last night."  

his smile faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. "yeah. look, if you’re having second thoughts, or if - "  

"i’m not," you said quickly, cutting him off.  

his brow furrowed. "you’re not?"  

you shook your head, your fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. "no. i’m not."  

relief washed over his features, and he let out a breath you didn’t realize he’d been holding. "good. because, uh... i meant what i said. all of it."  

"even the part where you called me baby?" you teased, a small smile tugging at your lips.  

he chuckled, the sound low and warm. "especially that part."  

you couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension in your chest easing. "you’re such a sap."  

"yeah, well, don’t get used to it," he said, but the teasing edge in his voice didn’t quite mask the affection in his eyes.  

before you could respond, there was a knock at the door.  

"you two decent?" sam’s voice called from the other side.  

you froze, your eyes widening as you looked at dean. he just smirked, clearly amused by your panic.  

"yeah, come on in," he called back, his tone casual.  

"dean!" you hissed, scrambling to sit up and tugging the blanket higher over yourself, even though you were fully dressed.  

the door opened, and sam stepped in, his eyes immediately darting between the two of you. his brows raised slightly, but he didn’t say anything.  

"breakfast?" he offered, holding up a brown paper bag.  

"thanks, sammy," dean said, sitting up and stretching like he hadn’t just been caught in bed with you.  

sam set the bag on the table, his expression carefully neutral. "we should hit the road soon. got another lead a few towns over."  

"got it," dean said, already reaching for the bag.  

as sam left, you turned to dean, your eyes narrowing. "you’re impossible, you know that?"  

"what? it’s not like we were doing anything wrong," he said, unbothered.  

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. "you’re lucky i like you."  

"damn right i am," he said, leaning over to press a quick kiss to your temple.  

and just like that, the tension was gone, replaced by the easy banter that had always defined your relationship - only now, there was something softer beneath it. something real.  

as you packed up and got ready to leave, you couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of hope. the road ahead was uncertain, as it always was, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were facing it alone.  

you glanced at dean as he loaded the bags into the impala, the sunlight catching in his hair. he looked over his shoulder, catching you watching him, and smirked.  

"you coming, baby?"  

you rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. "yeah, i’m coming."  

and as you slid into the passenger seat, the familiar rumble of his impala’s engine beneath you, you couldn’t help but think that maybe - just maybe - this was the start of something good.  

🌀 dean winchester : @person-005

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[a-chip-in-inosukes-nichirin]

Ameliorate

Fandom: Kimetsu no Yaiba/Demon Slayer

Rating: Explicit- Minors DNI (18+ only)

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Sanemi/Female Reader

Tags: Female Reader, Penis in Vagina Sex, Bad Dates, Brief Mentions of SA, Oral Sex, Protective Genya, Protective Sanemi, Fucking you better, Slight Self-Esteem Issues, Mating Press, Sexual Tension, Sanemi is a lovable asshole

Wordcount: 5k

Ameliorate: To make something unsatisfactory better

After a bad date you spill the beans that you think Genya's brother is hot and he decides to fuck the memory of your shitty date out of you.

Cross-posted from my AO3 account.

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8627 45th Street SOS pls pick me up ASAP

The hastily sent text was minimal, blunt, and out of character for you. Usually, your messages were sprinkled with extraneous words, emojis, and “please” and “thank you”. You had no time for flowery language today; you needed a quick extraction.

You were hidden in the bathroom, date passed out on the bed after possibly the worst sex you’d ever experienced- for how long, you weren’t sure. Hopefully just enough for you to get out of here.

You weren’t known for making the best decisions and tended to go along with things longer than you wanted to in the name of politeness. It had landed you in many shitty situations, but this was by far the worst one. You rinsed your mouth with water in an attempt to wash the taste of the man who’d been far too rough with you from your palate, holding back the need to gag. You’d done enough of that today, and it was barely noon; a striking contrast to how you felt.

Your phone vibrated, Genya’s number lighting up the screen. You answered it with shaky fingers, keeping your voice low as you spoke.

“Hey.”

You hated how raspy it sounded. That’s what happens when an asshole doesn’t listen when you tell him to be gentle.

“You okay?” Genya’s concerned voice came through the speaker. “We’re almost there; what’s up?”

You appreciated Genya’s swift response but stiffened at his words.

“We?”

“I’m out with Nemi,” Genya told you.

Sanemi.

Genya’s big brother, and the last person you wanted to see you in this state. You couldn’t afford to be picky, though, when you were stranded at a stranger’s house after a variety of bad decisions.

“Just text me when you’re outside. Don’t honk or anything.”

“Are you safe?”

“Yeah…”

Just having a shitty day.

“We’re just around the corner,” Genya informed you.

“Okay. Be out in a sec.”

You hung up the phone and wished between your legs didn’t ache so badly, wished you weren’t half-limping from everything. There were likely bruises on your wrists and thighs, probably on your ass too if you were being honest. Under different circumstances you would’ve been proud of them, but today you only felt disgust.

You’d been so stupid.

Shuffling out of the bathroom on your tiptoes, you crept past the bedroom door that was left ajar, catching a glance at the man who’d cajoled until you caved, then didn’t listen when you said you weren’t fucking ready yet.

So stupid.

You berated yourself as you softly closed the door behind you for your walk of shame to the vaguely familiar SUV parked on the street. Genya twisted to look at you from the passenger seat as you slid in, avoiding his eyes. You knew you looked like a mess: mascara had streaked, and eyeliner was smudged, hair mussed beyond its normal windswept tousle, and it was a miracle that the majority of the damage inflicted on you was covered by your turtleneck.

“No car?”

“In the shop for repairs,” you kept your eyes glued out of the window, knowing Genya was worried but ashamed to meet his gaze. “I appreciate the ride. Didn’t mean to encroach on bro-time.”

“Not a problem,” Sanemi’s voice cut through the air as he pulled away. You shivered at his words, wetting your lips nervously. “You weren’t too far out of the way.”

“You okay?” Genya asked.

You wrinkled your nose, fighting the shame that filled your throat.

“Bad date.”

The following silence was uncomfortable, leaving you shifting against the leather seats. You knew Genya was probably fighting the urge to ask you if you wanted him to kick someone’s ass, and Sanemi… well, you didn’t know what he thought but you sure could guess what someone might think when they saw what you looked like after exiting a man’s house.

“Hungry?”

The question broke you out of your thoughts, and you caught Sanemi’s gaze in the rearview mirror. You’d eaten a couple hours ago, but after the day you’d had, you were starving. You didn’t realize how tense you were until just now, melting into the seat.

“Yeah, food sounds great.”

“Nemi and I were gonna grab something and then marathon Star Wars,” Genya told you. “You down?”

Your eyes flickered between the two brothers.

“Is that okay?”

“You’re over all the time already,” Sanemi replied nonchalantly.

It was true: you often dropped in or crashed at their place after work or on your days off to hang out with Genya. The two of you had been fast friends since you both worked the same shifts at work during high school. You’d moved on to other things, as had Genya, but your friendship had remained and grown as you did.

Sanemi worked quite a bit to provide for his younger brother and himself after an accident that left both of them orphans, and he was often gone when you and Genya hung at his place, but he’d found a better job recently that left him with more days off. With his schedule freed up a bit, he’d been around more while you crushed Genya at Mario Kart and experimented with new recipes in their spacious kitchen.

Sanemi had been little more than a passing thought before, but since seeing him more frequently, you’d developed a fascination with the scarred man with the shock of white hair. It wasn’t like the crushes you’d had on other guys- giddy, giggling things- but instead a hot coal in your stomach that left you uncomfortable and squirming when he was nearby. Sanemi was short-tempered and gruff, and had a permanent scowl on his face, but something about him made butterflies sprout in your chest.

It made you feel foolish, and you knew you’d die if Sanemi ever found out. You’d gone to great lengths to put physical and emotional distance between the two of you, a practiced civility that bordered on cold. It was the only way you could manage to keep yourself in check around him.

With the food acquired (taco bell was Genya’s favorite, much to Sanemi’s disdain), the three of you were back at the Shinaguzawa household in record time. Genya plopped on the couch, patting the seat next to him. You hesitated, the stickiness under your clothes itching uncomfortably now.

“Here,” Sanemi appeared out of thin air, thrusting a towel into your hands. “You know where the shower is.”

Your face heated as you slunk away, disappearing into the tiled bathroom. You must have looked pretty rough if Sanemi was telling you to shower.

Genya furrowed his brows disapprovingly at his brother as you vanished.

“I know you’re trying to help, but you should really work on how you talk to people.”

“Why?” Sanemi settled on the far end of the sofa.

Genya pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Because,” he groaned. “You don’t have tact.”

“I was giving her a towel; why does that need tact?” Sanemi turned the television on. “She obviously wanted a shower.”

“You’re useless,” Genya dug out his burrito. “It’s no wonder nobody will date you.”

Sanemi snatched the food from Genya with a glare, pushing him away with a socked foot when Genya complained and reached for the stolen bag.

“Biting the hand that feeds you means you’re gonna lose the food,” Sanemi told him.

“Genya!”

Your voice from down the hall had the younger brother craning his neck, Sanemi leaning back to peer down the dim hall curiously.

“I’m stealing some of your clothes,” you exited Genya’s room, holding up a handful of cloth. “And I’m borrowing your washer.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Genya nodded, watching you disappear into the bathroom.

The silence as Sanemi set up the movie was relaxed. Genya fished his food from the bag and set it far away from his brother, disposing of the trash as the sound of water reached their ears.

“So I guess you two aren’t fucking then?”

Genya choked on his burrito, slamming his fist into his chest. When he finally could breathe again, he turned his red face towards Sanemi with a glare.

“What the hell would give you that impression?”

“Look,” Sanemi plucked a cinnamon twist from its spot nestled in fast food paper. “I see you guys hanging out all the time. You’re close. I just figured-”

“We’re friends,” Genya cut him off. “She literally was on a date with someone today.”

“A shitty one,” Sanemi interjected.

Genya rubbed his eyes.

“Yeah, a shitty one. I swear she’s got the worst luck when it comes to dating. It’s like she’s an asshole magnet.”

“This happened before?”

Sanemi’s interest was piqued. He’d grown curious about the girl who showed up at the house to keep Genya company and use the kitchen at odd hours. You were incredibly sweet but had a sassy streak around people you were comfortable with. He’d heard you swear like a sailor over losing a game, but even from the next room over he could hear the grin in your tone. It did confuse him how you’d go from acting like you were in your own house while Genya was there, to suddenly stiffening and growing formally polite around him.

“Yeah, like four or five times. Usually, I’ll hear about it the next day, but she’s never called for a ride before.”

“She should’ve just told the guy no date until her car is fixed,” Sanemi took a swig of his drink. “That’d fix that problem. Can’t help with the bad taste in men, though.”

“I don’t have bad taste.”

Your voice cut the air sharply, and the brothers twisted around to see you standing behind the couch, hair damp and body swallowed by Genya’s clothes. Your embarrassed face was juxtaposed by the glare plastered across it. A few pale bruises peeked above the loose collar of the borrowed shirt.

“Then how do you explain consistently shit dates?” Sanemi countered, raising a brow.

Your face burned and you ducked your head between your shoulders.

“…bad luck?”

The white-haired man snorted into his cup. You scowled, plopping down on the couch next to Genya.

“I can’t help it men are pigs who don’t know what the word ‘no’ means,” you bit back, hackles raised at Sanemi’s reaction.

You didn’t think the air could get more uncomfortable, but here you were, starting to squirm as you did your best to avoid the piercing gazes of the Shinazugawa brothers. Genya’s whole body had leaned forward as his hands dug into the couch. Sanemi’s normal resting bitch face hardened farther and his eyes narrowed to pinpricks.

“I’ve got a crowbar in the garage-”

“Nemi!” Genya elbowed him before quickly turning back to you. “Unless… I mean unless you wanted-”

“No!” you shook your head, covering your face. This night was just getting worse the more you had to talk about everything. “I just want to forget about it. Can we watch the movie please?”

Familiar music filled the air as Star Wars began to play. You honestly didn’t care for the franchise all that much but it was a welcome distraction from your morning. You inhaled your food before snuggling down into the couch your lids grew heavy. You finally let them shut, unable to stay awake any longer as the hum of conversation and sound effects melted into the background.

Your dreams were staticky and punctuated by odd dialogue filtering in through your ears from the movies playing, but eventually you fell into a dead sleep, mind dark and empty as the exhaustion caught up to you.

When you jolted awake, the sun had gone down and the curtains were drawn, leaving the living room dark. The couch’s raised fabric pattern was imprinted on your cheek, accompanied by drool trickling from your open mouth.

Gross.

You wiped it away with the back of your hand, sitting upright. The living room was empty, food wrappers cleaned up and a fuzzy blanket laid over your body. Sanemi and Genya were nowhere to be seen. You pushed yourself up, reaching for your phone.

10:18PM.

Genya would normally still be up at this time. You picked yourself up off the couch and padded down the hall, knocking on his door.

No answer.

You opened it slowly, not wanting to get an eyeful if he was in the middle of choking his chicken or something else that would scar you for life. His room was entirely empty, bed uncharacteristically neat. Eyebrows knit together to create a crease.

“Do you always creep around like an intruder?”

Sanemi’s voice made you jump, spinning around to face him. You clutched your chest where your heart beat erratically from the scare, trying to hold back a scowl.

“Jesus Christ dude,” you spit out when you finally caught your breath. “Don’t do that.”

“What?” Sanemi crossed his arms. “Walk through my own house?”

“Surprise me,” you took a step back, gathering your wits. “In the dark.”

Sanemi reached over with one hand, flipping the light switch. The sudden harsh illumination made you squint, which did nothing to make your face look less irritable.

“Genya got called into work about two hours ago,” Sanemi answered your unspoken question. “He said you could use his bed if you wanted to.”

You peered back into the room behind you. Sanemi probably wouldn’t want to drive you home, so you supposed you could crash in Genya’s bed for the night. Wouldn’t have been the first time, and probably not the last. Genya always insisted you take his bed if you stayed the night anyway. He claimed the couch was more comfortable (a lie if you’d ever heard one).

“If it’s no trouble,” you pulled the blanket tighter. “I’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”

Sanemi let out a long sigh, leaving you to side-eye him as he rolled his shoulders. When he finally quieted and brought his attention back to you, he looked both pissed and concerned.

“Is it something I did?”

You blinked owlishly, cocking your head.

“What?”

“You always do this,” he gestured to you. “You’re relaxed and chill when Genya’s here, but the moment I show up you get all… frosty. Did I say something to offend you?”

You shifted from one foot to the other, opening your mouth briefly before snapping it shut, trying to think before you said anything stupid. It didn’t work, as per usual.

“N-no, you just make me nervous-”

Sanemi’s face briefly reminded you of a kicked puppy, and you felt horrible. Of course he’d assume you were frightened of him because of his scars. You chided yourself mentally, attempting to fix your mistake.

“N-not like that!” you lifted your hands to wave them wildly, and the blanket slipped to the floor and puddled around your feet. “I just-you make me nervous because you’re hot!”

Both of you froze this time, and your face lit up bright red, ears burning as your mouth fell open and eyes bugged out at your slip of the tongue. You wished you could melt into the wooden floorboards of the hall.

Sanemi broke out of his stupor first, a slow grin spreading across his face. You would’ve run if you hadn’t been rooted to the floor in humiliation.

“Oh, is that it?” he leaned down, resting one palm flat against the doorframe near your head.

His face was close-too close to yours to be completely comfortable. You turned your head away, trying to calm your racing heart. There’s no way Sanemi was flirting with you. He was probably just being an asshole, right?

Right?

“Genya isn’t the only one who has a bed,” Sanemi’s smirk was crooked, eyes half lidded. His face swiftly softened when he noted your eyes flickering to your left and right like a frightened rabbit. He took a step back, allowing you your personal space again.

“Sorry,” he apologized, eyes gentle amidst the sharp planes of his face. “You just had a shitty date and here I am being a bad host. You’re probably tired.”

You hadn’t seen this side of Sanemi before much. You were used to his cocky glares and barking laughter. Not this gentle tone like someone coaxing a horse.

“You’re not bad,” you burst out, wanting to ease the tense atmosphere. “I just- I don’t… know how to act around you.”

Your face burned. How many embarrassing confessions would you make tonight? You were already at two and counting.

“I’m not a pig,” Sanemi echoed your words from earlier. “I know how to take a ‘no’.”

“I-it’s not a no!”

Sanemi’s gaze snapped back to you, shocked but curious. You bit your lip, clenching your fists.

“It’s… not a no. I’m just not sure-”

“If you’re not sure, then it’s the same thing,” Sanemi picked the blanket up from off the floor and looping it around your shoulders like a cape.

Your fingers snagged it without a second thought, anchoring it in place where he’d laid it. You weren’t sure where your eyes should settle, but risked peeking up at him. His eyes rested on your visage with a gentleness that rivaled the brush of his fingers as they withdrew from fabric around your body. Those lilac eyes were a little curious, a little resigned, and a little hungry.

You reached out with one hand, hooking your fingers in the hem of his shirt. He paused. You took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“I want you,” you maintained eye contact as you spoke- quite the feat when your heart was trying to escape through your throat.

Sanemi stared at you as if trying to gauge your sincerity.

“Please?” you tacked on as an afterthought, suddenly afraid that he’d laugh in your face or- worse- reject you outright for some other reason. You could thin of a million, but the one you worried most about was him thinking you were some kind of loose woman who slept around-

Hands threaded through your hair, and you felt lips on your own. You melted into the unexpected touch, anxiously moving closer until you were fully pressed against Sanemi’s body. Heat rolled off him comfortingly, and your hands twisted in his white tank top. His teeth nipped against your lower lip, forcefully requesting entrance. You granted it, running your tongue along his teeth, tasting mint and the faintest lingering bitterness of tobacco.

Cigarettes.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” you whispered as he broke away for a breath.

A brief embarrassed guilt flashed across his features before he shrugged.

“I’m working on quitting. Don’t want Genya to think it’s okay but… we all have our vices.”

You laughed, reaching up to touch his hair.

“Genya tried cigs and isn’t a fan, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

The look on Sanemi’s face was comical, and you held in a giggle. He glared behind you in the direction of Genya’s bed.

“The little fucker-”

“Hey, he’s a good kid,” you insisted, feeling more at ease speaking with Sanemi now that his hands were around your waist. It was both soothing and thrilling.

Sanemi crowded you against the wall, dropping his head until your gazes were level. His eyes bored into yours and it felt as if you were suddenly being interrogated.

“You two really aren’t fucking?”

The question took you aback a little bit, but you shook your head.

“He’s like my little brother.”

Sanemi’s grin split across his face, crooked and sharp. Your stomach fluttered as the tip of his nose brushed against yours, fanning his breath across your lips.

“Good. Because I’m taking you.”

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant, you were lifted off your feet and carried- with an undignified squeal- through the hall and into Sanemi’s room. When he dropped you on the bed, the air left your lungs in a gasp, and it took a second to get your bearings.

“If you say stop, or no, at any point,” Sanemi’s shirt was whipped off over his head as he approached the bed, “I’ll back off. If you can’t speak, tap me three times.”

Your eyes locked on his torso as you nodded dumbly, taking in the muscles and scars across his ribs and pecs, down his sides and crowning his hips. It took everything in you to tear your vision away to meet his face as he crawled over you, running his hand up your neck until he cradled your jaw.

“Now… how about I make you forget all about that shitty fucking guy from earlier?”

The kiss was soft and chaste, not what you expected after how heated things had gotten in the hallway. Sanemi’s hands reached for the edge of the t-shirt you wore- Genya’s t-shirt- and lifted it until it caught on your face, tugging a bit when your head was stuck until it popped off, leaving your hair mussed. He brushed the stray strands from your face, eyes dropping to your bare breasts.

Shit.

In the chaos of excitement, you’d forgotten about the marks left from your earlier date. Your hands immediately went to cover them in horror. Sanemi stopped you, grabbing your wrists and holding them from blocking his view. His lips pressed to each mark, scraping his teeth and sucking them until they grew darker. Each bruise was remarked afresh by his mouth until not one was left untouched.

Your head had fallen back, a trembling hum dragged from your lips at the feeling of Sanemi’s touch. He sucked a few new marks as well, higher up on your neck, making sure to lavish the juncture of your shoulder and throat with attention. Your hands dug into his hair, tugging and holding back a keen of pleasure.

“There,” he pulled back, satisfied with his work.

Your breath hitched, watching him slide his fingers under the satin basketball shorts clinging to your hips. Being fully exposed to Sanemi was frightening, your entire body going rigid, remembering the offhand snide comments you’d endured only hours ago in the same situation. Sanemi noted the way you wouldn’t meet his eye, ducking your head and pulling your legs towards yourself as if you were going to curl in on yourself.

“I can’t see your pretty face,” he lifted your chin with a finger, thumbing your lip. “I want you to look at me while I go down on you.”

Your face blazed red, and it crept down your neck until your chest flushed as well, watching Sanemi drop his face between your legs, forcing them apart while maintaining eye contact. You slowly eased yourself down until you were only propped up on your elbows.

“Ready, pretty girl?”

It was humiliating how your cunt fluttered at the words, and you nodded, transfixed by his cocky smile as he stuck his tongue out, just barely flicking the little nub that hid under its fleshy hood. The anticipation made you squirm a bit, even though the touch wasn’t enough to affect you. Sanemi hooked his arms around your thighs, anchoring you in place before burying his face against your hot core. Your back arched, a muffled moan fluttering past your lips as your nails scratched his scalp.

You could feel him grin against your cunt as his tongue dipped in and out, tracing the sides and up towards your clit. He avoided directly touching it until you were practically grinding against his face in desperation, desperate short whimpers huffed through your nose. Your lower lip was tucked under your top teeth, bitten and swollen due to your barely restrained desire.

“Please, Sanemi,” you finally gasped.

He pulled back, chin slicked with your juices.

“Please what?”

“You know what!” you whined.

Leave it to Sanemi to be an asshole while eating you out. You couldn’t really complain though- he was impressively good.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you dropped your head to the sheets so you wouldn’t have to look at him as you spoke. “Let me cum.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

You shot up, glaring at Sanemi with a fury you didn’t know was in you. That pleased smirk was plastered on his gorgeously annoying face. You moved your legs so they locked behind his head, holding him in place.

“Don’t be a fucking tease!” you shook him a little by his cornsilk hair, just firm enough to show you weren’t a fan of his antics.  

Sanemi huffed a laugh against your inner thigh. His mouth was already back on you, finally going high enough to reach that sensitive button that he’d been neglecting. You sighed in relief, thighs clenching around his face. It didn’t take long after that for that coil in your stomach to build, snapping and throwing you over the edge when Sanemi’s flat tongue caressed your clit.

He kept going despite your choked cry and the way you arched up off the bed, limbs shaking and legs shaking. When you finally couldn’t take it anymore your hands pushed against his head, forcing him away. He sat up, looking over your trembling body and heaving chest. Your eyes were closed, a ringing sound in your ears from the intensity of the orgasm that was currently acting like a muscle relaxer.

A muffled groan pulled you from your pleasure-induced haze, and your eyes slit open. Sanemi’s pants were gone, pupils blown out. You didn’t realize how hard he was already, the outline of his dick inside the confines of his gray boxers surprising you as he palmed himself through the fabric. His own breathing was labored, and he swallowed, noticing your eyes opening.

“You good, princess?”

You nodded, feeling a bit sleepy, but pushed yourself up until you were sitting.

“Up for another round?”

You reached out, a bit hesitant, but tugged on the waistband of his underwear. That was all the answer he needed, and Sanemi stripped out of them, fishing around in the drawer of his nearby nightstand until he was able to produce a condom. It was opened and rolled on in a flash. He nudged your legs apart, settling between them and lining himself up at your entrance. You were incredibly slick from your earlier orgasm, and he pushed in with little resistance. The intrusion was still unexpected, and your fingernails bit into his forearm. Sanemi let out a shaky breath as he bottomed out, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Good job, sweetheart,” he whispered through gritted teeth. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to move.”

Instead of answering him verbally, you pushed up against him, grinding your cunt down onto his dick. The choked cry from his lips was like honey to your ears, and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Fuck me, Sanemi,” you breathed into his ear.

You barely finished the sentence before his hips began pounding into you, a cacophony of grunts and groans escaping his throat. He grabbed your legs and folded them back, angling deeper into your sopping cunt and hitting something inside you that made your toes curl. Each thrust punched the air from your lungs, leaving you too breathless to even moan out your satisfaction. Sanemi’s grip on your legs was leaving bruises but you didn’t care. You were enveloped in the feeling of his cock drilling into you relentlessly, his eyes half closed as the veins in his neck and arms stood out from the force he applied with each movement.

“S-Sanemi!”

The strangled cry you managed to get out among the intense movement filled the hot air of the room. Sanemi’s grip tightened on your legs and his hips stuttered against yours. His mouth had fallen open, eyes lidded with pleasure. His groans rose in pitch until they were more whines than anything, and the staccato beat of skin on skin lost all rhythm.

Sanemi came with a long moan, his mouth dropping to your neck, suckling as he ground up against you, hands loosing their hold on your legs to scramble for your hips. The tension in your stomach snapped with the last few jerks of his hips, a pleasant buzz settling in your limbs and chest a second time as your walls fluttered around his pulsing member. Your arms draped across his shoulders in an embrace as he came down from his high.

It was too warm in the room, but neither of you made a move. You hummed into his soft hair in hazy satisfaction.

“That was nice,” your hoarse voice drew Sanemi’s eyes to your half-asleep face.

He chuckled.

“Just nice?”

You tousled his hair, feigning a pout.

“What, you need your ego stroked?”

Sanemi snaked his hand down your body, flicking your still-sensitive nub with a finger. Your body jerked involuntarily, a cry escaping from your lips. You whined at him, burying your face in your hands in embarrassment.

“I made you come twice,” Sanemi said. “How many times did that piece of shit you call a date make you come?”

You mumbled your answer, and Sanemi narrowed his eyes, gently abusing your clit again. You squirmed in an attempt to get away, but he was still buried to the hilt inside of you.

“He didn’t-” you said, fingers digging into the sheets on either side of you.

“That’s what I thought,” Sanemi ground against you, and you wriggled against the intense feeling of overstimulation. “Pretty girls like you deserve to be treated well, don’t you think?”

If you hadn’t been blushing before, you definitely were now. All you could manage was a nod as Sanemi slowly pulled out of you. You whimpered at the loss, feeling empty and cold as he tied off the condom and tossed it in the trash.

“What do pretty girls like you deserve?” Sanemi lifted your chin with his fingers.

“To be… treated well?”

Sanemi had a satisfied grin plastered on his face, and he kissed you deeply before pulling back and nodding.

“So how about you find yourself someone who’ll treat you like a princess?”

His words set your heart fluttering again, and you wet your lips, staring at him expectantly.

“Okay. Have any suggestions?”

His laughter huffed through his nose at your innocent and eager expression. Sanemi kissed the tip of your nose, cradling your jaw in his hand.

“You’re looking at him.”

[revelboo]

Last night I dreamed about you (not a strange dream)Basically, in my dream, you were famous to the point that all two stories here on Tumblr were physical books/available on Kindle. One day, on my birthday, I received a gift from my friend: The hardcover editions of "give up/give in" and "everything is alright". Man, what a good dream. The covers were SO BEAUTIFUL, glossy and probably the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Like, I woke up sad, because they were so perfect that I wanted them to be real. The last thing I remember doing in the dream was finishing reading both books on the same day because i was so excited!

Anyway, thanks for making me go crazy over Transformers again! I've been following you since the first 'chapters' of Everything is Alright (I think I found your account when you were releasing the 5th or 6th).

Hugs from a Brazilian fan 💗🇧🇷(And sorry for any words I may have misspelled. I'm not very confident about my English writing 🙂)

Haha nooo this stuff is just purely just my bored rambling nonsense. It’s not even beta read or edited really- it’s super rough. I’m glad you like it, though. I hadn’t been active in the fandom in ten years or so myself before I started writing these snippets.

Give Up/Give In Pt 14

Earthspark Megatron x Reader

• Landing, he waits for you to get clear before transforming so he can kneel and offer you his cupped hands. “Where are we?” You ask, settling yourself in his palm as he stands and walks up to the massive, hidden door recessed into the mountainside. And grimacing, he tries to think of a nice way to explain that he doesn’t trust Ghost. That he likes having his own place to recharge where he doesn’t have to constantly worry or look over his shoulder. Not even Optimus knows about this place and he can appreciate that his old friend also hasn’t pried, respecting his privacy. But letting himself in, he’s suddenly painfully aware of how empty the space is.

• “it’s just a place I can escape to for quiet,” he says, but there’s an edge to his tone that makes you think that’s not the whole answer. You don’t push, though, looking around. There’s a berth against a wall. A storage locker, and what might be a shower area in a corner, but it’s spartan and doesn’t really look like a place someone lives in. No photos, no mementos collected over the years. It’s not a home. “It’s not much, is it?” He asks as if reading your mind and you flinch, because what do you know about Cybertronians? Maybe uncluttered and empty is their design aesthetic.

• Wishes he can tell what you’re thinking as you look around. Do you find it lacking and lonely? It’s never mattered to him before, but now it does. Dorothy’s home is full of things. Odds and ends that humans tie memories to. What do you make of his hideaway without those human things? “It’s fine. You’re sure I’m not in the way here?” You ask, looking up at him and his spark warms that you’re worried about imposing on him. Just like you hadn’t wanted to impose on the Malto’s. Pulling the air mattress and blankets Dorothy had let him take from his subspace, he sets it up on a corner of his berth. The box of water and packaged MREs go beside it and he turns to find you watching him.

• “I like the company,” he says, nudging the box with a servo. Is he lonely recharging here alone instead of in the Ghost facility with the Autobots? He’s not given you a lot of details, but you get the impression he doesn’t trust Ghost and that Dorothy isn’t entirely sold on them either even though she works for them. Aware that you don’t have all the information, but okay with that for now since you don’t want to hound him. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” he adds, letting you avoid the real world a bit longer. To take the time to get yourself together.

• If you’re here, he can keep an optic on you. Live up to his promise. Knows you’ll want to leave him eventually and go back to your life, but he’s not about to make you until you’re ready. And until then, it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to. Someone that doesn’t only see the monster he’s trying to leave behind. “Thank you,” you say and he reaches out a servo, one corner of his mouth twitching when you lay a hand on it. Because your trust? It means everything and he wants to be worthy of it.

Previous

[ekingston]

Hello! So sorry to bother, but have you had any updates on the Word-Stream/Speechify situation?

Just one: like I posted on Xitter and Bluesky last night, as of yesterday afternoon, the links to individual works as they were listed on WordStream are gone from both Google and Bing. Hurray, right? Surely we’re all sick of this whole debacle and there’s far more important things to worry about. If all is well that ends well, surely there’s no need to still be angry.

Well, I am. Here’s why:

When I checked on Wednesday, the links to my own work on WordStream were still listed. So rather than it taking a week after Cliff Weitzman first hid the fanwork from view, it took a little over a week from the moment he first promised privately that they would be deleted. Which, fine. Perhaps Cliff didn’t really know what he was talking about when he gave that timeframe. Or maybe he told a little white lie to create the impression that he always intended to do the right thing. It seems more likely to me, though, that Cliff still believed—even after the backlash he received—that he would get away with honoring only individual takedown requests. Or worse, that he needed just a little bit more time with the stolen material to figure out an alternative way to profit off it—preferably without us noticing, this time.

But who knows? I certainly don’t! All we can do is speculate, because publicly, Cliff Weitzman has remained completely silent on his copyright infringements. All we got was the initial justifications he and his sockpuppet accounts used in comments on the original Reddit and Tumblr posts. After those were so understandably ill-received, Cliff only ever communicated with a few individual authors who contacted him directly and repeatedly, blocking people who addressed the issue on Twitter and quietly distancing himself from WordStream by deleting a blog he’d posted to Speechify.com dated December 20th—where Cliff promoted WordStream’s platform specifically to fanfiction readers. (See my enormous timeline post for details and screenshots of said posts before they were taken down.)

And this is why I’m still angry: As long as Cliff Weitzman faces no real consequences for his actions, he won’t see a need to own up to his mistake; and as long as he’s able to delay taking responsibility, this isn’t over. This didn’t end well.

After all, wasn’t this the next-best scenario for Cliff, second only to him turning WordStream into a (for him) effortless, infinite money-making machine? He took something we provided for free and fed it to AI so he could more easily put it behind a paywall; we found out and protested; Cliff quietly erased all evidence of his crime; and we went—almost equally quietly—away.

I want to make sure you know that I continue to be genuinely amazed and intensely grateful for how quickly the news about WordStream’s copyright infringement was shared—and continues to be shared—throughout fandom, on tumblr in particular. If it hadn’t been for our collective outcry here and on Reddit, WordStream would very likely still be up in its original form, and Weitzman would be reaping the benefits (those subscription prices were steep) today.

But it’s been frustrating to see that, with the exception of mentions in articles on Substack and Fansplaining (the latter of which is a particularly awesome and thorough read on fandom’s decontextualization) and a Fanlore listing, our outrage never really spilled out beyond the safely insulated, out-of-the-way spaces that are tumblr, a handful of subreddits and bluesky. And I believe that—unfortunately—we are collectively responsible for that part, as well.

Most of us seemed content to only spread the word by circulating the same two posts on tumblr. (Have we all given up completely on every other social media platform? Am I the only remaining straggler?) And soon after Cliff Weitzman hid WordStream’s fanfiction category from view, our interest in the issue took a sharp dive even there. Are we genuinely deceived into believing the issue has been fully resolved? Do we truly fail to realize that Weitzman’s refusal to admit that what he did was wrong left the door wide open for the next greed-driven tech bro to wander through? Or is the true naivety in thinking that, as a community, we can keep this kind of attack on fandom from happening again? Has our disillusionment already gotten that bad?

However the situation spins out from here, Cliff’s actions will set a precedent. If we fail to show Cliff and his ilk that attempts to profit off fandom’s unpaid labor have consequences, their tech companies will keep trying until something eventually sticks. They might be a little smarter about it next time; obscure their sources a bit better, maybe leave the titles and the authors’ names off. Or maybe they’ll go a bolder route: maybe next time they cross the line they’ll do it boldly enough for IP holders to take notice and stop tolerating fanwork entirely.

Doesn’t that make you angry, too?

There’s this whole other mess of thoughts I would love to be able to untangle about how commercial influence is contributing to the steady erosion of fandom’s foundations, but I’m tired, and other people have said it all much more eloquently than I ever could. Seriously, go read that article on Fansplaining. Or listen to the podcast version of it. Better yet, as long as you’re wearing your noise-canceling headphones, go listen to a podfic of one of your favorite fandoms’ works, and enjoy the collaborative joy and creativity of the people who Cliff Weitzman refuses to believe exist. (In one of Speechify’s other blogs, Cliff claims there are only 272 podfics on AO3. Would you like to run that ChatGPT prompt again, Cliff?). Honestly, much like Cliff Weitzman’s infuriating denial of the fact that fandom fucking has this covered, thank you very much, there’s so. Many. More. Things for us to talk about. There’s the connotations of WordStream’s dubious ‘upload’ button, for instance, or the fact that the app scraped (and in some cases, allegedly, still lists) copyright-protected original fiction as well, or WordStream’s complete lack of contact information, which is illegal for an internationally operating app. And oh! Has anyone reported more thoroughly on Cliff’s app’s options to ‘simplify’ or ‘modernize’ uploaded works, or—my own very favorite abomination—to translate them into something Cliff calls ‘Gen-Z Language’? Much like his atrocious AI book covers, it would be hilarious, if it didn’t make steam come out of my ears.

Anyway, there it is. I highly recommend you do all of that. And then, if you aren’t familiar with it already, go do some research re: fair use and your rights as the copyright owner of your works. A good number of people commenting on this controversy expressed stunned surprise or fearful hesitation about claiming any sort of ownership of their fanfiction. The more informed we are about our rights, the more willing we will be to defend them.

Please don’t stop writing or sharing your work. If you can’t bring yourself to work on your WIPs today (trust me, I get it), post about this situation instead. Tweets, skeets, whateverthefucks—about WordStream’s theft, about how this reflects on Speechify’s already shady business practices, about how Cliff’s actions and justifications have personally affected you. You’re welcome to share or copy my posts on these platforms, but since Cliff already blocked me, I very much prefer you post your own. If you do, call Cliff Weitzman by his full name and tag or include both WordStream and Speechify to ensure Weitzman will recognize he has both a personal as well as a professional stake in handling the situation with integrity. Leave your concerns in reviews on the Speechify app. (We weren’t provided with a more appropriate place to put them, after all!) Consider calling for a Speechify boycott until Cliff accepts accountability for his actions.

Do avoid making exaggerated claims, and don’t call for physical retaliation against Cliff’s person or his property. We don’t want to give him or Speechify even the weakest of grounds to claim defamation or threats of violence. Focus on the facts: they’re incriminating enough by themselves. Show Cliff that we’re determined to keep bringing up his company’s wrongdoings in public spaces until he demonstrates that he understands why taking these freely shared fanworks and monetizing them was wrong, and takes steps to ensure it won’t happen again.

One last thing—and this is really more of a general reminder—please stop suggesting I handle this situation for you. People have come to me asking for action items. The resulting flashbacks to my days as an office assistant were extremely upsetting. In all seriousness, casting me as some sort of coordinator or driving force behind this backlash actively hurts the cause. Not only does it downplay fandom’s collective efforts, it also makes our message extremely vulnerable. It would be all too easy for Cliff to silence one singular source. Wikipedia will not maintain mentions of this controversy as long as it leads only to Easter Kingston’s attempt to summarize what happened as it was happening. You only know my name because I stumbled upon WordStream’s theft and decided to get my friends involved. I am not more knowledgeable, more skilled or more angrily invested in this issue than you are (or can, or should, be). I draw pictures and I write stories and I worry about the shift I’m seeing in fandom after having been on this ride for even a few pre-livejournal rounds.

I’m not going to stop doing any of those things. But I am going to allow myself to step away for a bit, make my wife dinner, and catch up on our shows.

I trust you’ve got it from here.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Devastation

Requested Here by @newobsessionweekly!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: You leave Tim because he takes out his frustration about a long day on you. The next day, everyone in the station can tell you're both miserable. A surprise calls sends Tim into a devastated spiral as he wonders if what he said was worth it.

Warnings: ANGST, arguments, break up, death, mentions of execution, brief fluff at the end bc Tim deserves a break

Word Count: 3.4k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Los Angeles is seeing an intense spike in crime rates.”

“The Los Angeles Police Department has received more calls today than in the last two months combined.”

“A new, temporary emergency line has been announced. In case of emergency and busy 9-1-1 lines, please call…”

“Nearly 5,000 police officers are on the streets of Los Angeles city limits, with more dispatched throughout the county.”

As residents lock themselves into their homes in an attempt to be protected by the crime spike, you respond to call after call with no break in between. Some of the stops you’ve made were false alarms, but you’ve also been shot at, yelled at, and engaged in two fights between those pointless stops. Though overtime was approved, you’re nearing the end of your sixteenth hour in the shop and need a break. Grey called the officers from this morning to return to the station before heading home. You only get eight hours off before you have to come back, but you’ll take what you can get.

Tim’s place is closer to the station, so you plan to go there rather than your home on the other side of the city. The more time you can find to sleep, the better. You’re sure everyone is just as tired and in need of rest, so you would like to do something special for them in the morning. If you can wake up in time, that is.

“Hi,” you greet when Tim opens his door.

He is obviously surprised to see you but invites you in any way. You thank him as you walk toward the couch.

“Can I crash here tonight? It’s closer and I’m exhausted.”

Tim scoffs before he nods. He returns to the kitchen and continues cooking as you set your bag down.

“How was your day?” you ask. “I had endless calls, so I can’t imagine how hectic it was for you.”

“Of course you can’t,” Tim replies without looking up. “Considering you’re just a glorified meter maid.”

Tim is tired and stressed, you remind yourself, but the words still cut through you like the knife in his hand. You were in dangerous situations for most of the day, and though you haven’t been a cop as long as Tim, your job is still important. And you’re good at it.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask after a tense moment of silence.

“What I said. I do more than you, but if you’re so exhausted that you can’t even drive home-“

“Tim, that’s-”

Tim finally looks up as he cuts you off to say, “You barely passed your rookie exam, you haven’t made a decent-sized arrest in months, and you think they attached you to any decent calls? This city is ripping at the seams right now and trust me when I say you are chasing garden fluff because no one trusts you to do any more. You’re lucky they were desperate enough to bring you up from writing traffic tickets. We just needed help and you were there.”

Tim’s jaw clenches as he steps toward you, and you try to remember that he is just emotional from a long day. You are, too, but you’re not taking it out on him.

“I don’t want to fight with you about this,” you offer.

“Well, sure. Because it can’t be your fault, right?” Tim asks.

His voice is rising, and only the couch separates you. His eyes are dark, and though you don’t want to give him an excuse to keep going, you refuse to be treated like this.

“Why does everything have to be about who is at fault with you?” you demand. “Are you aware that things just happen sometimes?”

“Not to you, though.”

“If you think my life is so perfect, why do you insist on worrying about me so often? No one asked you to do any of this! You could have just asked me to go home if you were this upset about a bad day.”

“You don’t even know what a bad day is! What did you do today? Respond to all of the scared housewives in gated communities?”

You could tell him the truth, that you were inches away from a bullet intended to kill you, but you think he’d somehow find a way to blame you. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, and though you want to stop fighting, you also need to remind Tim that you’re not a rookie he can walk all over you and blame for every little thing that goes wrong in his life.

“If that’s what you think I do, I can’t change your mind,” you reply.

“Well, those of us who actually acted like cops today went through more than you’ve seen in your career. You’re a bad cop, which makes it harder on the rest of us, to carry your weight, but no one admits it after they see your pretty smile,” Tim snaps loudly.

“I’m done, Tim!” you yell.

You’re surprised by the volume of your statement, but it gets Tim to fall silent, if only for a moment.

“With what?” he asks.

“This! I am done coming back to you every day just for you to pick fights over nothing!”

“Oh, so now it’s nothing? You can complain about your day, but I can’t?”

“That’s the difference, Tim! You’re not complaining about a long day to share something and ask for comfort. You’re tearing me apart because you can’t handle your own emotions. I love you, but these fights aren’t worth it.”

“You love me but I’m not worth it,” Tim says with a sarcastic shrug and set jaw.

“That’s not what I said, and you know it.”

“Well maybe I’m just as stupid about emotions and relationships as you are about police work.”

You pick up your bag and pull it onto your shoulder quickly. As you brush past Tim, you murmur, “I’m not doing this anymore.” The door slams behind you as you leave and severs the connection you and Tim had.

After you leave, Tim sits in his anger for a while. He blames you, picks apart everything you said, and misremembers your words to make you seem like the bad guy. Suddenly, though, Tim hears your genuine I love you, but these fights aren’t worth it. He remembers the look in your eyes as he yelled at you. You never wanted to fight; you asked to stop because you just wanted to relax before returning to work. Yet Tim treated you as an emotional punching bag, something he promised himself he would never do.

Tim drops his head into his hands and sighs. He needs to apologize but can’t take back a word he said. You said you weren’t doing it – your relationship, he presumes – anymore, so Tim gives you room. The clock ticks slowly as he thinks about you, but his next shift grows nearer quickly. He texts you an apology, knowing it’s less than the least he can do. You deserve a grand gesture, a middle-of-the-night, in-person apology from the heart. But with an early morning shift, Tim knows you and he both need the break Wade sent you home to take. So, he sends a few simple words before sitting back in his misery.

In your room, you sit alone to wallow. Your phone buzzes, and you read Tim’s apology before you toss your phone to the side. It’s not enough to forgive or forget everything he said, and you can’t return to that environment yet. So, you don’t answer.

You fall asleep at the same time as Tim, though far away from the comfort you craved, with only a few hours before you’ll be forced to see each other again. Maybe another seemingly endless shift will distract you from your sadness.

Walking into the Mid-Wilshire station the morning after your fight with Tim, your injured pride and broken heart go nearly undetected. You attribute this in part to the specialty donuts you brought in; you couldn’t sleep anyway, so you left before your alarm went off to try to make everyone else’s day better than yours. Lucy talks to you in the locker room like it’s just another morning, even though you are heartbroken. Tim, however, is the talk of the station. His visible devastation and misery draw the attention of every officer in the building. When you step out and unintentionally make eye contact with him, the people closest to you can see what you’re hiding a little better. 

“I should have seen it before,” Lucy tells Angela. “She was acting a little different, but I thought she was just tired.”

“I’ve never seen Tim like this before. He is miserable,” Angela says. “And he will take it out on you.”

“That’s fine. But… will they be okay?”

Angela shrugs. “I wish I could say yes, Lucy.”

Wade notices you and Tim sitting on opposite sides of the room during roll call, and he’s the last of them to be pulled into your shared misery. Now that you have seen Tim, your misery is just as obvious, and even the people who don’t know you or Tim well can see the difference.

“Nolan,” Wade calls before he instructs John to ride with you for the day. You’re unsure if it’s because of you and Tim or something else you don’t know about. Regardless, it’s because your emotions play a role in your ability to be a good cop… but maybe you were never one of those, to begin with, like Tim said.

At least I won’t have to talk. Nolan can carry the conversation for both of us, you think.

“What’s up with Tim today?” Nolan asks.

“We’re not talking about Officer Bradford,” you reply quickly.

“Okay. Then what’s up with you? The donuts were nice, but I assume you had the time to get them for a reason.”

“Nolan, we’re not having this conversation,” you snap. “We’re cops, not friends.”

“Sounds like I’m with Bradford,” Nolan mumbles.

“You have no idea,” you reply.

Meanwhile, Tim and Lucy are stuck at the station doing paperwork. Today is slower, and there’s a lot to catch up on from the chaos yesterday. Lucy knows better than to pry after spending so much time with Tim, but she can see that something is weighing on him. More than whatever invisible burden he’s carrying, Tim is devastated. She has seen it before, briefly when one of Tim’s former partners passed away, but this is different.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lucy offers.

“No,” Tim replies immediately.

Lucy nods before her phone chimes. It only makes noise when another cop contacts her, and she rushes to read the message.

“Tim, Nolan said he needs us to meet them. He just said they’re trapped and it’s really dangerous,” she relays.

“Let’s go.”

Tim runs through the station to reach his shop, and his mind races with every step. Tim lost you last night, but he refuses to lose you forever. If – when you both get to the other side of this, Tim will give you the apology you deserve, he tells himself. And he will never be in this position again.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Nolan asks over the nearby gunfire.

You’re a bad cop, Tim says in your mind.

“I- I don’t know what to do, Nolan,” you admit. “I can’t do this.”

Nolan’s eyes widen. He knew you were acting differently, but your sudden and complete lack of confidence shocks him. Both of you are pinned in the corner of a warehouse, in danger of being tortured, executed, or some sick combination of worse things. You know you need to act, but your pride and your abilities are shot, thanks to Tim. You’ll be lucky if you don’t get shot, too.

“You can do this,” Nolan assures you. “You have to. Whoever said-“

“Move!” you demand.

Nolan ducks, and you fire through a nearby doorway. It draws attention to you and Nolan, and your confidence takes another hit as three men aim rifles at your chest. The red dots form a perfect triangle around your heart. Things could have been so different if you had just gone home last night instead of giving into your never-ending craving for Tim’s comfort.

“Tim,” Angela calls when he and Lucy arrive. “You don’t want to go in there.”

“Yes, I do,” he replies.

She pushes a hand against his chest and shakes her head. Despite Tim’s grumbling, he trusts Angela as a friend and a fellow cop.

“What happened?” he asks softly.

Angela looks to her right, and Tim follows her line of sight. Your shop is standing wide open as CSU combs through it. The windshield is shattered, and the interior is riddled with bullet holes. Tim’s attention catches on the blood coating everything. No one could have survived that blood loss.

“Where is she?” Tim demands.

“We don’t know,” Angela admits. “She wasn’t here when we arrived. Neither was Nolan.”

“Let me help.”

Angela looks around before she whispers, “You’re too emotional.”

“She left me last night, Angela. It was all my fault, and I didn’t even get to apologize! So, I am helping, whether you want it or not.”

Angela nods as Lucy returns to Tim’s side. He looks back to your shop and knows. He knows he is too late. That realization changes everything.

“You’re right,” he tells Angela. “I’m too close; I shouldn’t help.”

“Timothy,” she begins.

“No, I- she’s gone. We both know that. And I can’t do this, not knowing that she died out here thinking that I didn’t love her. That I didn’t fight for her.”

“Let me know if that changes, Tim.”

Angela walks away to continue investigating the scene. Lucy lays her hand on Tim’s back to provide some comfort, but he shakes her hand off before he moves toward the shop. Crime doesn’t stop just because Tim’s world ends, and if throwing himself into his work will distract him, he’ll let it. But being busy and tired will never get between you and him again.

“Snipers,” Lucy whispers as she reads something on her phone.

“What about them?” Tim inquires.

“Oh, uh, just something Angela sent me.”

“About her?”

“Yeah.”

Tim nods, and his knuckles grow white as he grips the steering wheel. “There were snipers?”

“Three of them, from what they can tell. A gun left behind matched the ballistics of the bullets in her shop. It seems like… like someone was executed in her shop.”

“Let’s take another call, Chen.”

Lucy nods and requests dispatch to begin sending them calls again. The first is a bank robbery in process, and Tim only hopes that adrenaline and devastation mix well.

“Gun!” Lucy yells before ducking behind the armored personnel carrier outside the bank.

Tim doesn’t hesitate to raise his arms and shoot. The sniper falls backward, and Tim wills his mind not to wonder how different things would be if he’d been with you instead of Nolan. Snipers took you from him, but this taste of retribution doesn’t help Tim. He walks away as soon as the bank is cleared. He wants to punch something, yell, cry, and maybe do it all at once, but it won’t bring you back. Nothing short of an apology that he can’t give will.

Tim sits on his couch in the dark because it’s as close to peace as he can get. If he closes his eyes too long, he sees you standing on the other side of the room, defending yourself from his emotional outburst. The argument was pointless, and you wanted to stop it, but Tim kept pushing. The more he thinks about it, the more he starts to turn his sadness into self-hatred because he acted like his father. He drops his head into his hands and asks himself why he allowed himself to be driven so far. Despite how he treated you and the horrible, untrue things he said, you told Tim you loved him. He loves you more than anything but didn’t return the sentiment in the heat of the moment. And now he never can.

“I love you,” Tim whispers now. “I’m so sorry.”

Someone knocks on his door, fast raps with no break between them. Tim rubs his face as he stands and walks around the couch-turned-fighting ring to answer it.

“Tim,” Angela says quickly. “We found something. We know where they were an hour ago.”

Tim looks over his shoulder to the cruiser at the end of his driveway. The lights are on, and Nyla is inside, ready to go.

“I wanted to extend the invite,” Angela adds.

Tim nods as he yanks his keys from the table by his door. He doesn’t bother to check if the door locks behind him as he races toward the car, toward you. Nyla drives quickly and parks outside an abandoned house less than fifteen minutes later. While Tim looks at the house, he sees someone move in the window.

“Somebody’s inside,” he alerts.

Nyla nods and instructs Tim to wait while she and Angela approach the house. Before they exit the car, the person walks out of the front door with their hands up. Tim throws the door open and sprints across the yard before anyone says anything.

“Nolan,” he calls.

“What happened here?” Nyla asks.

Her tone makes Tim look around, and he counts at least eight bodies in the front yard. Most are covered, and the desperation, dread, misery, and heartbreak churn in his stomach as he wonders if any of them are you.

“We walked into an ambush. She got one of them down, but we were cornered, surrounded. They dragged their ‘failure’ to the shop and finished him off before they brought us here.” After he explains, Nolan turns to Tim and says, “She asked me to give you this.”

He pulls a bloody piece of paper from his pocket and passes it to Tim, who accepts it wordlessly.

“Where…” is she? Tim wants to say, but he can’t finish the question.

“Uh, she’s inside,” Nolan answers.

Tim hears confirmation that you’re here and runs through the carnage-covered yard and house to find you. He grips the letter tightly as he navigates through the dark house. Tim stops when he sees your badge lying in a corner, and squats to retrieve it. It’s scuffed and bloody, but Tim can’t leave any piece of you behind. He tucks your letter into his pocket to hold your badge.

“Officer Bradford?”

Tim turns quickly and nearly trips over a bloody hammer. He would recognize that voice anywhere. When his eyes finish adjusting in the darkness, and he sees you slumped in the opposite corner, propped up behind the door, he crosses the room in the time it takes you to blink. Tim’s hands cup your face gently as he leans closer to you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Save it,” you reply. “This isn’t over yet. He said he was coming back.”

“Where’d he go?” Tim asks, effortlessly switching back to cop mode.

You smile, and Tim swallows harshly as your injured lip splits and produces a fresh bead of blood. “To rob a bank. As if you weren’t busy enough, right?”

The sniper at the bank, Tim remembers. “He’s gone,” he says quickly. “We got him.”

“You got him?” you clarify.

Tim shakes his head, and you raise your hands to his sides as you lean toward him.

“I could never do this alone. I can’t do any of this without you.”

“Did you read my letter?”

Tim pulls the paper from his back pocket and shakes his head as he reads the two short sentences.

“I forgive you. I love you,” you say as Tim reads the same words.

“It won’t happen again,” Tim promises.

“It might. We have hard jobs, but we can get through it. Right?”

Tim’s reply is a careful kiss to your forehead before he yells for a paramedic. Nolan leads Angela and Nyla inside a moment later, and they enter the door beside you.

“You could’ve mentioned she was alive,” Tim tells Nolan.

“You ran in before I said, ‘she’d like to see your face first, considering she almost died and you were the only thing she talked about,’” Nolan answers.

“Shut up,” you and Tim say together.

“This is the thanks,” Nolan mumbles.

“Can I crash at your place?” you ask Tim. “Without the argument?”

“Wouldn’t let you go anywhere else. The best cop I know deserves some comfort.”

“I thought I was the best cop you knew,” Angela teases.

“I love you,” you tell Tim.

“I love you,” he answers. After he looks into your eyes and smiles, he yells, “Where is the ambulance?”

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: a thursday night outing

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: arcane

rating: pg

genre: romance

pairing: viktor x reader

summary: heading home to get ready for a fun dinner with mel, you find viktor who is blindsided by your impending absence, even though you told him like 3 times that week.

based off this Shorts skit loosely: https://youtube.com/shorts/yRAdhnj2oOc?si=uLdR4bdqTWNlgGIy

“darling?” i ask as i walk into the apartment viktor and i share. “are you home?” my voice echoes through the apartment, as if on auto pilot my hands work the scarf from my neck and place it on the stand near the door, along with my coat. i blink a few times as i slip off my shoes hearing no noise coming from the apartment. viktor should have been home by now and normally would be writing in his journal or making a cup of tea. sighing as my feet guided me to our room, a bit disappointed as i wanted to say hi to him before going out to dinner with mel.

i turn the corner into our room and go to the dresser, as i open the drawer for a change of clothes i don’t hear but more so feel a presence behind me, my body locking as if i was a deer in a bright light. i feel them getting closer and quickly my rational mind recognizes this must be viktor. i have just a few seconds to decide if his little plan was going to pan out the way he thought it would. i gently smiled and continued to grab clothes feeling his arms wrap around me. i hear his sigh and chuckle.

“i can never sneak up on you.” he says, pouting.

“i felt you behind me when you were near the bed, my love.” i smile and roll my eyes as i turn in his arms to finally look at him.

“how was your day?” the words come out as routine but i appreciate them nonetheless.

“it was good. i was just looking forward to tonight.” his brows furrow as i explain.

“tonight….?”

“yes, tonight! don’t tell me you forgot. i’m going to dinner with mel tonight. a little girls night, uninterrupted by council meetings or crazy inventors changing the world. just a night where we can have good food and talk about skincare.” a laugh falls from my lips as he looks mildly affronted and also completely disinterested.

“so, you are going to need to do whatever you normally do when i’m gone.” i laugh seeing the look on his face. “viktor, are you okay?”

“just… i forgot that was tonight so i am feeling a little… ehhh, blindsided, if I’m honest.” i nod as he looks like he’s going through five stages of grief realizing i wouldn’t be at home tonight.

“do you need me to give you some space or do you want a hug?” i ask as i pull back a bit, my hands resting on his forearms. his face falls into partial annoyance and disbelief.

“don’t “gentle parent” me.” i laugh as he still looks pouty and then looks at me. “a hug would be nice.” and as i lean in my heart feels too big for my chest as my arms wrap around him and i hold him close. my head buried into the crook of his neck and his in mine. i make sure that he moves to separate first, his grin content as he looks at me and then his eyes widen as he sees tears in my eyes.

“darling, what’s wrong?” his voice somewhat panicked.

“nothing. nothing.” i smile as a tear runs down my face and i hold his hand resting on my cheek. “i love you so much, that sometimes the… strength of my emotions feels like my body is incapable to hold onto a love this strong. a love this big. it feels like it is so much, but i delight in it because that love is for you.” viktor’s eyes widen and his face goes from worried to relaxed to a gentle smile.

“you know, i wouldn’t have believed that if you had told me that a year ago.” his hands grip my hips bringing me closer.

“i know. how can you accept love when it’s never been given to you freely?” i smile. “but i’m here now. jayce is here. we have so much love to give you that all you have to do is just stand there and accept it.” i kiss his cheek as he looks up, knowing that he was trying to make sure i didn’t see his eyes well up with tears.

“how about while i go to dinner, you and jayce hang out? and then when i get back, you and i can cuddle in bed and i’ll pick up reading that book we were almost finished with last week.” i ask, not wanting him to be alone.

“i can be alone, my love.” he levels me with a glance and i chuckle, it’s like he can read my thoughts.

“you can be, but do you want to be?” i ask.

“i’d like to read and wait for you to come home… alone. jayce would not shut up in the lab today so quiet would be much appreciated.” i chuckled at his exasperated eye roll.

“okay. okay.” i say as i turn to grab a last few garments before i get ready to shower. i hear him hum behind me and then rewrap his arms around my waist.

“you should definitely wear the black lace set.” he murmurs and kisses my neck.

“just for you.” i pull out the set and place it with the rest of my clothes. “do you mind keeping me company in the shower?” i ask, him knowing it’s not just me asking if he minded, i knew he didn’t. it was asking if he could, if he felt up to it and wanted to.

“i’d love to.” i smile at him as i took his hand in my left and grabbed my clothes in my right and we headed off to the bathroom.

“besides…. since i felt so blindsided about your outing tonight, seeing you naked will definitely help me get over it.”

“viktor!”

[rootedinrevisions]

Everything to Me (Kinktober 2024: Day 25)

KINK: Mirror Sex

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. SMUT (Fingering)

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists or be tagged for a specific character please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Twisters (Mostly Tyler right now, but possibly others soon)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

Jake’s been waiting at the airport for what feels like hours, even though your flight only landed a few minutes ago. He’s standing near the arrivals gate, leaning casually against a pillar but fidgeting with his phone, checking the time every few seconds. His excitement to see you is palpable, and when he finally spots you coming down the corridor, everything else fades away. There you are, wheeling your suitcase behind you, looking around for him. The moment your eyes meet, Jake’s grin lights up the entire terminal.

Without hesitation, he bolts toward you, weaving between people, his duffle bag bouncing against his side. The second he’s close enough, you drop your suitcase and run straight into his arms. Jake lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as you hold on tight. It’s like time stops, and the rest of the world disappears. The kiss comes naturally—deep, emotional, and long overdue.

“God, I missed you,” Jake mumbles against your lips before kissing you again. 

His hands hold you firmly against him, like he’s afraid to let go. You pull back just enough to see his face, his eyes filled with nothing but love and relief.

“I missed you too,” you say softly, your forehead resting against his.

He grins again, his signature cocky smile making its appearance, but there’s a tenderness behind it, a vulnerability that only shows up when he’s with you. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, darlin’.”

He reluctantly sets you down, but not before stealing another quick kiss. You gather your things, Jake's arm instantly wrapping around your waist as he guides you toward the exit. The buzz of the airport surrounds you, but you feel nothing but warmth and safety in Jake’s presence. As you walk through the doors to the bright San Diego sunshine, it hits you—you’re finally here, with him, and for the next few days, it’s just the two of you.

* * * *

After collecting your luggage from the airport, you fully expect Jake to take you straight to his place. You’re more than ready for some alone time after the long flight, but instead, Jake flashes you one of his charming grins as he swings your suitcase into the back of his truck.

“So, I figured we’d make a little pit stop before heading home,” he says casually, leaning against the open door as if this is no big deal. “The team’s dying to meet you.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head at him. “The team? I thought we were going home.”

He winks, that mischievous glint in his eyes making your heart skip. “Oh, don’t worry, darlin’. We’ll definitely get some alone time tonight.” He leans in, brushing a kiss to your temple before adding, “I just want to show you off a little first. Promise it’ll only be an hour or two.”

You try to hide your smile, but it’s impossible around Jake. He’s clearly excited for you to meet his squad, and the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to say no. “Alright, fine,” you agree, rolling your eyes playfully. “But you owe me later.”

His grin widens, and he gives you a playful smack on the rear as you hop into the passenger seat. “Deal.”

The Hard Deck is buzzing when you arrive, full of laughter, music, and the clinking of bottles and glasses. As soon as you walk through the door, you feel Jake’s hand slide possessively around your waist, guiding you through the crowd. You’ve been here before on previous trips, but there’s something different about being here with Jake tonight. Maybe it’s the way he keeps sneaking glances at you, unable to hide his excitement, or the fact that you’ve both been apart for too long.

Jake spots his crew near the pool tables, and you can already feel the warmth of their welcome before you even get close. Phoenix is the first to greet you, her face breaking into a wide smile as she approaches. “So you’re the girl who’s been keeping Hangman out of trouble,” she teases, offering a quick hug.

Rooster gives you an equally friendly grin, and Bob, though quieter, seems genuinely happy to meet you as well. “It’s about time we got to meet you,” Rooster says, shaking your hand.

Before you can respond, Coyote comes over, clapping Jake on the shoulder. “Good to see you again!” he says, his eyes sparkling with familiarity. “It’s been a while since we were stationed together.”

Jake introduces you to the rest of the group, and it’s not long before you settle in with them. The banter flows easily, and the atmosphere is relaxed. Jake keeps you close, his arm around your shoulders or waist at all times, pulling you in for kisses whenever the mood strikes him. He’s not holding back on the PDA, and honestly, you don’t mind. After months apart, it feels good to be in his arms, to steal these moments together. Between games of pool and darts, Jake’s touch never leaves you, a subtle but constant reminder that he’s missed you.

Every now and then, you catch Phoenix watching you two with a smirk, clearly amused by Jake’s inability to keep his hands off you. “I’ve never seen him like this,” she comments at one point, making you blush. “He’s a lucky guy.”

You smile and squeeze Jake’s hand as he leans down to plant another kiss on your lips. He chuckles softly. “What can I say? I’m not wasting a second.”

The night’s still young, but as Jake promised, he’s got every intention of taking you home soon. For now, though, you’re enjoying the easy camaraderie of his squad and the way Jake keeps making it clear just how happy he is to have you by his side.

After settling in with the team, laughter and conversation fill the air as the night drifts on. You’re still feeling the warmth of Jake’s arm around your waist, his frequent kisses to your temple making you smile.

Eventually, you offer to grab another round of drinks. Jake grins, pressing one more kiss to your cheek as you head toward the bar. As you approach the counter, Penny gives you a welcoming nod, already busy filling orders. You lean against the wooden bar, taking in the lively atmosphere when you notice a woman standing next to you, her eyes lingering on you just a little too long. She’s dressed sharply, her Navy uniform crisp and her expression unreadable. After a moment, she turns toward you with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hey there,” she says, her tone friendly but laced with something sharper. “I’m a friend of Jake’s.”

You return the smile, even if something feels off. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say politely. “I’m just grabbing drinks for us.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “I’ve never seen you in here before.”

You nod, keeping your tone casual. “I’m in town visiting Jake. Thought I’d surprise him for the weekend.”

There’s a flicker in her expression, something that makes your instincts tingle. She gives you a slow once-over, her gaze subtly scrutinizing. “Oh,” she says, her voice dropping slightly. “Didn’t think you’d be his type.”

The words hang in the air, and though she says it lightly, you can feel the slight jab. You pause, keeping your smile, but something twists inside you. “We’ve been together for a while now,” you respond calmly, hoping to let it slide.

She arches an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips as she leans in a little closer. “Really? Because I know Jake doesn’t usually do long-term relationships. Just thought you should know.” Her words are casual, like she’s discussing the weather, but the meaning behind them sinks in like a stone.

You hold her gaze for a moment, feeling the urge to defend what you know about Jake, but instead, you calmly lift your hand and flash the ring on your finger. The diamond catches the light, glinting as you meet her eyes again. 

“I’m not worried about his ability to commit.”

The smirk falters, and for a split second, you see the frustration in her expression before she smooths it over. Before she can say anything else, Penny sets the two beers in front of you, her presence almost a relief.

You smile warmly at Penny, taking the drinks. “Thanks, Penny.”

Without another glance at the woman, you turn and make your way back over to Jake, your mind buzzing. You try to push the encounter out of your head, but the way she said it keeps echoing: Didn’t think you’d be his type. It shouldn’t bother you, but as you walk back to your fiancé, your soon-to-be husband, you can’t help but wonder… was she right?

Jake’s smile lights up as he sees you coming back, but you find yourself questioning—why would a man like him want someone like you when he could have anyone he wanted? You take a deep breath, willing yourself to shake it off. You’ve been together long enough to know better than to let someone like that get to you.

But the seeds of doubt are planted now, and despite your best efforts, they begin to take root.

As the night wears on, the laughter and warmth of being surrounded by Jake’s friends should be enough to drown out the doubts, but it isn’t. The woman’s words cling to you, refusing to loosen their grip. You try to stay engaged, smiling at Phoenix’s jokes and Rooster’s playful banter, but every time Jake’s arm slips around your waist, or he presses a kiss to your temple, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe… maybe she was right. Why would someone like him choose someone like you when he could have anyone he wanted? Your thoughts spiral, and before you realize it, you’re barely paying attention to the conversation around you. 

Jake notices, squeezing your side and asking if you’re alright. You nod and force a smile, but the unease gnaws at you.

After a while, you can’t take it anymore. Leaning into Jake’s side, you look up at him, your voice a little quieter than usual. “Hey, can we leave?”

Jake turns to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Already? It’s still early.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep your expression neutral even though your mind is racing. “Yeah, I just… I think I’m ready to go home.”

He watches you for a beat, searching your face for something he can’t quite put his finger on. You know he senses that something’s off, but he doesn’t push. With a nod, he turns to his friends.

“We’re gonna head out,” he announces, slapping Rooster’s back and giving Phoenix a quick hug. There are a few protests, but Jake waves them off with a laugh, making his goodbyes brief.

Soon, he’s leading you out of the bar, his hand resting protectively on the small of your back as you make your way to the car. The cool night air does little to settle your swirling thoughts, and by the time you’re both seated, Jake’s watching you carefully again, his hand resting on your thigh as he starts the engine.

The car hums to life, but instead of pulling out right away, he glances over at you.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asks, his voice softer now, laced with concern.

You nod quickly, looking out the window as you respond. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Jake doesn’t buy it. You can feel the weight of his gaze, his eyes still on you as the car pulls onto the road.

“Right,” he says slowly, his tone skeptical. He’s not going to push—he never does when he knows you’re not ready to talk—but you know him well enough to realize he’s not letting it go, either.

The drive back to his place is quiet, the hum of the car and the distant sounds of the city filling the silence between you. Jake’s hand stays on your thigh, his thumb occasionally brushing against your skin, but he doesn’t say anything else.

You keep your gaze fixed out the window, willing yourself to push the doubt aside. Jake loves you—you know that. You wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. But that woman’s words, the way she looked at you like you weren’t good enough for him, keep echoing in your mind. I didn’t think you’d be his type. It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

By the time you pull into the driveway, your chest feels tight with a mixture of frustration and insecurity. Jake parks the car and turns to you again, but you quickly unbuckle your seatbelt, giving him another quick smile. 

“I’m fine,” you say before he can even ask. “Let’s just go inside.”

He nods, though you know he’s not convinced. He’ll give you your space for now, but you can feel it in the way he’s watching you—he’s going to figure out what’s going on whether you’re ready to tell him or not.

As soon as you step inside Jake’s place, you make a beeline for the bedroom, your mind still reeling from the woman’s comments. You need to shake off this feeling, the doubt gnawing at you, and the only way you know how is to escape into the comfort of Jake’s oversized clothes and familiar warmth.

You peel off your outfit from the night, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought, and grab one of Jake’s t-shirts from the drawer. It’s soft, well-worn, and it smells like him—a mixture of cedarwood and something distinctly Jake. You tug it on, the fabric hanging loose on your frame, and follow it up with a pair of your own sweatpants.

As you’re standing in front of the mirror, running your hands through your hair and trying to make yourself feel more like you again, you feel Jake’s presence behind you. 

You turn, catching sight of him in the doorway, and for a second, everything else melts away. He’s standing there in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, slung low on his hips, his arms folded across his chest. His hair’s tousled, and his eyes are soft, but there’s an edge of concern in the way he’s looking at you. He’s watching you closely, trying to read your thoughts without having to ask the question he’s been holding back all night.

“What happened?” he asks gently, his voice low as he finally breaks the silence.

You shrug, attempting to brush it off like it’s nothing. “It’s nothing, Jake. I’m just tired.”

But Jake doesn’t buy it. He never does when you try to sidestep your feelings. He uncrosses his arms and steps into the room, making his way across the small space to stand in front of you. His hand reaches out, gently taking yours, and he pulls you toward him. You feel the warmth of his fingers wrapping around yours, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles.

“Talk to me,” he coaxes, his voice so soft and steady that it breaks through your defenses. “I know something’s up. You’ve been off since we left the bar.”

You sigh, feeling your walls start to crumble under his gentle persistence. He’s always been able to get you to open up, even when you don’t want to.

“There was this girl…” you start, hesitating as you glance up at him.

Jake’s brow furrows as he listens, his eyes locked on yours. “A girl?”

You nod. “Yeah, she came up to me at the bar when I was getting drinks. Said she knew you. She introduced herself as your friend.”

The confusion on Jake’s face deepens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He lets you continue.

“She, uh… she made a comment about me not being your type,” you admit, the words tasting bitter as they leave your lips. “And then she said something about how you don’t really do long-term relationships.”

Jake’s jaw tightens slightly, but his gaze remains soft as he watches you, waiting for more.

“I didn’t let it get to me at first, but the more I thought about it…” you trail off, shaking your head. “I don’t know, Jake. She was looking at me like I wasn’t good enough for you. Like she couldn’t understand what you see in me.”

You’re surprised by how much admitting it stings. Saying it out loud only makes the insecurity feel more real.

Jake’s eyes darken slightly, but not with anger toward you—more like irritation at the situation. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

“Babe, you know who she is?” he asks, his voice exasperated but gentle. “She’s been trying to hook up with every Top Gun pilot since she got stationed here. And none of us have taken the bait.”

He steps closer, taking both of your hands in his now, his touch reassuring and steady. “I’ve told her at least a dozen times that I’m not interested. I have you.”

You feel a flicker of relief at his words, but the nagging doubt still lingers.

“She probably just didn’t like that I didn’t give her the attention she wanted,” Jake continues, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. “But trust me, she’s nothing to worry about.”

He pauses, his gaze softening as he reaches for your left hand, lifting it to his lips. He presses a slow, lingering kiss to your engagement ring, the diamond catching the light as he lowers your hand and meets your eyes again.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, his voice sincere and warm. “And I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you.”

His words melt the last of the doubt, but it’s the look in his eyes, the absolute certainty and love, that fully quiets the storm in your chest.

Jake smiles, his thumb brushing along your ring finger as he holds your hand between both of his. His voice is warm and full of pride as he murmurs, “You’re beautiful, Mrs. Seresin.”

You manage a small laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not Mrs. Seresin yet,” you tease. “You still have time to change your mind.”

Jake pauses, his expression softening as he studies your face. Then, he gives you a look of utter disbelief, and there’s an intensity in his eyes that makes your heart skip.

“Why would I want to do something like that?” he asks softly, his voice filled with conviction. “I’ve got the most beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, sexy woman on the planet right here. I’d be out of my mind to want anything else.”

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, and then another, as if to drive the words home. When he finally pulls back, he’s still close, his lips hovering just inches from yours as he grins.

“If you don’t believe me,” he murmurs, his voice low, “I’ll take you to the courthouse first thing Monday morning. You can be Mrs. Seresin before noon.”

You laugh, feeling your doubts vanish under the warmth of his gaze, and shake your head again. “Jake, you’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but I’m yours,” he says, his tone turning serious, his hand coming up to cradle your face. “You’re all I want. And you’re all I’ll ever want.”

The intensity in his voice leaves no room for doubt. His gaze is so steady, so certain, that you know, without a shadow of a doubt, he means every single word. You feel yourself melt a little more in his arms, and this time, when he leans in, you let yourself fall completely into his kiss.

Jake presses another gentle kiss to your forehead and pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. "Feeling better?" he asks softly, his thumb brushing along your cheek.

You hum a quiet "yes" and nod, leaning into his touch. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, warm and full of that familiar affection that makes your heart flutter.

"Good," he murmurs. 

His hands slowly slide down your sides, slipping under the fabric of the oversized shirt you're wearing. His fingers splay across your bare skin, and you shiver at the warmth of his touch. 

As his hands explore the curves of your body, he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "You really are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Do you know that?"

You get quiet again, your insecurities bubbling up in the silence. Jake’s question lingers in the air, and when you don’t respond, he doesn’t push. Instead, he shifts his approach.

"Maybe I need to show you," he whispers, a mischievous edge to his voice. His hands move with deliberate care, his fingers gripping the hem of the shirt. In one smooth motion, he slides it up and off, leaving your chest and stomach exposed to the cool air of the room. You feel vulnerable, standing there in nothing but your sweatpants, but Jake’s gaze is so tender, so full of reverence, that it quiets the anxious thoughts threatening to rise again.

He tucks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear, pulling them down in one slow motion until they pool at your feet, leaving you completely naked. He turns you gently by the shoulders until you’re facing the mirror above the vanity, the reflection of your bare form standing in front of him.

Jake steps closer, his chest pressing against your back as he pulls you flush against him. His hands settle at your hips, then slide up your stomach and over the swell of your breasts, his touch reverent, slow. His eyes meet yours in the reflection, filled with an unwavering adoration that takes your breath away.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your shoulder as his hands continue their slow, deliberate exploration of your body. He’s not rushed, not hurried—he’s savoring every inch of you, as if to memorize the feel of your skin beneath his hands.

He points to your collarbone, brushing his thumb across the delicate bone. “I love this,” he murmurs. “The way your skin feels soft here, how it catches the light.”

His hands slide lower, tracing the curve of your waist. “And here... the way you fit perfectly in my hands.”

His fingers skim your thighs next, gentle but firm. “The way your legs wrap around me when we’re close,” he says softly, his breath warm against your neck.

Jake continues, his voice low and steady, as he points out every detail he adores, from the curve of your hips to the softness of your stomach, to the way your hair falls over your shoulders. Every word, every caress is full of love, his tone steady as he dismantles your insecurities, piece by piece.

“You’re perfect,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper now. “Just the way you are.”

His words sink in, slowly dissolving the doubts you’ve carried, and when you meet his eyes again in the mirror, you see what he sees—a woman adored, cherished, and deeply loved. He kisses your neck softly, his lips lingering as he whispers against your skin, “Do you see it now? How beautiful you are?”

You nod quietly, your gaze still locked with his in the mirror. A small, satisfied smile tugs at the corner of Jake’s lips, and you can see the hint of a smirk forming.

"Do you want to know what I find most sexy about you?" he asks, his voice low, teasing.

Curiosity flickers in your eyes, and you can’t help but ask, "What is it?"

His smirk widens just a little, and you feel his fingers begin to trail down your stomach, slow and deliberate, until they reach the sensitive spot between your legs. His touch is gentle at first, but enough to send a shiver through you.

His breath tickles your ear as he leans in close, his voice a seductive whisper. “It’s the way you look when I’m making you feel good,” he murmurs, the heat in his words sending a flush through your entire body.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes flutter closed, instinctively leaning back into the warmth of his body. But just as you start to lose yourself in the moment, Jake’s hand pauses, his other arm wrapping firmly around your waist, holding you steady.

“Uh-uh,” he whispers against your ear, his tone commanding but gentle. “Open your eyes, baby.”

Reluctantly, you do as he says, your eyes flicking back open to meet his in the mirror. He shifts his body slightly, positioning himself so you can see every detail of his touch, every reaction your body gives under his fingers.

“Look at how beautiful you are,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with adoration.

His hand resumes its slow, deliberate movements, his fingers teasing you in ways that make your breath hitch. But his eyes—those piercing, sea-green eyes—never leave yours in the reflection. You can see the intensity in his gaze, the way he’s watching every little gasp, every shiver you give, as if he’s drawing power from your reactions.

“Do you see it?” Jake’s voice is hushed, his lips brushing your ear. “Do you see how incredible you are when you’re lost in this?”

Your body responds to him before your mind even catches up. A quiet moan escapes your lips, and you press your thighs together, but Jake is relentless in keeping you focused on the mirror, on yourself.

“Don’t look away,” he whispers, his fingers moving with more precision now, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you. “I want you to see what I see. How gorgeous you are when you’re like this.”

You bite your lip, your breathing quickening as the pleasure builds, but his steady gaze and firm touch keep you tethered to the moment. There’s something deeply intimate about it, the way he’s not just touching you but guiding you to see yourself through his eyes, with a reverence that makes your heart pound in your chest.

Jake's lips trail soft kisses along the side of your neck, his free hand coming up to cup your breast, adding to the overwhelming sensations running through you. You meet his gaze again in the mirror, and there’s no mistaking the desire and love in his eyes, the way he’s savoring every second of this moment with you.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. “You’re everything, baby. Everything.”

Jake’s touch remains steady and deliberate, each movement sending waves of pleasure surging through you. His fingers move with a slow, practiced rhythm, teasing you closer to the edge. The heat of his body against yours and the intensity of his gaze in the mirror makes the moment even more overwhelming.

As the pleasure builds, your breath becomes shallow, your body instinctively leaning back against him, seeking his warmth and support. His other arm wraps securely around your waist, holding you close, his touch grounding you as the sensations spiral higher. The feel of his fingers on your skin, the soft brush of his lips against your neck, and the way he whispers your name between each pulse of pleasure—it’s all consuming.

“Come on, baby,” Jake murmurs against your ear, his voice low and coaxing. “Let go for me.”

Your body tenses, the pleasure cresting and crashing over you in a powerful wave. A soft moan escapes your lips, your head falling back against his shoulder as the climax washes through you. Jake holds you close, supporting you as he works you through it, his fingers slowing but never stopping, guiding you down gently from the high.

“There you go,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. His arm tightens around you, keeping you steady as your legs tremble, the intensity of the moment leaving you breathless. “That’s my girl.”

His words settle over you like a soft blanket, his quiet pride and possessiveness making your heart swell. You meet his gaze again in the mirror, your chest still rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breath. He’s watching you with that same adoring look, his eyes soft, but filled with unmistakable love.

Jake presses a kiss to the side of your neck, lingering for a moment before he slowly removes his fingers, letting you relax fully into him. He’s gentle as ever, taking his time as he slides his shirt back over your body, covering your bare skin with the familiar warmth of his scent. Then, with the same care, he pulls your underwear back up, smoothing his hands over your hips as he does.

“There,” he whispers, his voice soft and reassuring. “My girl's all taken care of.”

Before you can say anything, he scoops you into his arms with ease, cradling you against his chest. You can’t help but smile at the feeling of being wrapped up in him, safe and secure.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he says, his voice low and affectionate.

Jake carries you effortlessly across the room, his steps slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment of holding you close. He gently lays you down on the bed, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face before sliding in beside you.

As you curl up against him, his arms wrap around you once more, pulling you into the warmth of his body.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering, “You’re everything to me. You know that, right?”

You nod, the weight of his words settling in your heart, as you relax fully into the comfort of his embrace. The night is quiet, but the connection between you and Jake feels stronger than ever, his love and devotion wrapping around you like a protective shield.

[hylianane]

I have an opinion about Holly Kujo and I’m a little scared cause I dont know the Jojo fandom enough to come in with what I think is a hot take.

I’ve noticed that, in fanworks, a lot of people portray Holly as tougher than she is in the show. And it makes sense, cause the idea of her being so weak-willed that she couldn’t handle a stand when even baby Shizuka could manifest one is kinda bs and a testament to Araki not being very confident with writing women at the time (thank GOD he got better though, so, so much better).

But. What always gets me is when her relationship with Jotaro is written to be a little more standard, still loving but with the child having a healthy fear of their mom’s anger- unlike what we see in Stardust, with him constantly being a brat, calling her “bitch” and her shrugging it off with an “Okay!”. And also him getting himself thrown into jail while she still can’t bring herself to get mad, just upset. And that’s a very fun play on them too, but I just worry that people who default to this dynamic for Jojo and Holly might not see how the canon characterization of their relationship is interesting in its own right.

Because even tho Holly being a doormat is a creative choice born from Araki pussying out of giving her a stand, it doesn’t change the fact that once he made that choice he gave it great importance. I think the fact that Holly’s idea of supporting her son is just accepting everything he does without any anger, is central to their relationship. It’s how, despite having a mother who loves him unconditionally, Jotaro is still a very troubled teen and emotionally withdrawn. Though it’s easy to blame it on Sadao’s implied absence, or troubles in school, we don’t have a lot of textual evidence for that.

But kids who are raised without at least some semblance of discipline and structure typically stop seeing their parents as authorities, and most importantly, protectors. A more textually-backed explanation for why Jotaro is always acting tough and independent is because he doesn’t have any adults in his life who he would trust to help him. He loves his mom, he traveled the world to save her life, but while doing that he saw himself as her protector, not the other way around, not the way it typically should be.

Think about, for example, how the adult he mouths off to the least in his life is probably Avdol. And I think part of that is because Avdol walked into that police station, took one look at Jotaro, and instantly clocked everything I just said. Because while Holly and Joseph tried to to get him out with simple words (and for Holly, tears), Avdol was there to force him out. And at first Jotaro says, “If he tries to force me out, I’ll just stay here even longer”, but Avdol doesn’t give him a choice. And he doesn’t win by overpowering him (if he had, I dont think he’d have gotten the same positive result, I am not pro setting troubled teens on fucking fire) but he outsmarts Jotaro and doesn’t quit the fight until his goal is achieved. He stays in control of his emotions when talking to him, and proves himself to be someone strong and assertive. So later, on the trip to Cairo, Jotaro is more willing to rely on him than he is to rely on his own grandpa. (+, it’s a similar thing with Kakyoin, who he trusts almost more than anyone else, because he saw Kakyoin’s will and power first-hand when they met, and left with the lesson that Kak is someone he can rely on to protect of both himself and Jotaro. Someone with strong convictions, but most importantly, willing and capable of clashing with Jotaro if necessary.)

All this to fucking say. In a world in which Jotaro was raised to fear his parent’s reprimands (and I don’t mean fear to an unhealthy amount, an abusive amount), he would act very differently than he does in the show, and his relationships to other characters would probably look very different. Holly’s personality and parenting might seem like it was an afterthought to Araki, but I think he truly did take great care in making it consistent with her son’s character. She is a very loving mom, who is very loved in return, but what I think a lot of people perceive as a flaw in her writing is actually just a flaw in her character, with narrative weight and interesting consequences. And I’m not sure how many people are really aware of that.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Day 4: we were going to a Christmas party but fuck if you don’t just look sinful in red, and you know what? Fuck that Christmas party

Fandom: X-Men

Character: Logan Howlett

Naughty: P in v, cursing, creampie

It was the annual Christmas part at Xaviers school house, and it was something that Logan would rather avoid but seeing how excited you were the man could hardly say no to you.

That was until you walked out in that dress, that fucking red dress that clung to your body, showing off all your perfect curves.

"Ready to go." Turning to face Logan you gave him a bright smile though your shoulders dropped seeing the look in his eyes. "Should have went with the green dress."

Stalking towards you, Logan lifted you up as he carried you off to the bedroom. "Don't worry, we'll go to that fuckin party. I just wanna have bit a fun."

Biting back a snort, you felt your back hit the bed as Logan slowly pushed up the hem of your red dress your breath hitching as his fingers brushed your panties.

"Already wet for me darlin?"

"Yes...please Logan just-."

Logan's eyes blazed with primal hunger as he watched you squirm under his gaze. Gripping your hips, he let his lips brush the shell of your ear.

"Get your legs wrapped around me, darlin'." He commanded, positioning himself and with a powerful thrust, he buried his thick cock deep inside your quivering pussy. A low, animalistic grunt escaped him as he savored the exquisite feeling of your tight heat enveloping him. "Fuck, you're so goddamn tight...gonna fill this sweet cunt up with my seed."

"Logan!" His name escaping your lips as you let out nails dig into his back tight clinging to the fabric of his suit.

Logan gripped your hips bruisingly tight as he pounded into you, each savage thrust driving him deeper into your quivering depths. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the kitchen, punctuated by their ragged breathing and your high-pitched moans.

"You feel so fuckin good darlin." He growled, his balls slapping against your clit with each brutal stroke. He could feel his climax building, the pressure coiling tighter in his heavy sac. Leaning over you, he bit down on your shoulder. "Gonna cum so deep inside you, fill this pussy up till you're drippin' with it. You ready to milk my cock dry, sweetheart?"

Biting your lip, you nodded your head as your breath came out in short pants. "Y...yes...yes god Logan...I want you to fill me."

With a roar of release, Logan slammed into you one final time, his thick cock pulsing as he erupted deep inside you. Jet after jet of cum flooded your convulsing cunt, painting your insides with his potent seed. He ground against you, ensuring every drop was planted firmly within your welcoming womb.*

"Fuck."He panted heavily, his forehead resting against your sweat-dampened skin. After several long moments, he gently withdrew, watching in satisfaction as his creamy load oozed from your stretched hole. "Look at that...my cum leakin' outta you. You're mine now, sweetheart. All mine."

Letting out a weak laugh, you placed your hand against his cheek pulling him in for a soft kiss as Logan held you gently to his chest. "I'll always be yours Logan."

Closing his eyes, Logan then gave the top of your head. "We can still head to that party if you want?"

Letting out a laugh you shook your head. "I'm fine Logan, I'm happy just being here with you."

"I love ya darlin."

"I love you too Logan."

[signedamaryllis]

Naberius Kalego NSFW Headcanons

Fandom: Welcome to demon school! Iruma-kun

Pairing: Naberius Kalego x Reader

Type: Headcanons

C/TW: MDNI, 18+, NSFW, Kalego is a bottom

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ I can definitely see and understand why people see him as a dom top but honestly he’s such a bottom. And a subby one at that.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Is really stubborn and tsundere about it

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ When you’re riding his large cock on the bed though, he’s trying to be quiet to make it seem like he’s not as excited to be a bottom—but he is; he whimpers

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ He wants you to mark him up with hickeys, bites, and scratches but you must keep it below the neck—don’t want anyone at work raising a brow at what he does in his free time at home with you

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ likes marking you up, usually with hickeys and small bruises from his hands gripping your hips a little too firmly when you’re riding him

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Also will only do it in the privacy of his or your home. If you live with others or in an apartment though, his place more often than not since he lives alone in a mansion and can be loud without worry of anyone hearing

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Will probably either grip your hips while you ride or the sheets

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ If you don’t have a dick…pegging is a possibility. Which also means penetration is on the table 👀

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ I don’t see him as the type to get laid with someone as a one night stand or so early in a relationship. Honestly you’d have to wait, especially when consider how much of a subby bottom he is—he has to know he can fully 100% trust you

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ He can top but he’s more so pleasing you, doing things how you like and he probably wouldn’t be so fast or rough

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Appeal to the dog in him 👀 call him things like “good boy”, please. Praise this man. Do not degrade him, he needs the praise!

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ He has a love hate thing with getting sucked off. On one hand it feels amazing but on the other he feels it degrades you somehow and he doesn’t like that. Especially when it comes to swallowing his cum; it’s a love hate thing. You swallowing it feels degrading in some way but if you spit it out it makes him feel a little upset. It’s a lose lose situation really.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ if you got a pussy to eat out however? He loves to do it, very passionately, gets really into it. He’s not a dom but when eating pussy he will keep you there until your legs are trembling and give out.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Got a dick or strap on for him to suck? He’s really tsundere about it but would do it, sucking the life out of it, even if it’s plastic. It’s probably weirdly therapeutic for him after a long day of headaches and work. Would drool on it. 100%.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Aftercare is 50/50

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ either the best aftercare where you both lay cuddled up together, sweaty and maybe take a shower together and eat/drink something together. Perhaps watch some television, put on his favourite classical music composer

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ or he gets really embarrassed about aftercare and would prefer to clean up and immediately go do something on his own to cool down. Don’t take it too personally though, he just feels weirdly embarrassed looking at you after you just fucked his brains out and now are wanting to be loving with him. It’s like a 180 for him lol

I’ve been wanting to make this side blog for the longest time and to express how much of a fucking bottom this man is and here we are!! Finally!!!

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 3

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: After your "date" with Tyler took an unexpected turn, you wake up to see Scott confronting the cowboy about your disappearance. Word Count: 2045 TW: Fluff, Angst, Family Conflict, Confrontation, Yelling, Language Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

“Where the fuck is she, Owens!” 

As your eyes flickered open, you realized you were no longer lying on Tyler’s chest in the bed of his truck. Instead, you were curled in the back seat, one of his merch t-shirts balled up under your head and his jacket draped over your body as a makeshift blanket. Your head was positioned near the passenger side of the truck and, lifting it slightly, you noticed the driver’s door was open. Tyler was standing outside as if he had just climbed out, the little you could see of his surroundings revealing he had driven you back to the motel.

He turned towards whoever had just spoken—the voice was very familiar even though your sleep-hazed mind couldn’t place it—and held up his hands. “Why don’t we all just calm down an—”

“No!” Suddenly, Scott burst into view as he stormed up to Tyler, stopping only when he was practically chest-to-chest with him. Scott towered a good five or six inches over the other man, yet Tyler didn’t as much as flinch as Scott growled in his face. “I asked you a question. Where the fuck is she?”

Tyler stared calmly at Scott’s fuming face for a moment then chuckled. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen you lose your cool like this before, Scotty. In fact, can’t say I’ve seen much more than a sarcastic sneer from you before. Something must have riled you up real good for you to be in this state.” Tyler’s voice had slowed, his accent becoming twice as heavy as before as he milked every second in an attempt to push Scott’s buttons—and it was working.

Nostrils flaring, Scott yelled, “How about the fact you’ve been alone with my little sister for the past four hours? I’ve been trying to call and text her but she hasn’t answered.” 

You suddenly realized you had tucked your phone into your purse when you left the motel room. The purse that you had then placed on the passenger’s seat when Tyler helped you down after parking in the field so you could both go eat your food in the bed of his truck. The one you had completely forgotten about until just now. Oops.

But Tyler didn’t offer any such explanation. “We were busy,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “Besides, are you really worried about her, or are you just worried she was having a good time with someone like me?”

“If you laid a single finger on her—”

“No. You don’t get to do that.” The smug grin that had been on Tyler’s face evaporated as he became stone-serious. Whatever game he had been playing was now over. He took a step forward, this sudden shift causing Scott to stumble back in surprise. “You don’t get to play caring, protective older brother when just a few hours ago you basically told her to fuck off because you didn’t want her here. I understand you two might have a complicated history, but family isn’t something you can pick and choose when it's convenient for you. You didn’t want anything to do with her after she traveled all this way just to see you, so you don’t get a say in what she does now.”

Scott recovered slightly, but though he tried to bite back with the same fury as before, it seemed dulled by the force of Tyler’s words. “And you do?”

“No, I don’t. Only she does.” Tyler started to turn towards his open door but then thought better of it and faced Scott again. Lowering his voice, he said, “You know, I used to think you were in the wrong truck. That you should be in Tin Man instead of Scarecrow considering how cold and uncaring you seemed. But I was wrong. You may have your fancy degree from a world-class university yet you are too brainless to see that all she’s looking for is just a little of your attention and love. And if you aren’t willing to give that to her, you can’t get mad when she finds someone else who will.”

Scott sneered at Tyler. “You’ve known her for a few hours and you think you know her better than someone who’s known her her entire life?”

“Yeah. I do.” 

The back door to the truck flung open and you blinked up at the bright lights shining in. Tyler stood in the door with a halo of neon light framing his silhouette, anger rolling off of him in waves. His jaw was clenched tightly and his eyes burned beneath his cowboy hat. However, when he saw you staring up at him, his expression softened. Giving you a small smile, he murmured, “Hey, sweetheart. You want me to carry you to your room or you think you’re awake enough to walk?”

Stretching to help wake up your limbs from where you had been curled, you sat up. “I can walk.” Ducking your head to hide the bashful smile fluttering on your lips, you added a soft, “Thanks though.” 

Grabbing your purse off the front seat, you started to crawl towards the door when Tyler offered you his hand. You took it and slid out, a small cloud of dust bursting up around your ankles as your boots hit the dirt. Tyler reached back into the truck, grabbed his jacket, and wrapped it around your shoulders before placing his arm on top of it, hugging you close to his body. The warmth radiating off of him and the smell of his skin made you want to snuggle deeper into him and drift back to sleep. 

Maybe you should have taken him up on his offer to carry you after all.

As he began to steer you towards the stairs leading to your room, you noticed Scott standing by the rear of the truck with his arms folded across his chest. The two of you made eye contact for just a moment, but you quickly looked away. You didn’t like the look in your brother’s eyes—the seething anger and blatant disappointment you were used to, but it was that hint of something else that made you turn away and lean your head against Tyler’s shoulder. If you didn’t know Scott better, you would almost say he looked hurt. But that couldn’t be possible because Scott would have to care about you for him to be hurt by Tyler’s words or by seeing you together.

Thankfully, he didn’t say anything else as Tyler helped you climb the stairs. Letting out a soft sigh of relief when your brother disappeared from view, you whispered, “Thank you. For standing up to Scott for me.”

“You heard that?” You nodded against Tyler’s shoulder and you felt him shift beneath you. “Yeah, well, he had the right to be worried about you, but he also needed to be reminded he wasn’t a saint in this situation. Besides, you’re an adult and can spend time with whoever you want.”

You hummed a soft agreement before, a few dozen steps later, reluctantly pulling yourself away from Tyler as you reached the correct door. “Well, this is me.” 

He watched as you unlocked the door and stepped inside. Turning to face him, you said, “I know I already said it, but thank you…for everything. I-I really needed that, out in the field. It helped. And while today did not go at all how I expected, I’m actually very happy with how it turned out.”

“Me too, sweetheart.” 

The two of you continued smiling at each other and you weren’t exactly sure what you were supposed to do next. But just as you started to close the door, Tyler leaned his shoulder against your door frame and said, “Hey, whether you’re done messing with Scott or not, I’d like to see you tomorrow.”

You blinked, butterflies blooming in your chest. “R-really?”

“Yeah. I had a really nice time tonight. It’s not every day I meet someone like you and I’d like to see more.”

Someone like me? You briefly flashed back to yourself sobbing into his chest in the bed of his truck and wondered what he could have possibly seen in you that he would want to see more of. However, you weren’t going to pass up this chance if he was offering. 

Fidgeting with the strap on your purse, you nodded, “I’d like to see more of you too. Maybe you could let me come on a chase with you or something?”

Tyler’s dimples made your breath catch in your throat as his smile widened. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more interesting…I would love to take you on a chase. Show you what it means to wrangle a tornado. How ‘bout I pick you up in the morning around 7:30?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Nodding, Tyler reached out and took your hand. For a moment, you were taken aback. You might not have known each other long, but after everything that had happened tonight, it felt weird for him to end it by shaking your hand. But then he lifted it, his face disappearing beneath the brim of his hat as he dipped his head, and his lips brushed the back of your hand. 

The kiss was brief and faint, just a soft caress on your skin contrasted by the rough scratch of his stubble, yet you felt a jolt of electricity surge up your arm before traveling throughout your entire body. You were so glad your other hand was still clinging to the door because, without it to steady you, you were sure your knees would have given out. 

Tyler didn’t seem to notice as he straightened up and gently lowered your hand to your side, giving it a light squeeze before releasing it. Then, with a tip of his hat and a wink, he said, “Good night,” and strolled back down the walkway towards the stairs.  

You watched him go until he disappeared. Only then did you close your door, leaning heavily on it with a sigh. Your head thudded back against the sturdy metal as you replayed every moment from the night in your head.

What were you doing? Had this really all started as a game, a way to pay Scott back for how he treated you? Now Tyler was planning on picking you up the next morning after you spent most of tonight crying into his chest? And why did you feel so giddy about seeing him again?

Tyler wasn’t at all what you had expected from his videos or from what Scott had said about him. Sure, he had a wild, playful side, but more than that, he was funny and kind and smart and, to top it all off, a perfect gentleman. You can’t remember the last time someone had treated you with so much respect or consideration. He never tried to make a move or insinuate you owed him for the fact that he was doing you a favor. And even when he pulled you into his arms where it would have been easy to take advantage of your emotional state, he had only sought to comfort you and make sure you were okay. 

Then he had to go and kiss your hand like some handsome cowboy prince charming! What the fuck.

Pushing yourself off the door, you went over and grabbed a towel off the edge of the sink before disappearing into the dingy bathroom. Tyler’s scent still clung to your skin and you almost didn’t want to wash it off. However, the desire to rinse away the remaining tears from your face and feel the hot water streaming down your exhausted, tense muscles won out. You would just have to find another excuse to cozy up to Tyler again tomorrow. Maybe another meal next to him in the back of the truck. Or resting on his shoulder as you both watched the storm clouds roll in. Or pressing yourself against him as you leaned in—

It was only then that the full weight of your situation hit you. This might have started out as an act of revenge on Scott, but the joke was now on you. After only one day, you were falling fast and hard for Tyler Owens.

Part 4 coming 9/2!

[skyewritesstuff]

greedy | p. mellark

my masterlist.

summary: after months of being in what you think is a situationship with peeta, you finally confront him about whether or not there's anything truly there or if you're just another girl who has fallen for his kindness and misinterpreted the signs.

pairing: peeta mellark x reader (college!au, fratboy!peeta if you squint)

fandom: the hunger games

warnings: nothing too serious. implied nsfw at the end. afab reader. sorta ooc peeta...it's mostly environmental because we all know peeta's a flirt.

notes: based on greedy by tate mcrae even though the verse at the end gives me everlark vibes. also, this has been beta read. :)

word count: 2.8k

He’s here. Are you coming?

You looked at the blue and gray text thread, Clove’s name, and contact picture with a little clover emoji sitting right on top of it. A sigh escaped you as you looked up from your phone at the fraternity house that was positioned in front of you. You’d been leaning against the fencing that surrounded the yard for what felt like an hour, but in reality, it’d only been a few minutes.

As of late, facing Peeta Mellark has always been an unpredictable situation. While he was kind, polite, and charismatic, that charisma oftentimes led to him getting entangled metaphorically (at least you hoped) with other girls. You couldn’t tell if he didn’t know how to say no, was weighing out his options, or if he was what Clove often referred to as a “fuckboy”. 

Fuck it. You rolled your eyes, stuffed your phone into your jacket pocket, and made your way across the cement walkway leading to the house. Having second thoughts, you pulled your phone back out, pulling up the same conversation with Clove.

Is she here?

The person you were speaking of was none other than Katniss Everdeen. She was the most recent girl that Peeta had been hanging around with and was simultaneously the cause of your latest installment of confusion. According to some of your other friends, she’d been friends with Peeta for a while and the study date you ran up on in the library was nothing but a platonic catch-up amongst busy friends.

However, one Madge Undersee had more than the opposite to say. All it took was one group mirror shot in the bathroom at a nightclub posted on Instagram, featuring you and Peeta in the outskirts of the photo, his arm wrapped securely around your waist, for her to send you a heated DM saying that he and Katniss had been a thing for forever and that you were coming between them.

You very quickly sent back, “Funny how the alleged ‘other girl’ always gets shit while the dude gets to slide by.” with a sarcastically placed upside-down smiley that was left on read still to this day.

A typing bubble appeared in Clove’s thread.

I don’t think so!

You let out another sigh, relieved that for now, Katniss wasn’t a worry. You walked into the house, looking around. There was a cloud of smoke in the air, presumably from various substances and/or a smoke machine, and bright lights coming from various directions. You squinted, trying to make out anyone you knew, but specifically trying to find Clove.

“Hey!” The greeting was slurred, long, and drawn out as an arm was all but dropped onto your shoulders. Finnick Odair was standing beside you, laughing at what appeared to be nothing. Finnick was a grad student that you’d met while waiting in line for coffee, quickly discovering that you two had mutual connections.

“Y/N…Y/N…you look…beautiful, stunning, ravishing…Have you seen Annie?” 

You chuckled at how rapidly his thought process changed. “Nope, I just got here! Maybe try calling her?”

“Ha,” he let out, “I don’t…I don’t know her number…”

“But she should be in your… never mind, you’ll find her I’m sure.” you grinned, shaking your head.

“Alright, sweet!” Finnick started to walk away, but then quickly turned on his heel back to you, pointing in your direction.

“Almost forgot…Peeta’s looking for you!”

“What?”

The question was ignored as he walked away, approaching another male at the party the same way he’d approached you. Peeta was looking for you? Was he serious or just on another planet from the amount of alcohol in his system?

You kept maneuvering through the crowd, trying to locate the kitchen, knowing that’s where most of the snacks and drinks were. The kitchen also usually served as a good place to wait around if you were looking for someone. 

You pulled out your phone, shooting a text to Clove to meet you in the kitchen. You stared down at the screen, hoping for a speech bubble to pop up saying she was either on her way or giving you simple directions to wherever she was located. You then felt yourself collide with someone in a way that wasn’t painful, but most definitely was going to lead to an awkward exchange.

“Oh shit…I’m so sorry…”

You were met with blonde hair and a black hoodie and then a beautiful set of oh-too-familiar blue eyes.

“Don’t be!” Peeta smiled, “I was looking for you! I sent out Finnick to look for you and everything.”

You rolled your eyes with a smirk, “Well, you might want to find someone sober enough to complete the mission next time, just saying.”

“You are probably absolutely correct…but it’s fine. Why send someone else when it’s something you can do on your own way better, right?” he smiled, leaning on the wall, taking a sip from his cup, “Do you want something to drink?”

“What is that?” you gestured to the cup, raising a curious yet somewhat fearful eyebrow.

Peeta shrugged, “I think it’s some kind of jungle juice. The base has to be Hawaiian Punch because of the color if that helps.” He extended the cup towards you, “Want to see for yourself?”

You nodded and took the cup, taking a sip. It was definitely Hawaiian Punch, and it wasn’t as strong as you thought it would be, which could either be a help or a hindrance. 

“Pretty good, right?” he asked. You nodded in response, handing the cup back to him. “Do you want me to get you some of that…or I can try to mix you something myself?”

“Whatever that is, that’s fine.” you answered, following him over to a large orange Gatorade dispenser that had the word “NOT” written on a piece of tape, stuck above the label. You chuckled under your breath as you watched the blonde grab a cup, scoop out some ice, and then fill the drink. As he did this, you took the time to take in his appearance as your brain had been busy keeping up with the conversation instead of taking a good look at him.

He was in a black hoodie with a small logo on the chest; his blonde hair falling into his face a little. He also was wearing gray joggers with his university lanyard sticking out of the pocket, falling onto his leg with a pair of somewhat beaten-up sneakers. Despite his relaxed appearance, he looked put together. He looked good.

Peeta turned back to you, handing you the cup, which you took with a smile. “Do you wanna go somewhere quieter?” he asked, gesturing to the surroundings before refilling his cup.

Your stomach turned with nerves. He probably just meant to talk, but what if he didn't? You knew for a fact that your bra and underwear were not fancy, nor did they match, and you probably had the lowest body count in your friend group. You took a hard swallow.

“...To talk…” Peeta laughed, his tone sounding a little nervous as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and took a sip from his cup. The lights well-hid the red flush on his face.

“Oh…okay, yeah!” you laughed back, watching as he extended his hand. You took his hand, noticing how he immediately laced your fingers together as he walked you through the main hallway that you’d just walked through and up the stairs. 

Someone at a distance must’ve seen you both making your way upstairs, because someone wolf-whistled and then called Peeta’s name, causing him to sharply turn over his shoulder to try and identify the person. He quickly stuck his middle finger up at no one in particular, given the culprit was never identified, and then sped up a little as you both got up to the top of the stairs.

“I'm sorry. People are dumb and make ridiculous assumptions…like I’m really not trying to…”

“Peeta, it’s okay.” you reassured him, “If Clove had seen me, she probably would’ve been ten times worse and reminded me of one of her ridiculous tips to supposedly eliminate your gag reflex that she learned on TikTok.”

Peeta somewhat choked on the sip of his drink that he was taking, laughing at your comment, “Who said you couldn’t learn something off of the internet.”

He led you down a shorter hallway to a door. He knocked twice before opening it, finding it just as he must’ve left it, as you quickly put two-and-two together that this was his room. He shut and locked the door behind him, took another sip from his drink, and sat it on his bedside table before flopping on the bed as you leaned against the wall.

You took a big sip of your drink, hoping the alcohol kicked in sooner rather than later to get some control of the nerves that were bubbling up across your entire body. You watched as the blonde turned on his side and looked over at you.

“I'm not gonna bite, sweetheart…unless you’re into that.” 

You couldn’t refrain from rolling your eyes at his cheesy line before you walked over to sit your drink next to his. Then, you removed your jacket, hanging it from his footrest. Before you could even turn your attention back to him, you could feel his eyes on you. It was like he was bearing a hole into the exposed skin on your back that was left uncovered from your dress now that your denim jacket had been discarded.

When you turned back around, he rolled onto his back with his hands behind his head, smiling up at you. “You’re gorgeous.” 

It was spoken so matter-of-factly as if he was telling you the most basic of observations…as if it were obvious to anyone who looked at you. You could feel your chest swell slightly at his words. Your instinct was going to be to tell him to stop or to refute what he said, but you took a breath and let out a small, “Thank you” in response as you sat on the edge of his bed and then slowly inched your way back onto the bed, laying next to him.

The room was silent, aside from the bumping music that was playing behind the door and down the stairs, and your eyes were fixed on the ceiling fan, watching it spin to avoid meeting Peeta’s eyes, fearing the burning blush that would overtake your body if you did.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, breaking that silence.

“Nothing…” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. You weren’t giving your full thought process to anything. Instead, your brain was in several places at once. You’d thought about the makeup tutorial you’d seen earlier set to the song that was playing downstairs. You’d thought about how close Peeta was to you. You’d also thought about Katniss and Peeta’s study “date” from a while back too.

“Baby, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.” he said. You finally glanced over at him. He was on his side, facing you, leaning against one hand while the other played with his hoodie string.

Baby.

Before you could stop yourself, the bigger question tumbled out of your lips, “What’s up with you?”

His features scrunched together in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“You take me on dates. You kiss me. You hold my hand. You call me baby.” you paused, “But then, I see you at the library with Katniss Everdeen and I have one of her stupid little friends in my DMs accusing me of being a homewrecker because you have your arm around me in a photo I didn’t even post…and I’ve seen you talking to other girls too, Peeta. You do the same thing, leaning against the wall, standing close to them. You’re smiling and laughing and the girl is playing with her hair and laughing back at you. What is all of that? Am I just the one you know will answer your random texts and calls to hang out…go to the club… make out in your car? Am I some weird escape from reality like…who…”

You were quickly silenced by his lips on yours, one hand coming up to your cheek, pulling you in closer to him. It was almost second nature at this point and your body quickly betrayed you despite your frustrations and melted into the kiss as it deepened, your hand coming to rest on his ribcage, progressively snaking onto his back and then upwards into his blonde locks as he moved over top of you.

The motion of him nudging your leg with his knee so he could position himself knocked you back into reality like a harsh slap to the face. You put both hands onto his chest and applied just enough pressure to jerk him back into the present as well. He looked confused. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and his lips were slightly swollen.

“Did I do something?” 

You propped yourself up, causing him to move, rolling back onto his back, his arm dropping across his chest as he rather obviously tried to cool himself down. You sat up, looking down at Peeta, whose eyes met yours.

“You never answered my question.”

“Yes, I did.” He looked at you like you’d missed the most obvious sign in the universe, but you already knew he meant the kiss, and that was not the answer you were looking for.

You shook your head, “A kiss isn’t an answer. If anything, it just proves my point. I don’t understand you. You clearly, in some way, want me. So, what is it? Are you just playing the field…fucking a bunch of random girls…Are you in love with Katniss still?”

“Katniss?” Peeta looked like you’d slapped him clean across his handsome face.

“Yes, Katniss…” You repeated, glancing from him to the door, wondering if it’d just be better to get up and go home. You knew fully well that he’d follow you. There was no getting out of this.

“I get it. You’re hot. You’re nice. I genuinely don’t think you’d try to intentionally hurt anyone, but…”

“That’s it, right there.” He pointed toward you as you spoke, “You talk about me and my mixed signals…what is that? You go from basically saying I’m some piece of shit heartbreaker to saying I’d never hurt anyone. You do that a lot. You’ll go from dancing with me and kissing me…letting me hold you while you’re sleeping to acting completely disinterested in anything outside of a friendship. I’ve never dealt with anything like this before. Girls are usually pretty forward with me…regardless of whether I feel the same or not. I don’t know if it’s intentional…like you think it’ll make me want you more or what, but it’s driving me crazy. Other girls may want me...I don't know for sure, but I know for sure that I want you, not them. I’m trying my best to show you that…but you just keep pushing me away and I wish you’d stop.”

Your eyes dropped to the floor, suddenly hyper-aware of a scuff on the toe of your boots. Your heart pounded as you tried to process what he’d said. He was usually so confident and sure in his abilities to keep sucking you back in, but the wavering tones in his voice indicated otherwise. He was serious.

You turned back to him, “I…I like you a lot…a lot more than just a friend…which is why seeing you with those other girls drove me fucking insane. I want you and for you to only want me. I don’t want to just be some kind of convenience for you. I’m either your girlfriend or nothing at all.”

His lips curved into a smile as your arms crossed over your chest, waiting for a response from the blonde. Peeta sat up and moved in closer to you, his forehead resting against yours, lips inches from your own.

“As you wish, girlfriend.”

His lips were on yours as soon as the title was spoken, moving slowly and sensually. His hand came to your waist as you fell back onto the bed, pulling him down with you as you finally let him move over top of you. The kisses grew needier and more passionate as your hands moved to the hem of his hoodie, pulling it and his white undershirt over his head and allowing for him to toss them behind him.

The articles of clothing caught your jacket, bringing it to the floor as well. Your phone slid out of the pocket as it vibrated, going completely unnoticed next to the clothing.

Where are you?

Hello?

Oh my god, Cato just said he saw you going upstairs with Peeta. Good luck. ;) Remember what I told you about spelling your name. Trust me, works every single time.