#brain on fire I know it's a me thing eyes closed isn’t helping when you go quiet I hate myself am I right guys

[wren-kitchens]

I gotta say dodie really has a song for everything

[pucksandpower]

Borrowed Time

Charles Leclerc x single mother!Reader

Summary: you do everything in your power to make your sick son’s dream come true but what you don’t realize is that meeting his hero will change all of your lives forever

Warnings: terminal illness and death

“You know what would be the coolest, Mama?” The soft voice of your son, Luca, breaks through the silence of the hospital room.

You brush a stray hair from his forehead, trying to coax a smile onto your face despite the weight in your chest. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

“To meet Charles Leclerc. Just once. To tell him he’s my hero.” Luca’s eyes, though tired, gleam with that familiar spark every time he talks about Formula 1.

Your heart aches, knowing how much this means to him. “He is pretty amazing on the track, isn’t he?” You respond, reminiscing about the countless races you’ve both watched together from this very room.

Luca nods, holding his toy race car, a replica of Charles’ Ferrari. “Yeah, but it’s not just that. He never gives up, even when things get tough. Kinda like me.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice, making you marvel at his resilience.

You pull him close, tears threatening to spill. “You’re my hero too,” you whisper, kissing his temple.

He snuggles closer, murmuring, “I just wish I could meet him, Mama. Tell him he gives me strength.”

You take a deep breath, new resolve settling in. “You never know, my love. Miracles happen.”

The determination you feel is like a roaring fire and you silently vow to make Luca’s dream come true. No matter what it takes.

***

As the evening shadows stretch across the hospital room, you find yourself deep in thought, racking your brain for any means to make Luca’s wish a reality. You think about reaching out on social media, starting a campaign, anything to catch Charles Leclerc’s attention.

You start by posting on your personal pages: a heartfelt message accompanied by a picture of Luca holding his toy race car, the walls of his room adorned with posters of Charles racing. #LucaMeetsLeclerc, you caption it, hoping against hope that the message reaches the right eyes and ears.

The following days are a whirlwind. Friends, family, and even strangers share the post, and the hashtag starts trending in your community. Messages of support flood in and local news channels express interest in Luca’s battle.

One evening, after reading Luca a bedtime story, your phone buzzes with a notification. It’s an email from a name you don’t recognize but the subject line sends your heart racing: A Special Meeting.

Opening it hastily, your eyes skim over the words:

Dear Y/N,

I represent Charles Leclerc. We were deeply moved by Luca’s story and would like to arrange a meeting ...

Tears blur your vision and you can’t help but let out a soft sob of relief and joy. Luca, hearing your cry, looks up at you with curious eyes. “Mama? What’s wrong?”

You pull him into a tight embrace, trying to convey all the love and happiness you feel. “Sweetie,” you whisper, pulling back to meet his gaze, “I think your dream might just come true.”

Luca’s eyes widen and his smile lights up the room brighter than any lamp ever could. The journey to fulfill a lifelong dream has just begun.

***

The hospital room feels heavier than usual. The rhythmic beeping of monitors fills the silence as Luca plays absent-mindedly with his race car on the bed. Just as you are about to suggest a card game, a knock interrupts the monotony.

“Come in,” you call softly.

The door opens and to your astonishment, Charles Leclerc himself steps inside, a shy smile gracing his features. He seemed different than on the TV — more human, more vulnerable.

“Ciao, Luca,” Charles greets, his voice gentle.

Luca’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping. “You ... you’re real.”

Charles chuckles, pulling a chair closer to the bed. “Last time I checked, I am. Your mom tells me you’re quite the fan.”

Luca nods vigorously. “You’re my hero. When you race, I feel like I’m flying. Free from this …” He gestures vaguely at the hospital equipment surrounding him.

Charles’ eyes soften. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. But, you know, you’re a hero too. Racing against challenges every day.”

You watch their interaction, touched by Charles’ genuine empathy. “Thank you for coming. It ... it means the world.”

Charles turns to you, a depth of understanding in his eyes. “When I read about Luca, I saw more than just a fan. I saw a fighter. Just like on the track, it’s the fights we don’t see that often matter most.”

There is a brief silence, filled with unsaid emotions.

Luca’s voice, trembling with emotion, breaks the quiet. “I have a question, Charles. How do you stay brave even when you’re scared?”

Charles takes a moment before responding. “I focus on the present. Fear often comes from thinking about what might happen. But in the moment, there’s a job to do, a race to finish.”

Luca looks thoughtful. “So, you mean I should focus on now and not think about ... later?”

Charles nods, placing a comforting hand on Luca’s. “Exactly. Live in the now and remember that every race has its challenges. It’s how we face them that defines us.”

Tears well up in your eyes, gratitude and admiration for Charles swelling within you. Here he was, not just a racing star but a beacon of strength for your son.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice choked with emotion.

Charles smiles, glancing between you and Luca. “No, thank you. Today, I met a true champion.”

***

“You know,” Charles begins, playing with the edges of the signed Ferrari cap he just gifted Luca, “I once met a kid, a bit older than you, at a race. He told me that every time he felt like giving up, he’d watch one of our races. Said it gave him hope."

Luca’s fingers trace the signature on the cap. “Is that why you race? For people like him ... and me?”

Charles leans back, gazing out the window for a moment. “Partly. But also for myself. Racing ... it’s my passion, my escape. It’s where I find my strength.”

You feel compelled to share your own perspective. “We all have our races, don’t we? For Luca, it’s here, fighting every day. For me, it's trying to be strong for him, even when I feel like falling apart.”

Charles looks at you intently. “It’s incredible the strength we find when it’s for someone we love. Your journey, your race, is just as important — is more important — than any I’ve been on.”

Touched by his words, you continue, “I watch you race. The precision, the dedication. It’s art. I want Luca to have something like that, something to pour his heart into.”

Luca chimes in, his voice soft, “I think I already have something. Watching races with Mama, it’s our thing. It helps me forget, even if just for a while.”

Charles leans forward, engaging Luca directly. “Then let’s make a promise. You keep fighting your race here and I'll keep racing out there. Deal?”

Luca’s smile is radiant. “Deal.”

There is a pause, a moment of reflection, before Charles turns to you. “You're an incredible mother. The strength you show, the love ... it’s palpable. And it reminds me so much of my own maman.”

You blink away tears. “We do what we have to for our children.”

He nods, a faraway look in his eyes. “She would always say the same thing after losing my father. And sometimes, despite all the pain and struggle, we find connections, kindred spirits, who remind us we’re not alone.”

You smile, feeling a deep bond forming, not just between Luca and Charles but between two souls who understood the depth of love, sacrifice, and hope.

***

“I have a proposition,” Charles offers, the twinkle in his eyes belying the gravity of his words.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on.”

“How would you both feel about attending a race in-person? I can make sure Luca is comfortable and you both get the full VIP experience.”

Luca’s face lights up with hope and disbelief. “Really? I ... I’d get to see you race in real life?”

Charles nods, “Right from the best seat in the paddock.”

You hesitate, considering the logistics, the health implications. “I don’t know. It’s a beyond generous offer but Luca’s health …”

Charles raise a hand, preempting your concerns. “I’ve thought about that. We have top medical facilities at the track and I’ll make sure we have everything necessary for Luca.”

“You’d do that for us?” you whisper, the weight of his offer sinking in.

Charles leans forward, sincerity evident in his gaze. “I’ve won races, stood on podiums. But the race Luca is running, the courage he’s showing ... it’s unmatched. I want him to see a race, not just as a spectator but as a fellow racer.”

Luca looks up, eyes brimming with tears. “You make it sound like I’m a hero. But I’m just trying to get by, just trying to ... to live.”

“And that’s what makes you a hero,” Charles replies gently. “Facing adversity and pushing through, not because of fame or accolades but because of love, hope, and sheer will.”

You feel a lump in your throat, deeply moved by Charles’ words. “It’s not just race wins or trophies that make you a champion, Charles. It’s moments like this. Thank you. This means more than words can say.”

He smiles, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “In the grand scheme of things, life is the most important race. And in that race, I’ve found two champions right here.”

***

In Monza, as you settle into the VIP area with Luca by your side, the excitement in the air is overwhelming in the best way possible. The roar of the engines, the sea of red flags, the bustling energy of the crowd — it is a sensory overload that fills Luca’s eyes with wonder.

“Monza is special, you know,” Charles whispers, kneeling next to Luca’s wheelchair, overlooking the historic Italian track. He slips off a red Ferrari bracelet from his wrist, its well-worn leather showing its age. “This was given to me when I first joined Ferrari. I like to think that it’s brought me luck ever since.”

Luca’s eyes widen, tracing the intricacies of the bracelet. “Why are you giving it to me?”

Charles smiles, “Today, I want you to hold onto my luck. Keep it safe for me, will you?”

Nodding fervently, Luca reverently holds the bracelet. “I promise.”

When Charles leaves to prepare for the race, Luca clutches the Ferrari bracelet to his heart. “Mama, did you see? He gave this to me. His lucky bracelet!”

You smile, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. He wants you to keep it safe. It’s a piece of his heart.”

As the race progresses, you both watch in awe as Charles’ navigates the twists and turns of the circuit. Your heart races with every lap, both as a fan and as someone who had come to know the man behind the helmet.

And then, the moment you’d never forget — a triumphant finish, Charles Leclerc taking the checkered flag. The Tifosi erupts into cheers, and during the celebration, you almost swear that Charles’ eyes find yours among the crowd.

Over the radio, his voice crackles through the airwaves, reaching not just the pits but into your very soul. “This one’s for Luca. Keep fighting, champ.”

Luca’s eyes widen, his hand clutching the bracelet even tighter. “Did you hear, Mama? He said it for me!”

Tears well up in your eyes as you nod. “Yes, sweetheart. He said it for you.”

The post-race interview is a blur of emotions. Charles, sweaty and exhilarated, is asked about the race, about his victory. But then he pauses, his gaze distant yet focused, his voice trembling with emotion.

“This win ... it’s for someone very special. A young friend of mine named Luca. He’s fighting a battle much tougher than any race and his spirit, his courage — it’s what carried me through today. Luca, this is all for you.”

***

The roar of the crowd has faded but the emotional high from the race lingers. You, Luca, and Charles head back to the hotel provided by Ferrari with laughter and memories of the day filling the conversation.

However, as the night passes by, a chilling silence envelopes the room. Luca’s breathing becomes shallow, his skin clammy. Panic bubbles up within you. The medical equipment that was always close by in the hospital is absent here.

You rush to his side, your hands trembling as you try to comfort him. “Luca, honey, stay with me. Breathe.”

Charles, witnessing the scene, feels a deep pang of fear and helplessness. “I’ll call for help,” he says, fumbling for his phone.

As you count the seconds for first responders to arrive, Luca’s weak hand reaches out, clutching Charles’ wrist. His voice, barely a whisper, shares a desperate plea. “Charles, if ... if I don’t make it, promise me you’ll look after Mama. She’s strong but she'll need someone.”

Charles, tears blurring his vision, nods, squeezing Luca’s hand reassuringly. “I promise. But you’re a fighter. You have to keep racing, okay?”

Luca manages a faint smile. “Always racing, Charles. Always.”

Emergency services arrive soon, the room transforms into a flurry of medical professionals and machines. Charles wraps an arm around you, pulling you close as you both watched, praying for a miracle.

Hours feel like lifetimes. When the medical team finally manages to stabilize Luca, the emotional toll is evident in every face in the room.

You approach Luca’s bedside, gently stroking his forehead. “You gave us quite a scare, sweetheart.”

Luca, though exhausted, manages a faint smirk. “Had to keep the race interesting, right?”

Charles, his voice choked with emotion, adds, “Every race has its challenges, remember? You faced this one head-on, just like a true champion.”

Luca’s eyes meet Charles’ own, a depth of understanding passing between them. “Remember your promise,” he whispers.

Charles nods, his gaze drifting to you. “Always.”

***

“You know, I’ve seen some tough races,” Charles begins, his gaze distant, “but nothing compares to what I witnessed last night. The strength, the love, the sheer determination.”

You sigh, exhaustion stamped across your face. “Every day is a race. Some days, the finish line feels close, other days it feels miles away.”

Charles takes a deep breath, his voice wavering slightly, “I ... I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through but I want to be there, for both of you. Luca asked me to look after you and that’s a promise I intend to keep.”

You look up, surprised by the depth of his commitment. “You’ve done so much already. You’ve given Luca memories he will cherish forever.”

He moves closer, his eyes searching yours. “It’s not just about Luca. It’s about you too. Through this entire ordeal, the strength you’ve shown, the love … it’s made me see life in a different light.”

A silence envelopes the room, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines monitoring Luca.

“I’ve raced all over the world,” Charles whispers, “but I’ve never met someone who’s touched my heart the way you both have. I want to be there for you, for whatever you need.”

You blink back tears, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his words. “It’s been so long since someone offered to share the load. I’m not sure I know how to let someone in anymore.”

Charles gently takes your hand. “One step at a time. Just like in a race. We face each challenge as it comes, together.”

A tear escapes, trailing down your cheek. “Thank you, Charles.”

He brushes the tear away, his touch lingering. “No, thank you. For letting me be a part of your world and for showing me what real strength looks like.”

***

“Look at that,” Luca murmurs, pointing towards the sunset painting the sky with hues of pink and orange. The three of you sit atop a hill overlooking the city, a picnic blanket spread beneath you.

Charles takes a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs. “You know, moments like this make me appreciate life even more. The simple joys, the beauty all around.”

You nod, taking in the serene view. “It’s easy to get caught up in the chaos and forget these moments exist.”

Luca’s eyes shimmer with a mix of mischief and wisdom beyond his years. “You two sound like philosophers. All I know is that this sandwich tastes amazing.”

You chuckle, ruffling his hair. “Always living in the moment, aren’t you?”

He grins. “That's the secret, Mama. We have to savor every bite, every sunset, every laugh.”

Charles, deeply moved, joins in. “You're right, Luca. In the races, I’ve learned that every second counts. It’s the same with life.”

Luca nods earnestly. “Exactly! You can’t rewind time. You can only enjoy it.”

The evening wears on with laughter, stories, and shared dreams. The three of you revel in the simplicity of the moment frozen in time.

As stars begin to sprinkle the night sky, Luca turns to Charles, a serious expression on his face. “Promise me something?”

Charles leans in, listening intently. “Anything.”

“Make more moments like this with Mama, even after ...” Luca's voice trails off, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.

Charles squeezes Luca’s hand, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise, champ. Moments full of love, laughter, and sunsets.”

Luca’s watery laugh has tears pooling in your eyes. “You know, when you look at the sunset, remember me. Remember this moment.”

You turn to him, tears now overflowing. “Luca …”

He smiles, a mixture of melancholy and contentment in his gaze. “I may not be here forever but I'll always be a part of these sunsets. A part of you.”

Charles, his voice a gentle whisper, adds, “And a part of me.”

***

“Mama?” Luca’s voice, frail and delicate like the gossamer wing of a butterfly, quivers with fear.

You lean in closer, grasping his hand between both of yours, heart heavy. “Yes, my love?”

He swallows hard, searching your eyes with his own clouded ones. “I’m scared, Mama. I don’t want to go.”

Tears blur your vision but you muster a brave smile for him. “I know, sweetheart. But remember our sunsets? Sometimes, the sun has to set to make way for a new dawn.”

Luca’s fingers weakly grip yours. “But what if it’s dark, Mama? What if it hurts? What if I’m all alone?”

Charles, unable to remain a silent spectator, interjects, his voice cracking with emotion. “You won’t be. It will be just like falling asleep. You’ll have the sunsets, the memories, and all the love we’ve shared. That light will never fade. We will always be here. I promise.”

Luca’s eyes shimmer with tears but also a glimmer of hope. “Will you sing for me, Mama? The song from when I was small?”

Your heart breaks, remembering the countless nights you’d sung him to sleep. Taking a deep breath, you begin, your voice soft and lulling:

“You are my sunshine,

My only sunshine,

You make me happy

When skies are gray ...”

Luca’s breathing slows, his grip on your hand loosening.

“You’ll never know, dear,

How much I love you,

Please don’t take

My sunshine away.”

As the final note leaves your lips, Luca’s chest rises gently one last time, then stills. The room is silent, save for your heart-wrenching sobs.

Charles steps closer, wrapping his arms around you as you crumple into him, your world shattering. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, tears streaming down both your faces.

***

The somber quiet of the funeral is punctuated by the soft cries of mourners. The backdrop of gentle flowers contrast starkly with the weight of the grief in the air.

Charles stands next to you, holding a polished helmet, the vibrant colors of his Monza race-winning headgear gleaming under the sun. He turns to face you, eyes red-rimmed.

“This,” he starts, voice choked, “is my helmet from Monza. The race we won together. He was my co-driver that day, in spirit.”

You take a shaky breath, reaching out to touch the helmet, feeling its cool surface, the memories of that day flooding back. “He would’ve been so proud to have this.”

Charles nods, tears streaming down his face. “And this,” he says, taking the Ferrari bracelet off his wrist, “he held onto it for me once. I ... I want him to have it. To keep it safe.”

You clutch the bracelet, feeling its familiar weight, the leather still warm from Charles’ wrist. “It meant the world to him. And to me. Thank you.”

The two of you stand side by side, staring at the small casket adorned with flowers and memories. The embodiment of a life cut short but filled with love and unforgettable moments.

Together, you place the helmet and bracelet inside, a final tribute to a young racer whose journey had inspired so many.

“He’s free now,” Charles whispers, his voice barely audible. “Racing in the skies, no pain, no limits.”

You nod, tears flowing freely. “Our little champion, forever.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, both of you finding solace in each other’s warmth. The wind picks up, rustling the leaves, carrying with it the memories of a brave soul, forever remembered, forever missed.

***

The familiar crest of the hill looms ahead, the very spot where laughter and dreams once danced in the wind. You and Charles reach the top, the vast expanse of the horizon stretching out before you. The setting sun casts a golden hue, much like that unforgettable evening a year ago.

Charles lays down a blanket, reminiscent of that day, and the two of you sit, lost in memories. The silence isn’t empty — it’s filled with remembrance of a young boy’s laughter, his dreams, his courage. The hole he left behind in your hearts.

“Do you ever feel,” Charles hesitantly cuts through the quiet, “that Luca is still here with us, watching these sunsets?”

A tear slips down your cheek. “All the time. Every time I close my eyes under the setting sun or look up at the sky, I feel his presence.”

Charles takes a deep breath, struggling with his emotions. “I’ve been thinking about a way to honor Luca. To keep his spirit alive.”

You turn to him, eyes questioning.

“A foundation,” Charles begins, “In Luca’s name. To help children with terminal illnesses and their families. To give them hope, love, memories.”

You feel a rush of emotion, a tidal wave of love and loss. “He would have loved that. To know he’s making a difference even now.”

Charles nods, tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘It’s not just about the financial help. It’s about the moments, the memories. The sunsets and the picnics. The dreams and the hopes.”

You intertwine your fingers with his, drawing strength from the bond you’ve forged. “We’ll do it together. For Luca.”

The sun slowly dips below the horizon. As the first star appears, a sense of peace envelops the two of you. In the heart of sorrow, a new purpose is born, ensuring that Luca’s light continues to shine, guiding countless souls out of the darkness.

***

The sun sets in a blaze of colors, casting a warm glow over the hill that has become a symbolic memorial. Charles and you sit side-by-side, hand-in-hand, watching the bittersweet horizon.

A small voice breaks through the silence. “Mama, Papa, why do we come here?”

You turn to your daughter, a smile tugging at your lips. Lucia, with her curious eyes and radiant smile, is a constant reminder of love and life renewed.

“We come here to remember someone very special,” Charles explains gently, his eyes, so similar to your daughter’s, filled with tenderness.

Lucia looks at you both, a hint of understanding in her innocent gaze. “Luca?”

You nod, voice soft. “Yes, sweetheart. Your big brother. We come here to celebrate him, to tell stories about him, and to show him how much we love him.”

Lucia frowns slightly. “But I never got to meet him.”

You stroke her hair, your heart aching and swelling simultaneously. “He’s always with us, in our hearts. Just like you are.”

Charles leans down, wiping away a tear that escapes your eye. “And you’re named Lucia after him, to carry his memory forward.”

Lucia’s eyes light up, smile shining bright. “I’m like a part of him?”

“Yes,” you say, your voice filled with emotion. “A part of him lives on in you. In all of us.”

As the sun dips below the horizon, bathing the world in twilight, you hold each other tightly, a family united by love, loss, and the enduring spirit of a young boy whose legacy lives on in every sunset, every star, and every beat of your hearts.

[devilfic]

Do you still make Batman x reader? If yes, could I request a "reader figures out Bruce Wayne is Batman"?

Thank you!

❝honeymoon❞

parts: next plot: 'til death do you part. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: arranged marriage, friends to enemies to (fake) lovers, implied history between reader and bruce. words: 760.

a/n: a little something quick that I thought of!

Recognizing that you had agreed to this, you had been prepared to accept anything. An affair, a drug addiction, secret ties to the mafia overlords like high society always suspected. That was your job as Bruce's spouse: contractually obligated to be okay with it and never let anyone find out about it. Whatever it was.

Even now, as your brain short circuits and the floor feels like you're about to sink right into it, you're looking for ways to be okay with this, and he's looking at you like he wants to kill you.

It's a fleeting look. One second there, the next vanished. Neither of you say anything but there is a world of things being felt, you're certain. One of you has to budge. "This... isn’t what I was expecting."

But Bruce doesn't laugh (and you'd never expect him to, not in your presence). He stands there, heaving slow breaths to calm himself down, the cowl still conspicuously trembling between both of his hands. He could've tossed it or let it go but it's almost like you've frozen him solid.

"Where did you get that?" Is all he demands, eyes trained on the key glimmering in your hand now. "The doormen have orders to-"

"To not let me in? I know. I had the key made myself. Your doormen are easy to persuade with the right amount of money."

Bruce's lip twitches and he scoffs. "I won't tell anyone," you assure him, about 75% convinced of it yourself, "It does me no good to have extra eyes on me, and I'm sure you've got contingency plans in place were I or anyone else to expose you. You were always very good about that. Plans."

"Of course you won't. Your mother wouldn't approve of the disruption in cash flow."

Your eyes narrow. "I am not interested in what my mother wants."

"Why not? She's a part of this marriage, too. Isn't she?"

"Can we talk about the suit?" Bruce stiffens when you bring back attention to the compromised position you'd found him in. "I have questions, and I suppose if you want me to be good at lying about your... hobby, you'll have to prep me."

"I think the less you know, the better. Personally."

"The 'my husband's just busy with work' spiel is getting old, and people are already starting to talk about us living apart. Now, when I agreed to marry you," you watch him flinch as you take a step forward, "I promised that I would be with you in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, 'til death do us part. Your business is my business. Your secret," within arm's length of his cowl, you wrench it from his grasp and he relents rather easily, "is my secret. I will take it with me to the grave so long as you keep up your end of the bargain."

Up close, you take in the black paint smeared over his eyes, a fitting backdrop for his stunning eyes so cool. The fire in the hearth flickers off of them, reflecting back at you as you stand but inches apart.

Just as you stole his cowl, Bruce steals your key. He holds it up in the palm of his glove, "You want to move in."

You hum, "It would help with appearances. And my mother would be pleased."

"I thought you weren't interested in what your mother wants."

"I'm not, but she's interested in you, and given tonight's revelation... I think you'd like someone keeping her nose out of your business."

You punctuate your point with a touch to his chest, palm laid flat over his heart and the several layers of iron-clad padding in front of it. His hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at it, then back at you. There's discomfort there but... something else. Resignation, you'd wager. Defeat. You almost sigh in relief when it dawns on you that you've—rather miraculously—won this battle going in completely blind.

Later, it will dawn on you (or plummet on you) just what you've witnessed tonight. Just what you've agreed to. Just who you've married.

Bruce peels your hand away, placing the key in your palm before releasing it like a burning stone. "There are guest rooms on the second floor." He pauses when you're not fast enough to school your expression, his mouth turning down into a scowl, "This changes nothing else." And he stalks away.

Nothing else. This changes nothing else, but if anyone were to ask, the honeymoon was going great.

[inklore]

• “if you keep looking at me like that, i'm not responsible for what happens next." For Jordan (genV)

KEEP FOCUSED.

pairing: jordan li x (f)reader

contents: established relationship, insinuated-ish smut, you can imagine whichever presenting gender but i had their fem form in mind | wc: 703

The plan was to study. 

“Strength isn’t the only thing you need; you need intelligence. Knowledge.” Brink had said. Had made it more than clear that rankings got you somewhere, but for those who didn’t make it to the seven, passing a test was dire. 

Hence, studying was important.

Even if one of you ended up watching over some city, you couldn’t do that with powers alone. Not all the time. 

No matter how much you hated studying, no matter how many times the two of you vouched to study, that’s all, and it heading south within the first hour. 

The two of you had made it two hours now, passing index cards back and forth to write, cross stuff out, add things, and prepare to quiz each other later. It was a new record, really.

For how long neither of you made a move. 

With the restraint you showed each time their fingers brushed against yours when passing the cards to and fro. It was a superpower in its own how you’d strained your eyes to focus on the book in your lap and the laptop at your hip resting on their bed, where the two of you were perched. 

Your bottom lip indented by your teeth, showing how hard restraint was. How your top teeth sunk into the flesh of your lip every time you looked up from your textbook to stare at them. To watch them twiddle the pen in their fingers or press the nail of their thumb against their mouth in deep thought.

And that fucking gray shirt. The shirt that had no sleeves, no sides. The one that gave you the perfect view of their chest when they turned and leaned over the bed to grab their drink off their nightstand. 

The hard swallow that physically ached your throat from stopping yourself from tossing your books to the side, climbing on top of them, and pressing your mouth to the flesh peeking out of it.

You wonder if they wore it on purpose. As a tease. To distract you from the task at hand, a little jest they could poke at you later when one of you passed the test and the other just barely made it.

It makes you want them more. 

“If you keep looking at me like that, I'm not responsible for what happens next." 

Their voice cuts through the cloud of arousal fogging up your brain, your eyes sweeping up to their smirking face. 

“You mean you’re not responsible for my failing grade? Don’t think Brink will understand that I couldn’t study because I was too busy thinking about making you come?”

You can see the weight of their swallow, the glint of fire in their eyes when they let out a breathy chuckle and lock eyes with you. 

“Get a passing grade, and I’ll let you make me come as much as you want.” They retort, amusement on their face. 

You can’t help your own look of amusement—a smirk pulling the corners of your lips—as you put the index cards into the spine of the book to hold your place when you close it and push it off your lap to do the same with the book in theirs. Your palms pressed into the mattress between their slightly parted legs, putting your face inches from theirs as you lean into their space. 

“We both know I suck at tests,” you let your fingers walk slowly up their thigh, elation shooting through you when you see their body lean more into your touch on instinct. “But I’m very good at making you come. So, maybe we should just stick with what I’m good at.” 

And when you press your mouth to theirs, leaving a trail of kisses and bites to their neck, all ideas of studying are out the window, and their back is pressed back against the pillows, pulling you on top of them. 

“If you fail this test, I’m not letting you put your mouth on me for a week,” they say into your mouth. A gasp followed behind it as your hand moves to the part of their body that’s begging for you. “A couple days at least,” they moan.

[delusionalgirlswatchf1]

“Or you just want to impress her.”[Paul Aron x reader]

Paul’s friends from Estonia was in Monaco for the race. Thats why Paul was in a good mood. He was smiling at everything and everyone. Y/N could actually swore he was not walking but actually flying. Y/N was glad that he was happy but a certain person next to him was making her anxious. She was a close friend to him and she was making it obvious. Touching Paul’s arms,giggling everything he says,looking at him lovingly. Y/N was sure she was interested in him. Though,Y/N was in no place to be jealous of her. But she couldn’t help it and the glares she sends to Y/N was not helping this situation. While she was thinking about all this Paul made his way to her.

“Thinking about me?”

Y/N turned to see a smirking Paul. She rolled her eyes at his statement,acting like it wasn’t true.

“You wish,Aron.”

“Ah trust me,my wishes are more delusional.”

Paul was teasing Y/N as usual. Y/N wondered if the girl was also getting this treatment or was she different.

“I bet they are. Did your friends leave cause race is starting soon?”

“Yeah. I really want to win you know? They came all this way to support me and I want to make sure they get a good show.”

Paul said while looking at his friends side. Especially at the girl Y/N was jealous of.

“Or you just want to impress her.”

Y/N really didn’t want to sound so petty. She should’ve supported Paul and his friends as well. But she was having troubles with stopping the fire in her heart. Paul on the other hand,was confused.

“What? Impress her?Who?”

“Your pretty friend over there,Paul. Who else?”

God,Y/N was sounding pathetic. She wanted to run away from there as quickly as possible. Paul looked at his friends then turned to Y/N and looked at his friends again. He didnt say anything for a minute then a grin appeared on his face.

“You are jealous.”

“No.I’m not.”

“Oh my god,Y/N. You definitely are.”

Y/N took a deep breath. Her brain was saying it was now or never. If she didn’t confess now,she would probably never do it.

“Okay maybe I am jealous that you want to impress her so much while I’m here every day being impressed by you without you ever trying.”

Paul gasped at that sudden confession. His blue eyes twinkled as he was looking at Y/N deeply,to see if she was being serious or sarcastic. Y/N couldn’t even breath until he spoke.

“I don’t want to impress her.She is like a sister to me,I only want to make her proud.”

If there was a hole next to them right now,Y/N would jump and hide at there forever.

“Oh,Sorry I-“

Y/N couldn’t finish her sentence when Paul got too close to her.

“But,there is a girl I always wanted to impress. I thought she was annoyed by me,turns out she was mesmerized by me. Great news,isn’t it?”

Y/N gulped.

“I never said I was mesmerized.”

“Always denying your feelings,Y/N. Good girls like you shouldn’t do that.”

Y/N watched Paul get his helmet on and walk to the door.

“I will win the race for you. And I will shout your name on the podium,maybe after that you will be convinced for a date.”

Y/N smirked.

“We will see that if you win,Aron.”

The last thing Y/N saw as he left was Paul’s determined eyes.

[eoieopda]

🙏🏻 This is my first time submitting a request because I can’t stop imagining Dino helping his drunk BFF home while secretly being in love with her 🧎🏼‍♀️Please if you have time!

superpower

summary: not all heroes wear capes, but chan would probably do so if you asked. pairing: lee chan x reader type: drabble genre: fluff au: friends to ?, pining word count: 1.4k (oops) rating: pg15 — still, minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: alcohol/drunkenness, obvi; no pronouns or gendered language is used for reader. a/n: not even remotely proofread (double oops), but i still love this down-bad doofus, so i hope you do, too!

“I’m not saying I have superpowers, but I’m not not saying it.”

Your eyes are blinking a little more slowly than usual, but the unimpressed look you fire off at Chan can’t be missed.

“Can you just —” A hiccup cuts your question in half. You frown with your whole face just to make it clear how serious you are. “Hold my hand? It’s wobbly.”

Chan knows you’re referring to the sidewalk — where you stand and sway along to music that isn’t playing — but that description fits his knees, too. 

He hopes you’re too busy pouting at him to notice the way he wipes his palms against his jeans, afraid you’ll notice how nervous you make him. You start to lean a bit too heavily to one side for his liking, though; and he thinks it’s safe to bet that you’re not noticing much of anything.

That settles it.

The second he envelopes your hand in his, you take it a step further, tugging him close enough that you can slot yourself under his arm.

“Smell nice,” you mumble from his side. “‘s that the new stuff? From the place?”

Now, Chan is the one that’s blinking slowly. He was as drunk as you were until you needed him, and despite his sobering up on a dime — which is a superpower, thank you very much — his processing speed is lagging. You nudge him with your elbow, as if that’ll make what you just said make sense.

“Ahhh!” He plays along, making a big show of realizing things. “Yes, that place. By the thing, right?”

You nod. “Exactly.” 

Behind you both, the Uber that dumped you back at your place pulls away from the curb. Three beats later, you tilt your head and cheer “goodbye” at a long-gone Kia. He feels his heart swell three sizes in chest.

“You like it?” He redirects you because he’s a little bit greedy for your praise — and also because he bought this cologne with the hope that you’d compliment it. Chuckling, he notes, “Considering how much I’m propping you up right now, you’ll probably end up smelling like me.”

When you smile and mutter, “Good,” Chan suddenly feels weightless.

It takes some concentrated effort, but he manages to guide you up the front steps to your apartment building. It takes significant concentrated effort to corral you into the elevator once you clear the threshold. You would’ve spent your night talking the doorman’s ear off, otherwise, providing a dramatic retelling of every single step you took over the last few hours. It takes everything Chan has not to laugh at the relieved sigh he gets in thanks for intervening, although it’s hardly altruistic to want your rambling to himself.

Surrounded by the metallic walls of the elevator car, you point to your joint reflection and muse, “Someone’s awful smiley this evening.”

Chan makes eye contact without having to tilt his head. His brain works overtime to churn out a response that isn’t self-incriminating, but the only thought ricocheting around his brain relates to how cute you look, nestled into him.

With a ding, your reflection is gone. The moment goes with it, and without a barrier in front, so do you — like a bat out of hell.

“Oh, my god,” you wail when your apartment door comes into view. “I thought I’d never see you again!”

Chan chases after you, arriving embarrassingly out-of-breath — and more than a little fond — just in time to watch you wrestle your keys out of your pocket. They clatter to the floor the second they’re free. You groan, bereft at the loss.

“Stay here,” he says firmly with a finger pointed because he knows you, knows you’ll take one or both of you out of commission if you don’t heed his warning. 

Your eyes cross a little bit as you stare down the barrel of it, but you listen, thankfully; and he’s able to pick up your slack without anyone receiving a concussion. He’s able to usher you into your own home without further incident, too.

Once again: superpowers.

The task of kicking your shoes off is apparently too much to ask of you, so you wander off to your bedroom without even trying. His Nikes are discarded so hurriedly that they barely hit your mat by the time he takes off after you. The second he catches up, he wins the pleasure of watching you flop backwards onto your mattress.

Funny, he thinks. His heart makes a similar thwump when you smile at him the way you are right now.

Gesturing to the feet dangling off the edge of your bed, he laughs. “Can I please help you?”

You shoot him with dual-wielded finger guns. He takes that as a yes, please, and gets to work on the triple knots you managed to install in your laces.

“Chan?”

He hums in acknowledgment without looking up, too confounded by your drunken rope-work to take his eyes off his fingers.

Were you a sailor in a past life?

A little louder and a lot more pathetically, you whine, “Chan,” adding several seconds’ worth of the vowel sound in the process.

Chan has no option but to look up at you. As far as he’s concerned, he’s got no choice but to smile with all of his teeth, too. “You rang?”

“You’re so nice.” It’s supposed to be a whisper, he suspects, but it sounds much more like a shout. “How?”

His bemused snort is disguised by the sound of your right shoe hitting the floor.

“I mean it!” You laugh — like he’d ever doubt you — and smack your palms against your duvet for emphasis. “Like, hello? Good boy alert!”

That — well, that does something to Chan that he’s not willing to unpack right now. Instead, he shucks off your other shoe, bites back his smile, and sits back on his heels.

For a minute, the two of you stay that way: you gazing at him, him gazing right back at you. In every second that slips by in comfortable silence, he works to convince himself that the twinkle in your eye is a byproduct of the shots you took, nothing more. You’re smiling at him like that because you won’t have to sleep in your shoes tonight.

Right?

You nibble thoughtfully on your lower lip before your smile turns sheepish. “Chan?”

He’s not thinking that an angel gets its wings whenever you say his name, but he’s not not thinking that.

“The one and only,” he says with a nod, and he only cringes a little bit at his words, after the fact.

Whatever you want to say next seems to be stuck on its way out. In fact, you open and close your mouth twice to no avail. Patience is a virtue, and you are divine, so he waits there — on his knees, no less — and lets you take the lead. Your eyes flick from his face to the fidgeting fingers in your lap, then to the blank space at your side.

“It’s cold out,” you finally declare.

It’s July, but that’s neither here nor there.

“You shouldn’t have to walk home in this weather.”

The sky simply couldn’t be clearer, but Chan would take your word for it if you said that it was green.

“Maybe you should stay.”

He tries not to let the giddiness overtake him. Really, he does. He attempts to shrug nonchalantly, but it's more of a shiver than anything else, and he’s scrambling to his feet before he can chide himself for it.

You laugh — with your whole chest, no less — when he leaps into the spot beside you, settling flat on his back and grinning up at the ceiling. You’re still giggling when you mimic his graceless movements, still beaming when you turn your head to look at him. The air still feels electric, somehow, even after the laughter peters off.

A few moments pass, probably. He doesn’t notice them on their way out.

In a whisper that is actually a whisper, you say his name again, and it kicks off that wild thwump inside his chest.

“Yes?” He responds, much more quietly than his pulse in his ears.

You tug gently at the pillow under his head to draw attention to it. “You’ll probably end up smelling like me now.”

[koiir]

IF THE SUN REFUSED TO SHINE, BABY WOULD I STILL BE YOUR LOVER? — Satoru gojo x gn!reader

In which he reflects the truth of what his heart holds for you, numbing the pain he’s about to undergo.

Notes: spoilers to chp 236 . Angst with no comfort . Gojos my fav character but all I want to do is write angst for him so !! not proofread

Gojo satoru is a weapon, that’s the life he has endured throughout birth till the end and after.

The feeling of dehumanizing yourself is one he mastered quick, altering his own being and soul to make a facade where others don’t see the utter despair of his existence.

Even now, his body nearing its end as he has been sliced off, not putting an end to being the strongest.

They say in the last moments one remembers the best moments of their lives, although satoru wonders why you are the first to light his brain in past remembrance for the last time.

His heart cannot be one to give out, the man has long known this since it would only ignite a light to despair. But people have desires, even if they are not meant for such ideals he stills dreams of a life where he can experience love without fear and a clear understanding of what it means be to be free of fear.

The most common curse is that of love, something he’s known his whole life. And also the solitary love of longing for another. One he wishes he could erase from his existence.

But he also views it as a beautiful thing that he has been given to experience.

Admiration is a feeling indescribable to gojo, it creeps up to him enveloping him in a warmth that vanishes the minute you are out of sight. He first experiences this when you two are 18, almost ten years ago he thinks.

“Do you ever wonder what a life without curses would be like?”

“Of course I do! Just means i wouldn’t be the strongest.”

He can tell your eyes are rolling due to his teasing, but he can’t ignore the stare you hold onto him as he keeps his eyes closed. You know he’s thinking about it, thinking about a world where he isn’t truly alone. Alone in the way that Satoru Gojo can feel like he isn’t object that acts as a pillar to all.

“What makes you so extroverted satoru?”

“Well… it makes me feel normal for once.”

The first time he opens up to you is when you two are 19, he wishes he could be stronger and dispute his devoid of emotion. Though he knows this might help, just a bit on his end.

What breaks him is the face you hold of melancholy, eyes dusted over with a hint of despair as you had watched him endure a rather harsh mission. He doesn’t tease you for it, but rather apologizes for making you worry so much. It’s brushed off but the time spent between you two is one of ease.

It fills his soul with a warmth he long has longed for, the light igniting in him as he gazes over to your figure that keeps its stance on the sea ahead.

The waves seem to replicate his overall form, the fact in which he wants to wash away his life to one of normality. Water is that of depth and darkness, he finds himself almost connecting to water itself as it’s a need for many, but never cared for with tenderness.

Throughout the course of your time as classmates, up till adulthood, the everlasting emotion of longing seems to be his strong suit. It’s as though his soul burns with a fire you give him, unknown of the bittersweet feeling his heart is enduring endlessly.

He doesn’t mind, he doesn’t push anything. He knows that his longing will only worsen if ever dares to try and push you away. Though you’ve already placed a home of thorns in his heart, growing as time progresses with no means of stopping. But never does he dare push to pursue, it’s as if a broken curse of fortune placed upon him.

You two seem to understand this prophecy, because you also know that satoru can’t live a life wear he acts upon his emotions. It’s the worse cure you think, that a boy birthed into a weapon is chained down to a scarcity of loneliness.

He knows others have cared for him, he has his students and others who though he does annoy ever now and then, gojo knows they deeply care for him through the years of shared experiences with the harsh world of curses.But he’s never felt deserving of that honor, feeling like one day he will be a failure to them and be the cause of their lives.

All he wants is to protect them and never let them experience what he and others had to endure. His students are those he loves, so the fact that they will see his body defeated and blood casting over him, his heart burns with pain at the thought that he has failed them and everyone.

“See you.”

Your words are mellow, face firm with eyes swarmed in fear. He stares at you, its only you two gojo feels his heart beat fast at the mixture of emotions he is holding in his soul right now. It’s fast due to seeing you for possibly the last time. You being the last person to say goodbye to him.

You holding back your pain and uttering words that don’t translate to this weapon of him. Himself.

You overthink a lot. Satoru has always known this since you two were teenagers, even know, you don’t want to say “do your best,” or “give it your all,” because he knows you don’t wish to envision him dying due to this. But you both know better.

He wants to break free from this curse, it’s the last time he sees you. Though the pain this will cause you, he doesn’t want to imagine how much his final words to you will impact you. But he knows closure is a gift, because at least you know the truth and can close the wound of uncertainty.

“Thank you, for everything.”

The embrace is one of passion, his thoughts run as he can finally hold onto you just this once. He wishes maybe someday, he can feel this again. From you. Your body shakes and you can’t hug him back, you don’t meet his stare as you finally let go.

The pain is overwhelming, because you know for a fact you won’t ever get to experience this from satoru. The boy who has long held a special place in your heart and through a bond that cannot be broken.

Gojo feels the pain they call “despair” he’s never dared to admit it, but now he has nothing to lose. This feeling is all that of a weapon, that has succumbed to the feeling of love.

“I love you.”

His eyes flutter open as he now understands the feelings he has held for you, the light from the sun above is truly the last thing he sees. His eyes shut, for the final time being. Gojo Satoru lays onto the blood of his own, death taking his life away as he no longer will be the strongest.

Maybe in another life he could be strong, not physically, but in being able to fight for you and love you without any curse holding him back. In another life, he would be free of any pain.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five

TW: abuse of authority, harassment, cops

The next day, you are driving home from a long shift in the wee hours of the morning when you see the dreaded flicker of blue and red lights flashing behind you. There’s hardly anyone else out on the highway, so there’s little chance they’re not directed at you. 

What the hell? You weren’t even speeding. You are exhausted. Did you drift over the line? Fuck. A ticket is the last thing you need right now. You make your way over to the side of the road, hoping you don’t get a flat from all the extraneous bullshit that peppers the asphalt. There really is no one around, and a little thrill of fear tightens your chest. Being a woman alone late at night in this situation isn’t exactly what you would call ideal. 

You know you don’t exactly look threatening, but you’re still careful to place your hands in full view on the top of the wheel. You glance in your side mirror at the black Dodge Charger parked behind you, momentarily blinded by those stupid flashing lights. However, when you set eyes on the figure who emerges from the driver’s seat, your heart plummets to your stomach. 

That motherfucker. 

He approaches your open window with all the swagger of a rooster, long legs and broad shoulders. Doesn’t look much like that burn is bothering him now. You know part of the bulk of his chest is a vest (and you’re glad he’s wearing it, considering his habits) but it still manages to fry the aesthetic center of your brain as you watch him. 

He bends down slightly to peer in your window, blinding you with his flashlight. So unnecessary. 

“Really?” you grouse, squinting at the bright light. 

Ignoring your complaint, he offers that shit-eating smirk. “Know why I pulled you over?” 

He leans on your window, and you know you stare at that large hand distractingly close to your shoulder for a beat too long, utterly betraying your thoughts to him. “No idea,” you sigh, tired, and pissed off, and you hate to admit it-entirely too titillated by his newest form of harassment.

Again, it occurs to you how very alone you are out here, at this time of the night. Even if there was another car driving by…there’s no way they’re stopping to help you. 

“For driving while adorable.” 

Of all the things he could have said in that moment-and you cannot help but remember the way he trussed you like a christmas turkey and said such filthy things in your ear that one time you treated him-it’s so cheesy it almost makes you smile.

“Are you kidding me?”

“And you were going 7 miles over the speed limit.”

This was LA. You took your life in your hands for not speeding at least fifteen over most of the time.

“You’re writing me a ticket for going seven over?” 

He doesn’t actually have the ticket book in his hand, and he looks around the deserted highway as though thinking about it. 

“Well. I don’t have to…”

Here it comes. 

“I’m not going on a date with you to get out of this. Write it up. Fuck it. I don’t care.”

He pays you a little frown, because he’s trying to be cute, but you’re just not playing his game. You imagine a man like this isn’t used to women not playing any games he asks them to. He has no idea how stubborn you can be. 

When he honest-to-god makes a pouty face, pushing out that beautifully full lower lip it’s all you can do not to reach out of the car and slap him-or maybe punch him in the dick-because it’s charming, and it melts your heart a little, and you so do not need this. You’ve been dreaming about him nearly every goddamn night since you first treated him and this is only going to throw gasoline on the fire-fuck!

“Did you forget that I have a boyfriend?” you remind him, for yourself as much as him. Maybe it’s not wise, to poke the bear while he’s actually almost being sweet-but you are mad.

His eyes narrow at you, and why do you get such a thrill from that? 

“Do you? Because the two of you seemed a little…awkward, together. Not sure I buy it.”

“Things are just new,” you defend. “What, do you want to hear about how he rubs my feet on my break?”

The glint in Officer Ludlow’s eyes is like a bared blade. “Just your feet? Honey, if you were my girl I’d rub you all over. For your health.” 

Fuck if that doesn’t send a spear of heat straight to your center, your heart thumping painfully in your chest. You hope he doesn’t notice you shifting in your seat, trying to relieve some of the absolutely diabolical ache between your thighs.

“Well…the break room has its limits.”

“Wouldn’t stop me.” The images that is going to give you when you lay down to sleep. 

“I’m sure it wouldn’t. But Julian is actually a gentleman.”

“Yeah? Pretty sure that’s code for boring as fuck.” 

“He’s not boring. He’s sweet. He’s taking me to coffee on Saturday morning, and you know what? I’m not going to think about you at all.” 

A greater lie was never told.

It almost feels like you finally scored a hit. His expression turns stony, unreadable, and you know it’s crazy but you almost feel bad about it. At last he straightens from practically leaning into your window, hooking his thumb in his belt. “Alright, sassy girl,” he says, patting the top of your car. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time.” With a final dark look he swaggers back to his Charger. 

It’s possible you watch him go in your side mirror-it’s really not fair, that God gave a man that annoying such a biteable little muffin of an ass.

[cyberrose2001]

TFP Optimus x fem!Reader

Requested by @musicalmedli, who wanted a continuation/re-write of this fic -> read here

sorry it took so long! (literally months oop, writers block is an ass)

I wrote the smut first and asked questions later, so apologies if the flow is off a bit.

also is this an excuse to write reader and OP 69ing? yes maybe shut up

Warnings: OP seducing reader, mostly dom!OP, fem human reader, 69 position.

Word count: 1976

18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT READ

Some time had passed since your embarrassing encounter with Optimus, and things around the base had been quite unusual, to say the least. Not only has Optimus been practically attached to your hip, but he’s also started behaving very strangely around you.

He smells nice, like he had somehow nabbed a fresh bottle of cologne. His frame looks cleaner and more buffed out than usual. One would say that the red and blue mech had taken more interest in the upkeeping of personal hygiene, which isn’t hard to believe. But what is hard to believe is the increasing amount of subtle winks he gives you when no one else is around.

You aren’t sure what’s got into him or why he constantly asks how your day was with a renewed suave. Maybe it might be better to confront him, but that thought seems to have manifested in reality as your phone pings a message from Optimus.

“Please meet me in my quarters.”, it reads.

Well, aren’t you the psychic?

-

This was probably expected coming from the recent behaviour of the Prime, but the shock never leaves your face as you close the door behind you and step into his candle-lit quarters.

Optimus is mass-displaced, slumping in a chair facing you, pedes half crossed on his knees, giving you a slight glimpse of his inner thighs. A forearm rests on the armchair, digits tapping rhythmically as if to send you into a trance. His other servo drapes lightly on his thigh, brushing against the inner protomass. You gulp, raking your eyes over every inch of his frame until you meet half-lidded optics. Soft but unquestionably oozing arousal.

You try to say something, anything, but your mouth runs dry from the pure, unfiltered sex radiating from him. Optimus notices and his thin-lined dermas curl up devilishly.

“Good evening,” Optimus hums, “Apologies for messaging you abruptly, but I’d like to talk with you if that is all right.”

From his body language alone, you’re sure that he didn’t call you here just to ‘talk’. But you digress; it could be something important. So, you nod, stepping into the dimly lit room.

“Uh, yeah. It’s ok. I wasn’t busy anyway,” You walk up to him with the hesitance of a newborn doe, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I suppose there is,” Optimus leans forward once you’re standing directly in front of him, his elbow on his knee, and holy fuck is he hot, “Can I just say how utterly bewitching you are?”

A pause, “M-Me? Surely not. I think you’ve got the wrong gal.”

“Was it not you that I attempted to court to forestall your leave?” Optimus tilts his helm, digits drumming on his knee, “It worked, did it not?”

You need to be very careful with your following words because the look Optimus is giving you right now screams, ‘If you say yes, I’m gonna fuck the brains out of you and give you the best orgasm of your entire life’. Which doesn’t sound too bad right now; your loins are on fire, and it’s becoming increasingly harder to think straight.

“I know you harbour feelings for me,” Optimus pushes his servos into the armrest and stands up. He then crouches down to be at eye level with you because even when mass-displaced, he still towers above you by a solid foot, “Say the word, and I will satisfy you enough to last you a lifetime.”

Your legs are about to give out, but that’s ok because you’ve taken the liberty to wrap your arms around his neck. Faces so close now that you’re breathing in his ex-vents, “Is that a challenge?”

Optimus’ optics dim, giving you the most sultry grin that rivals the sun. He wraps his arms behind you and picks you up, and you instantly wrap your legs around his waist, “Is that… your permission to proceed?”

You’re in too deep now. Slowly, you nod and cup his faceplate in your warm hands, inching closer and closer, “Yes.”

You close the distance to his dermas, and he fucking growls. His grip on your ass is firm as he returns the kiss with the intensity of a firestorm, glossa pressing against your tongue in an act of dominance.

After gaining your full permission and miraculously without breaking the heated kiss, Optimus throws you onto the blanket-covered berth behind you, thanking Primus that he had organised the soft landing before your arrival. And also a bit suspicious that he had fully expected to seduce you to get into your pants or lack thereof; because Optimus had clawed at them before you even had the chance to break the kiss and catch your winded breath.

You’re entirely at his mercy, with nowhere to run as he cages your upper body with his gorgeously robust forearms. His optics glow in a tantalising turquoise as he rakes them down your body, hungry and lustful.

While he soaks in the sight of you below him, it gives you time to appreciate how damn handsome he truly is. The soft orange glow of the candles highlights every crevasse, every perfect imperfection that he somehow missed buffing himself out for you. He’s gorgeous, and the faint smile he gives you tells you that he damn well knows it.

Optimus flirtatiously laughs before leaning his helm down to press a tender kiss to your neck, ex-vents like a gentle breeze on your skin, “You have no idea how long I have yearned for this.”

Feeling his glossa pressing against your neck, you softly moan, lulling your head to the side for more access. You can feel him suckle slightly, and your breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut. He’s marking you, and you have no choice but to submit yourself to him.

Well, maybe you have some choice. You remember Optimus trying to flirt with you via a very raunchy pickup line, not having any idea what it even meant. This might be your opportunity to give him a hands-on experience; you just have to tug the breaks slightly on this dominant Optimus train.

“-hggff- Optimus,” You gasp out and reach up to gently push his chest away; removing him from your neck was like Velcro, “Wanna try out that… position I told you about?”

Optimus hitches his breath. Ever since you whispered those lewd words into his audial receptors, the thought of you lying atop him as he indulges in your heat for the first time while you do the same for him makes his spark flutter, “I will not lie. It’s been on my mind for quite some time… I suppose we could attempt it.”

The whole reason it’s been on his mind in the first place was that you were the one who planted that thought in his processor, and now you just realised exactly why Optimus had been acting like a love-struck puppy around you. He fucking researched it, and it got him majorly flustered.

Optimus digs his servos beneath your back to cradle you and flips himself over, with you now draped across him. You sit up and make work of stripping the remainder of the clothes Optimus hadn’t shredded, and when you rip your bra off, his servos instantly press against your chest.

“Mmmm, these are delightful,” Optimus purrs, digits kneading into your plump flesh, “So very soft…”

You bite back a moan before pulling his servo away from you, “I know, but let’s not get distracted, hm? You can play with them after.” You then maneuver yourself so you face first with his interfacing array, which you notice is already bowed out; your breasts squishing against his abdominal plating.

“I see you’re already excited; wanna show me?” You purr as you palm him, drawing delightful shivers from him. You kiss his groin, and he nearly bucks up into you in excitement.

Optimus doesn’t hesitate to expose him to you, groaning as his thick spike unsheathes itself from its housing. And you’re fucking drooling. It’s gorgeous, has a slight lean and is absolutely rock hard, staring right at you.

You’re not the only one drooling. Optimus’ optics are laser-focused on your dripping pussy; it entices him to dive right in. He moves his servos to grip your ass cheeks, massaging them gently.

“Primus, what a sight to behold.” He breathes out, and the warm air tickles your heat. He leans in, flattening his glossa to lick a thick line from your clit to your hole.

“F-Fuck…” You gasp out, leaning your hips into his intake more. The way Optimus is lapping at your folds is very distracting, and you almost forget that you’re supposed to be returning the favour.

You grab his spike, running your fingers up and down in tandem with his glossa. It’s softer than you thought, similar to the malleable protomass beneath his metal exterior, and you can’t wait to get your mouth around it. You stick your tongue out and lick from the base to the very tip, and you can feel Optimus groaning into your heat as you do.

Feeling confident, you wrap your lips around his tip and apply gentle suction. You swirl your tongue, lapping up the pre-cum already spilling down, and you moan at the taste. If you’re not careful, you might get addicted to it.

You can’t say the same for Optimus, who drinks you with a fervour akin to someone lost in the desert and has discovered water for the first time in weeks. He wraps his arms around your waist, forcing you almost entirely to sit on his face. His glossa delves into your hole, and you cry out around his spike.

You’re almost thrown off him when you do, the vibrations from your throat sending an electrical shock through his hips as he bucks into your mouth. He’s deepthroating you now, and you must be a snake of some kind because this shouldn’t be possible unless you’ve unhinged your jaw.

“I’m sorry,” He takes a breath, pressing kisses to your sensitive bud, “I can’t -aggh- help myself. Your intake is so tight.”

“Keep going, Optimus,” You pop your mouth off him, using one hand to stabilise yourself on him and the other to pump him feverishly, “I’m so close, f-fuck.”

As soon as those fluttery words leave your mouth, you’re straight back to sucking his spike with all the strength you have left. Optimus has also continued his assault on your clit. He swirls his glossa and wraps his dermas around it, and you’re fucking done. You cum on his glossa so hard it’s like an explosion on your nervous system, rocking your hips against him involuntarily.

Optimus pushes your hips further onto his intake and tightly grips your waist as his own overload overtakes his senses, the rush of cum flowing onto his glossa combined with your relentless sucking being just enough to send him over the edge.

He overloads right into your throat, and you’re determined to swallow every last drop. You push his spike past your gag reflex, tears filling your eyes as the rush of stickiness overflows into your cheeks and past your lips, dripping down his spike as it spasms against your tongue.

Once you feel he’s completely finished, you pull your mouth off and gulp. There’s so much you couldn’t, but you mentally pat yourself on the back for swallowing what you could.

Optimus releases his hold on your waist, allowing you to manoeuvre yourself so you’re facing him again. And holy fuck, seeing his face drenched in your fluids is almost enough to make you cum again.

He gives you a dopey smile and wraps his arms around your waist, “That undoubtedly exceeded my expectations. Should I try to seduce you again someday?”

“I don’t think you need to,” You breathlessly chuckle, “You’ve already got me hooked.”

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Active Authors Masterlist (3)

Part 1 / Part 2 /

***Active (on this blog) is defined as a blog/writer who has updated within the past year. Inactive (on this blog) is defined as a blog/writer that has not been updated at all in the past year+. On THG Writing Hiatus (on this blog) is a blog/writer who has updated within the past year but has not posted a fanfic in the fandom in the past year BUT they may return to writing in the future. Lists will be updated as needed based on activity. ***

Created: November 17th, 2023

Last Checked:----

ipsygrace :: ao3, ao3, tumblr

Popular Fic: Peeta's Games: The Hunger Games from Peeta's point of view. This follows the original work as closely as possible and much of the dialogue is taken from the original and owned entirely by Suzanne Collins. (@igsy-blog)

JHsgf82 :: ao3, tumblr

Popular Fic: What's Mine Is Yours: Peeta's POV. Post-Mockingjay/Pre-Epilogue. A pregnant Katniss is feeling sick and scared. Peeta does his best to care for her while dealing with his own fears. Response to the Fluff Drabble Prompt: “This was my lap. Now apparently this is your lap.” (@jhsgf82)

JLaLa :: ao3, ffnet, tumblr

Popular Fic: Two Wrongs: “Katniss, you’re my best friend and I love you but seriously-marry you?” A marriage for the unmarriageable. Modern Day AU, set in San Francisco. (@jlalafics)

katnissdoesnotfollowback :: ao3, ff.net, tumblr

Popular Fic: Wrapped in Red: Katniss is trying to be a good friend to her recently divorced pal. She really is. But this holiday season, fate, her own feelings, and Peeta’s daughter have other plans. An advent style Everlark story. (@katnissdoesnotfollowback)

katnissmellarkkk AKA VanillaCottonCandy  :: ao3, tumblr

Popular Fic: Gravity: But he just stares at me for a long moment, his smile never wavering, then admits simply, "I'm just so happy that I threw you that bread." I feel my chest constrict, both moved by his words and exhausted from even standing inside this place again. And my eyes overflow then and all I can manage to say is, "so am I." / Katniss and Peeta, growing back together through a series of snapshots. Set Post Mockingjay. (@katnissmellarkkk)

LemonLuvGirl :: ao3, ffnet, tumblr

Popular Fic: Both of Us: An alternate ending to Catching Fire in which both Peeta and Katniss are rescued from the arena during the Quarter Quell. Our lips collide with gentle urgency, two half conscious minds struggling in the murky waters between sleeping and waking, layered with a need for comfort and something more. We kiss until he pulls back, panting, angling his hips away from mine. I know what he’s trying to avoid. He doesn’t want to scare me. But the thought of his body reacting to me isn’t nearly as scary as the idea that we almost never got to have this. (@lemonluvgirl)

LilyMaid :: ao3, tumblr, ff.net

Popular Fic: The Awkward In-between: Days after winning the 74th Hunger Games Katniss recognized her life was changing, not just her home. She was already mourning for that old life, when things were difficult, yet so simple. With a tightening in her chest and a fear she didn't understand, she wondered what would be left. Cannon Divergent AU- pre Catching Fire (@wistfulweaverwoman)

loungemermaid :: ao3, tumblr

Popular Fic: no grave could hold my body down (I'll crawl home to her): Finnick makes his way back to Annie, alive but in several pieces. He loses his right arm and leg to the lizard mutts in the sewer. While Thirteen can patch him up, he's going to have to go back, back to the Capitol, if he's ever going to get better. As it turns out, Peeta has to go too, has to try and pull his fractured brain back together. They help each other keep it together. Finnick is there to help when Peeta can't remember what's real and what's fake, and Peeta helps Finnick cope with limb loss (@loungemermaid)

MegaAuLover :: ao3, ffnet, tumblr

Popular Fic: Katniss Everdeen Is Not A Stalker: Canon AU- Katniss as a little problem, she can't stop looking through Peeta's window, trying to find a way to pay her boy with the bread back but as time goes on she realizes she wants more. But there is a problem the District is flooded with Peacekeepers and everyone faces danger as the Capitol tightens its reigns on the district. Can love bloom in the middle of adversity? Or will it shrivel in the face of surmounting danger? (@mega-aulover)

melissaeverdeen13 :: ao3, ff.net, tumblr

Popular Fic: give you my wild: a look into katniss and peeta's life as they grow back together after the war; their experiences with friendship, love, and parenthood. (@jenniferiawrence)

[williamvapespeare]

torturing myself with Astarion/durge heartbreak 2k23 (some comfort immediately after that scene)

-

“Anyway it’s a brand new day, I’m sure we’ll find lots of people for you to kill.” 

He means it as a joke, he really does, the sort of thinly veiled thing he pulls out when a conversation gets too close to the endless darkness of a tomb or the trusting eyes of yet another victim, pain dragged down each of his limbs, screams caught in his throat, or, well - he figures he’s owed a bad joke or two for all of that. 

And Tav humors him with a small huff of something that might have been laughter, only it catches on a sharp sounding inhale and all of a sudden he’s clapping a hand over his mouth and curling into himself and Astarion has done quite enough sitting back and watching that night already.

When he pushes himself closer, Tav turns away, his eyes squeezed shut, shoulders heaving. Astarion reaches out, slowly, with all same the caution he uses as he feels his way through the mechanisms of a trap, fits his fingers under a spring, eases it open. He’s good at this, Astarion knows, and now he gets his hand around Tav’s wrist, pries it gently away from his mouth. Tav’s skin is still raw, dried blood flaked around the wound. Astarion does his best to be gentle as he pulls Tav’s hand towards him, holding his fingers loosely in both of his own hands. 

It reminds him of a night weeks ago, when Tav accepted Astarion’s terrified words with the most grace he’s ever known, warm arms around his waist, a soft smile on Tav’s face, gentle fingers curled around his own. I care about you. 

“I’m sorry,” Tav says now, voice choked and raw. Like he’s been screaming all night. “You shouldn’t. I tried to, I fucking tried…” 

“I’m here,” Astarion cuts him off. Tav’s hand tries to clench in his own, twisting into a fist where Astarion can see the bloody imprints of nails already etched into his palm. He tightens his grip. “Someone already beat you to the whole killing me thing, love, and look how that turned out. I’m still here, whole and beautiful.” 

Tav’s shoulders hitch again, but he blinks his eyes open, and while Astarion doesn’t like what he sees there - dark circles like bruises above his cheekbones, fear still radiating from him like a pheromone - he sees Tav there in his eyes, nothing more, nothing less.  

“That’s it,” he soothes, calming and utterly nonsensical. “I’ve got you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tav says again, but his voice is steadier this time. 

Astarion reaches out, touches Tav’s cheek in what he hopes is a delicate caress, like he too is something gentle to be taken care of, even when his body and his brain are fighting it with everything they have. 

The fire is long since dead, and Astarion lets his gaze wander up from the blackened logs to the dull grey sky, it looks this way just before sunrise, he’s learned. Sometimes, the subtle hints of pink blink into view on the edge of the horizon without warning, and he’s struck with awe at the sight of it, the light, the freedom, every useless cliche it’s come to represent. 

He isn’t sure how long they sit there, but by the time he hears the first rustling of their companions around them - it’s Gale who always appears first, he knows, the man wakes ridiculously early for a human - the sun is high enough in the sky that it’s beginning to peek through the early morning clouds. 

“I should probably, uh,” Tav motions vaguely to his hand where it still rests loosely in Astarion’s, “deal with this before anyone else freaks out.” 

As much as Astarion agrees, he can’t quite bring himself to let Tav go yet. 

“Of course,” he says, instead of any of the disgustingly possessive thoughts on the tip of his tongue. “Get yourself cleaned up, darling.” 

He helps Tav to his feet, watches as Tav rubs his face on his sleeve, skims his own fingers over his bloody wrists, taking stock of the damage. Astarion recognizes the motions. 

“Will you,” Tav starts to say something that tapers off into a tired sort of silence, but Astarion is already nodding. 

“I’ll be right here,” he says. “Whenever you need me.” 

[veryferaldistributions]

Autism is Not “Fun”

(Brutal honesty ahead.)

I think when autistic people such as myself get defensive about certain behaviors or personality traits “not being autistic,” we’re not trying to gatekeep, we’re telling it how it is.

I myself get really aggravated when certain kinds of people who would have been vicious bullies towards me and other autistic peers back in grade school become adults that then turn around and go “omg, autism is cool now! So this innocuous thing I did as a kid MUST be an autistic trait.”

No, it’s not. Autism is not cool. It’s the furthest thing from cool.

Autism is painfully uncomfortable, autism is gross, autism is lonely, autism is isolating, autism is embarrassing.

Autism is slow processing, and looking stupid in front of your class because you don’t understand the material. Even if you’re considered “gifted.” Or not being able to debate friends because your brain isn’t working fast enough.

Autism is having a full crying meltdown in front of your whole class because the fire alarm won’t stop going off or because your science class is using balloons and you’re terrified of them. In high school.

Autism is seeing another autistic kid wearing headphones all day and thinking “god, I don’t want to be equated to that freak.”

Autism is throwing other weirdos under the bus in self defense because “at least I’m not that bad. Maybe if they bully him, they won’t target me.”

Autism is your whole class laughing at you because you’re “freaking out” for seemingly no reason. Then forgetting you even exist the next day.

Autism is picking your nose and eating it or chewing your nails because it’s the one habit you can’t break. And doing it unconsciously in front of your peers.

Autism is having college-level writing skills and first-grade math skills simultaneously.

Autism is constantly being seen as “stupid” or “not applying herself.” And also being on honor roll.

Autism is sudden, violent rage that gets you sent to ISS for verbally threatening one of your bullies.

Autism is the teacher saying your handwriting looks like “chicken scratch.” In front of the whole class.

Autism is fighting with your mom because she wants you to dress “appropriately” but the fabric of the jeans is too overwhelming and all you want are ugly sweatpants.

Autism is being a terrible and possessive friend because you’re so scared of being alone again.

Autism is not having voice modulation, and shouting when you’re nervous.

Autism is not understanding why the class is laughing at you when you mispronounce “Uranus.”

Autism is not ever being able to enjoy fireworks because your brain equates it to being shot at.

Autism is never going to loud concerts and missing out.

Autism is not being able to stand working in retail because your brain fixates on the music until it drives you bonkers. Autism is constant miscommunication with customers.

Autism is not liking the feel of deodorant, so you smell like BO until a teacher calls you out on it.

Autism is farting in class because you don’t know you’re not supposed to do that.

Autism is not knowing you’ve bled on yourself until ANOTHER teacher points it out.

Autism is not being able to look teachers in the eye, even if it’s for something good, because it feels humiliating.

Autism is knowing, deep down, there must be some kind of disconnect, some kind of reason that you only gel with the other autistic kids, but your parents and counselors not having enough knowledge to help you.

Autism is your friends not knowing that THEY are also autistic, or are in denial about it. Even as adults.

Autism is your parents being in even deeper denial about it, because you’re so “high functioning.” But your therapist saying you are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, autistic.

In closing, I don’t completely hate being autistic, I don’t want to be cured, but I’d never say I’m “glad” I have autism. Life has gotten easier not being in public school, but the workforce still sucks with autism. It is what it is.

[issybee06]

Because…

Part ii

Warnings: swearing, smoking, underage drinking, trauma but it's ✨trauma✨, bad flirting, uncomfortable conversations, bro Kakashi is still 18…just a baby, TI building shenanigans, insomnia, coffee addiction…thats a warning right?

Eunoia

(n.) beautiful thinking;a well mind

…………………………………………………………………..……

I sigh, squeezing the bridge of my nose as I push back from the lad bench. It was 3 in the fucking morning and I was still here in this tiny lab.

Anbu had returned home two days ago, severely wounded, with one of their comrades dead. They had been in the Stone Country when they encountered their enemy and a new poison. A new poison meant a new threat, and that meant I was pulled from my 3-day break on the first day.

My head fell back and I looked up at the grey ceiling, closing my eyes when the fluorescent light began to sting. Yeah…this is better than fieldwork my ass.

It could be worse, I reminded myself as I unconsciously reached for my chest to press the grey fabric... This is why I picked this job.

Groaning, I stand up. I look down at my notes, all scribbled and messy, 1/3 of it was Japanese, another was fucking scroll marking and the rest was just chicken scratch…how the fuck was I supposed to read that when I could see straight?

That's a problem for future me, I think as I walk out of the lab, closing the door firmly behind me. I don’t bother with turning the lights off…I’m coming back. Walking down the hall, I stuff my hands into my pockets.

Moving to the kitchen, I open the cabinets to grab the unground coffee beans before dumping my version of a cup into the machine.

I grab a glass bear bottle, dumping the residue into the sink before washing it out and then filling it with water. I fill the coffee maker with water, before pressing the button, filling the quiet quarters with the irritating grinding.

Sliding to the ground, I sit with my back against the cabinet. TI was…grey. The walls, the uniforms, everything was grey. The only colorful thing here was the people, I smirk slightly.

“SENSEI!!”

The world was on fire, licking at my face and burning my hands.

Konoha was gone, flattened by the heels of the fox demon. Houses, trees, hills, and buildings all whipped away like crumbs on a table by the claws and nine swishing tails.

I go to run, only to be dragged back by arms circling my waist.

“Let me go! I can save them! I CAN SAVE THEM!!!”

“Don't be stupid!”

Kakashi…he pulled me close to his chest as tears cleaned the dirt and ash off my face. I sob, falling to the ground and he falls with me, burying his face into my hair to hide his tears.

“…there's nothing we can do.”

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Mother fucker…?”

I open my eyes, pulling myself up to see that the coffee was done.

“Oh fuck yes, come to mama.”

I grab a mug, pouring the black liquid into it, “you are going to keep my body functional…”

Inhaling, I move back down the hall to the lab. Looking down, my eyes droop at seeing my chicken scratch notes. You know what? Inoichi can just use his freaky mind powers to pick at my brain.

I sit back down, taking a sip before placing the cup on the desk. I lean on my hand, mental deciphering the notes as I switch back and forth between the papers and the microscope.

This poison…it isn’t like anything I’ve studied before.

When Inoichi, Ibiki and I had gone to the Autopsy of the Anbu member it was too hard to look…he was almost interlay eaten away on one side; skin, muscle and bone.

The poison had disintegrated him, but when we took the samples and stored them in the glass test tubes…nothing happened.

This poison only ate away at living tissue, and not just flesh but also flora too I had come to realize after running a few test.

I reach for a tube, holding it up to the light.The poison was oddly pretty…it was an almost impossible electric blue, reminding me of chakra almost.

My job was to break this sucker down, find out what made it tick, then use my finding to conduct an antidote with the help of the medical core.

“Fucking chemistry…” I sigh, placing the tube back and replacing it with my coffee.

As I sip, the lab door opens.

“Setsuko-Chan…is my shift done already?”

The young women blushes, adjusting her glasses, “I-I’m truly sorry I’m late Senju-Hime! I promise it won’t hap-”

I raise my hand, continuing to chug the coffee down. She shuts her mouth, gulping.

I place the empty cup down, giving her a smile, “don’t worry about it, I get into my groove around this time anyways.”

She breathes out a sigh of relief and I can’t help but raise my brow at this kid. She’s a Chunin, fresh Chunin, that Inoichi recruited after seeing her skills in making laxative drugs out of berries during the forest part of the exams. I thought she was hilarious, I knew one of the kids she got, and I think that’s why I liked her.

I stand, grabbing my old notes and handing her the clearer ones.

“Here’s my findings, coffees in the pot-don’t accidentally drink the poison…I’ve done that once.”

She makes a concern face as I walk past her, heading to the front to clock out.

It’s still winter, I think to myself as snow lightly flutters down from the sky. The walk back to the apartment, thank the gods, isn’t that long but I can’t seem to stop myself from dragging my feet as I walk. My shift…was from 3pm to 3am, you do the math, and I was really starting to feel those fucking hours.

I was praying silently that Genma would leave me the fuck alone when I got home, he never did and always seemed to break something in our shared apartment.

My relationship with Genma…i wouldn’t ever say I was closer to the lay back brunette then our other childhood teammate Gai, but we just understood each other a little more.

Nothing about our relationship was sexual, he just didn’t want to buy and pay rent for an apartment and I understood that. We shared the rent, 50/50 and split the chores somewhat evenly. He did the cleaning while I cooked, I was not going to let someone who burns water cook in my kitchen.

We had offered Gai a room in the apartment, but then Kakashi bought his own apartment and Gai just had to beat his rival by buy a bigger one.

I stop, looking over at the bright lights of the 24-hour open food shop that was set up for Shinobi. I didn’t want to cook…but I had only drank coffee and ate food pills while working to minimize how much cross contamination could happen in the lab, and I was starving.

Heading in, I raise a hand in creating to the shop owner who smiled in return. I move to the frozen food, eyes zeroing in on the microwaveable soup dumplings. They were shitty, but so good at the same time.

I grab two boxes, knowing Genma was going to bitch and complain if I didn’t get him something. I also grab two soda bottles, more coffee beans, and a can of cat food for my cat, not me.

I head to the register and the old man smiles, “hard work today?”

I smile kindly, “yes, but it’s worth it right?”

The old man nods, “you Shinobi do a great service to the village, remember that.”

He hands me my spoils in s paper bag, and I pay up. Walking out, I give him another wave before making a B-line towards the apartment.

I sigh, opening the door but furrow my brows when I find not only Genma up, but also four other shinobi that do not pay rent, in the living room playing cards.

“Genma…it’s 3 fucking 30.”

He grins and the others snap their necks to look at me. My confusion fades and I sigh, “of course it’s you guys, hi Gai-kun.”

Gai grins, a faint blush on his cheeks from the Saké. Next to him on the couch is Kakashi, which is a surprise, in the armchair sits Ebisu and on the floor is Asuma who is smoking what looks like to be his third cigarette.

Ebisus face turns crimson and I raise a brow, shutting the door. Ebisu always seemed to have a crush on me-well, he did have a crush on any woman who breaths-but I never understood why…I punched him in the face when we were kids.

Genma jumps up, drunkenly giving me a wet kiss on my cheek.

“Hime~ come play cards with us! I know for a fact you’re a better gambler then your cousin!”

I duck under his arm, “ no can do, Babes, I’m crashing. But I brought food.”

Asuma and Gai perk up, getting up to see what to had.

“That’s a relief-don’t look at my cards Ebisu!”

“Gods Asuma! I wasn’t!” Ebisu groan, also getting up.

Kakashi stayed on the couch, eye staring straight as his sneaked sips of his Saké. I frown at him, opening the packages of soup dumplings. The boys hover, sitting on the counter top and island as I cook for them. I knew Kakashi was watching, I could feel his eyes burning the back of my head.

Dishing out the food, I give the boys a tired smile.

“Welp, I’m beat…don’t stay up drinking again.” I warn, walking to my room as the shinobi in my living room all but jump on the food.

I pulling off the lab coat, then the grey TI jacket revealing my white tank top and the sealing that began on my back, can up onto my shoulders and wrapped around my arms.

I sigh in relief, those grey jackets were heavy and uncomfortable. Unbuttoning my pants, I hear a soft tap on my door.

I open it, and a soft blush rises to my face when I see Kakashi leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. It wasn’t a commanding look, quite frankly he looked like he was about to bolt if I spooked him.

“Can I help you?”

He clenched, then unclenched his jaw, “…the poison, do you have any new leads?”

Ah, work. I had almost forgotten he was apart of the small circle of people who knew of the poison.

I wave him in, “yeah, come in we can go over it.”

I nods, stiffly walking in. I close the door behind me and walk over to my desk were I had sent my jacket down. Fishing threw the large pocket, I pull out my notes.

Blushing, I hand them over, “sorry…when I get tired I switch between real words and sealing symbols…and then just random shit.”

Kakashi looked over the messy writing, and if he couldn’t read it he didn’t voice it, all he did was look over at me with his tired eye, “…I remember you used to switch between kanji and Fūinjutsu symbols, old habit?”

I blush harder, not thinking he’d remember something like that-hell, even Genma would forget and get pissed trying to read my notes.

He looked away, his milky skin showing just a bit of color. He sunk into my desk chair, lifting his hitae-ate to reveal his gifted eye.

I move to my bed, flopping down on it as I waited for him to finish storing all my notes into his memory. I felt a small shift, and was treated with a high pitch meow as my cat decided to show himself.

I smile, scratching behind his brown eye as his big blue eyes blinked slowly at me. He purred, flopping onto his side and I continued to pet him, almost therapeutic like.

Kakashi made a noise and I look over at him, but his eyes stayed away.

“I…uh, Arigatō.”

I snort, “it’s fine, Kakashi. You don’t have to thank me.”

He made a face, and my eyes soften. He was raised right, Sakumo made sure of that. Kakashi had been a little shit when we were growing up together, but over the years as he grew he began to fall more and more back into his father’s teachings (whether he knew it or not).

I sit up, and Kakashis eye stays on me, “when’d you get a cat?”

I look down at the rag doll, smiling.

“My Kaa-San got him for me when he was a kitten…birthday present.”

Kakashi nodded, and the air went tense again as we both couldn’t seem to decide if we wanted to have our eyes stay locked or if they were going to wander.

“…does he have a name?”

Was this 20 questions? How much did he drink…?

Sober Kakashi wouldn’t bother with this, he would have left by now, and I don’t just mean my room but the whole apartment. Sober Kakashi wouldn’t be sitting at my desk, cheeks red.

“…his name is Saké.”

He snorts.

He fucking snorts at that.

“You named you cat after an alcoholic beverage?”

My legs cross and I wave my hand, “no, no. I didn’t name him, Genma did! I wasn’t even home when my Kaa-San dropped him off!”

Kakashi shakes his head, softly chuckling and I smile back. He really did have a nice laugh…

He stands, and I do too. My cheeks pink when I have to look up to meet his eyes.

He grew since joining the ANBU…

We stare at each other, both of our faces slightly flushed. We haven’t seen each other since Gais birthday, and that was a month ago. He had been close back then too, so close.

“…I should go.”

I release my breath, nodding, “Y-yeah, it’s getting late.”

He gulps, brushing past me as he reaches for the door nob. He twists it, but doesn’t open it.

“…I could read your notes, I understood it.”

And then he’s gone.

[doki-doki-imagines]

Happy B-DAY!!

Gift for @mcdonaldsnumberone. With all the smut ideas we had I ended up writing the fluff one with a hint of angst lol. Hope you like it and again; happy birthday!

Daughter of Athena!Reader x Son of Aphrodite&Ares!Yukimiya Kenyu.

Prompt: A is losing control/berserking, despite dangers, B rushes in to help. The fic starts when things have calmed down

Tw: suggestive but nothing happens, description of wounds and blood.

Kenyu still can’t understand what really happened. First, he saw that damn son of Apollo, Kaiser, talking to you, and then blank, everything black, shouts of people he doesn’t recognize and smoke, a lot of smoke.

“Kenyu stop!” Your voice, finally a sound he could recognize.

“You are a real idiot Kenyu” Your voice breaks his trance. He is sitting on an old chair in his bedroom, sitting is a nice way to describe how slumped he is on it. His muscles scream and he hears a constant whistle in his ear; at least he has you in between his open legs patching him up.

He doesn’t reply, he just looks at you and nods, his vision foggy and his broken glasses somewhere on the floor.

You sigh, your crush for him really makes you forgive his every action; at least you know your feelings are reciprocated. Because you know what pissed him so much. Kaiser really shouldn’t have pushed him that far, kissing your cheeks so near your lips was a new addition to the established script. You got your answers but played a little too much with fire, you can already hear the future earful from your mother “Next time count to ten before bothering a hornet’s nest, even more if it’s the nest of a son of Ares...”

The room is silent while you clean his face from blood with a wet rag, your movements delicate on his beautiful face. Your chests go up and down, inhale and exhale, so near but so afar, your eyes full of sorrow, his chocolate ones filled with shame. You break eye contact, dropping the rag on the floor, face blank, Kenyu bites his lower lip ‘till he breaks the skin “I really fucked up”.

Your eyes meet again, one of his curls is now hiding his left eye so you gently brush it behind his ear, the sweet contact of your fingers makes Kenyu shivers.

He is so weak. And he so wants to kiss you.

Thankfully you do. Your soft fingers grasp his tense jaw and your lips meet. It’s a soft contact and last way too little, but it is enough to make his heart sink, die, and be reborn. Your lips meet again, the contact is still soft and still last too little, no words exchanged just your breaths mingling with each other.

But it isn’t enough. Like some pressure on his lips could satiate his hunger. He wants to gobble you up, Kenyu is gonna eat you entire with one bite.

He grips your thighs, his rough hands manhandling you in his lap, the apex of his tongue teasingly tracing your lips “Let me in” and you do, obeying his silent order completely enhanced by his lips. He wants to feel your skin, he wants to share your warmth, he wants your breath, Kenyu wants you.

And you feel it, the desire to conquer you, his desire heavy in his breath and you absorb it like a sponge, feeling warmer and warmer at every lick of his tongue invading your mouth, at ease like it always belonged there, each sucks a shock that makes you tremble on his lap.

You feel so pathetic but so happy, the whirlwind of emotions fogs your brain even further.

“F-Fuck! Damn-“ Kenyu breaks the kiss and his head goes backward, his face contorted in either frustration or pain, maybe both.

Kenyu wanted to lift you up, bring you to his bed have his way with you, but his muscles snapped, it hurts like crazy and he flops again against the chair.

Your surprise quickly dissipates, a smile gracing your face, you shine as the sun and Kenyu needs to close his eyes a little, still caressing your thighs up and down, the cotton of your pants soft, but he’s sure your skin would feel better.

“Kenyu you need to rest-“ He groans “We have all the time in the world, we can continue when you’ll feel better.” You kiss him again, soft as the first you shared, your arms around his neck, hugging him as delicately as possible.

“We also have to tell Zeus what happened.” Kenyu groans louder under you, the sound makes you giggle like a fool.

“Later, now you only have to relax.” You lift up from his lap, helping him lay in his bed.

“Sleep well, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You better be” Kenyu thinks, “we have to catch up a lot of lost time” the last thought before he falls asleep like a baby.

[erisenyo]

If it’s not too late/you feel like it, maybe “shh, c’mere” for zukka? Because the only thing Zuko’s worse at than showing emotions (other than anger) is being comforted because of said emotions (at least in my brain haha) also ik I said this in tags but I absolutely adored your Ty Lee suki ficlet with the crystals it hugs my heart ;-; she’s protecting her friends

。゜゜(´Ｏ`) ゜゜。

For this prompt game!

“—and the utter gall of them to suggest—”

“Uh huh,” Sokka says, tugging Zuko by the wrist around a clump of slow-moving market shoppers.

“—like I haven’t spent months on the proposal—”

“So much time,” Sokka assures him, taking a moment in the next intersection to orient himself against Caldera’s cratered rim before pulling Zuko left.

“—to just come in and in one meeting—”

“Ridiculous,” Sokka agrees, shooting a quick, apologetic smile to the person who gives him started, half-offended look.

“—think they know more than me—”

“You researched a lot,” Sokka sympathizes, dragging Zuko clear of the line at his favorite food stall, which he's regretfully going to have to come back to later when Zuko—

“I researched—Sei Zun research—we researched—"

—isn’t at risk of popping a vein. Or starting to spit rainbow sparks in public, which would really give them away. Going incognito and relying on people’s expectations of where a Fire Lord won’t be only goes so far.

“And you did a really good job of it,” Sokka soothes, picking up the pace a little as Zuko hisses out a curl of smoke through his teeth.

“To just eel swan in—”

Sokka lets out an audible sigh of relief as he sees the sign for their destination, hand-painted and cheerful, before clearing his throat and quickly offering, “So rude."

“—and imply that I don’t care enough about—”

“Sh, c’mere,” Sokka interrupts as he pushes into the curious crowd thronging the square, Zuko spitting himself to a stop and making a low, seething noise of outrage. “Don’t be like that,” Sokka huffs, rolling his eyes and tugging on his wrist again. “C’mere.”

Zuko gives him a sideways, nettled look, clearly annoyed at being managed. “What are you—” he cuts off as he finally swings his glare up to actually take in their surroundings. Sokka can see the moment he realizes where they are, his face going suddenly slack with shock, mouth working silently a moment before he finally whispers, disbelieving, “…The baby animal adoption drive?”

“Mhm,” Sokka says, breaking free of the crowd and turning to walk backward so he can get a nice, good look at Zuko taking it all in.  

“The one we couldn’t make last year?” Zuko asks, dazed, stumbling along after Sokka.

“Mhm,” Sokka grins.

“And couldn’t make this year?”

“It rained last week,” Sokka reminds him. “They had to move it.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, with feeling, and Sokka doesn’t resist the urge to plant his feet and keep pulling, tugging him into his body so he can enjoy Zuko's closeness and also the dumbstruck look on his face.

“Yeah,” Sokka hums, dropping a light kiss onto Zuko’s lips and murmuring against his mouth, “Want to pet your feelings out?”

“Yes,” Zuko says, plowing forward through Sokka like that was all the permission he needed, face somewhere between determined and transfixed, and Sokka can't help but laugh before spinning to follow.

Sokka trails after at a more normal pace, grinning to see the tension melting out of Zuko’s body one kitten fawn and goat puppy—and inexplicably, a baby puma goat—at a time, until Zuko’s practically a boneless pile on the ground, baby animals crawling over him, head pillowed in Sokka’s lap.

“This was the best idea Aang’s ever had in his entire life,” Zuko mumbles into the side of the tiny kitten owl determinedly navigating his face.

“It was a pretty good one,” Sokka agrees, unable to do anything except smile at the sight. Spirits, he must look stupidly fond and sappy right now, but he can't seem to find it in himself to care about who might be seeing it.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this was happening,” Zuko slurs, both hands focused on giving ear scritches, and Sokka pauses on the braid he’s working into Zuko’s hair.

“It worked out, though, right?” he checks, relaxing again when Zuko lets out a deep sound of contented agreement and after a long moment adding slow, like he’s drunk,

“You have work to do.”

“Eventually,” Sokka hums, perfectly content to be where he is for now.

“Poak and Sun Chen are waiting for a reply?”

“Hawks only go so fast, and they need to rest, too, love,” Sokka shrugs, searching around a moment before plopping another kitten fawn onto Zuko's chest. “It’s nothing that can’t wait a few hours,” he assures him.

And nothing worth missing the sight of this, for, of Zuko’s small, delighted smile up at him before he turns to coo at the new creature, everything else happily forgotten.  

[eijirousbestie]

I feel like bakugou would be so concerned when you have been exhausted from dealing with your schedule and making up to your school classes and your art classes and out of your dorm most of the day like he would come and help you without making it obvious but still he can’t hide it he know you are the most patient person he ever met and you are so passionate about your work and won’t get rest until you get it done he secretly admires that side of you so much. + thanks for always making my requests i love your work💓💓

love this idea and omg tysm!!

“Just go to sleep”

everyone’s sleepy (fr I’m drowsy rn)

bakugou’s a book fiend

reader needs a damn nap

* * *

Being out of the dorms for hours on end was a usual thing for you. Always going to your classes, finishing tedious projects and furthering your education. It’s just what you did, what you always do. In order to be who you want to be you had to grind everyday to get closer to your goals, and that’s what Bakugou admired about you. Always hustling, always pushing yourself a little more each day with no resistance. If work isn’t getting done, you’re staying up until it’s finished.

And on the few occasions he sees you running around on campus, he can’t help but to notice your work ethic. It’s like you’re an engine that just never stops. While it’s very notable, he does expect you to take care of yourself properly. It’s one thing to be successful, but another to be healthy.

Since you both are so close it’s pretty much second nature for him to drop in a few times to make sure you’re not running yourself wild. He claims it saves him from having to hear you complain about how stressed out you are but of course it’s with good intention. He won’t say it out loud but he’d much rather let his actions speak for him. It’s more meaningful that way right?

On one particular night, he strolls back into the dorms after being at the gym for his daily workout. It’s about 8:45 PM when he gets back. Having already showered at the gym he shuffles to his room ready for a well earned rest. Well that is until he walks past your room and hears the muffled tune of your work playlist.

Yes, he can tell you’re listening to the same playlist you always play when working. It’s imbedded in his brain at this point because you’ve played it so much when you’re focused on a project. The music isn’t loud enough to bother him so he enters his room and finishes up the rest of his nightly routine (reading a few more pages of a book he’s been really into recently).

Just as he flips another page, he hears an exasperated sigh ring through the thin walls of the dorms. Of course, it’s you. It’s your signature Jesus-help-me-or-I’m-about-to-set-something-on-fire sigh. He checks the clock on his wall and sees it’s damn near ten o’clock. Not only has he spent too long caught up in the pages of his book, but you’re still working away in your room.

He bookmarks the page he was on and gets up from his seat, swinging his door open and moving to stand in front of yours. Rough knuckles rap at your door three times prompting you to open up. Your door swings open and the first thing he’s met with are your drowsy eyes and your head clad in the black hood of your hoodie. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his sweats.

“What’s up?” Your voice is slightly deepened from not having talked in a while. His face is placid as he speaks.

“You apparently.” You blink slowly at him.

“Yeah well I got stuff to do. Why are you still up? You’re usually knocked out by now.”

“Got caught up readin’. You eat?”

“Had a twix bar earlier.” His face slightly turns up. A candy bar isn’t gonna do shit for you.

“Stop puttin’ that shit in your body. If you’re not gonna eat a full meal at least get a sustanant snack.” You rub at your eyes and let out a small yawn.

“Thank you for the prognosis Dr. Bakugou. I’ll be sure to follow your regiment.”

“What time you goin’ to bed?”

You shrug, body starting to lean on your open door. “Whenever I finish this assignment.”

“So the ass crack of dawn?” He grumbles and folds his muscular arms across his chest.

“If I’m lucky enough, yeah.” Sometimes he doesn’t get why you’re so nonchalant about a fucked up sleep schedule. You have a nine am tomorrow and the last thing he wants to hear is your bitching in the morning.

“Don’t be a hardass. Just go to sleep.”

“Trust me I want to, but in all honesty I gotta get this done man.” You can barely keep your eyes open. If anything it’s irritating that you just won’t give the whole act a rest. Fine then.

“If you wanna haul ass all day then so be it. Just know your performance is gonna be shit and you’re only making this harder on yourself.” He watches as your expression sobers up a bit at his harsh words. He takes one last look at you before turning on his heel to stride back to his room.

“But hey, what do I know?” You stand there, door ajar as you watch him leave. You have to admit, the fog of sleep is getting too thick to ignore. And with Bakugou’s obnoxious slap to reality you start to clean up your workspace and pack everything up for the night.

It’s annoying that he gets to you so easily because he makes you realize how hardheaded you can be when it comes to work. You’re grateful he’s real enough to tell you when you’re about to fuck up while still giving you the choice of free will. He doesn’t coddle you but he’s also not gonna leave you ass out. Mainly so he can say “I told you so” when you do fuck up. But it helps you make better decisions nonetheless.

So as Bakugou shuts off his desk lamp and climbs into bed, a victorious smirk creeps onto his face when he ceases to hear the sound of your music playing.