#nonexplicit smut

[lemonluvgirl]

Hugs! I think you’re great!!

You’re being hard on yourself, but your writing has brought me and others so much joy!!

Go reread your favorite fic you’ve written or sit down and write a fun piece of smut as a treat. 😘

Dear Anon, this sweet post completely inspired me to write this:

If someone had asked me to pinpoint the moment it happened, I couldn’t say. 

All I know is that we went into the woods as two survivors who had lost practically everything, except the will to live. 

I taught him how to fish, and hunt, and gather plants. 

He taught me how to thatch the roof of the bombed out old house by the lake and how to seal the cracks in the windowsills, and how to shape clay and bake it into usable things. Like bowls and cups. 

We taught each other how to carry on, and it was easier to face the silence, and the emptiness when you knew there was someone else facing it with you. 

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Those first few months were grueling. It was a race against time to load up on as much game and edibles as we could. 

I had to build additional meat drying racks and Peeta had to build a smoker for all the fish we caught. 

There was so much work, so much to do. I was the the more knowledgeable of the two of us. So I thought it was my responsibility to make sure we were prepared, ready for anything. I was gruff with him at first. All business and extremely irritable. He never took it personally. In fact he seemed to take it instride. He was good at turning things around. Seeing opportunities where at frist glance I saw problems. 

Over time we started to do better, and we got along. We worked together as a team and found solutions to problems I never could have fixed on my own. It started to get easier, and when that happened, it was easy to forget about everything else. 

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Still, touching never came easy to me. 

Not after everything I had lost. 

So even though I felt like after two months I could name the number of freckles on Peeta’s face because his was the only face I stared at day after day, that didn’t mean I wanted to touch him. 

Or him to touch me. 

The only exception was when one of us was hurt. 

Which happened with unavoidable frequency. 

Cuts and scrapes and burns and insect bites had to be cleaned, and closely monitored. Infection was always a danger, even more so in the wild where treatments were few and far between. 

I cleaned any wounds he couldn’t reach and he did the same for me. 

His hands were so much bigger than mine. Calloused but warm everytime. He always gently bandaged me up and applied salve with a the lightest touch of his fingertip. 

So featherlight I almost didn’t feel it. 

I asked him once, how he had gotten his light touch and that night he explained about how he used to decorate the cakes at the bakery. 

The sad, wistful smile and the suspicious sheen in his eye was enough to have me hurrying to close down the conversation. 

Talking about the past never led anywhere good. 

So I guess in all honestly there were two things I wasn’t very good at. Touching, and talking. 

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That first winter came and went and we scraped by. 

It was uncomfortable being cooped up for long stretches of time, but we made do. 

When lake thawed, and the snow melted, and all the world came alive again we were a few pounds lighter, and a few shades paler, but not much worse for wear. 

Peeta immediately started building back up our woodpile, now that it was possible to spend longer amounts of time outside without freezing the tip of your nose off. 

He started making plans to build more shelves inside the house so we could store more dried meat and food. 

“Come next winter, we’ll be better prepared.” He said with determination. 

I didn’t argue with him. Or tell him how I was used to losing much more weight in the winter time back when I lived in the Seam. 

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Spring, real spring made itself known a few weeks later. With soft showers springling over the earth and tender shoots bursting out of the ground, seaking the sun that had come out to play once more. 

Giving life and ligh to a world that had had enough darkness for a season. 

When the rains let up, I tugged Peeta out of doors with a grass-woven basket in hand and told him to gather up every dandelion and borage and wild bit of lavender he could find. And then I taught him that you could eat them. 

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Summer followed spring and brought a heat that was perfect for swimming. 

Peeta admitted shyly that he didn’t know how to swim. So I spent the summer teaching him. 

Long afternoons floating under the hot sun lead to a deep tan for me and a moderate sunburn for him. 

I had to apply salve on the back of his neck, his shoulders, and the tips of his ears. 

It wasn’t quite as difficult as I thought it would be. 

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In the fall season, at summer’s end, when the cold air blowing down from the mountains hit the still-warm water of the lake, a steamy fog would rise across the surface of the water. Enveloping the ground in a hazy mist. 

It was easy to imagine we were the only two people left in the world on days like that. Maybe we were. The only thing we really knew for sure was there was no home to go back to. All we had was what was ahead of us and what we built for ourselves with our own two hands. 

Every morning, no matter the weather, Peeta would go outside to check on the supplies, and if the woodpile were low, he’d set to work filling it up again. 

I would watch him from the one intact window of the lake house as I sipped mint tea from a rough-hewn mug he had made for me out of clay. I’d watch him from the window, the only one we hadn’t boarded up in preparation for winter, and I’d hum quietly to myself, something with no words and no set melody. Just whatever came to me. 

 Peeta’s feet would be swallowed up by the mist and sometimes, depending on the thickness of the fog, his upper legs and hips would be too. 

But not his torso. Or his arms. Or his face. Those were still visible. And my eyes would trace the way the fabric of his shirt stretched across his broad back. How his arms would smoothly and effortlessly swing the axe down. How sweat would dampen his collar and the ash-blond waves would stick to his forehead. 

He made quick work of the wood most days. 

He had strength in his hands. The kind that could inflict real damage if he were ever inclined. But I knew his heart was not inclined towards cruelty or shows of strength for showing off’s sake. 

As much as he liked to joke, and play, Peeta was an introspective kind of soul. He had unspoken principles that he exuded. Things he never talked about but lived by just the same. He made them known in the way he spoke, in the way he walked, worked, and above all, in the way he cared. 

For everything. For the house, and the things we filled it with. For the food and supplies we gathered. For the lake, the plants, and even the animals. 

Everything had a place and a purpose and he learned how to live off the land with a quiet kind of enthusiasm and respect that surprised me. I had not expected him to adapt half as well as he did, and certainly not as quickly. 

But after a few months, Peeta started to thrive. 

He didn’t complain about the hard work, or the inconvenience, or the solitude. 

He got up every morning and stepped outside the door and took a few seconds to just breathe. 

And in those five seconds, he looked freer than I had ever felt in my entire life. And then he was ready to go. Ready for any task, any trek, any objective. 

Except walking quietly. That was the one beginner skill he never seemed to master no matter how much he tried. But it was ok. I’m better at hunting anyway. 

It was hard not to resent him just a little bit for enjoying the wilderness maybe even more than I did. Which was ridiculous, but I had a long history with these woods, and by all accounts, Peeta had grown up his whole life in town. It shouldn’t have been so easy for him. 

And maybe I felt a little territorial at first. The woods were supposed to be my thing. My place. My sanctuary. 

The woods had given me joy and adventure when I was a child. They had given me life when I was a young starving adolescent. And now that I returned to them a grown woman they were no less harsh or dangerous. But they were still stunning. They were still the place where I felt I could best be myself. Where I could drink in the clean air and expel any worry that didn’t have to do with hunting or foraging. Or making sure Peeta didn’t wander too far from camp when he went in search of new colors for his homemade inks. 

I learned little by little to share the woods with him, in all their grandeur, in the same way, my father once shared them with me. 

And in the quiet hours of the morning, I could get away with just watching him bask in their natural brilliance for a few minutes. Uninterrupted. Without self-consciousness creeping in because he was always too absorbed to notice.

So I was free to notice things about him. 

Like how there seemed to be entire worlds hidden away inside of him. His eyes would take on a special look of focus when he examined a plant, or when he looked at a bird, or a rock, that I could spend hours trying to analyze, but never figure out. 

Or how sometimes the autumn sunset would hit his hair just right and for a second it would look softly dazzling, with warm colors like a fading fire. 

Or how when the weather was clear and the sky was cloudless, the lake would look like a pristine jewel so untouched and startlingly blue that the only thing more beautiful was the way it was almost an exact match for the shade of Peeta’s eyes. 

Or how all the world was quiet when I watched his strong gentle hands at work. Chopping wood. Setting a fishing line. Hanging up herbs to dry. Painting spots of color on the back wall. 

All the world felt new when I looked into his eyes. 

And here, in the fierce wilderness where my father taught me to love the plants and the trees and every growing thing, I started to love the thing growing silently, steadily, between Peeta and me. 

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The night was full. 

Full of the deep dark quiet that fell over everything that needed to sleep when the sun went down. 

Full of the night time symphony of the wide wild woods we called home. 

Bull frogs croaked, crickets chirped, owls hooted. And in the distance, wolves or wild dogs howled. 

Peeta always made sure we had enough wood to feed the fire the whole night and I always made sure that the lantern was ready. 

We kept the door barred, to keep out any unwanted predators. 

But the only thing we couldn’t keep out completely was the dreams. 

Dreams of a different life, full of the song of different voices, different faces, and life long since past. When I dreamed those kinds of dreams I often couldn’t fall back asleep. I knew Peeta had dreams like that too but after he tried to talk about it once, we got into such a big fight that he never brought it up again. 

So, yes, the nights were full. But often they left me feeling empty. 

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He stopped pretending to sleep through my nightmares during that second winter. He started waking me before they could go on too long. Often he wouldn’t say anything, as he looked down at me, he’d just heave this big breath, like there was so much he could say, or maybe wanted to, but he wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear him say it. So he just stayed quiet. Propped his back up against the wall next to my sleeping pallet and just stayed. Watching over me. 

I allowed myself to be sleepy, to let the exhaustion take over when he was near. I rested my head on his shoulder. Folded the old threadbare blanket I had salvaged from my old home over our legs, and closed my eyes. 

The dark didn’t seem so dark and the nightmares didn’t feel so inescapable when he stayed with me. 

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We traded stories of our childhoods, never naming names but we both knew who they were about. 

His favorite was the one I told him about two sisters who loved each other beyond measure and how they found ways to make each other smile no matter how poor they grew. He said he admired how tirelessly the older sister worked to provide for the younger, even going so far as to use her money from the first buck she ever shot, to buy her younger sister a goat for her birthday. 

“Was the goat still wearing the pink ribbon?” He asked when I told him about how the younger sister used her healing knowledge and her goodness to bring the goat back from the brink of death. 

“I think so.” I answer. “Why?” I ask, curious. 

“Just trying to get an accurate picture.” He says. 

He tells me stories about a little boy who grew up with two older brothers, who were always pulling pranks and getting into scrapes. He talks about how the little boy loved painting and art but hardly found the time or the materials to practice except on special occasions when someone would order a fancy cake from the family’s bakery. 

Then the world would come alive for the little boy, who reshaped it into something beautiful with tiny images created out of sugar and fondant and food coloring. 

But he had to be very careful not to waste ingredients or the fire-breathing she-dragon who ruled the kitchen would punish him for being wasteful. Often giving him only the stalest bread, the kind that was practically moldy, to eat.

“I always wondered if you ate cake and cookies everyday.” I admitted quietly, after his story was done. 

“Oh, no.” He says, stifling a yawn. It’s late, and we’ve stayed up longer than usual, just talking. “Hardly ever, unless we got invited to the same celebration where the cake was being served. Practically everything we ate was stale. That’s why my father was so keen on buying your squirrels and berries. Sometimes that was the only fresh food we saw all week.” 

He snuggles down closer, burying the side of his face against the side of my head. In my hair. I fall asleep dreaming about what it must have been like to have enough food but only be able to eat other people's leftovers. 

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One night he tells me the story about a little boy who fell in love with a girl who had a voice like a sunrise. He tells me about her mother and father who had a love so true that it crossed boundaries, divides, and prejudices just to exist. He paints the boy’s father as a footnote of unrequited love. And the girl as this beautiful free spirit who never looked at the little boy twice, at least not until they were the only two people left in the entire world—

“That’s not true.” I interrupt, voice thick and choking with emotion. 

“Are you crying? Katniss, please don’t cry.” He pleads. “I’m sorry. I never should have brought it up. I know you don’t like talking about the past, and these kinds of things and —” 

“But I did.” I protest. “I did see you, that day with the bread, and every day after that.” I tell him, tears streaming down my face. 

“Did you?” he breathes, voice softer than a whisper. As fragile as the moonbeams floating through the open window. Then, in a stronger voice, “You don’t have to say that, to try and make me feel better. You don’t have to spare my feelings.” 

“I knew you were strong. You could throw a hundred-pound sack of flour over your head like it was nothing. Ever since 8th grade. You came in second in the wrestling tournament. And I knew you were smart and good with people. You always knew what to say in class and you had so many friends at school. I saw you, Peeta. I always meant to say thank you for the bread but—” 

I’m cut off by him leaning in and resting his forehead against mine. I watch him take in a breath and heave it out. A light shudder passes through him. 

“I never needed a thank you, for the bread. I never needed anything at all. I just hoped that it helped you in some way. And if it did, that was enough for me. Katniss I never could have dreamed that you’d notice all those things about me.” 

He looks at me he’s just discovered something wonderful and completely surprising. He smiles that smile of his. The one that’s so genuinely sweet with just the perfect hint of shyness. That smile does things to me. It makes more words tumble out.

“I know a lot more now. You’re a painter. And a baker, even if the only bread you can make now is acorn flatbread. You never use berries to sweeten your tea, even when they’re in season. You always double-knot your shoelaces. You always sleep with the window open-” 

His hands cup my face, his warm breath ghosts over my lips. He looks into my eyes for permission, but all I can think before I touch my lips to his, is that this would have happened anyway. 

This is always where we were heading, Peeta and I. 

Even if we hadn’t been the only ones left, we would have gravitated to each other. 

Because I need him. I need him like air. Like water. And yet it’s more than survival. It’s more than just the way my body yearns, and hunger ignites in my veins in an entirely new way. 

It’s the warmth and heat of being touched by someone that knows me, perhaps better than I know myself. He has memorized every facial expression and every errant sound from the grumbling of my stomach to the way I cry out for him in the dark. 

But the sounds I make when he puts his hands on me, are not cries of fear. Distress, maybe, but only because I never, ever want him to stop touching me—ever. 

And I don’t want his mouth to stop kissing me, except after he makes me fall apart with his tongue and then everything is just a bit too sensitive for a little while. 

But that’s ok because then it’s his turn and oh, there’s nothing more beautiful than seeing the person who means the world to you come completely unglued at your touch. 

Peeta’s never been as exquisite as he is when he’s completely bare and open to me, yearning, straining, for his peak. And even though it's clear that neither of us has very much experience with these kinds of things, what we do know is each other. Every breathy moan and deep sigh is a map to guide us to each other’s pleasure. 

It may be new, and it may be scary at first, but it's us, and that makes it okay. To get lost in the sensation. To lose ourselves in each other, chasing the stars that burst beneath our very skin. 

For all the thrumming pulse of passion that drives us, when it happens it’s still sweet, and slow. Like the bud turning towards the sun. The ice thawing from the tree branches. The animals coming out of their burrows and nests and waking up to a world of sunlight and possibility. It’s the thing that exists inside all creatures after they’ve braved the darkest of winters and come out the other side. 

The feeling of death giving way to life. The past to the future. Fear letting go, and being replaced with something else. 

The hope that life can be good again, despite our losses. That we can go on. 

I know now that what I need is not the detachment of life without touch, severed forever from my past and divorced from the idea of family. I need the dandelion in the spring, the vibrant, enduring promise that dawn will come and make the world new, and us along with it. 

What I need is him. 

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So when Peeta asks me in the morning if I love him, I say I do. 

#thg #thg fanfiction #lemonluvwrites #lemonluvanswers #everlark fanfiction #everlark smut #nonexplicit smut #I wrote this for fun #self indulgent #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

[lover-of-mine]

Me: i don't write smut

The doc where i write the detailed version of the fade-to-black moments in wjdbieo sitting at 13k words: liar

#😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬 #i didn't notice it was that long lol #i did make the decision not to add smut to the story cuz i didn't want to feel the pressure of having to write smut #but I was thinking about how sex affected their relationship so i was writing because why not #it got out of my control #like this story does lol #but well its not like im gonna post jt lol #and i am planning on adding nonexplicit parts of that into the story #so its fine #its great lol #help #13k anna???

[thewordswewrite]

The Drought of an Ocean Universe - Masterlist

Pairing | Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

Summary | Finnick Odair was the youngest victor to ever win the Hunger Games but that didn’t earn him respect as a mentor, at least not until she came along. When a dejected volunteer from District 4 puts her life on the line, Finnick will do anything he can to protect her.

Warnings | canon typical violence, nonexplicit forced prostitution, 18+ smut, explicit language, mentions/situations of sexualizing minors, anxiety inducing situations

!IMPORTANT! | Now through the donations link below you can access exclusive content for this fic!! Also consider leaving a donation if you so choose anything is appreciated!! <3333

Donations | Link  <--CLICK

| Archive Of Our Own Link |

Ψ・Main Story・Ψ

Chapter One | Annual Victor

Chapter Two | As Tribute

Chapter Three | Play Your Role

Chapter Four | Trained To Kill

Chapter Five | To Come Home

Chapter Six | Cannons To Say Farewell

Chapter Seven | Eager To Please

Chapter Eight | Ladies And Gentlemen

Chapter Nine | The Pearl Of The Capitol

Chapter Ten | A Hand Delt

Chapter Eleven | Rings Like Gold

Chapter Twelve | Home Sweet Home

Chapter Thirteen | Debts Paid

Chapter Fourteen | One Destiny

Chapter Fifteen | His Future

Chapter Sixteen | Epilogue

Ψ・Oneshots・Ψ

Our Condolences | Three months after they realize they’re expecting, things take a turn for the worse for Finnick and his girl.

Wave Break | Unexpectedly drawn into the third Quarter Quell, Finnick and his wife struggle to navigate the dangers of the arena while keeping both Katniss and Peeta alive.

Taglist |  @lem0ns77  @lostintheendlessvoidthatislife @curlycarley​  @bela-nov​ @lilylovelyxo​  @jaydiann @shynypeacekitten​ @dd122004dd​ @jyessaminereads​  @aquawhore420  @qallaghereid  @bazzaza​ @zulpix-blog​ @mrsjna​  @americanstarlette @lou-the-confused-bisexual​ @maxinehufflepuffprincess​ @cecepop15  @pavard-leto-girl @redsakura101​  @whillywisp  @valeridarkness

#saphnsmoe #thewordswewrite #the drought of an ocean #the hunger games #suzanne collins #finnick odair #hunger games finnick #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #archive of our own #hunger games #finnick odair fanfic #finnick x y/n #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x oc #finnick odair imagine #imagine #sam claflin #katniss and peeta #katniss everdeen #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray baird #coriolanus snow #snow x lucy #thg #katniss x peeta #peeta mellark #thg fanfiction

[justagirlinafandomworld]

Wrapping up the year of 2023! Can you believe? I want to say a great big thank you to the writers on this list for providing such rich stories to get lost in in this whirlwind of a year. I wish I could have read more.

You lovelies know what to do, heed all the warnings, read what you like and share what you love!!

Happy Reading!

2023 reading list | fic rec masterlist

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

Bucky Barnes

To Have and To Hold series by @indyluckycharlie Chapters 6-9 Love and obligation. How can you serve one and still save the other? Mafia AU. Warnings: Dark themes. Threats and portrayals of violence, including murder and assault. There are references to but no depictions of noncon. Violent and abusive acts are directed at the reader, but not by Bucky. There is also betrayal, controlling/abusive behavior, death of loved ones/main characters, grief, LOTS of angst, a little bit of fluff, nonexplicit s.mut and sexual references.

Hold Me Down by @flordeamatista Passionate dusk pleasure covers you both with lust, spilling its mist through the night. bull rider!bucky barnes x heiress!reader warnings: best friends to lovers, ranch hand Bucky who works for reader's family, fluff, angst, smut (riding Bucky) soft kisses, nickname- Sweetheart

Hopelessly Devoted by @firefly-in-darkness You visited the Harvest Festival and your boyfriend, James 'Bucky' Barnes surprised you. Warnings: none, fluffy lovey dovey stuff.

Wild Flowers at Sunset by @princessmisery666 Bucky uses an inopportune time to let you know how he feels about you. Warnings/Genres/Troupes: confident reader, Bucky being cocky (that’s a warning), sex work mentioned, prelude to smut, love confession. 

Insatiable by @jobean12-blog Bucky will never tolerate any harm coming to you and he will do anything to protect you. Vampire AU Warnings: soft sweetness, mentions of b-l-oo-d, fi-g-e-r-in-g, p-in-v, Vampire!Bucky bc he's just so hot lol

Dean Winchester

Stay series by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior Parts 1 & 2 Y/N knows what she's doing is wrong, but she doesn't want to let it go. Warnings: Cheating. (warning provided in each chapter)

Run Away With Me by @deanwinchesterswitch Timing is everything. Warnings: None

I Promised, Too by @deanwinchesterswitch A promise given is a promise kept. Warnings: Language; Canon typical injuries; Implied sex

When the Stars Love You by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior Dean belongs in the starlight. Warnings/Explicit 18+: Nothing really. Implied smut, angst, fluff.

Home by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior Dean comes home. Warnings: None. Major fluff. Angst if you squint.

Wish by @thoughtslikeaminefield You want it to be love — but it isn’t. You want him — but you can’t have him. So you don’t want anything. Warnings: sepia-toned angst ™ @boondoctorwho, not my typical Dean, mentions of alcohol, adult language, mentions of sexual activity

Meeting In the Darkness by @princessmisery666 You forgive Dean for what he did when he had black eyes but he can’t forgive himself. Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, blood, implied torture, Demon!Dean, MOC!Dean, unresolved angst.

Get Stuffed by @zepskies Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks. Tags/Warnings: Fluff, innuendo, tinge of angst

Sam Winchester

Sam is Wearing Green Today by @princessmisery666 Purely self-indulgent fluffy Sam appreciation. Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff. 

Run Away With Me by @deanwinchesterswitch He can’t let go. Warnings: None

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw & Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Live in my memory, You'll always be there by @princessmisery666 Not long after moving to San Diego with your fiancé, Jake, he’s declared missing in action. The Dagger Squad rallies around you as you grieve his loss, and you grow closer to one particular member of the team than you ever imagined. Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, character death mentioned, grief, fluff, unexpected love, smut, loss of parents (mentioned).  

Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Don't Speak series by @hoboal87 In the Spring of 1905 the Winchesters, working a case in London, set the sights on Y/N, and decide to make her theirs. Series Warnings: *Rape/Non-Con, Dub-Con, Historical AU, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, Wincest, smut, Stockholm Syndrome, violence, humiliation/degradation, sexual assault. Assume all warnings will apply to each part. Imagine: You Are Dean's One Exception by @zepskies Request: ...what about Sam having a crush on Dean's gf? How would he react to that...

#just a girl reading fics #bucky barnes x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader x jake seresin #dean x reader x sam

[idyllcy]

this is a drama. i am the drama.

word count: 10.4k

WARNINGS: mentions of SA, mentions of sex trafficking, mild violence (all r kinda glossed over but still warning), Nonexplicit smut

summary: your soul drowns Tim, but he finds comfort in it.

The city of Gotham is not phased by much.

From the drug trafficking in the docks to the human trafficking happening under everyone's nose, the average citizen doesn't really care. Though, arguably, they do mind when their sleep is disturbed by the sound of racing cars— something else that isn't necessarily new in Gotham. However, there had been news that the racers were steering off into the city at night, so Tim finds himself in civilian clothes, holding up a pass to access the venue that the racers were using, stepping in past the loud noises and people screaming. Ah, he made it in time.

He's surprised to find actual racing cars— cars that look like they could be in a grand prix.

From the seats, he meets eyes with a racer. He can't tell anything, but from posture and body frame, a woman. Now that he looks at it, all the racers seem to be female-presenting. He turns down the drink offered by one of the men, striking up a conversation instead, batting his lashes at the man, hoping to seduce him in some way. He wore too much clothing to be able to do so with his body, but it was still worth a shot. He hates dressing up like this anyway.

"So, what's a goody two shoes like you doing here?" The man smiles, sliding an arm around his shoulder.

"A friend gave me his pass because I said I'd never watched a Gotham street race." He bats his lashes. (Hopefully the fake lashes Stephanie glued don't fall off. God, did he hate dressing as Caroline)

"Really? Usually we place our bets on a racer." He hums, waving a guy over, dropping a twenty in a box. "I'd recommend you vote for Spitfire, she's an oldie and usually wins."

"Who are the others?" Tim slips a twenty from the back of his phone, blinking at the other names.

The man chuckles. "Lightwing is another good contender. She's been around forever. But also, her vision is spotty from an accident last time, so she's not as popular as before."

Tim nods slowly, staring at the other two names. "Who's Moonknight and Aquastar?"

"Moonknight is making her debut tonight, but her test run streaks were pretty bad because she doesn't have as big of a team as the rest of them." The man waves his hand. "You don't need to bet on her, pretty girl." He grins toothily. "Oh, and Aquastar is a visiting racer from a nearby city. We usually have more racers, but Cardinal got suspended for going off the race tracks and breaking into Gotham two weeks ago."

Now that he thinks about it, all of the names were practically knockoffs of the vigilantes and heroes who protected the cities. Although, he's surprised the street racing had ended up this big without any of the bats shutting it down. Someone must have a hand somewhere. He just wonders if it's Hood or B. It could be neither for all he knows.

"How does one race?" Tim blinks at one car in particular. It looks too much like a batmobile for comfort.

"You'd have to talk to the racers for that."

"Ey, Chris, are you hitting on newbies again?" A woman walks up the stairs, shoving him to the side playfully, tilting her head at Tim.

"Oh, come on, Spitty. You know I only do that so I can collect profits when you win."

"Arguably," She tilts her head at Tim, pausing. "You should bet on Moonknight."

"A-ah?"

"If she wins," Spitfire smiles, "then you collect all the profits. It's only a twenty, after all."

Tim frowns.

"But there's also a tradition for newbies to bet on newbies." She laughs. "You never know. That girl's got more speed in her than Cardinal. She just refuses to tell people."

"What's the cash prize?" Tim raises a brow.

"Driver gets ten percent of the bet money on top of the two million that WE pours into the track." She pauses.

"WE pours money into this?"

"We're not sure why, but they have been for a while now. The whole race track was from them." Spitfire sighs. "It's an old story, so it's not that surprising anymore."

Tim glances at the car again, pausing. Ah. This was where Bruce tested out his batmobile by using other people. No wonder he didn't push anyone to check the driving out. If Bruce was testing out all of his vehicles here, then there was no way he'd want it to be shut down. It would explain why he handed him an access card without having him get one. Tim glances around to look for seating, and Spitfire notices.

"You wanna sit in the grandstands?" She smiles. "My treat."

"Really?" Tim puts the money into Moonknight's box. The woman was right. It's only a twenty. Worst case, he loses the money. Though, he wonders what kind of a racer would have a leading champion telling him to vote for her. "Oh, is there a reason all the racers are girl?"

"We tried co-ed racing for a while." Spitfire holds her hand out for Tim, and he takes it. "But the men would get too aggressive and lead to unnecessary accidents on the track. Our goal is to test out cars for our sponsors before they're taken onto the field."

"Is that why there's a pass to get in?"

"Yeah." She hums, pulling the door open. "Come on in."

"Spitfire, favoring a newbie?!"

"Spitfire, who do you think is going to win!"

The woman turns her head, smile on her lips. "Me, obviously."

But it proves wrong when Tim meets eyes with the same woman from the first time.

You stare into his eyes, white racing suit snug on your body, a look in your eyes he recognizes. Though, the longer you look at him, the more you seem to read him— as if his entire past were exposed in front of you at a table. There is a sort of darkness to both your eyes and hair, the stare of a thousand souls. He breaks eye contact first, waving goodbye to Spitfire as she hops back to her position, final checkups of the cars in progress as Chris asks him if he wants a drink. Tim waves him down, but he mentions a can of Zesti would be fine. Chris barely makes it back in time for the announcements.

Tim catalogs the majority of the announcements in, checking for their voice on his phone, blinking when he finds a lack of match for it. He'd ask Chris, but the man is practically leaning over on the stand, eyes glittering as the cars prepare to race. He stands up, cracking open his soda, blinking when the four racers seem to fly off, and his eyes glance at the big screen, camera flying after the cars.

Moonknight goes from second to third, and Spitfire goes from third to first. He doesn't have much faith in his twenty bucks, but he wonders if the batmobile would really be helpful in a race like this. It didn't—

Moonknight goes from third to first at the final moment, boosting past Spitfire and racing to first place as she makes it into the second lap. Tim pauses while recalling the batmobile, and he remembers the change he had made just a week ago on the car, letting it accelerate faster than the other cars. Seeing his own creation in action hits something in him, blinking as she swerves.

"Oh, I might actually lose my money today." Chris laughs. "I didn't think she'd be able to do it."

"Who is Moonknight?"

"She's a completely new racer. She's called Moonknight because he sponsor gave her a car that looks eerily like a batmobile every time. Though, her car is in light grey." Chris points. "I'll hand you the pamphlet later."

"Thank you." Tim mumbles, watching as Spitfire races neck to neck with Moonknight. Tim wonders if it's going to be a tie. Though, he did add something else to the car. Maybe Bruce told you, maybe not. If she manages to find it, she could win. Though, he's more curious to know if rocket boosters were technically allowed in a race like this. Who knows.

You grimace in the car, pressing a couple of buttons as your fingers brush over something new. You wonder if it's the self-destruction button that Batman had told you not to touch. Yet, you shrug it off, clicking it anyway, slamming back into your seat as you speed past Spitfire, breaking past the finish line, steering with one hand as you try and stop the rockets on your car, clicking on the screen, grimacing. You'd rather not call Oracle. Last time you did, she tried pulling your social security number on you, only to find a lack of one.

Your heart races in your chest as you press the button again, the rockets only growing stronger, and you groan as you type in a code you had memorized from the Batcave, successfully shutting down the systems on the car, turning it back into a regular vehicle. You don't know who invented that line of code, but god were you thankful that you memorized it. The car eventually slows, and you drift next to the other racers, parking successfully. You step out of the car, leaning on the door as it closes, the blood in your body flushing your skin.

"Moon, are you alright?" Spitfire rushes next to you, hand on your bicep.

"I'm fine." You pull the helmet from your head, meeting eyes with Tim's again. You raise a brow, and you lower your voice to Spitfire. "That girl isn't a girl."

"Drag maybe?"

"No." You mumble, turning to shield your mouth from his eyes. "Undercover cop. Either that or they're a vigilante. They used Batman's card to get in."

"Ah." She frowns. "Are we safe?"

"I'll deal with it if he throws a fit." You stretch your neck, placing your helmet onto the top of your car. "Gotta submit a report later."

"I'm not looking forward to that." Lightwing groans. "Our next race is supposed to be motorbikes."

"Ewwww." Spitfire shudders. "I hate racing those."

"I hope they don't have rocket boosters like on my car today." You shudder.

"Alright, go get your cash prize, girlie." Spitfire smacks your back to send you walking to the podium.

You step over to the makeshift stage, taking the cheque from the announcer, blowing a kiss at the phones as you stare at the blank cheque. Two million was the max, but you were told you'd get to cash out five if you could win the race. You pause, though, when the girl you were staring at earlier makes her way out of the stands and walks over. Spitfire tries stopping her, but she seems to say something that has her quiet as she steps up the podium to meet you. You tilt your head at her.

Tim opens his mouth to speak before you cut him off.

"You know." You pause to wave the announcer off, hooking your arms under her knees to rest your chin on her chest. "You're real hot as a woman, but I'm sure you'd look better as a man."

Tim flushes as you press a kiss to the crown of his head, and you set him on the podium, lips pulled into a pretty smile. Your voice lowers as you rest your chin in the valley of his tits, blinking up at him. You jut out your bottom lip as Tim swallows thickly. Your fingers lace into his hair, nails digging into his scalp gently, blinking slowly, reading his emotions, his expressions, his everything. You look entranced, and Tim almost feels bad that he's here undercover and you're staring starry-eyed over someone who doesn't exist.

"What's your name, pretty girl?" You raise a brow at her, grinning.

"Caroline." He swallows again, heart racing in his chest. You're too attractive for your own good. Maybe you were using that against him. "Caroline Hill."

"Well, Carrie," You hum, tucking his hair behind his ear. "I think you're gorgeous. Care for a drink sometime?"

"A-as much as I would like to, I'm not into w-women." He stumbles. (A bold lie. He's never had a worse panic over a woman in his life.)

"Quite a shame." You mumble. "You're so pretty too..."

You step down the stage, holding the cheque up as the girls cheer with you.

Tim should really talk to Bruce about what the batmobile was doing in a street racing event.

Though, as Tim tries to run a background check on you, he finds nothing come up. Even in the private files of the batcomputer. Even on the card that gave him access, all the fingerprints were wiped clean. He finds practically nothing, not that it gets to him, he just looks harder. He practically lives in the cave now. He doesn't remember the last day he got regular sleep. He has nothing on you.

So, he shows up at the next race as himself this time. He enters with the same card, and this time, you find him first.

"So? You related to B?" You hand him a can of unopened zesti, and he raises a brow at you. You raise a brow back at him, pointing at his card. "Card. That's a B exclusive card."

"How so?"

"Sponsor card." You smile. "Since it's light grey, that means it's my sponsor. My sponsor is B."

Tim frowns. "Who are you?"

"My question first."

"He's an aquaintance. Now my question." He opens his can, pressing the drink to his lips.

"I'm a racer." You smile.

"I meant as a person." He clicks his tongue.

"Why don't you find out?" You bat your lashes at him prettily, hand pressed to his abdomen, leaning in to blink at him devilishly. "Or are you not into women too?"

Tim's heart races in his ears, swallowing as he tries his best to match your pace. "What does the media say?"

"Lots" You grin, pressing yourself closer to him, arms wrapped around his neck, your air mixed with his, lips pulled into a dangerous smirk. "But all I hear these days is how someone keeps trying to hack my personal information."

"Yeah?" He tilts his head, placing the can to the side.

"Mhm." You hum.

Tim smiles at you, dangerously, all while his mind is a jumbled mess. You had an effect on him that he dared not to pry further into, but god were you intoxicating — bad for his brain even. He finds himself leaning closer to you, all systems going off about how this was bad for him, but he doesn't care. Not when your perfume smells tantalizing and the only thing he wants to do is kiss you sick— make out with you until you're whimpering against his lips, knees giving out under you, and brain fuzzy with only him. His eyes darken with the thoughts, a smile on his face.

You remove your arms from him, tapping his shoulder twice with an innocent smile. "Thanks for giving me the last piece."

Tim raises a brow as you peel yourself from him, his mask in your fingers, smile not so pure anymore.

There was no way.

Tim grabs it back from you as you back up, both hands in the air, and as he shoves it into somewhere you can't touch, you hop over the stands, landing on the dirt with a thud. Tim frowns in frustration as you send a wink his way, starting final check-ups for the race. It's bikes today, and Tim recognizes all of the models. A copy of his own bike is in Spitfire's hand right now. Maybe this was how Bruce figured out whether or not his bike was safe to ride after his own customizations. Jason's bike is in another rider's hands, red helmet with black— presumably Cardinal, and Dick's bike is in Lightwing's hands. You have Bruce's bike still. It checks out now.

This was the testing ground for the vigilante vehicles in Gotham.

The fact that you had figured him out so quickly only meant that you had realized faster than everyone else.

But there had to be a reason that no one part of the team saw the similarities between their vehicles and the ones that the Gotham vigilantes used. There had to be a reason that only you would be crazy enough to figure it out just based on vehicle models. Maybe he could use the status card to talk to you all for a little. Too bad you were already checking the vehicle. He should have asked earlier— strange. It's not like him to be this disoriented.

You win the race.

It's obvious. B's bike was designed with the fastest engine possible, and in a race of pure speed, it would win. No matter how much Tim tinkered with his bike, he wasn't allowed to go faster than Bruce. The man had said it was too dangerous, and Tim could see why. The Batbike was a nightmare to steer at such high speeds. Though, he does wonder where everyone on the track gets their practice. There's never a peak of sound during the day on the track, and neither was there much noise at night when you weren't racing.

Tim does not dig the idea that he has to pull his money card out, but the more competitive part of him does wonder what it would look like to have you fold for him.

"A drink?" He leans over the railing, card held up, raising a brow at you.

You wave him off, handing your helmet to someone else, clicking your tongue.

"That's not the way to ask a pretty woman out on a date, boy." You raise a brow, lips pulled upwards in a grin. "Maybe ask better next time. Some of us have black cards too."

So Tim watches as you leave with the rest of the racers, his heart racing in his chest.

It takes ten more tries for Tim to trace from someone else to you.

He blinks at the woman on the screen, and he pauses to ponder. Perhaps.

However, all of his thoughts are thrown off when a command is called from behind him by Bruce with a new case. A file is handed to him, a file with a rather unoriginal name, and it makes Tim raise a brow. Surely it was a jest.

"I assure you, they are very much real." Bruce rolls his eyes, cowl peeled off, humming with a drink pressed to his lips.

"Is this related to the serial murder of rapists going around in Gotham?" He opens the file.

"Not just Gotham." Bruce hums. "Clark did a report on the serial murder of both registered and unregistered sex offenders in Metropolis as well. It has been a trend. Despite the vigilantism, it is still very much illegal to kill someone."

"I don't see too much of a problem with killing a rapist." Tim presses his coffee to his lips, scanning through the files Bruce hands him. The target seems rather clear. The killer does not regard anyone in the way, knocking everyone out and always only killing the rapist. A maneater. The name given to the murderer was maneater, as if it were some ploy. In some cases, the victims were found with their pants unzipped and an anti-rape condom stuck on them, writhing in pain as they were almost always found dead with poison in their system.

Those who suffered more gruesome deaths... either found castrated with their genitals lying not too far away, or a hole where their heart was supposed to be, the organ missing. It reminds him almost of Heartless, but... that is not the case. This is a vigilante no different from them... just less sparing and guaranteed murder. Now, does Tim solve the case or let the vigilante free...

He does not know what possesses him to ask you of all people, but your response does not help much.

"Moonknight." Tim hums, adjusting his glasses as he puts them on. "May I pick at your brain?"

"Is this about the serial murders?" You wipe the helmet in your hand, cheque tucked safely into your wallet.

Tim nods. "Thoughts?"

"I feel like the murderer's doing us ladies a favor." You shrug. "Think about it."

"I know, but murder is a little..."

"Little hypocritical of you, you know?" You raise a brow. "Must I name your war crimes?"

"No." Tim hums. "Perhaps I should do some digging anyway."

"Wouldn't hurt to have it on file in case you do need it one day." You eye one of the newer men on the track, grinning at Spitfire as she greets him. "Hm?"

Tim's eyes trail up to Spitfire.

Similar build. His glasses indicate the same.

"It's not any of my girls." You crack open the can of soder. "I promise they're clean. B runs background checks on all of us."

Tim mulls over your words.

Scary.

Yet, he visits you anyway, money piling in his back pocket as you win round after round, small talk rolling off your lips in a sort of practiced way, smile inviting as you turn down his request to grab a drink again, humming quietly as Tim's eyes trail down to the small of your back, brow raised as he notices your shorts peeking out past your pants.

"What does it take for a date with you?"

"Maybe not being part of law enforcement." You hum. "Legal or not."

"Why? Worried I'll turn you in?"

"No..." You trail off, chewing your top lip as you turn your head at Lightwing. "Well, if you save Lightwing from some trouble, I'll consider."

"What's wrong?"

"You see the man talking to her?"

Tim raises a brow and spots another group of men not too far off. "Bingo."

You wink in her direction, and Tim hums.

"Hey big fella. Having fun so far?"

You watch as Tim tears the man apart, Lightwing leaving at one point to stand next to you.

"Really, I don't know what you see in that man."

"Not much." You purse your lips, smiling. "Something tells me he's the one."

"I'm willing to bet that he is not." She mumbles.

Yet, as Tim barely lifts a finger to piss the man off, you grin.

"Oh, he's definitely the one."

Tim runs the information, stalking down the final member of your racing team, matching the majority of information to the final member, brow raised when he realizes that Cardinal was not part of B's files either, hunting the woman down as he searches for her current location, and it makes Tim's stomach churn uncomfortably when he realizes how eerily similar the racer is to the described criminal. The person who was dubbed Cardinal had been face-matched to someone who had entered Metropolis just a little bit before the serial murders. It made Tim nauseous.

"Got any leads?"

"Might be one of the previous racers." Tim grimaces. "Of the race tracks."

"Cardinal? I assure you it is not her."

"Really? There had been rumors—"

"It is not." Bruce mumbles. "You know who Cardinal is. It is not her. They may have similar builds, but it is not her."

"Who is Cardinal?"

"You'll figure it out soon enough."

Bruce's evasion of his question does not help the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

You end up with Tim on the date, hair ruffled as he picks you up in his bike, hand held out to you as you take it, humming. It's supposed to be simple. Though, you suppose simple for a Wayne is impossible to determine. You never know what to expect from him. Though, when he pulls you to the local diner, you find it impossible to not know he's the one. It's really too simple.

"Would you tell me about Cardinal?" Tim finally asks you proper questions once the two of you finish ordering.

"Do you think she's the one?" You raise a brow.

"You said your girls are innocent."

"The ones I currently race with." You hum, reaching for the bread on the table.

"And Cardinal?"

"I don't know much about her. She didn't talk much."

"But she was aggressive, no?"

"No." You hum. "She drove into Gotham because she saw something. She also raced her own bike. No one knows who she is."

Tim connects something in his mind, and it sends him back to step one.

"Would you be able to help if I gave you the file?"

"Isn't it just what's available online?"

"One final thing. The killer in Metropolis might be the same person." Tim mumbles. "Thank you."

The food is presented before the two of you, and you stab into your pasta. "I don't think so. Did you track anyone else that entered and exited Metropolis that was a Gothamite?"

Tim shakes his head. "I find it strange."

"Perhaps magic?"

"Not impossible." Tim mumbles. "What do you do in your free time?"

"Tinker." You hum.

"With your bike?"

"No. That's B's property. I tend to tinker with smaller things. It's always fun to build a PC from scratch."

"Ah, you're quite handy with tech." Tim hums, blowing on his pasta. "Anything else?"

"I like watching detective shows." You pause to think. "And racing. I think that's about it. How 'bout you, boy wonder?"

"That's my brother." He laughs dryly.

Tim finds that it's intriguing to talk to you. You know everything that he does, and it seems you know much more than what you let him in on. Dare he say it, perhaps he's met his match.

Tim sends you home and starts patrol. Gotham had become eerily quiet since the murderer had been on the loose.

Though, he has a knack for saying things too early.

A man dies the same day, and B finds his way there with Tim, the two of them sweeping down and kicking the man down, a woman shaking as Tim shields her, holding his cape out, making sure to not look at the way her clothes are ripped up and she's shaking with an intensity unknown to him. He can feel the vibrations of her skin through his cape. The fear is easily contagious had he not known.

"B?"

"Dead. The poison spread too fast."

The woman doesn't look like she was aware.

"Did you buy the product?" Tim raises a brow, eyes scanning her face for any changes in emotion, and she shakes her head.

"I... a-a friend got me o-one on because—" She gasps, shoulders trembling still. "I-it saved her life."

"Do you know where she bought it?"

The woman shakes her head. "Th-they were giving them out on the streets a while back. It's been m-months."

"May we take one back?"

B shakes his head. "Gordon is coming. We will decide then. Oracle?"

Oracle has no intel either, and Tim wonders just how far this murderer is willing to go. If he just let them kill all the rapists in Gotham, then it would result in a number of the population as gone. If he checked them, perhaps the offenders in Gotham would assume they are protected by B — which truly could not be further from the truth.

"Where are you living? I will take you back." Tim catches a figure in the corner of his eye.

"B."

The man shakes his head.

"I-I'll be fine." She mumbles. "May I borrow a... clothes?"

B nods, and Tim hands the woman to him as he takes a good look at the man on the ground.

Familiar. He looks familiar.

The scan from his mask indicates the same. The man who had been talking to Spitfire at the tracks. It was the man who had been talking to her. Some clicks in the back of Tim's mind, his fingers pressing to the silicone, pressing the dirt and grime to the back of his glove to check for DNA.

Just the shaking woman.

"B, I need one of them." He speaks firmer this time. "There has to be some unidentified DNA on one of them."

"There are in one of the files on our computer. It was sent this afternoon." B hums. "The police are arriving. Come on."

Tim doesn't need to be told twice, yet he lingers, eyes trailing on the woman as he waits.

One of the policemen is an unregistered sex offender.

He clicks on his mask as he zooms in, a dark figure flying out of the alleyway at the man, and Tim watches as a claw digs into the man's genitals, ripping off with a sound that shakes the walls, followed by a guttural scream. The policemen shoot at the figure, but they don't react, only retreating back into the walls, seemingly unhurt by the bullets.

"Oracle, did you catch that?"

"No face was detected."

"How about figure?"

"Non-human." Oracle mumbles. "I can't identify anything."

"Tsk." Tim clicks his tongue.

"Though, it has to be a shadow ability. Perhaps something adjacent to it. They're gone, right?"

Tim hums into the mic. "Affirmative."

Tim ignores the way the shadow shapes weirdly underneath his feet.

"You can come out." He taps the corner of his mask for reinforcements, taking a step back into the moon as the shadow forms, a smile of white forming into a human.

"Can you—"

"Neither. All indications of sex are missing."

"Oh..."

Their voice is nothing short of horrifying to him.

"I caught a bird." It grins, and as Tim takes a step back, he finds that his other foot has a shadow warping around his ankle.

"Who are you?"

"We are the night." It sings. "We are the darkness..."

Tim knows what's next.

"We are... vengeance."

"That's rather cringe, don't ya think?" Tim raises a brow.

A batarang flies from behind him, and the shadows only create a hole for the weapon to fly through. The shadow splits into two people, and Tim smiles.

"Gotcha."

"Ah ah," The one on the left shakes its hand. "We were promised... freedom."

"Only where you belong." Batman shines a flashlight at the creature, and Tim watches as it retreats back into the shadows, his ankle free. "And you. Next time, just shine the flashlight."

"Are they weak?" Tim raises a brow. "Just to light?"

"It stuns." Batman nods.

"Go track the leftovers on your ankle back in the cave."

"Will do." Tim pauses before he goes. "Is it an alien?"

"No. Something worse."

Tim does NOT know what could be worse than an alien. (He lies. He does.)

The DNA tracks too many women to count. One shows up and then the next, and eventually, Tim has at least twenty women pulled up on his screen, all pronounced dead after being found used and discarded. It is horrifying. Tim may not understand just how terrifying it is to be a woman, but as he finds children, he seems to understand just how disgusting this is. Girl after girl, woman after woman, every last one of them were used and discarded bare for the world to see, photographed and made a case study out of — all who met their unfortunate end and their rapists never see the end of their life the same way they did.

It is disgusting, but something else is discovered.

He does not remember if it is something new, but it seems strange. It is not a shadow, but rather a composition of human souls forced to merge into an unrecognizable shape. It is science, not an alien, and Tim understands why it is worse. It is an unfortunate victim and not an alien. It is someone who had been forced to change into something unloveable. He wonders if the souls of the unfortunate make up the shadows.

Ah. If they are shadows...

Tim turns around as the shadows form a human again, shorter than he is, apple of its cheeks soft and gentle. A girl. It is a girl this time; not a woman.

"Are you a victim?"

It does not answer him.

"Tim? Tim, do you hear me? Red!"

"It has not attacked yet." Tim answers. "How many of you are there?"

The child does not respond, holding up one finger, and then two, and three, and eventually there are too many fingers sticking out of the hand that Tim had lost count.

"Many."

"What's the deal?"

"I matched the DNA." Tim swallows. "I won't hurt you, but please—"

The shadow dissolves, and Tim lets out a breath, staring at the faces plastered across the screen of the Batcave.

"Tim?"

"Oracle." His voice goes quiet. "They are all victims of... The computer just keeps going."

Eventually, B returns, staring at the wall of faces Tim left, finding the man in his room, glasses on as he stares at his PC, case file after case file being read, news article after news article. There is more than one soul occupying the shadows, and Tim reads one after the other of how they were murdered. Stabbed, strangled, shot, mangled, burned. None of the souls were able to escape death at the hands of their rapist. It was sickening.

"It is not a human." Tim speaks, staring at Bruce at the door. "We can not arrest it."

"Is it humanoid?"

"No. It is a shadow of vengeance."

"There has to be a way to stop it from collecting more souls."

Tim closes his eyes, brows furrowed as he sighs.

"And if I do not want to?"

"Tim."

"I know." He mumbles, exhaustion written all over his face. "How will we destroy the remaining souls?"

"How many women were identified?"

"There are currently twenty seven." Tim mumbles. "There may be even less if more of the men die."

"The vengeance of a ghost." Bruce mumbles. "Just find a way to stop the addition of souls. Surely, someone is collecting souls and adding them."

Tim finally closes his eyes when the sun starts peeking over the horizon.

"Sorry." Tim shows up to your meetup place, eyebags extra bad, and you raise a brow at him.

"Something up?"

"What would you do if someone was collecting the souls of the victims of rape and kill and turning them into a shadow of some sort to let them have vengeance on their rapist?"

"Wow, what a loaded question." You mumble.

"Thoughts?" Tim closes his eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Feel free to ignore it if not—"

"I mean... it makes sense." You hum. "Is it scientifically immoral? Yes. Is it in some way morally correct? Perhaps. Their lives were taken and their souls haunt the earth because they are still held down by things they could not resolve while they were alive. Perhaps to the living, they are a monster, but to the dead? to the dead, they are a savior."

Tim pauses to think. "Should the person be punished?"

"Under the law? Sure."

"How about according to yourself?"

"No." You mumble. "If I was raped like that, I would love to ruin the life of the man who ruined mine. I heard a police officer got his dick ripped off. Is he still alive?"

"Alive." Tim nods. "Vitals are stable, but he can no longer procreate... obviously."

"Deserved, maybe. I heard he got off with only two months of jail time after the initial trial."

Tim does not answer, pausing to mull over the case.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out." You stand up, stretching your legs. "Shall we get something to eat?"

"You have food by here?"

"No, but since you brought your bike, I can take us somewhere."

"It better not be the diner from last time."

It is NOT the diner from last time

Instead, Tim finds himself seated outside of a Batburger place, thanking you as you hand him his order, clear view of the alleyway.

"This place is a little..."

"It's where a lot of drug trades happen." You hum, staring at the alleyway behind him. "Also where a lot of sex trafficking occurs."

"Ah, right." He mumbles. "Red Hood manages that, no?"

"Not as much." You bite into the burger, humming happily. "Sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting."

"I think the burgers and shake could fix me."

You raise a brow.

"As much as it can try, of course."

"Nah, I have those days too." You hum. "Did you find much on the souls?"

"I just wonder if they are decreasing after extracting revenge on their former rapist." Tim mumbles.

"I heard somewhere they started off in the fifties." You hum, continuing with your burger.

"...fifties? Where did you even hear that?"

"Rumor gets around quickest at the racetrack." You mumble. "Cardinal kept closely with the news. Apparently the figure was as large as a human at one point."

"Is twenty souls not enough to form a full grown woman?"

"Perhaps it picks a child for other reasons." You reach for a fry. "Am I being of much help, mister detective?"

"Somewhat." Tim pauses when he hears rustling behind him. "...May I?"

"Careful, they carry stun guns."

Tim nods, leaving you alone, and you click on your phone as you watch Red Robin swing in, kicking and freeing the poor girl, handing her off to the police as you stare at the two men knocked out. Tim had overestimated just one thing.

From behind, a spike of darkness pieces through the men's hearts, killing them on the spot as Tim holds a hand over the eyes of the woman.

Dead. The two men are dead.

The shadow forms behind them, three young women who look no older than the one that Tim is covering the eyes of.

"How many of you are left?"

This time, the shadow forms a 24.

The number is going down.

So, Tim reports the findings to Bruce, changing out of his suit to get back to you, nodding as he sits down and sighs.

"Sorry, stomach died."

"Nah, don't worry about it." You sip on your shake, humming. "Duty calls."

"Are you racing sometime soon?"

"I think B's trying to have us race less lately." You hum. "I won't be racing for some time. The only reason we raced so often a while back was because there were so many upgrades being implemented."

"So you have more free time?"

"Yeah." You hum. "I was thinking of traveling."

"Where to?"

Tim knows something you don't. The gentle taps of your painted nails omit some eerie sense of death, and it seems that no matter how much Tim likes you and feels fine around you, it is impossible to ignore that eerie sense of death. It reminds him of the first time he met you, stare of a thousand souls. Yet, it seems that...

"Staring?"

"You're rather pretty." He hums, pressing his napkin to his cheeks. "Is it not normal to stare a little?"

"Oh, look at you and your smooth words." You hum.

"I mean them." Tim stares at you.

You only give him a weak look.

You don't seem to believe Tim when he says you're everything.

And maybe at some point in time, Tim had realized that your words swayed him harder than they need to. He does not know when he had ended up so deep with his fingers and hands stained with a passion for you, but as it drags him under, he finds that it's fine. Maybe you were just destined for him in some way. If he would be dragged under, then he would simply find a way to clear it out. He enjoys the sensation of drowning in you. Maybe he is just weak for you.

"Do you love me?" You tilt your head, milkshake straw on your lips as Tim sorts through his files.

Tim stares at you, pushing his glasses up. "Why?"

"Curious." You hum. "You've brought me to your place, after all. Isn't this the nice little boat you got with your boyfriend? I remember the media going insane."

"Perhaps." Tim mumbles. "I brought you here to help me with the case, though. I don't think love is the right word for what we feel towards each other right now."

"Mm." You nod slowly, picking up some papers. "The number went down?"

"Yes. The two men who were killed resulted in three less entities in the shadow." Tim mumbles. "I just wonder if the number is going to increase."

"You wouldn't want it to, huh?" You hum.

"Prefferably no." Tim pauses. "Though, I suppose if the entity is acting on its own, then I can not do much to stop it. Someone is letting the souls merge into the shadows."

"If it's just cells, shouldn't it be the act of a human? That must mean they have some sort of way of accessing the victims' bodies."

"That would be the case, but a further search indicated that they were not picking up the cells, but rather just souls. I don't know when we got an upgrade to be able to locate souls, but—"

"It was probably when you tried cloning your best friend." You don't bother letting him finish the sentence.

Your statement freaks Tim out.

"H-how the hell do you know?!"

"B." You puff out your cheeks, continuing with reading the file.

B does NOT have that information open to just anyone to access.

Yet, Tim shuts his mouth, continuing with the file, taking the chance to seal your fingerprint. He runs the match while you continue checking, and he ends up in a dead end again. You do not exist in the database. Your fingerprint is not a real person. Surely there was a chance that you were not quite human either.

"Just how cautious are you?"

"Very." You hum. "My fingerprint won't show up."

"What gives you the boldness to say that?"

"A gamble." You hum. "I race for B. Surely, he would not do something as cruel as that."

"He is consistently paranoid."

"That does not matter." You click your tongue. "He could not hold me down if he tried."

Tim senses that there is a certain level of untruth to your words, but he can not say just what it is.

Three days later, four more men are found dead by the docks. Tim checks them with the police, Oracle's voice in his ear as he observes them. All three have had their hearts pierced through, a gaping hole left behind. Tim looks to the side at the shadows brewing beneath the water, and he observes that the number shown is four less than before.

"These men have to be part of an organization."

"They are." Oracle notes. "Human trafficking. These are the men who are part of a human trafficking specifically for sex workers."

"So... rapists."

"Yes."

"Did we ever get a number on them?"

"No."

Tim nods at the police as they arrive, grappling away.

Maybe he's committing a sin by letting the shadow get away with the murders. It would be impossible to hold them down, but he wonders if he should ever shine a light on them when they kill.

Back at the cave, the young girl emerges again, smiling at Tim as he raises a brow.

"What?"

"Twenty." The voice speaks, much younger this time.

"Are you all children?"

The widening of the smile indicates a yes.

"How old were you?" He holds his hand out for the shadow.

His question goes ignored, the shadow disappearing as B returns to the cave.

"The number of shadows decreased again." Tim stares at B as he undresses.

"How do you know the shadows aren't lying?"

"Here." Tim shows B the newest scan of the souls, and the number has shrunk.

"How did you scan it?"

"I do not know. We hadn't been able to scan based on soul previously."

Bruce clicks on the computer, eyes focusing on the application, taking over as Tim sits to the side. He looks further, digging into the code as he pauses and points at a line.

"Moonknight."

"The racer?"

Bruce reads the code, and Tim follows, pausing.

"She's a computer system?"

"No, but you probably scanned some system in when you ran her through the system the first time."

"Just what is she?"

"I don't ask questions, and neither does she. Just a worker."

"Alright." Tim mumbles. But the issue was you do ask questions. You ask plenty of questions and each one brings you closer than the last. He had already lost his identity to you because of your charm. Perhaps Bruce was not far off. Though, if Tim could not find you, then Bruce probably could not either.

The next time he meets up with you, you finally let him into your apartment.

"Oh, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you love me." Tim hums. "What brings you to invite me here?"

"No, I didn't feel like going out today." You shut the door behind him. "Pizza's on the counter."

"Where are the others?"

"Racing." You hum.

"I thought you said there weren't any races?"

Tim finds that you're a liar.

Somewhere down in the place he's been pulled to, he finds that there is endless amounts of darkness, something brooding behind your soul as you talk to him, smile on your face. You called him the one, but if you were the one, he wouldn't feel so turbulent. Shaking waters. The water he's been pulled under is unmoving and serene, only in the middle of the sea, making the peace eerie rather than soothing. Rather than the liquid moving, he finds that he's spinning further and further down.

"I'm not racing for the time being." You hum. "The others are racing with their own bikes."

"Do you not own one?"

You shake your head. "I prefer other forms of transportation."

Tim raises a brow but doesn't question it.

Even when the two of you are tangled under your sheets and he listens to your heartbeat, the sense of uneasiness doesn't leave. You are too perfect. Even if you were to drag him down with you, he would only know how to hold onto you and not swim. Maybe this is his end. Unless you free him, he fears he will be stuck with you forever. Drawn to the beating of your heart, Tim is stuck being in love with you for the rest of his life. If you would drag him into the depths of your world and ruin his life, then so be it. As long as neither of you cross the line, neither of you would be hurt.

"Would you like to race?"

You raise a brow at Tim.

"Once in a lifetime." He offers.

"On the track?"

"We can race during the day." He hums.

"Not a day person."

"Then at sunrise."

You pause to think about it.

"If that's what you want."

"You make it sound like it's something I want to do." Tim whispers, chin resting on your chest as it rises and falls.

"Is it not?" You run your fingers through his hair, vibrations of your voice making him purr.

When Tim wakes in the morning, Oracle sends him a news article. Ten men found dead at the docks. Ten men were killed, and Tim can only wonder how many of the shadows found peace from their deaths. Though, as your fingers scratch at his scalp again, he could worry about it later. He'd rather not stir up deep waters.

"Ten died?"

"Mhm." Tim closes his eyes, mumbling. "Ten men."

"From the same organization?"

Tim is too tired to consider how you would know all the men are from the same organization when it has not been disclosed to the public.

"You seem to know much more than you let on."

"Of course I do." You hum. "But I won't race you until you find out."

"Then give me a month." He mumbles, eyes closing as he drifts back to sleep. You're warm, and for the first time in a while, he gets some rest.

The next race Tim goes to, he notices Spitfire and Lightwing are missing.

You tilt your head at Tim from the track, waving as he waves back, lips curled upwards in a gentle smile.

He refuses to meet the truth.

There is some sense of security that lies in playing stupid, eyes closed and fingers reaching out into a void of nothingness, knowing that as long as he did not know, he would be safe. Yet, there is always the nagging in the back of his mind, uncertain about his future, uncertain about what would happen if he continued to play dumb. He knows he'll get called out for it by Steph soon, but it really... he was only a fool in love. He can not do something so terrible to his heart.

Even as you bring back the trophy and greet Tim with a thrashing kiss against his lips, breath hot against his as he tries to ignore the truth of the world beneath his feet embedded into the shadows, he knows that he can only play stupid for so long. Soon, this racetrack will become empty, and one day, you too will leave him for the world that he refuses to uncover for his own safety. He loves you, but he can only do so much when he's young and stupid.

"Can I take you back to mine?" Tim whispers, eyes begging quietly as you lick your lips, helmet in your hand as you confirm with a kiss.

The gentle rocking of Tim's place is peaceful in the Gotham waters, port comfortable as he pushes back all of his knowledge. It is a curse to be wise, yet Tim finds that there is nothing he can do when he just refuses to. He would choose you even if it meant laying what he had known before down. It pains him to know that he should not, and you would not let him, but he is foolish and young, eyes gentle as he drinks up the way you lay beneath him, the moon coating you in a lovely white as he furrows his brows to forget about it all.

Your skin is soft against Tim's hands, plush of your waist filling the spaces between his fingers as you stretch your arms above your head, eyes half-lidded as he pleases you — himself. It makes no difference. Turbulent waters have long become the place where he finds his rest, eyes half-lidded as he listens to the way you breathe, both beneath him and in the dead of the night. Life becomes slightly more bearable with you around, exhaustion no longer as suffocating as he's used to. Perhaps he loves you or such. Perhaps he does not. Most certainly, he knows he cares.

In the afterglow of sweat and skin, Tim finds that you are no different from him.

"How many of them are left?"

Tim stares outside the window, recalling the last murder in Gotham.

"They're almost gone."

"That's good."

You close your eyes, lashes brushing Tim's neck as you rest your neck over his arm.

"When will we race?"

"I told you. When you find out."

"Find what, exactly?"

You do not answer, closing your eyes and succumbing to exhaustion instead.

Ultimately, Tim knows.

He knows what he's to look for, and he knows just what you might be. It scares him that you might have lied to him for so long, the shadows and souls lurking beneath the surface of the water finally snaking around his ankle and pulling. The big screen in the Batcave is of no help either, only a single person with an obscured soul, and Tim knows deep down that it is yours. You are a victim of the same organization, an amalgamation of vengeful souls all combined together for the sole purpose of seeking vengeance.

Tim stares at the shadow forming behind him, digits dropping by the day as he reports to Bruce about just what was happening in Gotham. The moral code to prevent murder is strong, but the understanding that a few lives of a few criminals for the cost of a safer Gotham was not a world-ending trade-off. Tim understands that much, at the very least. He knows Bruce does too. In a world where neither of them have to work against human trafficking as hard as previously, Tim finds that the waters are both comforting and vicious. He can not be touched in the warmth of your skin, but others will die from the toxin that he is immune to.

So, as Tim crosses off the final ones in the list of souls, he texts to let you know that the organization has been wiped, asking you which sunrise would work best for you.

You refuse to pick a time during the day because you are afraid of being burnt.

You do not exist in the database because you are not quite human.

You exist because you are someone's hatred and memories, manifesting in the form of the shadows and risking a life you do not have in order to see what is worth living for, vehicles meaning nothing to you as you speed through the racetrack at night, only Aquastar left next to you as she too disappears into the shadows after all the guests leave. There are barely any guests now that Tim looks. Perhaps more than half of them had been tired souls, begging for some sort of help, seeking refuge in the way you would risk your life for some sort of power above the law.

You are home to the souls, regardless of whether they are alive or dead. If someone seeks death, they reach for your arms, holding their hands around your shoulders as you stare past their skin, into the depths of the darkness beyond — something Tim is terrified of touching, Yet, with the feeling of your skin memorized between his fingers, he knows why people go to you to look for something.

You are so living yet so dead.

There is comfort only you can provide.

You meet Tim at the racetrack, sitting on your bike as Tim drives in past the gates. The darkness in your soul has grown lighter. Something has changed from when he first met you. You are still so lovely in his eyes, yet it seems that you can not be together in a case like this. It is a shame. At least he gets to race you, popping off his helmet as he notices how empty the stands are compared to when you used to race. The end of your need in Gotham has arrived, and the end of your services to WE has ended as well. There will be no more of you one day in the future, and Tim knows that one day, he too will be cursed to forget everything about you.

The people are gone.

The racers are gone.

And perhaps after this race, you will be too.

You enable the speaker, fingers clicking on the screen at the podium, giving the two of you a twenty-minute warmup.

Tim wonders just how fast he can go. He watches you from the side as you warm up your bike and drive, speeding around the track with practice that can only come from muscle memory. Yet, he drives around the track and gradually speeds up, trying to get a hand on how to race around. Tim finds that he's a little rusty, making several more rounds around the track as you sit on the side, clicking on your phone and scrolling through. Tim does not know how to bring it up.

"What does the winner get?" You look up from your phone, hopping on your bike as you wait for the countdown.

"Whatever the winner wishes."

"That's quite the bet." You hum, staring up at the light as Tim gets ready.

"Of course."

You start your bike, speeding past Tim as the light shows green, Tim tight behind you as he catches up to you. You wonder and think, leaning to the side as the bike follows, letting Tim pass you as you trail behind him. Tim finishes the first lap relatively quickly, and he realizes that you've fallen back a significant amount. He's unsure whether or not to speed up, but as he finishes his second lap, he finds that you're still far behind.

You cut him from the left, successfully stopping Tim from hitting a wall.

Tim speeds up to chase after you, wondering when you had the time to cut him off.

Yet, the end is evident, your bike parked at the end after your third lap, a grin on your face as he stares at you.

The souls are gone, and you look so, so lonely.

The lights shut as the two of you sit by the podium, tablet in your hand as you kick your legs, and you finally speak up.

"I know you found out."

Tim grimaces. "...why?"

You stare at Tim, peeling back your jacket, throwing it at him as he stares at you, watching as your eyes turn pitch black, shadows forming underneath your skin and turning the entire podium dark, some sort of ancient power creeping up your hands to your forearms, darkness evident in every blink at him, lips curled up into an apologetic smile, and Tim feels the water surrounding him drain all at once. If he would not leave you, then you would leave him. You would force him out of the comfort of your waters, knowing that it would drown him one day.

"The shadow moves with you." Tim stares at you, swallowing thickly. "There is only one victim left. We both know who it is."

You stare at Tim, lips curling upwards as he remembers why your smile started looking so familiar at one point.

"You are the last." Tim picks his words carefully. "Are you a shadow?"

"No. Just a medium. I am very much alive." You smile.

"Who are you waiting to kill?"

"No one." You hum. "I am alive because I must hold onto the shadows for the next ones seeking vengeance."

"You are the source."

You ignore him.

"Are you human?"

You blink at him again, ignoring him once more. "Luckily, it seems the victims have lessened lately."

"Why had there been so many at once?"

"There was an organization." You rock on your heels, lips curled upwards. "Everyone in the organization has been wiped. No fret. They alone resulted in over fifty deaths of women after they reached the age threshold."

"The youngest was ten."

"Yes."

"And the oldest?"

"Most of them were killed once they turned 21." You hum. "Occasionally, if someone looked young enough, they would be killed later, but the majority of them were killed at 21."

"How many souls were there initially?"

"Well over a thousand." You hum.

"And only you are left."

"Yes."

"Why play savior?"

"Why not?" You grin. "I have done nothing but host the poor souls. That does not warrant for my arrest."

Tim knows there is an argument against it, but he does not think too hard.

"Next time a soul finds you, notify me. Send me an invite to your race."

"You know, Tim." You hum. "B no longer needs me."

Ah.

"Will you be gone?"

"Very much so."

"To where?"

You do not tell him.

"Write to me." He speaks again.

You shake your head.

"I can not."

"Why not?"

"Send me some flowers when you see me on the news. That is my wish."

Tim tries to not think too much about your final words to him. You left the next morning, morphed shadows in the city leaving with you, and Tim finds that soon, almost everyone forgets you had ever existed. You had come and gone, shadow of death leaving with you, but he finds that occasionally on the news, he hears word about a new racer, gender unidentifiable, face consistently hidden, only known by their speed. You have become a criminal under the law, racing between the crevices of cities, fake trophy after fake trophy taken home, death following wherever you went, sex trafficking decreasing whenever you rested at night.

Tim tries not to follow you all that much, but when you show up on camera on accident, your home is raided and you are killed on sight by the same men who had killed so many others.

It hurts Tim in the head, eyes closed as he tries his best to not think too much about your death and how you had known all this time, but it would forever haunt him. He still remembers the way the waves would rock gently underneath the moonlight when he was engulfed by you, eyes always tired but comfort always found, knowing that you would be his rest when he needed it. So, for him to see you dead on the news, he finds that perhaps he was just cursed to not be able to hold onto you — that he was destined to be stuck in place and watch as you died because you had made a minor mistake. A mistake that would not have cost his life, but cost yours instead.

Yet, he honors your promise, white chrysanthemums placed at your grave as he holds onto the umbrella, humming quietly. The rain splatters gently against the plastic, quiet drumming calming him as he stares at the carving on the grave. The media had reported this was your place of burial, though Tim did not know if it really was you. He could have only assumed off of the information given, matching your age slightly, and he wonders if there is some sort of universe out there where he would be able to just stay with you.

"Here to see her too?" A masked woman steps next to Tim.

"Yes. I promised I would send flowers once she showed up on the news."

"How lovely of you." The woman hums, placing down a blue lotus.

"Did... you know her?"

"I knew her quite well."

Tim stares down at his flowers, finally looking up at the woman.

"It's such a shame, huh? That she would die to the very organization that she had been working to take care of."

"Well, perhaps she had just understood what it meant to live when she died." You turn to Tim, pulling down your mask as you wait for it to register in his head. "What do you think, Ca—"

You don't get to finish your words before Tim wraps his arms around you with closed eyes.

"I love you too, boy wonder."

#good morning tim drake tag did you miss me? no? GOOD. #tim drake x reader #tim drake imagine #timothy drake x reader #tim x reader #☾.fics #☾.suggestive #contemplated not posting this but like. 10k words r NOT about to go to waste when my queue is empty

[oriley42]

The Marrying Kind (13828 words) by ORiley42 Chapters: 1/6 Fandom: House M.D. Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gregory House/James Wilson Characters: Gregory House, James Wilson (House M.D.), Lisa Cuddy, Stacy Warner Additional Tags: cameos from all the fellows, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, nonexplicit House/Stacy and Wilson/wives, supporting sapphic romance Cuddy/Stacy my beloved, open relationships AND cheating and jealousy bc House brings out the worst in everyone, delusional comphet king James Wilson, SO MANY WEDDINGS, the ex-to-bestie pipeline and vice versa, a low-homophobia rendition of the 90s, not exactly a slow burn...an intermittent blaze?, Fluff, Romance, Pining, Humor, Light Angst, Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Happy Ending

Summary: The one where House is a wedding planner and Wilson keeps on getting married.

#hilson #house x wilson #house md #hilson fic #my fic #wanted to post this last night but it got so late my eyes literally would not stay open #so here it finally is! #the first chapter in the second longest fic i've ever written #hope y'all enjoy this silly premise bc i'm obsessed w it!

[dayseternal-blog]

hi days8! any recs for nonexplicit naruhina fan fics that are still angsty and lovely and a good read? :)

Hello! Angsty AND lovely? I'm not exactly sure what you mean by that, but I'll try to....put some fics that are....lovely and angsty...

Nonexplicit Angsty, Lovely (?) NaruHina

✨ “A Place In The Sun” by ihaveastorminme - Rated M for smut and depictions of violence, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete.  Naruto realizes that he’s not enough to love her.  He’s not enough to save her, either.

“Jitters” by ncfan - Rated T, Canon-Compliant, One-shot. He has her heart but he doesn’t even know it.

“The Red Umbrella” by ncfan - Rated G, Canon-Divergent, One-shot. As the rain hits her, Hinata thinks about what she doesn’t have, and what she’ll never have now.

✨ "Nyctinasty" by @secrettastemakerland - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, One-shot. Hinata has been playing this game with flowers her whole life. She's sick of it. Until she's not.

“It’s High Tide, Baby” by @spyder-m - Rated T, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. “Despite everything that happened around it, the water would continue to flow. It was majestic and free, so unlike the nature of his own existence.” Could their love withstand the test of distance and time, or was it doomed to slowly fade away?

"Picture Frames" by Forever_in_Your_Heart - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, One-shot. They say it's healthier to give up, but he is Uzumaki Naruto and he never gives up. (Can't. He can't, not this time)

Chapter 36 from "Between the Trees" by @utsus - Rated G, High Fantasy AU, One-shot. Inspired by the quote, “Bring me the sunflower gone mad with light,” by Eugenio Montale.

“My Favorite Night” by @peppercornpress - Rated M, Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Hinata harbors deeper feelings for Naruto after three years of being his roommate. Facing hostile relations from her old clan, another odd phenomenon with the moon, and Naruto still hopelessly pining after Sakura; Hinata makes the painful choice to end their sham of a relationship and try her luck in another hidden village. Unbeknownst to her, this move kickstarts a series of events that forces her and Naruto to confront their past, present, and future.

“My Favorite Night” [Original] by peppercornpress - Rated M, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Hinata harbors deeper feelings for Naruto after three years of being his roommate. When he starts dating Sakura, Hinata decides it’s in her heart’s best interest to turn the other way, and leaves Naruto for good with a heart-breaking secret in tow.

“Sunshine” by @lass-that-is-gone - Rated G, Canon-Compliant, Short One-shot. The pain was so intense that she wanted to keel over.

“they call her love” by @borzbois - Rated T, Canon-divergent, Series of related one-shots. hold on to the world we all remember fighting for, there’s some strength left in us yet.

“Until the Day I Love” by BluBlooThalassophile - Rated M, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Everyone is recovering from the war.

I put a few Rated M fics, so it's up to you if you want to check those out or not. I starred ✨ "A Place in the Sun" even though it's rated M because it has truly some of the loveliest writing I have ever read, even the 1 smut scene is the most BEAUTIFUL piece of NaruHina writing ever.

Well, I'm not sure if this is what you meant by lovely, but I decided to go based off of the writing style.

#anon #naruhina angst #naruhina canon-divergent au #naruhina fanfic recs

[scary-grace]

fic writer tag game

I got tagged by @mirkwood-hr-department for this game several days ago and at long last I have time to sit down and do it, so --

How many works do you have on Ao3?

Sixty as of Halloween night!

What's your total Ao3 word count?

1,958,061. And we're not even halfway through Kairos. Yikes.

What fandoms do you write for?

The Tolkienverse (namely the Hobbit) and My Hero Academia.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

i ain't changed, but i know i ain't the same -- bnha erasermic hanahaki fic

seeking a friend for the end of the world -- barduil zombie apocalypse au

Kairos -- barduil SLOW burn historical haunted house romance set in 1977

Show Me My Silver Lining -- bagginshield band AU (my first grown-up fanfiction)

more than words can wield the matter -- after the Elves return to their forest at the conclusion of the Battle of the Five Armies, a certain elf starts writing Bard some very questionable letters

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I usually don't respond to them in thread, but I thank everyone for them in the author's note of the next chapter, and I respond to specific questions there or on Tumblr!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Undoubtedly i'll follow you into the dark. For now.

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Show Me My Silver Lining. For now.

Do you get hate on fics?

I used to get it, back when I was writing on fanfic.net. I get the odd inexplicable comment these days, but so far I've been lucky on Ao3.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I write smut. I think. Mostly it's the nonexplicit variety, but I recently started using the three Cs when needed, so maybe it's explicit now?

Do you write crossovers?

I do not! The closest I've ever come to a crossover is naming all the non-canon background OCs in my BNHA fics after characters from a certain other manga. Nobody's guessed what it is yet.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No to that as well!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! My collaborators include incredible writers like @lonelyheartsmotel, @dogblessyoutascha, and @corndog-patrol!

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Barduil, no contest. The sheer number of words I've put into that pairing is unreal. The fact that I even have another ship is thanks to the sheer power of @corndog-patrol and e-girl!Mic.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I intend to finish them all, and am trying to finish at least two this week. But as for unpublished stuff, probably the barduil 'a quiet place' AU. I didn't make it too far, and I definitely lost motivation.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm pretty solid at writing plot. Nothing makes me happier than leaving foreshadowing lying around and seeing if readers catch it.

What are your writing weaknesses?

As evidenced by my Ao3 word count, I'm not very concise.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't think I've ever tried it. I usually indicate dialogue that's supposed to be in another language with italics.

First fandom you wrote for?

Marvel. On fanfic.net. Dark times.

Favorite fic you've written?

Mm, I think Kairos is still my crowning achievement. But I have to say that I'm really proud of Love Like Ghosts, the first fic I ever wrote entirely in the Notes app on my phone and the first fic where I avoided ever using the main character's name.

I'll go ahead and tag @dogblessyoutascha @phantombstone @sophsiaaa and @melkors-defense-attorney!

#barduil #clown hours

[avkima]

Request Rules

Requests are open see you in my inbox

see masterlist for what i do (from one shots to drabbles)

*what I will not do* trigger warning

Incest, abortion, eating disorders, abuse, self-harm or suicide:

self-explanatory, i will not do anything with these topics at all.

And hear me out for this one... No POC-specific reader or OC:

i am not a POC so i cannot speak for their experiences and i do not wish to offend anyone by trying! therefore, i will not do specifically poc!reader fics. Go support POC writers! THAT BEING SAID, I DO TRY TO MAKE THEM AS BLANK SLATE AS POSSIBLE SO EVERYONE CAN ENJOY. and this really only applies to any human AU or fics not set on pandora.

Explicit content:

I only do suggestive smut I will not write explicit content, think behind closed doors but expect a little something before. steamy not smutty if you will.

I only write for the Avatar fandom

I don't usually write multiple-chapter fics from a request unless I get really good inspiration from it. so it's up to fate!

Daddy kinks (mommy kinks for the most part)

no judgement on anyone but im uncomfortable doing daddy kinks--reader calling anyone daddy and all that. I can be swayed on mommy kinks though just not easily.

I have a right to refuse your request sometimes it's nothing personal!

*what I will write*

Alternate Universe:

I love the idea of a college AU of either the cast of Avatar or their characters so, both irl actors and characters are on the table

Mentions of blood or fighting/some gore/death/angst

the Omatikaya are at war so stuff like this happens. and every now and then we need a good fic to make us cry!

Nonexplicit rape/sexual assault:

i am a fan of a character wanting to avenge or protect y/n ngl it helps with the trauma. that being said I may refuse or water down this specific request as I see fit as it is a sensitive topic

I LOVE a good pregnancy kink or y/n being wifey and I eat up that domestic shit

For now, anything not listed in the “WILL NOT” is fair game and if i think of anything else ill keep adding to here! xoxoxoxoxo

#avatar movie #avatar way of water #awow x reader #fanfic #jamie flatters x raeader #jake sully #aonung #loak x you #awow imagines #avatar rotxo #avatar modern au #awow requests #avatar 2022 #james cameron avatar #neteyam x reader #neteyam #jake sully x reader #neytiri #sully family #sully family x reader #original character #fluff #awow au #awow fluff #alternate universe #jack champion/reader #bailey bass #britain dalton #trinity bliss #filip geljo

[skeletonsfortea]

wax would have me actin out toooooo! he aint safe as long as he keeps showing his ribcage and spine like that 😤😤 im just waiting out for his arc. id honestly love to jump his bones. hes totally my type, id top him without hestia- that aside, i got yall! so, since ouve answered something like this before, it is my duty to ask, Currant, led or lead? Wax, led or lead? when it comes to certain things... sorry if this is going too far btw! im just being playful 😊 you can ignore, i wont take issue

Haha-

Nah, while I won't be writing any smut, I don't mind nonexplicit questions!

Current is all lead. He might let his partner top, or act like they're in charge, but in the end, he's always going to be the one in control.

Wax prefers to be led. He has the experince to lead, and lead well, but the reverse is more comfortable for him.

#about the hlf brothers #y'all are kinda thirsty huh #Currant is a fuckin shark and he can smell weakness #I would comment on Wax but he's gotta stay secret for now

[eldritch-composer]

i am tentatively opening general writing commissions. i do need to be familiar with any preexisting characters involved (feel free to ask if i know a character, in the case of ocs if you can describe them to me i can probably work something out), but im actually more of an original fiction writer than fanfic anyway, so im more than happy to write something original as well.iiias of rn, prices are 2c/word / $2/100word / $20/1000word, for 1000 words or more ill round down to nearest 50 words (eg, 2134 words would be rounded down to 2100, 2174 would be 2150).

that becomes 3c/word / $3/100word / $30/1000word, with the same rounding down for 1000+, for anything sexual, though some nonexplicit-but-still-sexual things (such as sexual gore, as long as there isnt also explicit sex) may get a pass. sex and most sexual content requires more effort to write (for me) depending on my familiarity and comfort with said content. feel free to ask further questions about anything specific, this is a judgement free zone and i <3 freaks.

here is a link to my writing blog if you'd like to check it out, i also have one example of smut and a couple unfinished fanfics i can share snippets from if you'd like to see my style and ability more!

#if you saw this post already on the other blog yes i know. okay #but i didnt want to rb from there to here since i like to vet followers to there LOL #i AM still working on the joshnek u one i swear to GOD i am. its fully outlined and everyyything #but uhm if you wanna give me a paid distraction well uhm im better at working on those ^^

[ventiswampwater]

(honking my clown horn) I feel like I’m not as interactive w/the fandom on here as I’d like to be, so I’m tentatively.........opening writing requests. Shock! Horror! What!

At this point, I’m only accepting requests for House of Wax and the Sinclair brothers! 

I have a LOT of love for other horror properties (TCM/Bride of Chucky/Behind the Mask/etc.), but I have WIP’s in the works for all of those at the moment and I’d like to finish those fics before writing casually for the characters!

Please note that these requests are for short ficlets/drabble/oneshots. Wordcount/overall length of each will vary based on my personal preference. 

I will not write anything featuring underage characters/necrophilia/incest/bathroom-related kinks. 

I’m assuming that if you’re requesting something from me you’re fairly familiar with my characterization of these weirdos. It isn’t for everyone! Regrettably, Boseph McFuck fills my AO3 w/his filth and tyranny.

My x reader content is always second-person and I do favor a nondescript reader. I don’t write extremely specific physical/personality descriptions for the reader insert—I like keeping it as vague as possible.

Due to my aforementioned preferences, no OC requests please!

For nsfw/smut-related requests, I’ll only be writing for afab!/fem!readers (gendered anatomy as well as gendered language). However, for nonexplicit drabble prompts, I’m down to try my hand at gender-neutral content. 

Last (and most important disclaimer imo), on top of working a 9-5, I’m the world’s slowest fuckin’ writer. Unfortunately!! I’ve often got the attention span of a squirrel inhaling massive quantities of nitrous oxide! RIP in pieces!! I’ll never purposefully intend to keep you waiting, but please be aware that I’m SLOW AS HELL. I’m also very much a mood writer. I may publish another piece prior to your request! I promise I’m not ignoring you! The machinations of my mind are just GOOFY.

Of course, in the case that I don’t feel like I can properly satisfy a request, I’ll be straight up w/you about it from the jump!

Just trying to set the most realistic of expectations so you know what to expect from my dumbass!!!

If anyone bites, I’m down to accept 3-5 requests! 

I feel like that’s a manageable amount and will be a good gauge to tell if I’ll continue these going forward!

Shoot me an ask with your idea and we’ll go from there! 

#testing testing one two three............... #slasher fandom #request info #slasher x reader #sam speaks

[teethandclawsxx]

on that note. lol. i am tentatively opening general writing commissions. i do need to be familiar with any preexisting characters involved (feel free to ask if i know a character, in the case of ocs if you can describe them to me i can probably work something out), but im actually more of an original fiction writer than fanfic anyway, so im more than happy to write something original as well.

as of rn, prices are 2c/word / $2/100word / $20/1000word, for 1000 words or more ill round down to nearest 50 words (eg, 2134 words would be rounded down to 2100, 2174 would be 2150).

that becomes 3c/word / $3/100word / $30/1000word, with the same rounding down for 1000+, for anything sexual, though some nonexplicit-but-still-sexual things (such as sexual gore, as long as there isnt also explicit sex) may get a pass. sex and most sexual content requires more effort to write (for me) depending on my familiarity and comfort with said content. feel free to ask further questions about anything specific, this is a judgement free zone and i <3 freaks.

here is a link to my writing blog if you'd like to check it out, i also have one example of smut and a couple unfinished fanfics i can share snippets from if you'd like to see my style and ability more!

[thewordswewrite]

The Drought of an Ocean

Chapter 15 - His Future

Pairing | Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

Story Summary | Finnick Odair was the youngest victor to ever win the Hunger Games but that didn’t earn him respect as a mentor, at least not until she came along. When a dejected volunteer from District 4 puts her life on the line, Finnick will do anything he can to protect her.

Chapter Summary | Embarking on their honeymoon, Finnick and his girl bond without the pressures of the outside world.

Chapter Warnings | canon typical violence, nonexplicit forced prostitution, mentions/situations of sexualizing minors, anxiety inducing situations, explicit language, mentions of suicide, character death, SMUT 18+

W/C | 4.8k

Taglist | @lem0ns77   @lostintheendlessvoidthatislife @curlycarley​   @bela-nov​ @lilylovelyxo​   @jaydiann @shynypeacekitten​ @dd122004dd​ @jyessaminereads​   @aquawhore420   @qallaghereid  @bazzaza​ @zulpix-blog​ @mrsjna​   @americanstarlette @lou-the-confused-bisexual​ @maxinehufflepuffprincess​ @cecepop15   @pavard-leto-girl  

A/N | The end!!!!! or not????? ;) Thank you everyone for keeping up with this story and being so committed to Finnick haha -Smoe

Donations |  Link

|Masterlist|

The sun had already long since set by the time they were nearing their destination and Finnick, while not seeming to necessarily be angry, had had very little to say on the ride thus far. It had undeniably been a bit awkward, from loading their stuff into the train car to sitting across from each other in silence. She got the feeling that he wanted to say something but didn’t know what and, unsurprisingly, she felt the same. There had been a lot of rethinking that had to be done on her part, backtracking through her memories to regret how she had acted when she was defending the truth she thought was reality. There was anger to be had both at Snow for painting an incongruous picture of Finnick and at herself for believing it. 

Her plans for escape were abandoned now that she had finally accepted the consequences that would come from it. She had been naive, not understanding the full extent of the power that Snow held over them. Finnick’s life had been torn apart even after doing everything he could to appease the President. After all he had done for her, had saved her from, he at least deserved a fair shot at the life they were given. If there was any true testament to Finnick’s, her husband’s character, it would be the countless chances he had given her and the goodwill he held toward her even now. It had broken her heart to see the look on his face that morning when he thought she would leave him especially after having seen the glimmer of hope that their wedding had sparked within Finnick. 

The silhouette of palm trees that had pervaded their view for the last hour or so slowed to a standstill which caused both of them to turn their heads, making eye contact that was averted immediately after. If it were any other time, she would make a comment about Finnick gathering both of their luggage, saying something along the lines of ‘I can take care of myself’ but she was ultimately just grateful that he was still an active participant in their lives, given she had experienced the opposite. There was a certain irrational fear that hung inside just being in the train where not only had so many things gone wrong between them, but where she had once traveled towards her imminent death. Now, stepping off the train with Finnick extending a hand to help her down, it was a bittersweet sort of realization that she held even a modicum of safety. The more she opened herself up to feeling for him though, the more she felt anxious about the status of their relationship that had thus far been turbulent. 

Together they walked down a dark path, lit dimly by the moon and a sparse arrangement of streetlamps. Finnick was dutifully on alert, both of them being unfamiliar with where they were sent and given how things had been going lately with his interactions with Snow, she couldn’t blame him for thinking it all might be too good to be true. 

“I guess this is it,” Finnick concluded as they stepped onto the porch of their seaside bungalow. They had seen similar housing on their way down the waterfront and while they had all been in good shape, they were very clearly uninhabited. “According to the pamphlet, this was some sort of resort back before the war…when people could afford that sort of thing,” Finnick had informed her.

“Moment of truth,” She sighed, slipping one of the keys out of the small package they had been given. Finnick held their bags, shifting uneasily from foot to foot as she fit the key into the lock. The knob turned with ease, opening into an unlit foyer which Finnick stepped into first with a ready stance. After a few moments, she followed him in, reaching blindly around the wall for a light switch. 

Once the room was lit, the place felt a bit less unsettling and more like a genuine luxury. It was decorated tackily, the forced atmosphere of being both beachside and on vacation pervaded every corner. The style wasn’t quite the in-your-face staple of the Capitol, in fact on closer inspection, it was clear that the decor and the house itself predated whatever current stylistic era they were in and likely by decades. 

“I guess it's just us, huh?” She bit her lip, struck by the awkwardness not only of the silence but her attempt to break it. “Looks like this place has been abandoned, up until now…I guess.” 

“Yep. Lucky us.”

Finnick surveyed the rest of the rooms, sparing scrutiny from no corner of the place. By now, neither of them were strangers to Snow’s invasiveness and it was hard to believe that he would draw the line for the sake of a vacation. When the house was cleared, Finnick immediately took to the master bedroom, only bothering to unpack whatever he needed for the night. She sat on the edge of the king sized bed, kicking her feet idly as he brushed his teeth.

“Do you want to go see the rest of the resort?” She called out to him, grasping for straws. It was hard to tell exactly where they stood, if he was angry or sad or just fine, any mixture of those things. There were plenty of things on a long list that they had to be concerned about, that had gone wrong for them lately and any of them could be troubling him. 

There was another moment before he stepped out of the bathroom.

“No,” Finnick simply stated, “I’m going to sleep.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll just go to bed too then.” She felt like a child in his presence, trying too hard to please him. A couple weeks ago she couldn’t have cared less about what Finnick Odair thought of her or anything else but now he was a constant in her mind. As he started to get into bed, she gathered up a spare blanket and a pillow from the opposite side.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m just–” She gestured loosely to the doorway. They’d shared a bed for many nights before but given their conversation the previous night, she didn’t want to assume that she was welcome, even if it had seemed like they had made up. She would miss the feeling of safety that he provided and her sleep would likely suffer but it was better safe than sorry.

Before she made it to the door, Finnick spoke, “Stop. I’m too tired to do this right now. Come to bed.” She turned to him, the circles under his eyes deeply shadowed as he sat up, lifting up the opposite corner of the covers.

“Are you sure? I can-” 

“Come to bed,” Finnick repeated and though he said it tenderly, he left no room for discussion. She followed the order and climbed onto her side, replacing the pillow and blanket until everything was as it should be. 

“Goodnight, Finnick.”

“Goodnight.”

・・・Ψ・・・

She awoke to the rays of the early morning sun peaking through the windows, her limbs stretching out into the unoccupied space around her. At some point during the night, she had managed to travel from the leftmost side of the bed to the center of it with no sign of Finnick left save for the indentation of his body in the mattress. Upon reaching out to his side of the bed, it was clear from the lack of leftover body heat that he had not been there for a while.  Her first instinct traveled towards fear but she knew that Finnick knew better–knew better than her–to try anything. 

She slid her feet down to the floor, stretching her arms overhead as she made her way to the kitchen. A plate of food, wrapped delicately so as not to spoil, greeted her as she entered. She slipped it all back into the oven and set the timer, idly sitting on the granite countertop as she waited. Other than her breakfast, there was no sign of Finnick in the house and as the oven timer slowly ticked away, she was getting more and more anxious to locate him. 

Throwing on a more respectable pair of shorts and her sandals, she made her way to the previously uncharted back porch. The sliding glass door gave way to a breathtaking view, the sun hanging just above the horizon as waves rolled onto a silvery shore. It was similar to the beaches of their district but it held such a pristine condition that it was like looking at a painting. Indeed, it was practically uncanny the way the horizon line was uncut by fishing boats or city skylines. There was all but a single silhouette that disrupted or maybe added to the picture: Finnick out on the shoreline, casting his fishing rod out to sea. 

“You’re up early,” She called out to him, making her way down the beach. The corner of his lips upturned as she reached his side but his eyes stayed trained on the water.

“Had to be,” Finnick replied, “I was losing space by the minute. You sleep like you belong in one of these tidepools.”

"Excuse me?" She laughed incredulously, kicking a splash of water at him.

Finnick ducked out of the way, the fishing line shifting with him as he explained, "like a Starfish.” She shook her head before burying her face in her hands, still laughing. “I thought maybe with the bigger bed we’d be past this but–” He was unable to finish as he received a well-deserved but playful smack on the arm. 

There were a few moments where the only sounds surrounding them were the lap of the waves on the shore and a cluster of seabirds out to catch their next meal. She watched as Finnick started to reel in the line and scoffed.

“What?” He countered.

“You have no patience,” She smirked, pushing him just for the fun of it.

“Listen, I’m fishing for your lunch and if you don’t want to starve, I have to recast,” Finnick huffed in response. She spared him another word, choosing instead to raise her eyebrows in a knowing glance. Watching him in action however, it was nearly impossible not to comment.

“What was that?”  

“What was what?” She knew she could just let it go for his technique wasn’t that offensive but the childish scowl that already sat on his face was too good to resist.

“That cast!” 

“What was wrong with my cast?” The way he naturally stood taller at the accusation was hard not to laugh at but she needed to keep a more serious tone if she really wanted to tease.

“What wasn’t wrong with it?” She scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest. “Rich boy forgot he’s from District 4.” Finnick glared at her a moment before reeling in his line, grumbling to himself all the while.

As he steadied the line in his head he added, “You know, I was having a nice time before you got here.”

She shoved him lightly as she pursed her lips,“Ha, ha, you know you like it better when I’m around.”

Finnick hummed, clearly fighting a grin. 

“Here,” She circled around Finnick, her arms ghosting over his own for a moment of hesitation before she took hold of them. Her arms barely fit around Finnick’s torso but she made do, practically bear-hugging him from behind.

“I think I know how to-”

She cut him off with a shush and, in a single practiced movement, threw their arms out in an arch, a perfect cast hitting the water just beyond the waves. “That’s how it’s done.”

They sat there together waiting to go in until they had a sizable catch to show for their efforts as they continued to do morning after morning, though with two rods rather than one. It was like that for a good part of their trip: finding a routine and sticking to it. It was easy enough to fall into friendly conversation knowing where they would be when and what they were going to do. What tensions there had been between them gradually faded away as they distanced themselves from all they had been through in less than a year. It was nearly impossible to fathom how she was spending her days lazing around the beach when she had already received what she thought would be her death sentence.

Besides fishing, they spent a lot of their days reading from the small collection of books they could find around the house or rather she spent a lot of time reading, after Finnick fell asleep following the first couple chapters she would read aloud. As the heat died off in the evening, they would share dinners before heading out to the beach to take a swim. Neither of them had suffered their usual nightmares as they were too sundrunk to do more than pass out as they hit the bed each night. 

・・・Ψ・・・

One night a storm passed through, nothing that would cause them to have to worry about the house but still strong enough to disturb the waves, thunder rumbling through the darkness. They were in bed early and, having spent a majority of the day inside, Finnick was especially restless as he laid listening to the sound of rainfall. He had his back turned to his girl knowing that if she knew he was awake, she would stay up no matter how tired she was just for his sake. It seemed this made little difference as he could hear her tossing and turning behind him. They’d been laying there for what he’d guess to be about an hour when she spoke.

“Finnick,” She whispered, “Finnick, are you still up?”

He rubbed his eyes quickly before rolling over, “Yeah, what is it?” In the dim light it was hard to distinguish her expression but there was clearly some sort of hesitance and Finnick wondered if she already regretted grabbing his attention. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, I just,” She paused briefly, catching her breath, “I was just thinking and I realized…well, I never really thanked you for everything you did for me.”

“You don’t have to–”

“No, I-, I do.” There was another moment before she seemed to make up her mind and leaned forward, running tentative fingers along the curve of his cheek, “Thank you for everything, for taking care of me.” Finnick was grateful for the darkness for he couldn’t have stood to let her seem him blush. It was unusual for him, given all that he had experienced, and it was a very tame gesture after all.

“I just hope you know that, when it’s all said and done, I tried my best…for you…for both of us,” He sighed, wishing he had the words to express what he felt, to make up for all the harsh ones he had used in anger. 

“I know,” She affirmed, “It couldn’t have been easy…what you went through.”

“I never meant to choose for you, to take away your freedom. All I wanted was to keep you from what I had to do, had to be. I would’ve done anything to keep you from that. This–” Finnick gestured vaguely between them, “this was Snow’s way.” 

“I know,” She echoed with a sad smile. There was silence once more and Finnick felt vulnerable laying face to face with her like an open wound ready to be cut deeper. “What was it like?” She asked after a moment. His stomach dropped.

“What?” Finnick knew what she was referring to but she wanted to hear her say it again, to make sure he had really heard her. Never had anyone asked him how he felt about what Snow made him do because those who knew didn’t care about him and those who cared about him didn’t know. He could never bring himself to tell his mother what he had been put up to for he couldn’t stand to tarnish the image she held of her son. 

“What Snow had you do, I mean, I can’t even imagine.”

Finnick hesitated, words echoing through his mind. Dirty, filthy, disgusting. He could stop the conversation there, say he was tired and turn over to go back to pretending to sleep, preserving his dignity. But the way she looked at him so earnestly, like she was prepared to hear whatever he had to say, what had for so long gone unknown by anybody but him, he was left with no choice. So, he told her everything, every thought that crossed his mind as he thought back on years of his life that he had tried his very best to forget. He told her about the money, the gifts, the secrets. He told her about the shame and the pain both physical and emotional. While it was terrifying, it was equally liberating, every word another weight off his shoulders and, above all, the way she looked at him never changed. 

When he was finished, she told him about herself, about her childhood growing up in the orphanage after losing her mother, about how she had felt in the games. All together it was like meeting someone brand new even though they had been by each others’ sides for months. Problem after problem after problem kept them from really ever getting to know each other and while Finnick regretted not doing it sooner, he felt privileged to get to know her at all

“My mother never would’ve let me get away with that,” Finnick laughed, sitting propped up against the headboard as she told a story about a rogue boating incident. 

“It’s easy when you don’t have one looking after you,” She laughed but her eyes quickly widened and shone with regret. “Oh, I didn’t mean-”

Finnick shook his head, though the memory of what had happened left a gaping hole in his chest, “It’s fine, I…” He paused, gathering his thoughts. His mind raced with the memories, “I guess I just feel like it was my fault. If I would’ve just listened-” Finnick’s throat was closing up as he tried to blink away tears.

“No, Finnick,” She grabbed the sides of his face, wiping away his tears with her thumbs. “It could never be your fault. It was Snow who did that, Snow who forced us to do what we’ve done.” He could do nothing but nod, his voice swallowed by sobs he was struggling to contain. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Finnick was doing all he could to ground himself, holding onto her arms as if it was all that was tethering him to the earth. “I did it for you. The flint.”

“What?”

“I slept with a client without Snow’s permission to get you the sponsor. Its my fault she’s dead but I couldn’t let you die, I did everything I could-”

She hushed him and pulled him into a hug, running her fingers through his hair. He could feel her heartbeat racing, short bursts of breath exiting her lungs as she grappled with what he’d told her.

She pulled away, looking him in the eyes. “Why, Finnick? Why would you do that?” She was crying in earnest now too.

As he stared at his girl, he realized that she was all he had left, Mags growing sicker by the year and his family dead at Snow’s hands, she was his future. The moment of clarity knocked all breath from his lungs and he could do nothing but stare at the woman who sat across from him, holding his cracked heart together with nothing but her gentle hands.

“Finnick,” She cried for him, “Say something please I-”

“I love you.” The words rushed out, almost drowned out by the noise of thunder and rain from outside, but he knew she heard them. He saw the way her face shifted, from shock, to confusion until finally melting into something he could only categorize as affection. His wife let out a watery gasp and surged forward, her lips meeting his own, the salt on their faces mingling as they allowed themselves to deepen the kiss. 

“I love you.”

Her face wasn’t like that of his clients back in the Capitol when she said it, covered in lust and repeating those three words over and over to get him to do as they wanted. No, her face was an open book, every emotion laid bare to him in that moment, despair, sincerity, love. She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever known, and he loved her.

Slow and hesitant he leaned back in, meeting her lips with his own, waiting for her to return the kiss. Finnick’s hands slid around her waist then, as she kissed him back in confidence, her own hands sliding their way along his back. As the storm raged on outside, their gasps were mute to the world, hands and ragged breathes no one’s but their own. At nineteen, Finnick had gotten used to the meaninglessness of sex but now, laying here in the dark with his wife, he felt a fire ignite within him.

WIth ease, Finnick laid her onto her back, straddling her as they kissed, only breaking apart to breathe. He trailed kisses down her neck, biting and sucking his way down, drawing soft mewls from her lips as he went. Her fingers were gripping his hair, flexing every time he moved to a new spot. He went to pull off his shirt when she stopped him.

“Finnick, Finnick wait…stop.” As soon as he heard the word he halted all his actions.

“Sorry, I’m sorry I-”

“No listen,” She looked up at him, concern drawing her eyebrows together. “Are you sure you want this?” She was looking anywhere but his face as she asked. “This isn’t about what Snow said is it?”

“No, no,” He assured, trying to get her to look at him. “I want this, I want you.” He smiled down at her.

She returned his smile with her own. “Good. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to ever again.”

His concern melted away and he felt his chest warm. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Finnick couldn’t stop himself from grinning if he tried, instead opting to take off his shirt, his girl’s eyes taking him in as he did. Since they’d been ready for bed, there had been few clothes to remove before they were bare before one another, and Finnick drank in the sight.

“You’re beautiful.” Finnick kissed his way from her neck to the insides of her thighs, stopping to pepper in compliments along the way. 

Finnick held himself in his hand, lining his way up with her entrance and slowly he pressed in, savoring the feeling as they moaned in harmony. It wasn’t long until he was fully sheathed inside and panting in her ear. Her nails scratched his back as he began to move in time with their breaths, slowly picking up speed as he went. 

He wanted this, the woman he loved beneath him with no expectations from the outside world involved. His hands grasped for anything he could find, each and every soft surface of her. Finnick rolled his hips, following the pleasure she was squeezing out of him. He brought his hand down between them, his fingers looking for her clit in order to help her along and when his fingers finally met their target she moaned.

“Yes, Finnick!” She cried and clung to his neck.

Spurred on by her words Finnick sped up both his fingers and thrusts, the noise of it all echoing through the room. Their tongues swirled together as they kissed, swallowing the words each of them babbled as they came closer and closer to their undoing. It was only a few more seconds before she was screaming his name, Finnick following close after. It took all his strength not to collapse atop of her in exhaustion and instead rolled off of her.

With his remaining consciousness, Finnick pulled his girl to his side, tucking her to his body and using his hand to massage up and down her back. She nuzzled her face into his shoulder in response, using her own fingers to glide trails down his chest until her breath evened out.

Yeah, Finnick thought, I love her.

・・・Ψ・・・

Finnick laid on the front porch, soaking in the last rays of the sun as it set, the ocean cool breeze lulling him into a gentle doze. His eyes were nearly shut when the scrappy mutt who had finally followed him home from one of his morning runs, hopped onto his chest covering him with sand as he licked the sweat from his face. 

It had been a couple weeks since they had returned home from their honeymoon, the first part having been spent doing president-mandated interviews about the experience. While they kept most of the details to themselves, it was far easier to play up the happily married couple act now that it wasn’t so much of an act at all. When they were fully off the hook, they began their next project: making their house a home. 

They had repainted the walls of every room from dull sleek grays and beiges to vibrant cool colors. It was a shared effort that took longer than it might take one person as more paint typically ended up on their person than on the walls but the whole ordeal ended with laughs and a kiss. They went out to the market looking for handmade decor or second hand pieces to fix up and bring home. As a surprise, his girl even commissioned a local artist to make a portrait of his mother from an old photo she had found. While there was still more to be done, their house already looked less like a museum exhibit and more like an inhabited residence. 

Finnick was suddenly jolted from his daze as his name was called from inside the house, the dog running into the house at the noise. He cursed to himself as he stepped inside wishing he’d had a chance to wipe down the mutt before it tracked sand in the house.

“Finnick!” His wife called again with more urgency. He picked up his pace, rushing into their bedroom to find her sitting on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands. Finnick crouched on his knees by her side, gently tugging her arms from her face.

“What? What is it?” 

“I think I’m-” a sob broke through her lips again, “pregnant.” His stomach dropped at her words and he knew that if he wasn’t already on his knees, they would’ve buckled. There were a million thoughts immediately surging through his mind but the one most prevalent was the importance of comforting his wife.

“That-, that’s-”

“Finnick, I can’t raise a family in a world like this,” She cried. He silently agreed but there was no point in making her feel worse than he knew she was already feeling. 

“Hey, hey. Look at me,” Finnick took her face in his hands, trying to keep his breath steady in a way that she could mirror.  “It’ll be okay, I’m here for you.” She grasped his wrists tightly, shaking her head.

“I won’t see them go into the games. Finnick,” Her fear and exasperation steeled to determination as she met his gaze unflinchingly, “I won’t.”

“That might never happen–”

“You know it’s rigged and with not one but two victors as parents…” She broke down into another sob, slinking out of his grip to cover her eyes again. Finnick searched for something, anything that would not only be worth saying but would hold some semblance of truth, of actual hope. He rose to her level, sitting beside her on the bed and took a long sigh praying to whatever higher power there might be that this conversation would remain private.

“I’ve heard…talk amongst the districts, the other victors.” 

She lifted her head, her arms slowly coming down to her sides and Finnick took one of her hands in his own as he looked at that connection rather than in her eyes. He had heard things from other victors as they made their rounds in the Capitol just like him. At first, he wrote it off as the same propaganda that anyone who suffered the Games would’ve been willing to believe. That was until it became so common, it couldn’t be ignored and legitimate plans of action were beginning to spread. It was nothing he could guarantee to her and if anyone found out that he had told her, they would both likely be killed but if he could ensure even a glimmer of hope for their future he would do it.

“Something called…the mockingjay.”

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#thewordswewrite #the drought of an ocean #The Hunger Games #Hunger Games #hunger games finnick #hunger games fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #Coriolanus Snow #lucy gray baird #snow x lucy #fanfiction #fandom #finnick odair #finnick odair fanfic #finnick x you #finnick x y/n #finnick x reader #finnick x oc #finnick odair imagine #imagine #THG #thg fanfiction #katniss x peeta #katniss everdeen #Peeta Mellark #Sam Claflin

[justagirlinafandomworld]

It's busy this week, but don't think I didn't make the time to put this list together!! Thank you all you wonderful writers for the joy and entertainment you have provided me this month.

This month's list is long and full of spicy, fluffy, incredibly written fics. So kick those shoes off, get comfortable and browse for a new favorite. A lot of Bucky, too, I'm just sayin'. ;)

Happy Reading!

2023 reading list | fic rec masterlist

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

Marvel

To Have and to Hold series by @indyluckycharlie Bucky Barnes x Reader: Mafia AU Summary: Love and obligation. How can you serve one and still save the other? Warnings: Dark themes. Threats and portrayals of violence, including murder and assault. There are references to but no depictions of noncon. Violent and abusive acts are directed at the reader, but not by Bucky. There is also betrayal, controlling/abusive behavior, death of loved ones/main characters, grief, LOTS of angst, a little bit of fluff, nonexplicit s.mut and sexual references. Please note, there is an element to this story that is a surprise and won't be revealed until about 4/5 chapters in. Therefore, I am not including the related warnings here, but I will include them in the tags in case anyone is truly uncomfortable proceeding without knowing what's coming.

Send Me An Angel by @navybrat817 Soft Dark Bartender!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky thinks you're an angel. Warnings: Implied explicit sexual content, Dubcon/NonCon elements (you are responsible for your own media consumption) dirty talk, kidnapping, beginning stages of stockholm syndrome, Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?).

Starting Gate by @navybrat817 Motorcross!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You attract the attention of your coworker's friend who just happens to be a handsome racer who plays for keeps. Warnings: Flirting, tension, swearing, rivalries, future explicit sexual content, motocross!Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?)

Read at your own risk by @buckyalpine Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: 18+ smut

Drunk Bucky by @angrythingstarlight Chubby Baker! Bucky x Reader with a side of baker!Steve vs Honey. Summary: Baker!Bucky has a filthy mouth yet he's somehow still shy. He will spout off the most inappropriate, raunchy joke and have the nerve to blush like you're the one who came on to him. Warnings: none provided

Just One Taste by @angrythingstarlight Beefy Biker!Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: Bucky has an offer you can't refuse. He'll help you pack for your trip but you have to give him a little taste before he does. Warning: Smut, Minors DNI, oral (fem receiving)

Sugar and Spice by @navybrat817 Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker Female Reader Summary: You make a sweet impression on one of the new tattoo artists in the neighborhood. Warnings: Flirting, fluff, innuendos, brief moment of insecurity (reader's mom kind of sucks, sorry!), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Future couple, slight angst, and feels.

And Everything Nice by @navybrat817 Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker Female Reader Summary: You visit the tattoo parlor when an uninvited guest shows up at the bakery. Warnings: Bad ex, mild (h)arassment, protectiveness, brief moments of insecurity, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

Don't Let Me Down by @princessmisery666 Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: fake fic title drabble Warnings: none provided.

What Dreams Are Made Of by @navybrat817 Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker Female Reader Summary: You’re on Bucky’s mind before your date. Warnings: Ki-ssing, Fluff, slight insecurity if you squint, slight feels (it’s me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?).

Us vs. Them by @princessmisery666 Bucky Barnes x Y/N (Reader) Summary: fake fic title drabble Warnings: fluff

Supernatural

Tell Me You Believe Me: Rumors Part 4 by @deanwinchesterswitch Dean Winchester x Female Reader Chapter Summary: Dean thinks he’s doing the right thing, believes it’s for the best. Still, he struggles to let go, even when he overhears that you’ve moved on with someone new. Warnings: 18+ Angst; Some fluff; Language; Mentions of sex work(nothing graphic); Canon divergence; Descriptions of high emotional distress; Possible triggers

I Promised by @deanwinchesterswitch Dean Winchester x Female Reader Summary: He always keeps his promises. Warnings: Implied sex; Description of drowning

Even Better Than Pie by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior Dean Winchester x Y/N Summary: Y/N knows just how to make Dean smile. Warnings: None really. Kissing. Implied smut. Smidge of angst. Pretty much, all fluff.

Prettiest One by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior Dean Winchester x Y/N Summary: Dean's leg is broken and they've given him lots of morphine for the pain. What secrets will he reveal to Y/N? Warnings/Explicit 18+: None. Bit of Dean crack. Silly, drugged up Dean. Soft!Dean. Adorable!Dean. Lots of fluff. And a kiss.

Like We Used To by @princessmisery666 Sam Winchester x Reader Summary: fake fic title drabble Warnings: none provided.

Show Me What You're Hiding by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior Dean Winchester x Y/N Summary: Y/N gets a glimpse of Dean, and is desperate to see even more. Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Nothing too crazy. Nakedness, lustful thoughts, Dean objectification, and a smidge of dirty talk (from the reader.) Adorable!Dean being adorable, while simultaneously being the hottest fucker around. You know, that thing he's really good at.

Deep by @thoughtslikeaminefield Dean Winchester x Female Reader Summary: Dean shows her more about pleasure than ‘deep’. Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Dean being the best lay ever, biting, Dean being a fairytale prince, the jockey is my favorite sexual position (try it, it’s amazing), talking during sex, gratuitous use of terms of endearment bc it’s Dean

Other Characters

Relaxing on Sorgan by @softlyspector Din Djarin x GN!Reader Summary: Part of the Significant verse. Din and riduur relax on Sorgan. Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff.

Sit by @negans-lucille-tblr Soldier Boy x Plus Sized!Reader Summary: Y/N finds herself in trouble when she doesn’t listen to her boyfriend’s instructions.  Warnings: angst, self worth issues, body image issues, oral sex (fem rec), face sitting, face riding, biting, p in v

Blueberries and Cream by @princessmisery666 Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader Summary: fake fic title drabble Warnings: none provided

When the Moon Watches Over You by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior Beau Arlen x Y/N Summary: Some Beau and Y/N enjoying their time in the moonlight. Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut and fluff. Romantic smut (?) is that a thing. 🤷‍♀️Lol! Skinny Dipping. Semi-public nudity. Implied semi-public sex. Unprotected PinV sex, oral mentioned briefly (m receiving).

Flowers of Fate by @princessmisery666 Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Original Female Character Summary: Serendipity, luck, coincidence – call it what you will, but Bradley is sure his parents may have had a hand in his good fortune. Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, slight angst, meet-cute. 

#just a girl reading fics in may 2023 #bucky barnes x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #din djarin x reader #soldier boy x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #beau arlen x reader #just a girl reading fics

[ao3feed-iwaoi]

Your Hand In Mine

Read this masterpiece on AO3 at https://ift.tt/C0lNhtn

by NinjaSpaz

Oikawa couldn’t help the tingle that lingered after Iwa-chan’s hands slapped his own, the heat spreading across his shoulder blades where a celebratory smack resounded.

(Neither sensation was really related to the strength in Iwa-chan’s hits, but he wouldn’t come to understand the ensuing fluttering in his stomach until several years later.) - Or, lowkey 3 times Iwa-chan's hands touch Oikawa and one time his hands touch Oikawa.

Words: 1459, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of IwaOi Week 2022

Fandoms: Haikyuu!!

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime

Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru

Additional Tags: Iwaoi Week 2022, Hands, Growing Up, character study ish, the character is iwas hands, this is just 1k of oikawa simping for iwas hands, teensy bit of nonexplicit smut, childhood friends to lovers speedrun

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/C0lNhtn

#iwaoi #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #ao3feed-iwaoi #haikyuu!!