#mike faist angst
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(part 3) choices and meetings- a.donaldson
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a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)
i'll probably do a few more parts of this because it's just so cute and sad :(
summary: the first conversation you two have after the break-up.
pairing: art donaldson x reader
warnings: angst, feelings of disappointment, hurt, allusions to an eating disorder, depression, etc. +
PART 1: before his choice PART 2: choices and chances PART 4: wrong choice, wrong move PART 5: party choices
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It had been 4 weeks since the break up. Both of you were miserable but you wouldn’t tell the other. There was no ‘hot guy from your science class’ that you were fucking, you just wanted to make him jealous.
It did make him jealous. Very jealous. Just the idea of you being with someone else made his skin crawl. He’d essentially gone to every guy in that class to threaten to kill them if they even looked at you, he didn’t care if you weren’t his girlfriend anymore, he just needed some more time. He just needed you.
The only time you two interacted was during tennis sessions. You were being coached by the same person, so he made you do matches against each other. The last 4 weeks had been full of electrifying matches, often ending in Art smashing a racket or you stalking off in anger.
But you were both playing so well. So, so well.
The matches were difficult and finally challenging. Art had never played so well, he was almost at your level, and even beat you a few times. Though, you were usually better.
Once the rackets were packed away and you both left the court, it was like a scene in a romcom. Both of you wishing for the other, crying alone over one another, and wanting everything to be different. You regretted breaking up with him, but you knew you couldn’t take it anymore. His forgetfulness, his carelessness, his choices. He regretted breaking your heart. He missed you, your smile, your jokes, your laughs, your pretty face, your cute habits, your hands on his skin, the way you loved him, how he felt loved and wanted. Some things he’d never felt before. You were his first serious relationship, his first love, his first everything.
It came to the day of your final match against Serena O’Brien, an English tennis player. You were ready, you felt good.
Then you looked into the crowd and saw Art, and everything went to shit. Your mind was clouded, you felt sick, you felt betrayed. Seeing him at school was one thing, that was controlled, you knew you’d see him at school. Seeing him here? Uncontrolled, unknown, and unfair.
You set your sights on the ball. The match started.
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“That was some real tennis!” Your coach shouted, ecstatic at your win. The match was hard fought but she didn’t exactly have a chance, not when you were imagining the ball as Art’s face.
“Thanks,” you smiled, though there was no happiness behind it, no pride in your win. Art walked onto the court behind him, an apologetic smile on his face. Art had noticed your changing habits in recent weeks as he tried to win you back. You were more irritable, less ‘there’, you ate less, you trained more, you stopped doing some of the things you actually enjoyed, like the literature class you just sat in on every Tuesday afternoon, or the cat nursery you used to volunteer at.
But today, today he had a plan. He would speak to you, tell you he loved you and that he was sorry, then let you go. It’s what you deserved. You deserved someone who didn’t pick anyone else over you. You deserved someone as smart as you. You deserved someone as beautiful as you. You deserved someone as kind as you. You deserved someone as caring as you. You deserved an equal. Art did not see himself as equal to you.
“That was amazing,” he smiled at you, walking onto the court. “You’re incredible.”
Your face fell. You didn’t want him to think your tennis was ‘incredible’, you wanted him to think you were incredible. “Thank you.”
“Can we talk?” He asked, itching the back of his neck and looking down.
“Sure,” you shrugged. All your anger had left the second you shut the door in his face. It was replaced by hurt and sadness. Feeling like you’re not your boyfriend’s priority is awful. Knowing who his priority actually is was worse.
Art took your hand tentatively, and led you to the room you’d sat in before the match. He sat on a stack of boxes as you leant against the door beside him. His hand in yours made both of you reminiscent, electrified, and sad, all at the same time. His soft hands felt comfortable, familiar, right.
Your hand in his felt blasphemous. You were so… perfect, he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve this conservation, he didn’t deserve a moment of your time, yet you gave him it. He didn’t want to ruin it,
There was a long moment of silence.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he held your hand. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s ok Art, people break up-”
“We don’t. We shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have let it happen, I love you too much for that,” he sniffled and your heart broke in two. Your boy, your sweet, kind Art was crying.
“I’m such an idiot,” he whispered, looking down at the ground. He was trying to keep it together, but he’d never been good at hiding things when it came to you. Your thumb brushed back and forth on his skin, calming him. It made him cry all the harder, you were so caring, he’d hurt you so much, so deeply. And yet, you showed him a kindness he didn’t believe he deserved. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”
“Art it just wasn’t working,” you sighed. “It’s alright. It’s no one’s fault.”
“It’s my fault,” He looked up at you with red-rimmed eyes, tears spilling from them. You took your hand and cupped his cheek, wiping them away. He leaned into your touch as if he'd missed it for an eternity. As if he’d missed you for an eternity. Your hand on his cheek burned straight to his heart. Subconsciously he tried to commit the feeling to memory, in case this was the last time. “It’s all my fault.”
“You can’t beat yourself up about it. What we had was so good for so long. It just… there was too much going on, something had to give,” You bit your bottom lip to try and stop the tears falling from your eyes. The devastated expression on his face broke you. “I love you so much Art, but I’m hurt. So are you. You’ll be alright.”
Art looked at you again and he started sobbing into your side, wrapping his arms around your waist. You looked up, attempting to preserve your composure. “I’m so sorry,” he cried into your side. “I love you so much. I love you so, so much.”
“I love you too much,” you croaked out. “You’re such a good person.”
That made Art cry harder. You still thought he was a good person after he hurt you. You still thought he deserved your love. You still loved him. You were comforting him, telling him it wasn’t his fault. It was all his fault. He was horrible to you, he was a bad boyfriend.
“I miss you,” you whispered and his heart stopped. His plan was going awfully. You were too kind, too good for him. You should’ve hated him, yet you didn’t.
“I miss you too,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your hip.
“This sucks,” you sadly chuckled as you allowed the tears to roll down your face.
“It does,” he whispered against you. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s alright Art. We’re still friends, we’ll take care of each other, yeah?” You looked down at him and made eye contact.
“Promise?” He whispered, holding his pinky finger up.
“Promise,” You whispered, interlocking your fingers. “I’m always here for you.”
“I love you,” he stood up beside you, closer than he probably should’ve been. His hands wrapped around your waist and out of pure instinct, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. He tasted like salty tears. You wiped his face again, a sad smile on your face.
“We’re here for each other,” you swore.
“Always.”
You opened the door behind you and walked out, making it the second hardest thing you’d even done, right after breaking up with him.
He fell back into his seat, crying silently into his hands, chest heaving, eyes spilling, throat drying.
He just made it 1000 times worse for himself, and you.
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art donaldson masterlist :)
navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)
#art donaldson#art donaldson x reader#challengers#art challenge#zendaya#zenday coleman#josh oconnor#mike faist x reader#mike faist#x reader#x you angst#x you#x you fluff#fem reader#x gn reader#x female reader#reader insert#fluff#angst
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friend or foe?
pairing: dodge mason x fem!reader
summary: dodge mason has always had a hard time trusting people, but then he found you, and you made his life a little easier to get by. however, after becoming entangled with carp's wicked game of panic, he's starting to doubt your loyalty when you gain more points than him during a challenge.
—or: dodge mason is convinced you’re a traitor after you knock him off the top three
word count: 1.8k+
warnings: SMUT 17+, p in v, unprotected sex, slightly public sex (in a closet at a party), mean!dodge... but let’s be so fr he'd do anything to win panic, dom dodge, no use of y/n, manipulative tactics, situationships, summer hookups, kinda friends with benefits (?)
a/n: the lack of dodge mason fics is unsettling and i knew i had to take one for the team and wrote this short fic i hope yall enjoy!
Dodge Mason is convinced you're working against him.
In Panic, alliances were unspoken but understood. The game didn't officially recognize teams, but if you wanted to make it far, a little bit of teamwork never hurt anybody. Dodge thought the two of you had that kind of alliance. It was in the stolen glances you shared across the room, each one lingering just a heartbeat longer than necessary. There was a silent communication in the way your eyes would meet and hold, speaking volumes without a single word.
When you suggested he jump from a higher point on the cliff, promising more points, he believed you. And when he whispered the answers to the riddles hidden around Carp, he trusted that you wouldn't use them against him. The time you shoved him out of the way just before he could step onto one of Spurlock's bear traps—saving him from a potentially crippling injury—solidified his belief that you had each other's backs. The memory of the rusted metal teeth, camouflaged under layers of dirt, was a grim reminder of how close he had come to disaster. He owes you his leg, maybe even his life, this summer.
But gratitude turned bitter when you emerged from the farm with triple the items he had managed to gather. The look of triumph on your face as you snapped your haul with photos, pulling yourself from seventh place to the top three, was a knife in his back. Each item you produced knocked him, and the others, further down the rankings.
Dodge felt his blood run hot the next day as you walked with a noticeable pep in your step, grinning from ear to ear. The pride radiating from you was like salt in a wound. As if to make matters worse, Dodge's anger simmered when he spotted you giggling on a lawn chair with Ray Hall at your side during the Players' Ball.
You hold a plastic cup loosely in your hand, leaning closer to Ray to hear him over the music. Your short dress rides up as you lean in, but you don't seem to mind, bursting into another fit of giggles and playfully smacking his arm. Ray watches you with a sick grin, clearly enjoying your attention.
Dodge frowns. He had thought you were better than falling for Ray Hall's desperate antics. Seeing the two of you trade whispers and giggles like middle schoolers sharing secrets only confirms his suspicions. After the Walk the Plank challenge, he knew Ray wanted him to fail and had done everything possible to ensure Dodge wouldn't win.
He had told you about it, but you had brushed it off. "You're overthinking it, Dodge," you had said. You swore that Ray was just trying to mess with his head, not that he actually wanted him to get hurt. But now, watching you laugh with Ray, grinning about your position in the top three, Dodge could no longer see you as a friend or an ally. You were an opponent. You were against him now. He's sure of it.
Dodge replayed the events in his mind, trying to pinpoint where things had gone wrong. Had he misread the situation? Were you playing him the whole time? The anger and confusion twisted inside him, morphing into a resolve.
The game is ruthless, and so are you, it seems.
"Uh oh, trouble in paradise?" Natalie slumps against his shoulder, the contents of her cup nearly spilling. Drunk as she is, she tries not to laugh when she spots you with Ray. "She's probably just trying to butter him up for Heather."
"Right," Dodge mutters, his eyes never leaving you.
"She's too sweet for Ray. He's all rough edges." Natalie frowns and steps away from Dodge, barely holding herself up. "I'm gonna go look for Heather," she says, but before she leaves, she pats Dodge on the back and leans close to whisper, "If you really think she's double-crossing you, remember: keep your friends close, enemies closer."
And close he kept you.
Chest pressed to your back, his arm circles your waist, free hand gripping your neck and chin, keeping your head up so it falls back against his shoulder. You try to hold onto something, reaching for the walls of the small closet as Dodge fucks you from behind to the muffled sounds of music and chatter from the other side of the door.
His hands had pushed up the ends of your dress, letting it sit high up on your stomach, your panties lost somewhere in the heated moment where his lips had once been pressed against your own, lipstick smudged on his mouth and your own.
You're making noises that only spur him on; broken moans and cries and whimpers. Breathy praises of, "so good," and "yes, just like that," or "please, don't stop," and his favourite was your whisper of his name. "Dodge," where you were so gone that you couldn't think of anything else to say but his name. "Dodge, fuckfuck- Dodge. Mason. Fuck."
It makes him wonder, almost wistfully, what it would be like if neither of you had joined Panic. He imagines nights spent in the quiet intimacy of just the two of you, free from the game's pressures. Every morning, he'd wake up with you by his side, your presence a comforting constant. Each second of summer would be yours to share.
Before Panic, there had always been something unspoken between you, a spark that ignited in stolen moments. Hidden kisses behind the diner where he worked felt like secret treasures, each one a promise of something more. The lingering touches when you'd pass him a pen in class sent shivers down his spine, a silent communication of desire. He had wanted you for so long, and he knew you felt the same. It was in the way your eyes would lock onto his, a shared understanding that needed no words.
While Dodge had his own reasons for taking Panic so seriously, he couldn't fathom why you would cross him the way you did. The betrayal cut deep, not just because of the game but because it was you. Maybe you enjoyed watching his heart crumble, deriving some twisted satisfaction from his pain. The thought tormented him, feeding his growing resentment and confusion. How could something that once felt so right go so terribly wrong?
"Fuck, Dodge-"
Your hands find a home in his hair, unable to find anything else to stabilize yourself with. His hand on your neck slides down from your collarbone to your chest and rests on your breast, fingers teasing your nipple through the fabric of your dress, the ghost of his touch has you shuddering.
You turn your head and try to kiss him, but he dodges it and readjusts his grip on you, loosening his arm around your waist so his hand could trail further down to find your clit. The rough pad of his finger brushes over it a few times, eliciting whimpers from you before he settles for simply resting his finger on your clit. With each thrust, your hips are jostled against his finger just enough to send sparks of electricity shooting through your veins.
He pushes into you a little rougher, a little faster and holds onto you harder, hard enough that his hands will leave marks on your skin when he brings one of them back to your neck, squeezing. Dodge leans down to bite your shoulder so he can hold back his moans, shutting his eyes tightly so he can only focus on the way your walls are tight and wet around his cock, sucking him in with each thrust, pulsing as you creep to your orgasm and he works himself to his own.
"Dodge," you huff, "I- oh, oh,"
Dodge wonders if you know that he knows about your alliance with Ray. He wonders if it's true at all or if he's made it all up in his head and is causing himself to spiral with Natalie telling him things like the devil on his shoulder.
"You-" he groans out, too far gone to string together a coherent sentence, a bit afraid that if he spoke he'd only call you a traitor and a liar. "You feel so good, baby."
You try kissing him again, but he doesn't let you, your lips meeting the shell of his ear as he bites onto your shoulder again. You pout, tugging his hair once before dropping your hands to hold his arms.
"Please, Dodge." You whine, "Kiss me, please, I-" A moan causes you to stutter, "I need it- you so bad, please."
Then, there’s a savage thrust of his hips, one that has both of you crying out in surprise and pleasure: he freezes buried to the hilt inside you. "Yeah?"
"Yes, please," you gasp.
"Just how you need Ray, right?"
You falter, "Wha-what?"
"You heard me."
Dodge holds you by the hips, pulling his arms from your grasp and starts to pound into you again like a petty whore, as if you owe it to him to have your night ruined and his a little better as he chases his orgasm with your tight cunt.
And when it comes, his teeth skin into the skin of your shoulder again, muffled moans slipping past his lips, and he digs his fingernails into your sides, letting your unsatisfied whimpers coax him through it. Dodge keeps rolling his hips against your ass in shallow movements for a few seconds. His mouth is occupied with sucking bruises into your shoulder, up your neck and across your throat: he’s mumbling something incoherent, slurring words of "traitor," and "trusted you" into your skin. Each fresh bruise has you gasping for his name.
He stuffs his cock back into his pants, even tugs the ends of your dress back down to your thighs for your own sake, or maybe it's to embarrass you further. Dodge doesn't wipe your lipstick from his mouth before he presses his lips against your cheek, ignoring the way you weakly say his name, refusing to let you explain yourself.
He pulls away and leaves, slamming the door behind him.
Dodge never realizes that he should've heard you out until Heather Nill rushes up to his search of you, breathless and panicked even through the drunken gaze in her eyes. "Ray's lookin' for her. Nothing good."
Heather explains that Ray is on the hunt for you, furious after discovering that you had given him false information about someone who supposedly had intel on future challenges. The lie had cost Ray twelve points, getting him caught by a judge and knocking him out of the top three, bringing Dodge back up, his name right under yours.
He almost turns back, to find you in the darkness of some forgotten corner, where he imagines you, broken and tear-streaked. But the resurgence of himself in the top ranks fuels a different fire within Dodge, one that drowns out the empathy he feels for you. This time, when the next challenge looms, he can't afford any more distractions—not from Ray, Natalie, or even you.
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#i hope u guys understand this vision#like dodge is lowkey an ass#but i love his ass#loba try not to write plot with smut challenge#mike faist#panic show#panic tv show#panic#dodge mason x reader#dodge mason#dodge mason angst#dodge mason smut#mike faist x reader#panic x reader#x reader#challengers x reader#art donaldson#dodge’s cowboy hat#panic (2021)
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We’ll Keep Trying
pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader
tags: husband!artdonaldson, angst, domestic, married life, failed pregnancy
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You sat there defeated.
The negative pregnancy test seemed to mock you and your dream of starting a family. With a heavy sigh you tossed the plastic wand into the bin.
You wanted this so bad, not only for yourself but for Art as well. He finally slowed down his career, retiring from playing competitively, focusing on coaching and commentating on a couple of sports channels. The time seemed right. You both discussed it and were ready.
You’ve waited so long for this moment. The time to finally get pregnant and have a baby with the love of your life. Especially after supporting his career. for the better part of a decade. Joining him on tour when you were able to, never missing a game, eating the same diet as him in solidarity, working out together…you did everything a good wife was supposed to do.
God, you’ve waited enough and now that the time is right, your body won’t cooperate.
It had been months of constant disappointments for the both of you. One negative test after the other, one cycle after the other. Sex wasn’t even fun anymore. It was a job that had to be done in a specific window.
You missed the spontaneity. Having Art bend you over the kitchen counter, or over the dining table, or a chair or even a balcony railing. He loved bending you over anywhere he could but now, most of the time, sex consists of laying on your back with your legs raised
It’s still good. Art has always been generous with your pleasure but you miss the fun. The hair pulling, the ass smacking, the choking, the public rendezvous.
“Negative,” you announced as you walked into the primary bedroom. “Again.”
He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. His biceps bulged from the sleeves of his gray shirt. His brown eyes were filled with concern but you still saw the disappointment flash through them.
“We’ll keep trying,” he promised, his tone determined. “It’ll happen.”
You smile sadly, climbing into bed with a heavy heart. “I don’t think I can keep doing this,” you admitted.
Art crossed the room and sat beside you on the edge of the bed, his presence a reassuring anchor in your turmoil. He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently.
"I know it's hard, sweetheart," he said softly. "But we’re in this together. Remember that."
You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. "I just feel so...tired. Like I'm failing you."
He lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You're not failing me. This isn't your fault. We have to believe it will happen when the time is right."
You took a deep breath, trying to draw strength from his words. "What if it never happens, Art? What then?"
"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it," he replied, brushing a tear from your cheek. "For now, we’ll keep trying naturally. Then we can explore every option. IVF, adoption—whatever it takes. We'll be parents someday."
His unwavering support warmed you, easing a bit of the heaviness in your chest. "Thank you," you whispered.
He leaned in, kissing your forehead tenderly. "We'll get through this. Together."
#art donaldson#art donaldson x reader#fem reader#reader#drabble#challengers fic#challengers fanfiction#mike faist#married art donaldson#angst#i had a dream with art donaldson and I woke up upset#enjoy i guess?
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peace
pairings . art donaldson x fem!reader
cw . pegging, use of “mama”, loud art
a/n . pegging lover art endgame. cockslut art endgame. also this has a specific audience (one of my favs.) and if it doesn’t reach said audience somehow someway ill cry
the suggestion came insecurely, yet impulsively. it was a quick, small little suggestion that forced itself off your tongue but it was a thought that’d plagued your fantasies for weeks.
“wh- what?” art stuttered out, he wasn’t sure if he heard you right, but he also wasn’t sure if he misheard you, if so what.
you clear your throat, blinking a few times as you stared down at your intertwined legs. you ask louder, making eye contact this time.
that was 40 minutes ago. art’s chest heaved up and down with every nervous huff he took, squirming lightly as he was forced down, his head pushed against the flush pillows. his back was arched, ass stuck up in the air as you ran your hands up and down his back, soothing his nerves. light kisses were pressed against his back as lubed fingers prodded his unused hole. you pushed them in slowly, still kissing him and soothing his soft skin as he mewled and whined.
you fingers stilled, small hickeys sucked into his skin as you let him adjust. eventually, art started squirming again and that was your sign to pull out, then push back in. art bit the pillow beneath him, holding back his whimpers.
a slow and steady pace was set, his ass gently bouncing back against your fingers as you curl them, earning a loud moan from the boy. you giggle, pressing soft kisses to the hilt of his ass, pulling your fingers out of him gently. he whines, wriggling and hole begging to clench around something that was no longer there. his poor tip ached, precum dripping down onto the sheets, staining it. art whined and cried, begging for you to touch him again, the loss of your touch was torturous.
he turns to look at you, to cry out for you but is met with a soft smile splayed across your face as you carefully coat a purple strap on wrapped around your waist. it was of average size and average girth, but it made art’s palms sweat and a pit build in his stomach.
you position yourself behind art, guiding his arch down more and pressing the tip against his ass. his fingers curl into the sheets and his face hides in the pillow as he prepares himself. the tip prods and pushes at his hole, you watching in awe as inch by inch, art swallows your strap. it’s beautiful, everything about this was absolutely beautiful. the sweat glistening in droplets off his back, his ass perfectly arched to meet your hips. his pants and whines are music to your ears, and the way he manually soothes his nerves paint a smile across your lips.
your hand finds the hilt of his ass, slowly pulling out then pushing back in. his moans bounce off the walls and ring in your ears, sending a pulse to your pussy. you slowly find your pace, bouncing your hips against his ass and pushing against his cock. he cries, moaning pornographically and pushing back to meet your thrusts. his tip leaks and his cock bounces, his thighs begging to close. he begs and begs, crying for more and the bliss of release.
his stomach retracts and his legs tremble, thrusts getting sloppy against your hips. he babbles, variations of “ ‘m gonna cum mama, please let me cum” you stop your thrusts, tapping his ass and ordering him to flip over, you wanna watch him cum. he turns on his back, whining at the struggle. he smiles at you as you peck his lips, kissing down his chin.
you smile into his skin, kissing his neck and simultaneously pushing back into his hole. art gasps, back arching as your hands find his hips. you suck hickeys into his neck, returning to your pace. he cries, groaning loudly as your stomach rubbed against his neglected cock. it bounces, hitting against both your chests and once you hit a certain spot deep inside him, spills and shoots sticky ropes over your skin. you coo, talking him through his orgasm as he mewls and cries.
you still, pulling out slowly and letting him cling to you and fall on your chest. he spills thank yous and i love yous until hw drifts off to sleep, chest still heaving up and down, heart rapidly beating, and sweat still pooling on his soft skin, but he is at peace.
#— art !#icarus if u see this this was for u queen#art donaldson#mike faist#challengers#art donaldson smut#art donaldson fluff#art donaldson angst#patrick zweig smut#patrick zweig#josh o'connor#zendaya#tashi duncan#tashi donaldson
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An Unexpected Home
Pairing: Riff x OC
Summary: Grace grapples with her brother’s estrangement from their family.
*Disclaimer: Thank you to those of you who have read the preface for “An Unexpected Home.” It has been wonderful to immerse myself in writing again and I am grateful to be a part of such an encouraging community. I promise there will be more interactions between Riff and Grace in the next chapter:)
Chapter 1
I glance down at my now dust-covered denim shorts and hurriedly brush them off, mentally cursing myself for not exercising more care when removing the books from the shelf. I release a heavy sigh and stand up before taking the books to the counter to continue conducting inventory. Although I love my job at the library, inventory is one aspect of the job I dread as a result of its mundane nature. Nevertheless, I relish being surrounded by a sea of books, a cornucopia of captivating stories and accounts of individuals’ lives that are anything but tedious. Within these books, I seek to escape and when my duties are complete, I often slink to the bowels of the library and immerse myself in their tantalizing pages. Unfortunately, today is strictly devoted to documenting the books currently residing in the library along with those that have yet to return to their respective shelves.
“How’s it going, Grace?” asks Brenda, the main librarian, as she maneuvers behind me to avoid a collision.
“I’ve made some progress and decorated myself with dust in the process,” I reply while slightly chuckling.
“It’s a sin some of these books haven’t been touched in ages. Then again, the joy of reading seems to be absent these days; it’s merely a chore for some people.”
I mull over Brenda’s words and nod in agreement. “I can’t imagine a life without reading…without inspiration.”
“Well, when you become a famous writer and are questioned about your origins, perhaps you’ll reflect on this library with fondness.” Brenda smiles warmly and winks at me.
“I already have fondness for this place,” I state, earning a broader grin from Brenda.
An older gentleman approaches the desk and Brenda scurries towards the other side, prepared to assist him. While Brenda is occupied, I glance at the large clock hanging above the entrance and take note of the time: 2:17. I have less than two hours until I can return home and indulge myself in my writing. For the next two hours, a few visitors ask me questions and Brenda checks in with me regarding my documentation of the inventory. Before I leave, I select two books I’ve had my eye on and check them out, intending to examine them more closely once I’m home. I quickly wave to Brenda on my way out and she returns the gesture while engaged in an animated conversation concerning a book she finished reading only days ago.
The sunshine tickles my skin as soon as I make it outside. The beginning days of June offer warmth and radiance without the inescapable, overwhelming rays. I decide to take the longer route home today, reasoning that perhaps the outside world will offer ideas I can incorporate into my writing. The sun casts a remarkable light on everything in its path, causing cars to appear more vivid than they really are and the pavement to sparkle, inviting travelers to walk on it as if nothing can dull its shine. I make efforts to maneuver around giddy children on the sidewalk who are engrossed in imaginative games. Once I’ve passed them, I peer over my shoulder and a slow smile spreads across my face as I recall brief moments of my own childhood in which I experienced similar happiness. Two middle-aged women rest on a front stoop with a glass of lemonade in their hands, looking refreshed, although I’m unable to determine whether this feeling is a result of the beverage or their conversation.
Despite the harsher realities of the neighborhood in which I reside, the current sights provide a reprieve and leave me feeling lighter. However, this feeling is fleeting as the local basketball court comes into view and I spot the Jets involved in a rowdy game. I begin to approach the court, rolling my shoulders and straightening my posture in the process. It’s not that I’m intimidated by the Jets; I’ve known them for years. Rather, it’s that despite them knowing me for the same duration, they continue to treat me as one would a parasite. Even though Balkan is a member of the Jets, him being my older brother does not reduce the group’s ill feelings towards me. In fact, Balkan encourages the mocking, name-calling, and negativity with which I’m bombarded on a regular basis. I linger on the outskirts of the court, observing the Jets play their game, a game they’ve loved since their initial days of friendship. Within seconds, I spot Balkan and he swiftly passes the ball to A-Rab who, despite his small stature, is able to seamlessly weave between his fellow Jets and breezily shoot the ball directly into the net. Upon its successful landing, A-Rab showcases a cocky grin while nodding at Balkan for affirmation.
While propped up against the chain-link fence with my arms folded, Ice takes note of my displeased expression. “Speechless, huh? A-Rab’s skills tend to leave a lotta women like that,” Ice remarks, chortling as the words leave his mouth.
“Something tells me there’s another reason for women’s silence when it comes to A-Rab,” I say coolly.
“What are you doin’ here anyway? No friends of your own?” asks Numbers, earning laughs from a few other members.
“Haven’t you heard?” asks Balkan. “All her friends are in those damn books of hers.” My brother smirks at me and I return his smirk with an icy smile of my own, determined not to allow such remarks to vex me.
“Alright, alright, that’s enough, boys,” a voice cuts in through the snickering and I immediately know who is having mercy on me. Riff, the leader of the Jets, steps forward, his lanky, yet muscular figure casting a long shadow on the blacktop. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead and his light brown hair slightly falls in his face, though he quickly removes it so that it’s not shielding his eyes. He holds the basketball under his arm while his unoccupied one rests its hand on his hip, maintaining eye contact with me. I hold his gaze, yet remain quiet, aware of the numerous pairs of eyes now focusing on me.
*Flashback to ten years ago
“You’re bein’ ridiculous. Just go in and get it over with,” Balkan urges me.
Countless students move around me, dodging others in their path, conversing eagerly with their friends, and carrying a handful of books. Nevertheless, I remain frozen on the sidewalk, paralyzed with fear as I gawk at the massive building in front of me.
“Balkan!” A familiar voice tugs me out of my thoughts and both Balkan’s and my head snap in the direction of this voice. A broad grin sweeps across Balkan’s face the instant his eyes land on Riff. Conversely, I remain motionless, the fear of my first day of middle school too great to be lessened by Riff’s presence. Although Balkan and Riff are now beginning high school, Mom instructed Balkan to escort me to the middle school and he was less than thrilled to fulfill this role.
Balkan and Riff make small talk with each other while sharp laughter rings in my ears, emanating from a group of girls appearing slightly older than me as they walk by. I grow more self-conscious when I realize their laughter is targeted at my ensemble, frayed, pink denim shorts with rhinestones littered across the pockets. I avert my gaze and duck my head in shame, suddenly longing to return home and change my outfit.
“Are ya goin’ in or not? I don’t have all day, Grace,” Balkan huffs, his annoyance apparent.
“How about I catch up with ya, Balkan?” Riff suggests.
Balkan shoots him a quizzical look and waits for an explanation before accepting Riff’s idea.
“I’ll make sure Grace gets in alright and you can save me a seat in homeroom,” Riff offers casually.
Balkan hesitates momentarily before nodding and heading in the opposite direction without so much as a wave goodbye.
I bite my lip as I stand beside Riff and secretly hope something dramatic will occur that will impede my access to the school, but even I’m not naïve enough to believe such a miracle could ever transpire…at least not for someone like me.
“A tad nervous, huh?” Riff prompts and when I face him, I don’t detect any hint of humor in his tone or his face. Instead, he looks sympathetic and somehow, this eases my sense of impending doom.
“It’s just…I’m worried what middle school’s going to be like…I’ve heard stories from you and Balkan,” I mumble.
Riff extends his hands and places them upon my rigid shoulders, positioning me so that I’m now facing him. “Look at me, Gracie girl,” Riff says gently. A small smile creeps across my face at the use of this endearing nickname, one he gave to me not long after we met and it’s remained beloved ever since. “Balkan and me…we’re a different breed. When it comes ta trouble, we’re like magnets: we attract it. We also happen to create it. But you? You’re nothin’ like us. You’re extremely smart and with that smile, kid, you’ll have plenty of friends in no time.” I reflect on his words and while I don’t particularly believe them, I’m touched Riff said them to me in the first place. I muster a halfhearted smile and nod my head to showcase my acknowledgement of Riff’s words.
“Thanks, Riff,” I say sincerely.
“Anytime, Gracie girl.” He grins once more before turning around to begin his jaunt to the high school.
I exhale prior to slowly inching towards the entrance. Once I’m only mere inches from the propped open double doors, I look behind me only to find Riff lingering by the iron fence, his gaze fixated on me. He gives me a subtle nod and I return the gesture before he walks away and I’m left to my own devices. Here we go…
*Present Day
Numbers hands Riff a rag which he snatches and wipes across his forehead, capturing the sweat that gathered there from their rigorous game of basketball. Nevertheless, this distraction does not prevent him from continuing to lock eyes with mine.
“I’m surprised ya came down to see us. I know how you get when it comes to your books,” Riff states, an amused expression gracing his face.
“My shift at the library was over, so I decided to take a leisurely walk on my way home. Contrary to popular belief, I occasionally have a desire to take part in the real world,” I answer, glaring pointedly at Balkan, who only rolls his eyes in response.
Riff purses his lips and slowly nods, yet his eyes don’t stray from mine. “The boys and I were about ta head ta Doc’s. You interested?”
“Only to watch Balkan and Tat endlessly make out while the rest of you guys act like barbarians? It’s tempting, but I’ll have to decline your offer.”
“Your loss,” Riff says breezily, unaffected by my decision. “Let’s go, boys.” Riff’s command results in all the Jets following him to their next destination, some shaking their heads at me and others completely ignoring me as they frequently do. I stand there and watch them gradually shrink in the distance, but just as I’m prepared to turn around, an abrupt squeal captures my attention. Riff’s longtime girlfriend, Graziella (Grazi for short), enthusiastically leaps into his arms and he catches her despite the lack of warning. They engage in a passionate kiss and I suddenly feel uncomfortable for observing them in such an intimate moment. I shake my head to wake myself from whatever daze I’ve entered and briskly walk towards my family’s apartment.
When I arrive home, the place is quiet and I expect it to be as Mom is not released from the office until 5:00. She’s been a receptionist at a dentist’s office for five years now and it’s the most steady and well-paying job she’s ever had. Although she waitressed for several years after Dad left us, it became too much and hampered opportunities to be with Balkan and me. Consequently, Mom took it upon herself to take a typing class and her proficiency in this skill led to her landing a receptionist job, one that enables her to pay the bills and provide for the three of us. Although she’s neither asked nor hinted at me getting a job to aid with our finances, I felt it was only right to do so, especially considering the ways she’s made something of our lives that were originally left in shambles at the hands of my selfish father. While I presented my job at the library to my mom as an additional financial source, I intentionally neglected to mention that it also nourished my hunger for books. I almost felt guilty, believing that this other benefit detracted from helping Mom. However, as time progressed, I didn’t need to be forthcoming about why I stayed on at the library because Mom recognized its effect on me. Even Balkan, who’s often completely clueless when it comes to anything pertaining to me, took notice of my buoyant mood; of course, he regarded it as pathetic that books could have such an impact.
I place my things on my bed and scan my bookshelf for my journal, the one in which I document ideas and thoughts as well as quotes from books I’ve read that bewitch me. I grab the journal and flip it open to the page that is currently marked by a satin string while I settle comfortably on my bed. While jotting down my thoughts, my mind wanders to my future, a place I find it wanting to travel to nearly every day. I never attended college because there simply wasn’t any money to do so and although I’ve attempted to make peace with what was lost, I can’t help but contemplate what could have been for me had I been given the opportunity to pursue more for myself. Mom and I have never had an actual exchange in which we discussed higher education, but I know she’s cognizant of my disappointment over not being able to go and, because of this, I don’t dare mention it. She’s contended with enough in her lifetime and it would be selfish of me to harp on something such as this. Plus, I try to remind myself that successful individuals don’t necessarily have to attend college to create promising futures for themselves; however, I know it can only help as opposed to ever hindering anyone. As much as I yearn to spread my metaphorical wings and make something of myself, visions of my suffering family infiltrate my troubled mind. Mom would never openly discourage me from leaving, from seeking substantial opportunities, but I know a part of her would crumble without me. She relies on me for conversation and closeness because Balkan is as distant as one can get and it’s been like that seventeen long years.
My pen is now hovering above the journal page and my inclination to write has subsided. My eyes become heavy and I move the small book aside to make room for my head on the bed. Before long, I drift off to sleep and my dreams invite me into another world, one in which I’m discovered as a burgeoning writer, one in which Mom’s joy is palpable, and, best of all, one in which Balkan can look at me without disdain.
When I’m eventually woken from my brief slumber by the sound of the door closing, I realize my mom must be home from work. I blink a few times in an effort to regain my senses and remove myself from a disoriented state. As I sit up, I notice the stark light pouring into my bedroom window and sigh contentedly. The longer duration of daylight is my favorite aspect of summer, thereby making it my favorite season. A flurry of sounds from the kitchen signal Mom is preparing to make dinner, so with a final look towards my bedroom window, I stand up and go out to assist her.
It’s no secret that Mom’s days are wearing, yet this fact does not impede her ability to offer a loving smile when I step foot into the kitchen. “Hi, Grace.” She pecks me on the cheek and rubs my shoulder as she glides past me to take an item out of the freezer. “How did things go at the library today?”
I situate myself at the counter so I’m not in her way. “It was a standard day. I completed a majority of the inventory, so hopefully I’ll have more time tomorrow to scour the shelves for some books I’ve been itching to read.” Mom nods in confirmation and shoots me a placid smile. “How was your day, Mom?”
Mom shrugs her shoulders before answering my question. “It was fine overall. Someone came in today, complaining that she needed her crown repaired. When I explained that Dr. Reed had a booked day, she was less than pleased and while there were some heated words, I was eventually able to resolve things by booking her the first appointment tomorrow.” Mom shakes her head as if she’s trying to rid her mind of this distressing event.
Once dinner is ready, I help Mom by setting the table and placing the food on it. We’re about fifteen minutes into dinner when the front door opens and Balkan saunters through it, walking past us and heading in the direction of his room. “Nice to see you, too, honey!” Mom calls out, but makes no attempt to interact with him further as he closes the door behind him. She returns her focus to her half empty plate and, even though she doesn’t comment on it, it’s evident his absence at the dinner table bothers her. Opportunities for us to gather as a family are already limited during the week and ever since Dad left, Mom did her best to cultivate a sense of connectedness at dinner in order to maintain some sense of normalcy. However, Balkan never viewed these dinners with the same value and often makes himself scarce during this time. On the rare occasions he does join us at dinner, he utters a total of ten words and is clearly miserable.
After clearing the table and washing the dishes, I practically stomp to Balkan’s room while Mom settles on the couch and opens to where she left off in her book. I knock on Balkan’s bedroom door several times before he finally opens it, a disgruntled expression coating his face. “What?” he asks. “May I come in?” I request in a polite tone, taking into account the close quarters of the apartment and that it isn’t difficult for Mom to hear every word exchanged between us. “I guess,” he says in a sour tone and I sweep by him, shutting the door.
I release a frustrated sigh and momentarily shut my eyes before launching into my tirade. “What is wrong with you?” I ask in a hushed, but no less exasperated voice. “Mom has cut you so much slack over the years and the one thing she asks is that we have dinner as a family, Balkan. Are you so self-absorbed that you can’t even comply with that?”
Balkan chuckles in a smug manner which only fuels the anger within me. “What’s the point, Grace? It’s all pretend. We ain’t a family, much less a happy one. I’m not interested in participatin’ in a charade and that’s exactly what all that is. So if that’s what you wanna do, be my guest. I’m not gonna stop you, so don’t stop me.” His voice hardens with this last statement and we engage in a stare-off, neither of us willing to back down from our stance.
“I’m trying to help you, Balkan. I know it may be hard for you to grasp, but not everyone is out to get you.”
“And I know this may be hard for you to grasp, but I don’t want your help,” Balkan replies in any icy tone.
My jaw tightens and I cross my arms, vexed that my brother is unwilling to be receptive to anything I say. I scoff while shaking my head and roughly open the door before storming into my own bedroom. I lay down and face the wall, disappointed that Balkan is opposed to any form of reason. When I close my eyes in a desperate attempt to conjure up my previous dream, the one in which Balkan regards me as an actual human being, it’s futile because the images are nowhere to be found. If I can’t even access this vision in my dreams, where am I to turn?
@inkandpen22 @riffheartsgraziella @loverisi @westsidelegendary @sondheim1fan @ilovey0us0 @grxceordxr @dellaspinstales @jillo0315 @drowninginaseaofbooks @theforgottenmcrmy @shitemylife @disguisedbassethound @mixed-theater-faisty-tings @b-bella9 @riffaist
#west side story#west side story 2021#west side story fanfic#riff x oc#angst#romance#slow burn#mike faist
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may i request a dodge piece?
The reader (he/him) helps dodge through a bad ainxiety/panic attack ? Idk why i asked this, i just like angsty stuff :D
hi! first of all, thank you for requesting! this request really sounds like this one right here (i'm right here) that i already did. if i believe right, the reader has no pronouns stated and it is about the reader having a panic attack. due to being burned out of writing dodge content and most importantly, the request already being very similar to one that has been alreayd done, i won't write another one, but thank you so much for requesting!! hope you like it.
#dodge mason fanfiction#dodge mason fic#dodge mason panic#dodge mason x reader#writing#my writing#answering anon#anon response#mike faist#angst#sorry anon#thanks anon
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a/n: literally just realized i’ve been spitting out fanfics/blurbs for the past year and a half and you guys haven’t really gotten to know me… so here we go!
~
hello! i am the writer of this blog! you can call me ro (she/her). i’m bisexual!I love 5SOS (Ashton girls RISE), Big Time Rush (where my Kendall girls at), and musical theater (specifically for Mike Faist but we’re not gonna talk about it). I love Formula One too, hence my username.
i’d love to talk to you guys so send me a question/hello in the ask link!
requests are still open if you’d like a specific fic idea!
also, i found this from @nottheweirdest, and thought I would give it a go! i modified some questions to fit my blog hehe
~
Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask
😅 What’s a story or scene you’ve created that you’re embarrassed exists?
literally EVERYTHING. most def my pete davidson after a fight blurb tho. pretty cringe.
🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put a smile on your face?
when person a is obviously very sad/depressed for no reason at all and person b just does a bunch of random shit just to see person a smile. and when they do person b is so elated that they’re running around/talking to the dog about how they got person a to smile like person a just said yes to their marriage proposal
Or when person a is depressed/sad and person b does a bunch of soft things just to see person a relax for a split second. (bear hugs, remembering the small things, carrying them bridal style to their bedroom)
brb gonna go cry.
🤡 What’s a line, scene, or exchange you’ve written that made you laugh?
omg in my bo burnham blurb where the reader says “i think the gods are telling us to stop being so lovey-dovey”... stOP pLEasE whAT are you doINGGGG
😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?
not yet… but there will be *cough ashton irwin* cough*
✍🏼 Do you have a beta reader?
nope! all me :)
🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feelings, etc.
probably angst
🎢Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?
def. done w/ ashton irwin..still working on part 2 but oof
✨Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it.
tbh i love my poly!5sos stuff. it’s so super fun to write
💋First kiss fics. Love em or hate em?
neither, really. they just sort of annoy me lol
🎶Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?
nope!I work in complete silence at 3 in the morning
🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?
google docs on my school chromebook 😬😬 god help me.
❗️Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?
SO MANY. probably have thrown away at least 30 or so
🙋🏽♀️Do any irl people know you write fanfic?
2 of my friends and my sister
🍦What’s the sweetest fic you’ve created so far?
tbh i’m a pretty angsty gowrl… maybe “insomnia” w niall?
🌶Do you write the spicy stuffs? If so, what’s your most popular nsfw fic?
i have tried. so. many. times. I cringe whenever I write anything smexy.
🌞Do you have a preferred time of day to write?
i really only write from 12-3 a.m. (ik i need help)... I’m a night owl so it’s perfect.
💖What made you start writing?
i had the idea to start writing for a while, then my sister and I talked about it and I made an account and the rest is history.
💌How do you feel about comments and feedback?
feedback is always appreciated as long as you are nice and kind about it! I’m not the best writer; I can always improve!
❌What’s a trope you will never write?
not really a trope but, degradation in the bedroom… i just don’t understand
💲Would you ever open commissions?
probably not
🧐Do you spend much time researching your stories?
eh not really, about 5-10 min max.
🏆What’s your most popular fic?
Andrew Garfield boyfriend headcanons. (honestly, headcanons/ blurbs are so fun to write)
🎃Do you write fics for certain holidays? Which is your favorite holiday inspired fic?
I currently don’t have any holiday themed ones, but I’m down to write them if they’re requested
📈How many fics do you have?
21 and counting!
🦅Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?
normally it starts out with 2-3 sentences of dialogue, then I piece together the background, then add in details and voila.
👀Tell me about an up and coming wip please!
OKAY “done” W ASHY BOY… I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE FOR THIS FIC. I’M DECIDING OR NOT IF I SHOULD CRY HAPPY OR SAD TEARS
🤗What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?
personally, I don’t like having a schedule/ specific day to post, but that’s just me. i know most people have a routine, but do what you want! haven’t written in four months? that’s okay! been writing nonstop for two weeks? also wonderful!
write whatever makes you fall in love with writing again! whether it be a super sappy/cringey trop that makes your knees buckle, do it! :)
💞Who’s your comfort character?
Fred Weasley 1,000%.
🤩Who is your favorite character/person to write?
ASHY BOIIIIIIIIIIII. god i love ashton irwin. His demeanor, poise, confidence, ugh I want it all.
🤲🏼Would you please share a snippet of a wip?
Little background… poly!lashton w/female reader who’s having a depressive episode:
“Hey. Hey, what’s goin on? Is everything all right?” Ash asked, very worried.
You rolled over to Luke as a response, your face near his hips. You felt his hand in your hair, playing with it. Ashton climbed into bed and started to draw shapes on your back.
“C’mon angel. Talk to us. You’ll feel better.” Luke said as he patted your head.
“You can’t stay up there alone, Y/N. Think out loud.”
so excited to share this one… just can’t figure out the ending
😬Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends or family to stumble upon?
anything poly!5sos. Anything poly in general… i mean it’s not a “traditional” relationship, but a part of me still loves it for some reason
🎉What leads you to consider a fic a success?
def a combination of how proud I am with it, and how much you guys interact with it
✅What’s something that appears in your fics over and over again, even if you don’t mean to?
i always end angsty fics with an “i love you”... whoops
📚Would you ever want to turn writing into a career?
maybe as a side hustle!
⌛️How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?
3-5 business days. On a serious note, 2-3 weeks. Maybe 2 hours. It really depends on who I’m writing
🤯What’s a genre you struggle with as a writer?
SMUT OH DEAR LORD. I CAN’T WRITE IT TO SAVE MY LIFE. i’m trying it out on some new ones tho!! I never have a problem reading it though
💔Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?
not yet, but soon 👀
💥How do you feel about criticism?
again, as long as you are nice and kind about it!!
🤭Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?
i don’t have a fav, but I always seem to go with writing? seems appropriate lol
🥰How do you feel about reader interaction? Are you open to receiving questions about your fics?
YES!!!! I love interacting w you guys!
#harry styles#austin butler#5sos fanfic#fanfiction#writing#mikefaist#mike faist imagine#ashtonirwinfanfiction#5sos ashton#ashton irwin fanfic#ashton 5sos#luke hemmings x y/n#luke hemmings x calum hood#luke hemming imagines#5sos angst#5sosfam#5sos blurbs#micheal 5sos#5 seconds of summer#fine line harry styles#harry styles angst#harry’s house#andrew garfield spiderman#andrew garfield#big time rush#kendall schmidt#kendall knight#james maslow#carlos penavega
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Them | Art Donaldson
MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI
Relationship(s): Art Donaldson x gn!reader (unrequited romantic), Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig (romantic)
Summary: You'll never be them.
Warnings: Angst, unhappy relationship. (Let me know if I need to add any)
Word count: 0.3k
(A/N: I saw Challengers today and… oh boy. This throuple is so fucking compelling, I like depressing shit, and I had a crush on Mike Faist's Connor Murphy when I was a teen, so I figured why not write something to combine my crush, my love of depressing shit and my fascination with this throuple to write a little thing. I thought it'd be a really interesting dynamic to explore. If you'd be interested in seeing more from this idea, let me know, and I'll happily write something! I'm tempted to write an angsty thing where the reader is finally open about the fact that they know about Art's feelings for Tashi and Patrick.)
You’ll never be them.
You’ll never be Tashi Duncan, whose gaze he craves like sunlight. It’s like he searches for his reflection in her eyes- no matter the distance between them- because that’s the only place he wants to exist, or can exist. He gets lost in them. It’s a good job he doesn’t want to leave; he couldn’t if he tried.
You’ll never be Patrick Zweig, whose smile would make his knees buckle were his legs not strong from years of training. His stare can’t stop time quite like Tashi’s, but he’d probably melt if Patrick looked at him for long enough.
Their history is something you’ve pieced together from scraps of anecdotes he’s reluctantly offered up over the time you’ve been together. Each one serves as a bedtime story you can’t help but tell yourself late at night, the ceiling a screen on which to project memories that aren’t yours. Art always faces away from you when you’re in bed together. You used to wonder if he was dreaming of them, or just her, or just him. But, one night, you noticed the moonlight reflected in his eyes, and you realised he was lying awake, too, as tortured by Tashi and Patrick as you.
He can love more than one person at a time. Maybe he loves you, too. But, he doesn’t love you like Tashi, or like Patrick. You know that. He can say those three magic words all he wants. He can kiss you. He can look at you. It all rings hollow when adoration practically radiates off him when he locks eyes with Patrick or Tashi. You recognise it because it’s like the adoration that radiates off you when you look at him.
But, you don’t say anything. Just like how Art doesn’t say anything.
#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson#challengers x reader#challengers#tashi duncan#patrick zweig#x reader#x gn!reader#x gn reader#x gender neutral!reader#x gender neutral reader
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ᯓ★ 𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 ! ⸻ I make fics , moodboards and icons! This blog is pretty much sfw , I write : fluff / angst. I'm not taking requests for any smut fics ! ( keep that in mind when you request ). The reader is either gender neutral or female because I can't write male readers. All contents are mentioned at the beginning of each story.
ᯓ★ 𝙒𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙄𝙣𝙛𝙤. ⸻ Avery / Lux , 8teen , they / them. I'm a new writer so keep that in mind when you read my stuff. English is not my first language ! feel free to correct me if it's needed.
ᯓ★ 𝙒𝙝𝙤 𝙄 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 ? ⸻ Mostly for Jake Gyllenhaal and his characters , but I'm pretty much multifandom so you can request anything ! Personally my other favs : Ewan McGregor , Ryan Gosling , Mike Faist ( + their characters ).
ᯓ★ 𝙒𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙨: 𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤. ⸻ I don't think I have anything specific that I won't write for. If I think that your request is comfortable for me to write then I'll do it , if not — I won't. Same goes to the characters , I probably won't write for characters that I don't know , or the ones I don't like , but don't be scared to ask ! I'll politely respond to everything :D
ᯓ★ 𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙨. ⸻ current status ;
fics — open / closed.
icons — open / closed.
moodboards — open / closed.
( you can request anyone in icons and moodboards too ! )
ᯓ★ 𝙐𝙥𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨. ⸻ most recent updates from my page ;
fic — Home. — Holden Worther x F!Reader !
icons — jake gyllenhaal coquette bow icons !
moodboard — b&w jake g. moodboard !
ᯓ★ 𝘼𝙨𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 & 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙨. ⸻ Your ask answers are tagged here or ( #avery's inbox ! tag ) ! Credits : background — pinterest ( cropped by me ) , divider — @/rookthornesartistry
ᯓ★ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩. ⸻ fic links + summary.
JAKE GYLLENHAAL ↷
Make-up practice. — Jake Gyllenhaal x Reader | 08.04.2024
↳ Jake agreed suggested to practice your make-up skills on him.
Surprise ! — Jake Gyllenhaal x Reader | 03.04.2024
↳ You always adored Jake's beard , but one day he surprises you with something new.
DONNIE DARKO ↷
Black Fingernails. — Donnie Darko x Reader | 16.04.2024
↳ Donnie notices that you painted your nails , and decides to match with you.
HOLDEN WORTHER (THE GOOD GIRL) ↷
Home. — Holden Worther x F!Reader | 28.04.2024
↳ Holden comes home after a long time at the mental hospital.
ROBERT GRAYSMITH (ZODIAC) ↷
work in progress !
DAVID LOKI (PRISONERS) ↷
work in progress !
ᯓ★ 𝙈𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙗𝙤𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙨. ⸻ links.
b&w jake g. moodboard. | 01.05.2024
ᯓ★ 𝙄𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨. ⸻ links.
jake gyllenhaal coquette bow icons | 21.05.2024
holden worther (the good girl 2002) icons. | 16.05.2024
#jake gyllenhaal#avery's inbox !#jake gyllenhaal x reader#masterlist#introduction#x reader#fanfic#fanfiction#intro post#ewan mcgregor#joseph gordon levitt#jason schwartzman#ryan gosling#x reader fanfiction
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just watched challengers and i’m having mike faist in that one scene where he’s kneeling near the bed brainrot. i can’t stop thinking about a yearning, pining even… groveling, devoted and subby matty just hanging on girlies every word. not even specifically in a sexual context, just groveling and yearning just to grovel and yearn. gonna have to re read all of the boat angst again tbh
i'll be honest i have still yet to see challengers. but i love yearning and mike faist (what do you all know about newsies!!). and yeah i think d word is definitely one for a simpy yearny grovelly moment like that. like you know in 90s rnb where men were practically crying for a crumb of pussy because they fancied the girl so much? d word. you might think he has all the power, but holy shit you could get him to do ANYTHING; you so much as tap the end of a pen against your lips and blink at him and he's popped one. down bad crying at the gym about you or whatever. gorgeous dynamic actually <3
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Imagine/Fic Links
So I already made a list of all the fandoms/characters i’m gonna write for, but I don’t actually have anywhere with all the fic links,
So I’m putting them here! Just to make it more organized, y’know?
no idea how often I’ll update it, so if there are some links missing then that’s why
ALSO- make sure to scroll because it is gonna grow a lot and you might miss something you’d like so just bare with me as you scroll through this-
These are the characters/fandoms I write for - link
The Outsiders-
Late Night [Angst, Sodapop and Steve friendship]
Mini Series - Grief: [CW: mentions of major character death (Johnny and Dally), no reader, no ships, implied violence/drinking]
Only Love Can Hurt Like This [Ponyboy Curtis]
Wish You Were Here. [Two-Bit Matthews]
To Where You Are [Sodapop Curtis]
Fire and Rain. [Darrel Curtis]
Let It Be. [Dallas Winston & Johnny Cade]
[Steve Randle in progress]
—
How They’d React to Your Friend Flirting With Them [HC]
[GN Reader]
Sodapop Curtis -
Started With a Ring [Male Reader]
Vandalize [Fem or GN Reader]
Can’t Help Falling In Love [Male Reader]
Can’t Help Falling In Love - Part 2. [Male Reader]
Showering With Sodapop [HC] [GN Reader- NOT SMUT]
I love you. [Male Reader]
Snowed In. [GN Reader/ Reader using Fae/Faer/Faers pronouns]
Steve Randle
Wrong Direction [Fem Reader]
Dallas Winston
The One That Got Away [Fem Reader]
Anxious Reader HC. [Fem Reader]
Showering with Dallas [HC] [GN Reader - Not smut]
Darry Curtis
Coping Mechanism. [GN Reader]
Physical Affection [HC]. [GN Reader]
Let It Snow [GN Reader]
Showering with Darry [HC] [GN Reader- Not smut]
Ponyboy Curtis
Secret. [Fem Reader]
.
random Tim and Sylvia thing from when they were kids
.
The Mighty Ducks-
The Ducks-
The Ducks in a Haunted House [HC] [No reader, just an HC]
TV. [GN Reader, no romantic stuff but lots on Adam]
Charlie Conway-
Exile - Part 1 [GN Reader]
Exile - Part 2 [GN Reader]
Kenny Wu -
Homework and Cuddles [GN reader]
Dean Portman-
Reunion [Fem Reader]
Reminder: there is much more to come! Y’all should see my drafts-
.
MHA -
Lies [Male Reader]
Lies pt 2. [Male Reader]
Too Late [GN Reader] tw! for blood/implied death
Tokoyami-
Nail Polish. [GN Reader]
Mezo Shoji
Dating HCs. [GN Reader]
Pulled Away. [Male Reader]
Neito Monoma
Just Can’t Help Myself. [Fem Reader]
.
Haikyuu-
Haikyuu Characters as Quotes From my Life [HC]
.
Total Drama Island -
Duncan-
Hanahaki Disease Part 1 [Male Reader]
Hanahaki Disease Part 2 [Male Reader] WARNING: hanahaki disease (duh)
.
Julie and the Phantoms -
Reggie Peters-
See You Again. [GN Reader]
.
The Sandlot -
Benny Rodriguez
Do It Again. [Male Reader]
Visitor. [GN Reader]
Rumors. [GN Reader]
Touch. [Male Reader]
Call Me A Snitch. [GN Reader]
.
Newsies -
Spot Conlon-
Idk U Yet [Prologue/Part1]. [GN Reader]
Romantic/Platonic HCs. [GN Reader]
Chubby Reader HCs. [GN Reader]. (I recommend combining this one with the other HCs just for one big thing of Spot HCs)
Jack Kelly-
Love at your Convenience. [GN Reader]
Mike Faist (actor)
Pleasant Distraction. [Fem Reader]
Found Family. [FTM Reader]
His Smile. [Fem Reader]
Racetrack Higgins
Romantic/Platonic HCs. [GN Reader]
Kid Blink
How you met/Asking you out HCs. [GN Reader]
Finch
Rooftop. [GN Reader]
Mush
Thank You. [Fem Reader]
.
IT 2017
Henry Bowers-
Untitled Lol. [Male Reader]
.
Harry Potter Fandom
Owe It All To You. [GN Reader x !Father Figure! Remus Lupin]
Draco Malfoy -
Perhaps, Perhaps. [Male Reader]
.
Marvel
Look What You Made Me Do [Male Stark !Vigilante! Reader]
[Almost] a Loss. [Dad! Loki x !Son!Teen!Reader]
DNA [Dad! Loki x !Son!Villain(?) Reader]
.
Outerbanks
JJ Maybank -
You Are Home [Male Reader]
Kook Prince [Male Reader]
Smoked. [Male Reader]
Lonesome [Male Reader]
Safe With Me [Male Reader]
So Say It [Male Reader] Bonus part
His Sweet, Sweet Words. [Male Reader]
Awake With You. [Male Reader]
Kiss It Better [Male Reader]
.
Extra
Polaroid. [GN Reader]
I’ll try to update this as much as I can, and again I promise there is more to come! My drafts are full rn man soooo-
Feel free to send in a request!!
#Haikyuu#Haikyuu x reader#MHA#MHA x Reader#the outsiders#the outsiders x reader#the mighty ducks#the mighty ducks x reader#Masterlist#jatp#jatp x reader#tdi duncan#tdi Duncan x reader#whyareyouhere66#The sandlot#the Sandlot x reader#Outerbanks#outerbanks x reader#jj maybank#imaginefic-links#draco malfoy x male reader#loki x son reader#Tony stark x son reader
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REQUESTS ARE CLOSED
Hello!
I am a fic writer who is now opening requests!
what i will write:
angst
hurt
comfort
fluff
injury and the like
I love writing sibling relationships!!! Send sibling asks my way
what i won't write:
Explicit content, I’m fine with kissing but no sex/ more as I am ace and sex repulsed
NSWF (only sexual I will do violence and swearing lol)
pregnancy or being a parent
minor x adult ships (eg Sterek)
Incest…obviously (SamDean shippers stay AWAY)
If there is a topic you are unsure about feel free to message me and I will clear it up! I will most likely mainly be writing for:
ART DONALDSON
SAM WINCHESTER
DODGE MASON
Mike Faist
Evan Buckley
Kaz Brekker
Matt Murdock
Sidney Prescott
Amber Freeman
Wes Hicks
Tara Carpenter
Sam Carpenter
Obi-Wan Kenobi
Pretty much any teen wolf character
Finnick Odair
Johanna Mason
#sam winchester x reader#finnick x y/n#sidney prescott x reader#amber freeman x reader#wes hicks x reader#tara carpenter x reader#sam carpenter x reader#obi wan x reader#david budd x reader#prince kit x reader#teen wolf#stiles stilinksi x reader#theo raeken x reader#liam dunbar x reader#scott mccall x reader#allison argent x reader#malia hale x reader#finnick x reader#finnick odair x reader#johanna mason x reader#luke hemmings x reader#oneshot#kaz brekker x reader#evan buckley#evan buckely x reader
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rules for my writing >_<
HII okay i wanna start this off by saying my grammar is shit and I chose not to fix it cs I’m lazy:3 mainly the first people to read my fics are my friends(≧∀≦)
I mainly only do transmasc reader BECAUSE there’s not enough on here:(((also mainly only male characters..)
:♡.•♬✧⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾*+:•*∴♡⑅*˖•. ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .•˖*⑅♡
fandoms i write for
the walking dead:
Daryl Dixon
Carl aged(aged up)
rick grimes
Shane Walsh (..maybe..)
Glenn rhee!!
Negan smith(..maybe)
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
Heathers!
jason Dean!
✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮
dear Evan Hansen
Connor Murphy!
evan Hansen!
(No I will not do Connor x evan unless I feel like it.)
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
The girl next door
klitz
eli
klitz + eli
✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩
actors
Mike faist<3
Norman reedus
Andrew Lincoln
chandler riggs(aged up ofc.)
Jeffery dean Morgan
(+ more!!)
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
OKAY FR RULES!!
Do’s:
character x transmasc reader, character x me reader , character x oc!!
smut!★
angst (not good at it)✿
fluff! ☾
AGED UP CHARACTERS :3
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Maybe’s!!:
Female reader x character,any female character x female reader(no I’m not against lesbians I love you guys just not good at writing it:(()
dead dove! Do not eat!
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
NEVER UNLESS I SAY SO:
sibling x sibling reader(not even step sibling)
older character x MINOR READER( reader will always be 27-28 if it’s an older character.)
STEP DAD/MOM X KID!!(NO NO NO EW:(()
I CANT think of much now but if I remember I will add in that’s all byyeee!!
#Writing rules#rules#HP#Hii:3#Pls give this attention bordem is killing me#Shifting#shfitngreakiry#Dr#shifting#wowiwiwifanfix writer#OMG SMUT?!?!
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Faceclaims for Inheritance
New updates are in the works, but for now please enjoy some FCs!
Chase (C47) - Mike Faist wasn't my first choice until I saw screenshots of him (these two specifically) as Dodge Mason in Amazon Prime's show, "Panic."
Miss Abbie (Abigail Cooper) - @angst-after-dark and I deliberated on FCs for our feisty old ladies. The ones I’d suggested for Abigail had cleverness and confidence, but not a lot of sweetness/vulnerability. Then Vee swooped in with this amazing find and that was that. (Photo credit to Igor Gavar)
Sarah Grisham, Abigail’s (living) daughter - I searched Pinterest for a middle-aged career woman and Miranda Otto popped up immediately. Not only does she resemble Abigail's FC, her expressions here matches Sarah's vibe.
Lyle Grisham - I needed a face that could pull off charming, shady, egotistical, and the name “Lyle.” 😅 This shot of model Gert Rappenecker fit the bill.
Taglist: @maracujatangerine @octopus-reactivated @dislexiher @whumpzone @cupcakes-and-pain @i-eat-worlds
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An Unexpected Home
Pairing: Riff x OC
Summary: A glimpse into Grace’s life reveals its obstacles and hints at a worthwhile future.
*Disclaimer: I am pleased to finally release the preface of my current fanfiction with all of you. Unlike my previous story, there will not be a set schedule pertaining to the publishing of new chapters. I feel that attempting to adhere to such a schedule will detract from the overall experience and want to ensure the quality of my writing is not affected by time constraints. If you are new to my blog and would like to be tagged in subsequent chapters, please let me know. Thank you so much for your support!
Preface
Grandeur isn’t everything. However, if someone had tried to persuade me with such a notion while I was growing up, I wouldn’t have been receptive. My childhood was defined by meager means at best, not because of a lack of trying, but instead a result of futile attempts. My mom and dad married when they were quite young and the proposal was anything but romantic, unless bending on one knee while intoxicated and slurring the words, “Will you marry me?” could be classified as endearing. If that is one’s idea of romance, then my dad might as well be a regular Romeo.
My dad only proposed because he thought it was what my mom wanted and, on some level, perhaps she did…just not from him. It’s likely she would have declined his offer had she not been four months pregnant with my older brother, David, now known as Balkan, and a petrified twenty-year old who succumbed to the artificial charms of a twenty-two year old man. They were married two months later at City Hall and officially began their lives as husband and wife. When Balkan was born, my dad’s alcoholism was relatively tamed, only getting soused once or twice a week at most. Although my mom deemed my dad’s drinking problem to be unsettling, he was still able to maintain a job and contribute to their finances. Therefore, she didn’t dare pester him about seeking help because she needed his help and knew her badgering would only heighten the pre-existing tension between them.
Three years later, I was born and in addition to our growing family, the issues between my parents heightened. Dad was going to work less and less, which prompted my mom to seek work on her own. Although working at the local convenience store was anything but glamorous, it provided her with some independence because it was becoming abundantly clear she could no longer steadily rely on her husband. When the demands of Dad’s job increased, he turned to alcohol more, disappearing for hours to pay worship to it at various bars. The significant alcohol intake impeded his judgment, thereby causing him to pick fights with other patrons who were twice his size and arrive home with a battered face. My mom grew accustomed to tending to his wounds while ignoring her own in the process.
When I turned four, events took a turn for the worse. I was too young to recall this memory with precision, but Balkan was seven at the time and remembers the day with vivid clarity. Mom requested off from work so we could spend the entire day together. That evening, she prepared my favorite dinner, but throughout the duration of dinner, she checked the clock incessantly, anticipating my father’s arrival home from work. However, time passed and his absence was palpable, particularly for Mom and Balkan. Nevertheless, they made efforts to conceal their concern and disappointment as they celebrated me. When Mom lit the candles on my homemade cake and her and Balkan sang to me, I recall the tinny quality of their voices and it was then that my dad’s absence really affected me. Despite my family members’ convincing grins and the glow of the birthday candles illuminating our modest, cramped kitchen, darkness enveloped me as I concluded my father would not be coming home, not for his family, not for me. When I blew out the candles and their light had been extinguished, sadness washed over me as I realized that their outside appearance matched how I was feeling on the inside.
That evening, long after Mom had tucked me in and Balkan had gone to bed, too, the front door opened with such gusto that it slammed against the wall. My eyes flew open and I immediately crept out of bed with every intention of eavesdropping. Instead, I was startled when Balkan’s outstretched arms pulled me in from behind, shielding me from the inevitable fight that awaited us. My parents’ hushed voices gradually morphed into shouting, hurling insults at one another as if they were engrossed in a tennis match. It didn’t take long for Dad to rush past her, storm into their bedroom, collect his belongings, and leave our apartment. The sound of the door closing reverberated throughout our apartment and Balkan cradled me in his arms as hot tears streamed down my face. The crying must have worn me out because when I awoke, it was daylight and I was laying in my bed.
Dad never returned. It was devastating for all of us and as much as I would like to claim it was most devastating for me as a result of being the youngest person affected by it, it had the most crushing effect on Balkan. After our dad left, he changed. His former goofy, playful, and affectionate self morphed into someone who had been hardened by his circumstances, who had been soured by not having a father figure from whom he could learn and revere. While Balkan was never one to earn As in school, his grades had been respectable, but they began to rapidly decline not long after our dad abandoned us. Once he turned ten, Balkan was given my parents’ bedroom as a gift from my mom because she felt he needed his own space, especially because it was apparent that my presence was solely a nuisance to him. Consequently, Mom took the pullout couch in the living room, reasoning that because we no longer had a TV as a result of selling it for money, there was no need for seating anyway.
Although Balkan was previously popular and had assembled a large group of friends, he gradually lost touch with them and was no longer interested in maintaining contact with them. He often wandered around the city alone, frequenting a convenience store named Doc’s when he wanted to read comics for free as well as the basketball court to release mounting aggression. At the age of ten, Balkan went out one day in the summer with the intention of playing basketball alone at the court only to return several hours later with a boy his age in tow. I was sitting in the tattered recliner in our living room immersed in a book when the two boys walked in, laughing about something to which I was not privy. The boy accompanying my brother was lanky and tall for his age, with light brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a smirk that was boastful, yet subtle simultaneously.
*Flashback to fourteen years ago
“Grace, this is Riff. Riff, this is my sister, Grace,” Balkan says casually, sweeping by me to grab something from the refrigerator.
Riff gives me a mock salute and I tentatively wave at him, feeling timid by this stranger’s presence.
“Ya want anything to drink, Riff?” Balkan asks while his head is still in the refrigerator. I wrinkle my nose at my brother’s repetition of the boy’s bizarre name, pondering if that’s his legitimate first name.
Riff turns his head in Balkan’s direction to answer him. “Nah, I’m good.” Then he returns his attention to me, eyeing the book in my lap. “Whatcha readin’?”
“Oh, it’s a book about pirates and-“
“Riff, a word to the wise. In the future, don’t ask my sister about books because she’ll never quit yappin’ about ‘em. Besides, we gotta head back to the courts and show those other guys whose court it is. Right?”
Riff looks at me for a few seconds longer, before nodding in agreement to Balkan’s question. “Right! Let’s go!”
The two of them hurry out the door and I’m left alone once again in the apartment, feeling a strange rush of happiness that someone older than me, a boy no less, took an interest in something I’m reading. Perhaps it was because I didn’t have a stable male presence in my life and still craved it, despite my father being gone for three years already. Or perhaps it was because I saw something in Riff even then and I was under the illusion he saw something in me, too.
When I now reflect on my infatuation with grandeur, I recognize that it doesn’t always present itself in expected ways. Rather, it may emerge as something unassuming and innocent before undergoing a gradual metamorphosis. I never foresaw such a transformation in my life, but even if I had, I still would have been inadequately prepared for its impact.
@inkandpen22 @riffheartsgraziella @loverisi @westsidelegendary @sondheim1fan @ilovey0us0 @grxceordxr @dellaspinstales @jillo0315 @drowninginaseaofbooks @theforgottenmcrmy @shitemylife @disguisedbassethound @mixed-theater-faisty-tings @b-bella9 @riffaist
#west side story#west side story 2021#west side story fanfic#riff x oc#angst#romance#slow burn#mike faist
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to celebrate me actually feeling like i may make it through my drafts here’s a little mini wishlist which doubles as a starter/plotting call. under the cut are some characters i’m itching to use, fcs i want to use/play against and some plots i’m dying for. if you like this i’ll come to you to discuss!
characters
caroline (sarah catherine hook fc)
nico (mason gooding fc)
odette (lili reinhart fc)
mack (cooper van grootel fc)
jackie (diana silvers fc)
julian (kj apa fc)
mirren (renee rapp fc)
owen (mike faist)
stevie (erana james fc)
tanner (elias kacavas)
faceclaims
mallory bechtel
bailee madison
maia reficco
zaria simone
malia pyles
jordan gonzalez
lizeth selene
jon bernthal
victoria pedretti
gavin leatherwood
zoey deutch
nico hiraga
drew starkey
plots
something inspired by the song before by niki. a couple that’s gone long distance or reuniting after ‘breaking up’ for college and the tension/angst of seeing each other again but it’s not the same. just... pain.
terrible toxic dark stuff but we just have a jolly little time exploring it. inspo.
angsty exes bc wow apparently i really wanna be sad. inspo.
slasher movie, scream inspired, the fear that one of your friends could be the killer.
homoerotic weird sh*t. inspo.
murder. intrigue. spies! always questioning who is being manipulated. inspo.
two rich popular assholes. the playboy falling first for the bitchy mean girl but she’s dating his best friend oh god it’s so cute. inspo.
friends or enemies to lovers but with a mega painful slow burn thanks
10 things i hate about you plot i’ve got a gun and i’m not afraid to take hostages to get this one
i also like basic cute stuff sorry like if you just wanna write fluff i’ll also do that
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