Selmasemlan

╰┈➤ welcome to my blog! u can refer to me by a if u would like! i am 30 & use she/they pronouns! i live in the pnw (pst timezone), and work full time m-f in a stem field!! if u are reading this it means u have found my fic blog! i write fics for off campus!! the fics contain both book & show lore in them! pls click on the links below to find ur way to individual masterlists for characters! if u have any questions pls reach out!

✧.* requests are currently closed ✧.*

↳˗ˏˋhere you can find my ao3, it's updated infrequently.ˊˎ˗ ↴

୨⎯ masterlists ⎯୧

*ೃ༄ john logan

➥ click this & comment to be added to my general john logan tag list!

*ೃ༄ garrett graham (incoming, within the next month)

*ೃ༄ dean di laurentis (incoming, within the next 2 months)

*ೃ༄ john tucker (incoming, within the next 2 months)

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: logan has always been her biggest supporter, but when you get injured, he shows her just how far he’ll go to take care of her.

pairing: john logan x figure skater! fem! reader

warnings: probably incorrect figure skating terminology, cussing, depiction of an injury

notes: ANOTHER john logan fic but this time nothing to do with the series i just started!! once again send any requests if you wanna and i hope you guys like it!!

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist

Practice had been going completely fine. Well as fine as it could go when you and your pairs partner, August, had been working on the exact same lift entry for what felt like two years. In reality, it had only been about forty-five minutes.

Every single attempt ended the same way.

August would go to lift you, you'd both start the rotation, and somewhere in those first few seconds everything would fall apart. His hands weren't quite where they needed to be, your timing would end up compensating for it, and instead of flowing smoothly into the lift, the two of you would awkwardly reset before trying again.

back to you | g.h

Pairings: Gwayne Hightower x Wife!Reader

Summary: at Rock’s Rest you find more than battle

WARNINGS: angst, hurt to comfort, reader is team black, reader is Rhaenyra’s sister, reader is mentioned to have silver hair, my man is desperate in this one

A/n: bring back men yearning pls

masterlist | wc: 6.3k

THE ROAR of dragons tore violently through the sky, and you felt it vibrate in your bones even before Cannibal spread his immense black wings over the battlefield of Rook's Rest. The air was so thick with smoke it burned your lungs with every breath, heavy with the acrid stench of ash, freshly spilled blood, and the metallic tang of clashing weapons. Beneath you, the battle stretched to the edge of the forest like a vast open wound carved into the earth: thousands of men fought amid agonized screams and frantic neighing, tattered banners whipped through the flames, while shattered catapults and overturned wagons littered the ground with splintered wood and lifeless bodies. From the sky everything seemed small, and yet you could make out every detail, every knight struck down, every blade sinking into flesh. Cannibal let out a low, rumbling growl, his massive body trembling beneath you, eager to descend into what, for him, was nothing more than a feast.

Your eyes were fixed on Rhaenys Targaryen. She had fought like a queen, like a legend destined to be remembered for centuries, and even from that distance you could see the fierce elegance with which she guided Meleys through smoke and fire. You had arrived too late. Fate had already chosen for her. You watched the enormous jaws of Vhagar close around the red dragon's neck with a brutality that stole your breath, the sound of bones breaking blending with Meleys' desperate roar, and for a moment time seemed to slow to a halt. Then the dragon fell. It dropped like a star devoured by the sky, crashing into the castle walls below in an explosion of stone, fire, and dust. The impact made even Cannibal shudder, and a towering column of flames surged upward, swallowing everything. You gripped the saddle so tightly your fingers ached, as a dull, savage pain tore through your chest.

Cannibal roared, and his cry echoed across the mountains and over the battlefield, forcing men and horses alike to pause for a fleeting instant. Even Vhagar seemed to stiffen. Atop the oldest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms, Aemond Targaryen slowly turned his head toward you. His single eye narrowed, immediately recognizing the dark shape of Cannibal emerging from the clouds like an omen of death. A faint, almost amused smile touched his lips. He knew you. He could read the fury consuming you better than anyone, because that same fury ran in his blood as well. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Brother and sister remained suspended above an army that continued slaughtering itself, watching one another like two predators deciding which would devour the other.

Below, Gwayne Hightower, the man who had become your husband only a few years earlier, found himself unable to breathe. He saw you emerge from the sea of smoke with a determination he had never forgotten, Cannibal's vast wings spread like a shadow capable of blotting out the sun itself. For a moment, the clash of swords, the cries of the wounded, the noise of armor, and the crackle of flames all vanished. The world seemed to shrink until it held only you. You, who had once shared his bed in the silent chambers of Oldtown. You, who in rare moments of peace had spoken his name with softness. You, who laughed so quietly that he had to lean closer just to hear you. You, who now rode toward death. His fingers tightened unconsciously around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He had spent the past weeks trying to convince himself he had forgotten you, that he had buried every feeling along with your broken marriage. He had told himself the war had erased everything, that oaths mattered more than love, that you now belonged to different worlds. And yet one glimpse of you was enough to shatter every lie he had so carefully built.

He still loved you. He understood it with brutal clarity as he watched you lean forward in the saddle, completely fused with your dragon. He could still remember the warmth of your skin against his, the scent of your hair when you fell asleep on his chest, the way you would look away whenever he tried to kiss you first, only to make him chase you with a laugh. In truth, he had always been the desperate one. He was the one who sought your lips with impatience, who chased every small gesture of affection as though it were a privilege. You never denied him, but you always made him earn it, and that was what he missed most. Not the caresses, not the kisses, but the constant need you had created within him, that hunger for your presence that no other woman had ever been able to satisfy. He looked at you now, smeared with ash, infinitely different from the girl he had married and yet exactly the same. Still capable of breaking his heart with a single glance. He wanted to meet you in the ashes of your yesterdays when life was easier, waiting where the light used to fall, recalling what you had when present felt empty. Learning how to miss you.

He understood it completely the moment Cannibal lowered his head and plunged into a dive toward Vhagar. The sky itself seemed to crack under the force of the impending collision. Gwayne stepped forward without even realizing it, as though reaching out a hand might somehow touch you up there. "Don't do it..." he whispered, but his words were swallowed by the chaos of battle, lost to the wind and the thunder of dragons. No one heard him, not even you. Perhaps that was for the best, because he knew you well enough to understand that you would not have stopped anyway.

You faced your brother without the slightest hesitation. There was no fear in your movements, no doubt, not even the faintest trace of mercy. Only fury, fueled by the grief of Rhaenys's death and years of smoldering resentment. Cannibal opened his jaws, revealing rows of enormous, jagged teeth, and his roar made the air tremble before a torrent of black and red flame engulfed Vhagar. Aemond's dragon answered at once, unleashing a blaze so vast it resembled a burning wall. The two infernos collided in the sky, creating a storm of sparks and ash that rained down upon the battlefield like fire. Below them, men screamed and scrambled for cover, while terrified horses broke ranks, trampling friend and foe alike. Aemond guided Vhagar with precision, every command delivered through the slightest shift of his body, while you responded with equal instinct, as if Cannibal were an extension of your own will. The two dragons crashed into each other with devastating force, claw against claw, wing against wing, locking together in a violent dance that seemed to shake the very air.

It was an impossible battle. Gwayne knew it. Everyone did. Vhagar was the oldest, the largest, the most powerful of the living dragons. Every battle she had fought had carved scars into her immense body, shaping her into a creature that seemed made for war. Cannibal, for all his ferocity and wildness, was still younger, smaller, forced to make up with speed what he lacked in strength. And yet he did not yield an inch. He continued to assault Vhagar with relentless determination, forcing even the colossal dragon to recoil beneath the violence of his attacks. Gwayne followed every movement, his heart clenched in a vice. He saw you lean from the saddle as the wind lashed your ash-streaked hair, saw blood running down your temple without you seeming to notice, saw your eyes burning with rage. It was the same expression you had worn the day of your separation, the day he had spoken the words that destroyed you both, confessing that he would fight for Aegon. He still remembered the silence that followed, far more painful than any scream. In that moment, you had understood that something between you had broken forever.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Cannibal seized a fleeting opening in Vhagar's guard and lunged at the massive dragon's neck with savage ferocity. His jaws snapped shut with a terrifying crack, sinking his teeth into the ancient armored scales until they pierced through. The roar that erupted from Vhagar's throat was so powerful it made the sky tremble, a sound filled with pain and fury that echoed for miles and brought the battle to a stunned, fleeting halt. Dark blood streamed down the old dragon's neck, evaporating almost instantly in the heat of the flames. Vhagar writhed violently, trying to break free from the grip, while Aemond pulled hard on the reins, shouting commands in the tongue of Old Valyria. Cannibal did not let go. He tightened his hold with relentless determination, intent on tearing flesh down to the bone. Below, Gwayne held his breath, unable even to blink.

Vhagar crashed to the ground with brutal force. Her enormous claws sank into the blood-soaked earth, shattering stone, wagons, and bodies alike without distinction, while a wave of dust and debris rose all around her, forcing men and horses to retreat in panic. The thunderous beat of her wings swept away already-tattered banners, feeding the fires that devoured Rook's Rest, and her roar echoed through the broken castle walls. You did not hesitate for even a moment. You pulled sharply on Cannibal's reins, guiding him with the weight of your body, and the dragon understood your command before you spoke a single word. With a powerful beat of his wings, he soared back into the sky, leaving behind the black smoke and flames that reflected across his dark scales. You were finally satisfied.

Below, Gwayne Hightower followed your every movement without even noticing what was happening around him. The screams of soldiers, the clash of steel, the shouted orders, all of it reached him as though muffled and distant, as if he were submerged underwater. Only you existed. His eyes could not leave your figure as you slowly pulled away above the battlefield, higher and higher, closer to the smoke-blackened clouds. That was when something caught his attention. A short distance away, among the charred remains of a collapsed tower, an archer stood as still as a statue. He was filthy with dirt and blood, his face smeared with soot, his hands trembling so badly it seemed impossible that he could still draw a bow. And yet his gaze was steady, fixed on you. The arrow was already nocked, ready to fly. For one terrible instant, Gwayne saw clearly the path it would take. His body made the decision long before his mind did.

It was as if he moved on instinct alone, adrenaline suddenly surging through his veins. In a few strides he reached the man, slamming into him hard enough to make him stagger. But the archer's fingers had already released the string. The arrow flew regardless, slicing through the air with a thin, deadly whistle, so fast it was almost invisible. Gwayne lifted his gaze at once, unable even to breathe. He felt his heart pounding so violently it hurt, as he followed that slender line of death climbing into the sky.

The arrow that would have surely struck your heart hit your shoulder instead. Even from that distance, he saw your body jolt from the impact. Blood splattered across Cannibal's black scales, staining the already dirtied fabric of your clothing, while your face twisted in a sudden grimace of pain that made his stomach tighten. Your body wavered dangerously on the dragon's back. One hand reached desperately for purchase on the saddle, the other instinctively grasped the wound. For a long, endless moment, it truly seemed as though you might fall.

Gwayne felt a scream rise in his chest, but he could not release it. It remained trapped there, choked into nothing more than a broken breath. "No..." he managed to whisper, his voice so weak it was swallowed instantly by the wind.

Then he saw you react. With sheer stubbornness, you clenched your teeth and slowly straightened in the saddle. Your hand trembled as it grasped the shaft of the arrow lodged in your flesh, but you did not try to pull it free. You simply pressed your palm against the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the blood that continued to run down your arm. Cannibal, sensing your pain, let out a low, uneasy growl, but continued to climb, obedient to your commands. Gwayne released a trembling breath he had not even realized he was holding. He had saved you. He had changed the course of that arrow. He had betrayed his men, his oath, his very house. He had done it for you. He had chosen you. He watched you grow smaller and smaller against the gray sky, his chest rising in uneven, ragged breaths, unable to find a rhythm.

And then he saw you fall.

Your hand slipped. Your fingers, weakened by blood loss, slowly lost their grip on the saddle. Gwayne's eyes widened. For a moment, he convinced himself you would recover once more, that you would seize the reins again, that Cannibal would correct his flight. You were strong, the strongest woman he ever knew. But it did not happen. He watched you slip from the dragon's back in slow motion. Your body separated from the saddle and hung suspended in the void for a fraction of a second before being swallowed by the sky.

"No." This time the word left his lips with more force, but it was still too small, too fragile to reach you.

His heart seemed to stop. Gwayne took a step forward, then another, without even knowing where he was going. He kept staring at the sky like a madman, reaching out a hand in your direction, as though the distance between you might suddenly vanish, as though wanting it enough could make it so. But you were too far away, too high above him. And he was only a man, with a sword too heavy in his hands and too much love in his heart, bound to a ground that would never let him reach you. He watched you fall, powerless to do anything at all. Your hair scattered in the air, and from that distance your face seemed strangely serene. At peace, as if the war and all its suffering had suddenly been stripped away from you. Then your body disappeared beyond the veil of smoke and low clouds, swallowed by a void Gwayne could not see.

The noise of battle returned all at once, crashing over him with unbearable force. Everything felt too loud, too close. Gwayne stood frozen in the chaos, his eyes still fixed on the place where you had vanished. His hands trembled uncontrollably, and his sword nearly slipped from his grasp, held only by a strength that was no longer there. He could not move. He could not even think. He saw the moment again and again in his mind. He had tried to save you. He had seen the arrow. He had acted without hesitation. If he had not struck that archer, the shaft would have pierced your heart and killed you instantly. And yet it had not been enough. He had only changed where the wound landed. Only delayed the inevitable.

A cold, unbearable emptiness began to consume his chest, hollowing him out from within, stealing the breath from his lungs. His knees nearly gave way beneath him, and he had to drive the tip of his sword into the ground to keep from collapsing. He felt his heart tightening more and more, as though an invisible hand were crushing it without mercy. All his life, he had tried to be the man others expected him to be, a good knight, a worthy son of his house, a man faithful to his oaths. And he had failed. He had tried to be a good husband too, when he had still had the chance, but he had failed at that as well. Every choice he had made, every sacrifice he had endured, seemed to have led him inevitably to this exact moment. You had fallen anyway. The arrow had reached you anyway. And he had not been able to stop it.

He slowly raised a hand to his face, brushing at his eyes as though wiping away the tears threatening to fall might also erase the image of what he had just seen. But the memory of your body falling into the void remained etched behind his eyelids with brutal clarity. The more he tried to push it away, the more vivid it became, the heavier the weight of guilt pressed against his chest. Perhaps this was his punishment. For the selfishness that was planted in the human body. Perhaps the gods were punishing him for his greed. He had wanted both, had demanded to keep the honor of his house and, at the same time, the love of the woman he had lost. He had believed he could serve two masters without losing anything. And the gods, as they always did, had claimed the price of that illusion.

Night fell slowly over Crow's Rest, swallowing everything in its darkness, erasing every trace of the battle. The last cries of the wounded had faded one by one, replaced by the low crackling of fires lit among the ranks of the victorious army. Tongues of flame flickered in the night wind, casting brief light upon exhausted faces smeared with dried blood, soot, and dirt, eyes reddened by fatigue and war, hands still unable to stop trembling after hours spent gripping a sword. The acrid smell of smoke lingered everywhere, mingling with that of burned flesh, worn leather, and blood soaking into the ground. Here and there someone laughed; others drank in silence, staring into the void with hollow gazes, too drained even to speak. The crows had already begun gathering in the trees at the edges of the battlefield, patient and still, waiting for morning to claim their feast.

Among the soldiers, the same words passed from mouth to mouth, whispered beside the fires. They said the battle was over, at least for that day. They said Vhagar had survived, though gravely wounded, and that Cannibal had vanished into the sky, never to return. But above all, they said that you were dead. That after falling from your dragon's back, you had plunged into the lake beyond the forest, swallowed by the black waters without leaving a trace. Some even claimed they had seen your body disappear beneath the surface. Others swore no one could survive such a fall. Each time your name was spoken, it was followed by a satisfied laugh. To many, you had been nothing more than a traitorous princess who had met the fate she deserved.

Gwayne Hightower, however, could not believe a single word of it. He simply could not. Sitting a short distance from the others, his back resting against the rough trunk of a great oak at the edge of the encampment, he stared straight ahead without truly seeing anything. His cloak was still stained with mud and dried blood, his armor scratched in several places, barely reflecting the flickering light of the nearest fire. His hands lay motionless on his knees, as still as those of a statue. Around him, the camp slowly drifted to sleep. Some soldiers continued recounting moments from the battle, their voices thick with exhaustion and wine. Someone laughed too loudly. Someone else wept, believing no one was watching. The blacksmiths gradually extinguished their makeshift forges, the stablehands checked on the last surviving horses, and little by little every sound seemed to fade, becoming muffled and distant. Gwayne had the distinct sensation of standing behind an invisible barrier that separated him from the rest of the world. His body was present, but his mind remained suspended in the sky, in the exact moment he had seen you fall.

No matter how hard he tried to distract himself, it took only the briefest closing of his eyes for it all to begin again. He saw the archer. The arrow leaving the bowstring. The moment he struck the soldier in a desperate attempt to deflect the shot. Then he saw the bolt reach you anyway, burying itself in your shoulder with a violence that stole his breath. He saw the blood staining your dress. Your hand clutching desperately at the wound. Your fingers slowly losing their grip on the saddle. Your body tilting ever so slightly. And finally, the fall. Again, and again, and again. Each time, his stomach twisted painfully, forcing him to bend forward. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers against his eyelids until it nearly hurt, as if physical pain might erase what tormented his mind. But it did not work. The image remained there, seared behind his eyes with unbearable clarity. The more he tried to push it away, the more vividly it returned, as though the Gods liked the way it devoured him from within. All he could do was relive it and hope, somehow, to earn forgiveness for his sins.

A long, trembling breath slipped from his lips as he slowly ran a hand over his weary face. Beneath his fingers he felt skin caked with dirt and dried blood, and the cut he had taken across his cheek during the fight. He was exhausted, but he knew he would not sleep. Around the fires, some soldiers drank to their victory. They had accepted your death with a readiness that made him sick. They called you a traitor. They laughed, imagining your body dragged to the bottom of the lake. Someone even claimed that Cannibal had abandoned you, unable to save his own rider. Gwayne had clenched his jaw until he tasted blood, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to tear it, just to keep himself from rising and striking the first man who dared speak your name with such contempt.

Dragons fell, and their riders died. It had always been so. Ever since the Dance of the Dragons had begun, every battle had claimed its toll of fire and blood. It was the fate of those who rode such creatures, everyone knew it. Everyone accepted it. But that simple truth did nothing to comfort him. Because to him, you had never been merely a rider. You were not just a Targaryen princess. You were not simply a name destined to appear in the songs of bards.

You were his wife. The woman before whom he had spoken vows he believed eternal. The girl he had learned to love long before politics, war, and the duties of your respective houses forced you apart. You had been his home, his refuge, his greatest weakness and even greater undoing. Even after your separation, even after finding yourselves on opposing sides, he had never stopped thinking of you. He had tried to convince himself otherwise, of course. He had told himself that time would heal every wound, that distance would extinguish that feeling that picked at his chest. But every attempt had failed miserably. You had remained his greatest regret. His ruin. And, despite everything, you were still his only love.

When the last fire in the camp dwindled to a bed of reddish embers and even the final conversations faded into silence, broken only by the snores of sleeping soldiers, Gwayne knew he could not remain still a moment longer. He rose slowly, careful not to make a sound. His joints protested from the strain of the day, but he did not notice. He adjusted his cloak over his shoulders, left his sword sheathed, and walked away without looking back. He moved between the tents like a silent shadow, avoiding the sleeping men and the sentries who watched the forest with heavy eyes. Each step carried him farther from the camp and closer to the place where you had vanished. He did not truly know what he was searching for, perhaps only a body to mourn, a grave before which he could kneel. Perhaps he needed to see with his own eyes the final proof of your death, because a part of him stubbornly refused to believe it.

The forest welcomed him with silence. The trees towered high above his head, turning the moonlight into thin blades of silver that barely pierced the dense weave of branches. The ground was damp, covered in leaves and moss that muffled his steps, while the wind stirred the treetops, producing a constant rustling like an incomprehensible whisper. Now and then a broken branch cracked beneath his boots, or a nocturnal creature fled through the underbrush, but otherwise the forest seemed to hold its breath with him. The air was far colder than in the camp, damp and heavy. Each breath filled his lungs with a painful sensation, yet he kept walking without slowing. His heart beat faster with every step, feeding a hope he desperately tried to smother, for fear it would destroy him.

When at last the trees began to thin and the lake appeared before his eyes, Gwayne stopped instinctively. The water lay still as a black mirror, so dark it seemed bottomless. The moon reflected upon its surface in trembling fragments, barely disturbed by the wind, while a thin mist began to rise from the shore. No sound came from the water. No ripple. No sign to tell what had happened only hours before.

Gwayne swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. "Please..." he whispered hoarsely, not knowing whether he was praying to the gods, to the lake, or to you. It was a desperate plea, spoken without even realizing it.

He began to walk slowly along the shore, his eyes darting frantically from one point to another. He searched every reflection, every log carried by the water, every dark shape lying among the stones and reeds. His hands trembled so violently that he had to clench them repeatedly to keep from losing all control. The farther he went, the more despair grew within him. He was ready to throw himself into the lake without a second thought if only he glimpsed a fragment of your cloak beneath the water. He did not care about the depth, nor the cold. He did not even care about dying. He only kept searching for you, with the same stubborn determination he had always had when it came to you.

Then, suddenly, his gaze stopped. You were there, lying on the shore, motionless, just a few steps from the dark water. Your hair, still wet, spread in disarray over the damp grass like threads of silver in the moonlight. Your clothes were soaked with water and blood, clinging heavily to your body, while one of your arms lay abandoned at your side. For a long, endless moment, Gwayne stood completely still. His heart nearly stopped, and terror seized his throat so tightly he could not even breathe. From that distance he could not see the rise and fall of your chest. He could not tell whether you were breathing. And his greatest fear, the one that had driven every step he had taken toward the lake, rose up once more to devour him. He feared he had arrived too late. He feared the gods had made a mockery of him.

Gwayne lunged forward, breathless, running along the uneven shore of the lake without regard for the slippery stones, the low branches that scratched his face, or the mud that slowed his steps. The only thing he could see was you. Every beat of his heart felt like a blow struck directly against his ribs, so fast it stole his breath. When he finally reached you, he dropped to his knees beside you, splashing water and mud across his cloak. For a moment he remained completely still, unable to convince himself that you were truly there. He stared at you with a terrified expression, as if a single wrong movement might make you vanish before his eyes. Then his hands, trembling uncontrollably, moved slowly toward your face. He brushed your forehead gently, as though he feared even the pressure of his own fingers. He caressed your cold cheeks, still damp with lake water, tracing the line of your jaw down to your neck in a desperate attempt to feel a pulse. A strand of silver hair, stuck to your skin, covered part of your face. He moved it aside with infinite care, letting his fingers linger briefly in your hair in a gesture so familiar it almost hurt him. How many times had he done the same in your chambers in Oldtown, when you fell asleep beside him with your face hidden against his chest? How many times had he watched those strands spread across the pillow, convincing himself that such happiness would last forever? Now that same hand trembled too violently to even touch you.

He was already sinking into the abyss of despair when it happened.

A faint breath, barely perceptible, slipped from your parted lips, breaking the silence of the lake. It was the slightest whisper, so weak that another man might not even have noticed it. But Gwayne felt it, felt it with every fiber of his being. His eyes flew open in disbelief as the world seemed to halt around him once more. He remained motionless for a few seconds, almost afraid he had imagined it. Then your chest rose slightly, in a slow, labored movement, but enough to shatter, in a single instant, all the pain that had suffocated him until then.

A broken sound escaped his lips before he could stop it, something between an incredulous laugh and a choked sob. Tears stung his eyes, but he made no attempt to hide them. "You're alive..." he murmured softly, as though he feared that speaking the words too loudly might frighten the gods into taking back what they had just spared him. He was definitely a selfish, selfish man. "You're alive..." he repeated, this time with his face bent close to yours, as if he needed to hear the words from his own lips to truly believe they were real.

Urgency immediately replaced his astonishment. Gwayne roused himself, quickly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and without wasting another moment he seized the edge of his cloak. With a sharp tear, he ripped a long strip of fabric from it, ignoring the sound of the cloth splitting. His fingers were clumsy, made awkward by fear and cold, yet he tried to press the makeshift bandage gently against the wound still bleeding on your shoulder. The arrow was gone, likely broken during the fall or lost in the waters of the lake, but the blood continued to seep slowly, soaking your already drenched clothes. Each time the fabric darkened with red, Gwayne's heart seemed to tighten further. He lifted you with the utmost care, slipping one arm behind your back and the other beneath your legs just enough to move you away from the shore. He drew you against his chest, trying to shield you from the cold night and the damp ground. At once he felt the weight of your body yield against him as he had never felt before. Your breathing, weak but present, broke against his armor and passed through the fabric of his tunic to reach his skin. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

"Stay with me..." he whispered, his voice breaking as he lowered his head until it brushed against your forehead. "Please... stay. Don't leave me now."

For several endless moments, he feared you had not heard him at all. Then your lashes began to tremble softly. Your eyelids lifted with agonizing slowness, as if even that simple movement required immense effort. Your eyes, still clouded with confusion and pain, wandered aimlessly before finally settling on his face. You looked at him for a long time in silence, your expression lost and distant. It was as if you were trying to remember where you were, or perhaps simply trying to understand whether he was real. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Gwayne held even his breath, terrified that this fragile connection might shatter.

You continued to stare at him. Your lips parted slightly and, in a voice so faint it nearly blended with the wind through the trees, you asked: "Am I dead?"

Those words pierced his heart. Gwayne shook his head immediately, leaning closer to you. One hand remained firm behind your back, the other still cradled your face as if he feared you might vanish at any moment. "No." The answer came too quickly, broken by emotion. "No... you're here. You're alive." He swallowed hard, but the words poured out of him uncontrollably, dragged forth by weeks of silence and a guilt he could no longer contain. "I'm sorry..." he whispered, lowering his gaze briefly before searching for yours again. "I'm so sorry. I... I didn't mean— I saw that man. I thought that if I could stop him..." His voice broke. He drew a deep breath, but it did nothing to steady the tremor in his chest. "If I hadn't intervened, maybe... maybe the arrow would have taken a different path. Maybe you wouldn't have fallen. I—" He closed his eyes for a moment, unable to continue. "I can't stop thinking about it."

His hands instinctively sought yours. They always sought your. When he finally managed to lace his fingers with yours, he was almost startled by the contrast between the warmth of his own skin and the cold that had overtaken yours. They were freezing, so cold it frightened him. He held them with the utmost care, as though afraid of hurting you, then slowly brought them to his lips. He pressed a long, trembling kiss upon them, just as he had done countless times during your marriage. It was a gesture that had become an involuntary reflex of his love. Every time you were sad, every time you were afraid, every time he returned from a long ride and found you waiting for him, he would take your hands and kiss them in that exact same way. Now he did it again, his eyes shining with unshed tears, his heart in pieces.

You were so pretty even like this. His pretty girl.

"It's my fault..." he whispered against your skin, almost unable to look at you. "You fell because of me. I made you fall. I don't even know how to ask for your forgiveness, my love."

You watched him for a long time without interrupting. There was no anger in your eyes, only an infinite weariness, made deeper still by the pain of your wound. Slowly, with an effort that broke his heart just to witness, you freed one hand from his grasp and lifted it toward his face. Your fingers trembled visibly as they reached his cheek. You touched him lightly, with a caress so gentle it felt like the brush of a feather. Gwayne remained completely still, holding even his breath. It had been so long since you had last sought his face. "You need not to apologize..." you murmured, your voice barely audible. A faint smile appeared on your chapped lips. "You were only protecting your family. Just as I do."

He lowered his gaze slowly, letting his forehead rest against yours. What an angel you were, he thought not even the fairest maiden could ever hope to be like you. What monster he was to ruining you like this, rotting you until your core. "It shouldn't be this way..." he whispered bitterly, gently stroking your still-damp hair. His fingers moved through those strands with the same tenderness as before, as if every gesture might carry you back to when you had been happy. "We shouldn't be on opposite sides. We shouldn't be forced to choose." He lifted his eyes again to meet yours. "You too are my family."

His hand lingered on your face for a few moments more, caressing you hesitantly. It was as though he were touching you for the first time, and yet as if his body remembered perfectly every line of your face. His fingers traced slowly along your cheek, the curve of your jaw, until they came to rest near your lips. The most beautiful lips he so loved kissing. For a moment, it felt to him as though he were back in your chamber in Oldtown, he could almost hear the rain against the windows, smell the burnt candles and the warmth of the sheets. For a few heartbeats, the war ceased to exist. There was only the two of you.

He leaned down toward your face, and finally he kissed you. That kiss carried every unspoken word, every night spent longing for you, every wrong choice that had led you both to that lake. His lips trembled slightly against yours, as though he feared it might truly be the last time he would ever be able to do so. They were soft despite being chapped by cold and exhaustion. And you, despite the pain coursing through every part of your body, let yourself fall into him, into his arms, against his chest. That was where you belonged, in his arms. Gwayne held you a little tighter, one hand finding your waist, careful not to touch your wound.

How he loved kissing you. How he loved when you clung to him as he was your savior. His heart always exploded in an hundreds of sparkles, making him dizzy with your taste. He felt so drunk of you, feeling you everywhere. Yet Gwayne wanted to feel you even more, merge his body into yours, flesh into flesh. He wanted to burn into you. He wanted you to kiss him forever.

He wanted. He wanted. He wanted. Why he wanted so much? Is he allowed to wanting?

It’s was so hard not to when you touched him so, looking like the prettiest dream.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a few inches. Your breaths still mingled in the cold night air, your foreheads nearly resting against each other, lips still chasing. His eyes could not leave yours, as though he feared that looking away might cause him to lose you again. He remained there, motionless, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. He could not let you go. After believing you dead, after watching you fall from the sky, after thinking he would never hear your breathing again, separating from you now felt simply impossible.

dad!john logan x mom!fem!reader

summary: over the years, you notice your son picking up more and more of logan’s habits, never realizing just how closely he’s been watching his dad

warnings: this genuinely is just pure fluff, if you’re not into parenthood fics i suggest skipping this one :)

word count: 2.5k

a/n: based on this request by @memedin4 ! i hope you enjoy it<3

john logan masterlist off campus masterlist

── ᵎᵎ ✦

logan had been home from a training camp for less than twelve hours when you walked into the kitchen and found a smaller version of him sitting at the table.

not physically, obviously. your son was three years old, barely tall enough to climb onto the dining chairs without using his knees, and currently wearing dinosaur pajamas with one sock missing. logan, meanwhile, looked every bit like a man who had landed in boston sometime after midnight and been woken before seven by a child who had apparently spent the last four days saving every thought he’d ever had for his father’s return.

they had already been downstairs for nearly an hour.

you knew this because you’d heard your son talking through the floorboards while you were still in bed. the conversation appeared to have been largely one-sided, punctuated every so often by logan’s lower, sleep-roughened voice. eventually, the smell of coffee had convinced you to join them.

logan sat slouched in his chair, one hand wrapped around a mug while he scrolled through his phone. his hair was still flattened on one side from sleep, and the exhaustion around his eyes suggested he was only technically awake.

beside him, your son sat in almost exactly the same position. his small body was slumped against the back of the chair, one hand wrapped around his plastic cup of milk while he stared down at the unopened coloring book in front of him with an expression of deep contemplation.

logan lifted his coffee, your son lifted his milk. logan took a sip, so did he.

you remained by the doorway, watching as logan lowered his mug and scratched absently at the stubble along his jaw. a few seconds later, your son raised one small hand and dragged his fingers thoughtfully across his own smooth chin.

your mouth twitched slightly at the utterly adorable sight. logan noticed you then, his eyes lifting from his phone, “morning.”

“morning.” you crossed the kitchen, placing a quick kiss against your husband’s lips before reaching for the coffee pot, and glancing toward the table again as you filled your mug.

logan leaned farther back in his chair, your son did the same. this time, you laughed.

both of them looked at you, and the resemblance in their equally confused expressions only made it worse. “what?” logan asked.

you shook your head and turned back toward the counter, “nothing.”

you heard logan mutter something to your son behind you, followed by a quiet little laugh.

at three, imitation was hardly unusual. your son copied plenty of things. he tried to use your hairbrush, repeated words he had no business knowing, and had recently spent an entire afternoon pretending to talk on a television remote after watching you take a work call.

you didn’t think much of it.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

by four, your son had worked out what it meant when logan left with a suitcase.

before, his father’s absences had existed without much explanation. dad went away sometimes. dad appeared on the television. dad eventually came home, usually with something small from whichever city he’d been in and enough guilt about missing bedtime to make him incapable of saying no for at least twenty-four hours.

now, your son understood that logan played hockey for the bruins and this information had completely changed his life.

he had a miniature jersey with his father’s name across the back and insisted on wearing it during games. on nights when logan was away, you let him stay up later than usual to watch, although he rarely made it through all three periods.

more than once, logan had called after a game only for you to turn the phone toward the couch, where his son was asleep beneath a blanket with one hand still loosely holding a plastic hockey stick.

when logan was home, things weren’t much different. your son followed him everywhere.

if logan went into the garage, the back door opened thirty seconds later and a small voice asked what he was doing. if logan went upstairs to change, your son waited outside the bedroom and resumed whatever story he’d been telling the moment his father reappeared. if logan sat down to watch something, there was usually a small body pressed against his side within minutes.

logan seemed entirely unaware of the fact that he had acquired a shadow. you, however, had noticed it most one saturday afternoon.

you had walked into the kitchen to find logan crouched in front of an open cabinet. a screwdriver rested between his fingers as he worked on one of the hinges, while your son sat cross-legged on the floor beside him.

his eyes followed logan’s hands as they moved. whenever logan paused to inspect the hinge, your son leaned forward slightly too. when logan frowned at something, a smaller crease appeared between your son’s eyebrows.

you leaned against the counter, “is he helping?”

logan glanced over his shoulder, “apparently.”

your son looked mildly offended, “i am.”

you looked at his empty hands with a small smile, “alright, love.”

logan continued working, explaining what he was doing whenever another question came from beside him. most of the answers were probably going over your son’s head, but that didn’t seem to matter. he listened with the solemn attention usually reserved for bedtime stories.

eventually, logan handed him the screwdriver and placed his own hand over the smaller one to help him tighten the final screw.

as your son looked ridiculously pleased with himself you smiled and left them to it.

later that evening, you found him sitting in front of one of his toy trucks with a plastic screwdriver in his hand. when you asked what he was doing, he barely looked up, “fixing it.”

you didn’t need to ask where he’d gotten the idea.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

at five, he decided he no longer liked tomatoes.

you discovered this at dinner when you noticed every cherry tomato from his salad arranged in a neat pile at the edge of his plate.

you stared at them for a moment, “what’s wrong with those?”

your son shrugged, “don’t like them.”

“you ate them yesterday.” you said with your brows knitted in confusion, but another shrug followed.

when you glanced across the table you noticed logan eating with the determined concentration of someone who knew better than to make eye contact. you looked at his plate, and sure enough, a small pile of tomatoes sat near the edge.

your eyes moved from him to your son, and back to your husband, “seriously?”

logan finally glanced up, “what?”

you gestured toward their plates. he looked down at his own and then toward your son’s. understanding dawned slowly causing his mouth to twitch.

“don’t,” you pointed your fork at him.

“i didn’t do anything,” he shrugged.

“you’re enjoying this.”

“a little.”

your son looked between you, clearly uninterested in whatever argument was taking place. he pushed another tomato into the pile and continued eating. you watched him glance briefly at logan’s plate before doing it.

the tomatoes were only the beginning.

your son began asking for eggs the same way logan ate them, despite previously insisting that the yolk was disgusting. he started sitting beside his father during breakfast instead of in his usual seat across the table. when logan came home from practice and dropped onto the couch with one ankle resting over the opposite knee, it wasn’t unusual to find your son sitting the same way twenty minutes later.

the expressions were the funniest part.

logan had a particular look whenever he thought you were being unreasonable. it wasn’t dramatic. one eyebrow lifted slightly while his mouth flattened at one corner, and after years of marriage, you knew exactly what it meant.

apparently, your son did too.

the first time he used it on you after being told he couldn’t have ice cream before dinner, you nearly called logan into the room to deal with the consequences of his own genetics.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

by six, hockey had become more than something your son watched because his father was on television.

he wanted to play.

you knew logan had been secretly thrilled the first time your son asked for skates, but he tried hard not to show too much of it. hockey had been part of his life for so long that he seemed almost wary of accidentally making it an obligation for his son.

he didn’t have to worry, though, because your son loved it.

you spent more mornings than you could count sitting in cold rinks with coffee between your hands, watching him on the ice. whenever logan’s schedule allowed, he came along.

you could tell those were your son’s favorite mornings.

he listened differently when logan spoke. not because he ignored his coaches, he didn’t, but because anything his father said seemed to carry additional weight.

logan would demonstrate something once, skating slowly enough for him to follow and your son would try. usually, the first attempt wasn’t particularly successful, but logan never made a big deal out of it. he would skate over, say something you couldn’t hear through the glass, and show him again.

there was something about the concentration on your son’s face that felt familiar. his brows drew together the same way logan’s did before a faceoff, his mouth tightening slightly as he tried to remember where to put his feet.

when he finally got something right, he looked for logan immediately. every single time. and no matter how small the improvement was, logan always noticed.

you wondered if either of them understood just how much they watched each other.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

at seven, your son announced that he would play for the bruins.

the declaration came over breakfast with such certainty that neither you nor logan questioned whether he’d meant it. logan looked up from his coffee, “that’s the plan?”

your son nodded and continued eating his cereal. logan glanced at you as you tried to hide your smile behind your mug. there was no point arguing. only a week earlier, your son had also informed you that he intended to become a marine biologist despite refusing to swim anywhere he couldn’t touch the bottom.

that evening, you sat with him during one of logan’s home games. your son had been to plenty by then, but his excitement never seemed to fade. he sat forward in his seat throughout warmups, tracking his father across the ice.

once the game started, his attention remained fixed. you occasionally had trouble following logan among the movement of jerseys and helmets, but your son never did.

he knew exactly when his father stepped onto the ice. he recognized the shape of his skating, the way he moved, the number on his back. whenever logan had the puck, your son became completely still.

you had seen him watch games hundreds of times, but for some reason, you really noticed it that night. there was admiration in the way he watched his father, but there was something else too. concentration, maybe. as though he weren’t only watching the game. he was learning.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

logan finally noticed on a rainy sunday afternoon.

he was home for the day, which had become increasingly rare as the season grew busier. the three of you had spent most of it doing very little.

logan was stretched across one end of the couch, one arm resting behind you while a game played on television. your son had turned the space between the couch and coffee table into a makeshift rink, using a miniature stick and foam ball despite being told several times to watch the lamp.

you were reading a book while logan was half watching the game and half scrolling through his phone.

a bad call on the television made logan look up. he frowned at the screen and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, “come on.”

it was a sentence you’d heard him say plenty of times, so you barely registered it.

a few minutes later, your son lost control of the foam ball. it bounced off the coffee table and disappeared beneath the couch. he stopped for a second as his eyes followed it, then, with a frustrated breath, he leaned on his stick and dropped his head, “come on.”

logan went still and you looked up from your book. his attention was fixed on your son, who had already dropped onto his stomach and was attempting to retrieve the ball from beneath the couch, “did you hear that?”

you followed his gaze, “hear what?”

“that.”

“you’ll have to be more specific.”

logan frowned, still watching him, “he sounded like me.”

you stared at your husband for several seconds before letting out a laugh. not because it wasn’t true, but because it had taken him seven years to notice.

logan looked at you, “what?”

“nothing.”

his eyes narrowed. the expression was so familiar that your amusement only grew, “he copies you all the time.”

logan looked genuinely doubtful, “since when?”

you smiled as you closed your book, because where were you supposed to begin?

you reminded him of the mornings when your son was three and copied the way he drank from his cup. the afternoon with the cabinet hinge. the tomatoes. the expressions. the way he rubbed his chin when he was thinking despite having no stubble to scratch.

logan listened quietly and his attention gradually moved back toward the floor. your son had retrieved the ball and was standing again, adjusting his grip on the stick. after a moment, he glanced toward logan, “dad, watch.”

logan did as your son tried the same little move he’d been practicing for the last ten minutes. the ball rolled wide. he frowned, but before he could try again, logan stood from the couch, “move your bottom hand down a little.”

your son immediately adjusted it. logan stepped around the coffee table and crouched beside him, correcting his grip before moving back, “try now.”

the second attempt was better and your son’s face changed immediately, looking at logan for his reaction, who smiled.

you watched something shift in your husband’s expression. it was subtle, but you knew him well enough to see it. the realization that this wasn’t new. that the little boy standing in front of him had been paying attention for years.

later, after your son had gone to bed, you found logan standing in the kitchen. he was looking through something on his phone. when you came closer, you realized it was an old video.

your son was four in it, pushing a plastic lawn mower across the backyard several feet behind logan, carefully following every turn he made.

you leaned back against the counter next to him and watched him as he rewinded the video and pressed play again, “you really never noticed?”

he shook his head slightly. for a few seconds, he didn’t say anything. his thumb moved across the screen, replaying the beginning of the video once more, “he was tiny.”

you smiled, “he still is.”

“not that tiny.”

there was something in his voice that made your chest tighten a little. you rested your head briefly against his shoulder.

on the screen, a four-year-old version of your son followed directly behind his father, pushing his plastic mower through grass that wasn’t being cut and occasionally looking up to make sure logan was still there.

logan watched until the video ended, then he played it again.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ

John Logan x fem!reader

Summary: Finally you and Logan get to see what the two have been avoiding for the past few weeks. Safe to say it was always going to be you two together.

Warnings: FLUFFFF

Seires Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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My Lady Strong

Aemond x OC!Aemma

The second born, A bastard, a dreamer with fire in her veins, and a girl forced into the dance of dragons

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen

other works masterlist

His Sapphire Princess

Aemond x oc!Visenya

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra finds her self with child, A girl who will forever change the history of westeros

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty

other works masterlist

blurbs/ headcannons:

sidney watkins

messy in love

family tree

fluff:

thanksgiving

drive by

lovers

secrets out

check up

ice ice baby

meeting the family

passion

smut:

angst:

another time

Dean Di Laurentis x Reader

AN: Reader plays tennis in this! Also, I don’t know much about college tennis, I only played high school so I’m not sure if the teams work the same or not but yes lol.

To say you were upset would be an understatement. But, realistically you couldn’t be too upset. Getting bumped from 1st singles to 2nd wasn’t exactly how you expected to start your Junior season of tennis. Objectively, the freshman girl who took your spot as number one was just as good as you. But still, ouch.

-{𑣲⋆} found family introductory

-{ꨄ︎} found family hockey groupchat leaked, ‘dean’s children’; texting au! garrett graham, dean di laurentis, john logan, john tucker, y/n, allie hayes, grace ivers & sabrina james

-{✩} found family fics!

-{𐙚} found family blurbs; coming soon

-{⋆˙⟡} found family social media; instagram

Collection of My Works for Characters from The Pitt, including: Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch, Jack Abbot, Brendon 'Shark' Park, Dennis Whitaker, Mateo Diaz & Jesse Van Horn 💗 Ranging from one shots to series. Happy Reading! Main Masterlist Here!

DR MICHAEL 'ROBBY' ROBINAVITCH

Rinse & Repeat Series Masterlist Here🩺

The Pitt x Reader x Batfam, Dr Robby x Wayne!Reader

The reader is the sister of Bruce Wayne, she works in the ER, wading through the slough of patients. But maybe she finds a little bit of balance in the form of her attending. The catch is, no one at the Pitt knows who she really is? how long will that last? (It's been really special and fun to write this ✨personal favourite of mine!) 🌟(Completed 💖 )

Paging Dr Daisy 🌼: Dr Robby x Paediatrician!Reader. Robby makes one last stop to check on Baby Jane Doe. Just to find you already there. The paediatric doctor known for your cheery demeanour...and right now that is the last thing Robby wants to be smothered by. Turns out you're not so pleased by him either. (personal favourite of mine!) 🌟

→ Bright Like Buttercups 🌷: Dr Robby x Paediatrician!Reader. (Paging Dr Daisy Part 2) Robby finds his motorcycle spirit quest less and less appealing with each passing day. Leading him to your door in your moment of need as you juggle looking after Baby Jane Doe and your work.

Through Your Eyes: Dr Robby x Reader. Robby notes all the ways you make his life better, fuller. How you never failed to notice all the ways life could be beautiful. And your endless desire to share it with him. He is simply, undoubtedly, infatuatedly, in love with you.

Life Is Sweeter When It's Shared: Dr Robby x Reader. Domaystic 2026, Day 12: Sharing. You slip on Robby’s hoodie whilst at his home for a little comfort. Shoving your hands into the pockets you discover little packets of…Werther's originals? 🌟

In Sickness & In Health: Dr Robby x Reader. Domaystic 2026, Day 17: Bedridden. Robby falls sick. So you are insistent on making him stay in bed. To rest. Something he's not used to. But for you. He'd do anything you'd ask of him.

My Door Is Always Open: Dr Robby x Reader. Domaystic 2026, Day 29: The Next Step. Strained and feeling hopeless. Robby's final day in the ED before his sabbatical has everyone on edge. You will yourself to make one final gesture. Taking the next step as you enclose a set of keys into the palm of his hand. Hoping to simply extend just a little bit of peace.

DR JACK ABBOT

Who Would've Thought? Series: Jack Abbot x Reader, In the most unlikeliest of places. You and Jack meet. Among the blaring music and blinding lights. You're intrigued by the roguishly handsome man who decides to spend his time with you. (Completed 💖 )

Who Would've Thought?...(Part 1)

...I'd See You Again (Part 2)

...In Here Of All Places (Part 3)

...We'd Be Here Now (Part 4)

...I'd End Up With You (Part 5)

…That My Future Would Be You (Part 6)

I Know You're Hurting Mini Series: Jack Abbot x Widower!Reader, Inspired by the music of Raye; I Know You're Hurting, Life Boat and Happier Times Ahead. Jack's direction in life spun on its head as he met you. A fellow widower. Someone who understood the pain of his losses. Who had understood him. Unfortunately you had understood him all too well. Recognising patterns that reopened old wounds. And yet...Jack still loved you... (Completed 💖 )

I Know You're Hurting (Part 1)

Life Boat (Part 2)

Happier Times Ahead (Part 3)

Sugar, Butter, Flour Series: Jack Abbot x Waitress!Pregnant!Reader, Heavily based upon Waitress the Musical. It's amazing what a little sugar, butter and flour can do. How it can convey a number of emotions, of words left unsaid, all for someone else to enjoy. None the wiser of the weight of your world. Just perhaps. You find someone who alters the definition of love for you in a way you never knew was possible... (Completed 💖 )

What Baking Can Do / It Only Takes A Taste (Part 1)

You Will Still Be Mine / A Soft Place To Land (Part 2)

Bad Idea / You Matter To Me / Dear Baby (Part 3)

She Used To Be Mine / Everything Changes (Part 4)

Opening Up / Lulu's Pie Song (Part 5)

With All Due Respect: Jack Abbot x Reader, "I can practically feel your eyes on me" ... "I am looking respectfully" ... "You are absolutely not" ... "No I am not" The moment where Abbot falls for the biomedical equipment technician that works nights at PTMC. And exploring where it all leads. With an impromptu breakfast date to something so much more. (personal favourite of mine!) 🌟

Thanks, But No Thanks: Jack Abbot x Reader, Domaystic 2026, Day 22: Being Overheard. A long shift. A nosy woman. A failed attempted set up. Leads to Jack feeling soothed by just how much you love him. He makes sure to show you just how much you mean to him. 🌟

Tough Luck, Love: Jack Abbot x Reader, Domaystic 2026, Day 25: Laughter. "you walk like it's heavy >:3" "baby i walk like that because i have one leg." "you never let me have any fun :(" Using Quote which can be found here! Jack simply loves to hear you laugh.

Real Smooth: Jack Abbot x Reader, An accidental meeting. A dog named Bailey. Who soothes the soul, just like a glass of Irish cream liqueur. Leads to something neither of you expected. Hopefully its more than just friendship...

Maybe It Was You & Maybe It Was Me: Jack Abbot x Reader, Dennis Whitaker x Reader, WIP love triangle.

DR BRENDON PARK : 'THE SHARK' 🦈

Sugar & Spice Series: Brendon Park x Wife!Pregnant!Reader, Dana Evans x Daughter!Reader, You may not have followed your Mama’s footsteps into the medical profession. But you did inherit her cheeky wit, and devotion to caring for those closest to her…raised with a deep understanding and respect for those working in the hospital. You make an effort to drop off little treats from your bakery. With each appearance you grow closer and closer to everyone. Leading to the pittlings to wonder just who your husband is…safe to say it’s the last person they expected. (Ongoing!)

Who Knew That Sharks Could Be Nice? (Part 1)

Gentle Hands & Gentle Hearts (Part 2)

What's Mine Is Yours (Part 3)

(Part 4)

Take The Bait: Brendon Park x Wife!Reader. Based off of an idea from @lunamoonbby blog which you can check out here Brendon Park's wife is a marine biologist that specialises in Sharks. One day she pops in to drop off some lunch for him. The real question remains however is, just what kind of Shark is he? (personal favourite of mine!) 🌟

Swim With Sharks, Expect To Get Bit: Brendon Park x Curvy Wife!Reader. Based off of an idea from @libbyqypu which you can check out here Early mornings in the gym before starting work. The one problem is the jerks who think they have a right to demean you. And your husband, Brendon is not ok with anyone who thinks it's fine to mess with you...he might have to teach this guy a few lessons. ⭐️

Lured By The Light: Brendon Park x Reader. Brendon never anticipated falling so effortlessly in love. But with you. With all the consideration and care that you hold for him. How could he do anything but love you. In which each evening, as Brendon comes home late from work, you never fail to leave a light on for him. A symbol of your burning love for him. ⭐️

Hook, Line & Sinker: Brendon Park x Wife!Reader, Everyone swore that you and PTMC's Shark were sworn enemies. As you shoot him biting quips and retorts each time your paths crossed...Turns out Park isn't quite the lone Shark everyone assumed him to be. His sharpness, softened by your affections. (personal favourite of mine!) 🌟

-> Hooked On A Feeling: Brendon Park x Wife!Reader, (Hook, Line & Sinker Part 2) Knowing what they know now. Everyone is completely stumped each time they see you and Brendon in a room together. Now all that's left to know is. How the hell did you manage to fall in love with Shark?

Comes In Waves: Brendon Park x Curvy!Reader, Even the most confident of people can succumb to the festering insecurities that lie in wait at the bottom beneath the ocean of your thoughts. You are endlessly grateful to Brendon for loving you through it all. Even if you don't always love yourself.

Dazed & Confused: Brendon Park x Reader, Domaystic 2026, Day 14: Startled by Sudden Appearance. The only one able to break your concentration. Is the very Shark of the hospital. Though he might strike fear into the hearts of the other staff, as they steer clear. In your eyes, it is a sweet and welcomed distraction. ⭐️

Bite Me: Brendon Park x Reader, Domaystic 2026, Based on day 24: New Pyjamas. You had a little habit of buying nautical themed items. And now that included Shark themed pyjamas. And Brendon can't help but love you for it. Softening day by day from your presence. It certainly shocks a few of his colleagues to discover this new development in his personal life. ⭐️

Diving In: Brendon Park x Reader, Domaystic 2026, Based on day 31: Going Home Early. You and Brendon simply needed a little push. A little nudge for your relationship to shift into something softer. Both unable to approach the idea of that. Who knew all it would take was a cold plunge to make you both see, perhaps there was a home to be found within each other's arms.

Of Sirens & Sharks: Brendon Park x Police Officer!Reader, Dr Robby x Sister!Reader, A broken arm. An overprotective brother. Who simply wants to make sure everything’s in order. Who demands the best of care for you. Happens to lead you to a very handsome orthopaedic specialist… Who on any other occasion would have been annoyed with such a minor case.…but just perhaps. His annoyance dims when he meets you. The trouble is. Neither of you know how to tell Robby…

SHIVER COLLECTION: Fics ft.Park The Shark's Sister

*Shiver: A collective term for a group of sharks swimming or congregating together 🦈

Jaws: Dennis Whitaker x Paramedic!Reader, You were bold. Blunt. You spoke your mind. And you had made Dennis absolutely smitten for you. Falling steadily until you ask him out. There was just one thing you never told him...you're the sister of PTMC's Shark. All of that comes to the forefront as you're caught in the crossfires of a violent patient.

Natural Habitat: Dr Robby x Attending!Reader, Quick witted, level headed and calm. Your favourite past times include; loving your husband (and making sure everyone was aware of this), making people laugh and of course, relentlessly teasing PTMC's Shark until he cracks a smile.

Before You Ask...It Was A Shark: Jack Abbot x Firefighter!Reader. Jack could be relentless when it came to stirring up trouble. Especially when it came to poking a little fun at PTMC's Shark. What no one could quite understand was why? Or how Jack managed to get away with it. Not until you, Jack's fearless firefighter of a wife, comes rushing into the ER. Turns out your presence worries more than just Jack. (personal favourite of mine!) 🌟

-> Surviving The Shark: (Before You Ask...It Was A Shark Part 2) What's a girl gotta do to entertain herself when her leg's broken? Forced to be benched for the next few months. Until an idea sparks. One that leads you to hang out in PTMC's ER. Under the ruse that you're simply bringing in some food for some of Pittsburgh's hardest workers...When really, you're just there to gossip.

Tricky Fish: Mateo Diaz x Radiology Tech!Reader. You were cool. Calm. Collected. The night shift's very own Shark, as you strolled through the ED. You had also become the fascination of a certain nurse. Mateo tried his very hardest to make you crack. Until eventually you smiled. Your cool facade shifting ever so slightly. Before shifting into something a little more... But not everything can be that simple - not when Park the Shark was your brother.

Just Keep Swimming: Jesse Van Horn x Paediatrician!Reader, You and Brendon Park could be deemed as two sides of the same coin. Day and night between you two. And yet. So very similar. This was a well known fact amongst those at PTMC. What wasn't quite as well known. Was that you. Were in fact the long time sweetheart of one Jesse Van Horn...All of which is brought out into the open as he comes in with his sick daughter, and his son clasping his hand.

Nocturnal: John Shen x Reader, You and John were quite a pair. Deadpanned and unserious. A rhythm developed after years of friendship, deepened once you'd fallen in love. Both with a love for iced caramel macchiatos. Everyone thought they knew all there was to know about you both...Turned out they were mistaken, as a rolled ankle leads to a new revelation…

DR DENNIS WHITAKER

Tread Lightly Series: Dennis Whitaker x Former Army Medic!Reader. Dennis unwittingly becomes enamoured by the sweet young woman that comes in each week with batches of snacks for everyone to enjoy. It seems your sweetness has him stumbling over his words. With your heart racing at the thought of him. It's strange how these things can happen, in the most unpredictable of ways. (Completed 💖 )

You Got Me Tripping, Stumbling... (Part 1) ⭐️

Flipping, Fumbling... (Part 2)

Clumsy Cause I'm Falling In Love... (Part 3)

You Got Me Slipping, Tumbling.... (Part 4)

Sinking, Crumbling...(Part 5)

So In Love With You (Mini Part) / Domaystic 2026

Bewitched ✨: Dennis Whitaker x Actress! Famous!Reader, Based on a request from @c-est-comme-ca found here! Dennis has always been unassuming to his colleagues. Quiet and diligent with his work. And with a girlfriend that no one's ever met or seen before. His colleagues are left wondering who it might be. Turns out you are not what they had in mind...⭐️

I Love You From My Head, To-Ma-Toes: Dennis Whitaker x Reader, Based on a request from @love-dove-noora found here! You loved the simple things in life...And only the freshest of eggs straight from the farm. And it just so happened that at the farm you visited regularly, has a new helping hand...Who just so happens to fit into your life, just as much as you fit into his. Neatly, softly and ever so sweetly.

As The Sun Rises: Dennis Whitaker x Reader, Domaystic 2026, Day 16: Cleaning The Gutters. It appears that your friend Amy has decided on your behalf. That you and Dennis would both suit each other nicely. A broken gutter and a few more chores around the farm. You find yourself working alongside Dennis Whitaker.

Perfectly Imperfect: Dennis Whitaker x Reader, Domaystic 2026, Day 27: Holding Hands. Dennis tries his very best to flirt with you. Failing miserably with each attempt. Brushed off as mere friendliness. Until finally he gets through to you. Turns out it was worth the wait. "I really like my hand holding yours" "I really like it too"

Sweetheart: Dennis Whitaker x Reader, Jesse Van Horn x Sister!Reader, Domaystic 2026, Day 28: Asking For Advice. Dennis is hopelessly in love with you. You're hopelessly in love with him. Unfortunately neither of you are able to come to terms with what to do next. Not until Dennis asks for a little advice. Without even realising that the advice, is coming from your brother.

Maybe It Was You & Maybe It Was Me: Jack Abbot x Reader, Dennis Whitaker x Reader, WIP love triangle.

NURSE JESSE VAN HORN

I Owe You One: Jesse Van Horn x Neighbour!Reader, Domaystic 2026, Day 23: Stuck Lock. Found leant against your door. Stuck in despair. Jesse offers you to come inside his apartment. Turns out you really shouldn't have tried to avoid him for so long. As just maybe he has a sweet spot for you too.

Reblogs, comments and likes on my fics are really appreciated 🥰

And if there's something you'd like to see written for any of these characters feel free to send me a request with the character and idea in mind (I can't guarantee I'd do them all, but it never hurts to try 🤷‍♀️) 💗

(It is honestly one of the purest joys knowing that people like and enjoy my random little writings and stories 💕 Thank you!) I have cross posted some/most of these fics to my ao3 (RedSakura101) (Mainly the series)

In which: Bruce Waynes daughter, Y/N Wayne is a full time party girl. Club hopper, party animal, hedonist. Whatever you want to call it. To full the void her father left, she turns to nightclubs, dingy bars and basement raves.

But when Bruce Wayne finds his daughter in an alleyway, half dead and delirious, he decides something has to change.

John Logan x Fem! Reader

Summary: Y/n transfers to Briar to play on the women's soccer team and reunite with her childhood best friend— Hannah Wells. Overly protective and convinced that John Logan is in love with Hannah, Y/n is determined to keep him away. Logan is intrigued, and mildly annoyed at the new girl that keeps scaring women away from him.

TW: allusions to SA (not really), cursing

a/n: thanks for all the support for my random story idea <3 <3!! i'm definitely a little rusty, so bare with me pls! also, i haven't read the books (sorry sorry), so this is based off of the show. comment or send me a dm to be added to the tag list!

previous | part 1 | next

Y/n stared at the acceptance email on her laptop screen for the third time that hour, the Briar University logo gleaming at the top like a beacon. Her finger hovered over Hannah's contact in her phone. She'd been sitting on this for exactly thirty-seven minutes— a record for her, if she was being honest. But the words full athletic scholarship and women's soccer team kept blurring together with the single thought that mattered most. Hannah.

She hit the call button before she could overthink it anymore.

Hannah picked up on the second ring. "Hey! What's up?"

"So," Y/n started, unable to keep the smile from seeping into her voice, "hypothetically speaking, how would you feel if your most favorite person in the world happened to be transferring to a certain school in Hastings?"

There was a beat of silence. Then, "Wait. Wait. Are you—"

"I got an offer," Y/n said, her words tumbling out faster as the anticipation grew. "Full ride. They want me on the team as their main center mid. I'd start in January. I literally just finished all the paperwork."

The scream that erupted from the other end of the line was so loud Y/n had to pull the phone away from her ear. She was laughing now, the kind of uncontrollable, childish giggle that only Hannah could pull out of her.

"Oh my god, oh my god!" Hannah was practically shrieking. "Are you serious right now? Please tell me you're serious, because if this is a joke I will literally kill you."

"No, Han, I made up this elaborate story just to get you excited over nothing," Y/n joked, still grinning like an idiot. "Of course I'm serious. I mean, unless you don't want me there. Which would be a bit awkward, 'cause I already signed the—"

"Shut up! Of course I want you here! This is—" Hannah's voice cracked slightly, and Y/n felt her chest tighten. "This is the best news I've gotten in like ever. When are you coming?"

"January. I'll have to sit out fall season, obviously, but spring training starts right after winter break." Y/n paused, biting back a smile. "I know it's kind of last minute, and I don't even have housing sorted yet, but—"

"Oh my god, housing," Hannah interrupted, her voice suddenly intense. "Wait, Allie and I have that extra bedroom in our suite. We've just been using it for storage and random shit because our assigned roommate switched last minute. You have to move in with us."

Y/n felt something warm unravel in her chest. "I'd love to. Only if it's okay with Allie, though."

"Are you kidding? She's going to lose her mind. Remember when you visited last year? She literally nagged me for a week asking when you were coming back." Hannah laughed. "Okay, I'm at Garrett's with everyone right now, I have to go tell them! But we're going to plan everything. I'm talking room setup, class schedules, where to get actually good coffee—"

"Han," Y/n cut her off softly, her voice catching just slightly. "I'm really excited."

"Me too," Hannah said, quieter now, and Y/n could hear the smile in her voice. "I've gotta go tell everyone! I'll call you later, okay? I love you."

"Love you too."

The line went dead, and Y/n sat back in her desk chair, staring up at the ceiling. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Briar. She was actually doing this. She was leaving, and she was going to be with her best friend again.

Hannah had always seen her. Had always chosen her.

And now, finally, Y/n was choosing herself.

Hannah stood in the hallway of the hockey house, phone still in hand, trying to process what had just happened. Y/n was transferring to Briar. Her Y/n. Her best friend since kindergarten, the person who knew her better than anyone, who'd been there during the worst time of her life.

She was coming here.

Hannah didn't realize she was crying until she felt wetness on her cheeks. Happy tears. The kind that made her chest feel too full.

She took a deep breath, wiped her face, and then ran back into the living room.

"ALLIE!"

The entire room jumped at the noise. Tucker, who'd been half asleep on the recliner, nearly fell backwards out of the chair. Logan looked up from his phone with raised eyebrows. Garrett, who'd been leaning against the arm of the couch next to Hannah's empty spot, straightened immediately.

"Jesus Christ, Wellsy," Dean muttered, though he was grinning. "Little warning next time?"

Allie, who'd been tucked into Dean's side on the couch, sat up with wide eyes. "What? Did Dexter finally break up with that piece of shit from the musical theatre department?!"

"Y/n's transferring to Briar!" Hannah practically shouted, bouncing on her toes.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Allie screamed.

"OH MY GOD!" She jumped off the couch, almost elbowing her boyfriend in the face. "Wait—wait." Her eyes went wider, if that was even possible. "We have an extra room! Tell her she has to move in with us!"

Hannah was already nodding, beaming so hard her cheeks hurt. "I already did. She said yes."

The two girls grabbed each other's hands and started jumping up and down like they were thirteen, neither caring how ridiculous they looked.

"Okay, what the hell just happened?" Tucker asked groggily, looking between them in utter confusion. "Who's Y/n?"

"And why are you two literally jumping for joy?" Logan added, clearly amused.

Hannah finally stopped bouncing and turned to face the guys, still grinning. "Y/n is my best friend from back home. We've known each other since we were kids. She just got offered a full ride to play on Briar's women's soccer team, and she's starting in the spring semester!"

"That's awesome, babe," Garrett said, standing up to wrap an arm around her shoulders. He pressed a kiss to her temple. "I know you've missed her."

Hannah leaned into him, grateful. Garrett had heard plenty about Y/n over the past few months, but had never actually met her. "She's amazing," Hannah said. "Like, seriously. Best soccer player I've ever seen."

"Cool," Logan said, turning back to his phone. "When does she get here?"

"January," Hannah said. "She'll be here in January."

Allie was already pulling out her phone, making a Pinterest board. "I already have ideas for her room. And we should throw her a welcome party or something!"

"Alright," Hannah nodded, clapping her hands together. "Who wants to help me plan the best 'welcome to Briar' surprise ever?"

Allie grinned. "I'm already on it."

The boys exchanged casual glances, but Hannah didn't care.

The suite was chaos in the best way possible.

Y/n stood in the doorway of her new room, taking it in. The empty walls, the bare desk, the twin bed with its plastic mattress cover still on. It was small and slightly falling apart, but it was perfect.

"Okay, so we cleared out the closet," Hannah was saying, already moving around the room with the kind of purpose that Y/n had come to appreciate. "And Allie and I keep the common area neutral so you could add whatever decorations to it."

"We're thinking of adding string lights," Allie smiled brightly, appearing in the doorway with a box of Y/n's belongings balanced on her hip. "Make it more homey."

Y/n felt something in her chest loosen.

"Hey," Allie said, setting the box down and pulling Y/n into a tight hug before she could respond. "Welcome home."

It was such a simple thing to say. Such a small gesture. But Y/n found herself holding on for a beat longer than necessary, breathing in the familiar vanilla scent of Allie's perfume.

Before they could pull apart, Hannah was already wrapping her arms around both of them, sandwiching Y/n between them.

"I can't believe you're actually here," Hannah whispered into Y/n's shoulder.

"God, me neither," Y/n said, and she meant it.

They stood like that for a moment. The three of them huddled together in the small dorm room, the bright afternoon light filtering through the window.

Allie pulled back with a clap of her hands. "Alright, let's get you unpacked before dinner. I'm thinking we order pizza, blast some music, and make this room actually livable."

The next two hours passed in a blur. Y/n's small Honda Civic had been packed strategically— clothes on one side, school supplies and soccer gear in another, and the few personal items she'd bothered to bring in a separate box up front. It wasn't much. She'd never been one to hold onto things.

Hannah and Allie, however, seemed determined to fill the space with life.

"This poster should definitely go above the bed," Allie declared, holding up a print of some rock band Y/n had picked up a few years ago. "And we have to get you some plants! Plants make everything better, even the fake ones."

Y/n hung her clothes in the closet while Hannah organized her books on the small shelf beside the desk, arranging them by color in a way that made Y/n roll her eyes affectionately.

"Your soccer trophies go here," Hannah said, pointing to the shelf space beside the books. "So everyone knows what's up."

"No one's going to care about my trophies," Y/n said, but she was already pulling them out of the box.

"I care," Hannah said simply. "And Allie cares."

Allie nodded enthusiastically from where she was now arranging Y/n's bedding. "Damn right. You're a badass athlete. Own it."

Y/n set the trophies on the shelf, feeling more seen than she had in a long time.

By the time they finished, the room had transformed. It still looked like a shitty dorm room, but it was hers. The walls were still bare, but Allie had a plan for that. Her books were organized, clothes were hung up. Her soccer stuff was tucked neatly in the corner. The string lights Allie had mentioned were already strung up around the window, casting everything in a warm glow.

"You like it?" Hannah asked, standing in the small doorway with Allie.

Y/n looked around and felt something in her chest loosen. Something that had been wound tight for so long it had become normal.

"Yeah," she said quietly, smiling to herself. "It's great."

"Pizza's here!" Allie called, already heading toward the common area. "And I may have splurged on garlic knots."

Hannah grabbed Y/n's hand and pulled her along, and Y/n let herself be led out of her room. The three of them settled onto the worn couch in the suite's living area, pizza box open on the coffee table, music playing softly from a speaker.

Hannah tucked her feet underneath her, leaning against Y/n's shoulder in that easy, comfortable way she had. Allie was already halfway through her first slice, talking animatedly about her classes and the drama filled theater department.

Y/n listened, ate, and felt that knot continue to loosen.

This was what she'd been missing. Not just Hannah— though that was a big part of it— but this. The feeling of being wanted, of being chosen, of being home with people who actually care.

"So," Allie said, turning to Y/n with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Tell us everything. How was the drive? Are you ready to absolutely destroy the women's soccer team?"

Y/n smiled. A real one, not the polished version she'd perfected over the years. "The drive was fine. Stopped for coffee somewhere in Pennsylvania. And yeah, I'm ready."

"That's my girl," Hannah said, squeezing her hand.

Y/n squeezed back, letting herself sink into the couch. Everything finally felt right for once.