#novawrites

the masterlist 

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe - reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track. ୨୧ chapter one ୨୧ chapter two ୨୧ chapter three ୨୧ chapter four ୨୧ chapter five ୨୧ chapter six ୨୧ chapter seven ୨୧ chapter eight  ୨୧ chapter nine ୨୧ chapter ten ୨୧ chapter eleven ୨୧ chapter twelve ୨୧ chapter thirteen ୨୧ chapter fourteen ୨୧ chapter fifteen ୨୧ chapter sixteen ୨୧ chapter seventeen ୨୧ chapter eighteen ୨୧ chapter nineteen ୨୧ chapter twenty ୨୧ the epilogue chapter one ୨୧  chapter two ୨୧  chapter three ୨୧  chapter four ୨୧ chapter five ୨୧ 

the 18+ folder ୨୧ school work is taking you out and rafe helps you destress. ୨୧ you get jealous and rafe shows you you don’t need to be. ୨୧ you and rafe need to study the next algebra chapter but he has different plans.

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Elden Ring Nightreign || Wylder/Revenant/Iroenye || General || 1053 words

Tags: Character Study, Introspection, Established Relationship, Feels, Grief/Mourning, Borrowing Grief From the Future, Feelings, Emotional, Angst and Feels, Angst, Hope, Wylder & Ironeye haunt the narrative but aren't present, The focus is on Revenant's thoughts & feelings, perseverance is grass growing in the cracks along the path we walk

Summary:

Grief is a ballet we dance alone, the ghosts of our convictions trailing around us. Glissade-jeté, assemblé--leap, suspended, and fall to land on feet soft as petals. Revenant ruminates as she borrows her grief from the future, for she fears losing the memories she already has. Of loss, sudden life, and love.

For @steggyfanevents Steggy Week 2024, Day 2: Headcanons and meta

In collaboration with @thesongofthegreens ♥︎ Hey everyone, Artemis and I are back for another year of Steggy week!

Today we bring you The Faces of Cedar Street! We have finally brought this headcanon of ours to life with finalized casting for the neighborhood!

Nova, what is Cedar Street? It's the neighborhood Artemis and I built together for Steve and Peggy to live out the lives they deserve!

If you are unfamiliar with our post from last year and you want to read up on the lore of the street, here is the doc! CEDAR STREET DOC

Below are the casting choices we came up with together, we hope you enjoy this cherished headcanon of ours!

now entering: 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 || 𝐌𝐊𝟏

ੈ ♛ ‧₊˚ ― 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙛𝙪𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚 ︴ ❝ I'd catch a grenade for ya ❞

Next

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Chapter One: Curiosity & Consequences

Johnny Cage. There he was, the embodiment of charisma and confidence, commanding the set of his Indiana Jones film with effortless charm. Airlea Baros, had lived in the shadows her whole life, often found enjoyment in watching Mr. A-List from afar. As she peered from behind one of the props on set, she watched Johnny approach the temple ruins alongside his co-star, Adam.

“We're off the map. We should go back, re-check the route,” Adam suggested, glancing around nervously.

“It’s this way,” Johnny replied confidently, and Airlea felt her admiration swell.

“The temple!” Adam exclaimed, pointing at the entrance.

“Goddamn, Alessia,” Johnny muttered, his gaze locked on a dead, burnt body nearby. Airlea's stomach churned at the sight. What had happened here?

“Can you open it?” Adam asked, peering at the massive door.

“Without killing us? Let’s hope so,” Johnny shot back, determination etched on his face.

Airlea could hardly contain her excitement and fear. Here was her hero, facing danger head-on, while she remained hidden, a mere spectator in a world she longed to join.

With a mix of trepidation and excitement, Airlea quietly slipped into the temple after them, staying hidden in the shadows.

“Turn 'em off,” Johnny instructed, gesturing for Adam to shut off their flashlights. “Yeah, we’re definitely getting warmer.” The dim light of the chamber flickered, heightening her sense of adventure.

“How are these still burning?” Adam asked, his voice echoing in the stillness.

“Oil bubbles up from the ground. The chamber channels it somehow,” Johnny replied confidently, leading them deeper into the temple.

Airlea's pulse quickened as they entered a burial-like room adorned with ancient artifacts.

“Katara Vala. And his shield! What? So, there’s metal in the floor,” Adam exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder.

“That’s not just any metal,” Johnny said, kneeling down. “It’s liquid mercury.”

“Shit! That stuff's toxic,” Adam warned, and Airlea felt a chill run down her spine. She knew this was a dangerous situation, and she had to be careful, but the thrill of being so close to her idol was irresistible.

“Fatal. Only step where I step,” Johnny warned, leading the way across the precarious floor. Airlea watched nervously, her heart racing as Adam almost tripped, barely catching himself.

“What did I say?” Johnny shot back, just as a button was pressed beneath their feet, causing liquid mercury to surge dangerously close.

“Shit!” Adam exclaimed, almost falling in, but Johnny grabbed him just in time.

“I’m sorry. I—” Adam stammered.

“Not now. Get out the explosives.” Johnny examined a large pillar, his focus unwavering.

“That’s our bridge?” Adam asked, incredulity in his voice.

“Do this right, it’ll fall across,” Johnny replied, glancing back at him.

“The Kalima. They’re real?!” Adam shouted as winged demon beasts emerged from the mercury.

“Keep working. I’ll take care of the she-beasts,” Johnny instructed, adrenaline pumping.

“You disturb Katara Vala’s slumber. For your sin, you die,” the Kalima hissed.

Airlea could hardly breathe as she watched Johnny engage in battle, his movements fluid and powerful. She had never seen anything like it.

After defeating the Kalima, Johnny stood tall, brushing off his hands. “Got no time to die, crazy lady.”

“You okay?” Adam asked, shaken.

“Yes. We ready? Physics, for the win. Let’s go,” Johnny replied, a determined glint in his eyes.

“This’ll be worth millions,” Adam said, referring to Katara Vala’s shield, his ambition clear.

“It belongs in a museum,” Johnny shot back.

Suddenly, panic erupted. “Adam!” Johnny yelled as his friend slipped into the liquid mercury after a scare from Katara Vala.

“You will not have it,” the ancient spirit warned.

“You don’t need it; you’re dead. Speaking of which, you just killed my best friend. And I’m not one to forgive and forget,” Johnny declared, fury igniting his every move as he battled Katara Vala.

After the fierce clash, Johnny searched for the shield. “Now, where’s that shield?” he asked, running toward it—just inches from Airlea, who held her breath, hidden in a nook.

“I... am not yet defeated,” Katara Vala warned, rising again.

“Yes, you are. Time to go home.” Johnny threw the shield with pinpoint accuracy, striking down Katara Vala like a hero in an epic tale.

Airlea's heart raced with admiration as she witnessed it all, realizing that her life was about to change forever. Her heart raced as she imagined what it would be like to meet him. 

Airlea knew she had to hurry back to her home before more people showed up. As Johnny was distracted, she made her way through the temple, her heart pounding from both excitement and fear. But just as she was about to escape, her eyes landed on Johnny’s satchel, carelessly set down near the entrance.

Curiosity got the best of her, she thought. I have time. Johnny has a big ego that always needs attention.

With a quick glance behind her to ensure Johnny was still engaged with the crew, she darted toward the satchel, her tiny heart racing with the thrill of discovery. She carefully climbed up, peering inside, eager to see what treasures lay within.

“Cut! Print it!” the director, Steven, called out, breaking her concentration.

“I knew it! I felt that one. You felt it too, right?” Johnny exclaimed, excitement radiating from him.

Airlea barely heard their chatter as she rummaged through the bag. Her fingers brushed against various items—scripts, a water bottle, and something that glinted in the low light.

“Temple of Katara Vala... Take 39... Tail state,” the clapper board person announced, making Airlea jump.

“That’s a wrap,” Steven said, clapping his hands together.

“Steven. This was fantastic, thank you. Just like the old days. And these props? Jimbo killed it,” Johnny praised, beaming.

Airlea’s heart raced as she heard him speak. She couldn’t believe she was this close to him, her admiration deepening.

“Hey, about my pitch. Y'know, the karate zombie thing? I’m thinking four films. Maybe a streaming series?” Johnny suggested, his excitement palpable.

“Johnny, I don't—” Steven began, but Johnny cut him off.

“You’re right. Not here. I’ll swing by your office after I change.”

“I can't. Have to meet with the editors. Marsha will call you,” Steven replied.

“Great! Have your assistant call me,” Johnny said, waving as he walked away.

Airlea's excitement turned to panic as she accidentally knocked over a water bottle, causing a chain reaction of items tumbling around her. In the chaos, she slipped deeper into the satchel, wedging herself between a rolled-up script and a few props.

Before she could free herself, Johnny returned, picking up the satchel without noticing her tiny figure inside. As he slung it over his shoulder, Airlea felt the sudden sway of movement and the pressure of the bag tightening around her.

Chapters: 3/26 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: The Dark Urge/Enver Gortash Characters: The Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate), Enver Gortash, Orin the Red (Baldur's Gate), Sceleritas Fel, Original Character(s) - Character, Sarevok Anchev Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Origin Story, Will Tag As The Story Progresses, Slow Burn Summary:

“I wish to speak to the head of this church”, said the man as if he was discussing getting a new haircut. He should have favored that - the dark mess on his head certainly needed it.

Eris crossed her arms. "Then speak."

Confusion. Alarm. Then understanding. Eris saw the gears shift behind his dark-ringed eyes. Consideration. He stepped forward, and held up his hand as if to reach for hers but then seemed to realise that he did value his fingers more and simply bowed lightly.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I’ve been keeping an eye on your church for a while now. Lord Enver Gortash, it’s my pleasure, High Primistress."

A retelling of what might have happened in the years before the Nautiloid crash. Not entirely canon-compliant aka I'm making stuff up as I go.

             Elena knew this wasn’t exactly the best choice to make in her whole entire life, but she needed something to publish in the papers, something that could get her a full on ride into a good job. But as the red head stood there, wincing every time the sound of a punch landing on the other’s face made her a little queasy, she wasn’t the type to have a tough stomach when it came to blood, perhaps that was why she dropped the idea of becoming a nurse or somewhere in the medical field like her older sister. 

             What she wasn’t expecting so many people showing up to this type of gig, she even noticed some people she seen around campus yelling out towards the fighters, her eyes pulled away from the angry faces to look into the ring, taking notice the dark hair and the way they moved away from hits coming their way. Adjusting the coat in hand she leaned against the railing to get a better glimpse. The sound of a body falling to the ground had her biting down on her lip at the sight, Elena may be a violent person but she couldn’t imagine knocking someone out with one punch to the face. 

             “What am I doing here.” She whispered to herself and walked away from the group of people as she walked through the doors that lead to another room. Maybe if she snooped around she would find more evidence on this illegal activity that was happening. 

thinking about soft rafe who just wants to please his jealous girl njfezefeoizionfnmlks

before you can say more, his arms snake around your waist from behind, and you try to wriggle free, but his grip is firm. “i’ll throw them all out if that’s what you want,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it with maddening softness.  

you shake your head stubbornly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a real answer. “no,” you mutter, crossing your arms even as his hold on you tightens. “you should put them above your bed. make a shrine out of them.”  

his lips find a familiar trail along your neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that make your resolve falter. “i think i kinda like when you’re jealous,” he murmurs, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine.  

you huff, keeping your eyes locked on the shelf in front of you, determined not to react. “who’s jealous?” you whisper, your voice small, defiant.  

you feel him smile against your skin, the curve of it unmistakable, and you purse your lips, refusing to admit how easily he gets to you.  

he presses you against him and suddenly, his gentle kisses turn into desperate nipping and soft sucking that flood your entire core with pleasure. you moan softly as his hands travel down, lower and lower until they're under your skirt and he's ripping your tights and panties down to your ankles.

no thoughts, just rafe eating his study-till-i-drop girlfriend out to help her destress :)

the gentle knock on your door barely registers. "mom, i'll eat later tonight," you call out, voice clipped but trying to stay calm. it’s the third time you’ve said it, and the second you hear the door open, frustration prickles at your already frazzled nerves.

except it’s not your mom—it’s rafe. he stands in the doorway with his gym bag slung over one shoulder. “later tonight, huh?” he murmurs, an easy smirk tugging at his lips. with a gentle thud, he drops the bag just outside your door and steps inside, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot.

for a moment, your stress falters. the weight in your chest shifts, replaced by something lighter—relief, maybe even the hint of a smile. but it’s fleeting. you shake it off, glancing back at your biology book. “i have a lot to do,” you mutter, your tone softening despite yourself. “how was practice?”

he doesn’t answer immediately, just walks over to your bed, sits down, and kicks off his shoes. when he finally speaks, it’s in that low, casual drawl of his. “sweaty.”