#riff lorton fluff

[minnie-cai]

༊*·˚ Working Man

pairing; mechanic!riff lorton x housewife!reader

tags/warnings; infidelity, significant age-gap marriage (older husband x younger reader), emotional neglect, implied marital coercion, sexual themes, references to fertility pressure, implied manipulation and gaslighting, mild period-typical misogyny, mentions of abandonment and child neglect, smoking and alcohol

word count; 4.1k

summary; In late 1950s West Side New York, you’re a young housewife stuck in a marriage built on duty, not desire. When a trip to the garage introduces you to Riff—a grease-stained, sharp-eyed mechanic who sees you for who you really are—it sparks a slow, dangerous unraveling. What begins with a glance becomes a ritual. And then, a reckoning.

✦•〰〰〰〰〰〰•★•〰〰〰〰〰〰•✦

The screen door creaks behind you as you step onto the sun-warmed porch, the hem of your yellow cotton dress brushing against your knees, a bit too modest for the way the July heat clings to your skin like syrup. The cicadas drone in the trees. Somewhere down the road, a radio blares a tinny tune, cheerful and out of place. You grip your woven basket in both hands like it’s a lifeline.

Your husband, Gene, had handed you two dollars that morning with a grunt and a half-mumbled list: tomatoes, string beans, new mason jar lids. And, as he’d said last night with a dry cough and that same tired glint in his eye—“We’ll try again tonight, alright sweetheart? You ain’t pregnant yet, and the Lord wants us fruitful.”

You hadn’t said much. Just nodded. You never said much around Gene.

The flea market’s only two blocks into town. You know the route by heart. Past the church with its peeling white paint, past the dry cleaners with the gossiping wives out front, past Joe’s Auto Repair, where the air always smells like hot rubber and gasoline.

That’s where you see him.

Leaning against the brick wall just under the “Goodyear Tires” sign, Riff is striking a match, cigarette pressed between his lips. His coveralls are unzipped to the waist, white tank undershirt clinging to sweat-dampened muscles like a second skin. His hair is slicked back, the kind of defiant wave no comb dares tame. Grease stains his hands, his forearms flex as he lights up, and for a moment, he squints toward the sun—and right at you.

You freeze like you’ve stepped barefoot on a snake.

His gaze lingers. Not in that polite, blink-and-gone way most men in town look at you. No, he sees you. His jaw ticks, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, and you can’t look away even as your fingers tighten on the basket’s handle.

You walk past without a word, heart pounding too loud in your ears.

It’s three days later when Gene says he needs a belt picked up for the Ford. “Rattlin’ again,” he mutters, spitting into the sink after brushing his teeth. “Go down to Joe’s. I called ahead. They’ll have it.”

You know exactly who they is.

You take your time getting ready. Lipstick, just a little. Your best dress—powder blue, tight at the waist. When Gene leaves for work, you wait a full ten minutes before stepping out, basket empty this time, but your stomach full of nerves.

Joe’s is half-shadowed by the sun when you arrive. You walk through the open garage door and the air changes—warmer, louder, alive with the scent of oil, rust, and man. Tools clink. A radio plays slow blues from somewhere deep in the garage. You don’t see Joe.

But you see him.

He’s under the hood of a car, brow furrowed, sleeves rolled up, forearms dusted with grit. Riff.

He notices you instantly. Straightens. Wipes his hands on a rag. Doesn’t smile, but recognition flickers behind his eyes.

“You lost, girlie-girl?” he drawls, voice rough as gravel and twice as dangerous.

You try not to blush. Fail miserably.

“No,” you say, forcing a smile. “My husband called ahead. For a… a fan belt.”

“Right,” he says, tossing the rag onto the workbench without looking away from you. “Gene Miller’s wife. I remember the voice.”

He steps closer, close enough for you to smell the smoke and sweat and something else—raw masculinity. You tilt your chin up to meet his eyes, your throat dry.

“You got a name?”

You hesitate.

“It’s alright,” he says low, a smirk tugging at his lip. “I’ll learn it eventually.”

You don’t remember breathing until you’re walking back out with the belt in your hand, your fingers still tingling from where he brushed them handing it to you.

The affair doesn’t start that day.

But it starts then.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

You told yourself you wouldn’t go back.

Gene had the belt. The car ran fine. There was no reason—none—for you to return to that garage. But the days after felt longer. The silence at home heavier. You went through your routines like a ghost, vacuuming rooms already clean, peeling potatoes with slow, mechanical hands, your thoughts drifting to smoke curling from a cigarette and forearms streaked with grease.

You start walking to town more. At first, it’s just to the market. Then the bakery. Then nowhere in particular.

But each time, you find yourself walking past Joe’s.

And sometimes—sometimes—he’s there.

It becomes a quiet ritual. A glance. A flick of his eyes to yours. He never waves, never calls out. But you feel his stare like it’s a hand on your back, pressing. Daring.

Until one morning, two weeks later, you walk past and he says, “You always in such a hurry, darlin’?”

You stop. The heat blooms across your chest like a sin exposed.

He’s sitting on the hood of a cherry-red Impala, legs apart, arms folded, like he owns the street and knows you’re about to fall to your knees on it.

“I—” you start. “I was just walking.”

His lip curls, not quite a smile. “Seems like you’re always just walking. But never stopping.”

You swallow. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. The gold band on your finger glints in the sunlight. His eyes flick to it. Then back to your face.

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

And just like that, he hops off the car and turns his back to you.

You stand there, stupid and burning.

The next day, you don’t pass by. You walk into the shop.

He’s under another car when you come in, and your heart is hammering hard enough you feel it behind your eyes. You wait until he slides out from under the chassis, rag in one hand, hair damp with sweat.

“Well,” he says, looking you over slowly. “Didn’t expect to see you on purpose.”

You walk in further, past the signs that say “Employees Only,” past the point of decency.

“I was just… in the area,” you lie, voice barely more than a whisper.

He leans against the lift, folds his arms again. His eyes don’t leave yours. “That what you told your husband?”

You flush. Look down.

He chuckles. A rough sound. “Don’t be shy now, doll. You came all this way.”

Something in you snaps. Or frees itself.

You raise your chin. “I wanted to see you.”

That silences him. His gaze sharpens like a blade.

He doesn’t move. Not yet.

But he nods toward the back. “Come on. Office is quieter.”

You follow him past stacks of tires and the smell of gasoline, your heels clicking on the concrete. The office is small, hot, and dim. A fan rattles on the desk. There’s a chair, a filing cabinet, and not much else.

He closes the door behind you with a soft click.

The sound is deafening.

“Alright,” he says, stepping closer. “Now what?”

You open your mouth. No words come out.

So he steps even closer, and now your back is to the filing cabinet and there’s nowhere to run.

“You got a name?” he murmurs again, slower this time, like he wants you to hear what it sounds like on his tongue.

You whisper it.

He repeats it, almost reverent.

And then he leans down, just enough so you can feel his breath on your neck.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asks. “Once I touch you, sweetheart, you don’t get to pretend anymore.”

You nod.

Barely.

And then his lips are on yours.

Not gentle. Not soft. But hungry—like he’s been waiting for this moment since that first glance on the street, and he’s done pretending it’s anything but what it is.

His hands cup your face first, then slide down, rough and warm, smearing a faint line of grease across your cheek. He tastes like smoke and something wild. Your fingers curl into the front of his coveralls and pull.

You don’t care about the ring.

You don’t care about Gene.

You only care about this.

This heat.

This escape.

This man.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

You’ve never floated home before.

The pavement barely exists beneath your feet. The houses blur past like half-painted scenery, the smell of motor oil clinging to your skin like perfume. Inside, your mouth still tingles. Every part of you feels rewired—sensitive, alive, flushed with the echo of Riff’s mouth and the pressure of his body against yours.

You touch your lips once before stepping through your front door.

Inside, the kitchen smells like stew. You’d left it bubbling low before you went to town—Gene likes it with potatoes and thick carrots, heavy on the salt. You pull your apron on, check the oven, and set the table, your hands moving on instinct while your mind spins somewhere else. Somewhere far from the sterile yellow wallpaper, from Gene’s heavy footsteps and the muted clink of his belt buckle tossed onto the nightstand.

You’re humming.

You never hum.

Gene notices.

He walks in around six, same as always, rubbing his back like he always does, frowning at his shoulder like it’s personally failed him.

But then he looks up.

And he stops.

“Huh,” he grunts, dropping his coat on the chair. “You look… different.”

You tilt your head. Smile a little. “Different how?”

He squints, like you’re a painting someone hung crooked.

“You’re glowin’ or somethin’. Been in the sun too long?”

You shake your head. “Just had a nice walk.”

Gene grumbles approval. “Maybe it helped clear your head. Been uptight lately.”

You serve him stew. He eats in big bites, loud, satisfied. You barely touch yours, too busy sipping the warmth of remembered heat off your tongue. Your thighs press together under the table. You think of grease-streaked fingers pressing into your hips. A voice rasping in your ear.

After dinner, you wash dishes in the sink. You feel Gene’s eyes on your back.

That quiet, calculating look.

Then his voice, low and hopeful. “Why don’t you get ready for bed early tonight?”

You pause, the dish slipping slightly in your hand.

“Sure,” you say.

You brush your hair longer than usual. You don’t bother with the long nightgown—just the slip. You crawl under the sheets, and when Gene joins you, the mattress sags the same way it always does.

But you are different.

He kisses your neck—clumsy, always too damp—and usually you lie still and wait for it to end. You let him climb over you, breathe heavy, grind and grunt like a tired machine hoping it’ll work if it just tries hard enough.

But tonight…

Tonight you close your eyes.

And picture Riff.

You pretend it’s his mouth on your collarbone.

His weight pressing you down.

His voice whispering filth.

You arch without thinking. Your hips move with rhythm. Your mouth falls open and lets out a soft, startled moan.

Gene freezes.

“…You alright?”

You moan again—louder this time—and grip his shoulders. You’re not even looking at him. Your eyes are locked on the dark ceiling, vision painted with the image of Riff’s face between your thighs.

Gene pulls back slightly, looking down at you.

You’ve never looked like this. Not once.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” he asks, almost suspicious. “You drunk?”

You shake your head, panting. “Don’t stop.”

Your voice is breathy. Needful. Almost pleading.

Gene hesitates.

Then he picks up the pace—clumsy, encouraged—and you turn your head away, biting your knuckles as you come with a soft gasp, thinking only of the man who kissed you like you were made of fire and sin.

When it’s over, Gene collapses next to you, panting.

He doesn’t say anything right away.

Then: “You ain’t never sounded like that before.”

You don’t answer.

He glances over at you.

You’re smiling.

Just a little.

And that unsettles him more than your moans ever could.

You don’t knock this time.

You walk into the garage like you belong there, the morning sun casting long shadows across the concrete floor. It’s early. Earlier than any decent housewife should be out without a reason. But you didn’t want decent today. You wanted him.

Riff’s got his head under the hood again, sleeves pushed up, tank top stained, a smudge of oil across his jaw. You just stand there for a second, watching him.

He looks like a man who moves. A man who works for what he has. Sweat down his neck. Grease under his nails. No gold watch. No sagging belly, no sagging expectations. Just muscle, movement, and heat.

And he’s your age. Your actual age.

When he hears your footsteps, he straightens—glances over, then grins.

“Well, look who came crawling back.”

You lean against the nearest workbench, crossing your arms under your chest. “You knew I would.”

He chuckles, tossing his wrench onto the tray. “Yeah. But I figured it might take longer.”

You try to act casual. You really do.

But then he’s walking toward you, wiping his hands, and your heart starts doing that desperate little dance again. He gets close enough that the heat rolls off him in waves.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low and real.

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“You got that look again. Same one you had when you walked in the first time. All quiet, like you’re tryin’ not to scream.”

You smile faintly. “I feel better now.”

“Yeah?” He steps in, closer. “Tell me why.”

You don’t hesitate. “Because I kissed someone my age yesterday. Someone who doesn’t make me feel like I’m just a hole for babies and hot dinner.”

He stiffens—just a little. Eyes narrowing.

You go on. “Gene’s twice my age. You know that?”

“I figured.” He crosses his arms, watching you now like a puzzle he wants to solve with his hands. “He treat you like a kid, too?”

“He treats me like a recipe. Do this. Be that. Bake it right and it turns into a son.”

Riff’s jaw ticks.

You look up at him. “You—you don’t look at me like that. You don’t talk down to me. You look at me like I’m… I don’t know. A woman. One you actually want.”

He leans in, nose almost brushing yours. “That’s because you are one.”

You close your eyes for a second, breathing in the scent of him—sweat, metal, Marlboros.

“And you’re the first man I’ve kissed,” you whisper, “who didn’t taste like medicine and stale whiskey.”

That gets him.

He groans low in his throat, hands going to your waist, pulling you to him with that same casual control that makes your knees weak. His lips are on yours again, but this time it’s slower—surer. Like he’s claiming the moment, not just stealing it.

When he finally breaks the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You know how good it feels,” he mutters, “to be wanted by someone who sees you?”

You nod. You know exactly.

You look down at your fingers on his chest. “I dreamed about you last night.”

He smirks. “Yeah? You think about me while you’re lying next to that old bastard?”

You nod again.

“Did he touch you?”

Another nod.

“Did you moan for him?”

You bite your lip.

“Or was it for me?”

Your breath shudders. “For you.”

He laughs once, dark and pleased.

“Good girl.”

And the thing is—it doesn’t feel demeaning. Not like it would coming from Gene.

It feels earned. Shared. Desired.

You don’t feel small. You feel dangerous.

Because for the first time, you’re not just somebody’s wife.

You’re his.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

It’s a slow afternoon at the garage.

Clouds hover like a threat overhead, thick and swollen with late-summer rain. The air smells like hot pavement and ozone, and inside the garage, it’s quiet except for the distant hum of the fan.

Riff’s stretched out on the creeper, legs splayed, one boot tapping a lazy rhythm on the concrete. You’re sitting on an overturned milk crate, sipping a soda he pulled from the machine out back, glass bottle sweating in your hand.

Neither of you’s in a rush today.

“You always this quiet?” he asks suddenly, voice drifting from beneath the Buick he’s half-tucked under.

You glance over at him. “Only when I’m thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?”

You pause. Then answer honestly.

“That I’ve never had a moment like this before. Just… sitting. Talking. Not waiting for someone to need something from me.”

Riff slides out from under the car and props himself on one elbow, looking at you with an expression that’s more curious than flirtatious for once.

“No one ever talks to you?”

“They talk at me. Gene does. The women at church do. But it’s always about dinner or babies or what makes a good wife.” You swirl the soda in the bottle. “Nobody really asks what I like.”

Riff wipes his hands on a rag and tosses it aside. “Alright then. What do you like?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“I’m askin’. What you like. Not your husband. Not your preacher. You.”

You bite your lip. “I like walking alone when it’s not too hot. I like when songs on the radio end soft, like they’re afraid to leave. I like the smell of cigarette smoke—but only on you.”

He chuckles, low and surprised. “That last one’s dangerous, sweetheart.”

“I know.”

He sits up, resting his arms on his knees, eyes never leaving you now. “You ever think about what you’d do if you weren’t… you know. Stuck.”

“All the time.”

“What’s the dream, then?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. It used to be getting married. That’s what girls are told to want. A house, a man, a family. But now…” You shake your head. “Now I just want a place where I can sit with someone and not feel like I’m playing a part.”

He looks at you for a long moment. Then: “That’s not a dream. That’s just being free.”

You nod slowly. “Maybe that’s the new dream, then.”

Riff leans back against the wall. “You could have that, you know.”

“I could have it with you?”

He doesn’t smile. But he doesn’t look away either.

“I think you already do.”

You let the silence settle between you, not heavy—just full. Full of what hasn’t been said yet. What might never be.

But for now, it’s enough.

You sip your soda and let him work, and he lets you sit close, and for the first time in what feels like years, you don’t feel like you’re in someone else’s story.

You feel like you’ve started your own.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

It rains harder than it has all summer.

Thick drops pound the roof of the garage, echoing like war drums, rattling the roll-up door. The sky is dark, wind slashing through the trees out back. The kind of storm that keeps everyone home. Everyone but you.

You showed up soaked to the knees, breathless from running the last few blocks, cardigan clinging to your shoulders. You didn’t even knock. You just walked in, giggling like the place belonged to you now.

Riff didn’t say a word—just grabbed a faded shop towel and started drying your arms, slow and careful, like you were something breakable. He came close. His cigarette was barely hanging off his lips and his brows were furrowed while he mumbled something about how you’re going to get sick. Your head tilted to watch his face with a soft smile before you playfully started pressing small kisses around his face, making him break into a reluctant grin.

Now you’re both sitting in the garage office, the cot folded down, the air heavy with petrichor and engine oil. You’ve got a blanket wrapped around you, hair still damp, and he’s sitting at the edge of the cot, nursing a cigarette between two fingers.

Neither of you’s in a rush to speak.

Eventually, you do.

“You ever think about leaving this place?” you ask, voice soft under the noise of the storm.

Riff exhales smoke, watching it curl toward the ceiling.

“All the time.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

He glances over at you, one brow raised. “Maybe for the same reason you haven’t.”

You look away.

“Where would you go?” you ask instead.

“Out west,” he says without hesitation. “Arizona. Maybe New Mexico. Somewhere hot and dry where the air don’t stick to your skin. I’d open my own shop. One I could name after something that’s mine.”

You smile a little. “What would you call it?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. Maybe after a girl.”

You go still.

He looks over again, something warmer in his eyes now.

“Not sayin’ who. Just… maybe.”

The rain softens outside, just a little, turning to that gentler rhythm you could fall asleep to if you let yourself.

“You ever miss your family?” you ask after a pause.

He goes quiet at that.

“I don’t know if you can miss what never really felt like yours,” he says eventually. “Old man drank himself into a pine box before I hit ten. Ma packed up and left a year later. I learned early not to expect anyone to stay.”

You reach over and take the cigarette from his fingers, press it to your lips. It’s still warm. Tastes like him. You hand it back.

“I’m still here,” you say.

“For now,” he replies.

There’s no accusation in it. No bitterness. Just truth.

You scoot closer. Press your side against his. The blanket shifts with you, and he lets you lean into him, lets you rest your head on his shoulder like you belong there.

“You know the worst part?” you whisper.

“What?”

“I never used to think I deserved more than what I had. Not until you.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Then:

“You always deserved more. You just needed someone to remind you how to want it.”

Outside, the rain keeps falling.

Inside, you hold that warmth like a secret between your ribs.

You don’t kiss him.

You don’t have to.

He just puts his arm around your shoulder, keeps you close, and for once, neither of you needs anything else.

Not yet.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The next time you see Riff, the sky is overcast, thick with the smell of rain and exhaust.

You don’t bring a list. You don’t need a reason.

He knows that now.

You step into the garage and he doesn’t ask why. He just looks up from under the hood of a pickup and wipes his hands, like he’s been waiting for you since the moment you walked away last time.

“I’ve only got ten minutes,” you say softly.

“That’s enough.”

It is.

You’re in the back of the shop again, this time not quite naked, but close enough—his hands up your skirt, your mouth on his throat, the ache in you too loud to ignore. Every breath is a betrayal, and yet it’s the most honest thing you’ve done in years.

When it’s over, you lie there in the quiet, legs tangled in his, your head on his shoulder. The fan hums. The radio crackles something low and moody from the next room.

“I thought about leaving,” you whisper.

He doesn’t respond right away. Just runs a hand through your hair, fingers slow and thoughtful.

“Thought about what I’d pack. Where we’d go.”

Still nothing.

Then finally—carefully—he says, “But you didn’t.”

You shake your head against his chest. “Not yet.”

He exhales through his nose. A short, humorless sound.

“Still waiting for the right moment?” he asks.

“I don’t know if there is a right moment.”

He shifts beneath you, not angry, just aware—that edge creeping back into his voice.

“Or maybe you’re just waitin’ for someone to decide for you.”

That stings.

Because he might be right.

But you sit up slowly, smoothing your dress, and look at him with eyes that have seen two lives now—the one you were assigned, and the one he lets you steal piece by piece.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You already don’t have me,” he says, soft but sharp. “Not really.”

You lean down, kiss him slow—less like a goodbye, more like a promise.

“I have this,” you murmur. “And I’m not done with it.”

He grabs your wrist before you pull away. Not to stop you. Just to feel you. Like he doesn’t trust you’ll come back, even though you always do.

“You come when you need to,” he says. “But don’t expect me to wait forever.”

You nod. “I know.”

You slip out the door, heart tight in your throat, and walk home under the drizzle with your stockings damp and your lips tingling from his kiss.

Gene is in the living room, snoring in his chair.

You step over his feet, hang your coat like nothing happened, and start peeling potatoes for dinner.

Outside, thunder rumbles softly in the distance.

Inside, your pulse still hasn’t slowed.

There’s no decision yet.

Just want.

And the quiet, steady promise that you’ll find your way back to Riff again.

Because you always do.

[matchpointfaist]

riff x teacher!reader. Maybe they have known each other since they were kids, secretly in love with each other. She's very kind and patient, and maybe the only one Riff can ever be vulnerable with. love your writingg 💖💖

this is such a cute concept omg!! you ate.

riff lorton x teacher! reader for anon xx

you met riff lorton when you were just a kid, bounding through life with naive, shiny bright hope that everyone would want to be your friend. riff, on the other hand, had lost that hope, not that he ever had it to begin with. he was short, rude, aloof, and cold, ever the opposite to your warm, sunny personality.

you knew you could push through, though, if you just kept trying. so every day, for weeks, you brought him part of your lunch, paired with a hopeful little smile. and every day, he took the lunch, turned his nose up at you, and walked away to eat in privacy. it took three entire months for him to spare you so much as a conversation.

"you don't have to keep doin' this. you know that? i can get my own lunch," he said, glaring over at you despite holding the sandwich your mom had packed so neatly. "i know," you just shrugged, "i just wanted to be nice, that's all,"

he relaxed then, just slightly, unpacking the sandwich and slowly eating sitting right beside you, glancing all around at passing cars and the breeze blown trees. you just pulled out your book, content to sit in silence, thumbing through the pages as you sat.

"what's that?" he asked, gesturing to the paperback. "oh, it's pride and prejudice by jane austen," you smiled, holding it up, "d'you wanna borrow it?" he shook his head quickly, an odd sort of look passing over his face, "no, i was just askin',"

"i can read it out loud, if you wanted," you offered, hopeful smile returning, "it's a very good story," he shrugged, looking away, and you just went ahead and accepted that as invitation.

your little lunch dates turned into daily occurrences, riff eating the extra sandwich and carrots your mom had started packing, and you reading him page after page of your favorite novels. you'd offer, occasionally, to let him take them home, to finish them. but he'd always made that same face, a distant, indifferent expression in his eyes.

"are you sure you don't wanna borrow it?" you'd practically pouted, knowing how invested he'd gotten. he shook his head, his face slightly flushed, "look, i can't read, okay? my ma can't afford to send me to the school and i ain't smart enough to learn it myself,"

you'd gone home that night and sobbed to your own parents, crying for this poor, pitiful boy who'd been deprived of your greatest pleasure in life. then, you'd set out on a mission. you would teach riff lorton to read, right there in the schoolyard, if it was the last thing you did.

he downplayed it, when it was all said and done, but he'd never be able to tell you how much that really meant to him. you were the one person in his life that actually cared, especially enough to take such time and energy out of your day to repeatedly go over the same letters with him, never wavering, never getting frustrated. you never showed him anything but love.

years passed, and the two of you grew up together. schoolyard reading turned to riff disappearing for days at a time, finally returning with some bruises or a split lip, but never an explanation. you eventually found out, when your parents forbid you to go near him, that he was a part of the jets. not just a part of them, but the leader.

you'd cried, once again, for that broken boy who never got a fighting chance. for days, you'd wondered why he didn't tell you, why he didn't just ask you for help, or at least let you know he was in some sort of danger.

but that wasn't riff's way. he never wanted you to worry, or worse, to look down on him for the sort of people he surrounded himself with. so kept his mouth shut, all until the day you confronted him. he'd been gone for days, not bothering to stop by, and your worry had worn thin, morphing into anger.

"where the hell have you been?" you asked, hand on your hip, glaring at him like you were any sort of intimidating. "i'm sorry, i've just been busy," he waved you off, like he always did when it came to admitting his faults. "yeah, busy with your gang," you mumbled, shaking your head.

"what?" it came out sharper than he intended, voice coated in confusion. he'd worked so hard to keep you away from that, how could you have known? "my parents told me," you finally admitted, unable to meet his eyes, "riff, how could you?"

"this doesn't have nothin' to do with you, girly," he said quickly, "alright? it's my life and my business, and i'm doing my damn best to keep you out of it, so don't go puttin' your nose where it don't belong, y'hear me?"

"you are my business!" you snapped, throwing your hands up, "you're my best friend! how could you be so stupid, riff? you're putting your life in danger, and for what? for some street cred? over some stupid turf war for land that isn't even yours?"

"for my family!" he knew as soon as it came out, he'd raised his voice too much, gotten far too angry with you, but he couldn't stop, "this is all i got left, the jets, my boys! my parents are dead, i ain't got nothin' else to live for, alright? this is it, so don't you dare try and take that away from me,"

tears were slipping down your cheeks, and he wanted nothing more than to apologize, to tell you he never meant to yell and that you were his best friend, too, his only friend really. he ached to tell you the truth of it all; that he'd fallen in love with you sometime during all those afternoons you spent reading to him, and he was terrified at the thought of you getting anywhere near the life he'd made for himself.

"i hoped you'd at least say i'm something to live for," your voice was quiet, hurt, "maybe we just need some space for a while, alright? i shouldn't have lashed out, but i can't process this right now. i'm sorry, riff, i gotta go,"

you were gone before he could argue, and he knew better than to chase you. to chase you would be to give in, to agree to let you in to this mess, and he just couldn't do that, to you or to himself. so he let you leave, stood there for a moment just absorbing it, and went on home, whatever that even meant anymore.

you didn't get a proper chance to apologize after that. three days later, riff had been locked up in the state prison for assault during some gang fight, adding to the laundry list of reasons you'd ever had to cry for him. this beautiful boy that had no choice in how his life turned out, constantly chasing the legacy of a man who had long since died, and was never worth anything when he was alive. you moved on with your life eventually, graduating from college and going to teach at the very same school where you'd first met riff.

five years later, he came home. he didn't know where to find you anymore, not after your parents had moved off out of the city and you'd surely gotten a home of your own. he wasn't sure where you worked, or if you'd gotten married, or if you'd even want to see him. he spent days asking around, until he finally found out the teaching job you'd taken.

it made so much sense for you. he couldn't stop replaying the memories of you taking such doting care with him, teaching him something as basic as literacy like it wasn't something he needed to be ashamed of. he worked up the nerve, cleaning himself up as best he could, putting on his cleanest shirt and pants, picking some half dead flowers from the road and waiting outside the schoolhouse for you.

at the dismissal bell, you exited in a flood of students, all smiles and laughing and nurturing words to the kids as you walked them to their parents cars or to buses. good fucking god, you were beautiful. he nearly turned around and ran right then, too scared of what you'd think of him, too scared to know if you ever forgave him for that argument. he wondered how much you knew about what had happened, if you thought he was just another hardened criminal by now.

before he knew it, all the kids were gone, and you were walking towards you car. it was now or never, he guessed, and he'd never prided himself on being a coward. he called your name, jogging over, hoping he came across hopeful and not deranged, "girly, hey, hold on a second,"

"riff?" your voice was a jolt, straight to his chest, nearly diminishing all of his resolve from one syllable, "oh my god!" any fear he had that you were angry was gone the second you touched him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him to you, crying into his shirt like he'd come home from war and not prison, like he'd never hurt you.

"it's me," he choked out, petting the back of your hair helplessly, "you're okay, i'm fine," he murmured, suddenly embarrassed at his lack of grand gesture. "i was so worried about you," you sniffled, wiping your eyes, "you have no idea, i tried to come see you and they wouldn't since i'm not family and i was trying to find a way, i promise,"

"darlin, calm down," he smiled softly, wiping your cheeks gently, "i'm fine, alright? that's real sweet of you to try and come see me-" he stopped as you kissed him, all frantic in your movements, clinging to him still. he was frozen in place, kissing you back on instinct alone, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. "i've wanted to do that since we were kids," you whispered as you pulled away, "missed you so much, riff. i'm so sorry for the way i spoke to you that day, i never should've overstepped like that,"

"you weren't oversteppin," his voice was thick, strange to his own ears, "i got outta all that shit, before i came and found you. i'm on the straight and narrow, all cookie cutter for you, doll," "for me?" you repeated, eyes wide like it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to you, "oh, riff,"

and then you were kissing him again, like he'd disappear if you stopped, your hands on his shoulders as you stood on your tip toes, in front of all the other staff leaving like he was more than just some boy off the streets, like he was really worth somethin, same as all those years ago.

when you pulled away, he rested his forehead on yours, smiling like a madman, "thought about you every night in that jailhouse, sunshine, you're the only thing that brought me home. y'know that? told myself if i got outta there and you'd have me, i'd be a good man for you. make you my wife one day,"

"maybe we'll start with you bein my boyfriend," you grinned, cheeks all rosy and shining, "thought about you all the time, too. never stopped missin' you,"

minutes later, he was scrunched up in the passenger seat of your volkswagen bug, listening as you rambled on about how you just adored teaching, and how all the little boys reminded you of him when he was that age, all shiny and impressionable. you took him back to your apartment, promising that he could stay there as long as he wanted, practically begging him to never leave again.

that night, the two of you lay entwined across your bed, the words of pride and prejudice filling the silence as he read to you until you fell asleep.

[pittsick]

hello!!!! congrats in 400 followers!!! for your celebratory blurb game, could i request a fluffy blurb for riff lorton x reader? like, riff and reader have a small family or somethig along those lines? sorry, i’m not could at explaining lmao. everyone just always writes smut or angst for riff and i’m just like, give this man some chill time!!

It’s something he never thought he’d have. A little apartment with chipped paint and soft curtains. A mug that says World’s Okayest Dad because the kid thought it was funny. A partner who pulls him back to bed on Sunday mornings and still calls him “baby” even when he’s running late, half-shaven, toast in mouth.

You made him believe in normal. Not boring—he’d never survive boring—but soft. Safe. Something that didn't start and end with fists and alleyways.

Your toddler’s got Riff’s stubborn scowl and your eyes, waddling around in a Jet-blue onesie, plastic spoon in hand like it’s a weapon. Riff teaches them how to hold it like a switchblade (joking, mostly), then spins them in the kitchen to old jazz records and sings off-key until you’re both laughing so hard you forget how tired you are.

At night, the three of you curl up on the couch, a pile of tangled limbs and popcorn crumbs. The baby knocks out early, pressed against Riff’s chest. You watch how his face softens when they breathe against his skin—how he holds them like he’s cradling something breakable and brand new.

Riff still has the edge, the quick tongue and cocky grin. Still wears leather on date nights, still roughhouses too hard in the living room and knocks over a lamp. But the street fight fire’s cooled into something warmer—protective. He doesn’t need to prove anything anymore. Not when he’s got you both.

He still gets scared sometimes—late at night, when the city outside sounds too much like the past. He’ll hold you tighter in those moments, arms around your waist, forehead to your shoulder, whispering quiet promises against your skin.

“This is real, right?” he’ll murmur.

You always kiss his hair, the soft blond mess of it, and say, “Yeah, baby. You’re home.”

He kisses the baby’s fingers. Packs PB&Js with too much jelly. Lets them finger paint all over his old Jet jacket. He swears they’re gonna be an artist, not a gang leader, not someone who runs.

And when he tucks them in, voice scratchy with tired love, he always ends with:

“Night, kid. Daddy loves you more than the whole damn sky.”

And he means it every time.

[solemnsic]

hi i watched challengers and it's safe to say my mike faist obsession has been reignited. PLEASE send in any mike faist character thoughts and asks i'm begging.

like holy butt i moaned

[baevitar]

HEALING CUTS

HEALING CUTS

- riff lorton x female!reader

You were already in the living room, a comforting sight with the soft glow of a lamp casting a warm halo around you. You looked up at the sound of the door, worry flashing across your face when you saw him. Riff’s tough exterior might intimidate others, but to you, he was a blend of raw strength and vulnerable softness.

"Hey, tough guy," you said, your voice laced with gentle affection. You stood, quickly making your way to him. "You look like you’ve been through hell."

"Just the usual," Riff replied, trying to chuckle but wincing as he shifted. The reality of his wounds struck him harder than any punch from the fight.

Looking closer at his cuts—some raw and oozing, others red and angry—you felt a pang of concern. “Let me help you,” you offered, your voice a soothing balm against the chaos swirling in his mind.

He hesitated, glancing at the floor, his bravado wavering under the soft light of your concern. "You don't have to," he replied, his tough demeanor cracking just a little.

You stepped closer, your heart aching for him. “I want to,” you insisted, gesturing to the bathroom. “Let's take care of this.”

Riff sighed, knowing he couldn't refuse you. He followed you into the bathroom, the small space filled with your favorite scents: lavender and something sweet, a contrast to the harshness of his surroundings. You set about gathering supplies—bandages, antiseptic, and a cloth—with tender determination.

“This might sting a bit,” you warned gently, pouring the antiseptic onto a cotton ball and reaching for him. Riff flinched at the sight, but he held his ground, offering you his injured arm.

"Just do it," he muttered, bracing himself as you touched the cotton ball to his skin.

You were careful, your touch light and deliberate. "I know you’re tough, Riff," you murmured, your eyes focused on the cut as you dabbed antiseptic on it. “But it’s okay to let me take care of you. You don’t always have to be the hard one.”

He looked at you, his expression softening. It was true—he wore a mask of toughness in the world, but with you, it was different. “It’s not about being hard,” he confessed quietly. “I just… I don’t want to show weakness.”

You met his gaze, mixing warmth and resolve in your own. “You’re not weak for letting me care for you. We’re a team, remember? You fight for me; let me fight for you.”

Riff felt the walls he carefully built around himself start to crumble under the weight of your kindness. You finished with the antiseptic and reached for a bandage, carefully applying it with a tenderness that made his chest tighten.

“See?” you said with a small smile as you straightened up, your hand brushing over his shoulder. “All better.”

Riff chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble in his chest. “Thanks, doll. I guess I’m not too tough for you after all.”

You laughed lightly, the sound warming him inside. “You’re tough when you need to be, but you’re also human. And humans deserve care.”

He wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you close. You fit against him perfectly, contrasting his hardened edges with your soft warmth. Riff buried his face in your hair, inhaling your comforting scent—a mix of the ocean and something uniquely you.

“Promise me you’ll be safe next time,” you murmured against his shoulder, the concern in your voice palpable.

“I can’t promise that,” he replied softly, pulling back to look into your eyes. “But I promise to come back to you. Always.”

You smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek with your hand. “Then let me be the one who carries your scars. It’s okay to let me in, Riff.”

In the embrace of your warmth, he felt a sense of peace wash over him. The daunting world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in a gentle cocoon of care, strength, and vulnerability.

“Yeah,” he replied, feeling the cracks in his tough exterior heal a little more. “Yeah, okay.”

You smiled brightly, and in that moment, Riff knew that no matter how many fights lay ahead, he’d always have a safe haven to return to—your caring arms, the gentle embrace that made all the cuts feel a little less painful.

[russsiangirl]

riff x tony headcanons. ( w.s.s 2021! )

you're my coney island baby.. ♡

these two are so the type to go to coney island and just fuck around together the whole day

and win each other prizes of course.. as 'friends' of course..

riff moved in with tony, whose family was reluctant about it at first until they saw how worried their son was, they slept in the same room for years

riff is the one who is more flirty, he's smoother with his words than tony

riff also told tony that his last name ( wyzek ) reminded him of 'wiseass' so that's his nickname for him

"y'know, tony.." riff spoke up, breaking the light veil of silence that hung over the two boys as he blew out a puff of smoke. his usual smirk plastered on his face. "your last name, it reminds of something." now this intrigued tony. what connection could riff make with tony's very polish last name to the english language. "yeah and? spit it out riff, i aint got all day" the pair did have all day or else they wouldn't be here, in some random ass alleyway smoking. riff was two things, witty and impulsive. "reminds me of the word wiseass. anton wiseass sounds pretty nice doesn't it?" tony only scoffed and rolled his eyes, how did riff think of these things? this was the same guy who skipped class to go smoke ad copied off of tony. "sure does, buddy boy."

tony doesn't let anybody else call him that.

they get matching superman and batman necklaces

they keep each other's clothes and have forgotten who's is whos ( it's easy to tell by the sizes )

riff always has at least one bandaid on, he's never not hurt

tony forces him to at least put a bandaid on

i feel like they would give some gallavich energy,, just a lil yk

riff who gets sick from the most random things and tony who takes care of him to make sure it doesn't get too bad

these two would have the most random nicknames for each other & its mainly insults ( love by bullying <3 )

riff and tony who practiced dancing with each other muahahaha.

"you know i didnt mean you wasnt there, you was always there.."

riff who runs his mouth to no avail and tony who has to step in and make sure that he doesn't 'accidentally' start another rumble

tony who has to remind riff to take care of himself bc he forgets

riff and tony who fall asleep curled into each other bc they love skin-to-skin

ok i think thats all!! but im actually so done with the like of wss stuff that ive seen especially riff x tony bc wtf! i do NOT condone the actions of the character nor do i support them, i just wanted to write something for this ship.

[aggiesramble]

‏Hello friends, I am Ahmed from Gaza, asking for help is not easy, I need your help. If you can, please donate to save my life and the life of my family, I am asking everyone to donate a small amount of $15 or $25. This will save me and my family from death and help me cover my travel expenses and rebuild 🍉🇵🇸, if you can't donate please share my story, the account is verified by @gazavetters rs, my number on the list is (#178)

I wish you all the best and I hope your situation improves soon! Go support Ahmed! ✨

[artstennisracket]

₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

from my mind

Artrick

Camp Evergreen | Artrick | Summer Camp AU | Ao3

90s/2000s r&b | Light NSFW

Patrick walks in on Art | NSFW | Feminization

Intern!Art x Intern!Patrick | Light NSFW

Intern!Art x Intern!Patrick Pt.2

Art in Panties | Light NSFW

I Don’t Matter? | SFW | Angst

Take me to Church | NSFW | Corruption Kink

Art x Reader

Heartbreak Girl | NSFW

Feminization | NSFW

Patrick x Reader

Caramelo Duro | SFW

Cult of Sluts | NSFW | Verbal Abuse | Toxicity

Wet Dreamz | NSFW | First time

Tashi x Reader

Nokia Pt.1 | NSFW | Fingering

Nokia Pt.2 | NSFW | Squirting

Art x Patrick x Reader

Say Ah! | NSFW | Dirty Talk | Squirting

Art x Patrick x Tashi

Thirst Tweets | NSFW | No smut | Mentions of Tashi

anon asks

challengers

Artrick

New Year’s Eve | NSFW | Feminization

Picture You by Chapell Roan | NSFW | Masturbation

Post Movie Theater | NSFW | Piss

Patrick comforts Art | Fluff

Art’s Birthday Surprise | Fluff

Housewife!Art | NSFW | Feminization | Breeding Kink

So Hot You’re Hurting my Feelings | NSFW | Mutual Masturbation

Jealous!Patrick | NSFW | Dirty Talk

Patrick milking Art | NSFW | Overstimulation | Daddy Kink

Hookup Hotshot | NSFW | Daddy Kink | Breeding Kink

Dom/Sub Dynamic Pt.1 | SFW | Homophobia

Post Night Out | NSFW | Piss | Daddy Kink

Size queen!Art | NSFW | BDE hehe

Fake Dating Pt.1 | SFW

Be mean | NSFW | BDSM-ish

Weed Virgin!Art | NSFW

Patrick licking Art’s abs | NSFW | Blurb

Patrick carrying Art | SFW | Blurb

Patrick carrying Art Pt. 2 | NSFW | Blurb

Artrick wrestling | NSFW | Blurb

Ticklish!Art | SFW | Blurb

Coach!Art Roleplay | NSFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Stamina w/MRTA!Artrick | NSFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Physio!Patrick Roleplay | NSFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Unfair Teasing | NSFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

The Rival and the Lover | NSFW | Ceo!Artrick

Art x Reader

Strap!Reader | NSFW | Breeding Kink

Dilf!Art | NSFW

More DIlf!Art | NSFW

Affection | SFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Quiet Time | SFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Wholesome Habits | SFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Hotspots | NSFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Xray | NSFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Patrick x Reader

Tennis Coach!Patrick Pt. 1 | NSFW | Object Insertion

Tennis Coach!Patrick Pt.2 | NSFW | D/S

Experienced!Patrick Pt.1 | NSFW | Issues of Consent

Nicknames/Petnames | NSFW-ish | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Sex Toys | NSFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Butterflies | SFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Rough | NSFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Art x Patrick x Reader

Broadway Actress!Reader | Light NSFW

Amazon Position | NSFW

Firefighter!Artrick x Firefighter!Reader | NSFW

Aftercare | SFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Art x Tashi

Quiet Mornings | SFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Art x Patrick x Tashi

Patashi milking Art | NSFW | Overstimulation | Dirty Talk

Dominance | NSFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Getting Caught | NSFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Panic!

Dodge Mason x Reader

Stamina | NSFW | Squirting | Mel’s 500 Celebration

West Side Story

Riff Lorton x Reader

I love you | SFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

Dear Evan Hansen

Connor Murphy x Reader

Rough | NSFW | Mel’s 500 Celebration

headcanons

Art x Reader

Stanford!Art x Tutor!Reader

Dilf!Art (w/erectile dysfunction) x Reader

Tashi x Reader

Stanford!Tashi x Reader

Patrick x Reader

Dilf!Patrick x Pregnant!Reader

Gamer!Patrick x Reader

moodboards

Artrick Summer Camp

Cheerleader!Art x Class Clown!Patrick

Artrick x Valentine’s day

[newrochellechallenger2019]

300 followers celebration!!!

omg i just hit 300 followers!!! thank you so so much, i'm in tears right now, i know i'm probably one of the smaller blogs on here but i honestly never thought i'd have so many people interested in what i have to say about a movie that came out a year ago, especially when i've only been here less than a year!!! sorry for the ramble, but i want to say thank you to all my lovely mutuals for being so sweet and supportive and i've honestly had some of my best times chatting with you guys <33 ugh i love challengersblr <33

anyway, to celebrate this momentuous occasion, i'm doing a writing game! this is inspired by @voidsuites, @leftoverghosts and so many more users who do these album inspired posts/ask games!!

'but merry? how do you play?' what a great question that i can definitely hear you all asking...

roll your dice and pick three things: a song, a character and a genre!

the album: stick season (forever) by noah kahan

northern attitude

stick season

all my love

she calls me back

come over

new perspective

everywhere, everything

orange juice

strawberry wine

growing sideways

halloween

homesick

still

the view between villages

your needs, my needs

dial drunk

paul revere

no complaints

call your mom

you're gonna go far

forever

characters i write for:

art donaldson

patrick zweig

tashi duncan

riff lorton

dodge mason

connor murphy

arthur (la chimera)

genre:

smut

fluff

angst

[morbidapples]

✩*⢄⢁✧ 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑏𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ✧⡈⡠*✩

𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗢𝗥𝗦 𝗗𝗡𝗜!!! (𝗈𝗋 𝗂'𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇)

This is my masterlist of all completed and ongoing works, and will be updated accordingly.

𝗙𝗟𝗨𝗙𝗙 - ✿

𝗦𝗠𝗨𝗧 - ✩

CURRENT WORKS:

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY:

good girl - diego hargreeves ✩

sweetheart - klaus hargreeves ✩

you're an asshole - sparrow!ben hargreeves ✩

SAW:

i'm here, i'm there, i'm everywhere - platonic!scottadam ✿

a handshake of carbon monoxide - platonic!lawrenceadam ✿

PANIC:

pretty thing - dodge mason ✿✩

pretty thing (continued) - dodge mason ✿✩

CHALLENGERS:

i never forgot you - art donaldson ✿✩

good luck charm - art donaldson ✩

always been you - art donaldson ✿✩

WEST SIDE STORY (2021):

attention - riff lorton (newest fic)

THE BEAR

mistakes - carmen berzatto (in editing)

FANDOMS I WRITE FOR:

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY

- diego hargreeves

- klaus hargreeves

- ben hargreeves

CHALLENGERS

- art donaldson

- tashi duncan

- patrick zweig

PANIC

- dodge mason

- ray hall

X-MEN

- logan howlett

- scott summers

STAR WARS

- cal kestis

- anakin skywalker

- luke skywalker

- han solo

SCREAM

- billy loomis

- stu macher

TOMB RAIDER

- lara croft

LIFE IS STRANGE 2

- sean diaz (post game)

THE LAST OF US

- joel miller

- ellie williams (tlou 2)

SUPERNATURAL

- dean winchester

- sam winchester

SAW

- adam stanheight

- amanda young

CRIMINAL MINDS

- spencer reid

- aaron hotchner

- derek morgan

- emily prentiss

RULES:

▪ I don't write for underage characters unless it's strictly fluff.

▪ If I do attempt to write transgender characters, there may be some errors, as I'm not a transgender person, if I write for one and there's incorrect information, please tell me so I can attempt to fix it.

▪ I don't write dubcon/noncon at all.

▪ I don't write anything to do with scat kink, piss kink, or any of those types of things, including vomit kink.

▪ If you request something and I don't respond, I either haven't seen it, or I have seen it and don't want to write it.

▪ I don't write about real life people.

𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 <𝟥

[ceme1eryg1rl]

𝙋𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙄’𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧

Robert Sean Leonard (+ James Wilson, Neil Perry)

Matthew gray gubler (+ Spencer Reid, Chip Taylor)

Nicholas hoult (+ Hank McCoy, Tony stonem, R, Peter (the great), Thomas Hutter)

Mike Faist (+ Art Donaldson, Dodge Mason, Riff lorton)

Fandoms i write for:

Twilight:

-Bella swan

- Rosalie hale

- Jacob black

- Alice Cullen

- Jasper hale

- Emmett Cullen

- Paul lahote

Criminal minds:

- Aaron hotchner

- Emily Prentiss

- Jennifer jerau

- Tara Lewis

- Elle greenway

The walking dead:

- Daryl Dixon

- Maggie Rhee

- negan smith

- Michonne

The 100:

- Bellamy Blake

- Clarke griffin

- Raven Reyes

- Octavia Blake

Other characters/people:

- Edward nygma

- Kyoya ootori

- Gregory house

- Sid Jenkins

- James Cooke

- Remus Lupin

- Fiona Gallagher

- Jerome valeska

- Dick Grayson

Rules:

I’ll write smut, fluff, and angst but the angst has to end happy most of the time for my own sanity

stuff i !!won't!! write: Anything to do with pregnancy (i have a pregnancy phobia), anything to do with feet, CNC (not judging ppl who use it to cope i just can't write it due to my own trauma), anything where one of the characters is uncomfortable in any way (i don't understand what's hot about someone being uncomfortable bc it's rly not), anything to do with puke/pee/toilet stuff, Bondage, age play, anything too rough (rough isnt off limits just it gets to a point lol)

[matchpointfaist]

riff lorton x rich girl! reader

the next time he saw you, you were seated at the diner, all pretty in the window like somethin' out of a magazine. your cherry red lips were wrapped around a bendy straw, sipping soda as you flipped through the pages of a book.

he hesitated before knocking against the glass just hard enough to get you attention, a goofy grin on his lips. you were up from the stool in an instant, and he glanced over your outfit curiously; a mini skirt, mary janes, a sweater that looked softer than anything he’d ever own. god, you were beautiful.

“riff!” you smiled so widely as you pushed the door open, like you were greeting someone important, surely you couldn’t be directing that at him, “how are you?” “oh, i’m alright,” he smiled slightly, “what’re you doin out and about?”

he listened to you chatter about how you were just bored to death sitting in that house, how you came to the city to live, not to sit in the drawing room with the sounds of new york as a backing soundtrack. “so anyway, i’m just out until my curfew, trying to find something to do,” you shrugged, “and what are you doing out?”

“just makin trouble,” he joked, though it was half true, “you shouldn’t be wanderin around if you don’t know where you’re goin, darlin. you need a tour guide or somethin,”

your eyes lit up, and something he could only describe as a squeal left your lips, “you can be my tour guide! i mean, if you’re not busy, of course,” he shouldnt agree- there was nothing in his part of the city worth your time, it’s not like he could take you to a broadway show or flaunt you around some museum. but you were lookin’ at him like you didn’t care, like he could take you anywhere and you’d be happy just to be out, so he just agreed.

he took you all around, past all the massive hotels and skyscrapers, showed you the broadway box office, all the clubs and cafes. you were in awe of everything, all starry eyes and big smiles and compliments. everything was perfect, until. “can i see where you live?” you looked so curious, so excited, he didn’t have it in him to tell you no. it seemed like he never had it in him when it came to you.

“well, it’s not really the nicest part of town,” he scrambled for an excuse, “and i’ve got roommates,” “that’s fine,” you smiled, like no part of you saw an issue with that, “i’d love to see it anyway,”

so he hesitantly led you a few streets over, the nice businesses and shiny new buildings growing few and far between the deeper into the city you went. finally, he stood at the edge of the lot where a little near-abandoned trailer sat. “well,” he gestured to it, biting the inside of his cheek, the visual of your pristine clothing against the backdrop of his life burning into his mind, “here she is,”

he led you past the rubble of the lot, right up the door, his hand gentle on your arm as he led you up the two steps into the small space. “i don’t know if the guys are home,” he warned as he pushed the creaking door open, trying to gauge your reaction. it was a far cry from your parents summer house, a dingy little space with empty bottles littering the makeshift coffee table and two bedrooms the size of closets. “it’s not much,” he could feel how his face was flushed and he hated it. what did he think he was doing, explaining himself to some summer bird- “i like it,”

he could’ve died right there, watching as you explored the space, the smile never leaving your lips, pausing as you spotted the polaroid of riff and tony pinned to the wall. your fingers traced the image with a fondness that had him reeling, watching you intently, “is this your brother?” you asked curiously, eyes still trained on the image. “no- no, that’s tony. my..” he hesitated. what was tony to him now? best friend, brother, stranger? “he’s my friend. he’s in jail upstate,”

you frowned, looking apologetic as ever, “i’m sorry, riff. that must be awful to be away from him,” you didn’t ask what he did, didn’t pass any judgmental looks his way, didn’t criticize him for hanging around the type of guys who ended up in jail. you were straying further and further from the image he’d had of you, more saint than classist sinner. “it’s alright,” he shrugged, feigning nonchalance, “tell me about yourself?”

the two of you sat for so long, criss cross on his bedroom floor, talking on and on about your life back home and his friends, your family and his lack there of, your ambitions and his fears. he could’ve fallen in love with you there in that messy, cold floor. could’ve made a home for himself in the gaps between your sentences.

minutes turned to hours turned to sundown, turned to you sprawled out across his bed, still talking, still radiating light into his dim space. he had a beat up old polaroid camera that tony’s family had gifted him tucked in his dresser drawer, and he was saving the last of the film for tony’s release, but you looked so goddamn pretty, he didn’t even think twice before he used the last picture on you.

you, with your long hair draped off the side of his mattress, with your crisp new clothes and rosy cheeks and shining eyes. you, the opposite of everything he thought he believed in. you, the most beautiful thing in his universe, thawing out the coldness of the life he’d been enduring for so long, one pretty word at a time.

it was midnight before either of you realized you’d been out so far past curfew, it would do you better to never go home at all. he expected you to run out, to realize the position you’d put yourself in, the way it looked. but you just shrugged, “i don’t have to obey all the rules,” and nestled further into his bed.

he didn’t touch you, didn’t kiss you, but it was more intimate than anything he’d ever experienced, falling asleep beside you like that. your breaths were soft and deep, lulling him into a trance, deeper into this spot you’d taken up in his life so quickly.

half asleep, his hand found yours. when the two of you woke the next morning, your fingers were entwined, and your cheeks were ever so slightly flushed. “i should go,” you yawned softly, his heart aching at the sight, “walk me home?”

and for the second time, he walked you all the way across town, stopping halfway to pick a dandelion from the grass and tucking it behind your ear like this was a movie. at the gate of your house, you stood on your tiptoes, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “thank you for last night,” you said sweetly, voice dripping honey straight into his veins.

“will you be around tomorrow?” he asked, praying he didn’t sound desperate. “sure will,” you smiled, “come by around noon and i’ll meet you at the corner?” he couldn’t wait, already, even standing here in front of you still. “sounds perfect,” he nodded, “tomorrow, then,”

and then, to his shock, you stood up tall again and pressed your lips to his. it was quick and sweet, just enough to make him insane, enough to have his lips burning with the impression of you for the rest of the day. he didn’t get a word in before you were headed up your driveway, glancing over your shoulder and blowing him a kiss.

he could hear your parents scolding you even down the drive as he turned to walk away, thinking of tomorrow.

[pittsick]

★ rules and requests .ᐟ

requests for writings can be sent via my inbox, requests for bots can be both sent via my inbox or my google form.

i can write for any characters that are from my fandom list. the ones i can most comfortable with are art, patrick, tashi from challengers; spencer reid, aaron hotchner from criminal minds; billy butcher, soldier boy, frenchie from the boys; jordan li, marie moreau, cate dunlap, sam riordan from gen v, riff lorton from west side story, dodge mason from panic; jj maybank, rafe cameron from outer banks. but do not hesitate to ask for your character.

i can write fluff, smut, angst, slice of life, au's, multiple characters at the same time, any type of reader (amab, afab, trans!reader, gender-neutral), headcanons. if you are not sure, just ask me!

i can't write scat, piss, vomit, nsfw of real people (or in general rpf), illegal age gap, incest, sexism and misogyny, self-harm, hybrids (a/b/o), homophobia, transphobia and more.

minors do not interact this space isn't for you, no matter how mature you think you are. i post and reblog nsfw writings. you will be blocked if i see you interacting with me.

[1toomanyfictionalbfs]

MASTER LIST

Hii welcome to my blog!!

୨୧ Amelia/Millie ୨୧ she/her ୨୧ slytherin ୨୧ multi-fandom ୨୧ avid laufey listener ୨୧ def a little clinically insane ୨୧

FOLLOW (please if you want or like my writing :)) - wattpad, c.ai (im more active on these two tbh..)

i'll try my best to keep master list up to date

reqs: open!

-FANDOMS-

-hotd

-criminal minds (haven't finished it yet sadly but working on it)

s.r.

bad dreams

-mbav

b.w.

snow flurries

new puppy (req)m

r.k.

-tmr

thomas. newt. minho.

-hunger games

p.m, f.o, j.m.

-harry potter

h.p, H.G, n.l. l.l. f.w. g.w. o.w.

-tmd

a.b. g.g. j.g. k.w. d.r. l.m. d.p.

-misc

don humes (tbitb)

gilbert blythe (awae)

jerry baynard (awae)

cameron james (10tihay)

mischa bachinski (rtc)

dave lizewski (kick-ass)

riff lorton (west side story)

art donaldson (challengers)

dodge mason (panic)

tangerine (bullet train)

-RULES-

✰ I mostly write fluff and sometimes write angst i prefer to stay away from angst because reading and write is my escape from some upsetting topics and i don't wanna make myself sad. I don't usually write nsfw and I prob won't depending on the request

✰ I can write of certain reader types (goth, super feminine, curly hair, etc.) but, if it's topics i'm not super familiar with such as readers with mental health problems i may not write the request or it may take me some more time so i can do some research.

✰ I will not write racism, homophobia, transphobia, incest, r*pe, ped*philia, abuse. if requested you will be blocked

✰ I mostly write for female or gn readers but, unless requested otherwise I try to keep everything gender neutral.

✰ I try to keep my blog pretty clean and family friendly(tho there is some cursing)so keep that in mind when requesting.

✰ I wish to keep my place a safe and kind space so don't be a dick, please.

[baevitar]

can u make a story abt mike faist and like it's basically the reader and him and him having a movie date tyty !!

Yes hehe..

MOVIE NIGHT WITH MIKE

For context - fem!reader and mike are on the field where they first met, watching the notebook. Turns out Mike is more emotional

You and Mike settled down on a blanket under the fading golden sun, a projector illuminating "The Notebook" on the makeshift screen. The magic between you two crackled in the air, a warmth that felt almost electric. You glanced at him, and he caught your gaze, his eyes filled with mischief and affection.

As the movie unfolded, you laughed and sighed at every romantic moment, feeling utterly connected to the story—and to Mike. His laughter was infectious, but as the film progressed, you noticed something shifting in him. The joy in his voice dulled, replaced by an intensity that pulled at your heart.

When Noah declared his love amidst the chaos, you felt your breath catch. You turned to Mike, sensing tears glistening in his eyes. “Are you okay?” you whispered, your voice filled with concern.

“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t sound convincing. “It’s just… love can be so beautiful and messy.”

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “It’s worth it, right?” you said softly, feeling your heart race.

“Absolutely,” he replied, squeezing your hand tighter, his gaze never leaving yours. The film reached its emotional peak, and Mike bit his lip, clearly trying to hold back his feelings.

“You’re really feeling this, huh?” you teased gently, trying to lighten the atmosphere while staring deep into his emotional eyes.

“Maybe,” he admitted, a faint grin breaking through as tears glimmered. “It just makes you think about what you want.”

His gaze dropped to your joined hands, and he took a deep breath. “I care about you more than anyone else. It’s scary, and I don’t know how to say it without messing it up.”

You smiled, your heart swelling. “You don’t have to make sense of it all right now. Just being here with you feels perfect.”

As the credits rolled, you both sat in silence, the gravity of the moment settling in. “What if we just fight for this?” you proposed, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned closer, your heart racing.

Mike looked at you, his expression a mix of hope and vulnerability. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course,” you said, your breath hitching with excitement. “I want to be with you, Mike. Just like Noah and Allie.”

His face lit up, and without hesitation, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a tender kiss. The world around you melted away, and in that moment, nothing mattered but the connection between you two.

As you pulled back, both breathless and smiling, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you were ready to face them together. The field, the movie, the emotion—it all marked the beginning of your beautiful story.

A/N : This is realll bad trust me I know, I made this in school. But pleaseeee ask me more stuff anyone I love getting notifications for my inbox and I love writing your guys’ ideas. It can be any mike or Josh character or the actors, smut, fluff, angst.. seriously anything. Xx

[pariahsparadise]

riff lorton x shy!reader hc's

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requested by @luckyrabbits - hi! if requests are open, can i request something (fic or hcs are alright!) w riff lorton and a fem / gn reader who’s very shy? ty and have a great day! 

word count: 500

a/n: sorry this took so long to make! and as a shy person myself, i totally loved this prompt lol. hope you like this 💗

pairing(s): riff lorton x fem!reader

riff first sees you when he stops by at doc’s. you’re working alongside tony and laughing at something he’s saying to you, one hand coming up a little self-consciously to cover your smile

riff melts on the spot

he bothers tony for next few days, trying to convince him to introduce the two of you

tony first says no, he knows you aren’t too comfortable around strangers

but riff manages to wear him down eventually

you’re a little scared when you first talk to him, and you’re really thankful that tony and riff manage to carry the conversation on their own with little input from you

but over time, talking to riff gets a little easier

until the mf starts flirting with you

my god, you get so flustered

riff’s a pretty smooth guy, with lots of confidence, he knows what he’s doing

you’re the exact opposite

the first time riff calls you “girly girl”, you get so flustered, you have to walk away to the staff room

he always keeps himself in check though

yes, he loves making you blush, but he never wants to actually make you uncomfortable, so he stays within his limits

he takes you out on multiple dates, usually in secluded places

originally, he did this so you’d feel better, but he ends up liking it more himself, it’s quality time with you AND he’s the sole receiver of all your attention

this isn’t always the case though

sometimes you insist on going dancing because you know all the jets are

and riff loves it too, but he won’t go without you

so you try and bear with it as much as you can

you’re too shy to dance in the hall with all the people milling about you though, so you encourage riff to dance with grazie and the other girls

and even if he does, he always manages to find his way back to you

will probably drag you out of the hall to dance in the parking lot

the music is muted, he sings along to it as he sways you around before pulling you into a kiss

you melt against him, knees unsteady, thankful for the arm he secures around your waist to keep you standing

riff’s also great at extracting you from social situations you don’t want to be in

all you have to do is tug on his sleeve once, and he’ll offer the people around you a pleasant smile and believable excuse before whisking you away

he’s usually the one to initiate physical touch, but on the rare occasions that you do?? fucking dead

just imagine, dragging him down by the collar of his shirt to kiss you?? out of absolutely nowhere?

he always makes the most surprised gasp, too

it fuels your ego, gives you the very necessary confidence boost that you need

riff kind of tends to keep the jets away from you, they’re a really loud and often rude gang

he knows you don’t need to be a part of a crowd like that, so the only jets you properly know are riff and tony

all in all, he’s a great boyfriend, and he finds your shyness endearing instead of annoying

it’s just one of the many things he’s loves about you :)