27 y/o ✧ brazilian ✧ bi/demi ✧ audhd ✧ she/her ✧ fic writer ✧ this is a multifandom blog ✧ i post +18 content ✧ fic masterlist and who i write for ✧ requests are open ✧ my posts
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Requests for x fem!reader fics are currently open.
I'm a bit of a slow writer so it may take me a while to do them, but unless I answer your request saying I won't write it, I'll eventually get to it! 🖤
You talk to a metalhead girl and she’s the most beautiful, socially aware, funny, down to earth, interesting person you've ever met. You talk to a metalhead guy and he’s a creature from the depths of hell (pejorative) who hasn’t processed a single emotion since 2009 and makes it everyone else’s problem
your muscles being pleasantly sore after exercise is such a nice incentive I can see why they patched that in. the forced regular logins to avoid losing progress however are a predatory practice and deserve nothing but scorn.
sick of hearing about "healing crystals" that "cleanse your mind and body of negative energy" i want to know which rocks can hurt you and fuck up your vibe so bad
everyone suggesting uranium isn't wrong but anyone who said "literally any rock if you're willing to resort to violence" are the only people who can get on my level. you're hired.
I do not agree with veganism as a moral standard. If it is your personal moral stance, that is fine. If you think humans eating meat is inherently immoral, I don’t want to deal with you, you’re hopeless. Vegan ideology behaves more like a sect of evangelical Christianity than a dietary choice.
Veganism is better for the environment, but claiming that it's a morally superior choice ignores cultural and economic factors that make people eat animal products.
It is not inherently better for the environment. That is the thing. When you begin trying to explain that local, sustainably sourced animal protein is better for the environment than imported plant proteins that are farmed 3,500 miles away using slave labor, they start tuning you out. Down is better for the environment than polyester stuffing, leather is better for the environment than pleather. We should work on making animal agricultural practices more sustainable instead of trying to shame everyone into eating plant products that are also farmed unethically and unsustainably.
the girl who is comfy in bed yearns to be On The Computer. The girl who is On The Computer yearns to be comfy in bed. Thus does desire become the root of all suffering
"cold showers are better for you" WRONG! SCALDING HOT SHOWERS FOREVER!!!!!!!! 🚿🚿🚿🚿♨️♨️♨️🚿💧💧💧💧💦🚿🚿🚿🚿🚿🚿🚿🚿🚿🚿🚿🚿🚿🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🚿💧💧💦💦💦🔥🔥🔥🔥🚿🚿🚿🔥♨️♨️🚿🚿🚿♨️♨️♨️🚿🚿🚿♨️♨️♨️🔥🔥🔥🚿💧💧💦💦💦🔥🔥🔥🔥🚿🚿💧💧💦💦🚿🔥♨️♨️🚿♨️♨️💧💦💦♨️🚿🚿🚿🚿🚿🚿🔥🔥🔥🔥🚿♨️♨️🔥🔥🔥!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Maybe it was better this way. Maybe he’d noticed the way you looked at him, the softness in your smile, the admiration you hadn’t been able to hide. And if none of that had ever been returned, then maybe he wasn’t wrong to ask for distance.
But had it really been nothing?
✦ warnings and tags: jason newsted x reader, age gap (23/38), no use of y/n, slow burn, grumpy/sunshine dynamics maybe?, reader has a backstory and it's kinda tragic, a bit of angst, eventual smut in future parts
You didn’t see Jason again that weekend.
You spent Sunday with Sophie instead, bikes cutting slow loops through town, talking and laughing softly, sharing a couple of beers by the creek as the water moved past your feet and the humid grass made your legs itch. You’d known Sophie since you were kids; you could tell she was curious by the way her eyes lingered on you now and then, but she didn’t mention Jason, and you didn’t either.
You got home in the late afternoon. The sky had started to turn a deeper shade of orange as the sun dipped lower, the gentle warmth of the day giving way to the promise of rain, humidity clinging to your skin as you guided your bike into the garage. Without really meaning to, you glanced at the house next door, looking for a sign of Jason. You found it in a light that was on in one of the upstairs rooms, and the low thrum of a bass that drifted faintly through an open window, familiar enough to tighten your chest.
For a moment, you imagined crossing the yard. Knocking on his door. Letting yourself see him.
Maybe that would’ve been easier a few days ago, before everything had started to feel so fragile. Before you’d begun measuring every feeling, every glance, wondering which ones you were allowed to keep.
The bass faded as you opened the garage door. The light upstairs stayed on.
You exhaled softly, closed your eyes and went inside.
The first sign that something was wrong came the next day.
You were focused on your work, carefully stripping thorns and dry leaves from the roses before arranging them in vases by the shop window, when Mrs. Higgins called your name.
“Yes?” you answered, brows scrunching softly when you caught the concern in her expression.
“Are you alright, dear?” she asked. “You weren’t feeling well last week, were you?”
“Oh. Oh, yeah.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks, remembering that it hadn’t been entirely true. After the weekend, the memories of the days before felt oddly distant: the unexpected encounter with Ethan at the flower shop door and how deeply it had unsettled you; the way Jason had stepped in afterward, driving you home, gently insisting you call the shop and take the day off, using illness as an excuse when you didn’t yet have the words for anything else. “I’m… better,” you said, finally. “Thank you.”
“I heard you have a new neighbor,” she added, her tone careful, almost casual. You smiled and nodded, lowering your gaze back to the roses, fingers brushing against the stem as if to ground yourself.
“I heard he’s… older.”
Something about the way she said it made you look up again. When you met those familiar eyes, you caught the concern beneath it, mixed with the old woman’s habitual solicitude. You recognized that look instantly. It was the same one she’d worn when she offered you the job, right after your parents died. The same look half the town had adopted when speaking to you since Ethan’s betrayal.
The same look you were beginning to realize you hated.
“I heard you went to the Club this weekend,” she went on, and you startled slightly as your hand tightened around the stems, a thorn biting into the delicate skin of your thumb. You drew in a sharp breath, eyes fixed on the small bead of blood blooming there. “And that you’ve been spending time together.”
That’s none of your business, you almost said. Instead, you smiled and nodded.
“I’ve been showing him around town.”
“Good. That’s good.” Mrs. Higgins smiled, covering your hand with hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re such a kind girl. But you know how people talk… I just got worried.”
“What people?” you asked, a little too quickly. “Worried about what?"
“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” She waved it off, though her tone didn’t quite follow. “I only heard he’s older than you. And you know how men can be. If he were to mistake your kindness for something else…”
“We’re just neighbors, Mrs. Higgins,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you meant it to be.
The words sounded strange in your mouth, sharper than usual, but no less true. What were you, after all? Friends? The label, which had felt so natural just days ago, now stirred a hollow, unsettled feeling in your chest.
“Of course, my dear. I worry about you, that’s all.” She smiled again, warm and well-intentioned.
You nodded, forcing yourself to stay where you were, even if all you wanted was to turn around and leave.
Mondays and Fridays were your shifts at the Eagle’s Nest; as the sun dipped lower and your day at the flower shop came to an end, you walked the few buildings down to the pub.
You let yourself hope this shift might feel different than the afternoon. Mondays were usually slow, the kind of night that drew in only the most loyal regulars. Still, you felt tired before you’d even opened the changing room door to pull on your uniform, exhaustion settling deep, familiar now, like something woven into your bones.
Was this really how life was supposed to feel at your age? Just getting by in a world that seemed to grow smaller, tighter, with every passing day?
You pushed the thought aside as you set the tables and dried the glasses, half-listening to the news on the TV while the first customers trickled in.
For a while, the routine did its job. It was easy to disappear into it. And yet, the unease kept creeping back in the way your eyes kept drifting to the door, the quick lift of your heart whenever it opened, followed by the dull clench of disappointment when it wasn’t him.
There were a thousand reasons why he wouldn’t be there tonight. He could be busy with his music, caught up in work, wrapped up in a life that existed beyond this town. Still, Jason’s absence slowly turned into something you couldn’t ignore, a persistent irritation that made it harder and harder to focus on anything except the knot twisting in your chest.
You’d never felt like this about Ethan. His presence had always been a given, so constant it left no space for doubt, at least not until his cheating had cracked everything open.
Now, though, unease clung to you. It felt like your heart had picked up on something your mind kept trying to dismiss, a sense that things were slightly off, misaligned. Normalcy pressed in from all sides, suddenly suffocating, and you realized how much relief Jason’s presence had brought with it, a kind of fresh air you hadn’t even known you’d been missing.
“Hey, kid.”
Your heart jumped at the sound of the nickname, already too familiar for comfort, before you realized it was just Greg Davis, one of the regulars. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, amusement flickering across his face.
“Daydreaming?” he said. “I’ve called you three times already.”
“Sorry, Greg.” You smiled, stiff and nowhere near your best. Still a smile, though, and that seemed to be enough. “The usual?”
“Yes, please.”
You turned to grab a glass and Greg’s usual whiskey — on the rocks, just the way he liked it. He swirled it slowly, took a sip, and let out a satisfied sigh.
“Not much business tonight,” he said. You nodded absently as you wiped a damp patch on the counter with a dry cloth. “I was kind of hoping to meet the new guy in town… heard he was here last Friday.”
You looked up before you could stop yourself. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized how quickly you’d reacted. Greg didn’t seem to notice, though, his attention still fixed on the TV mounted above the bar.
“Weren’t you here on Friday?” you asked, more to keep the conversation moving than out of real curiosity.
He grunted. “No. My daughter was visiting. You know she doesn’t like it when I drink.” He glanced back at the screen, then turned to you, gray eyes sharp in a way that made your stomach tighten. “But I hear you know a thing or two about him.”
Your pulse picked up. There it was again, that familiar blend of curiosity and something just shy of judgment, the kind that liked to pass itself off as concern.
“He’s my neighbor,” you said quietly. “That’s all.”
“Suppose so,” Greg shrugged. “Still. Kinda strange, isn’t it? Buying a house in a place like this without knowing anyone.” He tilted his head. “What does he work with?”
“You’ll have to ask him, Greg,” you replied, looking away. Jason had told you bits and pieces about his music, but the thought of feeding the town’s appetite for details of his life made your chest tighten.
“Yeah,” Greg said with a faint smile. “Maybe he’ll stop by on your next shift, huh?”
He slid his empty glass across the counter. You refilled it without a word, then turned your back, busying yourself with the shelves, trying to make it clear the conversation was over.
Fortunately, it seemed to work. The rest of the evening passed quietly; Greg said his goodbyes after his usual third whiskey, and the few customers who came in afterward seemed to sense that you weren’t in the mood for conversation. No one tried to talk to you, and you found yourself silently grateful for it. By the time your shift ended, it was late, and a dull, persistent ache had settled at your temple, the kind of headache you hoped a hot bath and a full night’s sleep might take care of.
The night was cool when you stepped outside. The moon hung overhead, its light blending softly with the glow of the streetlamps. You paused by your bike, drawing in a slow breath and closing your eyes for a moment. Everything around you looked and felt the way early spring in Oak Ridge always did; quiet and damp, touched by a tentative warmth that still seemed unsure it could outlast the winter, the faint chirring of crickets only noticeable if you paid attention.
Everything was normal.
And Jason hadn’t shown up.
You’d lived your life just fine before he ever came into it. So why did his absence on a night like this felt enough to tilt your world off its axis?
The walk home was unsettlingly familiar, the path seeming to stretch longer with every step, the soft hum of your bike’s wheels against the asphalt as you pushed it along. You’d always liked walking at night — the quiet of the town, broken now and then by a dog barking somewhere in the distance or the wind moving through the trees. The stillness helped, easing the restless knot in your chest just a little.
He was there when you reached your house, leaning against the porch railing, a can of beer in his hand, his gaze unfocused. Your heart skipped the moment you saw him, anxiety and relief tangling together as he looked up, a faint smile touching his lips. There was worry in his eyes, enough to make him look more tired than you’d ever seen him before.
“Hi,” you said softly, your voice a little unsure, a little hopeful.
“Hey, kid,” he replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How was work?”
“Tiring,” you said with a small smile. It wasn’t a lie; Mondays and Fridays always were, with the double shift at the flower shop and the pub. You just didn’t say how much of that tiredness had his name written all over it. How he’d been in your thoughts all day, even when you tried to focus on anything else. How the questions, however well-meaning, had slowly worn you down. “And you?” you asked, too quickly. “How was your day?”
“Nothing special,” he said with another tired smile, so different from the smiles he’d given you before. There was worry in his eyes, an unfamiliar shadow that made you want to step closer, to wrap your arms around him. At the same time, it made you hesitate, a caution you couldn’t quite explain keeping you where you were. “Well,” he went on before you could say anything, shifting his weight slightly. “I’m glad you made it home safe. Hope you have a good night.”
“You know… I’ve heard a lot about you today,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them, a clumsy attempt to stop him from leaving.
Jason paused, one eyebrow raised in quiet question. Heat rushed to your face, your palms growing damp against the bike’s handlebars.
“I mean, people asked me about you,” you clarified, suddenly very aware of how fast your heart was beating.
“What did they ask about?” he asked quietly.
You hesitated, already half-regretting that you’d said anything at all. It wasn’t that you thought it was a good idea to tell Jason about the way Mrs. Higgins and Greg had circled around the subject all day. About how a small town was always watching, always paying attention, hungry for anything that broke from routine.
And yet, a part of you wanted to know. Wanted to hear what he would say about it. About the looks, the curiosity, the way people seemed to latch onto the idea of the two of you together. What he would think about the possibility of others believing there was something more between you than a polite friendship between neighbors who barely knew each other.
Your silence didn’t go unnoticed. Jason let out a quiet scoff, a faint, resigned smile pulling at his mouth, making your chest tighten. As if he already understood the full weight of what you’d chosen not to say.
“I missed seeing you today,” you said before you could stop yourself, your voice low, reaching for even a trace of the openness and warmth you’d grown used to finding in his eyes.
He looked up sharply. When your gazes met, something unreadable crossed his face, a flicker of anguish tightening his features as his brows drew together. You wanted to step closer, to ease whatever it was weighing on him, but your legs refused to move. It was as if his gaze held you frozen in place
“You shouldn’t say that,” he said quietly.
Your heart lurched. You blinked, gaze dropping to the ground as heat rushed to your face. Your sneakers were streaked with mud, you noticed; like a kid’s, careless, damp from the night. The thought made you feel smaller than you had in a long time. Smaller than you’d felt since before he came into your life.
“I’m… sorry,” you said, the word catching slightly as disappointment crept into your voice.
You finally moved then, leaving your bike propped against the porch's railing as you fumbled for your keys.
Jason called your name.
You looked up at him quickly, silently hoping — begging — that he would say everything was fine. That he’d take it back. That things could slip back into how they’d been just a day ago, before your insecurity had settled in and before that unfamiliar anguish had started to shadow his blue eyes.
Before you’d realized how much you wanted him.
“I think…” he started, then stopped. He hesitated, eyes closing as he let out a slow breath, like he was bracing himself. When he opened them again, there was a resolve in his gaze that made your heart tighten painfully. “I don’t want to waste your time, kid,” he said quietly. “You’re so young. You… you don’t need me.”
The words hit harder than you were ready for.
“Who said that?” you asked, your voice shaking as tears burned behind your eyes. After a day that had already left you drained and unsteady, you couldn’t believe this was happening. That your heart was breaking before it had even had the chance to heal. That whatever fragile hope you’d been holding onto was being crushed before it could fully bloom.
“You don’t need me,” he repeated, firmer this time. “We should give each other some space. You should spend more time with people your own age. With Sophie. Just… not with me. It’s for your own good.”
The silence seemed to stretch between you, taut and rigid like a whip about to be cracked.
“You’re scared,” you said quietly, almost an accusation. “You’re scared of what people are saying about us.”
“I’m not scared of that,” he replied. “I’m scared of what this could do to you.”
“I thought we were friends,” you said, the edge in your voice unmistakable now. The word tasted wrong in your mouth, the sense of betrayal rising in your stomach, thick and bitter like bile.
“I’m trying to do what a friend should do,” he said softly. “Please.”
“That’s bullshit,” you said, shaking your head. You turned away before he could answer, reaching for the door and pushing it open.
You slammed the door behind you and slid down until your back hit the cold wood, pressing your lips together as you tried to hold the tears in.
He didn’t knock.
He didn’t ring the doorbell.
He didn’t come back to apologize, even though a small, stubborn part of you kept hoping he would, despite the hurt, despite everything he’d just said.
Maybe it was better this way. Maybe he’d noticed the way you looked at him, the softness in your smile, the admiration you hadn’t been able to hide. And if none of that had ever been returned, then maybe he wasn’t wrong to ask for distance.
But had it really been nothing?
Had you imagined the pull between you, the way his eyes always seemed to find yours, the steady comfort of his attention, the feeling of being seen?
Had you read it all wrong?
A sob broke loose before you could stop it. You hugged your knees to your chest, burying your face in your arms as the tears finally spilled over, leaving you feeling thin and unsteady. Hollow.
It didn’t matter anymore.
You had your answer, after all.
He didn’t want you.
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