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.
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.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
hey y’all! I was recently playing Mortal Kombat 1 and decided to write my own multi-chapter Mortal Kombat 1 g/t fic. Much love to @obwjam & @pocket-lad for always encouraging and supporting me to write my own g/t fics no matter the fandom and always being there even if it was just to bounce ideas off of no matter how extreme I thought they were. thank you both and to whoever reads this!
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.
Shit, she thought, her heart racing as she realized she was going home with her idol—if only he knew.
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.
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Back on my bullshit with wacky Durgetash fanfic this time. I don't know what it is about them that makes me want to eat glass but here we go. The story itself is finished, I edit chaps as I go. Leave a comment for the starving artist if you'd like <3
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.
"r-rafe.." you attempt to warn him, to stop him, to tell him this cannot happen in school but his name slips out like a breathless whisper and you can't get yourself to say no to this.
his hands are all over you and your body is pliant under his touch as he took one of your tits in hand, "you look so beautiful right now." you can barely focus on his words when his fingers are inching closer and closer to your pussy, tentatively trailling along the walls of your thighs before finally rubbing your pearly clit with his thumb, your eyes flutter shut and you instinctively try to push your thighs shut.
"should take a couple of pictures of you and hang those right above my bed," he muses and you whimper, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder as he forces your thighs open. "you'd like that, huh? your pretty cunt on my wall?" his thumb tirelessly rubbed your clit, flicking the little nub till your eyes were tearing up and you were gasping for more.
“more?” he’s taunting, almost mocking you as he his finger trails along your sensitive slit before finding your clit again. “mm,” you whimper as you buck your hips into his hands.
his lips nip at your skin but you can barely process it, you try to stay in the present, try to focus on anything that can ground you but fail miserably, “my fingers? does my pretty girl want my fingers inside her?”
"mhm, y-yes.." you whimper, back arching into his chest and you cry out when his fingers slowly push into your soaking cunt. your walls constrict around him and you're in disbelief at how filling his fingers feel. "rafe! oh, god!" you grip his forearm as he drills his digits in and out of you, fingers curling and pushing deeper and deeper.
you’re writhing against him, trying to stay up right as his fingers clamor in you and his thumb rubs your clit until it’s all sore and swollen. “it’s so g-good.. s’ good..” you mumble lazily, tears streaming down your face and rafe is mouthing at your neck, fingers move at a relentless pace. “c’mon, sweetheart, cum for me.”
you feel that familiar earth-shattering feeling, combination of that low pressure and deep coiling. your hips jerk against your will and then you’re moaning, eyes closed as you squirt and gush all over rafe’s fingers. “that’s it..that’s it, pretty girl..” rafe mutters quietly as you pant in his arms. you can’t believe that just happened in a storage room on school grounds.
“try to stand still, okay?” he mutters into your ear before he’s letting you go and reaching into your bag that sat forgotten on the floor for a tissue. he cleaned you up gently before pulling your panties and tights over your tights and up again.
you hold onto to the shelf for a moment to not lose your balance before turning to look at him, lazy smile on your face. “was that the first time?” he asks and you’re nodding slowly and leaning up to nuzzle your nose against his. he grins when you cup his cheeks, “i’ve only ever..done it myself and it has never felt quite like that.” you whisper and rafe pecks your lips, gently, lips brushing against yours. “anytime, baby.”
you wrap your arms around his neck slowly and he pulls you in, body against his as he kisses you again and again and again. “i want you,” you sigh against him when you feel his bulge poking you and he’s smiling against yours lips. “you just had me..” he murmurs. you shake your head, “no..” you whine softly, hands darting down to his bulge and gently running your fingers along it. “want you..” you repeat quietly.
you don’t know where this insatiable feeling is coming from, you don’t understand why you can’t get enough, can’t stop, don’t even want to stop.
you’re slowly sinking to your knees but rafe stops you with a pained expression, hands on your arms, “you’re not going to give me a blowjob in a storage closet. that would take the cake as the most assholey shit i’ve ever pulled.”
“i want to make you feel good.” you complain softly and he pecks the pout on your lips. “soon, yeah? i promise.”
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.”
you glance up and notice it now—his slightly damp hair curling at the ends, the faint sheen still clinging to his skin, and the subtle, clean scent of soap that lingers between you.
when you don’t respond, his brows pull together slightly, and he shuffles closer to you. instinctively, you tuck your knees to your chest, resting the weight of your textbook on your thighs to give him space.
“you should eat,” he says, his voice quieter now, laced with something tender. “you’ve been at this all day.”
he’s probably right, but the thought of pausing—of stepping away when you’re so far from finished—feels impossible. your pen moves almost mindlessly across the page as you scribble out another note, your lips parting to respond. but before you can, your notebook is snatched from your lap in one smooth, effortless motion.
“rafe,” you snap, reaching for it immediately. he holds it just out of reach, his grin soft but teasing.
“rafe, i’m not joking,” you warn, leaning forward. before you can try again, his lips meet yours, cutting off your protests with a kiss.
“you’re gonna burn out,” he murmurs against your mouth, his tone gentle but firm.
you pull back slightly, just enough to glare at him, though the frown on your face is more instinct than true frustration. “you haven’t even seen me during exams,” you mutter, the memory of those sleepless, frantic weeks flashing briefly in your mind.
“not looking forward to that,” he says with a quiet chuckle, still pressing faint, featherlight kisses to your lips.
you don’t stop him this time. instead, you find yourself watching him—watching the way his face softens as he leans into you, the way his eyes flicker between yours and your lips, the way his touch feels so deliberate, so careful.
“want me to help you destress?” he asks softly, his voice low and warm.
you blink at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “help me… destress? how?”
his hands trail down your legs, his touch light and teasing. “you had tights on this morning,” he notes, almost absentmindedly.
you nod slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “they weren’t staying up… i took them off.”
his gaze lowers, and before you fully register what’s happening, his hands are gently parting your legs. your breath hitches as the air shifts between you.
he starts slowly, pressing soft, lingering kisses to your thigh, his lips warm against your skin. you let out a deep, shaky sigh—a sound that seems to rise from an exhaustion you hadn’t even realized you were carrying. each kiss feels deliberate, a quiet offering of care and something deeper, something unspoken.
he works his way lower, inch by inch, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your thighs until he pauses. his eyes lift to meet yours, and his voice comes soft, almost reverent. “can i?”
you nod, breathless, unable to form words. the need simmering in his gaze feels like it could burn right through you, and the anticipation makes your skin hum, every nerve alive and aching for his touch.
his eyes drift down to your cunt that you know is drenched right now, before he’s even done something and the thought of him having you this undone before he’s even touched you is really sad.
when he tugs on the sides of your panties, you freeze for a moment—quiet realization of what’s about to happen and for a second, you’re afraid, afraid of something this new. his gentle eyes are immediately finding yours. “you trust me?” he asks and you know the answer is yes because you say yes without even thinking about it.
“good cause i won’t hurt you, sweetheart..” he’s lightly tugging on your panties, pulling them over your legs until they’re at your ankles and then he’s tossing them to the side. they’re simple white cotton ones and you find yourself wishing you atleast had those sexy, lacy ones.
“you promise?”
“cross my heart,”
he’s properly buried between your thighs now and the first lick along your folds has you gasping and fisting your freshly washed sheets. “you’ve got the prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen, baby..” when his tongue flicks against your drenched cunt, you let out a moan that is downright embarrassingly loud. before the noise can travel, rafe’s hand is flying to cover your mouth and you’re left muffling against his palm.
“as much as i’m dying to hear you moan my name, that’s a risk we can’t take right now, hm?” he murmurs and you assume that’s a sign that he’d go easy on you, you assume that since your parents are currently two floors below you and rafe cares about what they think, he wouldn’t go overboard.
you assume wrong.
“rafe!” you cry out against his palm, head tilting back as he shoves his tongue between your lips. your back is arching off the bed as your one hand holds onto his wrist that’s covering your mouth while the other is gripping rafe’s hair for dear life.
you were completely under the impression that the way his tongue was kissing and flicking your hole and folds was the pinnacle of all of this and you could imagine yourself cumming from just that in the next five minutes.
but then he’s licking from your hole to your clit and the moment his tongue makes first contact with your clit, your eyes fly open and your brain goes completely fuzzy.
“that’s it, baby, lemme make you feel good..” he’s muttering, mouth still right on your clit and you can hardly focus on his words, can hardly focus on much else but the pleasure that seems to be intensifying with every second that passes, “p-please..! i’m..i—“ you’re stuttering, eyes glossy in this almost fucked out state and you’re not even sure what you’re trying to say, what you want. you want something, need something.
“i’ll take care of you. i got you, babygirl.” you want to move, want to push against his mouth or push your hand against the back of his head to pull him in but your body feels too weak. all you can do is let out these muffled, shaky cries against rafe’s palms as he ate you out like it was his very last meal.
your whole body is trembling, a thin sheen of glistening sweat covers your forehead and you swear you can see stars right on the ceiling of your bedroom. rafe’s tongue is relentless, tirelessly lapping and licking at your clit, sucking it into his mouth and you’re losing focus, can’t think straight anymore. your eyes are rolling back as you attempt to push your mound against his lips.
you shudder when the pleasure only intensifies, “gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” rafe’s murmuring against your clit and you’re nodding frantically, “mhm! m’ gonna cum…gonna c-cum..!” you know it’s coming, can feel something pushing against you, pushing you over the edge and you’re about to spill.
rafe doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, just devours you no matter how hard you’re pulling on his hair because you’re about to cum and it’s gonna be all over him and the humiliation of that would kill you.
“rafe! s’ too much!” you gasp and somehow, rafe knows just what to do, just which way to flick his tongue because not a moment later, your toes are curling, fingers tightening in his hair, back arching off your sheets and you’re coming all over his face, slick gushing out as you cry so loud he has to stuff your mouth with his fingers to keep you quiet.
he only removes his fingers after a second and then he’s rising up from between your legs while you lay there, head on your pillow, in this almost dream-like state, trying to catch your breath.
“all good?” his voice is soft, slightly out of breath but steady compared to your shallow pants. you nod, still catching your breath, as he leans over and grabs a tissue from the box on your nightstand. his movements are slow, careful as he cleans you both up, the gentle press of the tissue against your skin making you hyperaware of the moment.
it’s only when you shift slightly that your eyes flicker downward, catching the unmistakable bulge in his sweats. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, and you sit up slowly, your movements hesitant. “you—”
he follows your gaze and shakes his head immediately, cutting off your words before you can finish. “nah, don’t worry about me,” he says, his tone easy but resolute. he leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips grounding you even as your thoughts spin.
still, your eyes drift back to him, lingering a second too long. the idea settles in your chest, insistent and new, and before you can second-guess yourself, your hand starts to reach for him.
he catches your wrist gently but firmly, halting you in place. “no.” his voice is low, the single word laced with finality. his thumb brushes against the delicate skin of your wrist as he holds it, his gaze steady on yours. “go eat.”
you blink up at him, torn between frustration and a quiet determination. “i want to help you,” you murmur, your voice soft but unwavering, the words carrying more weight than you intended. your eyes meet his, defiant, even as your pulse races.
he exhales a small laugh, tilting his head until his forehead rests against yours. his lips brush yours, featherlight, a whisper of contact that leaves you yearning for more. “not today,” he says softly, his voice dropping to a near murmur. “go eat.”
his words leave no room for argument, but the tenderness in his tone eases the sting of his refusal. reluctantly, you shift off the bed, your legs unsteady as you make your way toward the door.
