#caffeine and constellations

[autumnscribbles]

truth | rc

pairing: bsf!rafe x reader, rafe x sofia

summary: y/n overhears sofia and hollis unintentionally, and as rafes friend decides to tell him

warning: swearing, that’s about it i think

wc: 1.8k

a/n: thank you to the anon who sent this in! i’m loving the rafe angst lately, i’ve been having so much fun getting back into writing!! I legit couldn’t think of a title so for now there isn’t one lmaooo

part 2

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘

The fresh night air filled your lungs as you took a deep breath. You always loved walking at night. The air always felt better, the way everything quieted and slowed down always brought you peace. You loved to sit on the dock, listening to the crash of the waves. You watched the stars, mentally pointing out your favorite constellations as you spotted them.

You were brought out of your trance by a familiar voice coming from one of the boats in your vicinity.

“How much?”

You turned your head, leaning your body to try to get a good view. You spotted Sofia, sitting on a boat with that blonde lady you saw the other day. What was her name again? Holly?

“25, dear,” she said. “No questions asked.”

You slowly rose to your feet, trying to get a better view and be more in earshot. You had to stop your jaw from dropping when you heard the conversation. Twenty five grand for Sofia to convince Rafe to take the Goat Island deal. The well put together woman tried to make it same like it was for Rafe’s benefit, but you could tell by Sofia’s reactions that it wasn’t. She just wanted the money, she didn’t care how.

“What the fuck,” you whispered to yourself.

You saw Holly…Hollis! That’s what it was! She handed something to Sofia, and you caught a glimpse of what looked like cash inside. The conversation started wrapping up and you quickly picked up your pace, walking in the opposite direction and off the dock so neither of them saw you.

The sound of your shoes on the pavement sounded too loud in your ears as you hurried back to your house. You knew you weren’t supposed to overhear the conversation, but what were you supposed to do with that information now that you had it? You had to tell Rafe, right? He was your friend. You couldn’t let him get screwed over, especially not when he thought Sofia had good intentions.

You sat on the edge of your bed, breathing shallow as you went over everything you heard. You let out a mix of a sigh and a groan as you flopped onto your back, staring at the ceiling. You’d sleep on it, and decide how to go about telling Rafe tomorrow. You were supposed to meet him at the beach, maybe you could catch him alone before that.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘

The sun was bright and unforgiving, your eyes squinting automatically as you walked down the street. You decided you’d meet Rafe at his place before going down to the beach together. You needed to catch him alone.

You already felt the sweat forming on your forehead as you approached his front door, knocking urgently. When he didn’t answer, you knocked again. Eventually, the door flung open, his eyes half closed once the sun hit his face.

“Can you chill out?” he groaned, shielding the sun with his hand.

You could tell he had just woken up. Usually you’d feel bad, but honestly, you didn’t care. You needed to talk to him, to tell him what you heard and saw last night.

“Rafe I need to tell you something,” you said. “It’s important.”

He groaned slightly before stepping aside, silently inviting you in. He disappeared for a minute or two, arriving back with two mugs of coffee in his hand. You let him take a few sips, waiting for the caffeine to be in him before you started explaining. He needed to be alert and awake when he heard it.

“I was out at the dock last night, just clearing my head,” you started. “And I overheard something I think you should know.”

He stared at you, urging you to continue. His bright blue eyes were fixated on you now, fully awake.

“I saw Sofia and…Hollis?” it came out as more of a question. “I heard Hollis telling Sofia that she would give her 25 grand to convince you to sign the deal.”

“What?” Rafe said, his eyebrows ruffling together and his head shaking as he set his mug down on the coffee table beside him. “You must have misheard.”

“I saw Sofia take the money, Rafe,” you sighed. “I’m sorry, I know you really like her and everything but I really thought you should know and-”

“Just stop, y/n!” Rafe cut you off, raising a hand as if to pause you. “Spare me the fucking dramatics. Why are you trying to fuck with me?”

His jaw clenched, twitching as if he was biting his tongue. You hit a nerve, you could tell. You sat up a bit straighter, trying to show that you were serious. He wasn’t believing you. He didn’t want to think you might be right.

“I’m not!” you protested. “I just thought you should know. I think this Goat Island thing is sketchy, and she’s in on it.”

“Are you seriously that fucking jealous?” he asked, his voice raising as he stood up, towering over you. “You seriously can’t handle the thought of me being happy with someone so much that you have to make shit up?”

“Rafe this isn’t about Sofia!” you defended, standing up to match him. “I want you to be happy, but I can’t not let you know she’s being shady behind your back!”

“No, you know what y/n?” he asked, not waiting for the answer. “I’ve waited for you forever. Just waiting for the day you finally give me the time of day. For once, my attention is on someone other than you. And you can’t fucking handle it.”

You took a step back, your mouth opening slightly. You were at a loss for words. He really thought this was a jealousy issue? That you made up a whole complex story just because you don’t like Sofia? Sure, you were a little hurt when they got together. She was beautiful, and kind, and there were moments you wished he looked at you the way he looked at her. But this wasn’t about hurting her, or getting your way.

“You just loooooved pulling me around behind me like your puppy,” he continued, matching your step back with one forward. His voice lowered and his eyes narrowed, meeting your gaze. “You loved holding me close. You know how I feel for you, and you love it, y/n. You love the attention and you love how you can use it to your advantage.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” you screamed. “You’re fucking delusional Rafe. I’m trying to tell you something serious and you think this is just a love triangle? A lovers quarrel?”

“Stop messing with my head!” he shouted, tapping his temples with his index fingers. “That’s all you do, is fuck with my head! All the time!”

Your mind was reeling. Is that how he felt? Like you were just stringing him along. You never knew Rafe saw you as anything other than a friend. If you weren’t so focused on trying to tell him the truth, you would have held on longer to what he said about waiting for you. Did he mean he had feelings for you all this time? You always buried your feelings for Rafe, pretending they didn’t exist. It was easier that way. Easier to accept you’d never be together.

Rafe had always made your heart flutter, but the baggage that came with him often kept you at a distance when it came to getting closer. He was your friend, you cared for him. You never told him about how you truly felt, because you knew it would likely be a bad idea to be romantically involved. You assumed he’d never feel that way about you anyway, so you buried the hatchet.

“Fine,” you exhaled. “Don’t come to me when you find out your little girlfriend screwed you over. It’s your 400k, not mine.”

Trying to keep up an air of strength, you clenched your jaw. You wouldn’t cry, you wouldn’t react emotionally. He’ll find out the truth eventually, the truth always comes out. He’d admit you were right if you gave it time.

Until then, you walked out his door, leaving it open behind you. His earlier words still coursed through your mind. The mean ones, and the ones about his feelings for you, but as always, you swept them under the rug. You couldn’t face the truth yourself.

You felt something tug at your wrist, turning around to meet Rafe’s blue eyes once again. You thought they looked glossier, a sheen over them. Was he tearing up? No way, Rafe Cameron never cries. Not over this.

“Y/n,” he said lowly, a stark contrast from his previous shouting. “Tell me the fucking truth. Are you just saying this to fuck with me and make me question my relationship with Sofia?”

“No, Rafe,” you said honestly. “I know what I saw. This isn’t some ploy to get you to break up with her or be with me instead. I’m just trying to protect you.”

It was the truth. Despite how you felt about Rafe, you wanted the best for him. If Sofia was what was best, you’d support it. You almost wished you hadn’t seen what you saw at the dock. That way, you wouldn’t have to insert yourself in their relationship at all. You could continue to stand on the sidelines, watching his life pass with you becoming less and less present.

“Protect me,” he scoffed, mocking your words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked harshly.

“Protect me from what, huh? My little poor heart being hurt?” he asked sarcastically. “It’s too late for that, y/n. You can’t protect me from anything when you’re part of the problem.”

You shook your head at him, at a loss for words. He clearly wasn’t done speaking, but you ran out of snarky retorts. You felt like you had whiplash from all the directions this conversation was going. He stared at you for a moment, his mouth slightly open, his hands running over his newly buzzed hair. You heard him release a quiet sigh, his head hanging down.

“No one will ever be good enough in your eyes,” he said, looking back up at you. “Not Sofia, and not me. I was never good enough for you, and Sofia isn’t good enough for me. So you can’t protect me from ‘heartbreak’, y/n. Because you are the problem.”

He pointed a finger at you, his teeth clenched together as the words left his lips. He turned around swiftly and walked back into his house, slamming the door behind him. Unable to process what just happened, you stared blankly in his direction, met with nothing but the front of his house. By trying to help, you somehow managed to make things so much worse, and so complicated.

“Now what?” you said to yourself under your breath.

[atypicalamortentia]

You Invite Them Back To Your Dorm

Synopsis - The boys reactions to you inviting them back to your dorm room.

Warnings - Slightly suggestive.

Notes - Characters aged up to 18+!

Word Count - 0.7k.

{Caffeinate Me}

You’re in the middle of a heated make-out session in the restricted section of the library with SEBASTIAN SALLOW when you ask him. He pulls away from your lips for a moment to breathe when you finally ask “do you want to come back to my dorm room?” Immediately, Sebastian nods his head. His fingers lace with yours and the next thing you know, you’re being dragged back to your dorm room. Sebastian pushes you into your dorm room without a care in the world, throwing you on to your bed before attaching his lips to your neck. It’s needless to say, it doesn’t take long before your clothes are scattered around the place and the brown-haired, freckled male is thrusting inside of you haphazardly.

You and OMINIS GAUNT are in the Undercroft practising some spells when you ask him. Ominis looks in your general direction, almost as if asking you to repeat your question again. “Ominis? Do you want to come or not?” Ominis nods his head and smiles lazily at you as you grab his hand and lead him out of the Undercroft. You lead him to your common room before pulling him in, mindlessly saying hello to all your friends. You and Ominis sit on your bed cuddling and just talk for hours, maybe you guys make-out a little bit, but Ominis feels uncomfortable taking it any further with your friends just outside the door. 

You’re helping GARRETH WEASLEY with one of his potion concoctions. You’re admiring him when the words just slip out of your lips. He looks at you, slightly stunned for a moment before grinning widely. “I’d love to accompany you back to your dorm room.” You help him finish cleaning up the mess he, of course, made before grabbing his cloak and pulling him to your dorm. When you reach your room, you pull the Weasley inside and close the door quietly behind the two of you before sitting on your bed and dangling your legs off the edge. “So,” Garreth asks with a cheeky grin. “What are we doing here?” You grin back at him and grasp the collars of his shirt, pulling him down on top of you and smashing your lips against his. The two of you stay like that for a long time, kissing and touching each other until eventually one of you pushes the other too far. 

You and LEANDER PREWETT are standing in the hallways just talking when you invite him back to your dorm room. The two of you had been shamelessly flirting with each other for weeks and you were tired of waiting for him to make the first move, so you put yourself out there. “You mean… You wanna go to your room… With me?” He asks, slightly taken back by your question. You nod and smile at him, holding out your hand for him to take should he agree. Of course he did, grabbing your hand gently and waiting for you to take him back to your room. The second you enter your dorm, you’re pushing the ginger onto your bed and kissing him passionately, taking him by surprise yet again. He couldn’t help but let out a soft moan into the kiss and allow his hands to trail your body. It’s safe to say he finally has the confidence to claim you as his after this. 

You are drinking firewhisky with AMIT THAKKAR when you drunkenly invite him back to your dorm room. You’re out on the astronomy tower looking at the constellations when you blurt it out. Amit raises a quizzical eyebrow at you, watching as you slur over your words. Being the gentleman Amit is, he accepts your invitation and picks you up bridal style to carry you back to your dorm, knowing full well you’d be falling all over the place if he let you walk on your own. He places you gently into your bed when you try to initiate something, letting your hands roam over his body as you place delicate kisses on his neck. “Not tonight sweetheart,” he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss on your lips. “For now you need some sleep. Don’t worry, I’ll still be here when you wake up in the morning.” You let out a grumble but nod, closing your eyes and falling asleep. True to his word, Amit was there when you woke up in the morning, ready to help you take care of your raging firewhisky hangover.  

[brandileigh2003]

Coffee shop or bakery fic recs. Let me know what I missed including self recs

please give these authors love, fandom engagement with writers is down and it means more than you know.

-Like Real People Do by @third_crow ft disability and raising Harry

-Au Pif by sreka, @yumenouveau @smodernlife pining, fluff misunderstandings

-Blue Moon Café by @lazuli-moon ft raising teddy, chronic pain/illness, non-binary Sirius

-Found Heaven by @madefortherain University texting

-what a wonder (what a waste) by peachyybabe @lavenderhaze mcd magical au ft raising teddy

-Half Moon Chocolate by @brujabanter magical au no voldy

-The Barista, the Burglar, and the Sofa by orphan_account fluff au

-Number Neighbours by @moonsblack texting fic

-Be silent like deep water by @her-smile-forges-galaxies ft deaf remus

-The Barista by ever3tt au with pining

-Leather and Cinnamon by @tracingpatternswrites raising teddy modem au

-Of Caffeine Addictions and Nail Polish by @blueAzalea ft raising teddy and moonflower friendship

-Bean Genie by bethanlovescoffee fluffy au

-Love by the Seaside by viwrites @just--vi ft fluff and chronic

-i want to build something permanent by rekindled University ft trans remus

-Fractured Skies by orphan_account ft deaf Sirius and epileptic remus

-Blends by rvltn909 pining and banter

-Best Friend's Brother by bizarrestars @starsworth love the moonwater friendship, fluff with some angst

-Tip Jar by @starling011 ft chronic illness and moonflower friendship

-labyrinth by moonymoment @mayescapade exes to lovers

-I'll paint a mural of your smile by irlhawke ft mental health, trans remus

-Finding Warmth by Moony @adashofinspiratio blind Sirius and deaf remus

-Good Old Fashioned Lover Boys by Hell_Again trans remus, disability and mental health

-Tartan Books & Longing Looks by Lia @liaskisses cute with banter

Not sure if it technically counts but I like it and they spend time together there --ten reasons (to go to michigan) by @greyeyedmonster-18

Have 2 bonus flower shops:

-The Language of Flowers by B1ackCatChatsBack ft disability and pining

-my jokes are my armour, my kindness is my sword by @littleoldrachel ft disability and trans Remus, they're so cute

Recs from others:

early morning, coffee cups by alarainai bakery

-Constellations and Coffee by AisForAlex

-The Web by @lesmardisbleus mcd

-Back to September by @WriterwithaWindow

-oat milk latte by @vinylsonthewall

-Sorry I'm Late - I Was Searching For You by @euripidestrousers

--rec from @missmoonfrost

-Spilling Coffee on Strangers by fictional_simp09

[fireflies-and-bluebirds]

types of people

midnight: soft eyes, tired faces, empty coffee cups, witty jokes and banter, sad smiles, sagging statures, sweaters in abundance, wild plans, good grades

dawn: soft makeup palettes, quiet words, pastel paintings, dainty laughter, inside jokes, younger siblings, morning people, fancy teas, swishy skirts

noon: "too bright", large smiles, loud, infectious laughter, sunflowers, denim, hands hiding in pockets, cigarettes, okay grades, napping under trees, pointing out constellations, bucket hats and bandannas

dusk: falling asleep, cozy video games, writing essays hyped on caffeine, blankets and pillows, lofi music, floral/botanical print fabric, jewel tones, flannel, wet grass, daydreams, taking notes

twilight: books, endless notebooks, astrology obsessions, english degree, hot cocoa by the fireplace, cold nights, snowfalls, cold hands, stage fright, drama/theater, large rooms with high ceilings, large dreams, drapery curtains

[castiwls]

back again!! would you do something with sam winchester perhaps where sam does something that makes reader realize that she’s in love with him and then skips to confessing and such?? love ur work SMMM

you are in love - s.w

Pairings; Sam x fem!reader

Synopsis; One coffee changes (almost) everything

Warnings; fluff (lots)

Notes;Tysmm!! I love this idea so much i really need to write for sam more <3 Also I highly suggested listening to 'you are in love' (by taylor swift) while reading this as I kinda based it on that song:)

Masterlist

'Small talk, he drives Coffee at midnight The light reflects The chain on your neck He says, "Look up" And your shoulders brush No proof, one touch But you felt enough'

The night breeze was cool against your skin as you settled into the grass beside Sam. “Here.” He passed you a takeaway cup which had been sitting beside him. You thanked him before taking a sip of the warm drink. “Is coffee at midnight a good idea?” you asked tilting your head slightly. Sam shrugged looking over to you. “Not like we were gonna sleep anyways.”  

The two of you sat in relative silence, making small talk as you slowly finished your drinks. You felt a small buzz from the caffeine slowly start to warm your body. “Y/n. Look.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Sam put down his drink before he pointed up to the sky. As he moved his shoulder brushed yours. You followed his finger and squinted slightly. “What am I meant to be looking at?” 

Sam let out a small laugh before leaning slightly closer and moving his finger in a pattern. His finger traced lines in the sky as he spoke. “Perseus was a Greek hero who killed Medusa. After He killed Medusa he found Andromeda who was chained to a rock, her parents wanted to sacrifice her to a sea monster. He saved her and later they got married.” You listened as Sam continued to explain how the two had become constellations and what they meant.

As he spoke you found yourself more and more captivated by his story. His smile seemed to grow as he spoke listing more and more information on the myth. As you watched him speak you felt yourself slowly become more and more captivated by him. The stars reflected off his eyes making them glisten slightly. 

 A small shiver ran through you as a particularly cold breeze ran through the area. 

“Are you cold?” The question brought you out of the almost trance-like state you had been in. You quickly looked away and cleared your throat. ‘No. No im fine.” Sam frowned before moving to take off his jacket. “Oh. Sam you don’t have to im-” He shook his head before cutting you off. “No. no, it's fine seriously.” He smiled as he wrapped the jacket around your shoulders.

His smile sent a slight flush to your cheeks. The jacket smelt like him, something which sent butterflies wild in your stomach. “That's a beautiful story.” You quietly spoke turning fully to face him. Sam smiled and you could have sworn a small blush dusted his cheeks. 

After a moment he stood before offering you a hand. “It’s late, we should probably head back.” You nodded allowing him to pull you up. 

You stood for a moment mulling over your thoughts. Were you in love with Sam?

It had been a few weeks since the night in the field and your feelings had only grown more.  You knew you had to say something soon or you were gonna go mad. The last few weeks had been with seemingly case after case but you finally had time to yourselves. 

Dean had wandered off to a bar a few hours ago leaving just you and Sam in the bunker. It was now or never. “Sam.” You called as you walked into the map room. Sam looked up from his laptop with a small smile. “Hey, what's up?” He shuts his laptop and turns his attention to you. 

“I uh..I need to talk to you about something.” He nodded before gesturing to the seat beside him. Your hand shook slightly as you sat down and placed your hands on your lap. Taking a breath you tried to push your nerves down before looking up to him.

“I don’t really know how to say this” You laughed nervously, beginning to play with your hands in your lap. You knew you had to say something now or you might not get the chance for god knows how long. 

Sam watched you for a moment equally confused and concerned by your behaviour. Leaning forward he took your hands into his drawing your attention back to him. He gently squeezed your hand. 

Taking a deep breath you opened your mouth. “I think im in love with you, but I don't wanna make it weird if you don't feel the same way an-” Your rambling was cut off by someone pressing their lips against yours.

It took a moment for your mind to catch up and register that the person kissing you was Sam. After a moment he pulled away moving to brush a strand of hair away from your face. 

“Took you long enough.” Both you and Sam flew away from each other at the sound of another person’s voice. Dean leaned against the wall with a smirk he waved a hand in your direction before pushing off the wall. As he walked past he clapped his brother on the back before sending you a wink and wandering down the hallway. “Remember to use protection lovebirds.” He yelled before disappearing around the corner.

Sam shook his head as you let out a quiet laugh. “Truthfully,” He started leaning in again. His hand moved to cup your check. “I think I’ve been in love with you since we met.” He gently ran his thumb across your cheek and you felt a slight flush on your cheeks.

His words left you feeling slightly giddy as he connected your lips again. 

You’d never been more grateful for coffee in your life.

'You are in love True love You are in love'

[justaslytheringal]

How to spot a... Hogwarts edition

How to spot a Slytherin

Common habitats: gothic cathedrals, 24-hour coffee shops, antique stores, art galleries, forbidden forests, the quietest spot in libraries, cemeteries, wandering around the city at night

Common behaviours: sarcastic, stubborn, bottles up a lot of their emotions, drinks coffee in the evening, swears a lot, has a small but close social circle, likes to dress up, has expensive taste, may suffer from resting b**** face, did I say sarcastic?

Other attributes: trench coats, leather journals, marble statues, fancy teacups, family heirlooms, black silk, French perfume, sly smirks, black and white photography, champagne

How to spot a Ravenclaw

Common habitats: overstocked libraries, fancy stationary shops, mysterious castles, vintage stores, under the stars, local museums, forests, quirky cafes

Common behaviours: writes pretty notes, has the best conversations at 2am, prefers nights in, gets frustrated if they don't get something first try, caffeine addicts, prefers cold weather, listens to classical music, has a million half-finished creative projects, likes to stargaze

Other attributes: leather bound notebooks, hot coffee, old books, the arts, fountain pens, tortoiseshell glasses, constellations, ink stains, vintage blazers, stolen glances, raindrops on windows

How to spot a Hufflepuff

Common habitats: independent book shops, cosy cafes, meadows, thrift stores, petting zoos, drive-in cinemas, local bakeries, snuggled up under their blanket

Common behaviours: always has a warm drink in hand, bakes when stressed, holds the door for strangers, tends to stick to their comfort shows/movies instead of watching something new, loves plants, dances in the kitchen

Other attributes: handwritten letters, fuzzy socks, quirky mugs, old sweaters, pressed flowers, bubble baths, vintage jewellery, sunlight cracking through curtains

How to spot a Gryffindor

Common habitats: outdoor concerts, record stores, old playgrounds, by the fireplace, retro diners, campsites, petting zoos, light festivals, treehouses, secret gardens

Common behaviours: gets along with everybody, takes the risk - no matter the odds, has an unbridled passion for oddly specific things, stands up for what's right, loves to make people laugh, nice but can come across as flirty

Other attributes: gold jewellery, fireworks, hot chocolate, quidditch matches, friendship bracelets, endless laughter, crunchy leaves on an autumn morning

[abiiors]

𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 '𝟸𝟺

(one whole year since i have been doing this oh my god!!!)

hello, hello!! we're back with the autumn/spooky themed prompts 🧡 last year was so much fun and i hope it goes just as well this time??

i’m releasing this well in advance so people can decide which ones they want to plan + write etc. the fics are to be posted in the month of october 💜

anyway, i hope you guys participate again and i would absolutely love to see your fics so pls tag #promptober75 if you use these ♡︎♡︎♡︎

typed list of prompts under the cut

1] turning of the leaves 2] oktoberfest 3] bad weather 4] autumn carnival 5] family dinner 6] sweater weather 7] sweet pumpkins 8] haunted house 9] corn maze 10] folklore 11] flannel shirt 12] rain showers 13] creatures of the night 14] abandoned 15] jack o’ lanterns 16] apples 17] blood red lips 18] constellations 19] witching hour 20] movie marathon 21] bump in the night 22] under the full moon 23] caffeine overload 24] death & decay 25] witch’s brew 26] chilly mornings 27] cabin in the woods 28] matching costumes 29] beginning of the end 30] trick or treat 31] heaven & hell

(ps: i made these for me and my mutuals in the 1975 fandom but if you want to use these for other fandoms, please feel free to do so :) however i’d really appreciate if you didn’t use the promptober75 tag 🤍)

[hugsandchaos]

Sometimes, I really think that Danny meeting Luna before she turned into Nightmare Moon would be pretty awesome because

Luna: No one appreciates my beautiful night… They all just sleep through it like it’s of no importance!

Danny, currently running on caffeine from staying up for 3 nights stargazing and frantically trying to hide the entire alphabet, punctuation, and number system he created based off of stars: HSHVBHSCJR— SOMEONE’S HERE!!! HIDE THE SPACE NERD STUFF!!!

And once he realizes that he can be completely open about his space obsession with Luna, it’s just

And Luna’s so happy that someone appreciates the night sky so much that they actually made a sort of written constellation language.

[thirstywoso]

Masterlist

Hi guys, decided to start writing again even though I severely lack motivation half of the time. I'm up for writing any kind of stories but promts are appreciated. I'll probably not write for players I don't know much about but send your requests even if they aren't on the list because I've probably forgotten some.

Players I'd write for

Jessie Fleming

Niamh Charles

Open to see completed and upcoming works

Completed

Jessie Fleming

Series

Love me like a sailor part 1

Roses have thorns part 1 part2

Five years down, forever to go 18+ part 1 part 2 part 3

Lessons in Photography 18+ part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 - finished

Caffeine for the heartache part 1

One-shots

Constellations 18+

Forget about your girlfriend 18+

Take me out to the ball game - fluff

Patience is a virtue 18+

Modern Loneliness 18+

Colour outside the lines -fluff

Niamh Charles

Fruastration 18+

In the works

FYDFTG - Jessie Fleming part 4 (18+)

For a good time call... - Jessie Fleming (18+)

Unnamed - Jessie Fleming + Niamh Charles (18+)

Caffeine for the heartache part 2 - Jessie Fleming

Bartender - Jessie Fleming

I have a few other ideas I'm working on too

Back burner

(doesn't mean they aren't coming just either have others I'm prioritising because I have limited writing time or don't have current motivation for them this may mean fics may move between in progress and back burner)

Roses have thorns (part three)

Unnamed - Niamh Charles(18+)

Colour outside the lines- Jessie Fleming pt2

Ghost of you - Jessie Fleming

Dirty little secret - Jessie Fleming (18+)

Feel free to request a synopsis for any of the fics here or send requests that I will get to eventually unless I specifically reply saying that I won't. If you've sent a request that isn't answered then I apologise but it means eventually it's coming and I'll reply when it's out.

[dullgecko]

Adaine has a sixth sense when her notes for class are in danger

Kristen can play saxophone (she chose it to learn cause haha funny name)

Fabian writes love letters as part of a Cupid's association he started for fun (and to finally use his calligraphy skills)

Fig is slowly teaching her army of Baby's to sing backup properly

Gorgug knows all the constellations from sleeping on the lawn some nights when his bed broke

Riz falls asleep instantly if somebody sits near him with a blanket thrown on him

And cooking headcanons are:

Can cook: Gorgug (the most competent) and Kristen (only corn related dishes)

Can cook (shouldn't/will make monstrosities on purpose/by accident): Riz (everything has caffeine) and Adaine (could cook with parental supervision)

DONT LET IN KITCHEN (WILL BURN WATER): Fabian and Fig (+Kristen when not making dishes with corn)

Yay a bunch, had to wait until i got home so i had a keyboard so sorry for the wait but ilu thankyou <3

Adaine has a sixth sense when her notes for class are in danger

She gets full blown promonitions on more than one occasion and has had to yank her bag out of harms way at the last second. Even if she lost her notes though she'd be fine, every night when she gets home she re-writes everything neatly into a second notebook thats kept safe inside her room (and at the end of every lesson she takes a photo of her notes for that day on her crystal and saves a backup to the cloud just in case)

Kristen can play saxophone (she chose it to learn cause haha funny name)

She also chose it becasue it has maximum potential to be sexy and annoying as hell. Her first choice was bagpipes, but tracker ripped them to shreds after the first note so that was a no-go.

Fabian writes love letters as part of a Cupid's association he started for fun (and to finally use his calligraphy skills)

He has an anonymous account set up so people can submit their requests. Once they're written he sends both a photo of the letter and mails the physical copy to wherever it needs to go.

Fig is slowly teaching her army of Baby's to sing backup properly

Very slowly, incredibly slowly. They still havent quite mastered the art of the middle volume so all their parts have to be very quiet or screeched at the top of their lungs.... its a work in progress.

Gorgug knows all the constellations from sleeping on the lawn some nights when his bed broke

He knows them, he however does not know all the proper names at all. Fabian is appauled and spends more than a few nights during the nightmare king quest quizzing him until he gets the names correct and will sometimes, during parties at night, point at a section of sky with a stern face from across the yard and Gorgug will spit out the name of whatever he's pointing at to the confusion or amusement of anyone he's currently with.

Riz falls asleep instantly if somebody sits near him with a blanket thrown on him

The crucial second component of this is Riz has to first be kindof sleepy and it cant be just anybody. Throw a blanket on a rogue unexpectedly and you're liable to suddenly be in a lot of pain and with a shredded blanket. If a friend sits next to him with a blanket on THEIR shoulder and offers a spot underneath it with them he's gone within four seconds once he accepts the offer.

------------------------------------------------------------

Cooking headcannons

Gorgug can cook, he parents taught him when he was still (relitively) small. He cooks a lot of his own meals because its often a LOT of food and he doesnt want to bother his parents all the time (he still doesnt cook quite enough, which is why he's so lanky in comparison to other half-orcs; he's chronically underfed but at least he gets all his vitamins).

Kristen is great with food that doesnt require heating, she makes amazing sandwiches and salads but the INSTANT heat is involved you need someone on standby with a fire-extinguisher. She will forget there's something cooking, it will boil dry/overcook/catch fire. She is banned from using the stove. Helios blessing was literally the only thing saving her corn-based dishes (literal divine intervention), and thats not really on the table anymore.

Adaine needed a lot of help initially in the kitchen because she had never ever used a cooking appliance before but once she's shown how she never forgets. She is not so great at 'cooking' but she is amazing at baking (which is practically wizardry in edible form fight me). Baking requires EXACT steps with EXACT measurements and EXACT cooking times. Cooking requires more flexibility and she cannot wrap her head around it (i cooked this steak for the same amount of time as the last one but it basically became shoe leather/was practically raw). Jawbone buys her a recipe book full of cookies and pastries and calls it her grimoire. She cries and keeps it tucked safely with her spellbooks, it never enters the kitchen lest it get dirty, any recipies she wants to make are copied down onto a sheet of paper like a prepared spell and taken with her when she wants to bake.

Riz's definition of edible does NOT match those of anyone else (though most of his meals consist of 1) coffee and 2) some sort of pre-made meal bar). He does cook for his mum if he gets home first though, and by goblin standards its actually pretty tasty. Goblins have mythril-stomachs though, and unless they're getting ACTIVLY poisoned they can eat just about anything (most food-born parasites cant survive in goblins anyway). It comes down to an argument of 'what do you MEAN you have to eat your chicken/pork well-done? i dont understand. You're fine with steaks being rare. why would you debone the fish/chicket the bones are the best part.'. Also the point where most food would be considered spoiled is well before the Gukgaks would be worried about it. If he's cooking for you, you just have to be specific and you'll be fine (he'll silently judge you for being picky, even while he carefully over-cooks the meat and cuts half the 'edible' parts off your vegetables).

Fabian is 100% banned from making ANYTHING. He made a sandwich inedible somehow, he was using the same ingrediants as EVERYONE ELSE. Kristin swears after casting detect evil and good on it that it was Infernal. Fig threw it through a portal to hell just in case.

Fig probably can cook, she just pretends she cant because its funnier that way. Her mother is a ranger, if anything she can probably make THE best campfire meals out of the whole squad but tells nobody and pretends to be totally clueless. One day while out on a mission the squad wakes up to a full fantasy-english breakfast cooked over a campfire including fresh bread and tea and Fig pretends that she has no idea where it came from even though she was the ONLY PERSON AWAKE.

[themareverine]

Mare & the Wolverine | good poison | Logan Howlett

summary: Laughlin City, an Eden of promise. Or destiny.

warnings: AU, age gap, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, eventual romance, violence, angst, trauma, religion, self-insert, self-esteem issues, chance meetings, alcohol, grief/morning, mutual pining, falling in love, slow-ish burn, fluff and angst, canon-typical violence, virginity, reposted from my old account.

MASTERLIST| NAVIGATION | NEXT | PREVIOUS

“I’ve never met a more obsessive, religiously fanatical, irresponsible press professional in my entire career, McAffery—and I’ve been doing this thirty fucking years!”

“Told you to drop that mutant BS, McAffery—”

Blue light from her phone lights up the shadowed seat beside her, interrupting the cruel sting of thoughts lapping her brain like a pace car. Redlined and leading, her attention briefly drifts from the yellow lines of highway to the bright screen that lingers—to the text bubble with the little avatar face of who else but her mother, checking in on her for only the fiftieth time tonight. 

“I’m fine, ma,” she sighs to empty space around her. A glance upward through the windshield to the night sky canvases unfamiliar constellations, stars she’s never seen this far north. Living north all her life had prepared her for a lot of, well, Canada— but not the stars. There seemed to be more of them, dancing in troops that quickened the soul. They’d been hanging in the sky for hours, now, and every time her gaze flicked up—never saw the same cluster.  

Diiiing. The sound avalanches in the cab, almost. “Jeez, I’m fine, ” it’s more of a growl than anything as she reaches for the phone. Silences it. Practically tossing it to the cup holder, she shifts a little further against her seat, her ass into the three decade-old cushion just like she’d been doing for two days. Shoulders pressing back into the material of her seatback, a slight shiver races up her spine where frigid air snakes into the cab of the Jeep between gaps in soft-top canvas—irritates the hunger that’s been low simmering in her stomach since before the sun had disappeared. 

A quick GPS consult and civilization is less than ten miles on her course. It promises a bar, a Motel 6, some gas. Nothing fancy. Reading in-between trying to stay between yellow highway lines reveals that Laughlin City is a logging community, one of those let’s-film-a-cheesy-Hallmark-romance little sports that show up in romantic novels and on travel blogs. It’s quiet with a limited population, mountainside and traditional. Perfect. 

Starting directions to Laughlin City, you’re on the fastest route—-

“Considering I don’t see any freeways, I guess that tracks,” Frick, I’m turning into my mother talking to myself— and she had been, for two days. But that’s probably fine, better to keep herself company in the off-hours of radio. She couldn’t bear any more talk radio, didn’t have the caffeine or the patience to relive the same Shania Twain cassette tape for a twentieth time. 

Sighing, her head kicks back a little against the hard headrest behind her. Brightness from the GPS route is white-hot and blinding, has Mare McAffery turning her phone screen down to the fading 90s-print material of the passenger seat. She can see the little cloud from the hard breath she lets escape from between her lips, which subliminally raises the air on her arms. Sends a stab of cold through the bones in her hands. Even with air bursting from the defrost, it’s cold. Colder here, farther north, than her family’s quiet little farmland Minnesota home for this time of year—a t-shirt had felt like a good idea this morning at the truck stop. Splashing water on her face and smiling into sunshine. 

Her eyes drift to the dash clock as a hand reaches behind her to grope for the hoodie she’d abandoned. A little after 11—her time. Back home. Mare has no idea what time it is in Canada, under foreign stars and among unknown mountains. Though, really it doesn’t matter—time is a construct when you’re on the road. When you don’t really have anywhere to be in all that much of a hurry, when you’re getting out of Dodge and rethinking every strategic decision of your life.

God, what am I doing? Where are You in this? And the thought is random. Had been, for days. Quitting her job on the spot three weeks ago had felt like the move of the century, like a Neil Armstrong one-giant-leap-for-mankind on the moon type of deal. Once in a lifetime, defining. Must’ve been what the fathers of her nation felt, rising up to slay the Goliath oppressing them into submission—she’d bucked the power of corporate America, felt the sting of her whip for a final count. 

There’d never been more peace, more purpose about her life than in that moment, smiling down her nose at her boss. Knowing she’d left him in the lurch, had upset his canoe. Upstream without a paddle, take that you scumsucking piece of trash. Her guts had nearly risen up to her throat with the flood of pure adrenaline. Bolstered, like a shooting star— all hot and undiscerning strength. Every disgruntled employee in the history of the working class before her, caged within her bones. Finding justice in this one act, this flight. High flying and empowered, she’d crashed through the glass ceiling—unscathed, unravished. Free. 

Or so she prayed. 

Reality rose up to strike her like plague, chastened and vengeful. Leaving behind ghosts and midnight phantoms to haunt her even in sleep, her fears. Disease eating away at the flesh of her life, an insatiable predator unrelenting until satisfied. Picking its teeth with the bones of her future, the unknown. Grinning at her like a subtle, close-to-the-chest demon of her own making. Tapestry of her life began to unravel, unfurled by her own bravada, her own shield of faith in the unknown. Days bled eternally into weeks. Networking spiderwebbed away in the wind, disheveled and thin. Nothing aside from Oh-honey-I’m sorry’s and though-your-qualifications-are-impressive-we-regret’ s. 

Word traveled fast in rocks and cows country, not-the-Twin-Cities Minnesota.  Whoever didn’t look on her with sympathy dug her grave, or threw dirt on open wounds festering with her own shame. Nobody was eager to onboard the bloodhound trailblazing young lady with starry eyes and Superman hope. 

Singlehandedly she’d brought coverage of the community’s less-than-human population to hometown families and cropfarmers, faces nobody in her world desired. They’d kept the mutants at arm’s length, in the city and away from the grass that dances on the prairie; innocence of country living. Nobody wanted them in their ZIP code, their school districts—accidents raised taxes. No mayor wanted to address the subject at press conferences or on small city councils, no school board wanted funding for safe rooms or SPED. Better to lock them away in the concrete jungle of downtown, anonymous faces in a sea crying out for representation. 

Disarming a population’s ignorance had been a savage fight—soul crushing and abusive. Her head had been piked in every town-gossip-over-coffee table in the entire township, her family’s name raked over the coals in the editorials. Recklessly brave, but the greater good had come at a high, not-so-good price. Expensive for an under-thirty young little thing with bright aspirations, with a family standing behind her as pillars in a crumbling, paralyzed community.  

Better to turn a blind eye to the unfortunates than lend a hand likely to be bit, was the argument. Lambs to slaughter, all of her anonymous mutant sources had eviscerated from contact seemingly overnight—lost to anonymity, to the underworld of obscurity and fear. 

Foolish, simpleminded. White washed tombs, dens of vipers. Disheartened —didn’t they see—? 

A glance into the rearview and she’s able to make out the almost-cavernous upset digging trenches in the skin of her brow, the veil that’s overtaken once-bright eyes. All noted, even in the glare of blue light and shadows. She exhales deep and feels it, between her ribs. In, out—one, two, three; let it go, let it go let it go. That burning knot of lava that’s parked in between her shoulder blades shakes just a little, breaks apart. And for a brief moment, there’s cool relief that comes with another bite of May wind. Chases all the way down her spine, nips at her collarbones. 

Her grip tightens on the wheel, highway stretched unforgiving. Mocks her, reminding her how far away she’s attempting to fly, to hide . Inky midnight fans out before her— a lover, shadowing the world beyond the headlights of the Jeep Wrangler. Promising to hide her away, in a new world. The Wrangler seems to roar, engine loud in the empty night air, humming and thunking like old horsepower does. Whether in protest or jubilation, she’s not sure. Doesn’t even know if she wants to be. 

A wing and prayer. She’s left on a wing, with a prayer—it’ll carry her. To Laughlin, at least. 

Tires eat pavement like a beast, thrum thrum, thrumming away underneatht the rig almost in perfect step with the rabbit heartbeat kicking in her chest. Hears every rotation of rubber against asphalt through the canvas top. Tastes the cold bite of May night seeping through gaps and vinyl windows, cooling that still-there heat between her shoulders, that ache in the back of her eyes. 

Fiddling with the radio for the local news distracts her from GPS directions for a heartbeat. Almost missing the turnoff, she more forgoes the stop sign than actually misses it, engaging the clutch and brake to downshift. Skirting by the blaring scarlet of the sign, there’s no sign of headlights any direction at the four way. Except, in the distance, maybe five or so miles.

Between trees that canopy and dart in the breeze, trying to keep civilization a secret from the unsuspecting. Warring against the moon for rights to illuminate, to pierce through the veil of night—mountain peaks like dark sentinels, threatening and breathtaking in the faraway. Sits like a lion, stirring at the presence of the intruding Daniel. 

Laughlin City. 

“Bingo.” 

Mopping droplets of sweat pearling up from between his facial hair hasn’t ever felt more like a chore than it does right now, in the flickering light of a too-late pub crawling with county lowlives and province nobodies.  Every muscle burns with adrenaline that pistons through his veins like a hot steamroller, flattening any thought other than sucking air into his chest. Logan Howlett swears to God he can feel his very bronchial tubes with every pull of thick, curling air—wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t label every cell, working in unison to stitch him back together. 

It’s a delicate dance, healing after a fight. Body goes to work even before new wounds hit home—recovering from old ones, almost anticipating where new ones will land. Takes a significant amount of energy, a high unlike any amphetamine can deliver. Hot, heavy, painful bliss. That feel-good, fuck-this-is-perfect way he’s only ever experience in one other way—and that’s cock deep, in the right woman, red lines flaming down the length of his back. It’s taken a lifetime to ignore the adrenaline, the feel good burn of flesh stitching itself piece by piece. Wounds numbing over as the body corrects. Blood cut off from oxygen, sealed behind skin and screaming behind new scars. Bones correcting from fracture, pulled together with God-perfect precision no ER could ever match. Marrow stretching, cartilage welding back together. Feeling coming back with just as much prejudice as it had when it went. 

And it’s no different tonight, after a fight. Adamantium in his hands trembles, quakes with every beat of his pulse. Cold, itching with a sensation that only means one thing— air. Oxygen. Oxygen that fuels rage, that feeds the fire of release that’s a blazing furnace almost carved into the length of his spine. Bones, their marrow, they want air — crave it like demons. Flogging his soul like Christ at the crucifixion, crucifying him to the never-ending torment of holding it all together. Of balancing the line of monster and man, mortal and mutant. Ravages his will, rapes him of innocence, even in his youth. Even as a boy, even as James— he’d never had innocence. What even was purity to a man born to die but forced to live? 

He’d always been this, this h eld-together-with-threadbare-stitches-of-his-own-resolve carcass aching to die. Searching to live.

And it takes will, to live. Will of the ages, hills. Steadfastness of mountains to maintain the barrier between resolution and absolution. To not let go —to deny the impulses that scream through his blood like phantoms. Even the very stones beneath his feet cry out for his blood, for justice. Justice that had been lost through time, as others pass away. As he lives. His sins fade with those in graveclothes, but they haunt him like shadows. Peaceless life, ravaged. An ever-present war that carousels about his psyche. 

Don’t let go, Logan—don’t let them see you. Light a cigar. Suck in some brandy. Drown out the memories, the tombstones of everything he’s ever felt in his life rising up from buried graves and nameless mantras. It’s not for you, it’s for them. Never for you, always for them—

“—hey, you. Yeah, you— Mutton Chops. Yeah. It’s Wolverine, right?” 

He would chuckle if it wasn’t so ridiculous. Mutton Chops? 

Fingers scratch through the longer hairs, the corner of his mouth teases up with an amused smirk. Figures, they are a little dated. But, he enjoys them—he likes the way looks, always had. Cut a fine figure, and if he didn’t let himself know it, the women did. Been mooning over him since God knew . If he didn’t hate the attention, if he didn’t hate being seen; mingling with the echelon of the common man—-he could have any tit and skirt he wanted, most places. A few years of fucking anything that walked had lost its charm swiftly, and with gusto. 

Logan had learned early that he needed very few things in life to live, to survive. Living demanded the basic essentials, and a man isn’t truly a man unless he makes his own way. Women, well—girls were a luxury . Rubies and emeralds among the silver and golds of the everyday. High prices. Precious things in the eyes of God and the male sex, to be worshiped. Certainly so, can’t argue with the Twains and Shakespeares, the Psalmists of the ages—but they weren’t necessary. Not to survive. Little delicacies to make the journey tolerable, but not necessary. Privileges never were.  

“Wolverine—I’m talkin ’ to you!” 

But the alias is familiar, but the voice isn’t. Logan tosses back the bite of brandy that burns all the way down, snaps his attention from the bottom of the shot glass to the guy coming up behind him. Feet heavy, he’s at least six-two, two-fifty at a glance guess. Beer gut and a bald dome, some redheaded tart from across the bar reaching to pull him back. May as well be Vegas neon. Trouble—double order, by the looks of it. 

Shoulda been my middle name, “In some circles,” warmth skates into his blood, pulling at the attitude simmering at the edges of his resolve, “who’s askin’?” Fixing the edge of his shirt around the waist of his jeans, Logan ignores the instinctual twinge of pain that ricochets between his knuckles. One slip of his self control and there’s hell to pay—bloody, tastes-like-cold-steel hell.

Instead, his arms find the smooth bartop, glass hitting the bar with a crack. Logan pushes it away knuckles first, fingers tapping for another round. The bartender, he knows her as Sue—an aging sixties belle, witchy hair that’s perpetually pinned up in a clip—breezes by and snatches it away, promising him another with a hoarse, been-smoking-for-four-decades rasp. In seconds and the dark liquid spills into the shot glass, crystalline and pretty. 

Logan waves her come with two fingers, easing a little deeper into his usual barstool—the barstool he’s been parked in for eight months. Rolls a shoulder. A delicious little burn of healing muscle, dissipating bruises. Common place after a fight in the cage—there’s not enough curiosity in the eyes that are watching him. And he’s counting the paces of Big Boy coming up behind him, can feel the man’s anger from here. Tangible and inbred, like he’s been sucking the tit of pissed off since toddlerhood. 

The man’s huge hand is on his shoulder, jerking him back enough that it makes the barstool swivel. Logan’s spine snaps with alarm, with the initial gut punch of response. And he’s surprised with himself for a few heartbeats, that he’s chosen to shrug off the man’s arm instead of separate it from his body. A low, rumbling thunder of a growl simmering in his chest is almost animal, and he narrows a glare at the stranger. 

Sweating like a stuck pig, the man’s face is red as a beet. He’s a blush from either absolutely going batshit or having a coronary—Logan isn’t sure which he’d prefer. “I lost four hundred bucks because of you, Wolverine,” the name leaves his mouth with hacking spit, on the crescendo of a trail of spit that hits the floor at Logan’s feet in a wet plop . 

And for a second Logan expected Shit-For-Brain’s to continue, but he just stands there, sucking air.

“Tough luck,” Logan’s brows pop tall before furrowing into a hard line, irritation snapping  his tone like a fractured bone. Palming the pocket of his leather jacket taking up space on the barstool next to him, he manages a cigar from the pocket, with the God-knew-how-old Zippo. His favorite, he’d had it since—well. He didn’t keep track of trinkets. “Long odds, I guess.”

“The fuck you say?” 

He sighs. Deeply. Almost from the depths of his patience God has bestowed. “Anythin’ I can say that’ll make you vanish, bub?” Beer Belly doesn’t even flinch, except the hinge of his jaw snaps open. It could almost sway in the wind. Another sigh, “Take my word for it. Cut your losses and get Little Miss Strawberry Tart outta here—maybe she’ll cut you a deal on the way out.” 

In a matter of seconds the guy’s face drops into a gape only a choking fish could probably manage, and he really isn’t that far removed with all his sticky sweat making him look like a drowned, overfat bass. He stops sucking air like an emphysemic, maybe too stupefied to remember how. Logan’s fingers flick the flint of the lighter, cigar between his teeth as it bobs into the flame. Almost immediately, the thick curl of smoke stings his nose—chases the brandy in his throat, something magnificent . Fucking delicious. 

Small mercies, God bless them. Breathing in a wave of the thick, hot tobacco, it settles in the mesh of his lungs in a way that would probably kill lesser men—men who couldn’t die, anyway. He could fucking orgasm with how good this smoke burns, bleeding into his blood like good poison, and the exhale he gives may as well whip fifty pounds off the back of his shoulder. His head kicks back, brow furrowing as it cants to the side, taking in the craft of the ceiling. Brass tile— pricy . Riz didn’t strike him as a man with taste, but, stranger things. Interesting. 

In a flesh of fat and hairless dome, the man’s fist is curled around the collar of Logan’s shirt—he plucks him off the stool as if he weren’t anything more than a sack of meat. Surprise drops his cigar to the floor at his feet, the toes of his boots scuffing boards—and one glance to the man’s flexed arm reveals it’s absolutely straining for Beer Belly to suspend his bodyweight in the open. The vein in his temple throbs, cheeks almost purple as he splutters for air. Spit flies. Mingles in Logan’s beard. 

Revolting, but, give it a few seconds and—-

His boots find the floor heartbeats later, unphased. Logan’s turn, and it gives him great pleasure backhanding the man with his knuckles. Turning his head, saliva flying in trails of thick spit that hit somewhere he couldn’t care less about. Drive him half a step back, bring him back with his fist in tubby’s shirt—and mutant strength makes him weigh next to nothing. A little weight there, but nothing much—Logan could separate his spine from the rest of him without hesitation, thinking. Would be as easy as fileting a fat trout. 

The burn in his muscles feels magical.  And in three, two, one—he releases. Blood springs from between his knuckles, dribbling to the floor in fat drops. Scarlet stains adamantium, pearling along blades that all but sparkle in the perfect-low of pub lights. The burst of adrenaline immediately ravages the burn of pain, his bones all but ringing, chanting jubilation. And it feels so good, sometimes—so good to not have to hold back, to embrace the pain of living . 

Milkwhite, the man’s eyes haven’t unwelded from the blades dripping with Logan’s blood as they hover a breath from the fat flesh of his double-chin. Logan can see his life flashing through his eyes, like a film reel—every man’s always does in the face of death, his face. He’s shaking, Logan’s muscle absorbs every earthquake that pulses through the man’s frame. Shakes more than most—and that says more than it would, to many. Coward’s heart. Shriveled and died before they even got a chance to respond, he’d seen it before. Always took the easy way out. Talked big, acted small. His date would have better luck with an idiot savant than a coward, if Beer Belly here wasn’t a two-for-one. 

King Solomon had it right. Nothing new under the sun. 

“Told you to cut your losses,” it’s a snarl. Gravelled and aged, like every time before. Less human than monster, but he likes the fear—the respect —floating up to the man’s eyes from his soul. Logan releases him roughly, sending him foot over foot towards his date, across the floor. “Take her home before you regret somethin’ else.” 

Strawberry redhead is at his side, looking him over before she turns to consider Logan. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-something, too young to be running with a greaseball nobody with male pattern baldness and a Viagra problem. But tears run freely down her face all the same, as if she cares— and she probably does, because that’s the way of things. People care. It’s a human trait.  

All Logan can see is her enchantment with him. She isn’t afraid. While her date may have a coward’s heart, she certainly doesn’t—no common sense, a dense head, sure. But no fear. Funny how that works.

He’d smile if he wasn’t so pissed off, tired. And she doesn’t look him in the eye—her gaze is rooted on his hand, now at his side. His blood hanging out on the floor.  She blinks, only looks up at his face when the adamantium on display disappears between his fingers, sliding home in a way that echoes throughout his entire frame. Evidence of them begins to disappear as his flesh works to hide away familiar wounds, correct old sins. 

Her mouth, too, gapes like a fish. Nothing new. “You’re….you’re— wow, you’re a—” 

“—nobody you should care about, kid.” And that’s the long and short truth of it. 

Logan watches her help—he’s discovered his name is Harold—stand to his full height. Helps him sulk into a corner chair like a whipped puppy, and even from here, the purple on his jaw is already dark. Probably broken, but there’s little to do about it. 

Brushing off his arm, Logan lifted his other hand to examine it—pearls of blood. Still fresh on his skin. Evidence of their birth long since healed, he stretched his fingers before his thumb rubs between each knuckle, feeling. As if he’s never felt them before—because every time, the pain feels like it’s genesis. The beginning, new. A thrill unlike any other, in a sadistic kind of way that gives him life. Hope—that he’s still feeling. 

Turning to retrieve his cigar smoldering on the floor, Logan replaces it in the corner of his mouth. Takes another full breath, sinks low onto the barstool. The sting in his hands has almost entirely dissipated into tingling numbness, and that’s good—Sue knocks his drink to a stop in front of him. Shakes her head as her eyes landscape him up and down, like they’re digging his grave. She isn’t mad, he knows that—Sue has seen him rough up more than one Tom, Dick, Harry in this place. It’s like the revolving sun—they come in. Fight the cage. They lose, get pissed, and he knocks them on their ass. Simple science, really. 

Less dangerous and more dangerous all at the same damn time. 

“Feel better?” Thin, vein-tracked arms fold in front of her gravity-inspired chest. Heavy laden with turquoise and other painted stones, she’s the picturesque woman of her age—all gypsy, little else. If they’d be deep south in States, Sue could be confused for a bayou witch. And, thinking about her stirring a little pot of potions and cackling on to swamp creatures would be something else entirely. 

He chuckles, the mental picture amusing. Leaning forward a little on his arms, his brow peaks up a little. “Now there’s a question if I ever heard one,” his lips purse into a slow smile before he sits back, scratches his fingers through his sideburns— mutton chops, poor Harold had called them. “What do you think?”  

A lesser man wouldn’t hear it, but that bottom hinge on the front door howls something terrible in the rain. Signaling another interloper in their midst, Sue’s eyes flick past him to consider the body. It lasts a heartbeat, maybe the flow of blood, before her gaze is back to him—obviously no threat. Except, her arthritic hands reaching for a towel moves her a little closer, and she nods towards the door. 

“I think you’d better behave yourself,” she gestures with her chin towards the door, “new blood walkin’ in, Logan honey.” Nodding his understanding, he drags again at his cigar, then turns his head over his shoulder to eyeball the new body—- “Never seen her before. States girl, if I ever saw one,” Sue’s tongue clicks in the pocket of her cheek, “Poor thing’s wet as a drowned lizard. What she do, park half a mile away?” 

Drowned lizard? “Anyone ever told you you’re somethin’ else, Sue?” 

“Plenty—but don’t ask, Logan. Some things stay dead when you bury ‘em.” Her wink makes him snort, as if it’s something to joke about—and it is, really. To a man who flirts with death and defies it at every turn, nothing really surprises him anymore. The grave is little more than a calling card, and Sue knows that. Riz knows that. Everyone here knows this, but, chooses instead to look the other way—see him for what he is. 

Sue’s crooking a come finger at new blood before she’s even fully parted ways with him. “Hiya, honey. C’mere, sit down—we don’t bite.” Logan raises a Really? brow at her before Sue waves him off with a flapping hand. It takes everything he has not to smile at the old woman, but instead, he swivels a little. Back to the newcomer, who’s dropping into the corner barstool, well away from him and into the shadows. 

“Speak for yourself,” 

Sue whirls on him and tosses the towel she’s been keeping bar with at his face. Batting it away, he downs the brandy. “Oh, hush up!” Her chin gestures across the bar, to the cage—veiled in shadows, it’s little more than a knick knack without its lights, screaming crowds and humming jukebox that gathers every night at ten. Money changing, saliva flying—it sleeps like a tired beast until he rings the dinner bell.  “Well, most of us don’t bite—what’ll you have, darlin’?.” 

 If that wasn’t truth, well—Logan wasn’t sure what was. 

tags: @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @fandomxo00

[lexosaurus]

Danny Phantom AUs

Hello I found this list of AUs from @the-stove-is-on-fire and I am copy and pasting it under the readmore.

Edit: Thanks to all the feeback, I've added a bunch more! If I'm missing any other popular ones, let me know!

Actor AU: Danny is an actor on the Danny Phantom show

Ancient Danny AU: Danny is one of the Ancients who sealed Pariah away.

Astronaut Danny AU

Badger Cereal / Daniel Masters: Father&Son Vlad and Danny bonding, can be evil

Banshee Danny AU: Danny slowly loses his color every time someone dies in Amity Park.

Blue Danny: Danny is blue as a halfa/ghost

Cheese Melt: Vlad tries to be a good parent to Dani

Circus Danny AU: Danny never escapes the circus from Freakshow following "Control Freaks"

Clockwork's Apprentice AU

Clockwork is Danny: Danny has Clockwork's role in the show

Clone AU: Danny's just another of Vlad's clones

Coffee Ghost AU: Phantom haunts a college as a tired, caffeine addicted ghost

Corpse AU: Danny Going Ghost leaves behind an actual corpse/Danny is still a halfa but his portal accident left behind a corpse

Cryptid Danny AU: Danny/Phantom is the local cryptid

Cyborg/Halfa/Nanobot Valerie AU: Valerie's ghost turns her into either a cyborg, a part-ghost, or a human with some ghostly attributes

Dani Masters: Vlad decides to raise Dani as his actual daughter 

Danny and Val Swap AU: Danny is the Red Hunter and Valerie is the halfa

Disabled Danny

Dual Obsession AU: Danny has 2 obsessions: usually space and protection

Dragon Danny AU: Danny always has been, or is turned into, a dragon 

Electric Core AU: instead of ice powers, Danny gains electricity powers

Evil Trio AU: Pharaoh Tucker, Plant Sam, and either Dan or Void Danny.

Everyone Knows AU: Everyone knows that Danny is Phantom

Family Breakfast: Vlad/Maddie/Jack

Fantasy AU

Feral Ghost AU: Ghosts are more animalistic than the show depicted.

Fire Core AU: Danny's lab accident gave him a fire core and took place 100 years before Sam and Tucker ever found him. (source)

Full Ghost Danny: Danny fully died in the portal

Full Hazmat AU: Danny half-died while wearing an actual hazmat suit

Full Human AU: Danny is just Some Guy

Ghost Hunger AU: halfas/ghosts must consume ectoplasm

Ghost King AU: Danny (or someone else) is crowned the new ghost king

Ghost Speak: Ghosts speak a language called Ghost Speak

Ghostly Adoption AU: Phantom gets adopted by the ghosts

GIW [character] AU: [character] (usually Danny or Valerie) gets a job with the GIW.

Glowing Freckles AU: Phantom has freckles (can look like constellations) that glow

Good Vlad/Mentor Vlad

Halfa Jack AU: Vlad marries Maddie and Jack is the halfa

Halfa Jazz AU: Jazz was the one who went into the ghost portal

Halfa Trio AU: All three of them got hit by the portal

(Half) Human AU: Danny starts out a ghost and the portal turns him into a halfa/human

Immortal Danny AU: Danny turns immortal/never ages

Inverse Trio: Tucker is the halfa, Danny is the goth, Sam is the nerd

Lab Rat / Dissection: Fentons experiment on Phantom and/or Danny

Liminal Amity Park AU: Citizens of Amity Park gain ghostly characteristics due to ambient ectoplasm

MerAU: The ghosts are actually mermaids

Monster Appearance AU: Danny’s ghost form looks grotesque or like a monster

No One Knows AU: No one knows Danny is half-ghost

Phantom Phamily: Danny (possibly split into Phantom), Dani, and Dan are all living together.

Pitch AU: The show's original pitch. Danny is a human with an owl named Spooky, rides a motorcycle, and has a psychic connection with Sam.

Pitch Pearl/Danny and Phantom are separate beings: Danny and Phantom are separate beings (ship is Pitch Pearl)

Portal Danny AU: Danny is the Fenton Portal

Possessed by Phantom: Halfas are just dead people possessed by ghosts. Ghosts may or may not have their memories.

Reverse Trio: Sam is the halfa, Tucker is the goth, Danny is the nerd

Secret Experiment AU: Maddie and Jack intentionally turned Danny into a halfa

SCP AU: In which Danny is either captured by the SCP Foundation, Fenton Works is a branch of the SCP Foundation and Danny/the other ghosts are SCPs

Space AU: Alien or mass effect style

Undergrowth Sam: Sam keeps her plant powers following the events of "Urban Jungle"

Void Danny: Nocturne gets ahold of Danny (source)

Werewolf Tucker/Witch Sam AU: Tucker is a werewolf and Sam is a witch

Wings AU: Danny grows wings/Everyone has wings

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝕭𝖊𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖐

Derek danforth x gender neutral reader

Summary: as Derek’s personal assistant, it’s your job to do whatever you need to in order to make your boss’ day run smoothly.

This is like a continuation of the other story that I wrote for Derek, but can also be read as a standalone.

You can also read this on wattpad or ao3

Warnings: gender neutral reader. No use of Y/N. Smut! Oral sex (reader giving). Dom Derek. Boss x advisor relationship. Sorry for bad grammar. Sorry if it’s cringe. Enjoy :)

Word counts: 3000+

The coffee pot is already halfway empty when you walks into the staff kitchen at half past eleven, the handle of your green and white spotted mug hanging loosely from your fingertips. You nod a greeting at a coworker of yours, scrolling through her Blackberry as she sips from her own orange mug, and step up to the counter. Setting your cup down on the linoleum surface, you grab the pot and fill the cup two-thirds with the liquid energy that doesn’t work as well as it used to.

The office is abuzz with the usual hustle and bustle. People huddle around the coffee machine, tapping away at keyboards, and discussing weekend plans.

You could hear whispers barely audible from behind you.

You strut past, your chin held high. You catch their stares but don’t flinch.

They are more than likely talking about the purple constellation that adorned your neck.

Courtesy of the esteemed boss, Mr. Danforth. They are like a badge of honor, they show how dedicated to your job you were.

You open the cabinet overhead and digs out three packets of sugar and a stirrer. Tossing them next to your mug, you traverse the small space to the fridge and pull open the door to grab the hazelnut creamer off the side. When you turns around, closing the fridge door with your elbow, Mickey is squeezing into the room around the woman as she leaves.

“Need a boost already?” Mickey asks with a bit of laughter in his voice.

Mickey is one of the members of the UDG and, although he and you aren’t particularly close outside of the office, he makes for good company during the day.

You offers up a smile before returning your attention to your coffee. “I’ve been running around all morning coordinating the arrival plans of various investors,” you explain, opening the creamer and filling your mug the rest of the way. “And there’s that joint meeting with Production after lunch so I can’t risk passing out.”

Putting the creamer aside, he tears open all three packets of sugar at once and pours them in.

Mickey hums sympathetically even though he’ll be sitting in on the meeting as well. He takes a quick look at the side of your neck, rolling his eyes at the indecency in trying at least to hide obvious things. He goes to grab a cup of greek yogurt with his name written along the top and side in thick, black marker, nabbing the creamer on his way to the fridge to put it back.

You gently stir your coffee to dissolve the sugar. You curl your fingers around the handle, careful so they don’t brush against the burning stoneware.

“Long night, eh?” He said while glancing back quickly at your neck with his eyes.

“Oh, you have no idea.” your eyes gleaming as you remembered the party that occurred the night before.

You raised the mug in a wave and laughed at the annoyed pinch of Mickey’s eyebrows. Lifting the mug to your lips, you take a sip off your coffee as you turn to walk through the floor back to your own office. It’s still much too hot, and you may have overdone it on the sugar, but you need the caffeine to kick in sooner rather than later.

You walk past, triumphant, leaving behind your coworkers still whispering behind your back, unapologetically proud. Because sometimes, in the corporate jungle, you’ve got to wear your bruises with pride.

The department is in a casual disarray with the preparations for the afternoon meeting, the potential launch of a new line of products the main stressor. It’s still rather early in discussion; all of the serious panicked overtime work won’t happen for another couple months.

Taking another sip of your coffee before placing your mug down on the coaster you drunkenly stole from a sports bar a few months ago, you drag over your tablet. You tap and drag your stylus over the screen until you pull up your email. There’s already five new emails in your inbox.

You sigh from annoyance.

At the light call of your name, you push out of your lazy lean over your desk and straighten up. Turning over your shoulder, you lock eyes with your boss. The slightly older man rests against the open doorway, a hand tucked into the pocket of his light green slacks. He wears a light smile that quirks into something of a smirk.

His pupils were dilated.

The fucker was already having fun without you.

“Yes, Mr. Danforth?” you answer, fully facing your boss with your head resting on the back of your hands closed with your fingers intertwined. Your eyes start to wander toward the floor but you drag them back up to the older man’s face.

Your boss looks you up and down with purpose. “Come into my office for a moment, please?” He talked with that preppie teenage snot voice that you’ve come to like more and more.

“Now?” You hide a grin behind your hands. You could hear footsteps of other coworkers.

“If you have the time.”

Nodding, you keep your eyes on your boss as the older man steps out of the doorway and walks across the hallway to his own office. Once he’s out of sight, you heave in a deep breath.

You grab your coffee, taking one last drink while it’s still warm because you know you’re not going to be back before it cools.

For being the CEO of a ‘successful’ company at the young age of twenty-eight, Derek Danforth has a unique head on his shoulders.

As his personal advisor, you know a lot of Derek’s quirks — the signs he’s not as indefinitely happy as he seems and wading in stress. Signs like the way his eyes were iced over a moment ago, and like the way his fingers twitched where they hid in his pocket.

And it’s your job to keep Derek ‘in check’.

It had started with a stealthy look during a meeting, when you were still relatively new to the job.

Then with a stolen smile in the hallway.

Then with a light exchange of words while you were still working at night.

To then sex whenever the two of you wanted to.

Every encounter was a risk (at least for you in the beginning), but the thrill and the passion had overwhelmed you two like a stormy wave.

You step into Derek’s office, eyes on the tips of your shoes. You drag the door shut and twist the lock behind your back without raising your chin.

“Yes, Sir?”

Derek’s fingers tap along the surface of his desk, the skips in rhythm a confirmation that he’s under stress. They stop, and then you hear the slide of a computer mouse over a mouse pad followed by a click and a flurry of typing.

And you wait, playing with your fingers behind your back where Derek can’t see. (Although he probably knows that you are fidgeting. You always had a problem with fidgeting.)

The tip tap of Derek’s fingers moving over the keys echoes in the spacious expanse of his office and the lack of immediate attention leaves you to hover between alertness and disconnect.

“Come sit,” Derek says at last, tone conversational.

You lets yourself disconnect a little more, the command enough to push you into a pleasant haze. You bobs your head in a nod. “Yes, Sir.”

Derek isn’t one for flair but the visitor’s chairs in his office have cushions like clouds. You leave a subtle hint every once in a while that you want to know where they came from but Derek has yet to divulge.

You want to reach out to touch the back of one of the two chairs, but you keep your hands to yourself as you round the desk and stop at Derek’s left. You catch a glimpse of Derek’s desk as you drop to your knees.

There was some strange paper that looked like a sort of message but you had no time to read it as the paper was instantly crushed by Derek’s fingers and thrown to the trash.

Derek sinks his fingers into your hair with an approving hum.

A quiet exhale blows over your lips. You lean into the touch, letting your eyes fall shut as you’re petted. When your mind starts to wander, you lose track of time, so you don't know how many minutes pass before Derek turns in his chair and guides you between his spread legs.

“Do you mind helping me out?” Derek asks in a needy voice, massing his fingers into your nape.

You hum, pleased. The fingers at your neck press harder and you pull your eyes open. “Of course.”

Derek’s hand leaves your neck and travels to his belt.

“Actually...” you meet Derek’s eyes for the first time since entering his office. The heady gaze of hunger makes your cheeks tint and your heart soar. At the quirk of an eyebrow, you know to continue. “I was waiting until after the meeting but I have a proposal for you.”

Derek’s right eyebrow raises to join the left. He leans back in his chair and props one of his elbows up on an arm rest. “Show me, then.”

You rise to your feet. You preen under Derek’s attention, squirming cutely as you undoe the button and zip of your pants and inches them down to your knees, along with your underwear. Waddling to face the desk, you spare a glance back at your boss before moving his laptop off to the side.

Resting your weight onto your elbows, you leans over the desk with your unbuttoned slacks held up by spread thighs. You swipe your tongue over your lips and shifts your weight onto one arm, reaching back with the other to spread yourself open for Derek to see.

The chair creaks a bit when Derek raises out of it.

“You’ve been stressed as of lately and it’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it to me. I was hoping I could—”

“Quiet.”

Pressing your forehead against the desk, you bite back another whimper and clamp your lips shut.

Derek’s fingers are cold as they trail down the slight exposure of your back and over the curve of your ass. Already properly ready to take him thanks to you.

“How many times have you come today?” He rubs his finger up and down.

You shake your head.

Clicking his tongue, Derek bears his hand down on your ass, the slap light but scolding.

Your breath hitches and you exhale out a small giggle, soaring a little higher after the hit. “Zero.” You answer properly.

“I’d love to fuck you loose and then turn you over the other side of my desk. Unlock the door and let anyone who comes in see how beautifully you gape.”

Whimpering, you clench around nothing under the effect of his finger. Derek rubs circles into the small of his back, shushing you under his breath.

“You want it that badly, eh?”

His words get lost in the clouds filling the space between your ears, making his voice a dull noise that sounds like it’s happening outside the walls of the office.

“Sweetheart?”

Giggling, you press your cheek into the desk and tries to look up at your boss.

Derek pokes the tip of his nose and chuckles when you scrunches it. “You went down further than I thought you would,” he mumbles to himself. “That’s fine. I guess we both need it.”

You stare at him starry-eyed, grin uncontrollable, as Derek retrieves his fingers and yanks your pants up.

Beginning to work at his belt, Derek nods at his advisor. “On your knees”

A part of you wants to whine at the command — wants Derek to touch you, wants to be able to touch yourself — but the gruff voice of your boss’ voice scrapes over your skin and leave you warm and obedient. You push yourself up and easily return to your position on the floor, back pulled straight in attention and arms folded behind your back, hands curved around your elbows, in denial.

Derek brushes soft fingers over your cheek and under your jaw. “Aren’t you so beautiful like this, sweetheart?” He slides his belt free and loops it around the back of your neck. With a harsh tug, he pulls your face to his crotch.

“We don’t have a lot of time, so you’re going to suck me off and then I’m going to send you out,” he explains. “But since you prepared such a nice present. Sit close to me during the meeting so it won’t be as boring. If you can make it through without needing to excuse yourself, we can just leave, maybe go back to my place and fuck over and over. I don’t need to explain to you what happens if you can’t resist, clear?”

“Crystal,” you slur, mouth smushed against the stiffening swell of Derek’s erection.

Derek releases the belt, leaving it hanging around your shoulders, and let you work at the button of his pants.

You lower yourself to sit back and to be in line with Derek’s hips.

Without answering, Derek opens his pants enough to pull himself free. His cock hangs heavily between the green flaps of his slacks, already hard enough to hook to the right. Leaving one hand loosely curled around himself, he presses the fingers of the other to your lips.

You part them, still looking up at your boss with starry eyes. Derek teases a finger along your bottom lip.

He chuckles brightly but a second later his entire face closes off. “What are you smiling for?” His voice sinks nearly a whole octave and, as expected, your tiny grin drops.

Breath quickening, you quickly lower your gaze and try to straighten your back impossibly more, the sound of Derek’s voice hitting that particular low knocking you into another level of submission.

The fingers at your lip hook over your teeth and pull his jaw open wider.

“Excited to have my dick?” Derek angles his dick up and rubs the shaft, already smelling thick with arousal, over the ball of your cheek.

Your eyes begin to glaze over where they’re glued to the fall of Derek’s light green or seawater tone dress shirt over the base of his cock. You try to blink yourself out of it, faintly aware of where the two of you are and your limits, but when the hand at your mouth leaves and drags back along your jaw to settle like an anchor at your nape, the desire to sink is so inviting.

“You’re my sweet, little cockslut, aren’t you?” Derek punctuates the question by slapping the side of your face with his dick, the sound made hollow by your open jaw. “Always so good for me.”

Sucking in a shuddering breath and letting your eyes drift shut again, you nod once. “Yes,” you exhale and turn your head to press your nose into Derek’s shaft.

Derek’s grip softens and he grazes lines into your skin. “Haven’t had you like this in a while,” he says, and then reestablishes the weight of his hand.

He presses the tip of his cock to your lips, which part once more without instruction, and slides into your mouth.

“That’s it,” Derek sighs. He draws out before guiding you down his length again, giving little time to allow his slut to relax. “Take all of it.”

The bit of coarse hair at Derek’s base that pokes out over the hem of his pants tickles your nose and if you hadn’t fallen deeper, you probably would have laughed. But you’re quiet as Derek holds your face flush against his hips that shallowly roll forward, pushing his cock as far into your mouth as his limits will allow.

He sighs again, more labored, and you peel open your eyes to glance up at him.

Derek’s own eyes trail up from where they were watching your mouth to meet his slut’s gaze.

You blink three times, your signal for an okay when he can’t use his hands or words.

Derek inches out, checks his hold on you, and slides back in, gaining speed and ending up choking you as he uses your mouth to get off.

And you take it so well, hollowing your cheeks on the backstroke and swallowing around the head of Derek’s cock when it bumps the back of your throat, even as the rough treatment steals the air from your lungs and builds tears in your eyes.

Sporadically, Derek murmurs a compliment in between the low groans and hushed curses, so proud of his precious advisor, his sweetheart — and every word makes you ache between his legs, makes your hands tighten where they’re clamped around your elbows, makes you skyrocket.

The ringing of Derek’s office phone goes ignored as he focuses on the moist warmth of his slut’s mouth and chasing his end. It’ll get him in trouble one day, maybe, but here in this moment, with your throat working around his dick in that way he likes and the blood in his veins singing, he can’t be bothered with caring.

Derek doesn’t always warn you before he comes, but you know all of the signs. Signs like how he presses his nails into your skin or how his left knee trembles the slightest bit. And when he sucks in his cheeks and hum, Derek comes warm and thick on your tongue.

Some of it leaks when Derek pulls out of your mouth, sliding over your swollen lips, but the older man is quick to catch it on a finger and feed it back to you.

“Tuck me in” Derek demands after you swallow, voice still husky but now light. The corners of his lips rise into a satiated smirk.

Unfolding your arms, you shake the crawling feeling out of them before tucking Derek back into his underwear and adjusting his pants. As he redoes the buttons, Derek rubs all over your neck, upper back, and shoulders. “Was I able to help?”

With a gruff he managed to pull you on his lap, not that you showed any sign of protest. “Not too bad so far. We’ll see how I feel later tonight”

All you do in response is tuck your nose into Derek’s throat and enjoys being held.

“Can’t wait,” you exhales.

Note: thanks for reading. Criticism is completely accepted

[dark-romantics]

Zodiac signs as summer aesthetics

Virgo: cozy video games, writing essays hyped on caffeine, blankets and pillows, lofi music, floral/botanical print fabric, wet grass, sleeping with the windows open, taking notes, caramel icecream, art gallery dates and greek statues, daydreaming out loud.

Libra: late night drives down empty roads. singing to lana del rey, beach weather, counting stars, mapping out constellations, breaking into abandoned buildings, loud, heartfelt laughter. feather tattoos and band t-shirts, thrift stores and life long friends, falling in love too easily, loving too loudly. 

Taurus: Sunshine and linen sheets, freckles and dimples, gold and sand, warm laughter and cold cocktails, strawberry lemonade, pizza and a can of soda, tan lines and stretch marks, afternoon naps on the porch and late night rides, a light breeze in the summer heat

Pisces: wiling the hours away, staring at the ceiling, wanting to write but not knowing the words, blaring music, ignoring texts, bucket lists, hiding from the world, scrolling aimlessly through the internet, messy hair from the heat, reading books before class starts. cozy bookstores and losing track of time

Cancer: large smiles, loud, infectious laughter, sunflowers, denim, hands hiding in pockets, cigarettes, okay grades, napping under trees, pointing out constellations, bucket hats and bandannas, morning people, fancy teas

Leo: blooming flowers, late study nights, picking up an old hobby, writing never-sent love letters, reminiscing about the past, buying heartfelt gifts for friends, telling the moon all your problems, mature for your age yet still a child within, competetive, secretely cries during movies

[starcrossedreaders]

Hi!! I really love ur leon fics and i was wondering if you could write a leon x poetic reader fic? Like Reader always writes in her book and leon always wonders what shes always scribbling about so then this one day he caught her writing in her book again and kinda snatches it off her bc hes so curious then finds out that shes been writing poems about leon? AAAHG Please I love poems and Leon so much

Thank you so much💕💕

Authors Note: This was a dream to write, thank you so much for requesting it. When writing this I pictured re2 and re4 Leon and a reader that you watch grow together over time. I would also like to apologize if the formatting is wonky, I didn't write this directly on Tumblr sooo...I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Brief mentions of sex, a lil angst

 September 13,

i’ve never seen eyes as blue as his. 

i would never need a blue sky

If i was with him.

“Leon…” Shaking this beautiful stranger's hand for a heartbeat too long was never your intention but here you are.

Clearing his throat you finally let go letting out a nervous laugh as you step back. His voice was smooth as the words he spoke rolled off his tongue. “I’m really sorry about spilling your coffee. Let me make it up to you.”

You could barely hear him above the heartbeat in your ears as he spoke up again. “How about another coffee? You free Sunday?” 

It took you a second to process his words “Uh- yea, yea Sunday works.” Stuttering was not how you wanted to respond.

A faint blush crossed over your face as he smiled back. “Great, Let’s meet down at the cafe at 9?” His statement was more of a question: a confirmation.

“Okay, 9 works great.”

“Great.”

“Great.” Leon chuckled and walked off as you awkwardly waved him goodbye.

Turning back you smacked your head a few times calling yourself stupid. “Great? Who the fuck says that.” Letting out a sigh you walked back to your small apartment.

                                                                       September 17,

The bitter liquid seemed…

Sweet; with him across from me.

He would soon turn into my coffee.

Sweet, Addictive, caffeine.

He’s like caffeine.

Pure gold.

“So what are you studying?” Leon stirred the second scoop of sugar into his coffee before taking a sip and giving a slight nod in approval. 

You made sure to take note of that before answering. “English Lit, with a business minor. What about you?” You ask as you take a sip of your own bittersweet drink.

Placing his mug down he shakes his head a little. “College is not my strong suit, I’m actually in the police academy.” He says with a prideful smile.

                                                                   September 20,

His smile.

His smile makes me want to fall.

Fall like the shooting stars that scatter.

Down

Down 

Down.

Soon to make someones wish come true.

The ding of your phone brought you out of your reality of dragons and war. Sighing you placed your bookmark between the pages to see who texted you. Looking at the notification made you smile.

Leon: I had a great time on Sunday, we should do that again sometime. :)

You: We should, I owe you a coffee now since you paid. 

Leon: I can’t let a beautiful girl like you pay for an insanely overpriced latte.

You: Quite the gentlemen you are.

Leon: It’s what I do best.

                                                              October 12,

Whoever said falling in love in October was a fever dream was right.

I was falling

And fast.

With my eyes closed tight 

Heart firmly grasped I awaited.

Awaited that fall.

Awaited for the loud shatter

Broken bones and dried tears.

Stars scattered the night sky as soft music played through Leon’s Jeep speakers. His arm wrapped around your sent shock waves through your body as he rubbed his thumb back and forth. Your head laid over his beating heart as you guys lay in the back of his car, star gazing.

“That there,” He pointed to a cluster of stars. “Is the Cassiopeia constellations.” Leon’s heartbeat was steady as his voice reverberated through his chest.

“It’s also called the ‘W’ constellation because well, it’s shaped like a ‘W’.” He let out a small laugh before he continued. “She was friends with Aphrodite and was the goddess of Fantasy and of seas. She was a queen, a very confident one at that. She would go on and on about how her daughter Andromeda was more beautiful than the sea nymphs known as Nereids.” 

His soft voice eased into your body putting you at ease as he went on. “Poseidon, the Greek God of the sea wasn’t very happy.”

“Aren’t sea nymphs bad though?” Your question caught Leon off guard. He wasn’t expecting you to be listening to his rambles.

“They are vengeful creatures. After Cassiopeia claimed her daughter's beauty was unmatched they felt insulted; hurt. So in return, they became vain creatures.” You hummed in understanding.

“Eventually, they went ravaging her kingdom, soon sending her to the stars.” 

                                                              October 18,

It was once believed that Zeus,

King of Gods

Had split us, Humans, in half.

Cursing us with a life full of journeys to find our other half.

And I think I just found mine.

Leon’s hand smoothed over your leg as you sat in the back of his Jeep once again. Sitting in the trunk Leon sat at the edge swinging a leg outside of the car while you sat across from him, stretched out. The faint sounds of crickets talking filled the silence.

“Look,” Pointing at the sky you let out a big smile. “A shooting star.” Leon followed where you pointed in awe.

Looking back at him you felt all giddy. “What did you wish for?” Leon slowly brought his attention back to you.

His blue eyes shimmered in the midnight sky, the stars reflections looking right back at you. Letting a boyish smile through a faint blush painted his cheeks.

“You.”

                                                              October 28,

Who knew lips as soft as his could send fire to your bones.

With one kiss he melted me.

He had brought those bright stars to me

And made my wish come true

As i fell.

White knuckles gripped the bed sheets above you as hot breath fanned over your face.

 “You’re doing so good baby.” His words were soft, cushioning the pain you felt.

Eyes squeezed shut a single tear ran down the side of your face. Trying his best to comfort you Leon opened your hands to hold them through it all, giving it three squeezes.

I love you. Opening you’re eyes you’re met with Leon looking back down at you with a smile. “There you are.”

Leaning down he placed his soft lips against yours, bringing you down from the stars.

                                                            May 5th

Nothing hurts more then watching you leave.

Leave the small apartment.

Leave the small city.

Leave the state.

Leave my life.

Leave my touch.

Leave my embrace.

“No Leon!” You threw your hands in the air. “How can I be happy and proud of you when you are leaving.” Tears brimmed your eyes and the world became blurry.

Leon stood up and hugged your for what would seem to be the last time in a long time. Kissing the crown of your head he rubbed your back as he mumbled. “I’ll come back. You know home is with you.”

                                                              September 26,

Home was…

Different.

He was different.

Broken, tired, scared, hopeless.

He was

gone.

“Come on Love, you have to eat.” Walking in the dark room, all you could make out was an outline of Leon’s limp body.

He’s been in this depressive hole every since he came back from Raccoon City and survived the incident. There was nothing more that Leon wanted to do then stay in bed with you, holding you. He was tired, so so tired. 

Sitting down on the edge of the bed you rubbed his leg through the comforter hoping to bring any sort of relief to the hell he’s lived thorough; even if it was small. You frowned at his lack of response. 

All you wanted was Leon back.

                                                              December 22,

He wasn’t coming back.

Not his old self at least.

I’m slowly watching him fade away.

Slipping through the cracks.

The only part that keeps him here is the metal wrapped around my finger.

“You’re home?” Quickly you closed your tattered-up leather notebook and stood up.

“Yea…I’m home.” Leon said suspiciously as you walked up to him and hugged him.

Leon hesitianly hugged you back before his voice vibrated between your bodies. “What’s in that notebook? I always see you with it.” 

Eyes wide you pull back from the hug. “Nothing of importance.” You laughed nervously.

“Seriously love, it seems important. You keep that thing with you at all times, always writing in it.” He walked over to where you threw the book on the coffee table. “Ever since college.” He leaned down slightly to pick it up.

Rushing over to him you tried to grab the notebook but it was too late.

                                                         December 24,

I am yours,

The way the sea,

Belongs to the moon

Belongs to the sky.

I love you.

There is no limit to what I can give you.

Even when this world is long forgotten,

A whisper of dust between stars.

I will love you.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Taglist: @hermizery @alewesker @ballorawan740 @lastaceylia00 @chunnies @d10nsaint@darklinxx

[bullet-prooflove]

3 items & a character:

🍵📖💐

Jimmy & Anita Lanik ❤️

Tagging: @annieradcliff @cosmic-psychickitty @infinity-mars @elizabeththebat

Him - Jimmy has a reason to hate your supervisor.

Fault - Jimmy realises he's at fault.

Wishes - Jimmy wishes he could fix it all for you.

Life Changes - You make a decision in the aftermath of the investigation.

Spiralling - Jimmy helps you coax you out of a spiral.

Sleeping Late - You sleep late for the first time in years.

You’re studying when Jimmy comes home. You have your earbuds in your ears, your head bent over a text book as you take diligent notes. He smiles to himself because you’re using the constellations note book he got you when you first told him you were planning to retrain as a grief counsellor.

The work you’ve been doing with the study has been invaluable to your healing process. It’s given you purpose, a new direction.

You pick up the cup of matcha tea alongside of you, taking a sip before setting it back down.

You’ve developed a lot more healthier habits since you left that job. Your caffeine intake has significantly decreased, you’re sleeping through the night, you actually take time for yourself, picking up hobbies instead of working throughout the evenings and weekends. You smile a lot more these days, you laugh. It’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

It's only now as he reflects that he realises you were hurtling towards burn out even without the sexual harassment investigation.

His palm comes to rest upon your shoulder, your thumb chasing over the nape of your neck. You pull out your earbuds before you tilt your head up towards him and that smile, it feels like sunshine on a rainy day.

“I got you these.” He murmurs as he hands you the bouquet of sunflowers. “I just wanted to show you how proud I am of you, of everything you do.”

Your cheeks colour because even after all these years together, you’re not used to having someone who believes in you.

“Why don’t you put those in some water?” He suggests as he leans in close, his lips brushing over yours. “Then I want you to tell me everything about your day.”

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