Call me Coffee || She/Her || Multifandom writer || Mostly write for whatever my current hyperfixation is || I change my blogs colors alot || REQUEST : OPEN||
♡ General info and rules if you want to make a request
Some General Info to keep in mind:
♡I write for a lot of fandoms but if I'm hyper fixated on something I'll most likely write for that the most, so bear with me
♡Sometimes I get burnout and really struggle to write anything, so I might not get to your request immediately
♡Theres no grantee I will do your request, usually I already have a lot of stuff in my ask box so I probably won't finish everything ^^
WHAT I'M WRITING FOR AT THE MOMENT: Resident evil and Dc!!
Currently only writing for: Mostly gender neutral just because I want everyone to be able to enjoy my works, but I will do any gender if it's requested for the reader!
FANDOMS I WRITE FOR
♡Newsies (movie and broadway version)
Jack
Crutchie
Spot
Racetrack
Davey
♡Slashers
Ghostface (Danny Johnson)
Michael Myers
Leatherface
Thomas Hewitt
♡Markiplier egos
Darkiplier
Engineer Mark
Wilford Warfstauche
Damien
Actor Mark
Yancy
Googleiplier
Bingiplier
Eric Derekson
♡Adventure time
Fern
♡Resident Evil
Claire
Jill
Chris
Leon
♡Detroit become human
Conner
Markus
Simon
Daniel
♡The outsiders
Darry
Ponyboy
Sodapop
Dally
Two-bit
♡Rottmnt
Leo
Donnie
Mikey
Raph
April?
♡Tf2
Scout
Engineer
Medic
Sniper
Spy
Demoman
Miss Pauling
♡Spider verse
Hobbie
Pav
Miguel
Miles
Peter
Gwen
♡Call of duty
König
♡Dc
Superman/Clark Kent
Dick Grayson
Jason Todd
Tim Drake
Damian Wayne
Respawn
What I won't write!
-Pedophilia
-Incest
-Any fetish stuff
-Any S3lf harm scenarios
-Any sort of underage reader in romantic situations
-Poly stuff
What I will write!
♡Fluff
♡Angst
♡One-shots
♡Drabbles
♡Headcannons
♡Scenarios
♡Nsfw
♡LGBTQ+ stuff
♡General questions about a character or my take on their world or anything like that!
If you do request be specific with what you want and make sure you ask if I write for a character you want before requesting!
A/N: This is not the college AU smut that I posted about; I'm still working on that. But I really wanted to write something gut-wrenching for Jason while I worked on the other story. So enjoy!
Summary: You and Jason attempt to navigate your relationship after he unexpectedly comes back into your life.
Warnings: Hurt no comfort, I think that's it
It was a smoggy autumn morning. Pudgy droplets hurried down the murky, dew-kissed glass of your kitchen window, peering onto the busied streets below. Pavements, doused with water, were met by the quick feet of scampering workers.
Scattering people who rushed from their homes to their early jobs. Bodies bulked by their winter clothes. Faces tucked behind scarves and sweaters. Rosy cheeks nipped by the crisp air.
Your eyes traced lazily over the ebb and flow of people coming and going, paying no mind to the whine of the tea kettle bubbling beside you on the stove.
Not until that hoarse voice you’d grown so accustomed to shook you from your concentration.
“Reader?”
“Mhm?”
There was a pause, but not one you hadn’t come to expect. Your hands occupied the space in between, dutifully pulling the mugs from the cabinets.
“Is it weird to have me back?”
As if in reply to his question, your nimble hands froze on the handles of your mugs. You couldn’t pin a specific emotion attached to his inquiry.
It was delivered with a seemingly apathetic ambiguity, but with Jason, that was always meant more than it seemed.
Your teeth caught your dry lip, a guilty habit, trying not to reveal anything too soon. But it was too late. Jason’s keen eyes had already latched onto that subtle tensing of your shoulders. Even after you’d tried to smooth them out with a steady breath.
The steaming water rushed into the ceramic cups. You quickly picked them up, turning to face him. Tentatively pushing his cup across the kitchen island.
“You didn’t answer me.”
With a rueful sigh, you finally met his heavy gaze. It was like looking at a ghost. Like seeing something familiar through foggy glass.
In some ways he was exactly how you remembered. He still smelled of shaved pine and the smothered scent of butterscotch. Still sat itching with anticipation.
But in too many more ways, he felt like a stranger in your home.
The light from his blue eyes stifled with a simmering rage. His delicate skin prickled by the rough red lines that tore into the right side of his face. His jaw always clenched in such a convulsive way; you guiltily feared him snapping.
“Cause I think you know the answer.“ you weakly replied, dunking your tea bag avoidantly.
“I wanna hear it from you.“ he grits out, calloused hands unconsciously tightening around his mug.
You pause skittishly at the movement, and to that Jason sighs, slackening his grip before tangling his bruised knuckles into his raven locks.
“Look, I promise I’m not upset,” he mumbles, his tone sweetened by that intimate affection you remember not long ago.
“I just…I feel like this is different.”
“It is.” You reply helpfully.
“Okay, that’s better. But, how?” He urged, careful not to raise his tone, as if he were cooing to a frightened animal.
You bit your lip again, before catching yourself and smoothing it out with your tongue. Jason waited, threading his hands together patiently in a way that was unfamiliar to him.
“I guess it’s just hard?” you whisper uncertainly. To this, Jason’s demeanor shifts slightly. A haze of sympathy filled his eyes. One large outstretched palm suddenly engulfs yours, the gritty pad of his thumb tracing the lines of your palm.
“Hard? Yeah, I get that. But I’m gonna need specifics. Hard could be anything.”
You fidgeted with the loose thread of your sweater, tugging gently, letting it evade your grasp. Jason’s reaping eyes studied the movements before pulling his hand back.
“I know you’re trying to spare my feelings,” he mumbled, his tone loose of the mellow vise that held the truth captive.
“You’re different.”
A ruthless chill spilled into the room at your admission. A grievous silence wrapped its bony fingers around your throat, filling it with penitent regret.
“I know,” He mumbled dully, eyes wilting with a burning ache he’d never admit to.
“Jason, it's not that I don’t want you here.” You clumsily try to rectify any scorning confession you might have bruised him with.
“Then what?”
You couldn’t stand the way he avoided your eyes now. The simple gentleness now drained from his expression.
“I’d already let myself grieve,” you let the words slip from your lips without anything to cushion their blow. “I was over you, but now you're here again.”
The quiet of the room strangled the breath from your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say.
Like that you loved Jason, you always had. But it was the adoration you carried for the boy you’d met as a girl. The boy who carried himself with a boastful charm. Who walked you home even though he had a ride waiting. Who called you to read when you couldn’t sleep.
But that boy had died.
And in his place stood this rancorous man.
Your love for that Jason had been buried with him. Now you found yourself fumbling over the familiar affections of an otherwise stranger.
This is for my upcoming smut fic but I need to decide. I really wanted to do Jock Jason but him needing tutoring feels so out of character but let me know what you guys think!
A/n: This is just a wip, if anyone wants me to finish writing this let me know!
Summary: Clark just can't wait to have you when he gets home.
Notes: Smut! Mostly him eating you out
He was rushing into you, filling your senses. Calloused palms squeezing and molding your soft frame before slipping to the next spot. From the brief glances you stole from beneath your dense lashes you could make out this dazed look of need hopelessly sprawled across his features.
Blurred by the fuzzy light of your kitchen island. Drenching him in warm fluorescence.
Lips swollen from stolen kisses, gleaming from the thin sheen of saliva coating his lower lip. A familiar shade of red dusted his cheek from where your heavy kiss had seared his skin.
Before long all you could take in was the feeling of the waxy counter against your cheek, the air breathing against your soaked panties.
“Gosh, baby.” he mumbled, kneading tirelessly against the pillowy flesh of your ass, before he sank to his knees. Clark’s fogged eyes ran over you, puffy folds pressed through the worn cotton of your underwear.
His tongue almost hesitantly tracing your outline, his new found shyness a paradox to the man who’d just a second ago been clawing your clothes off. Hot breath fanned against you as his tongue laid flat against you, a shiver seeping through your skin and sneaking its way up your spine.
“Clark…” a choked hum broke its way past your chapped lips as he lapped tenderly at your clothed pussy. Nimble fingers pried at your underwear before slipping it down to the crook of your knees.
“I don’t think I can wait, baby.” he hushed, the sound of metal hitting the ground pierced the quietness of your flat before you felt himself sink into you.
Thinking about defending Jed Olsen from a mean guy at a bar because there's NO way your sweet, nerdy coworker could possibly be Ghostface. So you step between them and catch the punch that was meant for Jed.
Oh, "Jed" would coo and hold you, and so gently wipe the blood from your lips and chin. He'd check that your nose wasn't broken, and he'd pull you into a hug to calm you down and let you cry.
And when he got home that night, Danny would jack off to the blood stains you left on his shirt.
A/n: So so sorry I haven't posted anything in so long, I genuinely lost my love for writing for I think its been officially been a year since I last wrote something for fun. Don't fact check me on that, but I'm back! I'm trying to let myself just have fun with writing and not take myself so seriously so please be patient with me! Expect a lot of Resident Evil content from me! And don't be afraid to request! I'll be sure to update my request chart!
Summary: Takes place between re2 and re4! Basically just what happened to him after Raccoon city.
Notes: Headcannons, fluff mostly, themes of depression, alcoholism, body issues, gender neutral reader as usual!
Nothing could've prepared you for the look on his face when he arrived home. Opening your door for him at 11:00 at night, his face silhouetted by the gentle light of your porch lamp. His pale eyes seemed to be looking through you, his face tight with the unconscious clenching of his jaw, his adams apple bobbing faintly. The hum of your porch light filling your head.
Well, that was before you were cupping his face, you couldn't even remember the movement forward, all you could take in was the impact of his embrace. His arms wrapped tightly around you, and if it wasn't for the fact it was twenty degrees out, you'd say he was shaking.
Safe to say he'd move in with you after everything that happened, he needed that sense of security, that familiarity that he'd swear was almost entirely lost on him. He was wordlessly welcomed back into your life.
Though it wasn't all the same, he'd hope it would be, God he really wished. It was weird, having him back around, he was quiet, not in an awkward kind of way, he just didn't feel the need to make his presence known. This isn't to say he doesn't engage in conversation with you, he'll just need more of an obvious cue that you'd like to spark a conversation with him.
Leon won't exactly know what to do with himself, he tried giving himself a week to adjust, then back to the drawing board, that's what he told you. You assured him there was no pressure to jump right back into employment, he'd been through something truly life changing, I mean, it took you two whole months to just get over your dog running away in highshcool.
He'd brush it off of course, he wasn't devastated, at least, not in the way you described, it wouldn't even be anything hard, just something simple. Like retail.
That lasted about two weeks, the first week itself just being job searching, but once he got into the flow and rhythm of stacking supplies in the back of some chain line grocery store, he'd have to quit. That kind of meaningless repetitive work only fed into his existential crisis that had been put on the back burner for far too long.
He'd call you crying during his shift, you'd have to pick him up, parking somewhere close so you could calm him down, he'd spill everything out to you. Rambling on and on about not wanting to spend the prime of his life stacking cans and rearranging produce.
Well at least that's how far he got before embarrassment came crawling up his back, digging its nails into his throat until it felt so tight he couldn't speak.
The drive home would be quiet, not the comfortable kind.
He'd spend a lot of time at home, long enough to where you not its not a phase, and that he's not not getting out of bed without an intervention of some kind.
He admits after weeks of obvious reluctance that he's not ready to work again, he just needs time. You assure him that its completely fine, though you're not entirely sure how much that statement holds true you don't mind picking up some extra shifts if it means comfortably supporting you both.
But that isn't to say he doesn't contribute at all, he's the one preparing all the meals every week. He's the one taking trips to the store, jotting down meal ideas on the pen pad you'd gotten him after the silent acceptance that he'd taken to doing all the cooking.
This goes for chores too, though he wouldn't take to that immediately, he's not used to viewing the house as more then somewhere he eats and sleeps, its only after a comment from you about the disarray of the living room would spark him into action.
After that you haven't seen a speck of dust grace your living room floors since. It's the least he could do since you're funding his identity crisis, well that's what he thinks.
Leon struggles with healthy attachment, he's still not used to the idea that he won't wake up and you'll be gone. Though this doesn't mean he's completely distant.
He does little things to show how much he cares. Like waking up early to prepare your breakfast with a warm cup of coffee, or how he always asks you first what you'd like for dinner.
Though he won't admit it, most days are a struggle. Not every day, but those are the ones where he gets to spend some quality time with you, or he washes it off with a can of beer or two.
He'd hate himself to admit it to you, but he's developed a bit of a drinking problem with all that time at home.
Though once you notice the amount of cans piling up in the recycling he'd guiltily admit that he's been using it to cope, though he doesn't say exactly with what.
You'd encourage him to take up therapy, though he'd hastily deny, you offered him to at least think about it, though the very idea of opening up to a stranger about his problems seemed absolutely absurd.
After a bit of time though, especially when you express your concern with his drinking, he yields.
Of course with the excessive eating of comfort foods and now only occasional drinking, he’d developed a bit of a dad bod. He didn’t seem to notice at first, but one morning it seems to hit him all at once when he inspects himself in the mirror.
He’ll fiddle and prod at the soft pudge dripping from his sides, like the melted wax of a candle. His doughy thighs pressed together. He’s not really sure how to react, all he feels is this sort of disconnection from himself, like the person in the mirror isn’t really him.
He’ll avoid it for months, but the changes are clear to you whether he knows or not. But it doesn’t fail to hit you that he hasn’t walked around without a shirt in weeks, not just a shirt, but the kind that completely engulfs his figure, until he’s practically swimming in material.
You’ll have to intervene at some point, he’ll feel the weight of guilt pressing down onto his shoulders until he humbly admits, yeah, he doesn’t like the way his body looks anymore. You’ll need to have a conversation with him, assure him that it’s okay to gain weight, you don’t love him less just because he’s a little more soft around the middle.
He’ll need you to gently coax him into being more comfortable with showing his body around you. Gently holding his hips when he's making his coffee in the morning, leaning into him when he hugs you, telling him when you think he looks nice. Just little things that really do boost his confidence.
After months of unwavering support from you, he’ll notice the lack of disdain he feels when glancing at his reflection on passing surfaces. He'll be comfortable enough to let his belly breathe from time to time when walking around the house, maybe even offering to shower with you when given the chance.
Of course, progress isn’t linear, he’ll have his days where he wishes more than anything the fat clinging to his frame would melt, like snow dripping from a rooftop against the breath of the morning sun.
But at least now he feels comfortable admitting to you he isn’t always happy being in his own skin, and he knows you won’t try to correct his thoughts, rather then simply reassure him. He’s far from perfect, but more then anything you’re just glad he’s here.
i just found out merriam webster has a time traveler feature that tells you some of the words that were “born” the same year as you. it’s pretty neat yall should do this
Can you do some heavy hurt comfort with Ryan Goslings! Ken and reader? Thanksss Love your writing!
A/n: Thanks Pooki. You asked and you shall receive, also sorry these requests are coming out slowly I've been busy with school and work. This could be before patriarchy Ken? I don't know where ever you feel it fits best
Summary: Kens perfectly happy living his best day everyday alongside you, but you can't seem to wonder what is would be like to really live.
Pairing: Gosling! Ken and Gender-neutral doll reader (a bit existential, talks of death and wanting to die not in a morbid way!)
“Hey!”
Your head snapped around to the direction of familiar hearty, booming voice you had grown so used to, your flickering gaze didn’t wonder the vibrant stretch of houses for long, as they quickly snapped to giddy blonde man,
failing out stretched his arm excitedly, eagerly approaching the small gate of your white picket fence.
Flicking the latch and clumsily shutting the gate behind him, the frail wood bouncing with the harsh slam.
His dimples pushed back by the curves of his mouth, pearly rows of teeth gleaming under the sparking sun, golden strands of hair pushed back against his sun kissed skin,
Ken.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere! What have you been doing all day?”
He huffed with a grin, squatting down beside you on the soft green carpeting the quiet earth.
You turned your head slightly, glancing at him, your eyes soft as you looked over the wavering green plants, that shook so softly in the gentle wind, dew dripping, dipping the delicate leaves down.
You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, your attention solely fixated on the garden before you.
Ken's pale eyes remained on you, as you mindlessly watched over the pocket of green. His brow arched, his eyes narrowing at the swaddle of plants.
“How come you spend so much time looking at these things?”
The breeze caressing your face, a sigh slipping from your mouth, shoulders slumping down at the question.
“I don’t know.” you muttered, voice strained in a hushed whisper, dying out in the draft.
Ken's face twisted into one of discontentment upon hearing your reply, wrapping a firm arm around your wilted frame.
Ken wasn’t quite sure what to do, you weren’t usually like this.
“You seem off today?”
He said as you tucked your head beneath his jaw, a heavy sigh escaping your throat.
“Do you ever wish you could be a plant?”
Ken let out a hearty chuckle, but seeing your face fall, a blush biting at your soft skin he coughed, clearing his throat.
“What do you mean?” his voice held a sentimental tone you had never heard from him.
“I don’t know.” there was a pregnant pause before you spoke again.
“Alive.” you mumbled anxiously fiddling with your clothes.
Ken's brows furrowed.
“Aive? We are alive, aren’t we?”
“Not in the same way.” your voice held a longing to it, your gaze fixated on the plants as if waiting for something.
“They have beginnings, they grow, blossom, they watch the seasons pass by, they wither.”
You stopped yourself for a moment as if something in you froze and Ken couldn’t help but watch you intently.
“They die.”
Time pulled the silence between you, stretching it further and further out, until reality came snapping back, hitting Ken square in the face. His chest filled with a sensation he couldn’t understand. An unwavering sense of fear.
“Do you want that?”
He breathed holding his breath as he waited for your response.
“Maybe. Someday.”
Your eyes wander to the cloudless blue sky. There was a silence filling the air with uneasiness before Ken spoke again.
“Well, when that day comes, I’ll lay down beside you.”
I was listening to Mitski when I wrote this, send more Ken requests!
A/n: Sorry I've been gone forever I've been really busy this past couple of months!
Summary: Miguel's tired of you putting yourself in danger to see him
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara and Gn Reader (romantic, pre-relationship, Miguel being unable to properly express his feelings, a little bittersweet)
“You know you don’t have to put yourself in danger just to see me, right?”
The masked man grunted, slipping through your kitchen window almost with a shadow-like presence.
You jump slightly glancing to see the familiar brooding figure, but that's all he was, familiar.
The corners of your lips curved into an innocent smile as you placed the tattered cardboard box in your arms onto the cluttered kitchen counter, as you turned back to the large man,
crossing your arms as you leaned back against the counter. But it was just that, you were anything but innocent.
That's what Miguel hated.
“What's this now?”
you hummed, cautiously scanning the man in front of you, a softness in your eyes, that filled him with an anxiousness he couldn’t explain.
Miguel only huffed at your feigned innocence, propping himself up against one of your well polished marble counters,
his eyes drifting across the various items, ranging from empty boxes of food, to pens, dishes, and bills, all mindlessly scattered along the counter tops, it all felt very, you,
and the strong wiskful scent of mango and blossoms seemed to be rooted in the halls of your weary home, drawing him back to you time and again.
You crouched down, swiftly, opening the cabinet under the sink, only to result in an avalanche of discarded and forgotten items spilling out onto your wooden floor,
with a sigh you begin to collect the objects once again, scooping them into your arms and placing them back into the cabinet.
A forgotten warmth nipped your cheeks as you noticed the hero on his knees beside you,
shoving the items back into the disarranged box of nonsense you swore you would organize one day.
“You should really clean your house.” he breathed out
You divert your attention from the rubble in front of you back to the vigilante squatted down, cleaning your mess,
you shot him an appreciative grin, and Miguel could swear he felt his heart stutter, he muttered soft curses under his breath as he averted his attention to the opened window, the breeze whistling through the crack.
“Well how else will I see you in your busy schedule if not during ‘work hours’?”
You joked, as you roamed through the crammed cabinet space. Miguel let out a breathy groan as he turned his head back to you.
You could practically feel his scowl behind the mask, burning holes into the side of your head.
“You shouldn’t want to see me, it's dangerous.”
he shifted, his tone mellowed out at your fallen expression, his gaze fell back upon the crowded cityscape through the smudged glass of your window.
“Maybe I like danger.”
the words floated from your lips effortlessly, a lazy sigh drew from his lips as his shoulders fell.
Yet he still couldn’t bring himself to met your gaze, he felt rejection wrapping its cold hands around his throat as he choked out his words
