It’s four am and the
diner is quiet. Derek finishes wiping down a table; life as usual, he’s alone,
he’s at work, everything goes on as it does. He refills coffee for the two
tired-looking truckers sitting at the counter and goes back to refilling the
The last time Cora was
home, she’d asked if he and Laura ever considered selling the place. “Doesn’t
do much business,” she said, trying to be gentle. Say it was okay to let go.
But she’d only been a baby when the accident happened that took their parents;
she didn’t have memories growing up here the way Derek and Laura did, playing
hide-and-seek under the counters, watching their dad bake pies and their mom
fill coffee, listening to travelers talk about their lives on the road.
Hale’s is fifty miles from the nearest town in either direction, a
blink-and-miss-it diner still stuck in the ‘50s, right off the Pacific Coast
Highway. The little town of Beacon Hills is an hour away, so almost all the
patrons are travellers, people looking for respite from the road, on their way
up to the redwoods or heading down to San Francisco and Los Angeles. There’s a
little wall of autographs from famous people who’ve dined here; cowboys and
starlets and authors and people Derek’s parents took a shine to. The diner is a
historic landmark, not to mention it’s always been home to Derek.
So Laura manages the day
shift and Derek does the night. It works out well; he doesn’t have to interact
with people much. He and Laura were homeschooled until high school, and Derek
had found Beacon Hills High School overwhelming with its crowds.
The radio starts a new
song; it’s one of Derek’s favorites. He doesn’t remember the name of the
artist, but it makes Derek feel alive. The song lyrics aren’t
particularly sensual, but the man’s voice is— Derek shudders, feeling his blood
run hot under his skin, and he imagines the warm touch of someone pulling him
close, embracing him, kissing him—
“Can I take this coffee
“Oh. Sure,” Derek says,
pouring the trucker’s coffee into a plastic cup.
They leave him a decent
tip and are off, the bell jingling as they go.
Derek sighs, watching
the moonlight dance across the ocean in the distance. He listens to the
rustling of the trees, and occasionally a car will drive past the diner, lights
He turns off the radio
and hums the song to himself as he sweeps up.
There’s longing here, of
a love long lost, and Derek is lost to the song, to the memories it drags up.
Nothing but the sound of
waves crashing on the shore, the white hot sun burning just beyond Derek’s
closed eyes. He can feel the warm body next to him stir awake, and then fingers
carding through his hair.
“Derek… hey. You awake?”
“Nope,” Derek says, and he
can already picture it: Stiles leaning over him, his hair still wet, eyes
bright with laughter.
Recently, I’ve seen some rumblings across my dashboard about fan fiction again.
I don’t want to dive into a debate because all the information that I have to go on are second hand sources and there’s always going to be a bit of bias there, because one person can see it in one way and another person can perceive it in another way.
I’d rather explain to you, New and Gentle Reader, what fan fiction is, if this is the first time you’ve heard about it.
Fan fiction is what happens when you walk out of the theater, turn off the TV, the radio, close that book or whatnot for the first time and ask yourself “What happens next?" Or: "What if it happened THIS way instead?" Fan fiction is what happens when you are six or seven years old and you take your dolls, your action figures, your stuffed toys and various household items as props and send them all onto adventure. Maybe Barbie rescues G.I. Joe from Cobra or Optimus Prime fights the Evil Transforming Kitchen Thingy that Mom uses for making meatloaf but should really be the Evil Transforming Dark Lord of the Sith.
Fan fiction is what happens when you are ten and you’re discovering how to really write for the first time and you put words on the page, in your math and English notebooks, one sentence after another, style be damned, painstakingly bringing forth to life the images in your head of your cartoon and movie and book heroes.
Fan fiction happens when you are in your teens and you want to be the hero or the heroine of the story and you want to fight alongside Captain America and the Avengers and go on the Quest to Erebor or save Frodo from the effects of the Ring.
Fan fiction happens when you are in your twenties or your thirties or beyond that and you are still writing because you just enjoy and love telling stories. There’s a new maturity to your writing and that happens because you’re a bit older, though maybe not wiser, but you still love telling the stories anyway. People tell you that you should write for money and sometimes you think, hey I could try that and you dream. And sometimes you just smile and say, "I just like telling stories” and that is more than enough for you.
And sometimes people fall in love in your stories, regardless of sex or gender. Sometimes they fight. Sometimes they laugh. They cry. They hate. They die. Sometimes they kiss. Sometimes they make love. Sometime it’s just sex. You keep writing. You can’t help it. You get that idea and you just need to write it down. Word for word. One sentence after another. Just like when you were a kid and you’d wear your pencils to stubs and let your pens run out of ink as you shape the letters.
That’s fan fiction. Sometimes, the best stories in the world start because they were fan fiction. Ask Shakespeare. Ask Jules Verne. Ask Neil Gaiman.
Gentle Reader, if this is your first time in here, then I hope you might find the time to read my stories. I humbly ask, because a fan fiction writer’s currency is in the feedback of his or her readers and we’re happy to hear from them when it’s good and devastated when we get hate from those who don’t even have the courage to sign their names. If it’s not for you, then I understand. It’s all right. Move on, that’s okay. These aren’t the droids you’re looking for. Maybe there’s something else you’d like. It’s fine.
And this is what I hope for if you do decide to venture in.
I hope you smile. I hope you laugh. I hope that you ended up snorting coffee out your nose in the middle of Starbucks. (Here’s a napkin. Sorry that I’m not sorry?) I hope that I made you giggle in the middle of the subway or the bus stop and you get weird looks from folks passing by.
I hope you cry, because sometimes I write sad things and that makes me cry too. Here’s a tissue. It’s okay. Sometimes there are no happy endings.
I hope you are frightened, but only in a way that a good, scary story can make you feel frightened. Sometimes there are dark and terrible things out there and they’re part of the Story too. Hold my hand. It’s all right. I’ve got you.
I hope you blush and maybe smile a little later when love and romance and sweet things are told. Love is a gift and true love is meant to endure. And sometimes there’s hurt and pain and grief in there too, but you already know that. You’ve lived that. Sometimes we do have happy endings after all. There’s always hope.
Are you ready?
It doesn’t always start with “once upon a time” or “a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…” but every story starts somewhere.
Angst/Fluff Badboy AU 5484 Words The long awaited oneshot that I promised I’d post a week ago oops.
Summary: Jungkook keeps himself cool, calm and collected at all times yet around her, the want to throw away his facade is extremely tempting. He fears that if he acts on his feelings he will drag her into a lifestyle that he desperately wants to keep her out of.
Jungkook swallowed and
gripped his thighs so hard he was sure he left angry red marks on them. Usually
it was easy to ignore her but now that they were alone together, his senses
heightened and he was able to catch every time she licked her lips out of nervousness,
heard every little sigh that escaped from her mouth and he swore that if he
looked at her directly right now, he could probably count every single one of
A little mini-series based in Jamaica during the writing/recording of Harry’s new album. Enjoy. x
The next day, she woke up at one in the afternoon.
Going off of a full nine hours of sleep, she hopped out of her twin sized bed and brushed her teeth, running a careless hand through her cropped locks and setting off for a jog along the beach.
When she first arrived in Jamaica, she was looking for places to stay on the tourist side of the island. But not only was it easily five times as expensive as living where she was now, it was crowded and loud. The first morning she went for a run she had to stop about seven times to take group pictures and be asked for directions by families of five or more. It wasn’t until she started befriending the locals that she even knew there was a quiet place on the island.
Now, she could go for runs every day and she was rarely ever interrupted. Her life in Jamaica consisted mainly of three things: running, surfing, and working at the bar. The bar was owned by a tall Jamaican man whose nickname was Pipo, and whom she’d met close to when she arrived. She began to frequent it during the lunch shift, and when she did she spoke to Pipo every day about her life back home. One day when he found out that she was unemployed he offered her a job on the spot.
And that was her life. That’s what it had been like for the past month and a half—working to save a little money, but mostly to pass the time. When she wasn’t working she was taking walks on the island and exploring new places, or surfing. It wasn’t a luxurious life by any means, but it was what she needed right now. She needed to get away.
It was all completely predictable, until she stumbled upon Harry last night.
Warning: v jealous Luke, anxiety, cussing, scary Luke
Description: Luke gets jealous when you want to get food w/ a old friend.
Luke was unlike anyone you’d ever met.
He was quiet.
But had a way of being the light of any room he entered.
He didn’t have to say a word to make you smile or laugh, even cry.
But when he did it made him even better.
When he let you into his heart it was different from other people.
The way he thought and felt.
It made you wonder why he was so insecure. He was so beautiful, inside and undoubtedly outside.
His hair he started growing out after you met him was now curly gold locks. The way his eyes shined when he smiled made it impossible not to fall in love with him, which you did.
You fell in love with him so hard. You promised yourself you wouldn’t fall in love with anyone that hard but it was no longer your choice.
You loved the way his mouth moved and the sound of his accent. You loved the way he looked at you, even when you didn’t realize.
But most of all you loved the way he loved you.
So recklessly and effortlessly. He loved you just as much as you loved him. It took him longer to fall in love with you but he did.
You knew the exact moment too.
The moment you made him yours.
It was a simple day. Not one particular special or different from any other.
You and Luke were laying in bed, you literally had gotten up once to get food and go to the bathroom and it was nearly 4 in the afternoon.
You both loved days like this, no pressure to do anything or be anywhere.
Just laying with your boyfriend in bed watching television but mostly talking.
He was telling about his childhood while you distracted him by playing with his fingertips. You could feel him watching you while you studied his long slender fingers.
When Luke finally noticed you and took the time to talk to you, it was obvious he was intrigued by you. Though he made it clear he didn’t want a relationship at the moment within a couple weeks he couldn’t stay away from you.
Now here you two were, having such a closed off boy share his most vulnerable stories. He stops talking, too preoccupied by you laying with him.
You stop fiddling with the tips of his fingers and just interlock your boney fingers with his. You notice the absence of his voice and glance up at him. His hair is fanned out over his forehead.
His eyes are pouring into yours so intensely you are drawn to him. You smile at him, knowing that look on his face.
There is no way explain it but pure love. You pushed his hair out of his eyes with your free hand and he leans down to kiss you.
“You’re my best friend.” He says quietly after you two pull apart.
They aren’t the words you expected him to say but it almost meant more.
That night has been imprinted in your brain ever since. Though it was months ago, you remember it like yesterday.
And it was days like this where you wish you could go back to that exact moment.
“What are we doing for dinner tonight?” He asks, climbing into the passenger seat of the car.
You liked driving, which worked out because Luke will never admit it but driving makes him kinda nervous.
He slides his dark sunglasses off his face, giving you a look at his beautiful eyes you love so much.
“Oh, I was actually going to tell you I was planning on getting pizza with Marcus.” You back out of the parking spot.
You could feel Luke’s harsh gaze just as you expected.
Marcus was an old friend from high school. You two had kept contact and he has been wanting to meet up.
You have been putting it off because you were honestly afraid of how Luke would react. Luke wasn’t overly jealous, but if a guy looked at you for too long in public he would make sure to show him you were together.
You were okay with it because you loved Luke and wanted to make him feel secure in your relationship.
“Well. Okay…” He says shortly before looking out his window.
You were surprised that was all the fight he put up.
“Okay.” You say clicking on the radio.
Luke scoffs and harshly turns it back off.
You knew you were getting away too easy.
“Marcus? Is he that bloke from your secondary school?” He spits.
You wanted to smile from the difference in your language. Sometimes it like you two spoke different languages but you had been around him so much you understood.
“Yes. He has been wanting to hang out for a while. I’ve put him off as long as I can without being disrespectful.” You say simply.
You look over in Luke’s direction, glancing back at the road every couple seconds.
His eyebrows are tightly knit together and his blue eyes are dark like they always are when he gets angry.
“Why? So he can make a move on you? Does he know you have a boyfriend? You graduated school like three years ago. Have you been talking to him the whole time we’ve been together?” He shoots question after question at you.
“What a dick.” You hear him mutter under his breath.
His accent gets really thick when he is frustrated. You can see him clenching and unclenching his jaw over and over again.
“I… we were really good friends in high school. He found my Facebook and messaged me. Why is this any different than if a old girlfriend wanted to hang out with me?” You question him right back.
You don’t like him accusing you of anything. It actually hurt you more than you like to admit, almost like he doesn’t trust you.
You have never done anything to make him think that way.
“Because I don’t know what his intentions are. What if he tries to make a move on you?” You looks out his window again.
You glare at him this time. “Then I shut him down and leave. I have my own personal boundaries. Do you really think I would let him do something like that?” You raised your voice.
You get stopped a stop light which gives you a moment to look at him. He finally looks in your eyes and you raise your eyebrows.
He shakes his head, biting his bottom lip deep in thought.
“I just don’t like the idea of you hanging out with him alone.” He says continuing to shake his head
“When did I ever say we were hanging out alone?” You say getting a little frustrated. “We will be with a group of other people we went to highschool with. Plus even if we weren’t we would be in a PUBLIC place.” You say in hopes of making him feel better.
You almost want to invite him just to ease his mind but this whole thing has kinda pissed you off. You shouldn’t have to go everywhere with him. You love spending time with him and at the end of the day with him is where You want to be but you are two different people. Though you two are in a relationship you both need to be able to have your own lives.
That’s called a healthy relationship.
Your hopes of easing his mind fails when his glare intensifies and he looks ever more angry. You can practically hear his breathing quicken and he stares into your soul.
A honk behind you breaks you from his lock he has on your eyes. You realize the light is now green and you step on the gas pedal.
“Well why didn’t you bloody tell me that in the first place.” He is now yelling. “Is it- is it because he was the only person you can think about and- and the only person you look forward to seeing?” He is so mad he can barely speak which ends up making him more mad.
“No-” he doesn’t give you a chance to finish.
“You know what. Go. I don’t give a shit anymore. Fuck who you want. See who you want. Get pizza with who you want.” He slams his hand on the dash making you jump.
What is he saying.
“Luke-” You say softly, trying to reason with him.
He wasn’t having it. He now keeps his gaze out the window, shutting down the conversation.
You wouldn’t be that happy if he wanted to hang out with a girl he went to school with but you wouldn’t act this way. He was being unreasonable and almost scaring you, which he has never done before.
“Fine then I won’t fucking go. If it’s that big of a deal to you.” You look at him.
He shakes his head, still looking out the window. Refusing to look at you.
“No I just said I don’t give a shit.” He says. His voice is still very angry but he isn’t yelling anymore.
From what you can see of his face it is very red. From anger which was very obvious.
“Luke I don’t want to fight about something that isn’t even a thing.” You say, reaching with your hand that isn’t on the wheel and grasping his hand that’s laying on his thighs.
He snatched it away quickly but still doesn’t look at you. He leaves you wondering what shade his eyes were and you want to see them so bad.
“Don’t fuckin’ touch me.” He puts his hand back on his thigh. It is clenched in a fist, his knuckles turning white.
He finally looks at you, his eyes not at all what you expected. They were like you’ve never seen, so wild with anger. A sickening color of blue.
“I’m so fucking pissed you have no idea.” A smirk plays on his lips. But not the usual one where he wash playing around. It was one that looked almost evil.
“I can’t even fucking look at you.” He looks back out his window.
He was furious. You had expected him to be mad but this was outrageous. You feared this would be the day it all ended. The days in a warm bed with Luke. The secret glances you two shared that only you guys knew what they meant. The last time he looked at you with love in his eyes.
You are so caught up in your thoughts now that when you finally look at the road you were barreling towards a car stopped at a red light. You stomp on the brake, your car making a horrific noise as it skidded to a stop just in time.
Luke’s head snaps forward, his hands pressed against the dash to stop him from flying forward.
Your hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight, your heart pounding so loud at the close call.
“FUCK!” Luke yells. “Pull the fuck over. Pull over.” He is back to yelling.
You obey, turning your blinker on and making your way to the shoulder of the road.
“Why weren’t you paying attention we almost got in a fucking accent. Get out. I’m driving.” He says.
You park the car, turning it off, still trying to catch your breath.
He goes to open the door but you quickly lock them.
He turns his head painfully slow toward you. “Don’t fucking do that.” He practically growls.
“Luke.” You say as he turns back to his door once again trying to open it. You again lock it and he starts punching the door.
Yelling as he does it, you have ever seen him so angry. This time he just couldn’t handle it and all the anger he had built up comes out
“Fucking unlock the door, I can’t even fucking look at you. Fuck you! Fuck you!” He yells and you can’t help but start to cry.
“Luke.” You say again, your voice cracking. “Luke.” You say louder.
Your hand reaching out and literally forcing him to look at you. He tries to push your hand away but you grip his jaw and force him to look into your eyes.
“Luke! Stop. Please stop!” You yell louder than he was. Your tears falling freely down your cheeks.
His breathing is unstable and he is still fuming but he is finally looking at you.
“I won’t fucking go. I can’t understand the reason you are so mad but I can’t lose you. I fucking love you and would never do anything to hurt you.” You say.
You are still gripping his jaw, not harshly and he isn’t trying to pull away. His lips are extra pouty because of the way your holding his face.
“I fucking love you, Luke. You are my best friend.” You repeat the words he once spoke.
He almost looks like he is about to cry. He falls forward, laying his head on your chest. His nose buried in your neck.
He kisses your neck repeatedly, his hot breath hitting your skin.
“I’m so sorry.” He says repeatedly.
The tall lanky boy falling apart in your arms.
“I love you so much. I’m so sorry.” He says again.
You hug him, overwhelmed from how this afternoon turned out. You had fought before but never like this.
He kisses your neck again, but it wasn’t in a sexual way. It was in a loving apologetic way. Almost like he was giving himself to you.
Warnings: language, hinted sexual/physical abuse, violence - Deadpool’s in it guys, it ain’t PG.
A/N: This is my take on the soulmate trope. It’s not necessarily an AU, because technically heartmate is canon in the Marvel world - at least with Wade’s comics. This part is an introduction to the characters!
Summary:You’re a mutant turned mercenary, working with the best merc around - Wade Fucking Wilson aka Deadpool. You are also someone who doesn’t believe in the whole heartmate crap. How could two people solely be made for each other? Steve Rogers is Captain America, Avenger extraordinaire. Call him old fashion, but he believed in heartmates and knew he had one out there. The two of you cross paths one day and things get set in motion. Can Steve get passed the jaded wall you built or would things just crash and burn? And will Wade Wilson finally learn to put the seat down after taking a piss? Who knows.
Note: Said I’d post a request first but I couldn’t finish it so here’s the DDHTK update you’ve all been waiting for! This is a long one too, I honestly hope this wouldn’t bore y’all or disappoint. Ahhh let me know your thoughts, guys! I love reading everyone’s comments and replies, I’m super grateful for them! Ugh, love you all! <3
Special shoutout to @negansex for constantly sending me gifs and ideas!
Negan rubbed his hands together
as he took your appearance in, smiling with a certain glint in his eyes. You
couldn’t help but feel conscious all of a sudden so you avoided his gaze and
hugged your arms to cover your slightly exposed chest. It felt weird to be
wearing such at a time like this, it almost felt inappropriate.
“Well? Sit your fucking ass down,
let’s have dinner.” Negan told you, motioning towards the chair.