#tip your beta readers folks

[santaclausisintofisting]

the humble proboscis ☣

kinktober day 1: morning sex/quickie | ship: joey jordison/corey taylor | words: 1,026 | warnings & tags: morning sex, oral sex, non penetrative sex, references/implications of sexual abuse, age gap relationship (wanyk!corey x post-iowa!joey) | summary: corey has a life to live, but joey can interrupt it as he sees fit.

for 18+ audiences only, minors dni - ao3

“Push me off, then.”

Joey smirks, much too proud of himself for rendering Corey speechless. A dusty rose is painted on his cheeks already, the shadows of Corey’s curtains allowing for a flick of light to capture his features. His jet black hair appears as a toasted brown as it swishes down his back. Corey can't stop himself from carding his fingers through it, watching those large unblinking eyes magnetize him closer, until Joey’s lips meet Corey’s chin.

Corey should have more of a say in whether or not he gets kissed like this, with a scene as picturesque as Joey, still lying nude and smiling on top of him, setting too many of his nerves alight and at ease all at once. He should get to say ‘fuck off, i need to brush my teeth’ at least once, or have enough spine to pick Joey up by the nape of his neck and toss him somewhere else. The little freak would like it too much, possibly take it as a game of hide-and-fuck. Not that Corey would typically judge something like that…

“You're literally hard.” Joey makes that rumbling honk noise he calls a laugh, then rests a palm over Corey’s pajama pants, devious fingers fondling the curve of his morning wood. “Just let me blow you, c’mon.”

“Do you actually wanna blow me. Be honest.” Corey deadpans, knowing how quick Joey was to pull off his dick mid-arrival, at times refusing to have any of Corey’s ‘remains’ left on him. Always trying to get Corey off in a million different ways at once, Joey tended to rush to meet a finish line that was in his sight only.

Joey’s hard to read, never the most open of books, typically saying what's on his mind at the moment instead of showing it through expressions and motions. Moreso now with no eyebrows; Corey feels like a delectable leaf in the pathway of a large bug as he waits for Joey to decide, in agonizingly long seconds, if he wants to commit to sucking him off. It shouldn't entice him as much as it does, but it does. Joey could delegate just about anything and Corey would lie back, enjoy the moment for what it is, forget about the things he has to take care and worry about later, later. Joey could also leave, get dressed, and leave Corey with balls bluer than Rigel. The uncertainty leaves him with a quiet fizz tickling its way up his stomach.

Corey drops his head onto his pillows when he realizes that the fizzing is actually Joey breathing over his happy trail. Decision made.

“I actually wanted to finger you.” Joey is already slinking back under the sheets, movements unsettlingly quiet, not nearly as unsettling as what he just propositioned. Then his tongue, a slithering deviant that thing was- always getting Corey into trouble- starts to lick. “You still had some lube left so I figured, y’know, why waste it? Plus I know you've never done it before. Always the finger-er, you are. My hands are small so it wouldn't hurt, like, too much, I don't think.”

Only Joey could maintain being equal parts cocktease and chatterbox before noon. Corey finds it in him to twist at a piece of Joey’s hair and pull.

“I have been.” Corey’s heart breaks in half at the sight of Joey stopping, his confused head tilt and squinted eyes too genuine for Corey to be wholly mad at, “It was-” he tucks the hair behind Joey’s ear, his teeth pulling at the inside of his cheek, then he exhales, playfully tugging at Joey’s earlobe, “not… great.”

A flash of a past night zaps him into silence; some guy- a hot guy, a guy that didn't deserve what Corey ended up dishing out- had barely even pushed past his fingernail before Corey started crying. Bubbling hysterics at first, then full on sobbing, then shouting… couldn't be a proper Corey-themed meltdown without shouting. Joey doesn't know about any of this, or the reason why it might've happened, but the lack of eye contact and slow nodding of his head looks like he might get the picture, if not the full metadata.

“Right, yeah.” big bug eyes stare back at him, darker than before, softer, as if the early morning finally caught up to Joey, “I mean, if anything, I could just-” before Corey can object and make the quickest possible dash towards a cold shower, his clothes are being taken off. Slowly, carefully, Joey is exposing him from below, leaving kisses over his thighs as he presses two fingers behind his balls, and that's-

“Oh, shit-” Corey goes lax, rolling his hips into Joey’s touch, a moan stretching all the way from his chest to the ceiling.

“Pretty good, right?” Joey’s tongue curls around them before venturing upwards, flicking off Corey’s flushed tip, “I used to have this one girl, a girlfriend I guess, and she would wanna peg me and shit, and I like taking it but not from a fake dick, ‘cuz it's all cylindrical. Pure rod all the way through, so it stretches me out kinda weird, probably because they haven't figured out how to put quality into strap-ons yet, or maybe she was fucking me weird, I dunno. I'd tell her to just do this instead. Feels like a fuck, but it isn't. Low effort, high reward kinda deal.”

“Put my dick in your mouth, Joe.” Corey is already panting through his nose, the angling of Joey’s fingers shooting pure pleasure up his spine.

“If you say so.”

Joey takes him in one go, Corey’s toes curling from all the angles of pleasure. He hadn't realized how pent up he was until Joey’s fingers started to make swirling motions, just teasing above his hole. Corey falls apart to this, groaning breathless up his hill and croaking Joey’s name at his climax. Joey is purely surgical, extending and retracting and bobbing his head in time with Corey’s pulse, so removed from what this means that Corey fully expects him to chew his head clean off after he wipes the corners of his mouth.

[ozarkthedog]

summary: despite your reluctance, joel wants to fill you up.

kinktober ii: cnc + breeding

warnings: 18+ only -> mdni. Joel Miller x afab!reader. consensual non consent. threat of breeding. rough sex. asphyxiation. slight mention of aftercare. no beta.

word count: 1.2k

author’s note: per this post and @thornsnvultures sliding into my DMs with this thot. probably not my best but i'm posting it anyways. 🤷‍♀️

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ♁ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

He missed the power. The control. The brutality. 

The topic had been discussed only once but the point was clear. Joel did not want to raise a child in this new, horrific world.

Settling down in Jackson with you had been good for him. The boring monotony of day-to-day life. It wasn’t just surviving. It was making something out of nothing, growing together. Helping your fellow man; not just stealing from him (or worse).

Still, that unsettling need would return from time to time. It’d take root in the base of his skull like one of the countless bullets he’d left in his victims. The savagery beckoned him like a gnat scratching at the surface. The urge to claim sinking its fangs in once again.

Normally he’d go on a long hunt. Seek out unseemly folk and leave a path of destruction in his wake. This morning, however, a storm brewed outside. The windows glitter with a layer of frost as the wind howls through Jackson.

You flinch awake. Trepidation settling in your belly. You know this feeling. You’ve been here many times before. You’ll stay by Joel’s side until your last breath. So you do what you’ve both discussed; wait.

A brute hand forces you onto your front. A gasp falls from your lips as a heavy weight settles on your back. Your lungs seize under the pressure making blood pulse behind your eyes. 

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Joel sneers. He drags the hook of his nose up the side of your face, smiling as you struggle to suck a breath in. “Got you right where I want cha’, pretty girl.”

You jab an elbow back hoping to clip his jaw but he easily cages in it a steely grip. He yanks your left arm out from under your body with a dark chuckle and roughly secures your wrist in one of his large palms. 

“I like ‘em feisty.” he grits, dipping his head down and brushing his lips along the shell of your ear. “Gets my blood pumping” he drawls, a sick grin tugging at his lips. “and something else too.” 

He shifts his weight, lessening the pressure on your upper body, and grids his hard cock against your ass. You instinctively twist in his grip, bucking your hips and tugging on his hold. Joel hollers above you, “Yeah, that’s it. Show me how tough you are, sweet girl.” 

You whine, knowing there is no way out. He was much too strong. Still, it was part of the game.

“You know, it’ll be better for you if you just give in.” the warm, soothing words flutter into your brain calming your heart for just a brief moment. 

You know what he’s capable of. You’ve seen the brutality, the rage but you also know about the quiet side. The way he holds your hand when you walk into town. The soft eyes he gives you when you cuddle into his side. The way he’s so tender with you when he cradles your face in his hands.

“Wanna fill you up.” Joel murmurs. Pulling your right knee up to your chest before sliding a large hand along the apex of your sex. “That’s my pretty pussy.” he groans as he drags a lazy finger up the slice of you. “Can never get enough of it.” he coos into your hair before kissing the top of your spine. “Of you.”

“Joel- no, please.” you whimper, shaking your head. “You can’t.”

He “tsks” behind you. A brute hand catches the back of your neck and digs his digits into the tender column. Warm breath brushes the shell of your ear as he leans in close. “You think you’re in a position to call the shots? Stupid girl.”

A gasp catches in your throat when he taps the heavy tip of his cock on your barely wet opening. He notches the bulbous crown just past your folds before sliding in ever so slowly. He takes his time filling you up. He wants this to last. Doesn’t want to know where he begins and you end. 

Your core envelopes the weight and size of him. Molding around his thick length until you’re busting at the seams. “Thatta’ girl.” Joel grits through clenched teeth as your velvet walls make room for him. His cock brushes your cervix with a brazen kiss as he bottoms out making you wince.

His fingers dance cruelly on the crux of your mound, tugging on the hair that grows earning him a sharp cry before moving south. He circles your clit with expertise, knowing your body better than you did. A dense knot of unsavory pleasure forms in your belly, slowly growing tighter with every flick of his wrist. 

He finally rocks his hips and the air punches from your lungs. He sets a constant motion, sawing his length in and out. In and out. From his bulbous tip to the soaked base of his shaft, he takes. He defiles.  

Joel tugs your body close, wrapping his left arm around your font and splaying between your breasts effectively caging you against his broad form. “You feel so fuckin’ good, sweet girl.”

He grinds his cock deep after a weighty thrust, pushing his hips against the cushion of your ass. “Gonna fill you up.” he grunts, snapping his hips and pressing into the deepest part of you. “Make ya all round. Leave ya a drippin’ mess.” 

Joel’s hips snap hard. It forces the air from your lungs and shakes your bones. If it weren’t for his hold you would’ve rolled to the other side of the bed. 

A pathetic mewl tumbles from your lips, anxiety boiling over. “Joel, no!” you cry, praying he pulls out before it’s too late. 

Without thinking, you toss your head back and catch the top of his brow, bruising his eye socket with a curt blow.

The room goes eerily still. The man behind you is deathly silent as your heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free from your chest.

A heavy hand circles your neck and tugs you backward. Your neck is instantly constricted, barely allowing any air to pass by under his palm. He pins your head against his shoulder forming his large, powerful frame against your shivering one. “Wrong fuckin’ move.”

Ice runs up your spine, chilling your insides to the bone as his fingers press on your veins, seeking out the one that makes you comply every time you try to revolt.

"Just for that, I'm gonna keep fuckin' ya after I fill you up." he sneers. "Make sure it sticks."

Blood pounds under your skin as the room spins. Your sight glazes over while he shoves his cock past your walls as they involuntarily clench around his girth from the rough treatment. 

His cock swells, bigger and bigger with every drive. “Shit.” he hisses, clutching your throat just a bit tighter as his hips stutter. A black mist slowly begins to crowd your sight, your eyes roll backward, mind and body go numb.

In a flash, he loosens his grip on your neck and pulls from your warmth, circling his shiny, soaked cock with a tight grip. He pumps his length, chasing his high before coming with a raspy moan and spilling hot ropes along the curve of your ass.

A heavy blanket of silence falls over the room while Joel catches his breath. He feels the rage melting away as his heart slowly beats to its usual rhythm. That all-consuming need has been stamped out. For now. 

In a moment, he’ll scoop you into his arms and leave a soft kiss on the crown of your head. He’ll hum words of love while you relax against his chest and eventually fall back to sleep. 

You close your eyes and wait like you always do.

running away now. 😅 feel free to scream at me -> 💌

follow @ozzieslibrary for fic notifs!

[dancingtotuyo]

Summer of '03

Joel Miller x Female Reader | A Woman Story

Rating: Pg- 13

Summary: The first time Joel sees you as the woman you've become.

Tags/Warnings: age gap (13ish years), baby sitter, consumption of alcohol, summer.

Notes: I'm calling this a bridge. A scene that happens in all the timelines and universes of my dear Woman Reader and Joel. Consider this the point of divergence. I wonder what happened with these two if the outbreak never happened? I suppose only time will tell... 😉

shoutout to @murder-wife and @guiltyasdave for beta reading! I love you both!

Words: 1412

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

Joel isn’t sure why he came. The Randolf’s summer pool party is a block tradition, but Sarah is at camp this year. Meaning, he had every excuse in the book to get out of it but here he is, standing against the fence, beer in his hand, watching as the kids jump in and out endlessly as burgers and hot dogs sizzle on the grill and folks lay out in the sun. 

It’s not that he dislikes these events. Maybe he finds them to draw on a little too long until people get just a little too sloppy drunk, but Joel has mastered the art of excusing himself early. He’s only a two minute walk down the street anyway. It’s just that there are usually other ways he would rather spend his Saturdays. He has a couple neglected projects calling his name in the garage, yet he still finds himself here. For tradition's sake, maybe? It doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things he supposes.

Joel shoves his free hand in the pockets of his jeans, taking another sip of his beer. It’s hot outside as condensation drips from the bottle. He finishes it off, the label peeling off the bottle. His eyes scan back over the crowd. Most of the neighborhood is here and if they’re not, Joel expects to find them filing in soon. 

He’s doing a second scan over the crowd when he makes eye contact with you across the pool. You’re sitting with a group of friends perched on a couple of lounge chairs with wine coolers in hand. Joel tries to think back to the last time he saw you. It must’ve been last summer before you headed out for your Senior year of college, the last time Tommy got himself into a bind and needed bailing out. 

You wave to him, offering up a smile and he returns the gesture with a tip of his bottle before you’re pulled back into conversation with your friends. Joel can’t help but notice a slight change in you over the past couple of years. He supposes it’s the growth from teen to adult. You graduated this past spring. He remembers Sarah talking about it, how excited she was for you when you landed the ER job. 

Someone calls Joel’s name, pulling his attention away from you. 

You’re only pretending to listen as your friend Mandy rattles on about her recent hook up. Usually, you’d be interested in the details she’s providing, but Joel Miller has you distracted. You had hoped you would be past the silly crush at this point in your life, but your eyes track him relentlessly. Watching as he makes idle conversation with some of the dad’s on the block. You wonder how he’s wearing jeans in this heat. You don’t mind. They make his ass look good. 

You’re an adult with a job now continuing to harbor feelings from highschool seems silly, but there’s that little voice in your head now, the one that says you’re old enough now.. You’re an adult now. You’ve entered the workforce. You try to block out that voice. Joel Miller is not what you need, but you still want him. 

“Hey!” Mandy snaps her fingers in front of your face, pulling you back to the group. 

“Sorry, what did I miss?” You adjust your sunglasses, taking a sip of your drink as you make a concentrated effort to stay present with your friends. 

“Are you still hung up on the DILF?” Maryanne teases. 

“DILF? Where?” Whitney pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head, looking over the flock of people. 

Embarrassment heats your cheeks as Mandy points him out. Whitney is less and subtle. “You grew up with THAT across the street?” 

“Will you be quiet? Someone is gonna hear you.” You swat at your friends. 

“I’m just saying, I understand the crush now.”

“I don’t have a crush on him anymore.” You lie through your teeth and you’re bad at it. 

Mandy rolls her eyes. “Yeah right.”

“He is very handsome,” Maryanne adds.

You finish off your drink. “Can we stop ogling him now? He’s gonna catch y’all.”

“Really? You’ve been doing it for years, we can’t for five minutes?” Mandy winks. 

“From the woman who told me she didn’t see it.”

“Hey! I’m older and wiser now,” Mandy says. 

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your eyes from wandering to the man of the hour. You really need to get over this crush. “I’m going to cool off.” You finish off your wine cooler, dropping your cover up before jumping into the pool before your friends can reply. 

Joel lost count of his drinks around number three or four. He’s pacing himself, but between the heat and the ease in which his drinks are going down, he’s feeling the easy buzz of the beer. He’s stayed longer than he ever intended to, but he’s okay with that. 

Joel wanders inside to use the bathroom. The AC feels nice on his sweat sheened skin. People gather in the kitchen, a couple walk through the house. There’s more people than he knows here. He’ll hand it to the Randolfs. They know how to throw a party.

He’s grateful to find the bathroom unoccupied, locking it behind him. He’s quick about his business, splashing cool water against his face and neck. It clears his mind some. He should head home soon. He’ll be grumpy if he doesn’t take some time to himself. 

He’s barely flipped the lock when the door flies open, you falling in with it. He’s almost hit by the door yet somehow manages to catch you as well. You’re a fit of loose giggles as his arms wrap around your torso, meeting the sun warmed skin exposed by your bikini. 

“Careful there, Sweetheart. You nearly took me out.” Joel can’t help the chuckle in his voice. He’s used to seeing you on the clock when you’re responsible for his child. This is a very different version of you, but he can’t help but find it endearing. 

“Sorry.” You manage to straighten up, but even through the boozy haze, Joel’s touch sears against your skin. Your cheeks warm over and it’s from much more than the sun. 

He smiles at you, helping you right yourself, but his hands stay against your back. Yours settle flat on his solid chest. “You get a little carried away?”

“Don’t tell my parents.” You barely manage to wink, making him laugh even harder. 

“My lips are sealed.” 

“Oh good,” You sigh in relief as if Joel just did you the biggest favor of your life and you’re not of legal drinking age. “You’re a good man, Joel.” You pat his chest. 

“Thank you.”

“Can you leave now?”

“Sure thing.” He smiles at you, ensuring you’re stable on your feet before he slips by you, his searing touch gone. 

The loss of his touch sobers your intoxicated body. You can’t help but watch him go, cotton t shirt stretching temptingly across his shoulders. Chills form on your sides, phantoms of his touch still teasing you. You watch the empty hall in front of you, replaying the moment in your head for longer than you’ll ever admit to anyone. 

Joel lets out a long shaky breath as he walks right out the front door, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. It’s a quick walk home, even with the buzz of the alcohol in his veins. On the walk home, he attempts to clear his mind of what happened, but he can still feel your soft skin under his hands. He can smell the sweet mixture of sunscreen and you like you’re still in his arms. 

When he makes it home, he still hasn’t flushed the sensations of you from his mind. The way you looked in that swimsuit, hugging you perfectly. He knows it’s wrong. It makes him a dirty old man. The more he tries, the more he thinks about it. The more he replays it in his mind. He has no right to think about you like this, to view you as desirable. 

Joel takes another deep breath, resting his head against the front door. You called him a good man, but a good man doesn’t fall into this trap: the babysitter, the girl next door. He repeats that to himself. Girl. You’re a girl, but his brain keeps reminding him that you are a woman now.  

Woman Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

[ineffable-doll]

Tips on writing fanfic summaries

No one has asked for this nor has any reason to listen to me, but I see folks complain about this part of fic writing rather often, soooo here are some tips for writing fic summaries that I’ve learned after writing over 160 of them and reading many thousands of them:

-Keep it as short as you can, as long summaries can be daunting. If your summary is more than a few sentences, consider finding a natural place to break it into sections. If you include a snippet, don’t make it too long of one.

-Use a tone that matches the tone of the writing. This helps people understand what they’re getting into. E.g. if it’s a humorous fic, consider including a joke in the summary.

-Make your premise clear. The main point of the summary is to tell the reader what to expect (which the tags can elaborate on), so if your summary may leave a reader going, “Okay, but what’s it about?” then consider including more information. It’s good to build intrigue, but not to confuse. This is where a beta reader or a little assistance in a fandom Discord server can be useful.

-If the first sentence of your fic is strong/intriguing (your classic “hook,” basically), that often makes for a great summary.

-Don’t disparage yourself in the summary. Unsurprisingly, this makes readers not want to read it. Just don’t disparage yourself in general, in the tags or notes or on tumblr or anywhere, it’s a terrible habit and unkind to yourself and everyone who reads your words. It’s okay if you’re not confident, but bullying yourself isn’t going to help. (For the Good Omens fans: shouting at your plants won’t actually help them grow.)

-Feel free to provide several different versions of a summary in the summary. Such as, if you have a detailed explanation you worry may be overwhelming, you could include something underneath that lists keywords to catch the eye. Example: [long thing about your fantasy au] (A Fantasy AU with dragons, curses, and True Love’s Kiss.) I especially like doing the multi-summary trick with 5+1s.

-Read other people’s summaries and pay attention to what style of summary makes you want to read, and what makes you scroll. If you find a fic writer with summaries that you consistently like, go through their page and “study” what tricks they may be employing. Suspense? Humor? Snappy snippets?

-Bold certain words or lines that you want to have pop out. Like I’ve been doing this whole time! On AO3, this means adding a <b> and a </b> on each end of the desired text (or a <i> and a </i> for italicization).

-There are no rules do what you want forever

These are just my opinions, but I hope someone finds them helpful. Remember that this is fanfic, you’re not selling anything, and you should focus on having fun – but these tips can help you find your readers with more accuracy, and your readers to find you.

Feel free to add your own tips. <3

[cinewhore]

The Duchess of London

Pairing: Thomas “Tommy” Shelby x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angst, mentions of drinking, drugs, blood, gore, sexual assault (not detailed), fighting, guns, smut (penetration, creampie, wrap it up lads!), fluff. 

A/N: The PB bug bit me and it bit me hard! Had to get this out. Takes place in season 2. Reminder that this is a bit dark given the contents of the show so if something rubs you the wrong way, don’t read it! You also don’t need to provide an explanation as to why you won’t read it, just keep scrolling. No beta cause I said so. Enjoy! Credits to the gif artist. 

Birmingham smelled like shit.

London smelled worse.

You thank your bodyguard as he helps you out of the car, careful not to drag your dress along the mud, it was brand new and you didn’t have the best relationship with the new seamstress that replaced your old one.

It was a strange thing, being back home. Your old stomping grounds. You remember the days fondly, racing up and down the roads, dashing through the traffic of folks who populated the area. You always found yourself somewhere you shouldn’t be, getting scolded by your aunt when you arrived home well past dark. There’s a slight twinge in your chest as you reminisce, desperately wishing you could go back.

Luckily, your old house wasn’t far from your lodgings, Rich spooked by the rumors of how lawless this part of town was. You couldn’t blame him, Birmingham had long been abandoned by any sense of law and order. The police only came when it benefited them, so the local organized crime had taken over.

“Rich, I’ll only be a few minutes. Keep the car running.” you instruct. The burly man nods in respect.

“Yes ma’am.” He tips his hat at you, heading back to the car.

It was a choice, coming back here. There were nothing but terrible memories you worked too hard to forget but you felt like you owed it to yourself and your aunt to come back. The house was exactly how you remembered it, sparse furnishings but warm with spirit.

Now it was half empty and lonely.

You were fast in your approach to gather anything you deemed important, the house was likely going to be cleaned and left up for rent. Photographs, scraps of clothing, broken china were all stuffed into a bag you brought with you. These were the broken fragments of your old life you weren’t ready to part ways with just yet.

After muttering a quick prayer for your aunt and hoping that the devil caught your uncle, you say goodbye to the Brimingham girl you used to be.

You needed a fucking drink.

You swagger into the Garrison, amused at the drunken men shouting across each other. You’re well aware of the stares you were receiving, knowing that a woman of your stature and style could only mean two things: you were a well off prostitute or the lavish wife of a man no one wanted to fuck with.

You took pride in being neither.

A man with a kind face smiles at you from behind the bar, throwing a white towel across his shoulder.

“What can I get you, love?”

“Whiskey. Neat.”

“What kind?”

You pretend to think about it. “Surprise me.”

The kind man chuckles to himself before hustling to get your drink. You dig around in your purse, pulling out a few bills that were much more than your drink likely cost. A hand covers your own as you slide the bills across the bar and you gaze up into a familiar face.

“I heard whispers about a very rich looking person coming into town, you wouldn’t have happened to see anything, have you?”

You couldn’t forget those piercing blue eyes even if you tried.

Suppressing a smile, you take the glass set in front of you and drain it quickly before gesturing for a refill. Tommy waves his hand at the barkeep.

“Get a bottle and bring it in the room.” he instructs, ushering you into the private area where he conducts business.

You follow behind him, silently thanking him as he pulls out a seat for you.

The two of you don’t say a word as he pours you another drink, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“Thomas fucking Shelby.” you finally murmur, overcome with nostalgia. “How long has it been?”

Tommy gives a half shrug. “More than ten years, I’d say.”

“This yours?” you finally take a second to gaze about, impressed with the architecture. It felt like too beautiful of a place to be in Birmingham.

“More or less. It was a gift to Arthur.”

You grin. “A gift you didn’t buy.”

“A gift, nonetheless.” he takes a long drag of the cigarette, cautious as he blows the smoke out of his nose and in a direction that wasn’t facing you. “Heard about your uncle.”

You nod, posture stiffening. “May his soul rot.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows and his glass, downing his drink. “Cheers.”

“So,” you lean back in your seat. “What has Thomas Shelby been up to all these years?”

Tommy mimics your actions, scratching at his face. “Making business happen. Staying out of trouble.”

“You’re trying to be legal?” your curiosity piqued.

“Something like that.” He holds his arms out wide. “We’re expanding.”

“Into London. Fucking with the status quo there, I heard.”

Something in Tommy’s face hardens and he regards you with contempt. “Is that so?”

“It’s kind of my business to know. You are stepping into my turf. I don’t give a shit either way, this feud you have with the Italians is kind of good for business.”

“How?”

You take out a cigarette of your own, a long black cigarette holder accompanying it. Thomas doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he strikes a match, watching your mouth closely as you take a few drags. “People are far too concerned if there’s war coming to worry about women and their petty activities. Makes it easier to get into their pockets.”

“Did someone send you here?” He asks slowly, a tiny gun appearing on the table.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “No. As I have mentioned, I’m not interested in whatever dick measuring contest you have going on with Sabini. I’m just a girl who came to dance on her dead uncle’s grave.”

Tommy can tell that you’re being honest. It was refreshing but strange, he wasn’t one to openly trust people. You were the one person who didn’t care about what he was doing in a sea of people who questioned his every move.

“Dick measuring contest, eh?”

You had been fucked well before, sometimes from other women but nothing compared to how well Thomas Shelby was fucking you now.

His home was modest, clean cut and devoid of character. You were currently bent over on his bed being hastily taken from behind. It was as if he had just returned home from the war, eager and hungry for a woman’s touch. He couldn’t get enough.

Tommy staggers backwards, tapping your ass to get your attention.

“Fucking come here.” he rasps out and you giggle as he moves papers off a desk in the corner, hauling you on top of it. You spread your legs so he could slot himself in between them, entering you again with no hesitation.

“Don’t step on my dress.” you moan out, crossing your legs along his back.

“That, shit, all you care about now?” Tommy hisses, placing a hand on your hip to keep you still.

You nod furiously, leaning your head back against the wall and closing your eyes. You had already come undone twice and felt the third emerging soon.

“Fuck,” Tommy pants, taking his other hand and wrapping it around your throat. You loved the feeling of being choked and worked hard to memorize the touch of his fingers squeezing your skin. “I’ll buy you another dress. I’ll buy the fucking dress factory. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, fuck yes, Tommy.” You tighten around his cock as you come again, causing him to groan and weaken his stamina. “I want you to give me everything I ask for.”

“What do you want, hm?” He questions, making sure to maintain eye contact with you. It was difficult to keep your eyes open but you’d be damned if you didn’t try.

“I want your cum, all of it. I want you to empty your balls,” you reach a hand down for added effect. “Into my cunt.”

And just like that, Tommy thrusts into you forcefully twice more before coming to completion. You both groan at the sensation, the trickling of his seed oozing out of you and down your thigh. He rests his head against your shoulder, breathing heavily. You allow your legs to go slack, wincing at how stiff they had gotten.

After a moment of rest, Tommy helps you into bed where the two of you take the time to decompress.

“You’re marked.” Thomas comments, trailing a finger down the scar on the back of your left shoulder. It was in the shape of the number four, a reminder of what - who - you belonged to.

Joining the Forty Elephants was an honest mistake. When you arrived and couldn’t secure a place on your own, you resorted to petty theft just like any other low class person in your position. It had been the wrong place at the wrong time. You slipped inside of a clothing store, hoping to pick up a few nice shirts so you could find a steady job that wasn’t walking the streets at night. Turns out the Forty Elephants were at the height of a heist and you barged right into the middle of it.

You were caught and arrested with three other women. You begged and pleaded with the police, urging them to believe you when you said you were acting out on your own. You were all jailed together and you spent the night getting the living daylights kicked out of you. The next morning, the four of you were released and you were handed off to the leader of the up and coming gang.

“Some fucking runt you are.” She spat, sizing you up. You were interrogated relentlessly, the boss lady, Mary, assuming you were sent in by a rival gang to screw them up on purpose. When you justified your case, she nodded. You were brought in, taken care of and most importantly, you were protected.

You made nice with the other girls and became a skilled pickpocket, lock picker and seductress. The nickname “duchess” came after you managed to lift a hefty sum, including a car, from a duke. It was then you elevated your style and sense of purpose. You began to educate yourself, investing in legal companies and stockpiling your wealth for a rainy day.

You knew that life with the Elephants wouldn’t last forever and you needed a way out when the time came.

“It was my initiation.” You tell Tommy, breath catching slightly as his touch made you shiver.

He hums, pressing a small kiss to it. “I saw you that night.”

You frown, flipping over on your side to face him. He invites you to lay closer and you gingerly accept his invitation, perching yourself on his chest. “What do you mean?”

Tommy takes another puff from his cigarette before answering. “When you left Birmingham. It was at night. I was taking a walk with my brothers, and saw you scrambling to get out of the house. You ran like a bat out of hell. Never looked back once.”

“Oh.” You look down at your fingers, absentmindedly stroking the tattoo on his chest. You take a second to formulate a response, unsure of how to answer after years of not speaking about it. Tommy doesn’t push, waiting patiently for an answer that may never come.

After a moment of silence, you give him one. “He said I reminded him of her. Before she died, he was cold and distant. Afterwards, it was as if I had taken her place. It wasn’t the first time it happened. I remember crying a lot after. But that night, for whatever reason, I was determined to make it the last.”

You swallow thickly, brows furrowed as you replay the scene in your head. “I waited on him. Nearly fell asleep but like clockwork, he came creeping in the wee hours of the morning. I managed to stab him five times before I got away.”

Maneuvering yourself out of Tommy’s arms, you straddle him instead, pinpointing all the places you cut your uncle.

“Twice here.” You tap at his right peck with your finger. “Once in the stomach, once in the arm and once on his shoulder. He was a big guy and it was as if it didn’t faze him. Killing him didn’t matter at that point, I just wanted to be gone. So, I ran. Everyday for years, I kept looking over my shoulder, sure that he was going to show up and try to take me home. I hated myself. He got to live out his life and I suffered because of him.”

The tears surprised you as they dripped down your cheeks, hot and constant. Tommy is bemused as he wipes them away, his face never changing. You always pondered on who Tommy really was and what went on underneath the mask he was wearing. Then again, perhaps there was no mask to begin with.

“It’s stupid, I know.” you continue, hurriedly swiping at your eyes.

“It’s not. You did what you needed to do, what you thought was right. No one can ever blame you for that.”

“Funny, coming from a Peaky Blinder.” you chide with a small grin.

“Even funnier, coming from an Elephant.” he retorts without wasting a breath.

You sigh, placing your hands against his broad chest. “Cut from the same cloth, are we?”

Tommy nods, setting the now stub of a cigarette out in the ashtray placed on the nightstand. He turns his attention back to you, mind racing as he studies your features. How he let you slip away, how he went years without seeking you out plagued him from time to time. You were elusive, a mirage of a seemingly perfect woman he shouldn't taint with his touch. You’ve grown into your features, personality blossoming. You weren’t subservient like many of the other women he had encountered, all who would bat their eyelashes at him in hopes that they would get picked to be with a real gangster.

“Stay. I have an opening in my office, we could use the help. You’d straighten out Arthur, no doubt.”

You scoff, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to be a guard dog or a bloody receptionist, Tommy. Besides, I’m expected back in London tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Family business.”

Tommy lights another cigarette at that.

“You could come with me. I wouldn’t force you to stay but maybe just to take your mind off of things?”

“Can’t. Family business.”

You laugh quietly, shrugging your shoulders. “What we wouldn’t do for those we love.”

The walk home from Tommy’s is uneventful, both basking in each other’s silence. It was comfortable and intimate, the only thing interrupting it was the sound of children out playing far too late and drunken men hurling commentary out at anyone that walked by them.

The folks of Brimingham were familiar with the Shelby’s but they aren't familiar with you which is how you became a prime target for unwanted advances. The man had to have been well beyond plastered, for any woman seen with Tommy was assumed to be his.

You couldn’t even understand half of what the agitated bloke was saying, just that he was making weird gestures with hands, pretending to jerk himself off. Others had attempted to warn him and even Tommy moved in for the kill but you stopped him.

“No, no. I want to hear what this lad has to say. What’s this then? You wanna have a go with me? Is this how you approach all the women you like?”

You feign boredom, sticking both hands in the pockets of your coat. You rummage around in your right pocket, discreetly slipping your fingers into the holes of a brass knuckle.

“Yeah, it is. Now, when you’re done with this half starved looking bastard, how about you come home with a real man who can fuck you until-”

Your movements were swift and graceful, as if you had done this a hundred times before. The knuckles smash into the poor man’s face, instantly cracking and breaking his nose. Tumbling onto the ground, you crouch over the drunkard and wail on him until splatters of blood dot your face like a painting.

Tommy watches as you all but kill this man with your bare hands and does absolutely nothing. His overwhelming glare warned the others to back off while you continued, the bystanders knowing what their fate could look like should they interfere.

Panting, you back off the guy, using your free hand to wipe at your face. You spit, step across the moaning body and proceed towards your lodgings as if nothing occurred. Tommy falls in step with you, offering a handkerchief which you accept. While the Forty Elephants appeared to be harmless with crimes of shoplifting and bribery, you had a more rampageous approach to it all. The streets of London had toughened you, like it or not.

At the end of the day, you needed to make sure that you could take care of yourself and if it meant taking another person’s life, so be it.

Tommy had never wanted you more. But nothing good could come out of the two of you being together, you both knew that. It would be similar to chaining two wild dogs together and expecting them not to bite each other's necks off when there’s only enough food for one.

You had the Elephants and London. He had Brimingham and the Blinders. Somewhere, you would meet in the middle but there wasn’t room for overlap. Tommy was sure that being wed to an Elephant meant more turf and control but he wouldn’t dare do that to you. He couldn’t do it to himself. He would come to you whenever he wanted and you’d do the same to him.

Rich straightens up upon seeing your silhouette, clasping his hands together in front of him obediently. He takes one look at your face and reaches inside his coat to grab his gun when you raise a hand out.

“S’alright. Just had a little accident. You know Tommy.”

Rich gives Tommy a once over before relaxing.

“Shall I see you inside, then?”

You gesture at Rich to go on ahead of you, planting yourself firmly in front of Thomas. “No, I think it’s better if we say our goodbyes out here.”

Tommy smiles briefly, lighting yet another cigarette. “You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust that I’ll make it back to London tomorrow if you do come up.”

He takes a small step towards you, jawline rigid as he exhales through his nose. “I could leave early, before you wake up.”

“I wouldn’t allow you to.” Plucking the flaming stick out his mouth, you press a wistful kiss to his lips, melting into his embrace as he deepens it.

Hesitant to pull away, you ease back reluctantly. Your hands smooth his across his coat, reaching upwards to tug at his beloved hat.

“When you’re in London, I expect a call.”

Thomas rests his forehead against yours, licking at his dried lips. “I’ll always make sure to pay the Duchess a visit.”

You peck his lips one last time before returning the cigarette. Tommy watches as you disappear inside the hotel, satisfied knowing that you were safe and back in your room. Doubling back to the Garrison, now in full swing for the night, he gets welcomed with a drink from John and a pat on the back from Arthur.

“Tell me brother, what’s it like to be with royalty, eh? Is her pussy made out of gold?” Arthur cracks himself up, thoroughly entertained by his own quip.

“Fuck off, Arthur.” Tommy says dryly, taking a swig of whiskey.

“Did you tell her?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow at John. “Tell her what?”

“About her fuckin’ uncle?”

Tommy doesn’t answer and the two brothers give each other a glance.

“Bloody hell, Tommy-” Arthur starts. Tommy raises a hand and waves him off.

“Of course I didn’t fucking tell her. All that matters is that he’s in the ground, eh? Now get me another bottle and stop whining in my fucking ear.”

Arthur is slow as he departs from his sibling, a lopsided smirk plaguing his face.

Tommy thinks to himself that maybe he should’ve mentioned how your uncle actually died. You were told that he had a nasty fall after a night out of heavy drinking. In reality, it was the Peaky Blinders doing. Not only was your uncle a piece of shit, he also had a gambling problem. He got mixed in with the wrong folks and unknowingly stole money from the Blinders to help pay off a gambling debt. He was sloppy in execution which caught the attention of Tommy.

Upon finding out who actually took his money, Tommy made it a personal mission to seek him out. The man, Ronald, folded like a chair when Tommy and the boys appeared on his doorstep. He cried and begged for mercy, which they showed him none. Especially not after he confessed what he had done to you.

Ronald knew you made it to London and had fallen into some money, so whenever he got into debt he just told people that you were wealthy and would deliver money for his payments. Even after you cut ties with him and tried to kill him, he proceeded to use you.

Tommy wouldn’t have it.

“Oi! Tommy!” Arthur returns with the bottle in hand. “You got any spare cash on ya? I wanna set up a quick date with Beatrice.”

Tommy looks at his brother with slight disdain and rolls his eyes. “I’m not your accountant.”

“Yeah, yeah. I left my wad back at the office. Just cough it up, would ya?”

“If it means I won’t have to look at your face anymore, fine.”

Tommy reaches inside his pants pocket where he normally keeps an emergency stack and finds it empty. Scowling, Tommy pats himself down extensively before the light bulb goes off.

He laughs.

Not a cheeky snicker or a lame jest. Thomas Shelby actually laughs.

Confused but willing to follow his brother anywhere, Arthur begins to laugh as well until they’re both hanging onto each other, gasping for air.

At the hotel, you answer the door to your room, thanking the bellboy for bringing up your dinner. Tucking a hand in your bra, a wad of cash spills out. You grab a handful of it and place it into the hand of the blushing young man. He stammers out a thank you, hightailing it back to the lobby.

You get comfortable in bed, eager to dive into the captivating spread laid out in front of you. Closing your eyes, you fold your hands in front of you in mock prayer.

“Thank you dear lord for this appetizing food and for the Peaky fucking Blinders. Amen.”

[hayatheauthor]

Update Regarding My Sudden Hiatus + Author/Publishing News

Guess who's back from the dead!

Jokes aside, I truly do feel terrible for going on hiatus without saying anything, and then I come back and see that I've hit 2k (which btw is absolutely amazing and left me shell-shocked) and that just made me feel worse for leaving unannounced. So, here's everything that's been going on:

(click read more if you want to learn about my experience at my first writer's workshop & pitching to an agent ++ publishing updates for The Traitor's Throne)

If you DON'T want to read more: long story short I'm back and will revamp this blog Monday onwards.

Would you look at that I'm finally getting the hang of Tumblr etiquette!

Anyways, I know if I took the liberty of casually explaining everything we would just be here all day and I would ramble endlessly SO, I'm going to summarise everything into a list:

One of the biggest reasons for my departure was because *insert drum roll* I graduated! That's right, your girl is officially a diploma holder and ready to conquer college! Although I've seen the 'finals week or my final week' meme enough times to start questioning what I signed up for.

My writing life has been a little...disappointing. There's no other way to break it to you folks, but when I started this blog, I was knee-deep in the query trenches, and now, I'm still there. Does that suck? Yes. Am I going to give up? Absolutely not! BUT I do have some changes planned:

I've officially decided if this final shot at traditional publishing doesn't do well, I'm going to give in and self-publish The Traitor's Throne in May-June 2024. Which means you might potentially be able to purchase my baby pretty soon!

BUT I decided to give querying one last shot and actually joined a writer's workshop (which is going on as we speak btw). I joined the online Boston Writing Workshop, I'll drop a review on that on Sunday, but so far I've actually learned A LOT from it, and have decided to give querying another go while implementing what I've learned. Dw I'll also be putting out a review about the workshop on Sunday.

So, here's a summary: I've created a self-publishing deadline for my current project while also giving traditional publishing a final shot. I also joined my first ever writer's workshop this weekend and will be pitching to agents for the first time.

Overall, I think my lack of success in the querying scene kind of made me feel like a fraud when giving writing advice. I'm the type of author who does A LOT of research when I write, which is why I have so many tips on so many topics, but that doesn't make me an expert.

This workshop especially made me realise I've been making some rookie mistakes and focused so much on my story that I forgot the query and synopsis are just as important. Maybe this realisation came too late and I've lost my chance of traditionally publishing The Traitor's Throne, but I am grateful for everything it's taught me.

ANYWAYS—see what I meant by we'd be here the whole day if I didn't use a list??

Let's get back to the important stuff; yes, I will start putting out blogs again, and answering my asks. I'm also thinking of launching a beta reader project where I'll beta read some of your works for free! Stay tuned to see that announcement since it'll come soon.

Thank you so much for supporting this silly little blog of mine, and I hope you have a good weekend! As always, I'll see you on Monday! 💕✨

[the-starryknight]

Hey, I recently got back into writing drarry. I never really found a community on here (or anywhere 😅) to share that writing with, get encouragement, maybe a beta or some help with difficult scenes - anything. Do you have any advice?

I have a very stressful work schedule, so being online/replying everyday is hard for me. Maybe that is necessary to find people?

Hi my friend! Thank you for reaching out! I'd apologize for my slowness in responding, but maybe that's a perfect answer to your question. The short answer is: you're welcome here, with whatever time you have to share. We all have robost lives offline, and some spend more and less time around online than others. You're welcome here, even when you can't be online every day or be as responsive as some other folks might be.

In terms of practical advice, here are a few thoughts:

join the large 18+ Drarry discord (invite here). You can find beta readers and cheerleaders there (that's where I found my first when I didn't know anyone). I also like "sprinting" (writing in short, timed bursts, while other people write their own projects) as a way to build a little bit of community. EDIT: new link here

Post on tumblr when you can -- you could put out a call for betas here too. I'd also just suggest interacting when you can, reblogging other people, asking when ask games come up, joining in for open tag games, whenever you see them. Of course, when you're on less frequently some of these will pass you by, and that's okay -- just do them when you can and when they feel like fun.

Don't be afraid to jump into someone's messages or askbox to say hello. Mine is always open, as long as you're okay with a snail's pace of responses. I know that can be intimidating, but people around here are generally very kind and welcoming, and willing to say hello to new people.

Comment on fics and art, if/when you have the spoons. It's a great way to become more visible with active authors -- you could also ask authors or artists or reccers about their published projects to start up a conversation.

Share your writing and your interests! Whether in snippets, or in little anecdotes, or by reblogging things that feel connected to it and saying so in the tags or comments. It's much easier for other folks to engage with *you* if they have something they can ask about!

A couple other little tips I have found useful as I've grown less active in the past months: don't feel like you need to apologize for inactivity -- we all have lives, use the queue function on tumblr to space out your posts during times when you're not as active, ask folks what they're working on & they'll often turn it back to you, at times when you have more time to spare, offer help to others and they'll often offer it back... and so on!

anyway, this is long and rambly, and I'm sure my followers have other ideas to share. please feel free to hop into my DMs to say hello too! welcome back <3

[mundanemoongirl]

Productivity Tag

Thanks for tagging me @illarian-rambling! I’ll gently tag @spideronthesun @elsie-writes and whoever else is feeling productive!

Goals:

My long term goals are to publish traditionally and finish my series. My short term goals are to finish my second draft in a few months and maybe get beta readers by the end of the year.

Productivity Tip:

Don’t focus on reaching high word goals for each day because it’ll just make you feel bad when you don’t achieve them. Instead, write a little every day. Some days I’m only capable of writing two sentences, but that’s progress so it makes me proud.

Current project:

I’m working on my debut novel, Spiritwalker. It’s got witches and murder and all that good stuff. Technically I’m also working on a mystery called We Faceless Folk but I haven’t touched it in months.

Exchange Something:

I found this pdf of Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. She has a lot of good writing tips and is really funny. Give it a read!

Quote:

“No bc why are all the humanities femmes so hot like come sit on my lap and read me poetry while I burry hands through your hair or whatever”

-A fine ass bitch

(I found that quote written on a chalkboard inside a girl’s bathroom stall at my college. I’ve been waiting to share it.)

[skvatnavle]

A Friendly Push

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x reader

Warnings: some god ol' pining (so much pining!), kissing, SMUT! Handjob, fingering, protected sex (be smart and wrap it folks!) and fluff... lots and lots of fluff.

Notes: This might be one of the most self indulgent fics I've ever written, so bear with me. And I know I should focus on my WIPs, but ever since I saw Top Gun Maverick, this cutie has been all I could think about. But it's the first thing I've written in two weeks, so it was nice to feel inspired again 💜

A trifolded shout out to @a-reader-and-a-writer for 1) convincing me to write this, 2) beta reading and 3) for letting me use her awesome dividers. You are truly a gem! ❤️

words: 3.5K

Part two

When you started working at The Hard Deck, Penny had told you… well, rather warned you about the clientele. Being that close to the airbase, most of the guests were pilots blowing off some steam during the weekends. 

Penny hadn’t exactly made a rule against dating the guests, but had told you to be cautious. She had been burned before, more than once, and didn’t want you to share the same fate. And you hadn’t really wanted to date any of them anyways. But that all changed the day the newest team walked through the doors. 

One of them instantly catches your eye. Well, several of them did, cause you had to admit a few of them were drop dead gorgeous. But there is one guy, seemingly quieter than the rest. He immediately stands out although he walks silently behind the others. 

As most of them banter around the pool table, having a regular pissing contest, he sits down on a stool with a cup of snacks, softly pushing his glasses up his nose, observing the others quietly. Every time he does that, he wrinkles his nose slightly in the most adorable way. 

And when the others address him and he finally speaks, his voice is sweet with a southern accent. Bob. So that was his name. Well, callsign at least. You can’t help but smile as he brushes the crumbs of his uniform a little awkwardly.

Later that night he comes up to the bar and when his sweet, blue eyes fall on you, a blush slowly creeps up your cheeks. He was even cuter up close. This was going to be a problem for sure.

“Ehm, hi. Could I get a beer, please?” he asks softly as he shyly pushes his glasses back in place. The soft smile he offers you just adds to his appeal. With no sleazy pick up line or wiggling eyebrows, this was definitely a first. Not that you would have minded if he flirted a little. 

When you hand him the beer, he politely says thank you and gestures to go, but feeling brave, you gently shout after him.

“Are you new here? Haven’t seen you before.”

As he turns to you, a surprised expression adorns his face. Almost as if he can’t believe you were talking to him. Honestly, could this man get any cuter? He walks back to the bar, his cheeks already a bright red as he barely looks you in the eye, but still smiling.

“Yeah, ehm. I’m part of a special mission, but I-I don’t really know if I can tell you anything.”

“I get that a lot here, actually. But you can tell me your name, right?”

The corners of his mouth slowly turn into a sweet smile, his eyes finding yours. As if by habit, maybe a nervous one, he pushes at his glasses again.

“Robert Floyd. But they just call me Bob. Y-you can too.”

Repeating his name back to him, you give him another bright smile. The flush of his cheeks have spread to the tip of his ears and a little down his neck. Definitely not like the others. You give him your name, which he in return repeats with a smile. You notice there’s still some crumbs on his uniform, so you lean over the bar and brush them off.

“You had a few crumbs.”

Stunned, he just looks at you and he is about to say something before one of the others at the table calls for him. He gives you a soft ‘sorry’ before he joins the others again. 

The rest of that night, you sometimes catch him looking at you. Each time he quickly looks away, trying to look indifferent. But if you keep looking long enough, sure as amen in church, he looks at you again, an awkward smile on his cute face and your heart would flutter each time. Yeah, you were definitely in trouble.

Another good thing about working on The Hard Deck besides the clientele, was the beach right outside the doors. What made that even better was one day when the infamous Maverick decided to do some team building. And that’s how you found yourself sitting outside the bar, looking towards the water.

And oh, what an amazing team building it was. Beach football on a hot day was equal to you gawking at the pilots as they were running around, the sweat pouring down their exposed, chiselled pecks. Except for Bob. Much to your dismay, he kept his shirt on, but it kinda just made you like him even more. 

Maverick had asked for some refreshments, and you were happy to oblige, giving the thirsty pilots their drinks after their game ended. Luckily, the game seemed to have worked. They were all happy and seemed like a tighter knit unit now. As they down a few beers, they all seem much friendlier, like a family.

Looking to the side, you find Bob sitting with a beer in hand, looking at the sunset with a content smile on his face. You sit down next to him, getting a shy smile in return when he sees you.

“You all looked pretty good out there.”

"Some more than others." He counters softly, obviously talking about the two taller men of the group. Rooster and Hangman, you believed they were called. And sure, they were very easy on the eyes, but you only had eyes for Bob.

“I guess it depends on who's watching." You try softly, but he just fiddles with the label of his beer, clearly not taking the hint. So you had to be more obvious, then.

"It sucks a little I didn’t get to see you without your shirt.”

Bob almost chokes on his beer, as he turns to you in disbelief. It’s a bold move on your part, but you hope it pays off. As he searches your face for any indications you’re messing with him, you just keep smiling genuinely. If only he knew how much you meant it and how badly you actually wanted to see him with less clothes on.

“M-maybe next time, I… I’ll take it off just for you.” he manages to nervously stutter as his smile grows bigger than before. Dammit, if it doesn’t make the heat go straight to your core. Every fibre of your body is screaming for him, never before felt this kind of attraction to anyone. 

“I’ll look forward to that.”

You lean a little against him. Whether it’s to emphasise your statement or simply because you need to get closer to him, you don’t know. Maybe both. The sweetness and innocence of him draws you in like a moth to a flame. Biting your bottom lip, you look to his lips, wondering if they feel as soft as they look.

Glancing up, you find Bob looking into your eyes, his beautiful blue ones searching yours. Nervously, he leans in closer, his eyes darting from your lips to your eyes. His tongue wets his lips, images of what that tongue could do to you flashes through your mind. Boy, did you want him. So bad.

You close the distance, your lips almost touching. His breath is hot on your skin, coming out in small quick huffs. He’s clearly nervous, but so are you. 

The shout of your name makes you pull away, looking towards the bar. Penny is waving at you, the rush hour beginning. Dammit. Seconds away from finally kissing Bob and she has to ruin it. You turn to him and even though you’re mad at Penny for ruining the moment, the look on Bob’s face makes you smile. His cheeks burning red, his eyes and mouth drooping like a hurt puppy. 

Not exactly enjoying seeing him hurt, it still makes you happy to know he wanted this as badly as you. You at least hope that’s the case and it’s not just because of the beers. But you still opt to giving him a quick kiss on his cheek.

“I’m sorry, I… I have to go back”

“No worries, I-I’ll see you in there.”

He offers you a sweet smile, as you stand. Going back to the bar, you curse Penny for ruining the moment, but hopefully you’d get a chance again. 

He couldn’t even count the times he’d caught himself looking at you. 10? 20? But he just couldn’t help himself, so captivated by your beauty every time he walked into the bar. Your smile would always be the highlight of his evening, your laugh making his heart swell every time.  

If only he weren’t so damned shy, he’d done something a long time ago. Countless times he’d gone over his little speech in his head, practising what he’d say if he ever found the confidence to finally tell you how he felt. He had flown dangerous missions, yet this made him feel more nervous than ever before, way out of his element.  

He wasn’t exactly the most experienced guy, always been kind of a wallflower. And you were the opposite. Outgoing with that constant radiant smile on your perfect lips, able to talk to everyone you meet. Even a little flirtatious, according to Hangman. He kept insisting that you had been flirting with Bob, but he couldn’t really believe that. A girl like you choosing a guy like him, when guys like Hangman and Rooster were around? Not a chance.

But… There had been that day at the beach. You had actually chosen to talk to him, not the others. And there had been an almost kiss. Maybe it was just in the heat of the moment, but ever since then, you were all he could think about. Well, that had actually been the case for several weeks, but after the way you looked at him that day? The setting sun playing on your beautiful face, making you even more gorgeous than any woman he’d ever met before? Boy, had he fallen. Hard. But he had barely seen you since, training so hard every day.

“Okay, that is it! I’ve had it!”

Looking to the side, Bob finds Hangman staring at him, clearly annoyed. All the others are looking too. Oh God, once again he hadn’t been paying attention, mesmerized by you. Fixing his glasses, he tries to look indifferent as he turns to Hangman.

“I’m sorry, I was-”

“Staring at your little crush again? Yeah. So, when are you gonna do something about it?”

All eyes on him, Bob is hit with a sudden wave of insecurity. One thing was talking to you without anyone seeing it, but with all of them knowing? Oh boy, this was embarrassing. Hangman leans in closer, looking him straight in the eye with that smirk of his.

“Look, she is cute. So if you’re not gonna do anything, I’m going in.”

“What? No. You wouldn’t-”

“Oh, I would. You have 10 seconds or I’m going up there. 10… 9… 8…”

Before he can reach 7, Bob stands up from his chair, swallowing hard. Looking over his shoulder, he sees you walking towards the backroom, tray of used glasses in your hands. So this was it. Not how he had planned it, but the thought of Hangman hitting on you was too much to bear. Straightening his shirt a little, he makes his way through the crowd towards the back.

Rooster moves in close to Hangman, grinning as they both look after Bob. He shoots him a glance.

“So… Were you really gonna hit on her?”

“Nah. Our boy just needed a little push.”

They laugh as they turn back to their game of pool. 

After starting the dishwasher, you turn to find Bob standing behind you, fidgeting slightly with the hem of his shirt. He looks nervous, more than usual, as you make your way to him. 

“Bob? Is everything okay?”

Nodding softly, he finally looks up and into your eyes. You can see something is wrong, so you close the distance and put a reassuring hand on his arm. It almost feels like he shivers under your touch. He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but stops. Looking around, he frowns before taking you by the hand, leading you out the backdoor. 

“Ehm, what are we doing out he-”

He steps closer, the intensity of his gaze so foreign it makes you stop dead in your tracks. He looks so nervous, yet still so determined, as he softly takes one of your hands in his, slowly looking into your eyes.

“I, ehm… I didn’t want our first kiss to be in the kitchen.”

He looks down with a shy smile. Finding your eyes again, he pushes his glasses in place as he shakes his head.

“And now I ruined the moment again by sayin-”

Crashing your lips to his, he stops talking. Once he realises what is happening, he kisses you back, his hand slowly cupping the back of your head. Pulling you closer, he deepens the kiss with a soft moan that sends shivers down your spine. Pulling him even closer, your kiss turns almost desperate, pouring the weeks of yearning into it. Too soon he breaks away, panting heavily. But the look on his face is of pure joy as he looks at you.

“So… I don’t know if I can squeeze in a date before we leave, but…” he pauses, looking sad at the prospect of leaving you. “But maybe I can take you out when… if I get back?”

He averts your gaze, looking at his hands. Looking hurt, like he expects to get turned down, it almost breaks your heart. Cupping his cheeks, you make him look at you.

“I would love that, but… I have a better idea.” You say softly, before pulling him into another desperate kiss. “How about I take you home with me when my shift ends?”

His breath hitches for a second, his hands gripping your hips a little in anticipation. Unable to respond, he just nods frantically with a shy smile. You give him another kiss, barely able to pull away from him, wanting nothing more than to stay in his arms.

As he makes his way back to the others, he can’t hide the giant smirk on his face. He kissed you. He actually kissed you. He had imagined how that would be like for weeks, but nothing compared to the real thing. Embarrassed to admit it, he even got a little hard from that kiss. 

Still in disbelief it had actually happened, he sits down at the table and takes a sip of his beer, laughing a little to himself. When he looks up, he finds the others looking at him, all with knowing smiles on their faces.

“So…?”

Bob just smiles softly, taking another sip as Rooster is leaning in over the table, looking at him with a grin. Bob just picks up a cup of snacks and chew on a peanut, before looking up.

“So… what?”

“Ah, come on! You know what we’re talking about. How did it go?”

Hangman sits down beside him, throwing an arm around Bob and shakes him, causing Bob to giggle softly. He pushes his glasses up his nose, trying to act indifferent. Which he knows is hard with the grin that will permanently be edged into his face from now on.

“I, ehm… I never kiss and tell.” He starts off softly, before realising what he just said. As Hangman and Rooster’s curious faces slowly turn excited, Bob covers his face. “Damn, I should not have said that.”

Happy for their friend, Hangman and Rooster shout excitedly as they sit down beside him, ordering another round of beers, wanting to know every detail.

At midnight, you stand outside the bar, tapping your foot impatiently against the wooden deck. But soon the door opens, and Bob comes towards you, still with a big grin on his face. Not sure you can wait much longer, you take his hand and drag him to your car. 

The drive home is long… too damn long. But soon you park outside your building and guide him towards the door. You fidget impatiently with the key and when Bob moves in closer, placing a soft kiss to your neck, you almost drop the key. 

“Kinda making it hard to concentrate here, Floyd” you grin, as you try one more time. He just laughs softly against your skin, the vibrations sending shivers through your body. As soon as the door swings open, you pull him into a needy kiss. As you drag him with you to the bedroom, you almost combust with desire, wanting him so much it hurts. But as you’re about to pull him down onto the bed, he pauses and for a second the shy Bob is back.

“I want you to know, ehm, I’m not just here for sex. I-I really like you.”

“I know” you say softly, kissing him more passionately before. Moving a little slower, you softly pull him with you as you lay down. You unbutton his shirt, and it quickly finds it’s way to your floor. As you take in his great physique, Bob blushes under your gaze. 

“I know I don’t exactly look like Hangm-”

You stop him with a soft kiss as your hand gently caresses his chest. With a body like that, he has no reason to be shy, but you get it. So you just pour every ounce of love you can into the kiss, before looking into his eyes.

“You are gorgeous, Robert.”

Swallowing hard, he looks teary eyed as he dips down and kisses you. Within no time at all, all your clothes are on the floor. His touch is gentle, yet firm, as he explores every inch of you. His fingers gliding over your skin as if storing you to his memory in case this is the only night he gets with you.

Moving down his body, you find his cock already painfully hard. Wrapping your fingers around him, he hisses at the contact, his breathing already strained.

“Please…”

At his soft plea, you start stroking him, pulling small whimpers from him. Bob bucks against your hand as his mouth moves to your breast, kissing and sucking at the tender bud. Letting your nipple go with a soft pop, his mouth finds yours again in a feverish kiss. 

When he moves his hand down to your aching core, he finds you already soaking wet. It doesn’t take long for him to make you fall apart, moaning out his name.

“Can… Can I p-please make love to you?”

“God yes.”

His fingers continue to roam your body as you reach into your drawer for a condom. Ripping the packet open, you quickly put it on, not wanting to go another second without Bob buried in you. He pushes you down gently, kissing you softly as he repositions himself between your legs. Just as the tip of his cock is at your entrance, he looks to you a final time for confirmation. 

And with a nod, he finally pushes into you. Slowly at first, the stretch of him is delicious as he lets you adjust to his size.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“More than okay.”

He starts thrusting into you at a slow and steady pace, but soon he pushes a little faster, but still very soft. It's unlike anything you've tried before. So caring and tender, whispering small praises in your ear, yet fiery hot as each snap of his hips makes him push against that sweet spot inside you.

It's not long before his pace begins to falter, his thrusts becoming uneven. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it gently in rhythm with his thrusts, keen on making you come before he does.

It only takes a few more drags of his cock combined with those magic fingers of his, before you come undone. The feeling of you clenching down on him is too much to bear and Bob follows close behind you, groaning as he thrusts a few more times, riding out his high.

He slumps against you, careful not to put all his weight on you. But you don't mind. You could spend days like this, pinned beneath him. And hopefully you would.

Pulling away, he quickly discards the condom and pulls you closer into his nook. Looking very content, he gives you a sweet kiss to your forehead before his hand finds yours, softly interlacing his fingers with yours.

"I should have said something sooner. What if all I ever get with you is tonight?"

His words hit you like a freight train. You both know there's a possibility he'll be assigned to fly the mission and from what little you've picked up, you knew it would be almost impossible and very dangerous. There really was a chance he'd never come home.

Putting on a brave face, you kiss him gently on the cheek, making him face you. When he does, you plant another kiss on his lips, deepening it a little.

"I know you'll come back. We have a date, remember? So you better show up for it." you whisper against his skin, as you bury your face into his neck. He just smiles softly in return, kissing your forehead as he pulls you into a tight embrace.

"Yes Ma'am. And I'm looking forward to it."

*

Thank you so much for reading <3

Tagging was hard, since I don't know who likes Top Gun Maverick or Bob, so I'm tagging a few of my usual peeps. No hard feelings if this is not you: @fictionalnerdery @lucy-sky @loverhymeswithlibrary @yespolkadotkitty @mindidjarin @chasingdreamer

And then a few people who I noticed loved Top Gun Maverick, I'm giving a soft tag? Please just let me know if you don't want to get tagged: @mmurdock85 @edwardbaldwin @lorecraft @srry-itshockeyszn @jakelcckley

[kenzumekodma]

18+, minors & ageless blogs dni

pairing: izuku midoriya x fem!reader

wc: 4153

warnings: praise kink, pet names (bunny, princess), fae!deku, fantasy au, oral (f recieving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, implied pervy deku, it’s rly soft and that should be a warning in itself, no beta we die like sean bean in fantasy media

a/n: happy birthday to me! this is v v v self indulgent and akdjsbd i am not sorry reader is me w no face. also, surprise, am back posting after like 8 and a half months of not having the mental energy for it ayyyyyy. kinda set it up for a second part but lord only knows if i’ll get back in the headspace to write it. as always, if you like this and want to encourage me to write more, reblogs are the way to go!

find my masterlist here!

I wish… I wish I could be anywhere but here!

Eyes still closed, you take a shallow breath in and let the force of your air blow out your candles. Sure, you’re a little too old, you think, to be making a frivolous wish, one that only a child could believe would come true. And you knew it wouldn’t, despite the faint glimmer of hope nestled deeply inside your chest. Wouldn’t it have been better to spend your birthday wish on something more realistic, like hearing back about the job interview you had, or getting a raise like you’ve deserved for so long? If you were going to believe in magic, in tipping fate’s favour in your direction, it should be about something that’s within your control to help along, right? But fate works in mysterious ways.

You open your eyes, and the tiny bit of hope in your heart turns to coals. Nothing around you has changed. Your friends are still sitting around the table, looking at you expectantly to cut your cake. As you search for the knife, you could swear you see a flash of dark green from the corner of your eye.

“You okay?” your friend asks, and you notice your eyebrows are knit in confusion.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s, uh, just those little spots you get when you close your eyes too hard, yknow?” You make a show of blinking and force a smile to your face.

——

By the time you’re home, showered, in bed, and listening to music, you’d nearly forgotten about your wish entirely. It’s not until another voice chimes in with the song playing from your speaker. A velvety voice sings along to the words the owner seems to know, hums along to the others. You enjoy it for a moment, until you realize you’re in your room, and you live alone.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck? Did someone break in here to sing karaoke? At least they’re not off key… but still what the fuck??? Your thoughts cycle through in half a second, eyes still frozen ahead of you. As you move them to blink, though, you notice the same shade of green as before out of the corner of your eye.

“Did you follow me home?” you ask, dread pooling in the pit of your stomach at the thought that the voice might actually respond. Never once have you wished that you’d had an auditory hallucination more in your life. The green blob encroaching on your peripheral vision jumps.

“I-in a way, I guess?” the voice responds. “You can see me?”

“I’m trying not to, obviously,” you say, still frozen looking at the ceiling. A shiver of discomfort runs up your spine, and you know he’s looking at you. “Who are you and why are you here?” you demand, wavering voice giving you away.

“I, uh, I kind of live here?” his tone is as much of a question as it is an answer. “I’m, um, your guardian faerie. Izuku.” he tacks on his name, an afterthought.

“Bull fucking shit, you can’t live here because I live here. And guardian faerie? Get your folk tales right, it’s a guardian angel. Get, get out of my apartment before I call the cops,” you shout quietly, being careful to not alarm your neighbours. Poor choice, you think, but just in case you can resolve it yourself, or in case what this strange man is saying is true.

You finally bring yourself to look at him, rage evident on your face at having been inadvertently spied on. Gossamer wings peek out from behind his wide shoulders, the same verdant shade as his hair and eyes, you notice. The same green you saw flitting at the corner of your vision when you made your wish.

“I kind of live here because I, I keep an eye on you, so to speak? It’s hard to explain.”

“Turn around,” you request, your voice firm. This stranger, this Izuku, does as you ask, and you see dainty slashes cut in the back of his jacket to accommodate the wings sprouting from between his shoulder blades. “If what you’re saying is true, you can show me where you’re from, right?”

“I can’t not show you where I’m from,” he says, fiddling with the hem of his jacket, suddenly very interested in his feet.

“That’s a double negative. You can, then,” you conclude. “Take me there.”

Izuku grimaces, but gets up from his spot at the end of your bed. Energy pricks at your skin, the air’s charged like lightning about to strike. It picks up until the hair on your arms is standing up as the freckled man before you drags the palm of his hand down the panel of your bedroom door. He opens it unceremoniously to show you what at first looks like nothing. The closer you get, though, the more the other side comes into focus. Overlaid with your hallway, you see a forest at dusk, tinged green by the portal between you and Izuku’s home plane.

“If you go through here, I need you to stay quiet, stick by me, and don’t get noticed,” he says. He’s barely finished stating his conditions before you’re walking headfirst into the unknown realm. He jumps after you, sealing the portal back up as quickly as he can.

Your stomach lurches, and you wonder how Izuku manages to go between worlds so effortlessly, but you’re soothed as the prickling energy dies down. It should come with a warning, though. May cause vertigo, not recommended for children under the age of 12 or anyone human at all, Jesus… you think as you blink hard to try to regain your balance. It has the opposite effect though, as you find yourself tumbling into another creature. A blond man with a knowing smile looks down at you.

“S-sorry, new here, first day,” you mumble as you shake your head and duck behind some trees in the way you came. Izuku couldn’t have gone far, right? He came through after you, unless he left you here and took your apartment for himself. But he said to stick by him? At least that’s what you think you heard, you didn’t stay long enough to process what he was saying.

“Aoyama! Good to see you!” Izuku says. Diverting Aoyama’s attention to him should keep him from seeing you, and should also let you know where he is, he thinks. You catch on quickly, and crouch down, low enough to not be seen through the bushes between trees. Seconds creep by like minutes until you spot Izuku’s red shoes like a beacon and tug on his pants to let him know you’re here.

“Midoriya! It’s been so long, have you gotten tired of your mortal girl? You’ve been there quite a while, even took up their style of dress? Tres fashionable, my friend,” Aoyama takes the greeting as an invitation to catch up.

“No, uh, no not yet,” Izuku laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got some urgent business, catch up later?”

“Of course, of course. I won’t keep you.” Aoyama waves, and you get the feeling that he looks to the grass, exactly where you’re on your hands and knees, holding your breath. But you must be imagining it, right?

“That was fucking close,” Izuku says under his breath. “You didn’t let him see you, right?”

You weigh your options for the briefest of moments, before shaking your head side to side.

“Good. It’s lucky it was a friend, though, it could have been way worse,” he says and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“What is this place?” you ask.

“This,” Izuku gestures broadly to the forest around him as you stand up, faint lights of a city in the trees glistening in the distance. “This is Fae. You’ve heard fairy tales before, right? Well here, they’re history. Everything has to come from somewhere. Somewhere where there’s a kernel of truth to everything.”

“Where there’s a kernel of truth to everything? Oh, so what they say about the fae, in my world, it’s true? You can’t lie?”

“Nope. We have to be very careful with our words.”

“Try telling me you’re a purple octopus,” you challenge.

“I-, I’m-,” he tries to start as you giggle. “Oh, stop it, you know I can’t!” He feels his cheeks heat up, and he’s never felt more glad that you’re warming up to him enough to joke around.

“Do you let all the girls you bring to the forest tease you?” you chuckle.

“I haven’t brought anyone back here before,” he says. There’s been no one but you, he thinks, and it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he knows as much as anyone from his world that you shouldn’t let the whole truth go at once. “I shouldn’t have brought you here, it’s dangerous. You’re not supposed to be here, who knows what’ll happen if they find you.”

“If who finds me?” you ask.

“Let’s hope you don’t find out,” he says gravely.

You roll your eyes and turn to make off towards the glittering lanterns in the distance, but a large, scarred hand catches your wrist and for the second time tonight you’re frozen in place by the strange man claiming to be your guardian faerie.

“I’m not kidding, don’t go off on your own. Stay with me. We’ll go anywhere you want, I promise, but I need you to stay with me.” His skin is warm wrapped around yours, and in such close proximity you notice more about him.

Lightly tanned skin, more freckles than you noticed before, his eyes are like a reflection of the forest itself. It’s as if you’re looking at him in high definition, like every human feature he has is amplified and more beautiful than you could’ve put together in your imagination. He’s tall, too. Tall enough you have to tilt your neck back to look him in the eye from this angle. If you were to look head on, though, you’d see the muscle his jacket hides being hinted at by the t-shirt that’s just tight enough across his chest.

“Okay, fine,” you nod, increasingly aware of how close his face is, if only a fair few inches above yours.

“That’s a good girl,” Izuku says. His eyes immediately go wide, and he hopes you don’t recognize where he got that from. Instead, you look down quickly and go quiet. “I, uh, f-forget I said anything, sorry. Wh-where do you want to go?”

You clear your throat. “I want to see the lights,” you decide.

“We’ll have to stay toward the outskirts, but we can do that. The city’s all done up right now, you know. It’s real pretty.”

—-

It doesn’t feel like long, but maybe time passes differently here, you think. The full moon shines brightly above you and you guess it must be past midnight when you arrive near the city gates. You’ve never seen such a beautiful sight in your life, it’s like something that was plucked straight from your childhood daydreams. From your vantage point in the distance, you see elaborate wooden buildings with thatched roofs with moss creeping up the side walls. A circle of stones stands in what you can only imagine is the town square towards the gate. And in the background, sprawling over the city, letting its leaves seemingly touch the sky as well as its citizens, is the most grand willow tree. Paper lanterns adorn the post beside every door, a peculiar yet familiar series of dots poked into each one, letting the light shine through.

“What are those?” you ask, pointing to the lanterns.

“The stars on them? It’s the constellation Perseus. It’s named after an old, old hero from your world. You know, we share the sky,” Izuku explains. “If you think of it like this, there’s an infinite number of worlds, right? Thin as paper, sandwiched one on top of the other between nothingness and the sky. The void is infinite, and so are we. It has a way of making you feel alone but comforted, doesn’t it?”

“That might just be you,” you say, and you’re not sure whether you mean it’s only him that feels comforted, or it’s only him that’s comforting you. “A-anyway, you said there’s a festival, right? What does that have to do with a hero from my world?”

“Right! Every year around this time, there’s falling stars. I, I think you call them a meteor shower? Which sounds like stars taking a bath, but that doesn’t matter. When you watch them, it looks like they’re coming right out of the constellation, so they’re called the Perseids. Did you, uh, want to see them? I know somewhere we won’t run into anyone else,” Izuku offers.

“Yeah, I’d really like that,” you smile, and you think to yourself that just maybe your birthday wish is coming true after all. The coal of hope inside your chest fans into an ember as Izuku takes your hand to guide you to a secluded meadow about fifteen minutes away from the city.

“I used to come here as a kid when I wanted away from everything,” he says, letting go of your hand to balance himself. “Watch your step, the trail gets kind of rocky here.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when a rock slips under your foot, tripping you, and sending you flying into Izuku’s back. You tumble the remaining twenty feet or so, landing in the clearing, and let out a sigh of relief as you feel you’re on solid ground. Hanging your head, you move to get up and find where Izuku ended up.

“This, uh, this isn’t what it looks like, right?” Izuku’s voice comes from underneath you. To your surprise, what you thought was firm ground was muscle.

“I, I uh, it’s not, it’s not!” you exclaim, holding your hands where he can see them. It’s a shame, though, that you don’t quite have your balance, you think, as you fall face first onto his chest.

“You’re not making a good case for yourself, y’know,” he laughs, easing the tension. “If, if you wanted me that badly, you could’ve just said,” he teases.

“I don’t, I swear!” you protest, your ember glowing bigger.

“Are you lying to me, human?” He’s not sure he’s teasing this time. You swallow, your eyes meeting his.

“I, I am.”

With a boost of confidence, Izuku leans up to capture your lips with his own. He’s tender, his soft lips moving gently against yours as you reciprocate the kiss.

“I have to know, though. How long have you been ‘kind of living’ in my apartment?”

Izuku’s face flushes. “It’s been more than a few months. Can, can I explain more later? I’ve wanted to do this since I set eyes on you, I want to treat you properly. Anything you want to know, the answers are yours, I promise. Let me show you what you deserve.”

You nod, and he takes the permission to take your face in his hand. His kiss is more fervent now. A bonfire graces your chest with its presence. It feels like forever and yet not long enough before you break the kiss for a breath. You smile and put your hand over his, turning your head to press a soft kiss to the pads of his fingers. His breath hitches, making you smile wider.

“Y’know, I could get used to you being around,” you murmur to him.

“I want to be around, I want you to see me around,” he whispers back.

Izuku’s strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close to his chest. He rolls with you, his wings unfurling to cast a peridot haze over you with the moonlight. Kisses trail down your neck, to your chest, as one of Izuku’s hands holds your waist, the other keeping his balance. Through your clothing, he nips at your breast, then your other one.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes. He lifts the hem of your dress up just enough to pepper gentle kisses on your skin, the light touch making you squirm. “Ticklish, or eager?” he asks.

“Both,” you confess. His fingers toy at the elastic of your panties. “If you’re going to take them off, then take them off,” you tell him.

“Maybe I won’t now,” he smirks. “Maybe you’re going to have to earn that privilege.”

“H-how-?” your question is cut off by Izuku’s wandering hand easing your breast from the confines of your dress and latching his lips around your nipple. The swirl of his tongue and the light scrape of his teeth have you clenching around nothing, and you could swear there are double the stars in the sky above you.

“C-can you do that, but, ah, d-down…” you trail off, embarrassed by the idea of saying what exactly you want out loud.

“Between your legs? Of course, bunny, anything to make you feel good,” Izuku smiles and presses the softest of kisses to your forehead. “You just have to say the magic word.”

“P-please, can you?”

“That’s my girl,” he beams.

His deft fingers work their way under your waistband, taking his time as Izuku slides your panties down your thighs, over one ankle, and then the other before they’re laying forgotten in the grass somewhere. He shuffles himself down as gracefully as one can manage in the dark of night until his head rests on the plushness of your inner thigh.

Your folds glisten silver in the reflection of the moon, the light of it making you look as though you’re glowing from inside. Izuku licks a soft strip from your opening to your clit, relishing the taste of your essence he’s been dying to have for many, many months. And like with a fine meal, once he’s had a taste, there’s no stopping him.

Your whole body shudders as he teases his way around in circles, getting close to your sensitive bud but never quite touching it. A loud whimper is torn from your throat when he finally flicks his tongue up across it. Primal and hungry, it’s purely human, and music to his ears. He darts his tongue into you to give you a brief respite before latching around your clit, alternating between suckling light pressure and giving you broad strokes with his tongue flattened.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, please, ‘Zuku!” you cry out, and he knows you’re a hair’s breadth away from the edge. He pulls back, forcing your body to calm back down.

“Wh-what’d you do that for?” you can’t stop the pout on your face from forming.

“Trust me, okay? It’s gonna feel even better around my cock. Wanna make you feel so good, bunny. Doesn’t my pretty girl wanna feel good?”

You nod, hellbent on being good for him, and he smiles, the wetness of your arousal glistening around his mouth. Izuku leans down and kisses you once more, this time you taste yourself on his tongue.

“When you feel like you’re ready, let me know, okay? I have to prep you a little first, I don’t want to hurt you.” He peppers kisses along your cheek, and you look away, but smile and nod. “Getting shy on me?” he chuckles. You start to shake your head, but nod instead. “You’re cute, you know that?”

“‘M ready, is what I am,” you counter. The white hot feeling in your abdomen has subsided, although the fire in your chest is hotter than the core of any star you’ve ever seen.

“You sure?”

“Mhm, I’m ready for you ‘Zuku.”

Izuku presses one last soft peck to your lips before repositioning his face between your legs once more, this time with his fingers circling your entrance, ready to take the plunge.

“It’s going to stretch a little, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

With his tongue flat, he licks your clit with very little pressure, just enough to distract you from the intrusion of one of his fingers. The stretch isn’t as bad as you’d expected, and he finds your little bundle of nerves without any issue. When he adds a second finger, though, you inhale sharply.

“Look at me, princess. You’re doing so well for me, so well. Taking my fingers so well. So good, princess,” he says between kisses to your mound. You mewl at the praise, you’d do anything to hear it again.

“‘Nother one, gimme a-another one, please.”

He scissors his two fingers inside you, stretching you until he’s sure you can take a third. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, and slower still he pushes three back inside, being sure to suckle and flick his tongue quickly around your clit to keep you from clenching too tightly around them. You adjust quicker than he expects, something he’s thankful for. His cock is getting too hard to ignore, straining at his pants as it is.

“Ready, bunny?” He waits as patiently as he can for you to nod before he pulls his fingers out. Fumbling with his pants seems to take an eternity to him, and he curses mortal fashion for putting aesthetics over functionality.

“Let me,” you say quietly. You reach out, and with a swift motion you have his pants undone, threatening to fall down his waist.

“Thank you. Such a good girl for me, you are. So helpful,” he showers you in praise.

He takes a moment to memorize every inch of your face, the curve of your hips, the soft texture of your skin underneath him as he lines himself up to sink himself into you. You gasp softly as he slowly pushes his tip past your ring of muscle, and you’re so glad you let him stretch you for as long as he did. He feels big, big enough you’d have tapped out if he hadn’t.

You feel a vein slide against your velvet walls in the most delicious way, and you clench around his thick girth.

“‘M not even in all the way, bunny,” he breathes out a chuckle. Forever and a day seems to pass by before he’s sunk himself into you to the hilt. “Say the word an’ I’ll start moving,” he says, dizzy already from how tight and sweet you are.

“P-please, ‘Zuku,” you beg, “feel like I’m gonna explode if you don’t move,” you whimper. Izuku has never been one to deny you anything. Any little push of fate, anything he can help you and get away with, he has. Hell, his intervention is the long ago catalyst to your tryst, but he’ll tell you about it later, he thinks. Until then, all he wants to think about is how right it feels to have your legs wrapped around him, to have you to himself so intimately.

His thrusts are slow and deep, and when you close your eyes, you see shooting stars more clearly than you can with the meteor shower going on above you. You rock your hips into his, desperately pushing your lips to his neck, kissing every free inch of skin you can get your lips on.

“Close?” asks Izuku.

“Y-yeah, ‘m t-too close,” you whimper. He ensnares you in a searing kiss.

“Go ahead, princess, cum for me,” he murmurs against your lips. With a whine, you’re gripping him inside and out, like you’ll never let him go. Your eyes squeezed shut as he rips the orgasm from your body. “S-such a good girl, good princess, so good, g-good,” Izuku babbles as he tumbles off the edge, releasing thick ropes of sticky white inside you. His damp curls stick to his forehead as he rests his head against yours. You settle your hand in his hair and pull his head down just a little bit further to press a kiss to his lips.

“L-look, there’s so many of them,” you say, looking just behind his head to the night sky. If you didn’t know better, you’d say dozens of stars were falling from the sky just for the two of you. Izuku leans on his forearm, letting himself fall to the side and pulling you in close to him.

“You’re like my own little star who’s come to the ground,” he says quietly, kissing your temple.

“Is, is this all because of my wish earlier? Do you think?” you ask.

“I can’t be sure, but I think so.”

“Whether it is or not, this is the most I’ve felt alive in as long as I can remember,” you confess. The sun itself can’t rival what was once an ember in your chest threatening to go out. “I hope no matter what plane, I don’t have to be without you again.” Izuku pulls you closer in his arms, admiring you as you look from him to the sky once again.

“I hope so too, bunny. I hope so too.”

taglist: @patchworkpuzzle @jozhenji @hanayanetwork

[branded-witha-j]

You go to church with the sheriff, he's there every Sunday, hearing the word, same as you. Your mama says it's not proper, for your face to heat up and your belly to tingle every time he tips his hat in your direction asking in that low drawl if there's anything he can do for you. You know she wouldn't approve of you and him at the drive-in with no chaperone--but he's the sheriff for goodness sake! And if you're not safe with the sheriff, then who are you safe with?

😈

Congrats on 7k! Thank you for the prompt and here is my submission for the Monkey's Paw challenge. This is my first time doing a writing challenge and I had so much fun writing this for everyone. I hope you enjoy it! 🖤

18+ only! No minors! This is a dark fic!

• Dark!Sheriff Bodecker x naive!reader •

• Word Count: 1.3k •

•Warnings: dub/non-con, age gap (reader is of age), manipulation, degradation, dumbification, loss of virginity, breeding, southern grammar where I throw a bunch of apostrophes and the letter A around to make it sound twangy, stuff where Lee is being Lee. •

•Summary: You're his buttercup and he can't wait to pick ya. •

Beta read by @nocturne-pisces 🖤

Hell is empty and all the devils are here. - William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Sheriff Bodecker's gaze creates a flush of heat that you can't never seem to hide, your Mama none too happy every time he tips his hat in your direction. She liked to say that ‘the Devil lives among us, disguised with lies and saccharine temptation’, and that's how she sees the Sheriff, uneasy ‘bout his intentions with you.

He always takes the pew in the back, his gaze eventually falling on you, and remaining there for the entire service. Lee Bodecker is a weekly repentant devil with a badge, also known as the most powerful man in Ross County. His smile is a little too broad for some folks, but for you it's as sweet and tart as a wild blackberry ripened to perfection on a thick bramble. His temptation is swollen fruit on a vine, his thorns hidden and ready to snag skin.

He gives you buttercups, each one pressed between the pages of your worn bible every Sunday night. He does it when your Mama is somewhere catchin' up on the weekly gossip, tucking the yellow wild flower within your hair as honeyed words fall from his wicked lips.

"When’re you gonna let me take ya out, buttercup?"

He's persistent, but gentle about it, each picked flower and brief touch winning you over more and more, until your Mama's words are all but forgotten.

He always smells of smoky aftershave and a cigarette he sneaked off to have after Sunday service. But it's hypnotizing, even just the slightest whiff of tobacco in passing on Main Street makin' you think about him. And, boy, do you ache for the attention of Lee Bodecker. He's made sure of it, each brush of his fingertips bringing you closer until his words are exhaled hotly in your ear.

The heat is sweltering, a hand wafted in front of the face only stirrin' the hot air around. The smell of drive-in popcorn and burgers is almost nauseating, a much needed reprieve given in the sound of your name. It's the Sheriff, and the sight of him sauntering up with his hands on his belt has a coil tightening within your belly. It's a feeling you can't get used to, a sensation only associated with him.

He gets you away from your friends with a fib about your Mama, something about her needing you home. He escorts you by the arm to his cruiser, the white car tucked away in a secluded corner of the lot. When he tucks you into the passenger seat, you expect him to do as he said he would and take you home, but the engine remains silent.

"Sheriff Bodecker?"

He says nothin' for a few seconds, pulling off his campaign hat for safekeeping on the backseat. You don't quite understand what's going on and a fresh buttercup presents itself under your nose, a delighted look crossing your face.

"A buttercup for my buttercup."

He tucks it away into your hair, the little bloom forgotten as soon as his lips ghost along your jaw, your hands coming up to brace at his broad chest. You can feel the starch in his shirt and the pointed tips of his badge, your world flipped as he lays you on your back against the bench seat.

"Sheriff–" His palm silences you, a click of his tongue emphasizing his disapproval as he shakes his head.

Keeping you gagged, his other hand slips up beneath your skirt, bunching it up to expose your cotton panties. Fingers trace along your thigh and you tense, whimpering against his palm.

"Shhh, buttercup. I just wanna make ya feel good."

His thorns snag your flesh, pulling you in deep, and when the metallic jangle of his belt fills the narrow space, your thighs try to clap together. You trap his hand between them and gasp as his fingers touch you for the first time, rubbin’ against the damp cotton.

"Why you wet? You'a whore for ya Sheriff?"

He keeps your legs parted with his hips and the gentle man you once knew is truly the devil as he tears down your panties, letting them hang from one ankle. He releases your mouth to work his pants down, gripping himself as his tip drags against your swollen cunt.

"Sheriff...Lee... my Mama won't–" A sharp pinch cuts off your words, and a whine is released into the collar of his shirt, the seat creaking as he slams himself deep. You try to speak again, but his hand returns to your mouth, steel blue eyes looking into yours as he snarls.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth." Eyes well with tears and he punctuates each word with a thrust. "You're mine, buttercup, and there ain't a goddamn thing that Mama a’yours is gonna do about it."

The Devil is inside you and you invited him in with your sweet smile and melodic laughter. You pant and clutch to the Sheriff, his mouth hot at your ear as you cry out for a God that ain't listenin’ no more.

"I'm gonna fill this hot 'lil snatch up. Send ya home to your Mama with my cum drippin' out of ya." His words make you clench, and you don't understand why, his groan of satisfaction vibrating through you. "You want my baby, dontcha? Stupid girl too goddamn dumb to listen to her Mama. I'm gonna fill ya up nice and full. You want that, buttercup? Want me to put my baby in ya?"

He fucks you. Not the slow, gentle way you always imagined, but frantic and bittersweet. He burns with every thrust of his hips, your cries of his name making his eyes roll back in head. He revels knowing this was worth the wait, worth all the sweet-talkin', worth every buttercup plucked from the dirt. 

"Oh, God-" His tongue delves into your mouth to swallow your cry for deliverance, showing you that he's the only one you should be worshipping.

"I knew you was a tight 'lil bitch the second I seen ya. Just perfect for the pickin'. Gonna make the perfect little housewife."

The heat that spreads through your gut is as hot as the brimstone and hellfire you pray nightly to avoid. But you're lost to it, the forked tongue of temptation burning his mark within your womb, claiming you as his for eternity. The Sheriff is silenced by his violent release, thrusting until every last drop of his seed is where it belongs.

The windows have fogged up, condensation turning them opaque. You don't know what time it is, if the movie is still playing, or if you should cry. As the Sheriff lifts himself from you, head ducking down to watch you separate, he groans at the sight of his cum spillin’ from your pretty, sore, fucked-out cunt.

"I filled ya up good, buttercup." He falls back against the driver's door with a loud exhale, reaching down to tuck himself away before tugging his pants back on. You move to sit up, but he clicks his tongue, nudging you back down onto the seat. "I just wanna look atcha. For just a bit longer."

You feel his hand trailing along your leg and the panties danglin’ from your ankle are balled up in his fist to be shoved away in his pant's pocket. You want to protest, knowin’ your Mama will notice they're missing, but he shakes his head, telling you they're his now.

"You're all mine, or did ya forget already?" He starts the cruiser, rolling down his window to see through the fog, and looks down at where you still lie beside him. "I think it's time we tell your Mama you ain't her little girl anymore. You belong to me now."

[fluff-shot-central]

Treat Me Mean ‘n Cruel

This one’s for @she-is-juniper​, because you got me thinkin’ about frat boy Elvis. I also may have been the anon to send you that Thot. (Feel like that tips readers off, but that means this is a college AU) Hooooooo boy, buckle up folks! Was not beta-read bc it took me three days and I’m burnt out from work lmao

WARNINGS: smut, teasing, riding, teensy bit of degradation, frat boy Elvis (that’s gotta be a warning, c’mon now)

“Now, what’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone in here?”

You jump, spinning from your spot against the counter to watch the stranger enter the kitchen, drink in hand. You eye him over your own drink - he’s attractive, there’s no denying that. With piercing ice-blue eyes, messy jet-black hair, and pink kissable lips, he has to be -

“Elvis Presley,” he continues, raising his cup in a mock toast. “If you like what you see, could I get your name?” He winks. “Of course, if you prefer, I could just keep calling you pretty girl.”

You chuckle. “Well, since you’re so persistent...it’s Y/N.”

He gives a low hoot of appreciation. “Now, that’s a mighty nice name you got there. And what’re you doin’ at my party, Miss Y/N?”

“I came with a few friends - they’ve been begging me to tag along at least once, and I figured if I came this time, they’d leave me alone afterwards.”

“Parties ain’t your scene?” he asks, coming over to lean on the countertop beside you.

“Oh, some parties are fine...it’s the company I take issue with,” you say, raking your eyes along his frame again.

Elvis feigns an affronted gasp. “Ma’am, if you think I’m any less than an upstanding Southern gentleman, I’m afraid all you’ve heard are nasty rumours. I promise I can be good.”

“Oh, I never said you couldn’t, Mr Presley,” you reply, maybe slightly more suggestively than you’d intended. You watch, a little entertained, as he chokes on his drink.

With red cheeks and pink ears, he stammers, “I-I’m sorry, ma’am, you just caught me off-guard a bit, is all. You, ah...”

“What did I say?” you ask, feigning innocence. It’s fun to watch him get all hot and bothered, and it doesn’t hurt that he looks even cuter when he’s flustered.

“You just - it was - ah, never mind.” He runs a hand through his hair, making it even messier that it was before.

You laugh, deciding to let him off the hook. “I’m sorry Mr Presley, but you’re just so easy to rile up. I couldn’t resist.”

Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone before you get a chance to properly register what it could be.

“Forgive me if I sound a bit forward, miss, but I’d like to take this conversation to the bedroom.” Elvis keeps his stare laser-focused on you, and you feel a shiver travel up your spine.

“Well, I don’t let just any boy get me alone...are you gonna be good, Mr Presley?” you murmur, leaning forward just a bit to trace a finger along the column of his throat.

He slams his cup on the counter and grabs you by the thighs, hoisting you up around his waist so that you have to look down to meet his gaze. “Oh, I think you and I could have a pretty good time, mama,” he says, taking the opportunity to steal your cup and set it to the side as well.

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” you ask, sliding down his body until your feet hit the ground. “Show me just how good you can be.”

🎶🔥🎶

Elvis only just manages to close the door behind you before you’re falling onto the bed. You can barely think straight - your mind is full of his taste, his smell, the feel of his hands on every part of you. You let out a moan as his tongue teases its way into your mouth, and your nails rake along Elvis’ back, making creases in his perfectly-ironed shirt. He moans in response, hips dipping just a little bit lower in search of some sort of friction. He likes that, you notice, filing it away for later use. His reaction gives you an idea.

You break the kiss and he lets out a noise of protest, chasing your lips, but you put a finger against his to stop him. “Easy now, Mr Presley...you wouldn’t want to seem too desperate, would you? I thought you were supposed to be a playboy.” You smirk as his breaths quicken, placing a palm on his chest to flip him over so you can crawl on top. His pupils are blown wide and he’s practically panting at this point, swollen lips and messy hair simply adding to his appeal. Your hands dance along the buttons of his half-open shirt, allowing the rest of the fabric to fall away so his chest is completely exposed. You shift up his body, resting your thighs on either side of his abdomen so you can lean over and press your lips to the column of his throat. You scrape your teeth just slightly over the soft skin, and the keen Elvis lets out is something you’ll never forget.

“Shh, you don’t want your friends hearing you, do you?” you murmur, grinning wide against his neck. “What would they think if they saw the Elvis Presley so whipped for a girl?”

“I...I don’t really care what they’d think, mama, just do that again, please,” he begs, and you can feel his chest rising and falling under your own...not to mention the prominent bulge starting to grow against your core.

“Mm...” you hum, pretending to think about it. “Strip for me, Elvis.”

He scrambles out from under you and practically rips his clothes off - his shirt is on the floor in seconds, but he’s so flustered he struggles with his jeans. He lets out a groan of frustration, but still can’t get his fingers to work the zipper quick enough. You laugh, taking pity on him when he looks up at you desperately. “Come here, baby. Let me take care of that.” You deftly undo the button, sliding the zipper down so he can step out, leaving him in just his boxers.

“You’ve still...got an awful...lot of clothes on, darlin’,” he pants, looking like he’s trying to regain some of his bravado...and failing miserably. You laugh again in response. “I suppose I do...but only good boys get to take them off. Are you gonna be a good boy, Elvis?”

“I will, I promise I will, mama, just let me have another taste,” he pleads, eyes wide and shining.

You pretend to consider before getting back on top of him, pressing a trail of kisses from his throat to the line of his boxers. Good god...you’d heard he could sing, but the music he was making right now was downright sinful.

“Alright, Elvis, now be a good boy and help me out of these clothes,” you instruct, and he wastes no time. You don’t particularly like this dress, so it doesn’t really matter when he tears the seams trying to get it off. It’ll be a problem later, but you can always borrow some of his clothes...

He unclasps your bra with a snap, leaving you both in just your underwear. “Okay, now sit down for me,” you say, gently pushing him so he sits against the headboard. “No touching until I say.”

He whines, hands twitching at his sides. “Not even a little?” he pleads, and his eyes are so big and blue that you almost give in.

“Not even a little,” you reply, and take his belt from the floor for good measure. He watches as you tie his hands to the headboard, then sit back between his thighs to admire your handiwork. “That should do,” you say, and slide back down the bed until you’re in a comfortable enough position to slip your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. He lets out another breathy moan as you wrap your hand around him, pumping gently. “Does that feel good, baby?” you ask, though you already know the answer by his flushed face and heaving chest.

He nods frantically, and you tsk. “Use your words, Elvis. I know you can.”

“Feels so good mama, feels so good,” he slurs as you slide his boxers all the way off with your other hand.

After a few more pumps, he’s ready, and you take a breath, readying yourself for the stretch. “Alright, pretty boy.” He flushes even redder as you flip his nickname for you back on him, and the gleam in his eyes tells you he likes it when you’re nice to him just as much as when you’re mean. I’ll have to try that next time, you think - because there will definitely be a next time, if he’s up for it. He may have the bad boy reputation, but you may just be able to make him yours.

You position yourself above him and hold yourself there a moment, relishing the view - Elvis Presley, lip between his teeth, chest heaving, practically begging with his eyes for you to do something, anything to him - before sinking down onto him. You can’t help yourself - you cry out at the same time he does, feeling him fill you to the brim. You take a second to steady yourself and get adjusted, and just to tease him a bit longer. He makes such pretty noises when he begs.

“P-please...” he pleads. “Please move...”

You grin, turned on even more by his desperation. “I wonder what kind of music you can make for me...” you muse, and he moans at your words. “You like that? You like the idea that any of your brothers could hear what a filthy little whore you are for me?” He ruts his hips against you involuntarily at the thought, and your grin turns predatory. “Well, I don’t want to humiliate you yet, so you’d better keep quiet, baby. Can you do that for me, Elvis?”

He nods, lip pink and plump from how much he’s digging his teeth into the soft skin.

You shift just a bit, and he immediately lets out a keen. You still, and he whines. “What did I just say?”

“’m sorry, mama. ‘m so sorry, please don’t stop,” he cries.

You relent, but only because you’re starting to get desperate yourself. You ride him until the coil in your stomach starts to tighten, and you move faster, desperate for your own release. You spare a few glances at Elvis to make sure he’s alright, and he looks so thoroughly fucked out you almost cum right there.

“Can you cum for me, baby?” you ask breathlessly. “Be a good boy and cum with me.”

You only have to roll your hips a few more times before you feel him stutter inside you, painting your insides with warmth just seconds before your own release washes over you in a sea of stars.

🎶🔥🎶

You gently lift yourself off him, rolling over to lay beside him as you both pant, thoroughly spent. “Okay, I’ll say it - this party was a lot more fun than I thought it’d be,” you gasp, and you hear Elvis chuckle.

“Glad to help, mama,” he says, winding an arm around your torso. “You can be a bit meaner next time, though...I don’t mind.”

You smile and turn to face him, tapping his nose teasingly with a finger. “I don’t believe you ‘don’t mind’, Mr Presley...I think you like it,” you accuse, and his bashful smile is all the confirmation you need.

“Well,” you say, pretending to think on the idea, “I’d be more than happy to oblige on another night. Just tell me when.” You reach over him to his phone on the stand, typing your contact information in for later use. “Text me anytime, pretty boy.”

“Oh, I will, pretty girl.” His arm tightens around you, the other winding under your legs to hoist you up as he stands. “For now, though...what would you say to a shower?”

[writingquestionsanswered]

Do you have any tips on identifying plot holes during revisions?

10 Tips for Identifying Plot Holes

1) Create a "Big Picture" Overview of Your Story

Whether you use a scene list, chapter by chapter summary, timeline, flow chart of events, or some combination of the above, having a "big picture" overview of your story allows you to see all the smaller parts and how they fit together. Not only can it help you spot problems as you're creating it, it also gives you something to follow as you're revising to help make sure everything makes sense.

2) Create a List of Plot Points and Subplot Points

Make a list of your story's plot points and subplot points. Once again, not only can the creation of this list help you spot potential problems, it will also be a crucial tool during the revision process as well as helpful for the next exercise.

3) Follow the Chain of Cause and Effect

Good continuity in your story means having a tight relationship between cause and effect. For each plot point and subplot point, you should be able to ask "why did this happen" and answer "because this other thing happened." You should also be able to look at each plot point or subplot point and say, "Because this happened, this next thing happens."

4) Look at Character Choices

Since stories are ultimately about people who want something trying to get that thing, plot points and subplot point are often the result of character choices and actions. So, for every choice a character makes or action they take, ask why? Did that choice make sense for that character's personality, situation, and back story? Did it make sense for that particular moment?

5) Make Sure Subplots Are Tied Up

Make a list of your subplots and make sure they're all tied up by the end. Pay attention to how and when they branched back into the story and what they accomplished.

6) Create Character/Setting Continuity Tables

Create a table of important characteristics like hair color, eye color, current age, birthday, etc. and when you're reading through your story, any time a detail like that comes up, check it in the table to make sure you've got it right. You can do the same thing for setting details.

7) Create a Technical Detail Checklist

For every technical detail you include in your story, whether that's the moon being out and in a certain phase in a particular scene, the amount of time it takes to travel a particular distance, how a particular weapon works, the ingredients of a particular spell or potion, the types of berries your character forages, an historical garment or costume... put it in a checklist. Then, when you're revising and you get to that item, double-check the details you've included in the actual story against your research (or look them up again), and check them off when you're sure they're accurate.

8) Create a "Things That Need Reviewing" Checklist

You can do the same while you're writing/editing for general things you want to double-check, like maybe you recall your character mentioning something about their childhood home in a chapter, and now they're saying something else about it and you want to go back later and make sure the two things are coherent.

9) Review Your Manuscript with Fresh Eyes

When you've been with your WIP for weeks or months or years, it becomes tough to see mistakes that would be obvious to anyone else. If you can, try stepping away from your manuscript for a few days or weeks so that you can come back to it with fresh eyes. Another trick you can use (especially if you can't step away for long or at all) is to change the font style and/or color in your manuscript. This can trick your brain into feeling like it's seeing everything for the first time. Reading it out loud or trying to to visualize it like a movie can also help.

10) Get Feedback from Other People

If you plan on posting or publishing your story anyway, it's crucial to get critical eyes on your story during your revision process. Critique groups, writing groups, critique partners, beta readers, and editors are all great ways to get feedback on your story before publication. These folks can help you spot problems, like plot holes and continuity errors, before you share, query, or publish your story.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

Visit my FAQ

See my Master List of Top Posts

Go to ko-fi.com/wqa to buy me coffee or see my commissions!

[priceof-freedom]

Drabble: Savior in a hat (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x F!Reader (Outer Range)

Summary: With your engine dead and heavy downpour, this could be the worst day ever. However, the fates didn’t seem to completely hate you since it sent you a savior in the form of Rhett Abbott.

A/N: My humble contribution to the growing Rhett Abbott fandom: the one bed trope! After reading all the wonderful Rhett fics, I wanted to give it a try myself. I hope you guys like it!

Not beta-read, so errors are entirely my own.  

Word Count: 845

MAIN MASTERLIST

When you woke up this morning, this was not where you expected to be.

“Got only one room,” grunted the grumpy motel receptionist.

You blanched and froze. “Oh— um…”

Earlier that day, you traveled to another town about two hours away to pick up some materials needed for the renovation of your barn. It had been much cheaper for you to get them yourself instead of having it delivered, thus the need for a long trip. The drive there wasn’t much of a problem, but you couldn’t say the same for the drive back. Your trusty old truck decided to throw in the towel: with a final sputter, the engine died and left you stranded on the side of a long stretch of road. To make matters worse, it started raining.

The fates didn’t seem to completely hate you since it sent you a savior in the form of Rhett Abbott, the younger of the Abbott boys. He was driving back to Wabang from god-knows-where when he spotted the hazard lights of your truck blinking off the road.

Despite the dirt on his jeans and worn out flannels, he looked every bit like a guardian angel standing in the rain under an umbrella, offering to drive you back to town. The flashing lights cast a glow on his handsome face beneath his hat, one that you’ve admired from afar since you were a teenager.

Too bad your luck seemed to run out: not long after you hopped into Rhett’s truck, the downpour turned unforgiving. With zero visibility and slippery roads, both of you decided to wait it out until it was safer to head back.

That’s how you ended up in an old motel in the middle of nowhere, seeking shelter for the night. And you were facing yet another problem you didn’t anticipate.

“I’ll sleep in my truck,” came the quick response of Rhett.

There was nothing on his strong features that said it was a disingenuous offer. For all the faults of one Rhett Abbott, and there were quite many if you listened to whispers of people of Wabang, you couldn’t deny that he was actually a gentleman.

“We’ll take it,” you announced to the receptionist, much to the surprise of the man beside you. The receptionist grunted again and handed you the key.

Naturally, Rhett started to protest, but you stopped him. “Rhett, it’s fine. I’m not about to let you sleep in your truck with it raining cats and dogs.”

He smiled and tipped his hat gratefully at you.

Upon entering the room, you landed yourselves in another predicament. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, to be honest, but the room had only one bed. Neither of you acknowledged it. Instead, you asked, “Mind if I head to the bathroom first?”

“Go ahead,” he said, looking every bit as anxious as you were.

The hot shower did little to calm your nerves. The closer you got to heading back to the room, the more the reality of your current situation was sinking in. Just on the other side of the bathroom door was Rhett Abbott. You tried hard not to consider the possibilities of where this might lead, actively forced your brain not to go in that direction, and it just left you with your heart racing.

When you exited, you found the room in a slightly different state. Lying on the tight floor space by the door was Rhett, head on one of the pillows he took from the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Rhett, why are you on the floor?”

“So you could have the bed,” he said simply, like he was wondering why you were even questioning it.

The frown on your face softened instantly. Apparently, the gossiping town folk have never seen this side of Rhett. In the short amount of time you spent with him today, he was nothing like they said.

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, propping himself on his elbows. You tried to ignore the way his biceps moved under his thin white shirt.

“The bed is big enough for the both of us,” you answered adamantly.

This was how you discovered, hours later, that Rhett Abbott was a cuddler in his sleep. Yet another thing that you did not expect from him. You had woken up in the middle of the night to a loud crash of thunder, and you found a strong arm wrapped around your waist. Warmth was radiating from his body as it was pressed against you, with his breath tickling the back of your neck. Instinctively, you sank further into him. 

Thunder boomed again outside. A small squeak escaped your lips, both at the loud sound and at the tightening of the arms around your middle. Still asleep, Rhett gathered you closer to him. Whether he was aware of it or not remained to be seen. You’d just have to deal with that in the morning when he woke up.

What was clear to you was that given the choice, you’d never leave the safety of his arms again.

A/N: Am not 100% satisfied with this, but it helped me get into the writing mood. I might take a stab at a smutty morning after follow-up to this one. If the inspiration strikes!

Please do leave a comment and reblog. 💖 My ask box is also open for prompts for headcanons / blurbs / drabbles!

Currently, I do not run taglists. I might in the future. :)

[human-still-developing]

Beta Reading: A Guide

Hey everyone!

I'm Hics, your neighbourhood writer, editor and professional procrastinator <3 I realised my writing advice series has gone a little cold so I thought I might freshen it up with a quick guide on beta-reading!!!!

Now before we begin, I thought I might just state up front that BETA READING IS NOT THE SAME AS PROFESSIONAL EDITING...if you're looking for tips on the later, I do have a few guides on constructive criticism but am planning on doing one up for editing as well!

So lets jump straight into beta reading!

What's a Beta Reader?

In the publishing world, we usually roughly categorise our readers into two groups. 'Alpha' readers are generally your experienced reader who will look over unpolished/first drafts of a work to give opinions on direction, concepts and story progression. This allows an author to shift/refine their outlook over their own work before coming up with a polished piece of writing that they can present to an audience/publisher. 'Beta' readers are responsible for reading a POLISHED piece of work to give opinions on reader appeal, outreach to intended audience and provide a moral boost to the writer :) Their role is less to critique the impact/intent of a piece of writing and more to give a well-crafted opinion on how the writing holds on its own.

Often in more casual settings the roles of the above two readers can overlap!

What is the role of a Beta Reader?

If you are considering becoming a beta reader or looking for one, here is some of the key information a beta reader should provide:

A good understanding of the audience your work is suited for/ an idea of how well your work reaches to your target audience! (e.g. is your slow-burn fan-fiction really centred around the relationship or does it go off on a tangent?)

Feedback on places you can improve/edit your work (e.g. does your slipstream metafiction have too many recurring motifs for the audience to relate to?)

Some of the best features of your work/writing style!

Your beta-reader is often the last stop before your writing train reaches the big, wide world! At this point, you're all ready for your work to be released and they're just here to top up your supplies and give you a pat on the back before you set free <3

How do I become a good Beta Reader?

Read! The more exposure you have of writing and its genres (even ones that you don't usually beta for), the more tailored and specific your advice will be :)

Choose works to read in a form/style you are comfortable in! Don't read over someone's ancient greek play if you haven't heard of the Iliad :) Even though having a wide variety of skills and experiences are useful for a beta-reader, it is important that you provide relevant and valid advice to your writer!

Give personal and specific feedback! Something that I try and include in my beta reading are some of my favourite quotes from the text that really emulate that writer's message. Not only does this help the writer realise the most poignant parts of their writing, it also gives them a moral boost!

How do I choose a beta reader for my work?

Find someone who has experience in the type of writing you do! If you're writing fan-fiction for example, don't get a beta-reader who has never read/watched the original text before!

Pick an unbiased friend/person who you know will not be afraid to provide you with feedback/opinions AND will also not tear apart your work.

Trust your gut instinct. Often you already have an idea of who will provide the best advice for your writing!

So there it is folks, a quick and messy guide to beta-reading! Questions and comments are most welcome; my ask box and DMs are always open <3 If you're interested in beta-reading/looking for a beta-reader, hit me up and I'd love to help/scout around with you! I also do a bit of beta-reading here and there too (more editing outside of tumblr but I'd love to read your work) <3

Happy reading!

<3 Hics

[chanelslibrary]

Perceiving You - Prologue

Pairing: Chris Evans/Reader

Word Count: 4,576

Warning: Mention of weed, mention of alcohol [rating will go up with later chapters!]

Summary: You had always been overlooked and labeled an Outcast. That didn’t stop you from being hyperaware of the Popular Jock Chris Evans, and secretly harboring a crush on him while navigating high school with your best friends Pete and Crystal. Seventeen years later, you have to wonder is it coincidence that Pete, Crystal and Chris show up in your life again around the exact same time?

You’re older, wiser, and definitely more stubborn nowadays, so is it just another twist of fate when you suddenly start getting mysterious and threatening letters in the mail, or will your headstrong nature push away the Hollywood heartthrob that is back in your life and finally noticing you.

Authors Note: This is my first fanfic (sorry its so rough!), but I am looking for betas if anyone is interested. Please message me, and thanks for reading. Hitting like and reblog means a lot!  AO3  Chapter 1

Credits: dividers @firefly-graphics​

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・

Flashback

September 1998, Senior Year

“TOUCHDOWN FOR EVANS!!! THE WARRIORS WIN!”

The crowd in the stands next to you erupts, and the shadows from the bleachers fall over Crystal’s austere face. All you can see is the orange tip of what could be, but isn’t, a cigarette in her mouth. You can hardly hear Pete’s sigh and defeated words. 

“Guess that’s it folks.”

Crystal whines and and offers you a hit off the joint her and Pete have been passing back and forth the entire game. You decline with a shake of your head as the band and cheerleaders ramp up their end of the game celebration on the football field. Crystal stomps out the joint before a passersby could see your illicit activity. 

“Oh, come on guys! It’s not like you were enjoying the game anyway,” You say, trying to cheer them up. 

“Yeah, but I was just getting my high going!” Crystal fires back with glazed eyes that contradict her words.

“Hey, Schlozinger!”

Pete, you and Crystal, turn to see a tall boy with brown skin, white teeth, and a blue and red letterman jacket yelling from the main entrance into the stadium. Swarms of students are walking past him cheering and heading towards the parking lot, but he stands tall–like a pebble caught in a rushing stream. Pete nods to the boy as acknowledgement.

“You coming to Parker’s party?!”

“Eh…?” Pete looks at you, clueless. You had driven everyone to the game tonight. 

The boy continues… “Everyone’s celebrating man! Come to Parker’s crib!”

“Uh, can I bring friends?” Pete asks.

“Yeah, man!” The boy smiles then turns to his friends, two other boys who have joined him in the crowd wearing basketball jerseys and they walk off together.

Pete turns back to your and Crystal’s expectant gazes with a sheepish smile.

“So, want to go to Parkers?”

Crystal beats you to the punch.

“Who is Parker? And why did Cory Jameson invite you to a party?!”

Cory Jameson. That’s who Letterman Jacket was. You knew you recognized the starting basketball player, not from going to the games or anything, but from seeing him and all the other Jocks in the hallways. 

“Parker. Justin Parker?! The starting quarterback!! How do you not know who he is? Doesn’t matter. We’ve just been invited to a football party. It’s gonna be all that and a bag of chips!” Pete exclaimed, looking so excited.

“Correction: YOU were invited. WE weren’t. Also please, stop with the chips comment,” Crystal implored.

“Pete, how do you know Cory Jameson enough that he invited you to a party?” You asked. 

You were so confused. The reason your little group worked so well was because Pete, Crystal and you were similar, all loners and outcasts within your high school. This is what made you all bond. Pete making friends with Jocks like Cory Jameson and Justin Parker changed things. You didn’t want to begrudge him friendship—that is how you guys ended up forming your own group, by not having friends in the first place—but what would happen to your group if one of you became popular? This was a question you constantly thought about, not in any real capacity, more in an abstract way. Because one of the deepest secrets that you had not told anyone, not even your two best friends, was that you had the biggest crush on Certified Jock, star of the football team, and most popular guy in the school, Chris Evans. 

“Well, I’ve been helping to tutor some of the guys on the basketball team after school.” After seeing Crystal’s confused look he elaborated.“Mr. Moore asked me if I could help a few guys because they were struggling in their science classes, and I said yes. And it turns out they are pretty cool,” He finished with a shrug. “I know you guys would like them if you hung out with them. Can we go? Please!” He begged looking at Crystal.

“Why are you begging me?! She’s the one with the car,” Crystal pointed at you.

Pete turned his pleading eyes to you. You felt trapped, and pressured. 

Did you want to go to a loud, chaotic party with Jocks, Cheerleaders, and Popular People? No. Did you want to let down one of your best friends? No. Did you want a chance to see Chris Evans? No. (Yes.) Did you need alcohol to make it through the night? Yes.

You swallowed. “Okay, let’s go.”

“YES!” Pete fist pumped, and we moved toward the claustrophobic crowd of students headed towards the stadium gates. 

Justin Parker was rich. Like we-have-tons-of-ugly-but-expensive-art rich. By the time you pulled up to the modern mansion that bordered West Concord the party was in full swing. Pete led the way past the glass front door which was unlocked, and you were instantly assaulted with the opening beat of “Too Close” by Next. Pete started looking around, past the gyrating bodies in the foyer, for friendly faces. Crystal’s face screwed up in detest.

“I need alcohol! My high is wearing off!” She yelled in your ear over the beat. You nodded, and motioned to Pete that you were headed to the kitchen in search of drinks. He had just spotted what you assumed was a Jock based on the bright red Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High School jersey they were wearing, and took off towards him. Crystal and you navigated through clusters of classmates in the once roomy, now stuffy living room, towards where you thought the kitchen would be. You passed through an archway into a formal dining room, where the table was being used for beer pong, and dodged flying ping pong balls as you exited through a side entryway. 

“Finally!” Crystal yelled when you made it into the spacious kitchen. People were scattered throughout the kitchen, taking shots on the large island, digging through the pantry in the back, and in the center of the room, near the sink was Mr. Quarterback, Justin Parker, surrounded by Popular People holding court. He had a red solo cup in one hand and his arm around a Blonde Cheerleader. You had never bothered to learn most of the Popular People’s names, Chris excluded, and the girl hanging on Justin cackling at his jokes, overly make upped face screwed up in glee, just further proved why you never would. Crystal and you shared an annoyed look as you headed toward the counter where all the liquor bottles and cups were. While she mixed a concoction together you discreetly looked around the room for a familiar face. Possibly trying to see another Popular Person that happened to play on the football team. Crystal nudged your elbow. Your drink was ready.

“What is it?” You looked into the dark liquid in the cup.

“Just try it!” Crystal pushes the cup towards your mouth, while she takes a sip from her own cup. You take a sip. It’s strong! But the coke flavor helps to drown out the burning of the liquor. 

Did she give you rum? 

You take another swig and smile at Crystal. She smiles back.

“Let’s go find Pete!”

Fifteen minutes later, you guys find Pete in the fully furnished, walk out basement playing air hockey with some of the football team. He doesn’t see you past the large crowd surrounding the table. When you walk up and crane over heads to see the action, Pete assists Big Popular Jock–a burly guy with shaggy brown hair that keeps falling into his face, and a few pimples on his forehead—with a goal, and all the Jocks and Popular Girls surrounding the table explode into cheers, clapping Pete on the back. 

“Well, that isn’t a sight you see everyday!” Crystal murmurs with a shake of her head. She’s not used to seeing Pete surrounded by Popular People either. He’s the 6 '4, slightly pudgy guy with glasses who always tries to make himself smaller by curling his shoulders inward to avoid scaring people with his height and stature. Or the guy who lights up when he sits at the abandoned lunch table in the back of the cafeteria with you, talking your ears off about the latest computer software he downloaded. No one would let you guys sit at their tables the first week of classes freshman year, so somehow you all found yourselves at what you call “The Slab”. It’s just a lopsided lunch table around the corner from the rest of the cafeteria, but it gives you the illusion of privacy and superiority. 

“Let’s just go get another drink and wait until he’s finished. It looks like he’s having fun,” You say while tugging her arm. You pulled Crystal further into the basement seeing the familiar faces of classmates, but even with the effects of the rum starting to flow through your system the feeling of Other still followed you around. You were used to it at school, that was part of why Crystal, Pete and you became such fast friends that first day freshman year at that lunch table. You guys spotted that you were all Others in the Jungle of Jocks, Cheerleaders, Populars, Goths, Druggies, Band Geeks, Theater Kids, Anime Club, Nerds, Artsy Kids, and Floaters. But it was bizarre that the imprint of that identity was still on you in the world outside of Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High. You needed another drink.

The two of you weaved in between bodies towards a bar/kitchen where more alcohol was being passed around. Crystal pushed her way past a Goth couple standing in the entrance to the bar area playing a game of hockey of their own, but with tongues. You followed, while she headed straight for the refrigerator. 2Pac started singing about California, and you nodded your head to the beat as you turned to look at the rest of the room over the bar, and immediately noticed him. You stiffened. Chris was in the family room leaning against the back of a couch talking to a Jock. He looked cute? relaxed? happy? like he belonged. He had a lazy smile on his face while he listened to Jock gesture and ramble–probably about the final seconds of the game–and in his right hand was a Solo cup he periodically took sips out of. You would have been content to just stare at him like that if it wasn’t for the Brunette Cheerleader on his left who was clinging to him figuratively and literally. The front of his red LSR Football shirt was clutched in her bright pink manicured hand, and she kept trying, unsuccessfully, to get Chris’ attention by interrupting Jock’s story to bring the spotlight back on her. Your face must have shown your disgust because Crystal's face popped into your line of sight.

“What’s got you looking so sour?” She says as she hands you a Bud Light can. You take it and shake your head. She turns her head to look at where you were staring. “Oh! The Populars?! Forget about them. Come on, I thought I saw a game room back this way.” Crystal grabs your hand and heads toward the other entry of the kitchen. You follow, but not without a backwards glance. Jock is gone, and Brunette Cheerleader is standing in front of Chris trying to talk to him, but he’s ignoring her looking around. His blue eyes catch yours for one second, then Crystal grabs your arm and pulls you around a corner. 

Justin Parker’s game room was the size of your bedroom. After you both walked in and closed the door to a blaring Semi-Charmed Life, Crystal looked around in amazement. To be honest, you were impressed too. The Parker’s had two televisions with what looked like multiple gaming systems–those were not your forte– a modern IKEA desk and chair in one corner of the room, on top of the desk was a state-of-the-art blue IMac computer, a black leather couch and matching recliner sat in front of the T.V.s, and a gray bean bag chair was positioned in another corner of the room. Crystal darted towards the gaming systems calling out names which would probably mean more to Pete. “Nintendo 64! Sega Dreamcast! AND PLAYSTATION!”

You went and plopped down on the bean bag, replaying the last minute in your mind, while Crystal booted up a game. As you steadily sipped on your beer, you wondered what would have happened if Crystal hadn't dragged you away. Would you have turned around? Talked to him? Punched Brunette Cheerleader in her big nose? Who's to say. It wasn’t like you had a chance with Chris—him being Mr. Popular, Captain and Wide Receiver on the football team, boy-next-door handsome, charming, and the lead in almost all the school plays! The guy could be a Jock and crossover into Theater Kid and not get bullied. He defied high school laws. But that’s probably why all the girls wanted him. He was “sensitive” or “passionate” or whatever bullshit he spewed to get girls to sleep with him. 

Had you mentioned you weren’t happy you had a crush on him?

Your stupid heart and brain just had to have a soft spot for the Chris Evans. The first incident that made you start to look at Chris differently happened in the fall of Sophomore year. By that point Pete, Crystal and you had already bonded over your uneven table and knew your place in the high school Jungle. A new kid had moved in next door to you named Collin, a Nerd if you ever saw one. He was short, red headed, with acne covering his whole face, and you felt for the guy. You tried being nice and made some small talk with him on the bus to school, but he was so shy it felt like pulling teeth. You vowed then to look out for him as much as you could, and spread the word to Crystal and Pete for them to do the same. Pete earnestly agreed, and Crystal rolled her heavily charcoaled eyes and begrudgingly accepted. They both knew there was only so much you guys, as Others, could do in the Jungle. One day in late October, it had just snowed—which wasn’t uncommon in Boston in fall—but this day it was warmer, slowly melting the last few patches of ice and snow that lingered on the high school parking lot. You were walking across campus leaving European History, your last class of the day, being swallowed up by the student body exiting Building B–the middle of the three buildings that make up LSR high—when you saw Collin alone 20 yards ahead in the parking lot, walking towards your bus stop at the end of the lot. Before you could try to catch up with him, a group of Jocks walked out of Building C, the southernmost building, heading towards the football field and they caught up with Collin first. The group of four guys yelling startled Collin and he must have slipped on a patch of ice that was along the edge of the lot, because next thing you know Collin was flat on the ground, and books were sprawled everywhere. Jock #1, who you found out later was another Wide Receiver named Anthony Fieldstone, led the group in laughing at Collin and saying what you could only assume were mean remarks (you were still too far away, fighting your way through students walking across campus, to hear). Jock #2 and Jock #3 laughed along and even pointed when Collin tried getting up and slipped again. But it was Jock #4 (later identified as Chris Evans) who had laughed at first, but after seeing Collin continue to struggle turned to his friends and said something. Anthony ignored Chris, and went over to Collin and pushed him down and kicked one of his textbooks into a puddle, turning to Jocks #2 and #3 for reactions. By this point you were within 10 feet of them, and heard Chris this time. 

“Guys, stop! Just leave him alone,” He muttered, while their laughs increased. Then you saw Chris turn his head, look at the ground with his brows furrowed, and a look of determination came onto his face. By now, you were within 5 feet of Collin, who had gathered all of his books and was sporting what looked like two bloody knees through his jeans, and fresh tear tracks down his pale face. Chris took a step towards his friends and made a comical, slip-on-a-banana-peel fall on his back. This immediately got the Jock’s attention. They started roaring with laughs.

“Evans, you’re just as clumsy as Red here!”

“Oh snap!”

“Yeah, yeah. You guys gonna help me up here?” Chris gave a sheepish smile and held out his hands. You had arrived at the scene and caught Collin’s eye. 

“Collin! Are you okay?” You asked, as you gave him a once over and looked around for any books he might have missed on the ground. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” He sniffled. You put your arm around him while he clutched what seemed like at least five textbooks. 

Does he always walk around with his entire locker?! 

By the time you turned to walk away, Chris had been helped up by the Jocks, and now they were distracted with teasing him and each other, and were headed towards the football field. You turned Collin toward the direction of the bus stop, but not before taking another look at where Chris had fallen. There was no ice there, no snow, nothing. Being on the Varsity Football team as a Sophomore meant he definitely wasn’t clumsy enough to trip over his own feet, which meant he had faked his fall. 

Why? To take the spotlight off of Collin? To stop his asshole friends from bullying another kid? To be nice? Why would Popular Chris Evans need to be kind to Nerd Collin Peery? 

You didn’t find the answers to those questions that day, but for the rest of that school year you started observing Chris Evans. Discreetly of course, Crystal and Pete would have wondered why you suddenly had an obsession with a Popular Person. You noticed that although at first glance he seemed like a regular Jock, (he made the Varsity Football team his Sophomore year and would later become Captain his Junior and Senior years), he actually defied stereotypes when Sophomore year he tried out for the spring production of Run for Your Wife and got the lead part of John Smith over most of the upper class guys. The charming, British accent he put on for that role, and how he effortlessly hit his every cue and jokes endeared him to the audience—at least that's what you assumed happened on opening night since you didn’t actually go and see him—but you were certainly captivated listening, hidden in the upper rafters of Kirshner Auditorium Tuesdays and Thursdays that spring while you waited for your older brother to finish Track practice. 

 He also volunteered. And not just the forced community volunteering all the Jocks had to do for their team, but he did it in his spare time. You found out at the start of summer between Sophomore and Junior year. Crystal’s family dog, Lester, had just died and she was extremely devastated. Her mom told her getting a new one might help ease her pain, so you suggested she look at the Pound. That is how the two of you found yourselves leaving the Buddy Dog Humane Society on a Saturday, with a black Lab/Border Collie mix named Mabel, and as you were checking out, and getting final forms for Mabel, you noticed from the corner of your eye a teenage boy hauling a couple of trash bags down a long hallway toward an exit. Your parents had been hounding you to get a job the past few months, and the idea of extra work didn’t sound too terrible if you were able to hang out with cute dogs. So you asked gray haired Sharon, the nice lady helping you, if you could apply for a job there even if you hadn’t turned 16 yet. She told you the Shelter didn’t hire anyone under 21, and she must have seen the confusion on your face when you glanced at where the teenage boy had just exited. “Oh! That’s Chris. He volunteers here on the weekends. You’re more than welcome to volunteer! We could always use an extra hand around here. Let me get you a form,” She stated as she walked away. It didn’t click in your head that she meant Chris Evans until you and Crystal were walking down the sidewalk a couple minutes later—Crystal cooing at Mabel while she steered her toward the backseat of her black 1990 Acura Legend—when you saw him dumping more trash bags into a giant industrial trash bin on the side of the building. His dark blue t-shirt had ridden up, and you must have been staring too long because Crystal called your name through the window of her car to get in, and Chris looked up to lock eyes with you. He gave you a slight smile as he pulled down his Humane Society shirt over his khaki shorts. Your eyes widened as if you had been caught in a salacious act (was checking out a Jock salacious?), and your heart started racing, so you did the most logical thing and abruptly turned and dove into the front seat of Crystal’s car. On the drive back to Crystal’s place you made a mental note: Chris Evans volunteers to help puppies and has nice abs. 

There were also other small things you noted about him throughout your Sophomore and into your Junior and Senior years, such as how he would treat people in the classes you shared with him. Instead of ignoring or outright bullying kids who were overweight, gay, or nerdy he would talk to them when he was sitting next to them in class or if they were doing a project together, and after play practice he would socialize with the crew working behind the scenes, and the actors who were stand ins and extras.

So…what? He’s not an asshole, unlike the rest of his Jock friends. That doesn’t mean he’s an amazing guy—it just means he’s not an asshole—and now you have gone and developed a stupid crush on the guy! 

Why does your inner cynic sound eerily like Crystal? 

This is why you had to keep your crush a secret. Because Crystal, or even Pete, couldn’t fathom why you would like a Popular guy like Chris. Although maybe Pete wouldn’t be so judgmental based on how comfortable he looked with the Jocks earlier…

“What are you daydreaming about over there?” Crystal’s voice snaps you back to reality. 

“I wasn’t daydreaming!” You protest, as you notice you had emptied your beer can while you sat reminiscing. Your head feels light and fuzzy. “Sure, you weren’t. Come over here and play Smash Bros with me!” She insists while her fingers fly over the controller. 

“Nah, I’m good over here,” you stated and slumped further into the bean bag and closed your eyes, trying to get comfy. Your limbs start to feel loose the longer you sit, and apparently so does your mouth as you say, “What do you think of Chris Evans?”

Crystal doesn’t stop playing as she asks absentmindedly, “The star of the football team?” 

“Yeah,” You confirm. 

“He’s a meathead Jock. What of it?” She responds over the sound of her game.

“Doesn’t he have pretty blue eyes?” you asked dreamily, thinking about your eye lock with him minutes before. It took you a minute or two to realize that the sound of buttons clicking had stopped, and Crystal was being extremely quiet. You slowly blinked your eyes open to see her looking at you with an inscrutable look on her face, and you replayed your question in your mind. Crystal reacted before you had a chance to, with an eyebrow raise and the question, “You like Chris Evans?”

Yes. No. Kind of.

 “No!”

“But you like his eyes?”

“I mean…”

“So, you like him?” She was looking at you. Why did it feel like your answer was so pivotal?

“I just want to kiss him!” 

Where the hell did that come from?! We were talking about his eyes! 

You swore you were never drinking again after tonight. Crystal’s hazel eyes shuttered and her mouth pursed. 

“You want to kiss him?! Why? He’s just an idiot with good hair and an over inflated ego, who can catch a ball!” She blurted as she stood up from the floor and walked towards you. “You and him aren’t even on the same level! You are too good for him. You're smart, sweet and so unbelievably beautiful,” She pressed while looking in your eyes, and placed her hands on the bean bag close enough to your legs you could feel their heat, while she knelt on the floor. You gave her a drunk, bashful smile, and she returned a heartfelt one. 

“Crystal, thank you. But it's nothing, really! Plus it’s not like anything is going to happen anyway!” You chuckle, trying to convince her and yourself. She only gives a strained smile and a huff of a laugh as she moves to stand, then quickly changes the topic.

“It’s getting late. Let's go find Pete and get out of here!” You wobble as you try to maneuver out of the bean bag, but Crystal helps you find your feet. “I’m driving,” She adds as you leave the room. The two of you find Pete sitting on a couch in the upstairs family room chatting with a random collection of people. He doesn’t protest when Crystal tells him you guys are leaving and if he wants a ride he better say good-bye to his new friends. As the three of you head towards the front door Cory Jameson flags down Pete in the foyer, and breaks away from a group of Jocks in the corner.

“Hey Schlozinger, glad you stopped by man…”

You tune out their conversation because past Cory’s shoulder you see garish pink nails card through the back of short, brown hair that you would be able to recognize anywhere. The guy the brown hair belonged to, was pressing Brunette Cheerleader into the foyer wall and kissing her like his life depended on it, and solidifying his identity was his last name printed on the back of his shirt: Evans #13. You turn before you see them do anything more. Crystal had seen it too. Pete is done with his good-bye, and you can’t get out of that house fast enough. You can slowly feel your buzz wearing off as your mind spins. 

Crystal was right. You and Chris are not on the same level—he is so out of reach it’s laughable! So, maybe it was a good thing to see that little display. You and Chris Evans may go to the same school, but you are from two completely different worlds, and you needed to remember that and forget your stupid crush.

Pete follows your lead to the car, humming a 2Pac song, and Crystal is behind him smiling to herself, suddenly in a good mood.