#world class sarcasm
Text
I’m posting the ever-so-rare photo of myself alongside one of my characters based on my childhood because today is World Autism Acceptance Day, and I wanted to show my little corner of the internet who this particular autistic person is:
I was officially diagnosed in February, at age 38 (I’m now 39). A lot of people thought I couldn’t be autistic. Some people who know me in real life still don’t. And until around 10 years ago, I didn’t think I could be either, because I was nothing like the stereotype media portrays. I was told that autistics lacked empathy (untrue), and never played make-believe (also often untrue) and only enjoyed STEM. I was — and am — an empathetic artist -- and make believe? I can spend days sketching finely bedecked bears brewing tea or carefully choosing the right words to weave tapestries of fiction — though perhaps my hyper focus was a bit of a red flag. Even so, how could autism describe me? I was a good student. I got straight A's. I didn’t act out in class. I can make eye contact…if I must. And lots of girls hate having their hair brushed with an unholy passion, right? Clearly I swim in sarcasm like a fish, so autism couldn't be why I was so anxious all the time, could it?
If someone had told me when I was younger what autism ACTUALLY is — instead of the nonsense I’d seen on screens — I would have seen myself in it. I didn’t hear that autistics have sensory issues until I was in my mid-twenties, which is when I first began to really research autism symptoms, and I had almost all of them: sensitivity to light, smells, fabrics, temperatures, textures, and certain touches, all of which make me feel anxious, I fidget (stim), I never know what the hell to do with my hands or where to look, I talk too little or too much, I have special interests, I have entire animated movies memorized shot-by-shot and can remember the first time and place I saw every movie I've ever seen but I often forget what I'm trying to say mid-sentence, I echo movies and tv shows (my husband and I have a whole repertoire of shared echolalias, making up about 20% of our conversations), I was in speech therapy as a kid, I have issues with dysnomia and verbal fluency, I toe-walk, I can't multitask to save my life, I like things just-so, I’m deeply introverted but not shy, I need to recover from all social interaction — even social interaction I enjoy — and I find stupid, every day things like grocery shopping, driving and making appointments overwhelming and intensely stressful, sometimes to the point where I struggle to speak. It turns out, I am definitely autistic. My results weren't borderline. Not even close. And while these aren’t all of my challenges, and not everyone with these symptoms is autistic, it’s definitely something to look into if you present with all of these things at once.
So why did it take me so long to get diagnosed? The same bias that exists in media threads through the medical community as well, and because I'm a woman who can discuss the weather while smiling on cue, few people thought I was worth looking into. Even after I was fairly certain I was autistic, receiving an official diagnosis in the US is unnecessarily difficult and expensive, and in my case, completely uncovered by my insurance. It cost me over $4000, and I could only afford it because my husband makes more money than I do as a freelance illustrator — a job I fell into largely because it didn’t require in-person work; like many autists, I have been chronically underemployed and underpaid, in part due to physical illness in my twenties, which is a topic for another day. But it shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be so hard for adults to receive diagnoses and it shouldn’t be so hard for people to see themselves in this condition to begin with due to misinformation and stereotypes. Like many issues in America, these barriers are even higher for marginalized groups with multiple intersectionalities.
It’s commonly said that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person. This is why it’s called a spectrum, not because there’s a linear progression of severity (someone who appears to have low support needs like myself might need more than it seems, and vice versa), but because every autistic person has their own strengths and weaknesses, challenges and experiences, opinions and needs. No two people on the spectrum present in the same way. And that’s a good thing! No way of being autistic is inherently any better than any other, and even if someone on the spectrum struggles with things I don’t — or can do things I can’t — doesn’t make them more or less deserving of respect and human dignity.
But speaking solely for myself, the more I learn about autism, the happier I am to be autistic. I struggle to find words and exert fine motor control, but my deep passion and fixation has made me good at art and storytelling anyway. I find more joy watching dogs and studying leaf shapes on my walks than most people do in an entire day. More often than not, the barriers I’ve faced weren’t due to my autism directly, but due to society being overly rigid about what it considers a valid way of existing. My hope in writing this today is that maybe one person will realize that autism isn’t what they thought — and that being different is not the same as being less than. My hope with my fiction is to give autistic children mirrors with which to see themselves, and everyone else windows through which to see us as we actually are.
If you’re interested in learning more about autism or think you might be autistic, too, I recommend the Autism Self Advocacy Network autisticadvocacy.org and the following books:
What I Mean When I Say I’m Autistic by Annie Kotowicz
We're Not Broken by Eric Garcia
Knowing Why edited by Elizabeth Bartmess
Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, PhD
Loud Hands edited by Julia Bascom
Neurotribes by Steve Silberman
(trigger warning: the last two contain quite a lot of upsetting material involving institutionalized child abuse, but I think it’s important for people to know how often autistic children were — and are — abused simply for being neurodivergent).
Thanks for reading 💛
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
There’s perks to working a summer job where there’s seemingly no manager. Steve got an at most five minute interview with an overly smiley dude who said, “An independent workforce is very important to us,” and didn’t even check his references before telling Steve that he was hired.
So it’s down to him and Robin alone to open and close Scoops Ahoy. And the lack of any boss—not even a supervisor—is mostly great, means that no-one’s hovering over their shoulders droning on about ‘company policy’, means they can take their breaks as and when, and no-one’s tapping their foot with an eye on the clock.
But then there’s the times where it’s absolutely swamped with customers, and the statistical likelihood of having to serve an asshole skyrockets; and most assholes don’t tend to think of teenagers slinging ice-cream as being worthy of even the tiniest shred of respect.
“Are you wilfully this stupid, missy?” a douchebag snaps at Robin during the lunchtime rush, after she added chocolate sauce on his sundae instead of raspberry.
She remakes the order with a look that, if there was any justice in the world, would make him drop down dead on the spot. But instead, he just scoffs when she passes him the new sundae.
“Have a spectacular day,” Robin says acerbically, and if it was any other time, Steve would be ducking down behind the counter, pretending to check on stock levels so he can hide his laughter.
Except Robin’s also doing that thing where she blinks a lot, and Steve knows she’s fighting tears of frustration because he privately does something remarkably similar.
There’s a sinking feeling in his chest coupled with what’s becoming a steadily frequent flare of protectiveness. That one usually comes with the kids and The Upside Down—except Robin is a girl who’s round about his age, so he half-heartedly assumes it must be because he has a crush on her.
But he’s not even thinking about said crush at all when he gently bumps her towards the break room with his hip and says, “Take yours first, I’ve got this.”
For half a second, Robin’s eyes seem to shine in gratitude before she puts a hand over her heart and declares, dripping in sarcasm, “You’re a god among men, Harrington, I never believed what anyone said about you.”
“You’re wel—hey, what did they say about me?”
The door to the break room shuts, but not before he hears Robin let out a genuine snort of laughter. He smiles and pivots back to the register.
The line’s calmed down; Steve recognises a substitute teacher waiting to be served: Mrs Greeves, who’s been at Hawkins High since the sixties, at least. There’s no other adult in the shop, so it’s presumably her little granddaughter who’s running about the place, without so much as a glancing eye on her.
But Steve doesn’t have to worry about a potential lost child scenario, because a guy suddenly slips out of the booth he’d been sitting in, bending down to the kid’s eye level and subtly ensuring that she doesn’t hightail it out of there.
It takes a few seconds for Steve to recognise him; he’s still getting used to the whole phenomenon of seeing people without the high school setting behind them. Like, Robin used to be just a name from a class he can’t even recall, and now he knows her for her dry wit and love of cryptic crosswords.
And this Eddie Munson is sort of a different beast from the guy Steve saw stomping around the cafeteria tables.
He’s dressed pretty much the same, (Hellfire shirt sans the leather jacket must be the ‘summer look’, Steve reckons), but he’s quieter as he chats with the little girl, letting her try on one of his skull rings to distract from her obvious boredom. His grin is softer, too.
Mrs Greeves clears her throat, and Steve promptly puts on his vacant ‘delightful customer service’ smile.
“Afternoon, Mrs Greeves, what can I do you for?”
She orders a simple strawberry cone for the kid, Abigail, and two scoops of lemon and vanilla in a cup for herself—appropriate, Steve thinks, because her face looks like she’s sucking on a lemon half the time.
As he prepares the ice-cream, he’s quickly remembering why she’s on the list of substitute teachers that students dread, even if he’s only had the ‘pleasure’ of being in a class supervised by her once. He has vague memories of how she’d talk with other teachers in a scandalised stage whisper about students from ‘broken homes’—he’s pretty sure she’s still an austere teacher at the Sunday School, too.
“Abigail,” she says sharply, when Steve finishes the cone, and she finally seems to realise her granddaughter isn’t by her side, “what have I told you about—”
“Oh, it’s okay,” Eddie says hurriedly. Abigail hands him the ring back, very carefully dropping it into his palm, and he gives her a gentle smile. “I don’t mind—”
“—not talking to strangers?” Mrs Greeves finishes, as if Eddie hadn’t spoken.
“But,” Eddie says with tiny frown, “you know me, ma’am, I’m—”
“Let me be plain then, Mr Munson.” She finally turns to favour Eddie with a scathing look. “I meant that I don’t want my granddaughter around a corrupting influence.”
There’s an awful silence while Abigail collects the cone.
“Oh,” Eddie says, still crouched down by the booth. He sounds very small.
And Steve’s view of Mrs Greeves quickly turns from a general dislike to an icy hatred.
“And here’s yours,” he says, sliding the cup over.
She looks down. Her mouth goes all pinched in displeasure.
“What’s the meaning of this?”
“It’s your ice-cream,” Steve says, playing up a confused blink. “Is—is this not what you ordered? I’m terribly sorry for the—”
“Don’t be obtuse, Mr Harrington. These scoops are tiny; they barely fill the cup!”
Yup, Steve thinks with a savage satisfaction. They’re the size of a melon ball, and even that’s being generous.
“Mrs Greeves, I’m afraid it’s store policy. Nothing to do with—”
“What kind of policy could possibly justify—”
“Rudeness,” Steve says smoothly.
Eddie’s head jerks up at that, his mouth slightly agape.
“Mr Harrington,” Mrs Greeves says, her face turning puce, “I would like to see your manager.”
“The manager,” Steve says flatly. “Okay, sure. I’ll go get him.”
What he does next, compared to everything else that’s happened in his life thus far, isn’t all that stupid.
Well. Maybe a little.
It’s worth it though, to see the way Eddie Munson’s eyes widen at the sight.
Making sure to have zero expression throughout, Steve mimes walking downstairs, throws off his hat while crouched behind the counter, then re-emerges with a quick ruffle of his hair.
“How can I help you?” he asks, like they’ve only just met.
The cup of minuscule ice-cream is soon up-ended as Mrs Greeves storms out, barking over her shoulder, “Abigail, come here!”
Eddie stands to let the kid out of the way, who seems blissfully ignorant with her cone. Steve’s sure he hears him mutter under his breath, “Jesus, she’s not a dog.”
“I’ll be reporting you, Steve Harrington, make no mistake!”
Yeah, good fucking luck. I sure as hell don’t know who really runs this place.
“Uh-huh,” Steve says. “Looking forward to it. Harrington with two ‘r’s one ‘n’, ma’am.”
“Shit, Harrington,” Eddie drawls. He’s leaning next to the booth, hip cocked, and if it weren’t for the fact that he’d seen it himself, Steve might’ve been convinced that the Eddie from a moment ago was a different person. “That was not worth getting fired over.”
“I’m not getting fired,” Steve says—although honestly, if that had been a real threat, he thinks his actions would probably have been the same. Huh. “I meant it, dude, there’s no manager here.”
Eddie nods slightly, looks up at the Scoops Ahoy sign and grins. “So you and Buckley are the skeleton crew on this ship.”
“Uh, I guess?”
Come on, man, Steve thinks, as Eddie keeps up the wide grin like it’s a shield. This isn’t the high school cafeteria; I’m not about to hit your lunch tray or whatever.
Out loud, he calls into the back, “Hey, Robin, the chocolate’s low. I’m just gonna put in a new batch if you want some of the old stuff.”
The sliding doors open.
Robin sighs as if she’s just had a very relaxing facial, but she’s actually holding a folded newspaper with the cryptic crossword all finished.
“I am so chilled out,” she says, with a delivery that could rival Eddie Munson’s trademark dramatics.
“You’re so weird,” Steve says mildly while making up a cup with the leftover chocolate ice-cream.
“You’ve just got no taste, Harrington.” She waggles the crossword at him. “You should give ‘em a try.”
Steve wrinkles his nose. “I’m no good at that code-breaking stuff.” He passes her the cup, goes to start assembling his own and pauses. “Hey, Munson, you want some?”
“Oh, uh, I’m good,” Eddie says, sounding suddenly wrong-footed. “Sorry, I’m just, uh, killing time before my movie starts. The other stores said if I wasn’t buying anything I should get out, so…”
“So you’ve come to our oceanic sanctum,” Robin deadpans.
Steve rolls his eyes. “You know, just ‘cause you do crosswords doesn’t mean you have to turn into a dictionary. Ow.” He doesn’t quite duck in time to avoid the newspaper smacking him in the face. He turns to address Eddie again, who appears to be fighting back laughter. “What’re you gonna see, Munson?”
Eddie’s eyes glance away for a second. “Something very scary and befitting of my stature, Harrington.”
Robin, who’s made a habit of memorising the mall’s movie schedules, checks her watch and narrows her eyes. “Return to Oz?”
Eddie’s cheeks start to glow. “Fuck off, Buckley, I’ve never liked you.”
“You’re such a liar, I’ve heard your applause at band practice—”
“Okay, but,” Steve cuts in, jumping up onto the counter with one hand. “I thought the whole point was Oz was a dream. How can she return to—?”
“Christ, I don’t know, Harrington,” Eddie says. “I didn’t pick it for critical analysis; the poster had a dude with a pumpkin head on it, and I thought it looked cool.”
“Oh, I saw that,” Robin says. “Made me think of when all those pumpkins went bad. Like, imagine if they had faces.”
Unthinkingly, Steve says around his ice-cream spoon, “No way, I’m not dealing with that, too.”
“Excusez-moi?” Robin says.
“Hmm?” Steve says innocently.
“Hey, you missed quite a show earlier on, Buckley,” Eddie says. “Reckon Harrington deserves a tally in the ‘you rule’ column.”
Steve glares at Robin. “I told you to keep that outta view of the customers.”
“Ah, but I’m not buying anything,” Eddie points out, “ergo, not a customer.”
“Ergo,” Steve mimics.
“That board is strictly for romantic successes,” Robin says.
Eddie snorts. “Aw, that’s hardly fair. I think it should have more… rounded criteria.”
Robin’s eyes narrow again. “Eddie Munson, you’ve never complimented a jock in your life, don’t start now.”
“Hey,” Steve says, overselling a ‘wounded’ expression. “I’m more than that, y’know. I contain multitudes.”
“Sure,” Eddie says, smiling. “Folks, we’ve got Hawkins’s own Whitman right here.”
Steve flips him off and, on a whim, decides to channel his inner Dustin.
“Maybe I just see the world more clearly than you two ‘cause I’m free of societal constraints.”
“You’re working in a mall,” Robin says.
“High school societal contraints. I am unshackled and ergo, free.”
“Damn,” Eddie says, patting down his pockets for an imaginary pen, “I should use that.”
“Stop inflating Harrington’s ego and go catch your totally scary movie,” Robin says.
Eddie checks his own watch. “Oh, shit. Um.” And Steve thinks that it almost looks like he’s reluctant to leave. “Time flies, I guess. Better go ashore.” He catches Steve’s eye, gives a tiny little salute as he leaves. “May your summer continue to be mundane and manager-less.”
“You’re a poet, Munson,” Steve says, even though Eddie’s already out the door.
“So what was the show I missed?” Robin says. “I couldn’t hear anything back there.”
“Nothing that exciting.”
Steve tells her, and even though a smile tugs at her mouth as he re-enacts his mime, for some reason her eyes are kinda sad for most of it.
“Good job, Popeye,” she says thoughtfully—and though it directly contradicts her own words, she marks up a singular ‘you rule’ tally for the rest of her shift before wiping it off.
Eddie doesn’t re-appear after the movie—not that Steve’s keeping track of time, or anything—but at least they don’t have anymore nightmares for customers. As Steve mops, he thinks about how Dustin’s return from Camp Something Something is approaching—and the fact that he’s circled the date with a goofy smiley face is between him and his bedroom calendar.
He smiles to himself while clocking out of the now ghostly mall, recalling Eddie’s parting words.
The thought of a mundane, manager-less summer stretching before him sounds pretty damn good.
#i think this is my first scoops fic! had fun putting in some silly foreshadowing ❤️#steve and robin#pre steddie#steddie#steddie ficlet#steddie fic#eddie and robin#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#briefly implied homophobia
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
ugh I love the way you write frat Peter <3333 am thinking of how he would react when his frat brothers flirt with his girl jus to rile him up - ❄️❄️
A Little Reminder
--genre: fluff, slight smut, MINORS DNI.
--pairing: frat!tasm!peter parker x f!reader
--word count: 1.4k
--warnings: language, kisses, slight smut, mention of hickeys, fluff!!!
love this request! i have something similar (more angsty) if you want more, "Let Me Be There, Let Me Be Yours".
You were drained, to say the least. Your last lecture wiped you out, followed by a tutoring session to bring up your plummeting English Literature grade. Peter’s the one to blame for that one. Sure, you scheduled an early morning class knowing that it would be hard to get there, but Peter keeping you hostage in bed also didn’t help.
As you walk back to your apartment, you’re mentally cursing him knowing that you’ll realistically not do anything about it. With your headphones blocking out the world around you, your only goal was to get home and to Peter. Your bed calls out for you.
Switching songs, an arm is suddenly wrapped around your shoulders, making you jump out of your skin. Pulling off one side of your headphones, you look towards the person whose arm is around you, finding one of Peter’s frat brothers grinning widely at you. You barely have time to deal with whatever is going on, but still decide to play along not to seem rude, “Bryce, what the fuck is going on?”
“Oh nothing,” he replied nonchalantly, his arm still on your shoulders, “ just walking you home, that’s all.” His tone still holds one of a joke, but now that you’re approaching your apartment he still doesn’t give up.
You can’t help but laugh and scoff, you wonder how long he’ll keep this up. Ducking out of his hold, you stand in front of him, “I didn’t ask you to do that, but thank you so much for your generosity, Bryce. Your heart must be so so big!” You bring a hand up to his shoulder and pat it a few times, “I’ll make sure to tell Pete about this. Just to let him know how caring you are.”
“You do that, (Y/N)! I cannot wait to hear back from him,” his smile is wide still, but sarcasm drips off of his tongue.
You start to walk up the stairs to your building, waving Bryce goodbye as you giggle to yourself. He’s going to get an earful the next time he sees Peter.
****
“Hi, Pete! I’m home,” you call out as you close and lock the door behind you. It doesn’t take long before you hear heavy footsteps approach you from the bedroom, Peter’s disheveled state greeting you. He’s shirtless, his boxers the only thing on his body, but you’re not complaining. Peter’s even wearing his glasses, which is a rarity recently. You’ve noticed he only wears them around you.
As he approaches you, he takes your school bag and your headphones, placing them on the couch before he envelopes you in a bone-crushing hug. You breathe in his scent, the natural musk combined with his body wash makes you melt. Your ear is placed directly on his heart, the rhythmic beat acting as a lullaby.
You look up at him again, craving to see him in his glasses again to see that he’s already looking at you. You stand on your toes to reach his lips, catching him off guard in a kiss that he quickly gets accustomed to. His lips are slightly chapped.
Pulling away he sighs, giving your lips one more quick peck, “How was class, bug?” Brushing a piece of hair that fell into your eyes away, he holds the side of your face.
“It was long and boring,” you close your eyes, the mere thought of it reeling in another wave of exhaustion, “but guess who I ran into on the way home?” You pull away from his hold to walk over to the kitchen, Peter following loosely behind you. There are a few beats of silence as he goes through the list of who it could be, but he soon gives up with a sigh. “Bryce fucking Quinn,” you reveal.
He leans against the cabinet as you reach into the fridge for a bottle of water, his eyes widening, “I haven’t seen him in a while. How is he?”
“He’s good,” you open the cap and take a sip, before dropping the bomb on him, “he’s very nice.”
This sparks Peter’s interest, his head cocking to the side as his brows furrowed in confusion, “Oh really?” Your impression of him shocks him. He knows Bryce Quinn to be a jokester, he’s never taken anything seriously, and if he did, it was always because it was part of a running bit that he carried.
You smirk as you take another sip, trying not to reveal how amused you are, “Yeah, he even walked me home! He even threw his arm over me to make sure I got here safe.” You leave Peter to go into the bathroom, the sudden urge to pee coming over you.
Peter’s once relaxed demeanor was now one of rigid shock, he once again followed you. “What do you mean ‘threw his arm over you’?” You’re sitting on the toilet when Peter opens the door and stands directly in front of you, looking for answers.
“You need me to answer that right now?”
“Well,” he doesn’t see anything wrong with asking right now, “when else am I gonna ask you?” He’s dead serious too.
Reaching for the toilet paper, you gather a few pieces, “Maybe when I’m not actively on the toilet?”
He finally comes to his senses as he turns around, facing the wall, and leaving you to do your business. “It’s not like I haven’t seen every part of you before,” he adds, before turning back around when he hears the toilet flush and the sink run as you wash your hands.
Washing your hands, you look into the mirror only to see Peter behind you, giving you a scare. “If you’re really worried about this babe, you know you shouldn’t,” you dry your hands off on the towel next to the sink. Turning around to face your worried and slightly angry boyfriend, you reach up to hold his face, his head slightly flinching away from your cold hands, you giggle, “Shit, sorry!”
Pulling down his face, you kiss his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands find their home on your waist. The kiss slowly gets needier, causing Peter’s hands to lower down to under your thighs, hoisting you onto the counter, his arms caging you in as he places both of his hands on either side of your head. Your fingers are weaving themselves in his hair, slightly tugging on it, causing a soft moan to escape his lips. You pull away, his lips chasing yours as you back away. “Peter,” you whine.
He’s not listening, his only objective was connecting your lips again. He’s panting as he responds, his voice breathy, “Yeah, baby?” You can’t help but smirk at his current state. It seems like he forgot all about your previous conversation.
As you tilt your head back and forth to look into his eyes, he follows. His lips are desperate for your touch, and it shows. You grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes, “Don’t be too hard on Bryce when you see him next.”
Peter groans as he tilts his head back away from your touch, a breathy chuckle leaving him, “Why are we still talking about Bryce when I’m so close to taking you back to bed?”
You blush at his response, “I’m just saying…I don’t need to be the damsel in distress when it comes to you, Petey.” Peter brings his hands down to scoop under your thighs once again, pulling you up to his chest, making you wrap both your arms and legs around him to not fall, a big smile on your face.
“Oh, bug,” he starts to walk to your bedroom, “you’re never the damsel in distress. But sometimes they need a little reminder that you aren’t theirs to play with, are you?” You shake your head in response, the heat in your cheeks starting to pool lower on your body. “And sometimes they forget that,” he places you gently on the bed.
Peter can’t help but admire you as you lay in front of him. Pulling off his glasses and tossing them to the side, he kneels on the bed to kiss you again, leaving a few marks on your neck to serve as a physical reminder to those around you. Bryce is so fucked.
--author's note: I LOVE FRAT!PETER AND I'M SO HAPPY YOU LOVE HIM TOO ❄️ ANON!!!!!! this got a little spicy at the end and i'm so sorry i have no idea what happened LMAOO. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog. my 300 follower celebration is happening now, so don't forget to send things in!! rules are pinned to my blog!!! ok, ily bye <333
#tasm!peter x reader#peter parker x reader#peter parker#fluff#marvel#andrew garfield peter parker#tasm!peter parker#spiderman#college au#frat!peter parker x f!reader#frat!peter parker#frat!peter#tasm!peter parker smut#frat!peter smut
556 notes
·
View notes
Text
THE HATING GAME - JJK
working together with your biggest competition was not something you saw yourself doing often. but fucking him one late night at office? never in a million years.
pairing — jungkook x female reader
genre — angst, smut
word count — 7.2k
warnings/tags — lawyer!jk x lawyer!reader, enemies2lovers, dom!jk, sub!reader, swearing, provocation, insults, petty arguing, vague mentions of murder/strangulation, jealousy, teasing, lying, denial, tension x100, improvisation, touching, so much sarcasm, explicit smut, light bondage, grinding, neck kisses, nipple play, tit slapping, begging, fingering, dirty talk, degradation, oral (m and f receiving), cunnilingus, choking, spitting, pussy slapping, tongue fucking, dick slapping (face), edging, crying, slapping (like once), spanking, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it guys), light pain kink, finger sucking, angry fucking, creampie, making out, cum eating, post-nut clarity, both very lost and confused by the end.
paired with this edit made by yours truly 🤭
a/n: hello and welcome to jahanara feeding into her office romance fantasies pt98583616 😭 please enjoy this very long and drawn out piece (similar to illicit desire) but more detailed, more descriptive and can be read as a stand-alone.
if you came from tiktok, hello and welcome to the dark side 😁 enjoy the long-awaited lawyer!jk au!
btw this fic has nothing to do with the book/movie called ‘the hating game’ the name just fit this ok 🙄
“We need to talk,” Jungkook’s voice causes your chest to falter as he enters his office, waiting for you to enter before shutting the door behind you and making home on the seat behind his desk.
“We can’t do this case.”
If you could burst out laughing right now, you would, but this was a professional work environment, “You invite me into your office, distracting me from my own work, just to tell me something I already know?” You make yourself comfortable in the seat opposite his, paying him a fake smile, “I don’t know why you’re panicking, we can easily get out of this. We can just say we have too much on our plate to take on a new case. There, done,” you shrug, leaning back in the seat without a care in the world.
Mr Jeon, your boss, thought it’d be a good idea to pair you up with Jungkook to work on a class case.
Why he’d even make that decision was beyond you. Neither of you got along well, trying too hard to one-up each other, spewing insults back and forth like there was no tomorrow. Failure to work well together in this case, you were both threatened with temporary suspension.
“Yeah, you’re forgetting one thing,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“My dad owns the fucking place.”
Yeah, your boss happened to be Jungkook’s dad, and honestly, it wasn’t such a bad thing. He was treated the same way as the other employees, sometimes a bit worse when it came to you.
You were his favourite employee, the absolute star of his team.
“He’s handed our current cases to another attorney so we can focus on this,” Jungkook groans, getting out of his seat to pace around your office as if he were going through a midlife crisis. He halts after a little dilly-dallying, “We should just take the suspension.”
"Pardon you, but I've got bills to pay, and I can't be having that suspension show up on my job record," you try to reason with him, but Jungkook didn't look very convinced. "Think about it this way…” you trail off, leaving your seat behind your desk to head over to him, standing confident in front of him, “When you're suspended, you're pretty much fired for an unfixed period.”
You were willing to work with Jungkook, just to get this whole thing out of the way, and there was only one way to get him on board.
Provoking him.
“I’m sure the Jeon Jungkook doesn’t wanna get suspended by his own daddy, right?” you taunt him, your voice getting quieter with each word.
Jungkook knew you were messing with him, and hated how you actually got under his skin, but with a defeated sigh, he agrees, “Fine, let’s win this case. How about we work on it over at your place? I’m sure you’ve got no plans for the weekend,” he scoffs, cocking a brow at your overly-confident form.
“I actually have a date this weekend,” you shrug, turning your back towards him ready to take your leave. “We can work on it later tonight, I’m leaving now.”
A date? There’s no way…
Jungkook is quick to rush to the door, blocking you from opening the door just as you reach out for the door knob. His arms were extended out to his sides, stopping you from leaving.
He needed to know who this guy was and why the hell he would go on a date with you of all people. “A date? Someone actually wants to sit and have dinner with you?” he questions, like it was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. “He’s gotta be deaf or blind.”
Now, with shit like this, you’d walk away, but Jungkook rendered you trapped in his office, “Listen you conceited asshole,” your index fingers goes to jab at his chest and you have to force yourself to ignore how built he was under his shirt, “I don’t like you. Never have, never will. We’re all a bit different outside of work but I’ve restricted you from seeing that side of me because you don’t deserve it.”
It was a simple and truthful explanation, you hated Jungkook beyond words, neither of you had a relationship outside of the firm. Your work persona would definitely not attract a guy with how much of a workaholic you were.
You needed this date, as a break from all the hardships these cases brought you.
Jungkook pondered your words carefully. Maybe he was a bit iffy about not having a relationship with you outside of work, he didn’t wanna be just a “work colleague” or that “annoying guy from work. He had way too much pride for that.
“Now if you could please stop hogging the door, that would be great. I don’t think I wanna spend another minute with you in your office.”
“Likewise, Y/N,” Jungkook sneers as he steps away from the door. It doesn't even register to either of you that this could be counted as an argument. How easily you both bumped heads with each other would have to come to a stop now that Mr Jeon was keeping a keen eye on you two.
As the day comes to night, you were still locked away in your office, reading away at your newly appointed case details and taking brief notes. The details were… gory to say the least, and exceptionally hard to read, but being a lawyer, you’d gotten used to it, having read the worst of the worst during your career. It was pretty much a skill to read such gruesome and ill details of murders, kidnappings and assaults with a straight face.
You were lucky not to be the only one reading up on gore so late at night, Jungkook waltzing through your office without knocking (as he always did) with a cup of coffee in his hand. He doesn’t say a word and instead sets the cup on your desk and takes a seat opposite you.
You thought you were seeing things.
Jeon Jungkook buying you coffee? That’s a first.
You don’t say anything, reaching out for the cup and bringing it close to your lips, about to take a sip, but you stop.
“You didn’t poison it, did you?”
As the man was getting comfortable in his seat, he deadpans, “Seriously? What am I, five?”
“Mmm, you act like it,” you mumble, shrugging your shoulders and taking a sip of the coffee anyway.
Thankfully, you were still up and alive.
“Have you had a look at the case yet? It’s a lot of information,” Jungkook says absentmindedly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he propped his feet up onto your desk; a move you’d witnessed on so many occasions, you’d gotten too tired to reprimand him for it.
You set the cup down and speculate over the mess of paper on your desk with a sigh, “Yeah.. I think it might be the hardest we’ve gotten yet.”
You pull out a photo of the crime scene from under the file, sliding it towards him.
It was a very clear image of strangulation on the victim, faded blood and marks of red around the victim’s neck.
All caused by his own father.
“So what are we? Defence or Prosecution?” You’d usually decide this part on your own, but you wanted to hear his thoughts first and ensure he was on the same page as you.
“Easy,” his eyes dip down to your desk, analysing the photo, “We’re defence,” he decides with no hesitation, pulling on his tie to loosen it slightly around his collar.
“What? You wanna go Defence? Seriously?” You thought prosecuting would be the most obvious route to take seeing as the evidence pointed towards the father of the victim being the obvious murderer.
“I spoke with Jimin about it earlier and he also thinks Defence would be the easier route for us.”
“Oh, so it’s just Jimin’s word against mine now?” you arch a brow at him, tilting your head to the side, awaiting a bullshit answer from him.
From the tone of your voice, Jungkook knew you were slowly getting worked up, and quite frankly, there was too much at stake to be arguing when the case hadn’t even started yet. “You know what, we’ll be the Prosecution if it shuts you up.”
As long as you got what you wanted.
“So who’s taking you on a date this weekend?”
Jungkook’s sudden question surprised you. You couldn’t think of one valid reason as to why he cared.
“Um, you probably don’t know him, but his name is Jung Hoseok—”
“—I know him.”
Of course Jungkook knew him; the pair went to law school together but parted ways after Hoseok got a job as a district attorney in the states.
He only returned a couple years back after becoming a legal director at their opposing law firm.
You regretted giving away Hoseok’s name. Now that Jungkook, your absolute nemesis, knew your potential love interest, he was probably planning to absolutely shit talk you to stop you from finding love to feed his bitter self.
“I know Hoseok pretty well, actually. He’s not really fit to be a boss if I’m being honest,” Jungkook recalls, remembering many times back in law school when leadership roles in team activities were up for grabs and Hoseok would always steer clear of them. “Surprised he’s willing to date a bitch,” he snickers, waiting for you to cuss him out.
“Listen, you’re tired, I’m tired, I don’t wanna talk about who’s a bitch and who’s fit enough to be a boss… and it’s definitely not you.”
“Oh yeah? What does Jung Hoseok have that I don’t?”
“Compassion, respect, authority, control, not to mention, he’s quite the attractive man,” you shrug with a sly smile, continuing to boast about Hoseok and at the moment, Jungkook was regretting even asking in the first place.
He could be all that and more.
“But our relationship isn’t very deeply rooted. We’re not in love or anything, we’ve only been on one date so our relationship is at the minimum right now.”
Jungkook didn’t ask for a dramatic reading of your relationship, and he’d just about heard enough, “Yeah, whatever. Can you cook? You should cook for us this weekend. You know, get the brain juice flowing or whatever it’s called,” he stands up abruptly, stretching his arms above his head before heading over to your couch, slouching against the material as he looks over at you, awaiting an answer.
“Why would I cook for someone I hate?”
“You don’t hate me,” he throws back at you, a sly smirk adorning his features, “You pick fights with me and always get competitive, because when you overcome me, it makes you feel better about yourself.”
You bite down on your bottom lip, pondering his words a little.
Maybe he was right to an extent. Nothing felt better than being put against each other and reigning victorious. Everyone in the firm knew how competitive you both were and always steered clear of any kind of opportunity to compete with you.
You sigh and roll your eyes, “Hmm… Maybe I might just have a thing for you, who knows,” you respond casually, shrugging your shoulders just to mess with him a little. “But that’s what you want, right? Another girl to fawn over you?” you taunt him, keeping your eyes trained on him as you recall the number of women that had bombarded your office earlier today after you were counted ‘lucky’ for working with Jungkook, ‘the most attractive guy in the firm.’
Now that made him fix his posture, sitting up for what could only be the most predictable thing he’d ever heard, “Oh my god, I knew it,” he laughs, almost demeaningly, “Everyone and their mum has a thing for me, you’re no different,” he shook his head in disbelief, a large grin spread across his face. “So that’s why you always argue with me, huh? Just so you can talk to me? That’s cute, especially since it’s you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you question, slightly offended.
“Because it’s gonna be fun having the Y/N, my biggest competition, falling in love with me, Jeon Jungkook. Imagine all the headlines that would make.”
God, he’s so full of himself.
As much as you hated how egotistical he was, you wanted to continue your little play act, rising to your feet and walking over to Jungkook by the couch and once near enough, you grab the end of his tie, leaning down towards him and pulling him close to your face with a deceitful smile gracing your lips, “Oh Jeon… You’re so smart, I can’t believe you figured me out so quickly…” you whisper, voice as soft as ever and something Jungkook had never heard before.
He couldn’t deny, your hold on his tie was probably the most attractive thing he’d ever witnessed, but he would never flat-out admit it to you.
Jungkook lifts his hand to gently rest against your cheek, merely trying to see just how far you’d go to keep this act up, “Mhm, I bet you like where we are now, don’t you?” he teases, his voice dropping several octaves and matching the volume of what was once your voice, now barely there as your mind went blank and his eyes proceeded to dance between your lips and your eyes.
Your cheeks had heated up drastically under his touch and you weren’t expecting him to make a comeback like that, and you really weren’t prepared to take things any further, but your pride would take a major blow if you backed out now.
Besides, the setting was perfect for that kind of moment; a near empty building, alone in the office, lights dimmed down, both tired and stressed out..
Your lips were mere inches away from his own and you could’ve kissed him if you really wanted to, and maybe, maybe you did want to kiss him—
No, that was the tense air speaking.
Just improvise.
“Mhm, this is exactly what I wanted…” you whisper, giving his tie one last tug till your foreheads were touching, “But I’m sure your hand can make-do in better places, don’t you think?”
Jungkook’s brow twitches, and you almost miss it, but it was enough of a sign to let you know he wasn’t expecting you to keep up. It wasn’t a problem for him though, the man was just as stubborn and prideful as you were, there was absolutely no way in hell he was gonna back down.
Not until you do.
“And what about yours, Y/N?” he challenges, eyes briefly peering down at your hand still gripping on the end of his tie, “I bet you’re really skilled with your hands, aren’t you?”
The real fun begins when the hand that was once resting against your cheek, drops a little lower, making home over the dip of your neck and Jungkook could feel your skin burn under his palm.
Your heart was racing as you discreetly pondered what he meant by that and once you clocked on, your body had stiffened, but you needed to seem unfazed, “Of course I am, probably more skilled than you at this point,” you shrug, gesturing towards his hand near your neck.
If he had the balls, he’d touch you somewhere more scandalous.
“Oh, is that right? You wanna bring my hands further down then, Y/N?”
Jungkook was testing you and your patience. If he thought you were gonna pussy out, he was wrong.
Your left hand grabs onto his wrist, right hand landing flat against his chest as you pushed him back against the sofa, and without even thinking of your next move, you impulsively make home on Jungkook’s lap, straddling his thighs as you adjust yourself on top of him. He watched on, slightly shocked and a little amused at the lengths you were going through just to prove a point.
With your hand wrapped around his wrist, you drag his hand down your body, slowly reaching your chest and stopping, “How about this?” you whisper, your voice on the verge of the faltering.
“Could be better,” he shrugs nonchalantly, sitting up to pull his blazer off his body, leaving it elsewhere and going back to his previous position, “Try this…”
He begins to pull his tie off around his collar, leaving it beside him for later use and then reaching up to unbutton his white dress shirt until hints of skin peeked through, “It’ll be better if you touch me yourself, but I’m sure you already know that since you’re so ‘skilled,” he says, his hands resting over your hips.
How long was Jungkook gonna keep this up? You were running out of ideas and though this was all a game, you couldn't help but feel just the slightest bit turned on, but how couldn’t you? You were sitting on his lap, your near-skintight skirt rolling up your thighs and you were almost certain he could feel the slight throbbing between your legs.
With one hand placed on his shoulder, the other reaching down to slip your hand past his shirt, your palms making direct contact with his built chest, God, you’re all talk,” you roll your eyes, leaning in to whisper against his ear, “Why don't you put your money where your mouth is?”
Jungkook throws his head back, eliciting a low chuckle, eyes meeting yours again as his palms made home on your thighs, squeezing your flesh enough to warm himself up, “If we continue, this won't be a game anymore…” he trails off, trying his absolute hardest to ignore the growing pain of his hardening cock under his slacks, “I won't be able to stop,” he continues, knowing inside he wanted this too, but was more than willing to back off if you seriously didn’t wanna do this, “Is this what you want?”
Fuck, of course you wanted this. Your body needed an output, some kind of relief. Just this once, you were willing to set aside your differences for what, ten minutes of quick relief?
You adjust yourself on his lap, your lace-clad cunt snug above his growing erection and you could've sworn you almost moaned at the contact. "Can you feel that?” you whisper, referring to the throbbing between your legs. "Is that enough of an answer for you?"
"Jesus Y/N," Jungkook nearly groans at the closeness. If he continued this game, he would cross a line that would be hard to come back from, and he was willing and ready to deal with the consequences to come.
With one swift move, he rests his fingers under your chin, tilting your head to the side to make room for his lips to attach to your neck, gently sucking and biting along your untainted neck didn't whilst he kept you distracted by the new sudden feeling of his large hands rocking your hips back and forth over his erection.
You elicit a soft sigh, eyes coming to a gentle shut as you basked in the soft pleasure, your soaked-through panties bound to leave a mark of your mess on top of him.
Jungkook pulls away from your neck, leaning back to admire your state; your cheeks were flushed pink, hair a little messy and a sheer layer of sweat adorning your chest, resulting in your blouse sticking to your body and arched a brow at you, “Take the shirt off for me, will you?”
You don’t hesitate to oblige, unbuttoning your mesh blouse with your eyes solely focused on him, and it seemed Jungkook had the same plan to just stare you down as you pulled the material off your shoulders, your well hidden assets finally coming in to view and Jungkook’s breath had hitched in his throat.
He didn’t know what came over him, or if he was just high in the moment, but you looked absolutely unreal; a simple yet stunning black lace bralette over your chest, your cleavage on full show and and it was everything he’d imagined. He inhales sharply, resisting the urge to just grab you, but Jungkook was a man of class (sometimes).
He gestured for you to remove the bralette and you did, hands reaching for your back to unclasp everything and let the material fall to your lap, freeing your tits right in front of his face and he was impulsively leaning in, briefly flicking his tongue over your hardened nipples before pulling away just to leave a ruthless smack over the expanse of your tits, revelling in the way your skin would redden and how your body would jump on top of him.
If he was feeling nice, he’d give in to you, give you exactly what you wanted, but to be frank, he wasn’t in a nice mood. He didn’t know if he hated you the way he did before all of this but God, was he gonna give you a piece of his mind..
Jungkook briefly slips his hand under your skirt and reaching between your legs, eager to feel just how soaked you were through your panties and boy, he was not disappointed.
Just mere talking and subtle teasing got you this riled up?
Clearly yes, your thighs were shuddering between his hand and you were almost embarrassed to be sitting where you were right now, “What are you waiting for?” you huff, frustration evident in your tone as you pulled yourself up to slip off your panties.
“I’m waiting for you to beg.”
“I’m not begging you—”
As soon as your panties were off, Jungkook was immediately pulling you back down onto his lap, now getting a real feel of your slick dampening his dress pants, “You’ll beg me, otherwise we can just wrap this up and call it a day…” he trails off, firmly gripping your hips as he pressed you down harder on his hardening cock, forcing a quiet moan to slip past your lips.
“Come on, Y/N… you know what you want, just tell me,” he whispers, eyes meeting yours and drinking in the irritation in them.
God, he loved irritating you.
Giving in just this once wouldn't hurt you, but you weren’t exactly the begging type of person, “I need your hands…” you manage to muster, your poor cunt practically leaking over his slacks.
“That’s not how you ask nicely,” Jungkook taunts you, throwing in a disappointed sigh, “Enlighten me, will you? How bad do you want them?” He leans back against the sofa, his hands rolling the hem of your skirt up over your thighs so he could have a clear cut view of your pussy, swallowing sharply once his eyes catch a glint of your flesh shining under the dim lights.
"Fuck you.." you grit. Jungkook stating the obvious was embarrassing for you; who would've thought Jeon Jungkook would be the reason for your desperation.
You could tell from the tone of his voice that he was enjoying tormenting you, and today was not gonna be the day you beg for him; you had far too much pride for that.
Instead of using your words, you grab ahold of his hand, guiding it down your body and between your legs. Once the pad of his fingers were against your clit, you wasted no time in rocking your hips against them. "I— I want your fingers inside me," you whisper against his ear, hoping he’d cut you some slack.
"Oh Y/N..." Jungkook shook his head disapprovingly. He quickly pulls his hands away to fetch his tie laying next to him on the couch.
You knew exactly where he was going with this and you were right; he’d grabbed your wrists and forced them behind your lower back, using his black tie to restrain your hands, and all you could do was shuffle on top of him, “I’d be careful when moving, wouldn’t want you to fall back,” he taunts you, a grin plastering his face as he pulled on the restraints one last time.
Jungkook doesn’t even spare you a minute to get used to the tie, his hand making home between your legs once again as he moved the pad of his fingers up and down against your swollen clit agonisingly slow, “Don’t you know your manners, Y/N? What happened to saying ‘please’ when you want something?”
You were falling apart on top of him, your hands clawing at nothing as you tried to remain composed. You felt absolutely hopeless, and giving in didn’t seem so bad right about now.
“I fucking hate you,” you seethe through gritted teeth, grinding yourself against his fingers seeing as his lace was too slow for your own liking, “Please, Jungkook…” it physically hurt you to say those words, feeling your cheeks swell up in embarrassment, “I wanna fuck myself on your fingers…”
Most certainly pleased by your answer, he doesn't waste any time, thrusting his index and middle finger into you so fast, a gasp was ripped from your throat. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Only a real slut would beg to get fucked by a guy she hates.”
His hands began to push in and out carefully, admiring your eventual fucked out state, "Fuck yourself on them, pretty," Jungkook instructs, gradually speeding up the rhythm of his fingers. "Or do you want me to curl them?"
It was a rhetorical question, already feeling him curl his fingers between your soft walls as you helplessly clenched around him.
It felt so good.
It was unfortunate your body was close to giving in, struggling to stay up on top of him but you tried to muster as much strength as you could to keep going, drowning Jungkook's digits in your slick as your hips moved up and down on his fingers at a similar pace to his wrist, “Jeon, I can’t..
"Oh? But you can argue with me, call me names, and make a fool of me in front of my colleagues?" Jungkook taunts, speeding up his fingers to a torturous fast pace that was sure to bring you closer to your high. "You can do all of that, but you can't fuck yourself on my fingers? What a pathetic bitch.”
He reaches behind you to untie the restraints binding your wrists together, letting the material drop to the floor behind you before he was picking you up and carrying you over to your desk, setting you down on the surface and pushing you to lie back ever so slightly as he dropped to his knees between your legs.
He split your legs apart, audibly groaning at the sight of your swollen pussy; clit peeking out and your tight hole desperately clenching around nothing. “Fuck… Look at that desperate pussy..” he mumbles to himself, fixing your legs over his shoulders as he leaned in, pressing the flat of his tongue against your cunt.
A content sigh left fell from your lips as he used the tip of his tongue to toy with your sensitive bud, causing your thighs to shake around his head. The repetitive movement had your body tensing and the moans you’d been keeping to a minimum now at the max.
“So— so good..” you whimper, gazing down at him. With your hands free, they moved to grab at his dark locks, shoving his head further between your legs till you could feel his nose repeatedly nudging against your clit and good god, Jungkook would go to hell and back to drown in your pussy for eternity.
He let out a muffled groan, sliding his tongue between your folds and sucking on your clit like his life depended on it, but he needed to pull away if he wanted to live to experience that.
When Jungkook pulled away, you whined, but he wasn’t gone for long, suddenly delivering a harsh slap to your cunt that made your body jump and left your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
It stung, but it felt so fucking good.
Pleased by your reaction, he did it again, this time only harder, “Oh, so Miss Lawyer likes getting her slutty pussy slapped?”
Before you could even respond, Jungkook was biting on his bottom lip, not wasting another second before he’d spat right over your aching cunt, forcing you to arch your back off the desk as he watched the bead of spit trail between your folds in awe.
He leaned in again, shoving his tongue into your aching cunt and feeling your walls clench around the wet muscle almost as if you didn’t wanna let go and he found it beyond amusing, pulling away almost immediately just to spite you as he stood up to tower over your body; mouth glistening from all the slick and you couldn’t deny he looked like a hot mess.
What you didn’t see coming, was Jungkook grabbing your face, slapping you one as he squished your cheeks within his hold, forcing your lips to pucker as he spat into your mouth, the mixture of his saliva and your slick seeping down your throat as you swallowed with no hesitation.
He chuckled deeply, “Should’ve known an A class whore like yourself was into this shit. What do you think the jury would think about that, huh?” He continues to tug on your face, forcing you to keep your eyes on him so he could watch you break down before him.
Jungkook pulls you up and off the desk, standing tall and confident in front of you as you tried to regain a steady composure, almost stumbling.
“I don’t know how they’d feel knowing the slutty prosecutor got on her knees for the heir of this firm,” he starts, reaching out to wrap his hand around your neck firmly and pulling you towards him, “We should risk it and find out, huh?” he breathes out against your lips, low and hoarse and you had to squeeze your thighs shut from the flutters you were feeling between your legs.
“I’d rather throw dirt in my eyes than suck your dick,” you spit, shamelessly lying through your teeth and Jungkook immediately knew you were playing games.
“You think you’re funny, huh?” His hands shift from your neck to the back of your head, gripping a hand full of your hair and urging you to get on your knees and you did exactly that, making it easy for him to get you down as you tried your best to conceal the knowing smile growing on your lips but all you did was lick your lips up at him, anticipation clouding your eyes as you gulped.
The subtle action alone had his dick jumping in his slacks and he refused to wait any longer before unbuckling his belt and pulling pants halfway down his thighs, leaving a thick and oblivious imprint of his cock straining against his boxers right in front of your face.
You didn’t realise it, but your body was inching towards him and Jungkook took notice straight away, doing you the favour of pulling his cock out from its confines to stand tall and hard before you.
You were meaning to reach out for him, but he beat you to it, wrapping a strong hand around the base of his cock as he pumped himself between his fist a couple times, squinting at the little bead of precum eventually dripping down the base of his cock and you could only stare on in awe.
“You want my cock down your throat, huh?” he taunts deeply, moving forwards so he could guide the tip of his leaking cock across your face, nudging your cheek and avoiding all contact with your mouth.
Right where you wanted him most.
“Say it,” he lightly slaps the tip of his dick against your cheek, dragging it down to your lips but not yet pushing in, “Say you’re a cock-hungry bitch who wants her face fucked by the man she hates so much…”
Submission was never your thing. You always showed yourself out to be a woman who always stood her ground, never taking shit from anyone. But now it was your worst enemy, proving you wrong on all of the above.
“I’m a cock-hungry bitch..” your words are there, but no confidence within them, “Who wants her face fucked by the man she hates so much,” you mumble against the tip of his dick, hoping he’d give in to you.
Jungkook shrugs, “Could be better, but what more do I expect from a whore?” He suddenly pushes the tip of his cock past your lips, taking you by surprise as he groaned deeply, basking in the warmth of your mouth as he slowly eased himself into you inch by inch until he completely bottomed out.
You couldn’t handle his immense size, already struggling to breathe and he hadn’t even moved yet and tears were brimming your eyes.
“Tight fucking fit…” he seethes, slowly pulling out only to slam back into your mouth with brute force, each thrust pushing against the back of your throat and though you started choking, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You didn’t want him to stop; allowing him to use your head as assistance.
“Fucking made for my cock, aren’t you? A perfect fit..”
The only sounds that could be heard were Jungkook’s groans and the illicit sounds of your gagging and spluttering, a mixture of spit and precum leaking out the sides of your mouth.
"Gonna make better use of your pretty mouth.. and dumb you up so you'll never be able to throw all that fucking attitude at me again.." With no prep whatsoever, he impales your throat again, this time keeping your head at the very base of his cock, your nose brushing against his abdomen as your throat clenched around him, squeezing tightly to the point you could feel him throb.
“If this is the only way to shut you up, I’ll have you on your knees more often,” he looks down at you, watching the woman who stood so high on her fucking imaginary pedestal, now kneeling between his legs with her mouth stuffed full of his cock like a needy bitch.
Jungkook was damn near certain he almost came from the sight of you alone so he suddenly pulled you away from him, a thick and heavy string of precum connecting your lips to him leaving you a gasping, teary eyed, heaving mess.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” you grumble, slightly annoyed by the sudden withdrawal as you hastily stood onto your feet.
“Oh, Y/N.. What am I gonna do with you?” he questions, sarcasm lacing his voice as he took a couple steps towards you just to grab your arm and turn you around; pushing you down front first against the glass surface of his desk.
You could barely make out what he was about to do, the side of your face pressed up against the glass but God, he was so close behind you, you couldn’t help but push back against him a little, whimpering at the sliver of skin-on-skin contact with him and Jungkook was all for your eagerness.
He spits against the palm of his hand, using the heel of his palm to reach down between your legs and massage your weeping cunt, briefly letting his digits dip into you before replacing them with his cock.
At last.
“Oh— fuck.. Jeon—!” You’re more vocal now than you were ever before, his size deeming you absolutely vulnerable as he pushed into you slowly. The stretch was beyond humane, he was practically splitting you open and your tears were suddenly making another appearance.
Jungkook felt like he was going through the seven stages of grief; not expecting you to be so tight around him and already so addicting, it was like a revelation for him.
“Pussy made just for me..” he groans, a palm aiming to land a harsh smack against your ass cheek, making you jump and the ongoing stinging sensation turning the affected area a light shade of pink which was bound to darken overtime. “All fucking mine—” he grits harshly squeezing the flesh of your ass as he continued to thrust in and out of your sopping cunt, “Fuck, look at your tight pussy just sucking me in… bet you like me shoving into your cunt, huh?”
“Uhghhh yes, yes! I love it so much!”
You loved the pain.
Each powerful thrust caused your body to repeatedly shift against your desk, again and again his dick slamming so deep into your guts you wondered if it were even possible to experience such a thing.
You could tell he was giving you his all; his muscles were tense, every vein in his body was popping out just so he could take out his frustrations on you. He dealt with your ass for three years; constant bickering, competitions, insults, but fuck him, if he knew you what got you going, he’d have fucked you way sooner.
“Bet you wished I’d come in and fuck you at some point, huh?” A smirk was lingering over his features, knowing well what your answer was.
“God— yes!” Your back forcibly arches against your will as you nod desperately.
Truth be told, you did look forward to his visits in your office just to argue with you. Arguing with an attractive man who looked even hotter when he was mad?
Of course.
“And everytime I’d leave your office, you’d sit in your chair with a wet fucking pussy all day, hoping I’d come back in just to fuck you, right? But God, why didn’t I do that?” he mentally curses himself, digging his fingers into your hips as his pace faltered, indicating he was losing traction.
“Fuck you for not making a move,” you hiss through tears, gripping at the edge of your desk for stability as his thrusts became sloppy and messy.
He lands another harsh smack against your ass, making you help in surprise, “Shut the fuck up, I’m not done,” he seethes, picking up the pace and knocking all other backtalk out of your lungs, "Every damn day, I've had to deal with your shit; talking down on me—" his words laced with anger as he slams in to you, "—flaunting your stupid awards in my face and walking around like you own the fucking place."
He abruptly pulls out, turning you over to lay back on the desk whilst he spread your legs apart, his cock slipping into you once more as his free hand settled a harsh slap against your tits, “Now I have you under me, crying on my cock like a little bitch. Where'd that confidence go, huh?"
You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, to busy doing exactly as he’d stated. Your mind was hazy and your body was going numb, all you were capable of was squeezing your walls tightly around his cock as a sign to say you were close.
“Oh you’re close, huh?” Jungkook brings his hand down to scoop up the stringy mess connecting both your bodies, “We can’t have security walk in, can we?” lifting his hand again to shove three slick coated digits into your mouth in a bid to silence your moans as you came. “Come all over my cock like you were born for it.”
And thank god he did what he did because your pleasure filled cries would have woken up the entire city.
Your tongue lapped at his fingers, sucking off whatever was there before he pulled them out of your mouth, admiring the way they glistened under the dim lights.
You stared up at him in a daze, chest heaving and tits bruised red as he thrusted back and forth a couple more times before finally reaching his orgasm with a low bellow.
“Fuck…” he groans to himself and you could feel his warmth completely fill you up, some of it too much to the point white was leaking out of your sensitive cunt as he drained himself empty into you.
Once Jungkook was certain he was done, he slowly pulled out, his cock falling limp and his mess now prominent between your legs, noticing it was all slipping out so he did you the duty of using his fingers to push as much as he could back into you, the sensitivity making you shudder, “Can’t let it go to waste,” he chuckles, bringing his fingers up to his lips to sneak a taste.
It was the hottest thing you’d ever seen and he was pulling you to sit up on the desk before grabbing your case with both hands and kissing you with all his might.
It was unexpected but you were too in the moment to stop him. You could just about make out the distinctive taste of yourself and him on your lips and all you were wondering was how the hell you’d both come back from this.
Jungkook bit down on your bottom lip, dragging it out towards him before letting go and watching the plumpness bounce back, red and swollen like he’d left his mark on you.
“What did we just do..?” you whisper, finally drinking in the state of yourself and the absolute state of your office, papers everywhere and the smell of sex surrounding you.
Jungkook didn’t know what came over him, but he needed to reassure you one thing; “This probably wasn’t ideal but I don’t regret it,” he says, eyes glued to yours and curious to know if you felt the same way.
You didn’t know if you felt the same way, but you certainly weren’t feeling bad about it.
“You don’t have to say anything now, or put a label on it or anything, you can take your time,” he tells you softly, pulling away from you to pull his pants back up and tuck himself away. He was unsure whether you wanted to be alone or wanted to stay in his presence, but he figured he’d do what was safest, “Want me to clean you up and walk you to your car?”
Your hands adjusted the skirt that had been rolled up your hips, pulling it down to shield your thighs and the mess as you shook your head, “Oh no, that’s okay, I can take it from here,” you reply, this time giving him a genuine smile for his chivalry, one he’d never actually seen on you before and he wished he could see it more often.
Jungkook nodded and went to collect his shirt by the sofa, throwing it over his shoulder and heading for the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning then for some case work.”
“Yeah, you too…”
He curtly nodded and headed out of your office with a sigh. He didn’t wanna leave you alone after that, but he wanted to avoid any intrusive/pushy questioning and awkwardness.
How the hell would you both ever come back from this?
perm taglist: @aliceaflor5-blog @kookiecrumb @jjkeverlast @prettyghost @kooliv @koobsessed @gimmethatagustd @pb-n-juju @aslias17 @ririlovesangst @kootonins @taehyungseggs @dewamused @jungshook7 @jiminsneckkisses @moonfaery @fragmentof-indifference @hoseokteardrop
Please do not repost my works onto any platforms.
#sxtaep#the hating game#bts smut#jeon jungkook#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook oneshot#jungkook imagine#bts angst#bts x reader#jungkook fanfic#bts drabble#bts fanfic#jungkook drabble#jungkook
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
fictional — [p.jackson]
2.1K wordcount
warnings: none
requested: no
‘i put myself in another world, where i can be any other girl, cause i don’t really wanna face it. cause if it isn’t real you can pretend all you want…’
I sigh as the lyrics of ‘Fictional’ by Khloe Rose filter through my headphones. My head leans against the cool glass window of the bus, bumping my forehead every time the driver goes over a pothole.
Hey, call me crazy, but this is probably the most relatable song in existence. At least to me. Falling in love with boys from books and movies was basically my job at this point.
I had one, though, that meant more than all my other ‘fictional boyfriends’.
Percy Jackson.
I’d grown up with this character, laughed with him, cried with him, held fast and braved the storm with him. I’d adopted his personality, tried to be like his girlfriend, acted as if we were best friends, talked to him, dreamt about him, read and written fanfiction about him, anything you can think of. I am obsessed, and no, I’m not ashamed of that fact.
I’m five years running with this crush now, and it’s not going anytime soon. I let out another sigh as I realise, yet again, that this is impossible. He’s fictional, as much as it hurts to admit. He isn’t real, and I can’t live my whole life pretending to date and marry a fictional character. Life just doesn’t work like that. Sadly.
The bus pulls up at school, and I climb off, slipping my headphones into my pocket. I’ll probably get them back out during a boring lecture in one of my classes, but for now I’ll just keep the daydreaming at a minimum.
“Hey, girl.” Andie sidles up to me, nudging me with her shoulder. “What’s kicking?”
“Nothing,” I deadpan. “Unless you’re a goat, like Grover Underwood.”
Andie laughs, my sarcastic comment going right over her head. I love her to death, seriously, but the girl hasn’t got an ounce of sarcasm in her. She’s the most literal and honest person ever, but she’s also super sweet and sincere. So, sarcasm isn’t even a word she knows.
“I’m not a goat, silly,” she giggles. “But guess what?!”
“Yeah?” I am actually kind of interested. Andie usually has all the gossip (somehow), so her news tends to be pretty good.
“There’s a new guy in our class today,” she squeals. “Apparently he just moved here from New York.”
“New York is where Percy Jackson lives,” I say automatically. “I wanna visit there someday so bad.”
Andie rolls her pretty eyes. She likes Percy Jackson. I made her read the books, and she did, but just so that she knows what I’m talking about most of the time. “You and your fictional boys, I swear. This is a real boy, y/n! You need to get your head out of a book for once if you ever wanna meet somebody.”
I shrug. “Real boys suck though.”
And even Andie can’t argue with that.
I’m doodling in my notebook, half listening to Mr Mintar explain something about geometry. I’m not terrible at maths, so I figure I’ll just catch up if I need to. My brain doesn’t want to pay attention today.
I perk up, though, when I hear something new.
“Students,” Mrs May, our principal, announces. “We have a new student joining us today. Please be kind to Mr Jackson and show him around. Remember, you were once a new student yourself.”
Jackson? Like Percy Jackson? How cool is that, I thought to myself. I yank my headphones out of my ears and glance up.
A boy is talking quietly with Mr Mintar; who is probably explaining what we’re learning and where he’ll sit. We have assigned seats in basically every class, because a few boys in our grade are idiots, so I sit alone in every class. Apparently, other students are very likely to copy my work if they’re sitting with me, so the teachers decided to make me sit alone all the time. It’s kind of okay, though. Means I can do whatever I want with no one to tell on me for listening to music.
I watch as Mr Mintar talks with his hands, waving them a lot. The boy has his back to me. He has messy black hair, and he’s wearing jeans, converse and a blue hoodie.
Mr Mintar gestures at me, and I sit up straight. The boy glances quickly, nods at Mr Mintar, and I realise what’s happening. He’s being assigned to sit with me, which probably means I'll also be assigned his personal ‘welcome-to-our-school’ guide. Which means I’ll be forced to be this guy’s friend for the next few weeks. Yay.
The boy turns to face me, and I swear my heart literally skipped a beat. Now, this wasn’t like those dumb fanfics where a girl’s celebrity crush just so happens to turn up at her school for some stupid reason, and they fall in love blah blah blah.
This was an honest-to-goodness ‘what the hell is happening’ moment. The boy now walking towards me looks exactly how I’ve always pictured Percy Jackson in my mind. The same crazily messy black hair, loose and slightly curled at the edges, twisting around his ears and falling in his eyes a little bit. He has the same smattering of freckles on his nose, the same tan skin, troublemaker grin, the same glint of determination in his eyes.
And gosh, I’d know those sea-green eyes anywhere.
The boy slides into the seat beside me. “Hi,” he says softly. “You’re y/n?”
I can’t do anything but nod, and I try to not stare at him too hard.
“You’re supposed to be my guide, or something, I think.” The boy sounds apologetic, like he knows how annoying being forced to be a school guide is. “And I’m supposed to sit with you in all my classes.”
I nod again, a little dazed. Even his voice is Percy Jackson-coded. A slight rasp, a little accented, ugh.
I find my voice. “That’s cool. I’d be happy to show you around and get you into the groove of things here at East High.”
The boy smiles, and he has little crinkles at the side of his pretty eyes, as if he smiles a whole lot.
“Awesome. I’m Percy by the way.”
I blink at him, absolutely sure he’s pulling my leg somehow. “What do you mean?” I ask.
Percy frowns. “Like… my name? The thing that people call me? It’s Percy. Percy Jackson.”
I just stare at him.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.
“Your name is Percy Jackson?”
“Yeah?”
“Like the book character,” I add, surprising myself with the calm in my voice. Inside my head, though, I was screaming.
Percy’s brow furrows. “A book character? I dunno. Never heard of a book character called Percy, but there probably is. I don’t read that much. Dyslexia.”
I nod slowly. “Of course.”
Percy frowns again, then chuckles a little. “You’re weird. I like you.”
My tongue feels like someone’s deep fried it in the microwave. I try to swallow, and it’s nearly impossible. “So you’re not messing with me right now? You’re really called Percy Jackson, and you have dyslexia and probably ADHD, and sea-green eyes, and your hair isn’t dyed, and…”
Percy laughs again. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. What’s this about?”
I shake my head. “You wouldn’t understand if I told you.”
Percy raises his eyebrow. “Try me.”
It’s been a week since Percy’s arrival, and I’m still about 89% sure I’m dreaming. Not that I usually dream like this, but still.
I’ve spent basically all my school hours with Percy, as well as half my bus rides home, as his mum lives nearby to us.
The longer I know him, the more I’m sure that he’s real, that he’s actually here, and that he’s really, truly, Perseus Jackson, the not-so-fictional boy I’ve been in love with forever.
The weirdest thing, though, is the night after he arrived, I got home and all my Percy Jackson books and merch were gone. Mysteriously vanished. Even Andie doesn’t know what I’m talking about when I bring up PJO.
It’s like that movie, Yesterday, where everyone forgets about the Beatles. It’s like that, but with Percy Jackson. Oh, and obviously I have a real Percy to replace it; whereas Jack in that movie didn’t really have that.
Anyway, it’s crazy, it’s probably a hallucination, and it’s absolutely incredible. I’m spending every single day with my absolute favourite person in the universe, and he’s real.
The boy I’ve cried over, laughed over, loved for years… He’s here. He’s real. And he’s my friend.
“Marshmallows are not designed to be eaten alone,” I argue, pouting a french fry at Percy. “They aren’t even that nice anyway, but especially not when you eat them dry. All the powder, like, clogs up your throat and it’s disgusting. If you eat them on their own, you’re crazy.”
Percy laughs. “I hate them in my hot chocolates. They get all gooey and mushy, and… ugh.” He makes a face.
I roll my eyes. “You’re insane.”
Percy shrugs. “At least I don’t hate rice.”
“Hey!” I protest. “I have sensory issues! It’s not my fault the feeling of rice in my mouth makes me feel sick.”
“Hey, I know,” Percy says. “I was just kidding. I’m sorry.”
I relax. “It’s okay.”
I stare at him a moment, realising once again that this is really happening to me. That his pretty sea-green eyes are actually looking at me.
“What are you thinking about, love?”
“Huh?” I snap out of my trance, sitting up straighter. “What did you say?”
Percy smirks. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”
To be honest, I barely remember. “Uh—nothing. Trying to think of what to do this afternoon after school.”
“You don’t have plans?” he asks.
I shake my head, and sip my chocolate milk. It tastes terrible.
“You’re going on a date with me, dummy,” Percy says, so casually I almost miss it. He leans his head back and throws a grape in the air, catching it in his mouth. It’s surprisingly attractive.
“Wait,” I say. “What?”
“You.” Percy points his finger at me, then himself. “Me.” He makes a swirling motion with his finger. “That new waterpark by the beach.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re asking me to go on a date with you?”
“You aren’t saying no.”
“No,” I reply, my voice soft, “I’m not.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s an epic waterpark.”
Percy grins down at me, his eyes looking extra pretty in the afternoon sunlight. “You wanna race to the gate?”
I pretend to think about it for a second, then begin sprinting as fast as I can. I hear Percy gasp in laughter, then start after me. He catches me easily, his legs much longer than mine, but as he does, he scoops me up into a hug.
“Hey!” I shriek. “Put me down!”
I can tell he isn’t taking me seriously though, because we’re both laughing too hard. Percy eventually drops me gently on the ground. I can’t help but suddenly miss the feeling of his bare chest against me. I blink, and instantly shake those thoughts away.
“Buy me an ice cream and I’ll let you win all our races from now on,” I tease.
Percy scoffs. “Darlin’, you couldn’t win if you had a jetpack on.”
I try to ignore the flutter in my chest and roll my eyes. “Could so, and I don’t need any old jetpack.” I flex my nonexistent muscles. “You see these? I’m perfectly fine on my own, thank you.”
“Oh, oh yeah of course. Sorry, your majesty.” Percy has a stupid grin on his face, and I have an urge to kiss him right then and there.
And so I do. I grab hold of his shoulders, pull myself up onto tiptoe, and press my mouth to his. “I love you, Seaweed Brain,” I whisper into his lips.
Percy wraps his arms around my waist, causing the flutter to return, more greatly this time. He deepens the kiss, his head tilting downwards to accommodate my shorter height. His lips taste of the jellybeans we were eating earlier together. He had insisted on eating only the blue ones, of course.
The world around me blurs, and fades, and I’m left with only him, only Percy Jackson. His fingers on my waist, his mouth on mine, my heart in his hands. I am completely and totally his, as I’ve been forever, but now? He’s completely and totally mine too. My not-so-fictional boy.
#percy jackson#pjo#fanfiction#fanfic#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson x reader fanfic#percy jackson fanfiction#walker scobell#percy jackson and the olympians#rick riordan#pjo series#pjo tv show#percy jackson x you#perseus jackson#fictional characters#fictional boys#fictional khloe rose
530 notes
·
View notes
Text
you're a mean one, mr. miller
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
summary: you and ellie decide the solution to joel's grinch-like approach to the holidays lies in finding him the perfect gift
warnings: jackson era, grumpy old man!joel, significant other!reader, fluff, mild angst, gift giving, christmas at the miller's, so many polaroids
word count: 3.8k
12 days of pedro masterlist - ty to @hellishjoel for organizing this project <3
The Miller household always gets a little tense around the holidays. When the days shorten and snow begins to fall, Joel throws himself into patrols and plans for winter-proofing Jackson, and it's all he'll talk about for months. It's obvious he does it on purpose.
Christmas is basically an unspoken no-no under his roof, and there might as well be a swear jar for the word if his reaction is any indication. He refuses to acknowledge it and only tolerates the day itself because he knows it makes you and Ellie happy.
You just wish it made him happy, too. You know it used to. Every year, Tommy regales stories about their Christmases in Austin as kids, and later with Sarah. Joel loved Christmas.
They used to visit the tree farm, pick the tallest, fullest tree they could fit in their living room, and decorate it the very same day. Their attic and even parts of their garage were home to lights and tinsel in every color you could think of, and ornaments Sarah brought home from art classes and the yearly holiday fair at school.
All of that changed after the outbreak. It wasn't just her passing that did it. It wasn't even the threat of death or worse lurking around every corner. It was time.
Joel just got used to life without it. After 22 years of missed holidays, he decided he didn't actually miss them at all. He couldn't afford to spare precious resources or energy on anything that wasn't necessary for survival. But that isn't the point of Christmas, is it?
You celebrate your loved ones and their joy. You celebrate life. Here in Jackson, he finally has all of that, but if Joel is anything, he's a stubborn man set in his ways. You can tell he's still resistant to the idea because he genuinely believes there are better uses for his time.
You can also tell he's afraid to let his guard down. You just haven't figured out a way to show him he doesn't have to be. No one's safety is guaranteed in the world you live in, but you're protected now. And that responsibility isn't solely on him anymore.
If you could give him anything for Christmas this year, it would be peace. One day, even just a few hours of tensionless shoulders and a wrinkle-free brow would be a gift for all of you. He deserves to enjoy something merry and cheerful again, just for the sake of it.
So, you ask the person who knows him best in the world for help.
"What do we think about getting Joel a Christmas gift this year?"
Ellie glances up from her guitar with the most incredulous look you've ever seen on her face.
"Depends. Do you have a death wish?" she jokes, draping her arm over her instrument so she's sitting more comfortably. She's settling in—you both know this is about to be a painful conversation.
"No, but—," you sigh, leaning against the door behind you. It's still chilled, even through your coat, from when you barged into the shed and interrupted her practice. "I don't know. He wouldn't make that big of a deal, would he? It doesn't have to be anything flashy, just something small. Something nice."
"So, you wanna get Joel something nice for a holiday he hates? That makes total sense," she says, rolling her eyes.
You don't appreciate the sarcasm, but you expected it. She knows as well as you do that Joel won't be thrilled by the gesture, if he even accepts it.
"El, come on. I could really use your help here," you try to appeal to the part of her that usually can't say no to you, and thankfully she's starting to cave. "If there's anyone who can come up with a present Joel will actually like, it's you."
She sighs. Her fingers drum an arrhythmic beat on the wood grain while she thinks, a habit she must've picked up from Joel.
"Look, Joel's not really a 'thing' kinda guy," she replies, and she's probably right. He's never been the kind of guy who has physical attachments. "When's the last time he actually gave a shit when something broke or got lost? Even his watch is broken."
"Yeah, but that's different. You know it's different," you counter softly. But you can see the point she's trying to make. "Okay, so we don't get him a 'thing'."
She nods, waiting for you to offer another idea, but you're even more stumped than you were when you got here.
"Maybe you can draw him something?" you grimace, grasping at straws now.
"His house is full of shit I've drawn," she deadpans. "Plus, I thought this was an us gift. That sounds like a 'me doing all the work' gift."
You let out a frustrated groan, and your head thunks dully against the door. You knew this wasn't going to be an easy task, but you thought it would at least be possible. Joel's a complicated man—it's one of the things you love most about him—but his wants and needs are surprisingly simple.
He loves a home-cooked meal, especially meat and potatoes. He enjoys cold beers with Tommy on the porch during the summer and walking Ellie through complicated picking patterns when she's stuck on a song. He likes relaxing on the couch and watching old Westerns or cheesy action movies, and craves your body, soft and pliant, under his after a frustrating day on patrol.
But you want this to mean more than any of that. A special something that goes beyond the norm to loosen some of the springs that keep him wound up tight and constantly in motion.
You glance around Ellie's space as your hope begins to dwindle, and the corkboard above her bed catches your eye. It's always been there, covered in doodled-on scrap paper and photos of her family and friends, and you're positive you've seen it hundreds of times since you've been in Jackson. But this time, it gives you an idea. The idea.
"That Polaroid camera you found in Eugene's basement—the one in the library. Does it work?"
Ellie's brows furrow at your sudden question. She clearly didn't expect it, but you're hoping she'll be on board once she finally catches on.
"Uhh, yeah, Cat and I were messing around with it the other day. Worked pretty well for us," she replies hesitantly, pointing at the entertainment console next to you. "It's next to the PlayStation."
Humming in response, you squat in front of the shelf to inspect it. It's in great condition, even better than you expected. Even the flash button lights up and whirs just like you remember.
Before she can protest, you whip around and snap an extremely candid, brightly lit photo of her. If the look on her face is the same one you just caught on film, then you're already off to a great start.
"Dude, what the fuck? What was that for?" she groans in annoyance, blinking the bright spots out of her vision.
"A scrapbook," you grin. "For Joel."
She's still glaring at you as she rubs her eyes, but she bites back whatever retort she was about to say. You watch her expectantly as she chews on the idea, relief blooming in your chest when she finally nods.
"I guess that could work," she says slowly, still thinking over the logistics in her head. But then she frowns. "When exactly did you plan on taking all those photos? Not to be a downer, but Christmas is in like, a week."
Damn, she's right again. It'll be hell in a handbasket to fill an entire scrapbook in that amount of time, and even if you manage it, it'll be a half-assed attempt at best.
No, if you're going to do this, then you're going to do it right. No rushed or slapstick presents for the man who already hates Christmas—Joel deserves better than that.
"What if we let Joel do his bah-humbug thing one last time? That's probably his idea of a perfect gift, anyway. Then next year, it'll be this," you hand her the fully-developed Polaroid.
It shows Ellie hugging the guitar Joel made for her, but there's no sign of the shocked annoyance that followed the camera flash. Instead, she's smiling. She has that rare, unguarded expression on her face, the one reserved only for people she trusts. It's a tender moment of peace, forever frozen in time.
She looks up at you, and you can see it in her eyes. She gets it, now.
"You do realize it's still a 'thing' present though, right?" she interjects playfully, and you have to resist the urge to grab the wood polishing cloth on the table next to you and swat her with it.
"Yeah, but it's a sappy thing. Admit it, Joel's a huge sap and you know it. You said it yourself, his house is basically a glorified fridge with your art magnetized to the walls."
She rolls her eyes again, but you can see the smile tugging at her lips. She knows it's true.
"So, you'll help me?" you ask, daring to hope that she'll agree.
"As long as you don't pull this shit again, I'll do whatever you want," she lifts the Polaroid, shooting you a dirty, but affectionate look before handing it back to you.
A grin breaks out across your face, and you bolt across the room to hug her awkwardly around the instrument still sitting in her lap. She places it down so she can wrap her arms around you properly.
Physical affection has never really been Ellie's thing but if you catch her at the right moment on the right day, you might get lucky. Today, you do.
"So, when do we get started?" she asks, pulling away.
"Right now," you reply, unable to contain your excitement. For the first time in over two decades, Joel Miller might actually have a merry Christmas, and that's something to celebrate.
"Now?" she gapes at you, looking over her shoulder longingly at her guitar as you drag her out of the shed. She barely has enough time to grab a coat before you're out in the cold with nothing but each other, a camera, and a plan.
"Now."
ONE YEAR LATER
Jackson in the spring is one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen, even among your memories of the world pre-outbreak. Snow remains on the mountain peaks in the distance, but the foliage below blooms with the promise of warmer weather. Somehow, you managed to capture it all—fresh flowers in the shop windows, friends and neighbors shedding their coats and congregating in the streets, and the post-winter excitement that spreads more and more with each sunny day.
You hid the stack of photographs in an empty jumbo box of tampons in the hall closet, positive they’d be safe from Joel’s prying eyes while you and Ellie continued your mission.
In the summer, two new foals were born, and Ellie and Maria spent almost every day at the stables to help out where they could. They even named them—Shimmer was Maria’s choice, and Ellie named the other Callus just to piss off Joel. Not only did it work, but it resulted in some of the cutest pictures of the season.
Joel and Tommy built a porch swing for Maria and their rambunctious toddler and spent countless balmy nights drinking Tommy's extra-strength whiskey and shooting the shit. They even broke out their guitars every so often and managed to bully Ellie into playing with them once or twice. You caught that on camera, too.
Slowly but surely, the memory box filled up, and the photos were transferred to a scrapbook you and Ellie made yourselves—with a little local help. One of the school teachers happened to be a former librarian with a bookbinding hobby, and graciously gave you a treasure trove of old, tattered books that were perfect for your project.
By autumn, everything was falling into place. Ellie adorned those pages with painted leaves in shades of red, orange, and yellow to complement the photos you took at the town’s annual Harvest Festival and Thanksgiving potluck. You hopped around from booth to booth, table to table, and thanked your lucky stars that Eugene was a hoarder and held onto every pack of film he found over the years.
Now, it's the night before Christmas and you have a single shot left. One last photo intended for the final page, but you can’t think of anything you haven’t already documented. Looking around Tommy’s living room, there are plenty of moments you’d love to capture, and yet none of them feel like the moment.
How the Grinch Stole Christmas plays in the background while you sit on their couch, curled into Joel’s side with Ellie’s head on your lap, but you’re barely paying attention, still lost in your thoughts. Joel isn’t paying attention, either—he was unsurprisingly averse to the movie to begin with—so when you don’t laugh along with everyone else at the Grinch’s antics, he immediately knows something’s up. He kisses your temple, careful not to jostle Ellie.
“What’s got you so in your head you’re not even laughin’ at Jim Carrey? I thought you loved this movie,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. His familiar Southern twang somehow warms you up more than the fireplace crackling next to the television.
“I do. I think I’m just getting a little sleepy, is all,” you reply softly, sagging into him. “Winter dance prep sucked this week. It’s like everyone conveniently forgot they volunteered to help.”
He nods, mumbling an apology into your hair.
“Guess that makes sense. All that runnin’ around you’ve been doing with that camera of yours probably ain’t helpin’ either,” he says offhandedly, and your brows furrow in response.
It’s not the first time he’s mentioned your sudden interest in photography, but with his gift sitting less than 10 feet away under Tommy and Maria’s Christmas tree, it seems more than a little suspicious. You catch Ellie glancing up at you in your peripheral, and you meet her gaze as discreetly as you can.
“Yeah, maybe,” you laugh it off, hoping it doesn’t sound as tense to Joel’s ears as it does to yours.
“What are you doin’ with all of those photos anyway? I swear, you take ‘em and then they disappear into thin air,” he presses on, none the wiser.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you joke, shaking your head as if that’ll shake off all of his incoming questions. But it doesn’t work nearly as well as you hoped.
“Y’know, I was wonderin’ that myself,” Tommy interjects from the recliner to your right. “You’ve been takin’ photo after photo for almost a year, and I don’t think I’ve seen a single one.”
Maria scoffs next to him, coming to the rescue before you’re forced to come up with a believable explanation.
“Mind your own damn business,” she smacks him in the chest, then shoots you a sympathetic look.
You asked for her help not long after you and Ellie started planning Joel’s gift, so she knows how important this is. The last thing she’s going to do is let her husband’s need to stir the pot ruin it. But Tommy’s not the type of guy to give in that easily.
“I’m just sayin’, might be nice take a look at ‘em. You probably got some good ones of the kids in there, ‘specially from birthdays and holidays—,” he manages to get out before Ellie cuts him off.
“Can you guys have this conversation somewhere else? Some of us are actually trying to watch the movie,” she sits up from her spot on your lap to glare in his direction.
Then, Tommy abruptly stands like something just occurred to him and strides across the room to the mantle above the fireplace—right where you set the camera down earlier. Your heart leaps into your throat.
“Hold up. This thing’s still got one shot left, don’t it?” he asks excitedly, and you’re not sure how to shut him down without drawing too much attention to yourself or sounding mildly hysterical.
“Well, yeah, but—“
“Oh shit, s’got a timer and everythin’,” he continues, fiddling with its limited settings. He turns back towards the rest of the group and holds up the camera with a grin. “C’mon, everybody get together. We’re takin’ our first official Christmas card photo.”
“But, Tommy—,” you try again, but you’re drowned out by Joel’s sad attempt to leave the room.
“Look, I said I’d watch the movie, but I sure as hell didn’t agree to take a damn Christmas photo,” he grumbles, moving to stand, but you latch onto his flannel before he gets too far. He softens at your downtrodden expression and settles back in.
“Just to be clear, m’doin this for her, not for you,” he amends his previous statement gruffly, throwing an arm around your shoulder. You kiss his cheek gratefully, and Ellie pretends to gag as she shuffles to sit between your legs.
“Whatever you say, big brother. All you gotta do is sit there and look pretty. Think you can handle that?” Tommy teases him, making one final adjustment to the camera's placement. “Alright y’all, here we go.”
He sets the timer, then runs to the couch, squishing into the only available spot between Maria and an armrest. Everyone huddles together with varying levels of smiles and grimaces on their faces while you wait for the camera to go off. Except, it doesn't.
“Wait, how long did you set the timer for?” you peer around Maria to see Tommy looking genuinely dumbfounded.
“…Does it not just go 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, shoot?” he asks sheepishly.
"Oh my god, are you kidding me?" Ellie groans, leaning back against you, and the entire couch bursts out laughing.
And in that moment, the flash goes off.
Yeah, this is the one.
The photo in your hands feels like the culmination of every memory you made and preserved in the past year. Five faces—and one tiny sleeping one—look up at you, fully developed and as happy as you've ever seen them.
Tommy and Maria sit side by side with their son in her lap, their heads thrown back in laughter. Next to them, Ellie sits between your legs, mid-knee slap, as you cackle with your chin resting on top of her head.
And then there's Joel, grinning from ear to ear as he looks on at the family he's fought so hard to protect. The family that's safe and sound, and enjoying an ordinarily special day, just for the sake of it. You can only hope that a book full of photos and everything it represents will be enough to convince him once and for all that it's the truth.
As you slide the final Polaroid into place, Joel sidles up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.
"What's all this?" he watches curiously as you close the book and swipe your hand lovingly across the cover. Then, you pick it up and turn in his embrace, leaning back against the kitchen counter.
"A gift," you reply carefully, hugging it to your chest.
You glance over to where Ellie's still sitting in the living room, but she shakes her head and offers you a small smile, her delicate way of telling you that you're on your own. You take a deep breath before continuing.
"It's a Christmas present from me and Ellie," you explain, hoping to convey even a fraction of what this means to you. "Look, we know this isn’t necessarily your favorite day, but...we still wanted to do something nice for you."
He nods, his expression frustratingly unreadable. But then he does something unexpected.
"Y'gonna keep huggin' it or are you gonna show it to me?" he drawls jokingly, and your brows shoot up in shock.
"You wanna see it?"
His face falls, and you immediately feel terrible at the brief wave of hurt that crosses his features. You didn't mean to sound so surprised, but you didn't anticipate this easy acceptance.
"'Course I do. The two of you spent a whole year workin' on this thing, why wouldn't I?"
That grin you know he loves lights up your entire face, and you turn to place his gift back on the counter. Flipping to the first page, you step aside and let him explore it for himself.
He takes in each moment of each season slowly, running his fingers across Ellie's doodles between photos and in the margins. Spring is framed by butterflies that you're somehow just realizing are painted in all of Sarah's favorite colors.
Ellie added so many painstaking details you'd never talked about. You're not even sure how she knew something like that, but you're grateful it's there. Joel notices it too, and reaches down to take your hand, gripping it tightly for the rest of the book.
He's silent as flips through summer and fall, and when he finally reaches winter, you feel him begin to tremble beside you.
The last page sits open in front of you, the photo from earlier flanked on either side by notes from you and Ellie. As he reads, then rereads them, you can see the cogs turning. He's starting to understand why you did this—and how something as simple as a photograph isn't just a look back on a life well-lived. It's a reminder to keep living.
“This is…,” his brows furrow as he tries to find the words to express the conflicting thoughts racing through his head.
“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything," is what he ultimately settles on, but when he looks up at you, his eyes are wet. You immediately drop his hand to cup his cheeks.
"You didn't need to. I have everything I've ever wanted right here," you tell him gently, brushing away the tears threatening to fall.
You glance over at the familiar faces in the living room, the same ones looking up at you from the page below, and he follows your gaze. The tension in his body begins to bleed away the longer he watches them, and you learn the wrinkle in his brow isn't actually the permanent fixture it always seemed to be.
He reaches up to cover one of your hands with his own, and you can feel his heart racing through his fingertips. In the back of your mind, you wonder if this is the moment it happens. If his heart grew three sizes bigger today, and if he's finally ready to give himself the gift of peace.
“Merry Christmas, Joel Miller," you whisper, kissing him deeply as the sweet voice of Cindy Lou Who brings the movie credits rolling in the distance to a close.
thanks for reading and happy holidays!
dividers by @saradika-graphics
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller angst#joel miller fluff#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
576 notes
·
View notes
Text
No Ordinary Life
[Sam Riordan x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: The group had almost ran out of options on what to do with Sam, but Andre had decided there was still one more option to explore. And that option, was you. (GIF credits: @heronamedhawks)
WC: 1,179
Category: Slight Fluff, Slight Angst
We don’t know much about Sam as of right now, but I do know I would literally die for this boy. He and Emma really deserve the world, and they fr better have their happy ending (which seems impossible given the universe they live in, but one can hope). This definitely deserves a part 2, depending how well it goes, but for now enjoy the purity that is Sam.
Edit(2023): Hey I finally made the part 2, check it out here
『••✎••』
As Sam walked down the bustling halls of Godolkin, he couldn't help but feel like an outsider. All around him, kids with extraordinary powers, kids like him, were chatting, laughing, and walking to their classes. They were able to use their gifts freely and openly, and they were respected by others for it, but Sam didn't have that luxury. Honestly, he couldn’t remember a time that he did.
All he remembered was the woods, his brother, and the constant pain of being hunted.
His hand unconsciously traveled to top of his head, pulling the hoodie that Emma had lent over to him farther over his face as he tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn't easy when the hallway was completely crowded by nosy students, but he did his best. That’s all he could really do.
Emma and Marie (as he found her name to be) were by his side, protecting him for the skewing eyes of others. For the most part it worked, except it drawn more attention to her due to that odd system that Emma had acknowledged him about. A rating, whatever that was.
It was cool to know that his brother had been ranked number one, though.
If Luke was still… No, don’t think about it, Sam.
He shook his head, ridding himself of that train of thought. There was no point in dwelling on the past, and thinking about his brother wouldn’t change anything. He was gone, and Sam was left alone.
His thoughts were interrupted by Jordan, who he was still slightly confused about. He? She? They? They seemed to have been good friends with his brother and they were friendly enough, so Sam didn’t really question the matter too much.
Plus, he kinda enjoyed the subtle sarcasm that Jordan would once in a while use. It made him feel like a kid back in school. So for that, Sam was thankful.
“Dude, this has got to be the stupidest thing we’ve ever done,” Jordan had said, turning to the guy walking besides them… Andre. Sam didn’t know what to make of him, or anyone really. He had always been so closed off from other people, that now it was almost a bit overwhelming.
But at least he had Emma, so he didn't have to worry about the social aspect too much.
Andre gave Jordan a sideways look, a small smirk on his face. He seemed pretty chill too.
“Listen, I don’t like this anymore than you do, Jordan,” Andre stated, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But with everything happening, and with Cate… this is our best option.”
“Yes, let’s bring the kid with a bounty over his head into the place where they’re all going to be looking for him. Great idea, Andre. Seriously, how did I not think of it first. Soooo smart of you, dude. Good job. I'm so glad we're friends, really I am.”
Jordan rolled their eyes, and Andre just looked away in annoyance. Then, to Sam’s dismay, an awkward silence fell over the group. Once again, Sam was struck by just how different his life was now. It was like he was suddenly thrown into another world, and he had no idea how to function in it. He was so far out of his comfort zone that he couldn’t even see the zone.
Sam glanced over to Emma, and saw her smiling encouragingly at him. He tried his best to return the gesture, but he felt like his face muscles were going to fall off if he forced them any longer.
After what seemed like hours, but really only a couple minutes, Andre halted in front of a random dorm room door, and turned to face the group. He sighed, his face set into a look of grim determination. Then, he knocked.
Three times, Sam counted. Three knocks.
The door opened almost immediately after, and the man who answered had to be the most handsome human being Sam had ever seen. He had short black hair, a sharp jaw, and a dazzling smile. It was actually kind of intimidating.
“Whadda’ want?” the man asked, his voice a rich baritone. Sam didn't know why, but it felt like the man was judging him. His eyes scanned over the group, lingering on Sam for just a second, before returning back to Andre.
Andre cleared his throat, a bit nervously, but he didn’t get a chance to speak as Jordan scoffed, shoving past the man and into the room. Emma followed, giving the man an apologetic look as she did. And thus, everyone followed, leaving the man alone and bewildered in the doorway.
Once everyone was settled inside, the man shut the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. He glared at Andre, his eyes burning holes through his head, but Sam didn’t pay any attention towards him anymore. All his eyes were on the strange girl in front of him, you.
You were sitting on the floor, legs crossed and a bored expression on your face. Your eyes were half lidded, and you seemed to be lost in your own little world. Andre had mentioned you, a little. Said that you were the person he had called earlier, that you would help them figure out what to do with Sam, and that you knew and could a lot of stuff. But he had never told them how gorgeous you were.
Your hair was down, and looked so soft that Sam just wanted to touch it, run his fingers through it, and feel the texture. You had a cute little button nose, and a round, chubby face that was just too adorable. And your eyes were so expressive, a mixture of colors that swirled and shone and sparkled in the light.
Andre had called your attention and you snapped out of it, blinking a few times before glancing up at him. It was then that you noticed the others, and you stared at them all, wide eyed and open mouthed, but that was quickly replaced with a smile.
“Hi, Andre! Wow, you must be Jordan… Marie… and Emma? Right? Oh, and you must be the kid Andre talked about, oh my gosh. It's so nice to finally meet you all. Sorry I didn’t say anything when you came in, I was just finishing up this thing for Kota. Oh, Kota! You're still here… hi. Wait, why are you all here? You weren’t supposed to be here until 2:00, and it's only-”
You looked down at the watch on your wrist, your eyes widening even more when you realized the time. You had been talking so fast that no one had been able to get a word in edgewise, but you had managed to finish what you had to say, and it was all so rushed that it was hard to keep up.
The only thing Sam could focus on was how despite all of that rambling and mumbling, you were still keeping that bright smile that never seemed to falter. A truly happy supe? He never thought it would exist. Even Emma, as sweet and pretty as she was, tended to falsify the smiles she had. Sam only saw her real one about three times. He cherished them, of course. Every single one.
You stood up, brushing yourself off and fixing your clothes, and walked over to them. Your hand was outstretched, and your smile was radiant. Sam could practically feel the happiness radiating off of you.
You looked so innocent, so sweet and pure. He could hardly believe that you were a supe, but the fact that they were all standing here said otherwise. You had power, and you knew how to use it.
Jordan and Marie seemed to have recovered from their daze, and the two shook your hand after Andre. Marie had even introduced herself, and it ended with you in giggles, telling her that you already had known her name.
Emma was next, and she had taken your hand immediately and shook it.
Then it was just him that was left.
He stood frozen, staring down at your outstretched hand. He could feel all the eyes in the room on him, and he just knew that his hood was starting to slip.
His instincts were yelling at him, screaming at him to run. To get out of there and stay far, far away from you. From everyone.
But he couldn’t.
So, instead of fleeing, he slowly, cautiously took your hand in his. It was small, warm, and fit perfectly.
You smiled again but this time it was strictly for him, because of him, and it made his heart beat just a bit faster.
He didn’t even realize it until your smile has widened, but he had pulled down his hood, letting you see his face. He didn't understand why he did, and a part of him wanted to pull the fabric right back over his face, but it was too late now.
The damage had been done.
Sam didn’t have a chance to scrape off the dried blood off his cheeks, another result of an accidental outburst, and he could feel your eyes rake over his face, taking in every single detail.
But it wasn’t judgmental, or critical.
No, there was something else in those swirling eyes of yours, and it was then that he noticed the little flecks of gold hidden in the sea of color.
Sam was a bit embarrassed, to say the least, and he tried to pull his hand away but your grip only tightened, and he didn't have the strength to resist. He felt your hand go up his arm, unraveling the hoodie that clung to him like a second skin.
The others didn’t seem to do anything as you pulled the material above his elbow.
Your eyes roamed over the scar that stretched across his forearm, and he knew what was coming before the words even left your mouth.
Sam couldn’t bring himself to look at you as you asked the dreaded question, and his eyes were glued to the floor.
It was Emma who answered, her voice barely a whisper.
Sam despised the pity in your tone. The last thing he wanted was to be pitied. He didn't need or want anyone's pity. He was fine. Everything was fine.
The silence shattered as you took a sharp breath, but Sam couldn't bring himself to look at you. Not when he knew the look of pity in your eyes.
You released his arm, the hoodie dropping to the ground, but Sam didn't even register it. He stood there, frozen, as you slowly reached out your hand towards his face.
"Before I do anything, I want to warn you so it doesn't scare you. Is that okay with you? I just... I want to make sure you're alright. But if you don't want me to touch you, I won't. I'll respect your boundaries. Just tell me, okay?"
Sam blinked, his head tilting upwards, his eyes wide with surprise. There was no pity in your eyes. No negativity or degradation. Only a gentle concern and kindness that he had only experienced in these past few days.
Your touch was tender, and he felt a warmth spread across his face. He couldn't bring himself to deny you. So he nodded, and a small smile appeared on your face. It was still a smile, but a different kind. One he had never seen from you before. And once again, that smile was meant just for him.
Suddenly, the lights in the room dimmed, capturing Sam's attention. He hadn't noticed before, but the entire room was filled with interconnected lights, forming a grid-like pattern. They began to glow, pulsating and shifting with each passing moment. The light danced across the walls, creating mesmerizing shapes.
Sam was captivated by the whole process. And then, the lights suddenly stopped, freezing in place. Sam expected them to return to their normal brightness, but they grew brighter and brighter. It was then that he noticed your hands. They were no longer touching him, but rather, they hovered above him, palms facing his face. A peculiar expression settled on your face.
Sam didn't know what it meant, but he didn't have time to wonder because, in an instant, your hands transformed into light. It wasn't like beams shooting out of your palms, but rather, golden particles that flowed around your body and traveled along the lights, intensifying their brightness. Patterns began to form and move.
Sam watched in awe as the shapes transformed into pictures and scenes. The colors melted and shifted together. Light filled the room, washing away the world around him, leaving only the vibrant colors, the images, and your face.
Your face, so close to his. The smile still adorned your lips, and your eyes shone like stars, the brightest things in the room. Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Reluctantly, he admitted that the light was beautiful, just like you.
It was the most extraordinary sight he had ever witnessed. It was as if the sun had exploded, its light spreading across the room. The colors danced along the walls, forming vivid images. Sam saw a field, a house, a family. He saw his old friends. He saw him. His brother, Luke.
Sam's face crumpled, and a sob escaped his throat. Tears blurred his vision, but they were absorbed by the light, vanishing as soon as they fell. You remained a silent observer, watching over him as the colors gradually faded, and the world returned.
The room was as bright as before, but everything was the same. Sam could still see the concern and worry etched on your face. You reached up to wipe away his tears, but this time he flinched back, and the contact never happened. Your hands fell to your sides.
Tears welled up in your eyes, and your lips trembled, trying to hold back your emotions. But a tear escaped, rolling down your cheek. Andre cleared his throat, breaking the spell. Both you and Sam turned to face the others.
They were all watching, expressions of shock and confusion on their faces, except for Jordan, who wore a mask of indifference.
Andre and Emma stared at you, mouths agape, while Sam saw the tears in your eyes, the fear evident on your face.
Of what, he couldn’t tell. As of right now, there were so many things you could be scared of. With The Woods, being the thing that contains most of it all, It was hard to pinpoint one specific reason.
Then, just like before, Andre's voice cracked as he decided to interrupt Sam’s thoughts.
"What the hell was that?"
#gen v spoilers#gen v#sam riordan#the boys universe#the boys#amazon prime#sam riordan x reader#x reader#fanfic#fluff#slight fluff#slight angst#sam pov#cate dunlap#luke riordan#mentions of luke riordan#marie moreau#emma meyer#andre anderson#jordan li#gen v x reader#gen v fanfic#the boys fanfic#the boys frenchie#the boys hughie#hughie campbell#billy butcher#starlight#homelander#golden boy
739 notes
·
View notes
Text
STORYTIME I (26 F) FUCKED MY SUPERSTAR CLIENT (24 M) AFTER MONTHS OF SEXUAL TENSION!
— ‘i’m a manager for a pretty big music label and my client is the biggest dickhead in the world but i fear i fucked him after one of our usual arguments.. 😵💫’
eren y. x black!fem!reader
tags: modern au, smut, porn not much plot, hate(?)sex, cunnilingus, cowgirl, reader gets called ‘mama’ and ‘boss’, unprotected sex, mild choking, musician!eren, manager!reader. minors do not interact.
my first collab entry MAKE SOME NOISE YALL WTF!!! but no seriously thanks so much to @k9nto for letting me join your event i had a blast writing this! hope you all enjoy! 🤭
YOU’VE ENCOUNTERED SOME annoying people in your life. in kindergarten, a boy taunted you by picking up one your fallen hot pink knocker-balls and refusing to give it back to you. in high school, some chick named tiffany ripped down all of your junior class president posters that you spent weeks designing and printing out on the highest quality paper. your college advisor had been completely useless, you’d still be dragging yourself through your bachelor’s degree if you didn’t stay on your toes and realize the classes you were dropped in were a waste of time. but all of these people, and many more that have slipped your mind, shaped and molded you into the woman you were today. strong, tenacious, independent, a go-getter who never gave up and thus was able to reap her hard work, in the form of three nice crisp degrees and a never pitiful bank account.
but eren yeager, grammy award winning singer, songwriter and musician, with multiple weeks spent at the top of the billboard hot 100 and 200 charts, millions of units sold worldwide, and stadiums packed to the brim, took the fucking cake.
you were warned he’d be difficult. every manager he’s assigned quits before one of them ends up in a body bag. none of them have a single nice thing to say about him, and he finds that hilarious.
for better or for worse, you took the challenge because you’re a sucker for them. nothing in life comes easy, and you figured that the managers before just didn’t come hard enough. maybe eren’s fame and status made them falter, but such a fate wouldn’t befall you.
you dragged him to his magazine shoots, you kept his mouth in line during interviews, you kept his socials clean. he was never a second late to rehearsals and recordings. he was a reflection of you, and if you were perfect goddammit he was going to be too.
until today.
“i’m not putting in another extension, eren. the label is starting to get really irritable. we need to go to the studio now.” you furiously swiping along your ipad, pacing around the singer’s deluxe hotel room. while you’re dressed for the day in clean crisp clothes, sharp stilettos, and jet black lace front expertly melted and laid, eren’s still in the bed. the covers are everywhere, his shirt is next to a couple pillows on the floor, and he’s laying on his back eating a croissant from room service, paying you absolutely no mind. it takes everything in you to not chuck your device at his big head. “i’m serious. get. up.”
“and i said i’m not,” he mocks your assertive tone, voice oozing in sarcasm. “going.” he coughs, obviously faking. “my voice hurts. can’t make those greedy bastards money if my vocal chords ache. they’ll live.”
“you are on a strict deadline this era. if you want to catch award season, this album needs to be finished and dropped in the next month. amidst the press tour, your window of recording time is dwindling fast.” dates in your digital calendar glare at you, red and angry. every time you check something off your to do, ten new things pop up. you feel your jaw clenching, teeth gritting together uncomfortably.
“i’ve won enough awards. i don’t care. i’m not getting up.” eren finally raises up from the bed, narrowed green eyes meeting yours. it’s fire against fire, an unstoppable force that is a manager determined to do her job versus an immovable object, a musician who’s not budging from his spot. “it’s my album. it’s my music. i finish it when the fuck i get ready. that label will burn before they drop me.”
“if you don’t follow contract, they will drop you. they put a lot of money into you-”
“money i made back for those dumbasses-!”
“they are your bosses, without them-”
“they need me way more than i need them-!”
“get,” you toss your ipad over to a small couch, storming over to the bed. you snatch the edge of the covers and yank hard. enough is enough. if he won’t get up, you’ll make him get up. “the fuck out of this bed, eren, now!”
“you need,” the cover is yanked back, tugging you forward along with it. you lurch momentarily before righting yourself upwards, leaning back to give yourself more leverage in this childish tug of war you find yourself in. “to calm the fuck down, ___. i’m not going and that’s fucking it.” eren may be lean, but he’s toned like a MMA fighter, muscles rippling under tan skin when he calls upon them. another tug and you topple onto the california king bed, one expensive heel sliding off your foot and falling across the room.
your heads snaps up from the covers, brow furrowed deep in anger. “stop being so fucking difficult, you moron!” emotions welling, you grab one of his arms, preparing to drag him out of this bed. your to do list is a nagging itch on your brain that by the grace of god you are going to scratch. you’re not about to let this bad-with-authority dickhead best you when all he has to do is record a fucking vocal.
“oh, we’re doing this?” easily, too easily, so easily that you register your back hitting the soft bed before you realized he even grabbed you back. he pins you down easily, slightly calloused hands grip your upper arms firmly, pushing them down. he places his legs other either side of your hips so yours are forced in between them, but doesn’t keep you from writhing to free yourself. “whatever fucking—stop doing that—chip you have on your shoulder, you need to fucking solve it because shit’s not going your way today. i’m not going and that is final.”
the tussle leaves you two of you panting, eyes boring into each other’s. eren’s long chocolate brown hair is disheveled not only from a night’s sleep but from this impromptu wrestle. small beads up sweat trickle down his naked chest. your writhe again, and he presses down against you, a synonymous hiss sliding through both of your mouths.
“i hate you, eren.”
“whatever helps you sleep at night, ___. looks like you wanted an excuse to feel up on me.”
“oh, like you wanted an excuse to hump me like a mutt?”
there’s another beat of silence as you two watch each other. eren’s hands tighten their hold just a tad before he presses his hardening length hard against your clothed cunt. against your better judgement, your head tilts back and a small moan fights against your bitten bottom lip.
eren hums lowly, his dick bulging against the constraint of his boxers. “hate me too much to actually fuck me, huh? i’m only worth a dry hump.”
oh how eren frustrates you. how he makes even the simplest things in life painstakingly difficult. how he makes you want to smoke ten packs of cigarettes after a day of dealing with him. but oh, how handsome he looks under the lights at photo shoots. how his deep, smooth voice reverbs in your ears. how his fingers move so deftly on his guitar, as if it’s merely an extension of his body. who wouldn’t fantasize about that late at night, him bending you over and snatching down your pants to fuck the stress out of you, or yourself knocking him down a peg and making him beg to let you cum inside.
“shut-” another roll of his hips makes you gasp. “up..”
“i want you, ___,” eren confesses. his hips don’t falter, his cock becoming hungry for release. “i want that pussy. i wanna fuck that little attitude out of you, can i? i see how you look at me and i stare right back.”
you shiver, hand rushing to undo your dress pants and feel more of eren’s dick against your dampening cunt. his hands work with your perfectly, yanking your pants down. it’s a whirlwind of clothes, your sweater, bra, your other shoe.
eren reaches up to grab your breasts, rolling them in his palms, squeezing the supple flesh, pushing them together. “oh, pretty girl. pretty fuckin’ tits.” leaning down, he kisses down your sternum, stomach, inching closer and closer to your center. he wastes no time grabbing your thighs and licking a nice, long stripe against your drooling cunt and sucking on your clit.
your back immediately arches up and your hands fly to grip eren’s hair, tugging at the locks and pulling him in closer so you can feel everything. “oh my god, eren.” the singer’s not shy at all, audibly sucking at you and reaching up to twist and pinch your pebbled nipples.
with another languid lick eren pulls himself away. he pulls his boxers down on and off, freeing his dick from the constraint. he rubs the thick, weeping tip up and down your slit, staring hungrily at the juices leaking out. the feeling of it makes you shiver in anticipation.
“mmm, mm-mm.” you push yourself up. “let me get ‘n top..” there’s a greedy look in your low eyes as you place your hand on eren’s solid chest and lay him down on the bed.
“take charge here too, huh?” your forwardness makes him chuckle as he watches you straddle his waist. “okay then. ride me.”
you brace yourself on your toes as his hand and yours grasp his shaft, directing it to your pulsing hole. you slide down gingerly onto him, his size quickly stretching you out. “ahh, fuck, eren. fuck…”
“you got it,” he assures you, one hand on your thigh as you sink lower and lower, taking him in inch by inch. he bites his lip at the wet tightness of your walls, squeezing and sucking him in. it makes him throw his head back, a couple of small pants escaping his mouth. “mmhm, fuck that pussy feels so good. take that dick, boss.” his hand raises only to land on your ass check with a sharp slap.
you start out slow at first, letting yourself adjust to the wideness of his dick but that quickly gets old. you’re soon addicted to the feeling of him fitting inside so perfectly. gripping his free hand in yours, you swivel and raise your hips faster and faster, effortlessly, desperate for that feeling of him pounding that oh so sweet spot. your juices slide down his length, the slap slap slap of your ass against his muscled thighs filling the room. “‘s so big, feels so good,” your voice slurs.
eren hisses from his spot under you, eyes trained on where you two connect. mouth slightly agape, he watches your cunt swallow him up and the fluid that leaks out. “yes, mama. keep fucking me just like that. feels.. f-fuckin’ amazin’…” his hands grab your plump ass cheeks, fingers digging in hard as he thrusts his hips up, driving the tip of his cock even deeper inside you and pulling a loud moan from you. “keep goin, mama, ‘m almost there, don’t stop, please..”
his pleading make you clench even tighter around him, and that feeling deep inside your tummy aches for release. you place a hand around his throat to better balance yourself, relishing in his low groan. your thighs quake and tremble, your hips meeting his eager thrust perfectly. “oh, my god; oh my god. i’m— shit!” you throw your head back in ecstasy, cumming hard enough on your client’s dick to leave you numb.
“aw, fuck, boss.” eren thrusts up to push his cum deep inside, holding you against himself to ensure a single drop doesn’t leak. “take it, take it..”
the two of you are left panting hard, bodies sweaty and gleaming with the afterglow of sex. you gingerly pull away, cunt left sore and spent from a round of sex months in the making. eren reaches over to caress your ebon lips, admiring the smooth, wet feeling once you roll onto your back. “no more attitude from you, yeah?”
“no more attitude from the man reduced to calling me ‘mama’ and begging to cum either, i’d assume.” your teasing laughter is cut off by him purposefully sinking three fingers deep inside you. “mmh…”
“mhm, sure.” roles reversed, eren climbs on top of you and stares down with green eyes aflame with lust through his tousled brown hair. “now i want to see what i can make you call me.”
#eren yeager x reader#eren yeager x black reader#eren jaeger x black reader#eren jaeger x reader#eren jeager x black reader#eren jeager x reader#eren x reader#eren x black reader#🏙.aotmodern#❤️🔥.aotsmut#kishibyesredditcollab
449 notes
·
View notes
Text
XTRA Interactions Mods
Introducing "Xtra Interactions," a mod for The Sims 4 that expands the range of social interactions available to your Sims! Developed with the goal of adding depth and realism to your Sims' social lives, this mod introduces 13 new dynamic interactions that delve into various aspects of contemporary conversations and interactions.
"F Bomb": Sometimes, emotions can run high, and Sims now have the option to express their frustration or anger with a straightforward and powerful statement. Use this interaction when your Sims need to release some built-up tension!
"Backhanded Compliment": Not all compliments are created equal. Sims can now deliver a compliment with a subtle hint of sarcasm or hidden meaning. Watch the recipient's reaction as your Sim walks the fine line between praise and critique.
"Body Positivity Conversation": Promote self-love and acceptance among your Sims by engaging in heartfelt discussions about body positivity. Encourage a healthy body image and help your Sims develop a more positive relationship with their own appearance.
"Discuss Fitness Apps": In the digital age, fitness has gone mobile! Sims can now chat about their favorite fitness apps, sharing tips, and exchanging experiences to stay motivated and reach their health goals.
"Discuss Fitness Classes": Exercise is more fun with company! Sims can engage in conversations about various fitness classes, from yoga to cardio workouts, and discuss the benefits and challenges of each.
"Engage in Mindfulness": Encourage your Sims to take a moment for themselves and embrace the practice of mindfulness. This interaction allows Sims to discuss and learn about techniques to reduce stress and enhance their overall well-being.
"Female Empowerment": Foster empowerment and gender equality among your Sims. Initiate conversations that focus on the strength, achievements, and challenges faced by women, inspiring your Sims to break barriers and pursue their dreams.
"Flirty Fight": Love and passion can take many forms. Sims can engage in playful, flirtatious banter that adds a spicy twist to their romantic relationships. Sparks will fly as they exchange teasing remarks and engage in light-hearted arguments.
"Spill The Tea": Keep your Sims in the loop with the latest gossip and scandals by engaging in juicy conversations. Share secrets, rumors, and intriguing tidbits that add an element of drama to your Sims' social lives.
"Stand Up Against Gender Inequality": Promote equality and social justice by encouraging your Sims to voice their opinions on gender inequality. This interaction allows them to express their concerns, share stories, and discuss ways to combat discrimination.
"Talk About the Living Crisis": Engage your Sims in thought-provoking conversations about the pressing challenges of the living crisis. Delve into the impact of declining real disposable incomes, adjusted for inflation, taxes, and benefits, that individuals and households have faced.
"Throw Shade": Sims with a mischievous streak can now throw shade at each other in a playful and sassy manner. This interaction adds a touch of humor and wit to your Sims' conversations, ensuring they never run out of snappy comebacks.
"Xtra Interactions" is a must-have mod for players seeking a deeper and more engaging social experience in The Sims 4. Expand your Sims' conversational repertoire and explore new avenues of interaction that reflect the complexity of the real world. Unleash the power of words and emotions in your virtual neighborhood, and watch as your Sims' relationships and social lives flourish with newfound depth and realism.
Follow me on insta @SimmerKatex
Curseforge (xx) FREE
982 notes
·
View notes
Note
Could I request part 2 for Inventor, where reader gets kidnapped by Baron so that they can make things exclusively for him. And the motiv behind this is that the reader refused to share one of there inventions with him because they knew he would use it for himself and not share it with his people 🙄
Hope this isn't too big of an ask, happy writing!!
Myth
Azriel x reader
A/n: you can read Inventor here! Also this is a long one lol
Warnings: kidnapping, mentions of torture, injuries, some violence, and some typos bc I don’t think I got them all sorry
A guard ripped off your blindfold violently, almost taking a fistful of your hair with it. You blinked rapidly adjusting to your surroundings.
You sat tied to an old wooden chair in an ornate office decorated in the colors of autumn.
Well shit. If you knew mouthing off in the last High Lords meeting would land you here you would’ve kept your mouth shut.
No you wouldn’t have.
Beron clearly wanted something from you. And you had a feeling you knew what it was. Azriel’s spies had gathered intel that Beron had been keeping what was found in the mines a secret. The guesses had been anything from rare metals to ancient fae weapons.
Footsteps from the hall grew closer until the door creaked open. You counted eight people, seven guards and Beron. Two guards approach you, lifting your chair to bring you face to face with Autumn’s High Lord.
He was casually leaning against his desk, flipping through a file on his desk you were sure had your name on it. “If it isn’t little miss know-it-all. I’m so glad you could join us.” His tone was sickly sweet and each word dripped with a sick sarcasm. It made your stomach do flips before tying your intestines in a knot.
You didn’t know how long you’d be able to hold out. You’re not trained like Azriel. You can’t fight and you definitely won’t do well under torture. But you’d do your best for him, for your court.
“Let’s see here,” he drawls, flipping open the file. “Multiple awards since the start of your university days, graduated the top of your class, and come highly suggested from three out of seven High Lords. You’ve been around the world and co-discovered countless new technologies.” You knew where this was going.
You had been backed into this corner before by powerful men. They were less powerful than Beron and you had never been tired up before, but that’s beside the point. You wanted to snip back at him but now seemed like a good time to hold your tongue.
When Beron looked at you he had a raised brow and a confused scowl on his lips. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath, pulled your lips super tight, and were holding your eyes open really wide. You’re not the greatest in social situations. Letting out a huff you try to relax into the rickety wood chair. “What do you want from me?”
An evil smirk slowly pulled at his lips. “I need you to…reinvent an old weapon for me.” His spies were right in their guesses. Cauldron, you didn’t even want to think about what this weapon could do. “And if I refuse?” You couldn’t help the tremble in your voice or the slight wobble of your lip. “You have two hours to decide. If you don’t we’ll make sure the shadowsinger gets your body back.” His tone told you it would be in pieces.
Beron adjusted his jacket rousing his desk to sit. Two more guards appeared in front of you as they untied you, switching out the ropes for metal shackles. As the ushered you out into the hall you saw Eris waiting for you. The tall male looked calm and composed. You knew on the inside he was panicking due to the rash decision his father made. Eris roughly grabbed your upper arm dragging you to his side. “I will escort her.”
“We were commanded by the High Lord to take her.” The guard that shackled you said. Eris raised a brow, wearing a similar expression to his father’s. “Then you can accompany us.” You began the long trek down to the dungeons of the Forest House. You kept your head down the whole way knowing that if you looked up at Eris you’d give everything away. All the secrets you’ve kept all the meticulous planning your mate and brother-in-laws have accomplished would be for nothing with a single pleading look.
A guard opened the bared cell door as Eris kept your arm in his firm grip. Shoving you onto the cold stone to keep up the facade Eris slammed the door shut behind you.
You held your hands out to break your fall. As your knees hit the floor your hands skid across the stone floor. You suck in a breath, pushing yourself to sit against a wall to inspect your hands. Your palms are red and fresh cuts litter your skin. You press them against your pants to stop the stinging pain.
Eris scoffs at you. “Pathetic. I’ll be back in an hour to see if you’ve made your decision. Think fast little tinkerer.” He teases, turning away on his heel without giving you a second look he and the guards leave you.
You are not going to cry, you say to yourself. I am going to be smarter than Beron. I’m going to get out of this and Az and the rest of the group will come for me.
——
Rhys, Azriel, Cassian land on the balcony of the House of Wind entry way, returning home from Illyria. All three were hoping to find their mates waiting to embrace them. Instead they were greeted with silence. The brothers look to each other in confusion as Azriel sends out his shadows to search the house.
Taking a few more steps into the house they tensed at the sound of little footsteps rushing toward them. Nyx appeared, launching himself at his father, a little frown on his face. “Daddy!” Rhys scoops the little boy to his chest kissing the top of his head. Rhys could sense his little boy’s distress. “What’s wrong buddy?”
“They’ve been looking all day, but no one can find Auntie y/n.” Azriel’s eyes went wide. His heart stopped for a moment as he pulled on the bond, but nothing. Your side was dark. How could he not have felt that you were gone.
Gwyn and Elain came rushing in next followed by Lucien and two of Azriel’s shadows. “I found something!” The priestess exclaimed, waving a piece of paper in the air. Lucien immediately recognized it as stationary from Eris’s desk. He snatched it from Gwyn’s hand, his eyes moving quickly over the note as he took in each word. His face grew grim.
Finishing the note he looked to Azriel. A frown pulling at the males lips. “What!” The word came out loud and agitated. Lucien hesitantly handed the note to Azriel as he began to explain. “It’s from Eris. Y/n has been taken to Autumn. He’s not sure what Beron wants with her.”
Azriel’s hands were shaking with rage. Gwyn noticed, quickly taking Nyx from his father’s arms and rushing out before something drastic happened. With a look from Lucien Elain nodded her head, turning to follow Gwyn.
Azriel’s shadows began to swarm in a violent pattern. In and out, whispering in his ears as they pass by, threatening to plunge the foyer into darkness. Cassian gripped his shoulders tight. Forcing his brother to look at him. “We will get her Az. But you need a level head.” Azriel’s face was stuck in an angry scowl. His brows pinched and his hazel eyes darkened with rage. Azriel turned his head to look at Rhys. Giving the High Lord a look that said he would go to Autumn without permission if he had to.
Rhys pushed the males apart. “We can’t go in alone. We need more than us.” He looked to Lucien who shook his head. “I’m sorry. But I can’t go back there, not until he’s gone.” Rhys nodded in understanding. “We need the Valkyries with us then.”
“I won’t be subtle.” Azriel gritted out through clenched teeth. “I don’t expect you to be brother. Beron will answer for his crime of taking your mate, I swear it.” Some of the tension let up in Azriel’s body at the promise of Beron suffering. “Let’s get everyone together and head out.”
——
You had been staring at the wall willing yourself to feel nothing for the Mother knows how long. The stinging in your hands had subsided but your knees ached. They were definitely bruised but you couldn’t bring yourself to check. A door at the end of the hall opened, footsteps echoed down the narrow hall as they got closer to your cell. You prayed it was Eris returning alone.
Out of the corner of your eye you saw the lordling staring at you. Eris leaned casually against the bars, like this was a casual meeting between friends. “So, what is it? He won’t tell anyone but the guards.” You blink rapidly to keep your tears away as you spoke. “It’s a weapon. I don’t what kind. He just wants me to rebuild it or fix it or whatever.” Your voice came out monotone. Truthfully you couldn’t be bothered with this conversation. You just want to be out of your cell. Eris let out a huff leaning back from the bars. He paced in a small circle before facing you again.
“I sent word to Lucien who has no doubt told your mate and the other two.” Your heart rate picked up at the mention of Azriel. You had tried to pull on the bond but no luck. When you were taken you were hit with a heavy dose of fae bane. It must still be in your system. Azriel and the others would be on their way soon.
“Tell him yes.” Eris froze, staring at you with wide eyes. “What?” He whisper yelled. You stood, slowly making your way to the cell door. “I’ll work on it. Take me to Beron.” Eris looked like he was torn. If he took you to Beron Azriel would make sure his death was slow and painful. “If you don’t take me I’ll just start yelling for the guards.” An uncomfortable pause fell between the two of you.
Opening your mouth as if to yell for a guard Eris shushed you. “Fine, fine I’ll take you.” The punishment his father would bestow upon him would be worse than Azriel if Beron found out Eris was with you when you made up your mind. Snapping on his mask of cruel heir Eris called for a guard. You were surrounded by the same group of guards as Eris brought you back up to the main house.
Beron met you at the entrance to the house looking smug. Like he’d already won this little game. “I’m glad you’ve made the right decision.” He leads you past his office to a room with two more guards posted at the door. They stand aside to let you, Beron, and the others through but not Eris. You don’t look at him in case your emotions betray you.
Beron gestured for you to sit at the work bench. He left the cuffs on you as a reminder that you are still a prisoner. Beron carefully removes the cloth hiding the weapon from you. You sucked in a harsh breath at the broken sword in front of you. This thing was supposed to be a myth. But here was the sword of the first High Lord of the Day court sitting in front of you. “The last known name for it was Claíomh Solais.”
You nodded along at Beron’s words. “The myth is that the first High Lord of Day received it as a gift from the Mother herself. He had kept the sun rising and as a thank you the Mother gave him Claíomh Solais so he could protect the day from his enemies who wanted eternal darkness.”
“Correct. My miners found it like this. Cut clean in two. Fix it, but add something more.” What else could Beron possibly want this thing to do? Even if you could fix it, the sword was powerful enough. You nod in agreement and he leaves without a word, keeping two guards inside and the two outside.
——
Azriel was vibrating with anticipation. They were right outside the house. You were in there and Beron was doing Cauldron knows what to you. Rhys laid a reassuring hand on Azriel’s shoulder. He felt Rhys tapping on his mental shields and opened them enough for Rhys to say, “Soon, we are just waiting on Eris.”
The doors to the Forest House swung open and Eris stepped out onto the landing. He strode back and forth until his eyes landed on where Azriel was keeping the six of them hidden with his shadows. Eris whistled as if he were calling his hounds telling Rhys to make his move. He reached out to the minds of the guards at the front of the house. Making sure none of them would be bothered by the presence of the Night Court.
Clearing the front garden and massive stone steps Eris lead them into the house. Azriel let his shadows loose to look for you. They had been restless since Azriel found out you were missing and they were eager to bring you back to their master.
Rhys kept his hold on the guards they passed while making sure the ones ahead stayed where they were as well. “This is over kill you know. I got him go back out to the mines for another look.” Nesta scoffed at him. “You think we’d risk y/n’s life on your word?” Eris rolled his eyes and kept walking fast. Coming up on the room where you were being kept Azriel threw out his arm, hitting Eris square in the chest and bringing the group to a halt. Shadows come flying back down the hall whispering their findings to Azriel about the guards and your wellbeing.
“Two in, two out. I’ll go, the rest of you guard Rhys.” Eris tried to get him to wait but Azriel stared running down the hall, a dagger in each hand. Azriel threw the daggers. Each finding their mark flawlessly in the throat a of the guards. Shadows caught the bodies from thudding to the floor, keeping them pressed against the wall as they continued to struggle for air. Azriel quickly rapped his knuckles on the door and stood to the side.
The door opened a crack for the guard to see. He squinted, cautiously opening the door he looked to one side. Before he was able to find Azriel he grabbed the guard by the back of his neck and twisted until he was lifeless in his arms. Azriel threw the male down on the floor entering the room. When his eyes landed on you the bond hummed to life in his chest. His protective instincts to get you to safety practically blinding him with rage. The last guard would be the one to unfortunately take the brunt of that anger.
Azriel punched, and punched, and punched until the sound of you crying out his name brought him back to his conscious self. Unable to hold your tears back you broke down. Azriel made his way over to you, picking you up bridal style. “It’s ok. It’s ok baby, I got you. We’re gunna get these off you when we get home, ok.” You nod vigorously against his chest as you were unable to get a word out thanks to your hysterical tears.
Before he could leave you pulled on his leathers for him to wait. With renewed adrenaline rushing through your body you fumbled your way around the work table. Your hands messily picking up a leather strap, the cloth, and stacked the two pieces of the sword on the cloth. You wrapped them up tight and clutched it to your chest. You turn to Azriel waiting for him to pick you up again.
Grabbing you he hurries back down the hall. You toss the wrapped up sword to Cassian for safe keeping as you all fled from the Forest House. Eris was no where in sight. You assumed he went to stall his father before he noticed you were missing.
Sunlight blinded you. Before your eyes could adjust darkness surrounded you and the world fell away. The salty air blowing off the Sidra pierced your nostrils, the sound of wings flapping calmed you as they slowly brought you to the house of wind.
Azriel fell to his knees on the marble floor. His warm scarred hands cradling your face as he rested his forehead against yours. He apologized over and over for not knowing you were gone. For leaving you as Beron’s prisoner for so long.
Rhys gently removed the cuffs from your wrist. You flung your arms around Azriel, telling him it was ok. That you’re safe with him now. Pulling away from him slightly you looked into his tear filled eyes. “I’m ok Az. You got me.” Your mate gives you a tight lipped smile, closing his eyes to force the last of his tears out. “I got you.” He whispered back.
#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar reader fic#acotar reader imagine#acotar imagine#azriel x reader#azriel acotar#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x you#azriel fic#azriel imagine#azriel fanfic#acotar azriel#azriel#azriel x y/n
219 notes
·
View notes
Text
There's no Parvati without Lavender :)
When I was a kid first reading the books, I didn't like Lavender and Parvati much. They were written in a negative way. They would giggle about everything and say 'oooh' and 'aaah' about stuff and shriek and squeal. And of course, they liked pink and were very emotional... yuk, right? (Note the sarcasm here.)
Now, I realize the misogyny that backs all that up. Lavender and Parvati are young women who possess big hearts and know what they like. They are in tune with their emotions and their feminity. And there is absolutely NOTHING WRONG with liking girly things. I have a pair of fluffy pens on my desk that I write letters with to my friends. I own a drawer full of stickers that I stick on my planner. I like the colour pink more and more as I grow older and fuck everyone who makes young women believe they are not allowed to like those things. Because god forbid, you're considered 'girly', which in this case sounds like 'weak'.
Weak? Are you kidding? Lavender and Parvati fought in the war. They risked their lives to save others. Lavender ran after Blast-Ended Screwts to help Hagrid with his class! I would rather eat my socks.
NoT To MEntiON, the two of them were the only students who bothered to comfort Professor Trelawney when her bloody career was on the line!
I will no longer accept any criticism about Lavender. She is a good person.
I'm going to continue because there's a lot to say.
Oohing and aahing when you see a unicorn is not annoying, Harry. You pubescent little shit. If I saw a unicorn, I would bawl my eyes out. Don't judge people.
Crying when your pet rabbit dies is also NOT ANNOYING. Have some sympathy. Hermione, just because YOU don't believe in Divination doesn't mean it's nonsense. Don't make fun of people and their perception of the world. RIP Binky <3
Am I done? NO! Lavender was a 16-year-old girl when she got her first boyfriend. Was she clingy? Yes. Did she use silly nicknames? Yes. Does that mean she deserved to be led on for weeks? No. So, Ron Weasley, apologize. For the love of GOD.
Alright, I think I'm done.
#lavenderbrown#lavender brown#illustration#illustrator#hogwarts#harrypotteruniverse#characterdesign#characterart#harrypotterart#characterdesignsheets#harrypotterdesign#lavender#gryffindor#gryffindor house#gryffindor pride#hogwartshouses#hogwartsuniform#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#wizardingworld#wizarding world#second wizarding war#costumedesign#harrypottercharacterart
270 notes
·
View notes
Text
15 questions, 15 mutuals.
Tagged by @trentcrimminallybeautiful thank you gert my beloved <3
Are you named after anyone? - Yes, but I don't really feel a connection to my birth name much, so I'd rather talk about my online chosen names! For the name Fallon, I just picked it because I liked the vibes honestly and also after an oc I made when I was really little. And as for the beloved name bestowed unto me, Milk. I made a typo introducing myself ("Gallon") and it stuck 😔<3
When was the last time you cried? - hm, probably a couple weeks ago? I cry when I get hungry lmao
Do you have kids? - This bear flowerpot thingy is my beloved son:
But as for human children, no.
Do you use sarcasm a lot?- unsure if absurd threats of eating furniture in response to Cool Art/Fic count as sarcasm, but if so, yes
What's the first you notice about people? - if they have a Funky Outfit on I'll probably notice that first (and then get too intimidated to talk to them because they're CoolTM)
What's your eye colour? - brown
Scary movies or happy endings? - happy ending sorry I'm a coward
Any special talents? - I play violin, and I'm particularly adept at making typos
Where were you born? - hospital
What are your hobbies? - writing, reading, rug-hooking, cooking/baking, going on walks in nature
Have you got any pets? - yes, this is my beloved fool of a dog Clyde:
What sports do you play/have you played? - none on a team, but I like playing tennis and roller skating
How tall are you? - 5'5" I think?
Favourite subject in school? - used to be English lit, but I'm a sociology/gender studies major now. but I also love Italian despite not being very good at it!
Dream job? - currently looking to go into academia! (scary!) but if I could have any job in the world, it might have to do with marine bio/conservation, or cooking, or writing, or an archivist of some sort, or a forensic entomologist, or someone who Sorts things all day, or-
Tagging (no pressure of course!) : @shiningsagittarius @never-wake-up @personinthepalace @xkurtwagner @hangrybluewhale @ae-jurumi @middle-class-trash @deeskip @acollectionofcuriousreblogs @papermillll @amysterywrappedinanenigma @nobody33333333 @sophieswundergarten @itsgoghtime @kneeslapworthy @oflightningandstars @rebecca-mbs-fan @phtalogreenpoison @crow-in-springtime @heyitsthatonesmolgay @lemondropletters
ok listen I know it said 15 but I got carried away-
that being said I definitely am forgetting people - if you see this, this is your open invitation to join (and I do mean that!)
418 notes
·
View notes
Text
just a lil jj x reader drabble i had floating around in my brain. might make it a series if enough people like it 💜
cw: mentions of abuse
the thing about living on kildare island is that it's not that big. everyone knows everyone even if you don't want to. with you living on the cut, you've become very aware of jj maybank and his rowdy group of friends.
you and pope are acquaintances because you both were in the math club together before the club was cancelled due to lack of funding. you don't hang out much outside of class but if you see him, you're not shy to say hello.
kiara intimidates you because, and you'll never say this out loud, she's a kook no matter how hard she tries to prove she's not. she may be a nice person but she is spoiled and privileged in a way kids on the cut will never experience.
john b is kind, always willing to help people who might need it. you've spoken to him a few times at previous boneyard keggers and you've even helped him with his english essay once but you wouldn't say you're friends.
lastly, there's jj. he is an enigma to you. you're actually his neighbour so you've heard and sometimes seen what he deals with on a daily basis. you don't pity him though, you just feel empathetic because your life is pretty similar.
mean parent who is never happy with what you do no matter how hard you try, working odd jobs to make rent because said mean parent is too fucked up on whatever illicit substance they're snorting that week to bother going to work. the physical stuff isn't as bad for you only because your mom isn't as strong and she's easier to subdue when she gets in her rages but nevertheless, you understand him.
the jokes he makes to hide the sadness in his watercolour eyes. the sarcasm to change the subject to anything other than his seemingly never ending bruises. the difference between you two though is that you don't really have friends.
if you asked the pogues about you however; their response would probably be "who?" or "ohhh her!" not because you're quiet and keep to yourself, it's just because nothing about you is memorable. you're a plain jane, guys don't take a second look at your and girls don't see you as competition.
you wish things were different but this is how it's always been and you've grown used to this being your status quo.
which is why when jj comes up to you one night at a party, drink in hand, flirty smile on his face and asked you on a date, your world flipped upside down.
#jj maybank#obx#outer banks#pope heyward#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank x oc#my headcanons#kiara carrera#john b routledge#outerbanks fic#jj x reader#jj maybank imagine
81 notes
·
View notes
Text
Some Unholy War | Theseus Scamander
SUMMARY: In an ideal world, you’d like to think you and Theseus could be friends. Frankly, though, his compassion made you nauseous. Or maybe it was nerves. The feeling was always hard for you to distinguish. You wished the way he looked at you would bring warmth to your chest, but it only reminded you of how that was another impossibility.
PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x f!reader
WORD COUNT: 2.1K
WARNINGS: canon-typical things, mentions of smoking and drinking, angst, morally gray reader, mutual pining, semi enemies-to- lovers, protective Theseus, etc.
A/N: Lowkey proud of this one, so comments and feedback are Super welcomed! This was based off this request, so thank you SO much anon, this was a blast that might have to be a series. Also Huge thanks to @kalllistos for all the help, couldn’t have been done without you!! Enjoy.
PART II, PART III, PART IV
You fit in so absolutely.
The rim of your glass was still lined with enough sugar to enjoy dwindling sips. Theseus knew it was gin. Your lipstick left a mark on everything you kissed, the pattern was found on your glass, and the cigarette holder balanced between your fingers. You made everything look so serene. Simple.
Scanning the room, you hadn’t seen Theseus yet. However, he, too, fit in—tie properly knotted to show his status and pocket-watch cleverly tucked in his waistcoat. Once he joined you at the secluded booth, he’d complete the idyllic image.
Yet, Theseus lingered for a moment, taking you in. Your confidence was always envious. It worked silently, exuding from your presence alone. Your magnetism couldn’t be credited to magic but to how you evolved, becoming pointed and moving without fault.
Theseus was one of the only ones remaining to know it hadn’t begun that way. He remembered you, a few years below him, always sprinting to class, already late. The professors would scold you, and your confidence was read as insolence. You challenged everything and excelled in doing so, but it only lent itself to trouble. It created a barrier always present between the two of you.
“You’re late.” You sucked in a crackling breath. With pointed eyes, you took his presence in. Even late into the night, he was always so poised. Professional. “I’m risking a lot showing my face here.”
“You look beautiful.” Theseus slid into the leather cushion. The charm always came with his supposed professionalism. It came in waves and never crawled under your skin the way intended. “Relax…It’s fine.”
Unbuttoning his suit jacket’s button, Theseus settled. It was bold of you to accept his invitation to meet so publicly, but he knew you couldn’t resist. You just needed to play your part smartly and get what you want.
“Your promises are too shallow for me to trust.” You crossed your legs, making it easier to lean and be heard. Then, you clicked your tongue against your teeth with sarcasm, “I think I’d rather you arrest me.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve clocked out for the night.” Theseus was an intentional man, a clever man. He was protecting his image just as much as yours. “It’s just you and me.”
“That’s why you wanted to meet here…” You hummed with feigned realization. The muggle restaurant was a precarious cover but equally as rewarding in its purpose. “You know there are better ways to ask someone on a date.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time…” Theseus matched your hum absentmindedly. The banter was a buffer, something to ease into an inevitable unwanted conversation. Reaching into his heavily charmed jacket, he pulled out a file.
It was always a fucking file. The folders were always pristine, never quite full of all the information, just enough of what Theseus was willing to share. It grew over the years of the unorthodox relationship, but you knew not to mistake that for trust.
The figures in the picture were blurry, moving incoherently as they entered a building. The stack of images moved in sequence, following rushedly an exchange that was meant to remain a secret. Without seeing their faces well, you knew who they were, and you held back from using your cigarette roach to burn it all away. Instead, the image repeat over and over before you, but your expression was trained with passivity.
“When did he get out?” You finally met Theseus’ eye. Your composure could fool most, but to a trained eye, your discomfort was obvious.
“A month or so at this point...”
Your laugh was bitter. “So, I’ve been a sitting duck.”
“You’ve been avoiding me...” Theseus countered, his tone just barely teasing. There was truth in jest, as there were plenty of owls following you. You looked at him, knowing what came next. His compassion would get him killed. “...I can help you.”
“Careful.” You cocked your head, musing a buried thought. “You’re getting awful sentimental these days.”
“Don’t you want those off?” Theseus leaned in like you had, voice low. Although his fingers were threaded together, he pointed to the bracelets on your wrists.
You smirked, “And ruin my outfit?”
Rarely did you acknowledge them so explicitly. The bracelets—admonitors—dampened your magic by tracking your every spell. They made you feel like a child with a trace spell. Part of you wished you could say you grew accustomed to the constant surveillance, but you grew weary of lying.
The offer was too sweet, and you wanted more than just your magic untraced. “What’s the catch?”
“You help the Ministry find him.” Theseus was trying to protect you, but you were too filled with vindication to notice.
“You mean work for you.”
He frowned, correcting you, “With me.”
“There truly isn’t a difference in your world.” You spat. The ministry was the reason you were in this mess; they branded your cuffs as a daily reminder that your autonomy was shared. “You’d be using me as bait.”
The conversation would go in circles, as it always had. It was the reason more time was added between meetings. Every time you left, that bitter taste grew stronger, and it was difficult to put it aside to face Theseus again and again. This was different—more threatening, but your anger prevailed.
“I won’t do it.”
“Catching him will clear your name.” Theseus all but begged. He remained poised, but you knew it would only last for so long. Those around you looked your way; interest piqued in conversation they weren’t privy to.
“I’m not innocent.” You were blunt. You had been called cold because of it. But it was a trait that you favored, especially at times like this. You wanted to see Theseus break.
You had done unspeakable things, figuring it was an acceptable way to siphon your affection. You were young and blinded by false idolization. Theseus chose to see the best in you, even now, even after everything. He, too, was blinded by an image of you that hadn’t changed since you were children.
The table held your drink, forgotten and diluted. The air was tense and hushed. Theseus needed to move fast, knowing you were moments away from fleeing. But he knew he had just enough time as you lit another cigarette, this time not for vanity but to quell your nerves.
Your nails tapped on the base of your cocktail glass. Your fingertips twitched, begging to satisfy their itch for magic. You debated on if your actions would be worth it. Theseus decided for you, hand flexing to replenish your drink.
Your lipstick remained fresh but still marked the glass. It was perfectly cold, calming the swarm of nerves that hit you. “It’s a bit strong.”
“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.” Theseus appreciated your teasing; it meant he was doing something right.
“This place is quite charming, you know,” You looked around before shifting forward even more. It may have been improper, but you leaned over the table, elbows resting comfortably. “Next time, we’ll have to venture and order food.”
“Sure.” Theseus agreed, body language mirroring yours. To anyone else, the pair of you would look smitten. “Anytime you’d like.”
“Anytime?” Your eyebrow ticked up as you tapped at the ashtray. “Come on, I’m surprised you’ve stuck around as long as you have.” Your knuckles crept forward, almost bumping his as they dragged to the middle of the linen cloth atop the table. “Truly—We haven’t—”
You stopped yourself with an uncharacteristic laugh. A tinge spread below Theseus’ freckles, assuming your humor was chastising him. But you were laughing at yourself, at how ridiculous you felt. You were enjoying yourself.
The feeling felt foreign, so you prickled. “Be practical, Theseus.”
Your worlds barely overlapped, and where it had highlighted the worst parts of each of you. Your world was dark and hidden; you stole and bribed. You were suitable for it and resisted morphing into the image Theseus expected of you.
He was as kind as any Hufflepuff, putting other needs first and blindly placing his kindness. He mistook his demeanor for bravery, but his true bravery formed by sitting across from you. The only barrier seemed to be Theseus’ incorruptible moral code, a space where you couldn’t quite freely exist.
“I need to know the full story.” His voice was commanding, betraying his desperation.
Theseus looked warm, contrasting the winter blizzarding outside. A bubble was created that was becoming suffocating, but with him across you, it seemed just marginally bearable. His hand flexed, skimming yours, hoping to regain your attention.
“You already know how it ends. What does the rest matter?” You thought to sink back, but you chased the small contact. “I want nothing to do with this. With him.”
“I’ll be there the entire time,” Theseus promised, voice low and steady, reflecting his sincerity. You could make out the warmth he was willing to share, but you weren’t willing to accept it wholly.
“And my interests?”
Theseus’ expression fell slightly at your evasive rejection. It reminded him of his position, of his strained relation to you—what he was supposed to do but always found a reason to put off.
“It depends on where they lie.”
In an ideal world, you’d like to think you and Theseus could be friends. Frankly, though, his compassion made you nauseous. Or maybe it was nerves. The feeling was always hard for you to distinguish. You wished the way he looked at you would bring warmth to your chest, but it only reminded you of how that was another impossibility.
You wished his gaze would turn you to stone; that way, you could avoid everything else. Instead, it made you melt, it made you pliable in way you opposed with others. There was a suspicion he kept returning just because of that—despite your bluff and his willful ignorance, you weren’t made of stone, and deep down, he knew that. Probably not consciously, but he did.
You always came back. Or he did—another indistinguishable something. You could still feel his fingers reaching for yours. It almost made you cave. Yet, your back met the bench of the booth, and your hand drew away as you placed your cigarette on your lips.
Although you were still present, Theseus watched you flee. Your guard returned stronger, but he didn’t regret his words. Theseus’ eyes were pleading, and you went to blame his naivety, but you found something distinct there. The reason you were here tonight was not for a favor.
It was an ultimatum, not a request.
“When was this decided?” You asked. You thought Theseus came alone, and now the naivety fell on you. There were too many eyes on you now to dismiss the crowd as solely muggles. You fell so perfectly into the trap that all you could do was laugh.
“I wanted to keep you out of this,” Theseus admitted. It was the truth, but he knew what needed to be done. The greater good, you could already hear his defense. “This is the only way.”
“Your way.” You shook your head. Another laugh. “And what happens when he kills me? Hmm?”
“He won’t.” Another promise that made you sick. “I’ll be there the whole ti—
“Then you, Theseus—” Venom dripped from your every pointed word. From the corner of your eye, you saw how the undercover aurors were ready to respond to your agitation. If they wanted a spectacle, you were moments from providing it. “— are ill-prepared for what he’s willing to do.”
“You need to trust me.” Theseus attempted to regain the conversation but failed to recognize any mending he made was lost.
“And why should I trust the man that watches my every move?”
Theseus put you in this position; he was the wizard who held your wrist tightly all those years ago to secure the admonitors. For your own good, he told you. He believed it, and yet again, you found yourself at the hands of his so-called mercy.
“And if I decline?” You weren’t in such a position to, but Theseus understood your question only brought ruination.
“The only way you're walking out of here is because of me.”
A threat, how original. Your cigarette threatened to burn your lips. The ash tarnished the linen that fell over your lap. Apart of you hoped it would set the entire thing aflame. Maybe then you’d have a chance at a genuine escape. For now, though, you resolved to the final word.
“You think you are blessed with morality—” You finished your drink, the taste becoming sour. “—yet what sits before me is nothing but a boy that’s only purpose is to follow orders blindly.”
#q#theseus scamander#theseus#scamander#theseus scamander x reader#theseus scamander fluff#theseus scamander angst#theseus scamander x f!reader#newt scamander x reader#newt scamander#fantastic beasts fic#FUCK jkr#fuck terfs
702 notes
·
View notes
Text
Two’s company, three’s a family - Part two
Summary : As a cupid, an angel of love, your mission was to make sure everyone was paired up with the right person. Yet you couldn’t get your two most ancient clients to finally end up together. And despite the 6,000 years spent on the case, you couldn’t bring yourself to give them up, oblivious to the actual reason...
Pairing : Aziraphale x Crowley / GN!Reader x Crowley / GN!Reader x Aziraphale (polyamorous relationship).
Parts : Previous - Next
Masterlist : Here
Warnings : Language, mid-violence, near death, slight angst, slow burn, english isn’t my first language.
Words : +3k
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
(5 years later)
"Alright, Eden, this is how it's going to be : I'm going to help our dear friend with his little inconvenience while you stay here and eat every bit of grass you want. Okay ?" You said, deadpan.
And the only response from your white Dexter mini cow was a simple nudge against your palm. Aw, how could you resist her when she just looked at you with such cute eyes ? You just couldn't ! That's why you brought her with you in the first place.
"Perfect." You nodded firmly before bending down to kiss your forehead. You started to retreat. The sensation of tall grass touching your shinbone You loved it. Every sensation this world had to offer amazed you and urged you to experience everything. But right now is not the time !
"I'll be right back, sweetie ! Don't wonder off too far !" And you took off towards the meeting location.
Love angels are quite particular creatures with special abilities. As they say, love makes you blind, and even though you couldn't prove that statement, you knew that love allowed you to be blind in other people's eyes. You were capable of becoming invisible. Not all the time, but you could manage to stay this way for a few days if really necessary. You had a lot of free time.
This power was mostly there to permit you to supervise dates, gather information on your clients, and occasionally spy on a demon's secret meeting. If anyone asks, you never do that.
But lately, demons have been more and more pushy with Crowley's results, summoning him to Hell for his report. However, some lower-class demon got brave enough to come up on earth and confront him. They were jealous of the redhead; you smelled the salty taste, similar to burnt meat. And despite how stupid they sounded, they were really starting to cause trouble by sensing Aziraphale's presence and also influencing Warlock.
Thus, you decided to go help the duo by playing bait. Certainly those demons' boss would be thrilled to know they successfully scared off a love angel. Right now, you slowly flew towards the meeting point, watching closely for any aggressive behaviour. Crowley had called them to "calmly" persuade them to leave, as they were starting to draw too much attention.
It wasn't really the case ; Warlock's parents were incredibly lax. But you could always trick most of the supernatural beings since they don't spend as much time on Earth as you three. You gently leaned on a nearby tree, your expression fixed as you followed their movements.
"Go back to Hell ? So you can receive all the credit to yourself ! Don't count on it, Crawley !" The smaller one snarled vehemently.
"It's Crowley, and I really never meant to take your place in a mission you are so obviously deserving of." And he seemed to actually appreciate that; they weren't great at sarcasm either.
"What the.. urgh.. angels ? Have you had any trouble with one of 'them 'em sneaking around ?" The taller one almost gagged when he mentioned them. You knew that one, actually. You leaned in a bit more on your branch, Crowley glancing quizzically in your direction (he probably heard you), and you recognised the guy's features.
Yeah, greasy yellow-ish hair ; his right cheek was necrotic; his hideous teeth were poking out. You were just so glad Crowley had clean teeth; you honestly thank God every day for it. You've met him before during a lot of your missions; he's always there to fricking ruin every one of them. God, sorry, he was so annoying... But you loved tormenting him back. But he was getting really obtrusive in your monthly life, so today you would do your best to put them in a lot of trouble. And set his friend along; you wouldn't want him to feel lonely; you were not that mean.
"Angels ? Naaah, they are way too uptight and skittish to properly go against our forces... Why ? Have you been struggling ?" He was holding back his mockery. Which was a real struggle for him.
"Just that little wuss of an angel. They keep missing me, never brave enough to truly face me. Just waiting for the right moment to get at 'em." he growled. Oh, how strong-willed he sounded, considering he always gave up mid-chase. You looked over Crowley for a second and got almost startled at how dour his face was. You bit your lip and focused back on Bobby (not that it wasn't his name; you just didn't care enough to call him something else).
"Oooh, I'm sure you'll find the right moment to strike once you muster enough courage to step out of your mud puddle." He briefly laughed, sardonic as always.
Heh, the way some demons made their entrance was so flattering. Now, thanks to his taunting, the two have started to get aggressive. I guess that's my cue to go.
"What the fuck did you just say?" The greasy boy said it directly to Crowley.
"Oh, I think you exactly understood what I meant." Obviously, he wouldn't back down ; you didn't expect anything else from him.
Calling off the spell, you stood up. Your legs were wobbly, and you tried to stabilise yourself. And leaned casually against the trunk.
"Well, what do we have here ? Hiding away from the city, I see. Why ? Was I too intimidating for you ?" you bugged. You saw his sludge vest boil, his face scrunching, and his awful teeth showing. His little friend growled behind him, ready to launch right at you. How sweet. Crowley's eyes widened. He leaned back, arms crossed in front of his chest, observing what was going to happen next.
"You... I should wring your neck !" He was an impulsive little thing, so he wasted no time and jumped on you.
You dodged him, if you can call it that : you took off your branch and let him knock his head against it. The second came running in your direction; you decided to let gravity do its thing by letting yourself fall and firmly stepping on his bald head. Wow, I almost slipped there.
You jumped off and landed on the ground. You looked up at Crowley and mouthed to him "Eden". You didn't have the heart to leave her here by herself now that you were going to have a little fun. He rolled his eyes, sighed, but nodded anyway. You knew he had a soft spot for her. You smiled brightly and ran off.
"Don't let her near the Anti-Christ !" the shortest one bawled at Crowley, getting back up.
You halted for a second, quickly building up a plan B.
"Anti-Christ ? Is that so ?" You said, teasingly. You had to turn around, bending yourself into a position that conveyed every bit of smugness you could manage. Crowley's lips twitched upright.
"You idiots !" He snarled.
"Get 'em !" Bobby roared as best as his croaking voice could.
You burst into brief laughter before finally dashing off the scene. If your plan failed, you had a backup. You really liked running, but you couldn't let yourself drown in the feeling.
The smaller one sent an electric shock your way. You leaped up, flew for a brief moment, did a half-loop, and landed back down.
"Hey ! Don't get too flashy now ! You wouldn't want to be seen making an ass of yourself !" You mocked.
"Shut the fuck up !"
Rude...
The town wasn't that far away, and you wanted to get to a more populated area as soon as possible. Because, you know, your weapons weren't lethal, so we depended on your miracles. You were used to the human environment and what they would perceive as coincidences, odd occurrences, and full-on magic. They weren't, and you believed they weren't that dumb to expose themselves too much or hurt anybody.
Bobby had summoned a huge pit right in front of your feet. Luckily for you—not much for them—you had explored everything your human body could do, including physical effort. You grounded your feet, flexed your slightly trained legs, and leaped over the trap.
You took a sharp turn, arriving in some kind of small square, and climbed up the metal fence, winning some time. Now that people could see you, you started running, but no one was in sight. Ugh. Ooh, expect those two wild geese, plainly walking around. You smiled, determined. You materialised your bow and visualised their bound. Mmh ! Better than you expected. You could give it multiple forms; get utterly creative. This time it looked like a mini-crossbow for stealth. You put your weapon on your forearm, aimed for their chest, and let go. The geese quacked, chocked by the sudden rush of emotions. Bound complete.
You skipped past them like an antelope, nearing the entrance of the park, leading into town. More people wondered in the street, and some intended to enter the square. Worry squeezed your chest ; your breathing was itching. Please don't hurt them.
They didn't bother slowing down, recklessly running in your direction. Your brows frowned, irrated by their stupor. Mud Pie ignored the cuddling geese and violently pushed a man's shoulder with his.
"Hey ! What in the bloody hell is wrong with you, man ?" The man yelled after him, holding his arm in pain.
You took a step back. No holding back. Two were too much of a handful right now; you had to get rid of one of them.
You took two steps back. So, unwillingly, you miraculously shoved one of the geese onto the second guy. Panicked and certainly repulsed by his slimy appearance, the poor thing started to attack the pariste with all its might. Without a second thought, the mate started chasing as well. The demon desperately tried to shove the two off, but so satisfyingly failed.
You didn't have time to further appreciate the show, as your dear friend didn't even glance in his companion's direction. He was like a bulldozer, ready to wipe you off the map. You took a step back and collided with an old woman.
"Oh, I am so sorry, madam ! I really apologise !"
"No worries, dear, but why are you in such a hurry ?"
The road was right here, and you saw a car coming your way. Go across and let the car hit him. Let's go.
"Mh... Life's too short ! You must enjoy it," you said, sending a happy memory orb her way. No time to waste !
You ran as fast as was naturally possible to the other side. You looked over to the other side. Everything was blurry. Great. He was coming. The car ? Not fast enough.
The black car seemed to accelerate at the last crossroad and was steering incredibly fast. Come on, come on ! Knock him out.
He was crossing the road ! ... But you gasped in terror when you saw him pulling the grandma with him. He had pushed her as well, in front of him.
His eyes snapped at the car and morphed into those of a deer caught in headlights.
He walked forward, taking the woman with him in the process. They both fell to the ground abruptly.
The car brutally stopped.
"Miss !" you cried, fright gnawing at your insides. You dropped to your knees and shoved the mud boy away from her, checking for bruises. Broken wrist. You winced and very discretely healed it. You scanned your surroundings and almost felt your ears peek up in interest.
The Bentley.
Crowley.
"Sorry, Madam, for the incident. I hadn't expected to so suddenly cross the road," he said, his glasses hiding the not-so-guilty expression. "You were lucky this man was here to save you". The smirk he wore was devilish; he barely hid his nature, and you were honestly surprised no one had found out his true nature yet. It was so obvious.
A crowd had formed around you, people helping the poor granny and the cunt up. Crowley approached, trying his best to correct his walk.
Oh, that's right ! Where did he go ?" A bystander wondered, searching for the mysterious, dirty man.
"Maybe he's shy and couldn't appreciate all the praise he would receive for saving a person's life." You smiled in your own charming way to dispel all suspicions. Still, the secret meaning behind it made Crowley scoff.
"Will you be alright, ma'am ?" you asked.
"Oh, don't worry, dear. It's always good to know that my heart can still go through so many emotions and still be up and running." Her lighthearted laugh brought a small, tender smile to your face. You parted ways and went to Crowley.
"C'mon, sweetheart, I'll give you a lift home," he said, looking away. He seemed upset, so you tried to humour him.
"Really ?! Can I drive ?" You beamed at him, your eyes eager to receive a refusal.
"Never. Again." His teeth were grinding so much that you wondered if they would break. You pouted but didn't insist. Suddenly, you remembered your little companion.
"Eden ! Oh, my poor girl ! Where is she ?" "You grabbed the demon's arm. You were actually much more tactile than Aziraphale and him, but they got accustomed to it.
He stopped, looked back, and rolled his eyes.
"Don't worry, I put her in the trunk of the car." He nonchalantly explained as he sat down.
Wait... W-Where...
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
You absolutely didn't want to live with your poor baby in a small, cramped place, so Crowley accepted to go back near the dear little Anti-Christ place to check on your mini cow and pick up Aziraphale. You quickly got rid of your seatbelt and raced out.
When you opened the trunk, you sighed when you heard Crowley complaining about your "brutality.".
Mh, at least I'm not a barbarian who stuffed a baby cow into the back of a car.
You stopped mid-thought when you saw what the interior really looked like. Crowley had manipulated the space inside and made it wide enough for Eden to fit in nicely. It looked like a small meadow, too.
"Aww, Crowley !" you squealed in his direction as he was pretending not to see you.
"Ooh, my dear baby Eden ! Are you okay ? Are you good ?" You reached out and pulled her out. She rubbed her head against your belly and mooed lovingly. You kissed her forehead.
"Ooh, you really took good care of you, huh ? " You quickly glanced at him and saw him tensing up. He knew what you were going to say, and you smirked, delighted. "Yeah, you're right, he really likes you ! I totally agree. What a nice guy he is indeed."
"Don't you call me that !" he exclaimed, literally fuming.
"Shh, don't scream this way at her!" you lightly scolded.
"Oh, like hell, I'm going to let you insinuate things like that," he groaned. So easy.
You started to jump around, going down slowly like a feather. Eden happily did the same.
"I'm solely stating facts! You are a good demon—ah!" you screamed, surprised when he started to try to catch you.
"Come down here, you little minx !" He snarled, frustrated at your agility.
You stooped your tongue out, Eden still running around cheerful as always.
"What are you two doing ?" A familiar voice asked, deeply confused and surprisingly joyful at the same time.
"Aziraphale ! Hi !" you waved as your feet connected to the ground again.
Crowley was right behind you, hands twitching and mumbling complaints mixed with threats. Even if you knew that the angel had already seen the upset and irrated side of Crowley, you still needed to point out his good deeds!
Every opportunity mattered!
"Is everything alright ?" No time to worry ; you've got to praise!
"Yes, yes, of course ! It's just that Crowley doesn't want to admit how nice he's been today." You got behind the raging demon and gently shoved him towards Aziraphale.
"Oh, really, Crowley ? How come ?" He teased and smiled almost slyly.
You slowly backed off, letting the two interact in peace.
"Argh, it was nothin'. Just some demon who tried to jeopardise the mission, and Y/N over there immediately jumped in and lurked them away." He looked at you while saying it. You smiled with tight lips before I tilted my head for him to continue.
"And, urgh, well, I followed them and helped get rid of the nuisance." It almost burned his tongue.
"Aaand, you made Eden a comfy little space in the back of the Bentley!" you said, in the most jovial tone, making him growl.
"Aww, Crowley ! So do you have a soft spot for her, uh ?" He looked so touched. He was so adorable, you couldn't help but smile. Crowley looked bashful for a second before turning away.
"Oh, shut up. I only did it because I know what an awful thing you two feed her, so I just thought she deserved a little treat." He calmly taunted.
Awful things ?! Wait up a minute, mister !
Aziraphale regularly accepted keeping Eden with him when you had to work for a long time. He even arranged a room for her; he was very fond of her. And the food you gave her was the most healthy grass and hay you could find. Aziraphale was the one who helped you pick up a kind.
"She's perfectly healthy and happy; thank you very much !" You sprinted his way. He held up his hands in innocence, though his smirk revealed his thoughts.
"Of course, but also utterly bored." He leaned in, his smugness emanating from his whole body.
"Sure." You crossed your arms. "Because you know everything about having fun, Mister, I will never let you drive !" Yes. You were pouting. No. You will not apologise.
"Ooh, believe me, sweetheart, you're lucky I even let you near it."
Alright, so Crowley might not have appreciated how you drove the Bentley, but you both ended up having a great time ! Well, you and the car. But since you had driven with so much energy, it actually encouraged the demon to steer a little bit slower. You just shrugged the comment away.
"She's not a kart nor a race car, for that matter !" He exclaimed, throwing his arms everywhere.
"Don't underestimate her ; she's capable of a lot of things." You closed your eyes and nodded slowly. "Ah, such a shame you don't realise it..."
Speaking of realizing...
Shit. Aziraphale.
Great work, love angel. You felt bad for neglecting him and a weight settled on your shoulders.
"Anyway ! How was your day, Azi' ?" You gazed back, ignoring Crowley's ramble. The angel was facing the horizon, his absence crystal clear in his eyes. He snapped out of it, though, and a tight smile crept in.
"It went perfectly well, thank you ! Now, can we please head back to the bookshop so we can discuss our respective summonings ?" His hands were joined behind his back as he went to climb in.
"Of course ! W-Wait ! I'll go behind; this way I'll be close to Eden." You laughed nervously. Damn, you were way smoother with your other clients than with these two.
"No problem, Y/N." He simply said and smiled at you sweetly. Ah, what an angel, right ? Unworthy was what you were.
You heard Eden mooing in protest as Crowley picked her up to stuff her in again.
"C'mon, big girl, in you go- no ! No ! Not the jacket !" You tried to suppress your laughter at the sight.
"Hop on in, dear."
Aziraphale was holding the door open for you. You overdid your bow and got comfortable on the back seats, with the guardian doing the same after you. You felt guilt watching you from afar, ready to slay your throat.
"Let go, Eden ! Let go ! AAARGH-"
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
"No need to overreact..."
"Overreact ?! She ate my jacket! Ugh... so ungrateful..."
Aziraphale shot him a disapproving look but didn't add anything; instead, he grabbed the torn fabric and fixed it.
"There. All gone."
The angel sat back on his seat but couldn't keep his eyes from rolling as Crowley kept on wailing about your mini cow's "betrayal". As for you, you enjoyed being the only one back there and having all this space to yourself.
You safely lay there, your mind drifting as you watched the pair talk to each other. A mushy smile painted on your face. The gentle melody of the song "Too Much Love Will Kill You", by Queen, gave the impression of a waltz in your small, confined space. Your hand was massaging your scalp to sooth you and your drumming heart. Your smile fainted with a sigh. Control your emotions, you repeated to yourself. But when you felt, you lived it thoroughly. And deep down, you suffered from it. You weren't supposed to be here. You weren't supposed to bring an angel and a demon together. And you weren't supposed to stand in between them.
Your hand slide down your body and firmly grabbed your right arm. Aziraphale was upset; you sensed it through your own emotions. He was hoping to spend time with Crowley alone without you teasing him for your own amusement. You couldn't stand in the way. You didn't want to ruin it for them. You were running out of time.
Stay away from them. Let them be...
Your chest ached as tears welled up in your eyes. The seats squeaked as you turned around, your back facing the road. Eyes shot tight, lips shivered, and a lonesome whimper crossed the barrier of your mind. The sound alerted the angel, his nature urging him to react.
"What's wrong, dear ? Do you feel ill ?"
His concern will be your death.
"Just worried, that's all," you lazily replied, seeking to close the conversation as soon as possible and give your spotlight away.
Don't worry about me...
"No need; I'll be there to help you ! Once we get to the bookshop, we'll plan out our side of the story and stick to it." You felt his eyes on you.
Forget about me...
"Don't fuss about it." Crowley said as well. "Y'know, they're... well, they're not very bright." He laughed in a breath. Aziphale couldn't restrain himself from laughing either.
A smile brushed your cheeks, not strong enough to remain there, but warmth at least tried to make its way to your heart. You looked up hesitantly, and your eyes met Aziraphale's... affectionate? You blushed involuntarily. Not affection, but compassion. Sympathy even !
Bashful, you quickly turned your eyes and looked at the interior mirror. Crowley must have sensed your eyes on him, because he almost instantly looked up at you through the mirror and winked. You rolled over again and hugged yourself tightly.
Mmph...
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
I didn't expect it to be so long, but if I continue it would really be way too long 😭
Hope you enjoyed it ! I'll try my best to post once a week !
Parts : Previous - Next
Tag list : @legendary-maddie @kpop-athena @drugs-for-memes @emo-queer-boi @cunning-girl @mochikofi
#good omens#good omens s2#david tennant#micheal sheen#neil gaiman#crowley x reader x aziraphale#aziraphale x reader#crowley x aziraphale#crowley x reader#ineffable husbands#lgbtq#polyamory#twoscompanythreesafamily
385 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Deep Dive into JKR's Terrible, Amateur Writing - Reflective Interlude
Hello and welcome to my ballsy series where I will prove to you, dear reader, that J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series and resident Twitter TERF, is actually a very, very poor writer.
And when I say ‘poor writer,’ I’m talking about her prose, her sentence structure, and her scenes in the Harry Potter series. I am not going to discuss anything about the HP world nor the overall plot of the books.
This is all about the nitty gritty in the craft of writing itself.
Part One Link.
Part Two Link.
However…
Hiya! *waves* I’m Isa, the author of this… Actually, I dunno what to call this series anymore. Anyway, thus far, you’ve heard a very satirical tone from me in the previous two posts, but that’s not my normal tone. I’m a rather laid back kind of gal with a side of sarcasm and deluge of emoji usage.
I have used quite a confident, even bombastically obnoxious tone in the effort to be entertaining and engaging with these posts. It was meant to be playful and sarcastic. It’s the internet, so I’m aware everyone’s attention is… kind of like a commodity, unfortunately. Look at TikTok or YouTube. How long does a 30s video hold your attention before you’re scrolling to the next? It depends for me, I’ll admit. People don’t have the attention span for long style posts such as these and that’s fair. Sometimes, I don’t either.
Thus, I used repeated ‘catch phases’ to maintain a rhythm and a thematic style through the series with a controversial title meant to hook a reader. I repeat the opening, even in this post. I repeat ‘Class is in session’ to show the beginning of the major section of the post.
However, in this interlude, I’ve toned it all down because I wanted to give you a window into my heart, my purpose, and my intent in this series. It is a reflective post that ends with writing motivation to you, my dear reader, as well as links to writerly resources.
I’ve had a lot to think about this week and I realized that many writers (and other creatives) have to battle against an enemy found within themselves. This enemy often torments many with cruel, destructive thoughts; they burrow their way into so many writers’ minds. It whispers: “Can you really do this? Are you really sure you’re any good? Aren’t you just fooling yourself? They’re going to find out you’re just a fraud. So… why bother?”
Whose voice is that?
Let’s talk about the destroyer of creation, Imposter Syndrome, why I refuse to let the bastard infect me anymore, and why my confident tone in previous posts has grated nerves.
Remember: take what resonates and leave what doesn’t.
(This means I write my posts with the honest acceptance and expectation that not everything will fit with your style, your vibes, or your personality. That’s okay.)
All right, let’s buckle up, my dear writing friends. Grab a snack. Hydrate. Let’s begin. And yes…
Class is in session on this little Tumblr post… should you wish to attend.
Having confidence or pride in one’s work seems to be taboo. Any brief moment in time where I tried to be proud about my writing or say, Hey, I’m a good writer, I was always told to be humble. “Don’t be prideful. Be humble.” It would often chip away at my self esteem. I could be a good writer, but I couldn’t allow myself to feel like a good writer.
But no more.
I have only given myself permission to be confident about my writing within the past month. This is why I started this series in the first place. I wanted to share knowledge and in an entertaining way. I make a bold claim that I’m a better writer than JKR; I analyze her writing to both improve my own understanding and to help others as well.
However, this does not mean I’ve ever been under the delusion I’m perfect. Absolutely not. God, that’s so fucking laughable! I am not perfect. I am not a perfect writer. I definitely don’t know everything. Someone once corrected me, informing me that snakes are venomous, not poisonous. Bless them, wasn’t aware of that. Immediately fixed that. One of the recent reblogs said geodes do not contain emeralds. God bless, I didn’t know that, though in the case of how it was used in TBG, I won’t be changing it since it’s within a character thought.
Sorry, Tom. I guess you need to take a geology class, too.
Ugh, and I have so many godforsaken typos. My soul withers when I catch a typo after I’ve posted a chapter. I miss things all the time. I repeat things because ‘that’s my thing’ and I don’t always catch them in my edits. I forget things all the time. Thank GOD for Dede, someone who loved TBG so much she spent countless hours archiving data from it, where she caught a number of inconsistencies and alerted me to them. I still haven’t been able to fix them yet, but I’m so grateful to her. I’ve noted them all down. Harry’s height often is incorrectly implied to be taller than it should be because my brain isn’t wired for imagery. My brain forgets TBG Harry is a short king at 5’4” while TBG Tom is 6’2” and I need to go back to fix all of those.
I am not a perfect writer and I don’t claim to be.
My goals with this series are to study/learn for myself, teach/share knowledge with others, and learn some more from this experience. I love this kind of analysis. But there’s difference between my analysis of JKR’s writing and a number of those who have retaliated with an analysis of my writing.
Instead of looking at my imperfections with the desire to learn from them, they were illuminated in the attempt to ‘take me down a notch.’ To those who put in the effort to make counterpoints, I do thank you for your contribution to this series. It is appreciated, even when given impolitely and with the intent to ‘put me in my place.’
Despite all of my errors and imperfections, I still stand by my statement: I am a better writer than J.K. Rowling.
Do you know who else is a better writer than her? I could list thousands of them. They’re fanfiction writers. They’re indie authors. They’re other traditional published authors. They are so many other writers that, yes, I do think are stronger writers than JKR.
And you’re a better writer, too, so long as you wish it.
I sincerely want you to believe that.
Why? Because it’s clear within the Harry Potter series that JKR did not make attempts to grow as a writer. She just wrote. Perhaps she was under deadlines, but the lack of editing is pretty apparent to me. When you write a lot, you will inevitably get more skilled over time, but you have to actively be seeking improvement to see drastic change in your own skill. It is this lack of drive that I see within her work. She’s not making attempts to push the boundaries of her abilities and skills with each new book.
I’m not at the end of my journey of learning. I never will be. I love expanding my skills. I’m even learning during the process of writing these posts, too. I’m seeing more weaknesses in my own work and I’m now thinking on ways to strengthen my writing even further.
That’s the point of this series.
In the end, it’s not really about me. No, really, it’s not about me. I truly think it’s about the jealousy of seeing another writer be confident in their work. You see, I’m not supposed to be confident; I’m not supposed to act like I can help and teach others to write. How dare I. Posting anything about my work is an act of attention seeking. I’m supposed to be ‘humble.’ I’m supposed to be silent. I’m supposed to wave a shy, dismissive hand at compliments.
Why?
Why is being proud of one’s work and loving one’s own work such a controversial idea?
Imposter Syndrome often cripples creators. There’s already so much self doubt and anxiety in the world, but Imposter Syndrome can really wreck with a creator’s mind. It’s a poison. It stops you from creating what you love most. When you believe you aren’t good enough, then it becomes harder to try. Your belief becomes truth to you, whether or not it was true in reality in the first place. Perhaps, you sink into depression. You become anxious about sharing anything, for fear anyone might say even the slightest negative comment. The heart becomes fragile and brittle, and the muscle which builds skill atrophies over time. You see your work through a lens of self hate. You can only see flaws.
“I will never be good enough.”
When you’re in this state of mind, it’s hard to see the truth about your work.
But let me promise you something: your writing is far more beautiful than you realize.
In spirit, all creative writing is perfect to me with all of its typos and mistakes (yes, even all of the Harry Potter books!), but no single work is objectively perfect. There will always be room to improve your creation because you’re constantly growing. It’s why so many aspiring novelists fall into an endless cycle of editing their first few chapters. The more they write, the more they improve; thus, when they go back to their earlier chapters, they get stuck trying to update those chapters instead of pushing forward to the finish line.
Your work is valuable, no matter what. It’s beautiful. You’re allowed to love your work. You’re allowed to see the good in it and you’re allowed to have confidence in yourself. You’re allowed to say to yourself and to others, I’m a damn good writer.
You deserve to have love, for yourself and for your art.
I have often sincerely complimented other writers and, many times, after they respond with their thanks, it becomes clear to me they’re not confident in their work, yet they have still bravely shared it with us.
I’m so proud of them. Thank you for your bravery.
My heart breaks for them, too. They’re such good writers—such damn good writers. And I wish they knew and believed this.
I will always do everything in my power to encourage others.
How do you feel about your writing? Do you like your writing? You should. You really should because it is good. You created it, after all. There will always be space to grow and refine your craft, of course, but you are a good writer now. You’re going to be a better writer tomorrow and the next day, so long as you desire this growth in yourself. There’s no destination, though. There’s no magic level you have to reach before you’re allowed to have some confidence in yourself and your abilities. The only trap to avoid is remaining stagnant. Writing is a skill. Writing is a craft. This means it gets better through study and practice.
You can achieve that.
I know it’s hard, though. There are so many naysayers in life. There are so many people waiting to attack and bring others down, both on the internet and in our own families. How many precious fanfics have been lost because a writer received horrible, hateful comments? How many writers have disappeared from the internet because of this cruelty? We have lost many in all fandoms. That is unacceptable to me.
Uplift others. Spread love, not hate.
You’re allowed to be proud about your work, imperfect as it may be. Please, I beg you, don’t let the negative voices of others—including your own!—drag you down and steal the joy of creating. I know it’s so very, very hard to stand strong against such voices. Words have power, but you have more. Resist the naysayers.
What you have to offer the world is precious. Please lift your head and acknowledge that what you create is good. It’s great. It’s amazing. It’s fucking fantastic. You’re not an imposter nor a fraud. No one can offer what you can to the world. No one can write the stories you have in your head the way you can. Your style is unique to you. You’re allowed to love it as it is now and you’re allowed to love it whatever form it takes in the future.
Imposter Syndrome is a thief; toss it into jail and throw away the key.
My writing is not perfect and it never will be, but I’m a better writer today than I was ten years ago. I’m a seeker of my own growth. I’m often reading books on writing and watching YouTube videos on writing. I absorb it all because writing is my truest love and passion. My style has evolved from reading endless amount of novels and fanfics. I devour both.
But I wasted a decade thinking I didn’t have what it takes.
And life is short. I can’t waste anymore time.
Don’t be like past Isa, please.
There’s a difference in refinement between an episodic fanfic posted over the course of years and a traditional novel published in whole, but I still stand by my work. I recognize my style will not be enjoyed by all those who read it. It’s okay if you don’t like my style. I’m eternally grateful for the many readers who do love my writing. I’m humbled and honored by the sheer volume of people who have commented, bookmarked, and have left kudos on my work. Thank you.
My style has evolved into what it is today due to a combination of two things.
I have ADHD. It’s why my style uses smaller paragraphs as a whole.
I have aphantasia. I lack a mind that can visualize pictures. I literally cannot see anything in my mind. When people say, “I can picture it in my mind,” that’s not me. I cannot at all. When there’s a lack of description in prose, it feels blank and empty to me. This is why I use vivid descriptions in the way I do because otherwise I feel nothing from my work.
It’s okay if this style doesn’t work for you. I love my style because it caters to what I need. I also love other styles that don’t use as much description; however, I can’t always follow what’s happening because of the wiring of my brain. I can get lost sometimes, but I still appreciate their style because I can’t effectively do what they can.
If you find no value in my style and what I offer in this series here, then that’s okay. I’m not offended. This series is for those who benefit from it. For you, there are so many other writers out there from whom you can learn and I’m more than happy to send you in the direction that benefits you the most.
Here’s a list of YouTubers you might find interesting.
ShaelinWrites has been working on many unpublished projects through the years and has lots of great discussion videos on writing.
Abbie Emmons is a self published author with solid writing advice in all of her videos.
Alexa Donne is a traditionally published author with great insider information into the traditional publishing world.
Ellen Brock is a professional editor. She knows her stuff.
I hesitantly suggest Jenna Moreci and her content on YouTube because I think she has some major weaknesses in her writing. Many others have seen this about her books. However, she is a successful indie author and her YouTube content has a lot of value.
Brandon Sanderson has an entire college course in a playlist on his channel. It’s a fabulous free resource if you vibe with his style of writing. Highly recommend.
Here’s a list of writing books I recommend.
Elements of Fiction Writing, a five book series. My TOP recommendation is Elements of Fiction Writing - Beginnings, Middles & Ends.
Sin and Syntax: How to Craft Wicked Good Prose
Let the Crazy Child Write!: Finding Your Creative Writing Voice
Novelist's Essential Guide to Crafting Scenes
All right then.
Thank you for sticking around. I hope you accept this post in the good faith it was given and was always given in the previous posts. Next post, I’ll be returning to my playful satirical tone. Hehe~!
Please do the world the greatest of favors and write. Create. Share your fanfiction. Become best selling authors, traditional or indie. I promise you’re far more capable and skilled than you realize.
Until next time.
Isa
#harry potter#hp#fanfiction#fanfic#hp fanfic#hp fanfiction#jk rowling#fuck jkr#anti jkr#jk rowling is a terrible writer series by isalise#on writing#writing#writers#writer#author#authors#writing advice#writing motivation#writing stuff#becoming better at writing#writing tips#writeblr#writing reflection#writers on tumblr#writers on ao3#writerscommunity#creative writing#JKR's Terrible Amateur Writing Series#writing help#writing resources
82 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
crispyrebelcoffee
제목 없음
duoclieuthiennhien
Untitled
primonelson
Primo Nelson
(fan page)
marexcaelum
Flame with Glasses